‘The Carters have been on the land forever – they’ve never had any luck at all,’ said Peggy.

‘Help me with these, would you, Peggy,’ said Rosie as she began to gather up the discarded books from one end of the row of desks.

Peggy, never missing an opportunity to help, began at the other end. ‘What will become of the place I’m sure I don’t know,’ she said.

Declan leant against the door jamb that led to the central hallway. ‘What did that man ever do for the village?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘He gave a few people jobs and paid them a subsistence wage. Nothing more. They were trapped between working for him or having to leave for Liverpool or some other place. He had money spilling out of his coffers and yet the people who worked for him had to work themselves sick six days a week just to scrape by, begging him for their five days’ holiday a year, unpaid, of course. The man was a money-grabbing scoundrel. He lived the high life off the backs of people who had no choice. I won’t be crying any tears over his loss.’

‘Declan, hush now,’ said Rosie. ‘We can talk about all that after the wake, but for now, set the example expected of you as the teacher and keep those opinions to yourself. God knows, I agree with every word you say, but let’s just see what happens now, shall we? Because it could be that many of those people will have no job at all tomorrow and we might be having to find ways to help.’

Declan huffed and strode down to his classroom to clear away the day. Rosie had nothing more to add as she wiped the blackboard clean and riddled the peat in the hearth. Twenty minutes later, she left the school with her basket over her arm, accompanied by Peggy and Declan. As she closed the front door and the latch dropped, she had a sense of foreboding. Teresa was right. Michael depended on Captain Carter’s land for a good deal of the shop’s income. They couldn’t survive on selling their wares to the villagers and the farms alone. A portion of their money came from selling fishing licences to tourists, along with the tackle and everything else a fisherman might need, including the sandwiches Peggy made to order each morning. Captain Carter and the Malones’ business were inextricably linked. The death of the captain might indeed have a negative outcome for their family.

‘There won’t be anyone coming to the shop just now. Shall we go to the post office for a cup of tea?’ said Peggy. ‘Will you be coming with us, Declan?’

Declan, who lived under the thumb of his mother, frowned. ‘I had better get home. Mammy will be wanting to know why the bells are ringing.’

Rosie put her hand on his arm; she felt so sorry for him. The perfect son, he’d brought his invalid and demanding mother from Galway to live in the teacher’s house with him and was paying a high price for his kindness. ‘Why the post office, Peggy? We have a perfectly good kettle in the shop.’ Rosie had never been a gossip.