CHAPTER 66
Lord Ballinmore was laid to rest by
his lonely lady, his peace made, his affairs settled in so far as they could
be, restitution made to William. William would have liked Caroline to remain at
the castle, but she felt drawn to a more challenging life. He assured her that
she would be welcome to return at any time, to visit, or to remain for as long
as she liked. She must always think of it as her home, he said. But the only
home she knew for certain was the old keep of Dunalla with the sea lapping
below its foundation rock. She had taken farewell of William with regret. He
was in good hands. Her beloved Maureen and the faithful Hughy would care for
him, as indeed would all the staff who were only too ready to accept a gentler
regime.
They clung to each other with tears in
their eyes. They said “Goodbye”. But it was not an abrupt parting. William had
connived with Hugh Ro that she should be delayed on her journey. He had lived
too long in a deserted keep not to know its horrors of damp and cold and utter
dreariness. Caroline and Hugh Ro were no sooner well started on their journey
than he organised a surprise for her at the end. A vehicle was packed with
every comfort he could think of or find room for. Maureen and Hughy were then
sent off at speed. They must reach Dunalla well before Caroline. They could
remain there as long as they were needed. Maureen knew the way. This was their
honeymoon.
Caroline and Hugh Ro made one stay on
the journey, spending a few days with the Emsons where they were received with
great kindness. There was so much to talk about, so much tranquillity to gather
from the gentle atmosphere of that gracious home. Hugh Ro felt she needed the
rest, the time perhaps, to change her mind.
So it was Maureen who rushed out with
a welcome to meet the coach, Hughy who helped Owen unyoke the horses, Bridget
who had the kettle on the boil in her warm snuggery. What a feast was laid for
her, what a fire blazed on the hearth in the upper chamber, what a multitude of
candles glimmered in their sconces, how the carved masks winked, how the wall
painting glowed. Even the old wolf at the foot of the stair seemed to grin.
The pale dawn of an October morning
skimmed over the face of the waters. In the creek below Dunalla full tide
lipped the grey rocks. Seaweed ebbed and streamed with the movement of the
water. The air was crisp and still. Only the cry of a seabird stirred the
infinite silence. Hardly a line defined heaven from ocean on the western edge
of the world. Naked as the morning, the girl poised on a jutting rock, her arms
raised to the sky, her blue-green eyes on the almost invisible horizon. There
was nothing between her and the boundless depth and width of sky and sea. One
plunge into the crystal cold, the sting of pain, the drowning and the
resurrection, one gasp for new breath, and life would begin. There was nothing
of the past left except the golden bond that clasped her white thigh. For a few
moments she hesitated, remembering a dream; then, describing a delicate arc,
she dived, and rose, and drew breath, and was refreshed and renewed. In her
element, she swam, at first energetically, then lazily as her body tuned to the
sea's temperature.
Like a mermaid, she rested on the
rock, her bronze-gold hair streaming over pale breast and shoulders, free and
alone with a world that had nothing to offer but hope, which was all she
wanted. Caroline had never been more truly happy, nor yet so sad, as now. Her
sadness was not of regret, for life was a sea over which she had no control
beyond the most trivial choosing. Her sorrow was as inexplicable as the sting
of sea water, as cold and empty as dawn on a western shore.
Hugh Ro, a-stir early after the
journey to Dunalla, met the morning from the crumbling wall above. For an
instant, he saw again that glimpse of beauty that flowering rock of his song,
and bowed his head humbly and made the sign of the cross; for surely it could
not be a man's fate to look on such beauty for the third time and live. Not
that he was not ready to die, as he had been from the first seeing. She had
brought the sealskin rug with her. Now she wrapped it around her. It was as
warm and gentle as the welcome that had greeted her at Dunalla.
It was Hugh Ro who saw the shark, for
he could see far out into the ocean. Was it a shark he saw? No, it did not
behave as a shark would. He stood watching, eyes shaded against the glare of
October light on the water. The object, breaking the surface of the sea, moved
slowly towards land. Eventually he discerned the shape of what appeared to be a
piece of wreckage. He was about to move away when he saw that there was someone
clinging to it. He did not hesitate. Rushing outside and to the edge of the
cliff, he abandoned his boots and outer clothing; then he dived. It was a long
descent and no knowing how it might end for, unfamiliar with this coast, he had
no exact knowledge of where a hidden rock might lie concealed and there was no
time for more than a swift reconnaissance.
Caroline, out of range, saw nothing of
this drama. She had just returned to her rocky perch after a second swim, when
she saw the swimmer toiling slowly into the mouth of the creek. He appeared to
be hampered by something he was lugging. It took a little time to recognise
Hugh Ro and to realise that the object he towed was a human body. Immediately,
she dived to his assistance.
Between them, they dragged the almost
lifeless body to the safety of the rock. While she struggled to a secure perch,
Hugh Ro supported the helpless man. A last heave, and he lay half in and half
out of the water. He lay across her lap, still as a dead man. But he was not
dead. Presently the wound on his head began to bleed again. His blood trickled
down over her belly and thighs, mingling with her own blood from a new wound,
reddening the dry rock, clouding the lipping water. With all her strength she
hauled, till he was clear of the tide and, blended in flesh and blood, their
young bodies lay clasped together on the grey rock at the edge of the world.
Before Hugh Ro wrapped the sealskin rug about them he saw what Caroline had
already seen; the young man from the sea wore a thin gold band about his thigh.
“Fergal,” Caroline crooned, nestling
him in her arms, “Fergal.”
THE END
THE AUTHOR
1914 - 1986