His request was met with silence and then a soft voice replied, ‘This is Dr William here. Were you looking for Dr Marcus?’

‘I am that,’ Michael replied cheerfully. ‘Although I don’t want to be disturbing the good man, or yourself, ’tis just Mary Kate I needed a quick word with.’

Two minutes later, Michael replaced the receiver and stood stock still as he stared at the phone. Mrs Doyle had heard every word. Thank God the man calling himself Dr William had not revealed the intimate contents of Mrs Brogan’s letter, but he had confirmed that Dr Marcus had died and that his only daughter, Mary Kate, was on her way home to Tarabeg. Decency and propriety had been preserved, and with it the reputation of the family name, their place in the social pecking order of the village and the future of his business. If the contents of Mrs Brogan’s letter were proved to be true, theirs would be seen as a house of doubtful virtue and sinful happenings. They could never recover from a scandal such as that. It would be the end of the Malones in Tarabeg.

When finally Michael was able to gather his thoughts, he decided he would not yet share with Rosie the news of the Brogan letter, nor indeed would he tell her about his phone call to Liverpool. He needed time to decide what it was he should do other than simply wait and see would Mary Kate show up. Instead, his thoughts turned to Mary Kate’s mother, his long-dead, beloved first wife. The past cast long, dark shadows and Sarah had never left him. Their enduring love bound her to Tarabeg; she wanted to stay, and when his day came, they would leave together.

‘Sarah, did ye hear that?’ he hissed, still staring at the phone beside him.

He held his breath, he waited, he looked about him, he willed her to reply. He yearned to hear her whisper, feel the faint cool touch of her fingers brushing against the dark hair on his strong arm – anything to let him know she was still there with him. But nothing came. It had been that way for weeks and he took a deep breath as he wondered where it was she had gone.

Chapter 8

The ink on the death certificate was barely dry before the news had flown from one end of the village to the other. The biggest landowner in the area, the British master of the great estate, Captain Carter, was dead.

Father Jerry ran into the church and jumped on the ropes, and the bells began to peal loud and clear, calling people from their homes and down into the village to hear the news.

Peggy burst in through the school doors and raced into the girls’ classroom, down the side of the rows of long benches, her heels hammering on the wooden floor, seeking out Rosie, who turned from the blackboard where she was in the process of writing a sentence of composition. Narrowing her eyes, she looked past Peggy to the windows, as if expecting to see the reason for the commotion written in the condensation.