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By Root 2487 0

was unusual but not unexpected to encounter Spanish features in Ireland. The Black Irish, people often called them. Notwithstanding the legend that some of the island’s earliest inhabitants had come from the Iberian peninsula, the reason for the Black Irish was very simple. Centuries of trade between Spain and the Irish ports had probably resulted in a few intermarriages, but the greatest sources of the Black Irish were the regular visits of the great Spanish fishing fleets which for generations had come for the rich catch off the island’s southern coast, especially off the lands of the O’Sullivans and the O’Driscolls down in West Cork. Ships from these fleets would often put into the creeks to process their catch with salt, paying the O’Sullivan and O’Driscoll lords a levy for the privilege. Sometimes a sailor would find a local sweetheart and settle there, or leave a child.

The mother had no objection to Margaret amusing her tiny daughter. Her name was Joan. For some time Margaret played with the doll-like child who was obviously fascinated by the older, red-haired girl and never took her large, brown eyes off her. Finally, however, her father called Margaret back and told her that it was time to be going. And he had just smiled in a friendly way at the Spanish woman and her daughter, and started to turn away, when a cheer from the crowd announced that the men from the cathedral were coming out, and so they stayed to watch.

The Fitzgerald men came first, about a score of them. They moved off swiftly towards the city gate. A few moments later, the Butler group emerged. Most of them started to leave in the direction of Saint Stephen’s hospital; but a few split away, and one of these came through the crowd towards them. He was a handsome, well-set man with thinning brown hair and a broad, English-looking face. As he came out of the throng, the little Spanish girl caught sight of him, cried out, “Papa!” and in an instant had thrown herself into his arms. Margaret smiled. It was a charming scene. So she was surprised when she glanced at her father to see him scowling with fury.

“We’re going,” Rivers said suddenly, and taking her by the arm, he almost dragged her away.

“What has happened?” she asked. “Is it Joan’s father?”

“I never guessed she was his child,” he muttered.

“Who is he, Father?”

“Henry Butler,” he said, but the anger in his voice warned her not to ask him any more.

They had reached the bridge across the river before he broke his silence.

“Many years ago, Margaret, there was an inheritance—not huge, but large enough—that fell between two cousins of my mother’s family. My mother was cheated of her rightful share. With the connivance of Ormond, it all went to the mother of that man you saw back there. His name is Henry Butler. He’s from a junior branch of the Butlers, but still a distant kinsman of the earl. And he has been living on the fruits of that fine estate which should have been mine. So it hurts me and angers me to see him.” He paused. “I never told you this before because I don’t like to speak of it.”

A disputed inheritance: Margaret had often heard of such things.

Disputes between heiresses, in particular, were common enough in Ireland.

“Does Henry Butler know he has your inheritance?”

“Most certainly he does,” her father replied. “I met the man once. As soon as he heard my name, he turned his back and walked away.”

“Joan is sweet,” Margaret said. It made her sad that the pretty little child should be the daughter of her father’s enemy.

“She has your money,” he answered grimly.

They did not speak about it anymore, but that night, when her mother supposed she was asleep, Margaret heard her parents talking.

“It was so long ago,” she heard her mother pleading, in a low voice. “Do not think of it.”

“But that is why I am forced to live like this, a miserable agent working for others, instead of a gentleman on my own estate.”

“We manage well enough. Can you not be happy with what you have? A wife and children who love you?”

“You know I love my family more than anything in the world.” His voice