Black Wreath Read Free

his plan of getting his father alone. He washed and dressed hastily.
    Down on the street the Drogheda coach was setting off on its journey. All the coaches to the north started out from this street, and James often liked to sit and watch the preparations: the luggage being loaded onto the roof of the coach, the people alighting, the horses stamping their feet, and finally the coachman cracking his whip and the horses snorting as the coach clattered over the cobbles and went echoing off towards Drumcondra. He didn’t have much interest in the scene this morning, but as his eyes travelled back towards his own house he saw a knot of people on the pavement outside. Although he couldn’t hear them this high up, they were gesticulating and talking animatedly. They looked angry. James recognised one as his father’s linen merchant; he had seen him in the house before, speaking anxiously to his father. The other men had been in the house before too. James wasn’t sure who they were, buthe could imagine why they were here. Lord Dunmain owed money to half the city, and James had often come home to angry scenes in the hall as his father roared and, by sheer force of character, drove his creditors from the house, oaths raining down on their heads.
    Yesterday’s overheard conversation kept flooding into his mind. He thought about leaving the house immediately and not returning until night-time. They might have forgotten their conversation by then, and life would go as before. He could run down to the ships, maybe even board one bound for London or some other far place. He could learn how to be a sailor and spend his life on board a ship, crossing the wide seas and exploring the great places of the world. But he had no sooner entered this world when he heard the breakfast gong and knew it was too late to do anything other than descend the stairs and take his place at the table.
    Lord Dunmain and Miss Deakin were already at table when he entered. Smeadie put some smoked fish on his plate, but James could hardly look at it. He drank some tea, just to be doing something and not to draw attention to himself, but it made no difference, since both Lord Dunmain and Miss Deakin were staring hard at him. Miss Deakin sat up stiffly, the light pink of her dress contrasting with her dark expression. She looks like an eagle about to pounce on its prey, James thought. Lord Dunmain was making swift work of his herring while looking silently across at his son. All this silence was making James very nervous. Neither his father nor Miss Deakin were in the habit of saying much to Jamesat the breakfast table on those occasions when all three were gathered together, which was certainly not every day. But his father could usually be relied on for a grunt or two, while Miss Deakin hardly ever stopped talking, not really to anyone, but just to the world at large.
    ‘My lady would talk the hind legs off a donkey,’ Mrs Rudge would mutter in the safety of her kitchen.
    James could see the bonnet twitching on Miss Deakin’s head, as if her brain was bubbling over with speech desperate to get out, and sure enough her lips soon began working hard. ‘James, your father and I have been thinking about your future.’
    James did not even dare to look at her.
    ‘It’s evident that this house is no place for a boy. Your father is taken up with his many concerns.’
    And what were those? James wondered. Drinking, gambling, shouting, cursing? Lord Dunmain continued to eat. The fish was demolished. Now he was well through the beef.
    ‘I have my own concerns and, much as I may like to, I can’t be looking to the needs of a child …’
    ‘I’m not a child,’ James found himself blurting out in spite of himself.
    ‘You’re barely twelve summers,’ Lord Dunmain said, setting aside his fork. ‘That’s child enough for me. And I’d ask you to listen to Lady Dunmain.’
    ‘My mother is not here.’
    Why did he say that? Some things just say themselves. The