What the Wind Knows(54)
He looked at me doubtfully.
“I can see you haven’t. It’s easier said than done.”
“Did you find any?” he queried.
“No. I didn’t. But I made a mess, didn’t I?”
“I think we need to go see that mare, ma’am.”
“Yes, sir. Let me grab my shawl, please.”
I walked through the house, breathing through my nose to stay calm, smiling as the two constables came down the stairs. There’d been no commotion, and I prayed Eoin had stayed asleep through it all.
I pulled a shawl from my wardrobe and stuffed my feet into Anne’s old boots, tying them as swiftly as I could. I didn’t want the captain searching without me. I wanted his eyes to see the picture I had already painted. I just prayed the men in the barn and the guns were long gone.
We walked through the drizzle, some cadets walking to the edge of the lawn, looking into the trees, and some remaining back at the house. A lantern still flickered from the barn, and I stumbled purposefully, reaching for the captain. He slowed, and I took his arm with a grateful smile.
“Well, we’ve had an adventure, haven’t we?” I said. “The doctor will be all ears when he gets home. And hopefully we’ll have a new foal as well.”
“When do you expect the doctor, Mrs. . . . ?”
“Gallagher,” I supplied. “Tomorrow or the next day. He used to go to Dublin a great deal more when Lord French was governor general. The doctor’s late father was a friend of Lord and Lady French. Do you know Lord French, Captain?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure, Mrs. Gallagher,” the captain replied, but I heard a softening in his tone. Thomas might not have wanted me to share that information, but under the circumstance, a friendship with a British loyalist could only reassure the captain.
When we walked into the barn, Daniel O’Toole was leading the sweat-slicked mare around in circles, stopping every now and again to murmur to her before he began walking again. His shirt was still covered in blood, and his one arm, his shirtsleeves rolled above his elbows, was streaked with it.
He jerked in surprise upon seeing us—a convincing act, though I doubted the fear in his face was anything but genuine.
“How’s the mare, Mr. O’Toole?” I said brightly, as if the men around me were simply special visitors. Daniel’s eyes snapped to mine, noting the American accent.
“I’m walking her for a bit, Mrs. Gallagher. Sometimes it helps.”
“You’re covered in blood, man,” the captain snapped.
“Oh, I am that, sir!” Mr. O’Toole agreed heartily. “It looks worse than ’tis. Her waters broke when I checked her. But I felt the wee wan’s head, I did. Two little front hooves too.”
“Are you the only one here, Mr. O’Toole?” the captain barked, clearly not interested in the grittier details of birthing a foal.
“My son Robbie is in the bunk in back. He’s sleepin’ now. Had a little too much to drink, he did. But it’s almost dawn, Captain. We’ve been up with the mare all night.”
The captain was unimpressed, and he walked the length of the barn, directing some of his men to climb to the loft and another to search the back room. I held my breath, afraid for Robbie. His bandages could give us away. But the man returned minutes later, wiping his mouth. I had an image of an open bottle of fine Irish whiskey sitting ever so innocently where a tired, wet constable could help himself.
“It’s just as the man says, Captain,” he said amiably.
“Mrs. Gallagher, we will be scouring the fields and the shore over the next few hours. I would recommend that you keep your servants and your family inside. I will check back sometime tomorrow.”
“Are you sure I can’t offer you something to drink, Captain? I will have a full staff at dawn, and my cook could prepare a large breakfast for you and your men.”
He hesitated, and I wondered if I had gone too far. The sooner they left, the better.
“No. Thank you, madam.” The captain sighed. His men began filing out, and just before the captain turned to go, he cocked his head. “Mr. O’Toole, have you ever heard of giving laudanum to a mare in labor?”
Daniel frowned, and my heart sank. “I’ve never had any to spare, Captain, but iffen I did, I don’t see how it could hurt.”
“Huh. Mrs. Gallagher seems convinced of it.”
“Well, the lady would know, Captain. She’s very clever.” Daniel nodded, not even looking at the man. Hysterical laughter bubbled in my throat, and I followed the captain from the barn.
The rain stopped just after dawn, and the sun rose on Garvagh Glebe as though the night before had been one of peaceful slumber. Robbie O’Toole gave us all a fright when he staggered out onto the lawn, disoriented and howling in pain. His legs and his lungs worked fine. We spirited him into the house and into my room. I was afraid of infection setting in but didn’t dare remove his bandages to check the ugly wound. The bleeding had stopped, and he had no fever, so I dosed him with the same syrup Thomas had given me, and he fell into a deep—and mercifully quiet—sleep.
The men with Robbie had dispersed into the night, the guns hidden in a cellar located directly below where Daniel O’Toole had paced with the pregnant mare—she wasn’t even close to delivering, which presented another concern if the Tans came back. But for now, we’d escaped the worst of it, and the O’Tooles, except for Robbie, congregated in the kitchen at Garvagh Glebe. Maggie, the mother of the crew, kept vigil over her oldest son, and I did my best to keep her brood inside, just as the captain had instructed. He came back at sundown, reporting that a patrol would continue in the area. I thanked him as though he and his men were keeping us all safe and waved him off like he was an old friend.