Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [239]
“I do know, as it happens,” Peter answered. “There are a number of Bristol merchants coming over and that house, along with others, has been granted to one of them. A man I met, actually. His name’s Doyle.”
Una had expected Fionnuala to leave almost at once after Peter FitzDavid had gone. Rather to her surprise, half an hour passed and she realised that Fionnuala was still there. When she went to look for her, she found her in the room at the back of the men’s dormitory where once she had had her private meeting with the priest. She was kneeling on the floor, silently weeping. Thinking to comfort her, Una sat down beside her.
“It could be worse, Fionnuala,” she reminded her. “Your family is still richer than most. I’m sure your brother will be a bishop one day. And there’ll be no shortage of fine young men wanting to marry you.”
But none of this seemed to help. Fionnuala’s shoulders still shook. She murmured, “Brendan’s gone. My Welshman’s gone. Everyone.” This seemed a little beside the point to Una; but wishing to comfort her she suggested: “Perhaps you should see that priest again.” This only caused poor Fionnuala to weep the more. At last, however, she raised her head and turned her face, streaked with tears, towards her friend.
“You don’t understand, Una, you poor silly creature. You don’t understand at all. I’m pregnant.”
“You are? In the name of God, Fionnuala, by whose doing is that?”
“By Ruairi O’Byrne. God help me. By Ruairi.”
There were all kinds of people on the ship: potters, carpenters, saddlers, stonemasons, artisans, and small traders. He’d brought many of them from Bristol himself. The ship was his, too, of course. The April day was breezy but bright as the ship came in from the greenish sea.
Doyle’s dark eyes watched the wood quay as Dublin grew nearer.
“Are you ready?” Doyle did not turn round to ask the question.
“As ready as I shall ever be,” said the younger man standing behind him. If he had been youthful when he had first come into Doyle’s house half a dozen years ago, his close-cut, pointed beard was wiry now; and his face was weather-beaten from the sea voyages on which he had been sent.
“You’ll take the consequences for your crime?”
“I’ll have to. You gave me no choice.” He smiled grimly. “Once I do, you won’t have a hold over me anymore.”
“You’ll be working for me still, don’t forget.”
“True. But I’ll make my fortune in Dublin and then I’ll be rid of you.”
Doyle did not reply. Who knew, thought the younger man, what resided in the deep, dark passages of that devious brain? And indeed, the Bristol merchant had much to think about. Though he had traded with Dublin, he had not visited the place himself in years. In taking up the new opportunities opened by King Henry, who had just departed, he was going to have to move carefully. It was a compliment to the young man standing behind him that Doyle should have chosen him to run the Dublin operation. When he had first come to his house, he had been a youthful wreck, good for nothing at all. But over six years Doyle had turned him into a competent merchant and a man. If things went well in Dublin, then in due course one of Doyle’s grandsons might come and take over; but that would be years away. Before he left this young man in charge, however, Doyle knew he would need to get a good feel of the place and its present trade. Many of the merchants he had dealt with until recently had gone, at least for the time being; but there were a couple he trusted. And then, of course, there was that kindly man with whom, years ago, he had struck up an acquaintance on a previous visit. Ailred the Palmer. He would be going to see him first.
The moment she saw him, Una’s heart sank.
When she had discovered earlier that day who Ailred’s visitor was to be, she had still hesitated to speak to the Palmer. She was so anxious not to ask him for help which she knew he could no longer give that, even now, she hadn’t told him about her father’s return. But since he was going to find