‘I’m rather busy,’ Aunt Aisling said. ‘Perhaps –?’
‘Off you go, Mother. I’ll look after Fainne. Are her things here, for unpacking?’
I explained somewhat reluctantly about Dan Walker and the carts and my little chest, and by the time I had finished, my aunt was gone.
‘Sit down,’ said Muirrin. ‘I need to finish this, and give it to someone to deliver. Then I’ll show you around. There, by the fire. Want some tea? The water’s boiling. Use the second jar on the left – that’s it – it’s a mixture of peppermint and thyme, quite refreshing. Cups over there. Could you make me some too?’
While she talked her hands kept up the steady, meticulous chopping of the bronze-coloured fungi on the stone slab before her. I watched as she measured spices and strained oils and finally poured her dark, pungent-smelling mixture into a small earthenware jar, which she corked neatly.
‘Here’s your tea,’ I said.
‘Oh, good. I’ll just wash my hands and – excuse me a moment, will you?’ She stuck her head out the door to the garden. ‘Paddy?’ she called.
A roughly dressed lad appeared, and was given the jar, and a set of instructions which she had him repeat several times to ensure no errors.
‘And tell them I’ll be down myself later to check on the old man. Be sure you tell them.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
I had been glad enough to sit and watch her. Now, as she seated herself and took her cup between small, capable hands, I found it hard to know what to say. She was so confident, and so self-contained.
‘Well,’ she ventured. ‘A long journey. You’ll be wanting to wash, and rest, and have some time to yourself. And you’ll be stiff from riding, I expect. I have a salve for that. What if we talk a little, and then I’ll show you your room, and get you some spare things, and leave you on your own until later? I need to go down to the cottages; tomorrow, perhaps, you might come with me. Today, the main thing will be protecting you from my sisters. They do make a lot of noise.’
‘I noticed.’
‘Not used to so many folk?’
I relaxed a little. ‘It was very quiet at home. There were fishermen, and in summer the travelling folk came. But we kept ourselves to ourselves.’
Muirrin nodded, her green eyes serious.
‘You’ll find it quite the opposite here. Especially now. The house is full of people, for the Council. And they don’t like each other. Supper times can be quite interesting. You’ll need to find out who’s who, learn a few names. I’ll help you. But not yet. First things first.’
‘Thank you. Did you say six sisters?’
Muirrin grimaced. ‘It’s indeed so; myself and five more, and never a lad amongst us. It’s just as well my aunt had boys, or Sevenwaters would be scratching for an heir.’
‘Your aunt? That would be –?’
‘Our aunt Liadan. My father’s twin. He had daughters. She had sons. The túath will go from uncle to nephew, as it has done before. My father is not discontent with that.’
‘What are your sisters’ names?’
‘You really want to know? Deirdre, Clodagh, Maeve, Sibeal and Eilis. You’ll learn those quick enough. They’ll keep reminding you which is which, until you do.’
I got a lightning tour of the house, which was more comfortable inside than its grim, fortified exterior suggested. Muirrin kept me clear of the council room, whose doors were closed. The kitchen was bustling with activity: birds being plucked, pastry rolled, and a huge iron pot bubbling over the fire. The heat was fierce, the smell delicious. We were about to move on when a peremptory voice from the hearth stopped us in our tracks.
‘Muirrin! Bring the girl here, lass!’
There was a very old woman seated on a bench by the fire. This was no dishevelled crone, but a gaunt upright creature with dark hair pulled back into a big knot at the nape of her neck, and a fringed shawl around her bony shoulders. Her skin was wrinkled, but her eyes were very shrewd. It seemed to me nobody would dare set a foot wrong in the kitchen while she was there.
‘Well, it can’t be Niamh,’ she said as we approached. ‘So it must be Niamh’s daughter, for it’s her to the last hair of her head. Now that’s something I never thought I’d see.’
‘This is Janis,’ said Muirrin, as if that should mean something. ‘She’s been at Sevenwaters longer than anyone.’ She turned back to the old woman. ‘Fainne has come all the way from Kerry, Janis. I was just taking her to rest.’
The dark eyes narrowed. ‘Kerry, eh? Then I know whose cart you came in on. So where’s Dan? Why isn’t he here to see me? Where’s Darragh?’
This, then, was the auntie much mentioned.
‘Dan’s on his way,’ I said, ‘and Peg too. But Darragh’s not coming.’
‘What? How can the lad be not coming? Stopped to look at a likely piece of horseflesh, has he? Playing for a wake?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘He’s not coming at all. He’s left the travelling life and settled on a farm in the west. Training horses. A great opportunity. That’s what they say.’
‘And what do you say?’
‘Me? It’s nothing to me.’
She was unconvinced. ‘Training horses, eh? That wouldn’t keep him off the road for long. Must be a lass in it somewhere. What else would it be?’
‘There’s no lass,’ I said severely. ‘Just a chance to better himself. He made a wise choice.’
‘You think so?’ said the old woman, staring at me with her piercing dark eyes. ‘Then you don’t know my Darragh very well. He’s a travelling man, and a travelling man never settles. He might try; but sooner or later the road calls him, and he’ll be off again. Different for a woman. She might yearn for it, but she can manage without it for the sake of a man, or a bairn. Well, go on then, off with you. Muirrin, make sure the lass gets her mother’s old room. Put the little ones up the north end. And don’t forget to give the bedding a good airing.’
She spoke as if she were the mistress of the house and Muirrin a servant. But Muirrin smiled, and when we had made our way upstairs to a neat chamber whose narrow window looked out to the edge of the forest, the first thing she did was make up the fire and check the straw-filled mattress and woollen quilts. I decided my ideas of what life would be like in a great house such as Sevenwaters were badly in need of revision.
I had no wish to be grateful to Muirrin. I did not want to become her friend. I could not afford to be anyone’s friend, if I were to carry out my grandmother’s will. But I was forced to admit my cousin showed good judgement. What I longed for most was to be alone. The need to meet so many new people, and smile, and be polite, had taken its toll on me. Muirrin simply checked that I had all I wanted, and left me with a promise to return later. The chamber was to be mine alone, two beds or no. It would not hurt Deirdre and Clodagh one little bit to move, she had told me with a smile.
Later, there was a polite tap on the door, and a man brought in my little chest. It felt very strange to unpack in the room that had once been my mother’s. Perhaps she had shared it with her sister, the Aunt Liadan they all spoke of. I had few belongings. I took out one of the good gowns and laid it flat, for later. I extracted a crumpled and cross-looking Riona and sat her in the window embrasure, looking out over the forest. Here, there seemed no special reason to hide her. It was a house of girls; probably there were dolls here aplenty. In fact, she seemed more at home here than I did. I could not rest,