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Authors: Santa Montefiore
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they approached the building where Michael Doyle had violated her, and although she knew Michael wasn’t there, the sweat still
seeped through her skin because fear does not listen to reason.
Kitty pulled up outside the farmhouse and climbed out. She caught up with Robert and took hold of his hand. ‘Careful now, Robert,’ she hissed. ‘I doubt Bridie’s family
know about Little Jack.’
‘I’m not about to set the whole Doyle clan onto our boy, Kitty,’ he retorted and Kitty felt a surge of confidence at the commanding tone in his voice.
Robert knocked loudly on the door. There was a brief pause before it opened and Sean peered out. He looked surprised and a little apprehensive to see them. Without hesitation he pulled the door
wide and invited them in. Inside, Old Mrs Nagle sat beside the turf fire smoking a clay pipe while Mrs Doyle rocked on the other side of the hearth, busily darning. A pretty young woman Kitty had
never seen before was sitting at the table. Bridie was noticeably absent.
As Kitty and Robert entered, bringing with them a gust of cold wind, four pairs of eyes watched them warily.
‘Good evening to you all,’ said Robert, taking off his hat. ‘Please forgive our intrusion. We’ve come to see Miss Doyle.’
Mrs Doyle pursed her lips and put down her sewing.
‘She’s not here,’ said Sean, standing in the middle of the room and folding his arms.
‘Where is she?’ Robert demanded. ‘It’s important.’
‘She’s gone—’
‘Gone where?’ Kitty interrupted.
‘Back to America.’
Robert looked at Kitty and she could see the relief sweep across his face like the passing of a storm. ‘Very well,’ he said, replacing his hat.
‘Can I help you with anything?’ Sean asked.
‘You just have,’ Robert replied, making for the door.
Kitty noticed that Mrs Doyle’s cheeks were damp from tears and Old Mrs Nagle’s eyes brimming with a world-weary blend of sorrow and acceptance. A heaviness pervaded that room which
Kitty would have liked to alleviate, but she was keen to be out of there as fast as possible and home, where she felt safe. As she hurried to the car she thought of the loss that poor Mrs Doyle had
suffered and she felt sorry for her.
Kitty started the engine and they set off up the track. As the car drove slowly over the stones Robert reached across the gear stick and put his hand on her leg. He glanced at her, but her
features were indiscernible in the darkness. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
She took a deep breath. ‘I am now,’ she replied.
‘You shouldn’t have come.’
‘I wanted to.’
He grinned. ‘Didn’t you trust me to do it on my own?’
‘I don’t trust you at the wheel, no. But I trust you completely in everything else, especially
this
, Robert,’ she said, turning to look at him. ‘I felt very sure
that whatever happened you’d protect Little Jack; that you’d protect the both of us.’
‘You know, Kitty, you and Little Jack are the two people I love most in the world. I’d do anything for you.’
Kitty turned back to gaze into the road, her guilt slicing a divide through the centre of her heart.
Bridie stood on the deck of the ship and watched the Irish coastline disappear into the mist. She recalled with bittersweet nostalgia the first time she had left her homeland
three years before. She had travelled in steerage then with little more than the clothes on her back and a small bag, full of hope for the future and anguish for the child she was leaving behind,
and watched her past grow smaller and smaller until it was gone.
She felt that she had lost Jack not once but twice. She’d had the chance to take him. She’d reached for him but the revelation that the child loved his home had taught her that the
fabric of living was as powerful as the lottery of blood, and the very fact that she’d tried to lure the child with a toy shamed her. She’d abandoned him again but this time she’d
debased herself in the
seeped through her skin because fear does not listen to reason.
Kitty pulled up outside the farmhouse and climbed out. She caught up with Robert and took hold of his hand. ‘Careful now, Robert,’ she hissed. ‘I doubt Bridie’s family
know about Little Jack.’
‘I’m not about to set the whole Doyle clan onto our boy, Kitty,’ he retorted and Kitty felt a surge of confidence at the commanding tone in his voice.
Robert knocked loudly on the door. There was a brief pause before it opened and Sean peered out. He looked surprised and a little apprehensive to see them. Without hesitation he pulled the door
wide and invited them in. Inside, Old Mrs Nagle sat beside the turf fire smoking a clay pipe while Mrs Doyle rocked on the other side of the hearth, busily darning. A pretty young woman Kitty had
never seen before was sitting at the table. Bridie was noticeably absent.
As Kitty and Robert entered, bringing with them a gust of cold wind, four pairs of eyes watched them warily.
‘Good evening to you all,’ said Robert, taking off his hat. ‘Please forgive our intrusion. We’ve come to see Miss Doyle.’
Mrs Doyle pursed her lips and put down her sewing.
‘She’s not here,’ said Sean, standing in the middle of the room and folding his arms.
‘Where is she?’ Robert demanded. ‘It’s important.’
‘She’s gone—’
‘Gone where?’ Kitty interrupted.
‘Back to America.’
Robert looked at Kitty and she could see the relief sweep across his face like the passing of a storm. ‘Very well,’ he said, replacing his hat.
‘Can I help you with anything?’ Sean asked.
‘You just have,’ Robert replied, making for the door.
Kitty noticed that Mrs Doyle’s cheeks were damp from tears and Old Mrs Nagle’s eyes brimming with a world-weary blend of sorrow and acceptance. A heaviness pervaded that room which
Kitty would have liked to alleviate, but she was keen to be out of there as fast as possible and home, where she felt safe. As she hurried to the car she thought of the loss that poor Mrs Doyle had
suffered and she felt sorry for her.
Kitty started the engine and they set off up the track. As the car drove slowly over the stones Robert reached across the gear stick and put his hand on her leg. He glanced at her, but her
features were indiscernible in the darkness. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
She took a deep breath. ‘I am now,’ she replied.
‘You shouldn’t have come.’
‘I wanted to.’
He grinned. ‘Didn’t you trust me to do it on my own?’
‘I don’t trust you at the wheel, no. But I trust you completely in everything else, especially
this
, Robert,’ she said, turning to look at him. ‘I felt very sure
that whatever happened you’d protect Little Jack; that you’d protect the both of us.’
‘You know, Kitty, you and Little Jack are the two people I love most in the world. I’d do anything for you.’
Kitty turned back to gaze into the road, her guilt slicing a divide through the centre of her heart.
Bridie stood on the deck of the ship and watched the Irish coastline disappear into the mist. She recalled with bittersweet nostalgia the first time she had left her homeland
three years before. She had travelled in steerage then with little more than the clothes on her back and a small bag, full of hope for the future and anguish for the child she was leaving behind,
and watched her past grow smaller and smaller until it was gone.
She felt that she had lost Jack not once but twice. She’d had the chance to take him. She’d reached for him but the revelation that the child loved his home had taught her that the
fabric of living was as powerful as the lottery of blood, and the very fact that she’d tried to lure the child with a toy shamed her. She’d abandoned him again but this time she’d
debased herself in the
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