Finally, he releases my wrist and says, “I’ll see you on the cliffs tomorrow.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
PUCK
When I get home, the house is neat as a pin. It hasn’t looked like this since our parents died. I stand in the doorway for a moment, lost in wonder and bemusement, and then Finn bursts out of the hallway. He looks like a man who has been on fire and put himself out; he is frazzled, even more than usual. I swim out of my thoughts to try to puzzle what has happened.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Finn tries several times to say something, but only his hands are successful at it. Eventually, he manages, “I thought something — how would I know if something had happened to you?”
“Why would something have happened to me?”
“Puck, it’s night. Where have you been? I thought — !”
Slowly it dawns on me. He’d seen me before I left for confession and must’ve expected me not long after.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
Finn storms mightily around the room, and I realize that he’s done all this cleaning because he was fretting over me.
“The house looks amazing,” I offer.
He snaps, “Of course it does! I cleaned the whole bloody thing! I didn’t even know how long it would be, if you died, before I knew. Who’d tell me?”
“I’m sorry, I forgot. Time got away from me.”
This makes Finn rage even more. I’ve never seen him in such a state. He’s like my father when he found out that my mother had bought a gray gelding off a farmer. He’d raged about, a furious silent storm contained by the walls, clutching the backs of chairs and staring at the ceiling, until Mum had agreed to sell the gelding.
“Time got away,” Finn says finally.
“I can say I’m sorry some more, but I don’t see what it will do.”
“No good at all is what it will do!”
“Then what is it you want from me?” The truth is that I did feel bad before, but now my patience is at a thread. It’s not as if I can go back and undo the past.
Finn leans on the back of my father’s armchair, his knuckles white around the top of it.
“I can’t bear it,” he says, and I suddenly see Gabe in him. “I can’t bear not knowing what will happen.”
I creep around to the armchair and crouch in front of it. I fold my arms on the seat and peer up at his face. I’m not sure why he looks so young, if it’s the worry that’s taking the age from him or if it’s because I’ve been looking at Sean Kendrick’s face. I say, “It’s almost over. We’ll be okay. Nothing will happen to me. Even if I don’t win, we’ll be okay, right?”
Finn’s face is bleak and terrible, and I don’t think he believes it.
I add, “Puffin came back, didn’t she?”
“Missing half her tail. You don’t have a tail to spare.”
“Dove does. And that expensive food means hers grows back fast.”
I’m not sure if he’s comforted, but he doesn’t protest further. Later, he drags his mattress into my room and pushes it against the opposite wall. It reminds me strikingly of my childhood, when he and I used to share a room with Gabe, before my father built another room onto the side of our house for him and Mum.
After the light is off, we’re quiet for several long moments. Then Finn says, “What did Father Mooneyham give you?”
“Two Hail Marys and a Columba.”
“Jesus,” says Finn in the dark. “You were worse than that.”
“I tried to tell him.”
“I’ll tell him again, when I go tomorrow. Did you already say them?”
“Of course. It was only two Hail Marys and a Columba.”
Finn rustles in the darkness.
“Do you still talk in your sleep?” I ask.
“How would I know?”
“I’m going to hit you, if you do.”
Finn turns over again, punching his pillow. “This isn’t for always. Just until after.”
“Okay,” I say. Out the window, I can see the shape of the moon, and it reminds me of Sean’s finger pressed against my wrist. I hold the thought carefully in my head, because I want to consider it some more once Finn has stopped speaking. But instead, as I wait for sleep, I find myself thinking about what Finn said about me dying. About how he didn’t know how long it would be before he knew or who would tell him. I realize then that I can’t remember how it is that we found out that our parents were dead. I just remember them going out to the boat together, a very rare occasion indeed, and then I remember knowing they were dead. Not only can I not see the face of who told us, I can’t even remember the telling. I lie there with my eyes tightly closed, trying to bring the moment back to focus, but all I can call up is Sean’s face and the sensation of the ground rushing by beneath Corr.
I think that’s the mercy of this island, actually, that it won’t give us our terrible memories for long, but lets us keep the good ones for as long as we want them.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
SEAN
The morning of the Malvern youngstock auction dawns exceptionally fair, too kind for October. I lost too much sleep after I left Puck behind last night, so I snatch an extra half hour to steel me for what’s to come, and then I dress and head down to the yard. There’ll be no riding Corr this morning, none of my usual stable work. The warm weather that would make the beach bearable is lost to the auction.
The yard is buzzing, full of mainland men holding champagne at nine in the morning and ignoring wives wearing absurd furs too warm for the weather. Every so often, the sound of a horse whinny peals out above their voices. These tourists are a tidier sort than those who arrived in time for the Scorpio Races, more kin to the gentlemen I’d seen staying at the hotel than to any local. Every man Malvern employs is out in force today; this auction funds the yard for the rest of the year.
I’ve only had my feet on solid ground for about a minute when George Holly catches my elbow. “Sean Kendrick. I thought you’d be out there among the beasts.”
“Not today.” The truth is that I’d rather be down there with the grooms, leading the horses into the ring for the buyers to look at. Instead I am to stay always within earshot of Benjamin Malvern so that if he catches my eye or tips a champagne glass in my direction, I’m available to sing the praises of whichever horse is about to go onto the auction block. “Today I’m to sell myself, not them. I’m the novelty.”
“Oh, hence the sharp apparel. I nearly didn’t recognize you in that suit coat.”
“I bought it to be buried in.”
George Holly claps my shoulders. “Planning on staying trim or dying young, then. Such a wise head on such young shoulders. If your Kate Connolly hasn’t seen you in that suit coat, she should.”
I doubt very much that Puck would be affected by the sight of me looking as if I am wanting only for a pocket watch. If she preferred this version of me, it would be unfortunate in any case. I lay a hand flat on the vest and smooth the buttons.
“It’s such a fine thing to see you uncomfortable, Mr. Kendrick,” Holly says. “She has got you bothered! Now tell me which horses to buy.”
Bothered isn’t the word for it. I can’t focus. I need to be on Corr instead of simmering in this coat. I say, “Mettle and Finndebar.”
“Finn-deh-bahr? I can’t even say it much less remember it. Did Malvern show her to me?”
I say, “Probably not; she’s a broodmare. Getting a little old, so he’s selling her.” I look up in time to see Malvern arrive with a posse of potential buyers following him. They look delighted by the island weather and these island racers and their droll owner. Malvern spots me and I see him filing away my location for future reference.
Holly exchanges a look with Malvern that is not entirely cordial. “Oh, I’m not in the market for baby-makers.”
“She drops nothing but winners. What is that look there?”
Holly frowns as a groom leads by a yearling. “It’s my look for broodmares.”
“No, you and Malvern. What did you quarrel about?”
He rubs the back of his neck and refuses the tray of champagne offered him. “While I was wandering in my altogether, I discovered one of his old flames. I didn’t know that beforehand. I think he fancies me a playboy now.” He looks hurt.
I don’t tell Holly that I’d shared that impression. “I would’ve thought all was well now that you’re here at the auction.”
“All will be wonderful once I buy something,” Holly notes, glancing over his shoulder. “Mettle and the baby-dropper. I don’t mean to buy a broodmare, you know. We have fields of them. Can’t you merely cross her to your red stallion and sell me the product of that happy union next year?”
“Getting a capall uisce into the line is not as easy as all that,” I reply. “Sometimes mares are mares to them and sometimes mares are meals.” If there is a rhyme or reason to why an uisce stallion would take to a horse mare or why an uisce mare would take to a horse stallion, I haven’t discovered it yet. There are Malvern horses with capall uisce blood in them, but it is dilute and old, showing up in odd ways. Horses who love to swim, like Fundamental; fillies with shrieking whinnies; colts with long, slender ears.
“That,” says Holly bitterly, “is precisely the way it works with humans.”
I consider whether this means that his blind lover has jilted him or the other way around, but I’m distracted by a glimpse of Mutt Malvern among the buyers. He’s talking and gesturing to a filly standing in the ring as if he knows anything about her, and the feathered and leathered mainlanders listen and nod their heads because he is the son of the owner, so of course he knows something. Holly follows my gaze and for a moment we stand there, shoulder to shoulder.
“Why, good morning!” Holly says broadly, and when I see who he addresses, it makes me glad that I hadn’t spoken against Mutt. Benjamin Malvern stands just behind us.
“Mr. Holly. Mr. Kendrick,” Malvern replies. “Mr. Holly, I trust that you’ve found something that interests you?”
He eyes me.
Holly’s smile is wide and abusively American, rows and rows of white glowing teeth. “Benjamin, so many things about Thisby interest me.”
“Anything of the four-legged variety?”
“I’m looking at Mettle and Finndebar,” Holly says. Despite his earlier protests, he pronounces Finndebar without a stumble.
Malvern says, “Finndebar drops nothing but winners.”
My mouth plays at the sound of my own words from someone else’s lips.
Holly nods his head toward me. “So I’ve heard. Why are you selling her, then?”
“Just getting a little long in the tooth.”
“Something to be said for age and cunning, though,” Holly remarks. “I mean, you should know, ha! Ah, this is a fine country full of fine people. Oh, I see we have all the Malverns here now. And there’s Matthew, looking like his father.”
This last is because Mutt Malvern has found his way within earshot and stands there, deep in conversation with a man about a filly. I think he’s trying to look useful in front of either me or his father. I can hear what he’s saying and it sounds ridiculous, but the man is nodding.
Malvern’s gaze is on Mutt, his expression difficult to discern but certainly nothing that could be called pride.
“So I’ll confess,” Holly says, “that I’m quite taken with Sean Kendrick here. You have quite a right hand in him.”
Malvern’s gaze shifts swiftly to me and then Holly, an eyebrow raised. “I hear that you were making a level effort to export him.”
“Ah, but his loyalty was too strong,” Holly says. The smile he turns on me is ferocious in its sincerity. “Which is just disappointing. You treat him too well, I suppose.”
Nearby, Mutt glances in my direction, his eyes narrowed, and I can see that he has caught wind of the subject at hand.
“Mr. Kendrick’s been with us for close to a decade,” Malvern says. “Since his father died and I took him in.”
In just that phrase, he paints a picture of an orphaned boy sitting at his kitchen table, raised side by side with Mutt, reveling in the pleasures of being a Malvern.
“So he’s practically a son,” Holly says. “That explains the bond. These horses all bear his handprint, don’t they? Seems to me he’s the logical heir to the Malvern Yard, if you were asking me.”
Benjamin Malvern had been looking at his son, who was staring back at him, but when Holly finishes, Malvern’s eyes sweep over me in my suit and he purses his lips. “In many ways, Mr. Holly, I think that is very true.” He looks back up to Mutt and adds, “In most ways.”
I can’t think that he means it. I can only think that he says it because he’s playing a game with Holly. Or because he means for Mutt to hear it, which Mutt clearly does.
Holly exchanges a glance with me, and I can see that he’s as startled as I am.
“Unfortunately,” Malvern says, turning away from Mutt, “the blood doesn’t always come through.” He eyes me and suddenly I realize that I have never once known what he’s truly thinking behind those clever, deep-set eyes. I know nothing of him aside from his horses and the little cold flat above the stable addition. I know that he owns much of Thisby but not which parts. I know that he rode once but doesn’t now, and I know that his son is a bastard but not if the mother still lives on the island. I know that I win the races for him and every year he takes over nine-tenths of the purse, as he would for any man in his employ.