Then She Fled Me by Sara Seale Read Free Book Online

old, I ’ m not much more than fifty, and she won ’ t see that again, if I ’ m not mistaken. ”
    Sarah hugged her.
    “ Darling Aunt Em. How nice to know you can be catty, too. Well, the Flint will be with us any day now, and then we ’ ll have two of them. Oh dear, I sometimes think this wasn ’ t a very good idea of mine, after all. Dun Rury isn ’ t at all the same. ”
    There had been another brief letter from A. G. Flint, informing Sarah that he hoped to get away by the end of the week and would wire them as soon as he was certain of his plans. Would Sarah please arrange suitable transport from Knockferry.
    “ What does he mean by suitable? ” demanded Sarah, her rage returning. “ Does he imagine we all drive about in jaunting cars? ”
    “ I haven ’ t seen one of those since I was a girl, ” Aunt Em said reminiscently. “ Although I believe there are still a few in Dublin kept especially for the English tourists. I think he only means he wants to be met, dear. ”
    “ Well, why can ’ t he say so in an ordinary civil fashion? Suitable transport indeed! The more I hear of that man the more I dislike the sound of him. ”
    It had rained for most of the week, but on Friday the sun shone and Sarah suggested taking a picnic to Cuchulain ’ s Keep for the benefit of Miss Dearlove who desired to visit all the spots with legends attached to them. They had already done St. Patrick ’ s Well and the Hill of the Sidhe ’ and Hooley ’ s Cave, which was rather smelly and full of the skeletons of sheep that had died in the snow, but Cuch ul ain ’ s Keep was farther afield and involved taking the donkey and cart so that they could take it in turns to ride. Aunt Em proposed to visit old Mrs. Donovan whose grandfather was reputed to have been carried off for a month and a day by the Sidhe, and they were to pick her up on the way home so that Miss Dearlove should hear the story from the old woman ’ s own lips.
    Miss Dearlove was excited at the prospect. She had been a little disappointed in the Riordans ’ lack of interest in fairies, and although they were always ready with information about the old gods and heroes of Ireland, gods and heroes were not what she wanted for her wee tales. She insisted on having her photograph taken riding in the donkey cart to send to her friend Miss Pringle. “ So typical, my dear, ” and set off with a pile of notebooks and pencils on a determined search for local color.
    It took them over two hours to reach Cuchulain ’ s Keep, for in the stony boreens they all had to walk, and give the cart a helping push over the roughest places. At the end of the last boreen they had to leave the donkey and cart and climb the steep mountain path which led to the old ruined tower a hundred feet or so above them. Sarah unharnessed the donkey and tethered it on a rough patch of grass, and she and Danny, who was playing truant from school, took the lunch baskets and rugs between them while Kathy carried Miss Dearlove ’ s notebooks.
    “ You get a lovely view from here, ” Sarah said when they had reached the tower. “ You can see right round the lough. Look, there ’ s the bridge where the south road joins the north, and there ’ s the moor road which goes to Kibeen where they have the horse fair. You can see Dun Rury— doesn ’ t it look small from here? That patch of bright green at the far end of the lough is the bog where Mick-the-Weaver lost his black sow. ”
    Miss Dearlove, panting and uncomfortably hot with all h er scarves, agreed bravely that the view was worth the climb, but she looked dubiously at the seating facilities afforded by the tower which was little more than a circular broken wall, and glanced apprehensively at the sky. There was clearly a rainstorm coming up. They made her comfortable with rugs and mackintoshes in a sheltered corner of the tower, and perched themselves carelessly on the wall. There seemed little to do now they had got there except have lunch,