“Well, you’re here now, and it’s very welcome you are,” Mrs. Ó Neill said. “Here. Try one of these.” She held out what looked like a plate, and Emma took it. She couldn’t quite tell what was on it but removed her glove and reached for the blurry object. It turned out to be a sweet bun, covered in what seemed like honey and nuts. “Thank you.”
“Come and sit,” the cook offered, pulling out a stool. “Would you like tea?”
“Oh no, thank you. I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.” The moment the words left her mouth, she realized that the dowager would never have said such a thing. Weakly, she added, “Or, if you need to continue cooking, please do.”
The cook pulled up a stool beside her. “Flo, see to the roast. Molly, the bread wants kneading. Eithna, finish the spice cake.”
The kitchen maids went about their tasks, and Mrs. Ó Neill said gently, “I suppose you must be missing your family.”
Emma gave a nod. “But I am happy to be here with my husband. I only wish—”
“You’re wishing he didn’t get so sick, aye?”
“I know his father and brother suffered the same, but I don’t want it to happen to Lord Dunmeath.”
The cook gave a heavy sigh. “I didn’t want to speak of it, but we all know of the curse.” She stood and went over to a drawer. A moment later, she held out something that clinked in her palm. “Take these. It may help him.”
Emma held out her hand, and the cook gave her two pieces of metal. From the shape of them, she guessed, “Nails?”
“Ironnails,” Mrs. Ó Neill said. “To keep away the faerie folk who are trying to destroy us.”
Emma took the nails and tucked them away in her pocket. It was clear that the cook truly believed in such things, and she didn’t want to offend her. Instead, she simply thanked the cook. “What can you tell me about Cormac’s cousin?”
“Afraid of everyone and everything, Lorcan is,” the cook answered. “He stays as far away from Dunmeath as he can, so the curse won’t touch him.”
“I thought he lived here with his mother?” Emma guessed.
“Nay. Lorcan has a small house near the river. He lives there with his wife Moreen. She’s expecting their first child, so he wants naught to do with Dunmeath.”
Emma remembered Moreen’s triumph and pushed aside her own regrets. “Then you don’t think Lorcan wishes he were the earl?”
“Not in a thousand years,” Mrs. Ó Duinne said. “He’s spoken of traveling toward Dublin, to get as far away from us as he can. It’s my fondest hope that someone will break the curse, so Lord Dunmeath gets well again.”
Emma took a bite of the sticky bun. Though she knew it was a risk to confront the cook openly, she asked, “Do you think there’s anyone—anyone besides the faeries, that is—who could want to hurt Cormac? Have you heard or seen anything?”
“Nay.” Mrs. Ó Duinne’s voice turned softer. “He’s a good soul, is Lord Dunmeath. There’s no one here who wants to harm him. Takes care of everyone, he does.”
And it was time that someone took care of him, Emma thought. She thanked the cook for the sweet bun and rose from her chair. “It was very nice meeting you.”
“And you, my lady,” Mrs. Ó Duinne answered.
But even as she left, Emma felt as if she was nowhere near the answers she needed. She doubted if the servants had anything to do with Cormac’s illness. She decided to go into his study, to take a few moments to think.
After walking up the stairs and down to the end of the hall, she opened the door that she thought was the study. The moment she entered, she detected the familiar scent of her husband. The hint of pine allured her, and she went to sit at Cormac’s desk.
Clearly, he’d spent time here after he’d arrived, for ledgers and books covered every surface of the desk. He had stacks of papers that she couldn’t possibly read, but she moved them aside, along with the books and another book that was so old, the binding had cracked, and it was falling apart. She didn’t know if it was anything important, but she was careful to close it and stack it neatly with the others. There was a layer of dust on it, and she brushed it off her hands.
After she’d cleared Cormac’s desk, she searched the drawers, not even knowing what she was looking for. There were only pens and inkwells on one side of the desk, along with stacks of paper. Her fingers bumped against a single teacup, and she smiled, remembering Nora’s remark about Cormac’s habit of leaving them behind. The room was an utter mess, but Emma supposed her husband had his own way of keeping track of the estate.
She decided to speak with his Aunt Nuala next. Though she didn’t want to imagine that the kindly woman was poisoning her nephew, Emma couldn’t deny that she had a strong knowledge of plants. And though it frightened her, she couldn’t shy away from what she had to do.
She rose from the desk and walked toward the door. A grandfather clock chimed in the hallway, and Emma decided to see if Nuala wanted to join her for tea. She needed answers, and Cormac’s aunt might let something accidentally slip.
It was the best she could hope for.
*
London
