Michael put his hand on Blackie’s arm affectionately. His voice was calm when he said, ‘Yes, you are, but the world is a weird place, full of strange folk who want to take advantage of a boy.’

Siobhan said, ‘We want you to be safe, Blackie.’

FIVE

The following day was suddenly busy, as Blackie found himself running hither and yon, getting ready to leave for the port of Queenstown, in neighbouring County Cork.

Michael had awakened him early and told him to dress quickly. He was to go with them to the mansion when they went to work. When he asked why, Michael explained that there were things there for him, items he would need.

It was cool on this May morning, the mist still rising from the deep green meadows as they walked up the hill. But the sky was beautiful, a deep cerulean blue dusted with sheer white clouds, like puffballs floating across the vast expanse above them. Blackie, glancing up, saw the edge of the sun. It would grow into a pleasant day, he felt certain.

The three of them walked quickly, and it was not long before they reached Lassiter Hall. They crossed the stable yard and, a moment later, were entering the house through the back door.

The warmth of the kitchen, with its huge fire and busy ovens, enveloped them at once, instantly took the chill off them all.

‘Top of the morning to ye, Cook,’ Blackie said, giving Mrs O’Rourke his brightest smile.

‘Ah, there ye are, me boyo,’ Cook shot back, a grin on her plump cheeks. They were bright pink from the heat, and her black eyes sparkled. After greeting his cousins, she said, ‘Put your coat in the boot room, lad, and come and have a cup of porridge.’

He nodded and followed his cousins, who had already crossed the room ahead of him to hang up their topcoats, as they did every day.

Cups of steaming porridge were waiting for them when they returned to the kitchen. Cook beckoned them forward, and Siobhan and Michael sat down, followed by Blackie.

The cook fussed around Blackie, reminding him there were currants in her porridge, unlike the porridge made by others not so talented with food as she was.

‘That I know, Cook,’ he said, lifting up his spoon. ‘And yours is the best I’ve ever tasted.’ He began to eat, and Cook went over to the ovens to look inside, nodding to herself before closing the doors. ‘His lordship is taking the family to London town tomorrow,’ Cook whispered, hovering over the kitchen table. ‘So dinner will be one of me best specialities,’ she confided. ‘Now, what about a mug of tea? Do ye all want one?’