Secret Spy from Drumshee
Chapter One
‘Daniel O’Connell is in deadly danger,’ Mary Ann whispered to her twin
brother. ‘Don’t say a word,’ she added, and put her finger to her lips.
Ronan closed his eyes to show that he understood. There was no one but the
two of them in the kitchen – and anyway, he thought with a chuckle, people
didn’t usually understand him, so it wouldn’t matter what he said – but
Mary Ann liked to be dramatic. She was always acting. She wanted to be an
actress more than anything else in the world – to go on the stage like their
aunt Caitriona over in France, to have hundreds of people clapping her, hundreds
of people admiring her. Their father, Michael, had visited the playhouses in
Dublin when he went to see Daniel O’Connell there and he had bought a thick
book of all the plays by William Shakespeare at a second-hand bookshop on the
quays. Ever since then, Michael and Mary Ann, and sometimes Uncle John, had
acted scenes from the plays every night in the little cottage at Drumshee, while
Ronan sat in his special chair and laughed and cried and thought that each one
that they did was the most wonderful play in the world.
Now Ronan looked at Mary Ann, his eyes full of expectation. Maybe in a minute
she would get up and stalk around the kitchen; she would be the murderer with a
knife in her hand, and then, a second later, she would be Daniel O’Connell,
his long black cloak swinging free as he walked along, taking no notice of the
murderer who was creeping after him with knife upraised. No matter what she did,
Mary Ann could always get Ronan to see the vision in her mind.
But Mary Ann didn’t get up. She continued dreamily stirring the pot of meat
and vegetables that hung over the fire on the old iron crane set in the chimney.
‘Daniel O’Connell might get elected next week, Ronan,’ she said. ‘He
wants to be a Member of Parliament – the first Catholic Member of Parliament.
Da said that someone might get him killed before that happens. There have been
threats already. Someone has to protect him.’
Ronan nodded. Michael McMahon would do anything to protect Daniel O’Connell.
From the time that Ronan and Mary Ann were babies, their father had talked to
them about Daniel O’Connell and how he was trying to make the lives of the
Catholics in Ireland more fair, to give them the chance to vote. Now he was a
candidate in the election for Member of Parliament for Clare. Someone would
definitely have to protect Daniel O’Connell.
‘Da,’ Ronan said. ‘Da’ was one word that he could say very clearly.
He didn’t bother trying to drag any more words out of his throat. Mary Ann
always knew what he meant. She could read his eyes. She had been doing it for
the last ten years – ever since they were both two years old. She had been
talking for him ever since she had learnt to talk herself.
She glanced at him, knew what he was thinking, and shook her head violently.
‘No,’ she whispered, the word a hoarse growl in the silent, smoke-filled
kitchen. ‘No, not Da.’
Ronan looked at her in a puzzled way. Surely Da is big and strong and
tough enough to look after Daniel O’Connell, he thought. His eyes
flickered to the top of the dresser, just at the height where his father’s
head would reach, and then over to the gnarled blackthorn stick that stood in
the corner beside the door.
‘Oh, I know,’ said Mary Ann impatiently. ‘Da is big, and he’s very
strong, and he’s very brave. If Da saw anyone attack Daniel O’Connell –
even if there were ten of them – he’d be after them right away with his
stick, and probably have the ten of them lying on the ground – like this.’
And she leapt out of her chair, spat on her hands, seized an imaginary stick,
whirled it around her head, brought it down with a savage blow, stared in
triumph at the body on the ground and turned to face another enemy – a little
more trouble this time, but soon there was another body on the floor…. Ronan
laughed and laughed, and made cheering noises deep in his throat. He felt his
hands wet with sweat from the excitement of watching the magnificent fight there
on the kitchen floor – one man, one giant of a man against ten murderers. And
then the one man was the winner of all the fights.
‘Oh, Da would be fine for that,’ panted Mary Ann, going to the bowl of
water on the windowsill and splashing her hot cheeks. ‘He’s all right in a
fight,’ she continued, tossing her curly dark hair out of her eyes and coming
back to sit by the fire. ‘But you know what he’s like. He’s always in a
dream. He never notices anything until it’s right under his nose.’
Uncle John, thought Ronan. His eyes quickly flickered over to where John’s
cap hung on the door.
‘Not Uncle John,’ said Mary Ann scornfully. ‘You know what he’s like
just now.’
He can’t think about anything but Nora. Ronan glanced at the bunch of
wild roses in the small jug on the dresser; Nora had put them there last Sunday.
‘Yes,’ agreed Mary Ann. ‘Ever since he started going out with that Nora
Dooley from Corofin, he’s been as bad as Da. He just hangs around in a dream.
Da says Uncle John and Nora are thinking of getting married next Easter, if she’ll
agree. Uncle John wants to get her away from that awful father of hers, who does
nothing but drink, but she’s worried about her mother and about Ned. Anyway,
Uncle John’s not interested in Daniel O’Connell, or in politics. He’s just
interested in farming.’
Just as well, thought Ronan. It’s a good job that one of the McMahon
brothers is interested in farming. Michael hated farming. He was always
hoping to get enough money together to pay their passages on a ship over to
France, so they could live near his sister Caitriona. Caitriona’s
sister-in-law, Aimée, had married a Frenchman who made furniture, and Michael
dreamed of working at that. He was very clever with his hands.
Ronan glanced down at the special chair that his father had made him. Its
frame was made from ash, and its seat and back from plaited willow shoots. It
fitted him like a glove, supported his back and legs, and had two wheels
attached to it so that he could be pushed everywhere the rest of the family
went. There was even a special tray that could be clipped onto the chair, so
that Ronan had his own table for his meals. It was the best chair in the world,
and his father had made it all by himself.
‘You’re right,’ said Mary Ann, following the movement of his eyes. ‘Da’s
great at carpentry, even if he’s not much of a farmer compared to Uncle John.
But neither of them would be much good at looking out for spies.’ The
last word came out as a sibilant hiss, and a thrill of excitement ran through
Ronan and set his thin legs kicking against the chair. Mary Ann got out of her
seat, replaced the soft leather shoe on his jerking left foot, and then sat back
down and looked at him expectantly.
You?
Mary Ann would be excellent at looking out for spies – Ronan was sure of
that. He could just imagine her hiding in doorways, creeping from shop door to
shop door…. But Mary Ann was shaking her curly black head at him.
‘Not me,’ she whispered. ‘I’m a bit giddy. I might start showing off,
and then they’d notice me. Can’t you guess who would be best?’
Ronan looked at her. He was puzzled. Usually he could guess what was in Mary
Ann’s mind as quickly as she guessed what was in his. Who was she thinking of?
Who could be Daniel O’Connell’s protector?
‘You, of course!’ she burst out, forgetting to whisper. ‘You’re very
clever, you notice everything, you never forget a face, and you’re nice and
quiet. You’re the one! You’ll be the secret spy from Drumshee.’
Back to Drumshee Timeline Series booklist
Dark
Days at Drumshee (book 12)
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