The Weif

By Dell Brand

The Weif is a sweeping story of servitude and the struggle for freedom, of the law and its cruel inequities, of the privations and harshness of a rugged new land and of a brother and sister’s fragile hold on life during the tumultuous early years of settlement in Australia.
Lizzie and Will Darling are banished from their home in County Cavan for youthful crimes and transported to Australia.
Lizzie finds her feet in Van Diemens Land as a servant to the genial Fletcher family while Will lands in Sydney and is assigned to a stonemason.
But circumstances change and Lizzie is shipwrecked on her way to Adelaide. She discovers that her saviour is not the kindly settler she assumed and she must develop resilience and fortitude to escape his clutches.
Meanwhile Will finds both joy and satisfaction in his work and in his new wife and baby.
Later the siblings find each other again on the Victorian goldfields where Will becomes embroiled in the uprising that sparks the Eureka Stockade while Lizzie forges a new life as a school teacher and believes she has finally left her past behind her.
However their wish for a peaceful life is shattered and Lizzie finds she must once again resort to violence in order to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dell Brand
• Release date: Mar 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781539357513

Dell Brand

Dell Brand grew up in Sydney, attending North Sydney Girls High School, Sydney University (BEd & MA) and Wollongong University (PhD). She taught in state high schools during her working life, teaching Physical and Health Education. She was recognised with the Minister’s Award for Excellence in Teaching and the Outstanding Achievement in Education Award from the Australian College of Education.She has always had a keen interest in children with challenging behaviours, and worked for a number of years with a wilderness-enhanced program aimed at turning around young people’s lives. This formed the basis of her thesis. As a teacher in this program, she involved herself in many of her recreational passions including abseiling, rock-climbing, wilderness trekking, canyoning and canoeing. In recent years, she has developed a particular interest in family history and history in general.Dell is also a part-time journalist and has been published by a number of editors in Australia and abroad. She wrote her first children’s book, History’s a Mystery, in 2010. Due to its success, three more followed. She uses her own travel experiences to write first-hand about places she has seen and people she has met. Some of these places find their way into her books.Now she is writing adult novels and her first two, ‘A Voice to be Heard’ and ‘Cry to the Wind’ are set in early Melbourne.Dell loves the outdoors, especially the wilderness. In her younger years she was a keen swimmer and an A grade squash player. She now enjoys all outdoor pursuits and tries to play golf regularly. She has a wonderful family, with two grown-up children and five funtastic grandchildren. She lives on the south coast of New South Wales.

Book preview

Prologue

Lizzie

Ballaarat, Australia 1855

My prison garb was freshly-laundered and I had washed that morning.

I gazed up at Mr Redmond Barry from the dock and sat very still, hoping my face gave away nothing of my thoughts. Strangely, I was calm and took the time to observe the florid cheeks and stern expression below his more kindly eyes. He had a formidable reputation in the colony and I wondered how he would determine the next part of my life.

The judge returned my scrutiny just as impassively and I could not help colouring slightly as his eyes bored into mine.

I knew I was no beauty. The harsh Australian climate over the past sixteen years had seen to that. My fair Irish complexion had vanished, leaving in its place a spider’s web of creases in a field of freckles. My light auburn hair, which every morning I drew neatly into a bun at the nape of my neck, was now bleached and streaked with grey.

My life in Australia had been harsh but no better or worse than countless other Irish women who had been sent out to Van Diemens Land for drastic yet minor offences.

I knew Judge Barry had seen many like me in his time. Were we bruised and battered victims to him or desperate criminals? I suspected the latter. I continued to return his gaze, allowing myself not a glimmer of hope. I fully expected the worst and anticipated no mercy.

Yet despite this, for a moment I sensed a tenuous connection between us. It was as if he discerned something more to my case and was willing me to speak. Was he pondering on life in the colony and seeing that it was most often depressingly unfair, especially to women? I doubted it. Staring back unflinchingly until his expression turned from curiosity to resignation, I provided him with no satisfaction.

He sighed and regarded his papers again. His moment of reflection had passed.

‘Elizabeth Darling, please stand for my verdict.’ He waited while I drew my small form up to its full height.

‘I have listened to the accounts of your crime from both the police and the witnesses. I have similarly listened to your friends and to your own account. Now, by the power invested in me by the Governor of Victoria, I will pass judgement on you.’

Part 1

William

Ballinagh, Co Cavan, Ireland 1836

Chapter 1

Ours was a good family and we had a happy home. However we were luckier than most, I need to say that at the outset. We had a fair-sized piece of land that had been in our family since 1766, thanks to my great-grandfather who came over from Scotland and settled here in County Cavan. Because he was a Protestant he gained a lease from his absentee English landlord.

It was Great-Grandfather Darling who brought the first chickens across the Irish Sea and established our poultry business. He strongly believed that these five-toed birds, coloured white with a rose comb, were first-rate layers and provided the best meat. It’s only recently that they’ve come to be called Red Dorkings. Great-Grandfather also grew crops and potatoes on his land but everyone in Ireland grows potatoes. It was the poultry that made the real difference to our family.

Stubbornly he hung onto his lease before passing it down to his son. Fortunately, the hens always enabled him to avoid the hanging gale – that’s a horrid English law which puts you forever behind with the rent and therefore open to eviction - as the steady income from both his chickens and eggs allowed him to always pay his rent on time. So his landlord was always well satisfied to leave the tenancy in our family.

Ever since the hateful Penal Laws were imposed on us back in 1695, the rule in Ireland has been that the eldest son in a Protestant family inherits the whole of his father’s property or lease, whereas in a Catholic family the land or lease must be equally divided among all his sons. This was the Englishman’s way of pushing the Catholic Irish aside and giving the power to those they wanted to prosper. It was still the same when I was growing up and I believed it was grossly unfair.

But it did mean that our religion definitely worked in my family’s favour for, as Protestants, we still were reasonably well off while, all around us, our Catholic friends grew poorer and poorer with each passing generation as their plots of land were carved up into ever-decreasing parcels.

However my family’s profitable farm was never going to be mine, as I was the third son. There were seven of us Darling children and I was unluckily born fourth. My oldest brother, Hugh, worked on the farm and would inherit the lease when Da passed on while the second eldest, Patrick, was already away from home, studying to become a minister in our church. Unfortunately, I had neither Hugh’s fortune nor Patrick’s ambition.

But I did want some land of my own one day. Nothing big of course but large enough to support a wife and raise a family. Yet in my heart of hearts I knew even this would probably not eventuate as, in Ireland, younger sons and daughters of farmers were certain to always remain poor. The best I could realistically hope for was steady work on our home farm for board. I was lucky Da had the poultry, as this kept both Hugh and me in work all year round. Without that, I would have been forced to find work with someone else and, most probably, that would have been for only part of the year.

My older sister, Nancy, was already away from Ballinagh, in service under Squire Gordon in Dublin. Lizzie was due to begin work for the Earl of Longford at Streatham Hall in County Westmeath as soon as she turned thirteen. Both the girls’ appointments were due to Da’s good name and his connections around these parts. They would never have been accepted otherwise.

My two youngest brothers, George and Owen, were still at school in Cavan.

I lately had just passed my eighteenth birthday and, to celebrate the event, I had arranged an evening with some of my friends in Ballinagh’s only tavern, situated beside the Market House. The gathering was nothing special as we usually met for a pint or two once a week and that chilly February evening began as many others had before it.

Because my four Catholic mates were not near as well set up as me, I already had told them I would stand the drinks that night even though it was my birthday. We were close, having schooled in the village and grown to manhood together. Their differing religion to mine had not dented our friendship.

They worked at various farms around when they could but this was usually only at planting and harvesting. All of them earned a little extra cutting turf for their own families and for others. Peat cut from the bogs was plentiful around our parts - and mostly free if you knew where to cut it - so no family, even the dirt-poorest, needed to go cold during the long winter months.

Bernie McGrath was my special friend, but Alex Keelen, John Hagen and Andrew Callaghan made up the circle. I had been getting Bernie out of scrapes ever since we started school together. Even though he was the one who always came up with an idea for mischief, he was not near as strong as me and I invariably had to take over when things went wrong. His soft nature meant he was always the first to apologise or back away when someone suffered from our adventures. The other three boys also liked him a lot and often protected him as well.

To my dismay that night in the tavern, soon after their first pint, Bernie steered the conversation to abduction as he had so frequently of late. I sighed inwardly and contemplated my glass. I was heartily sick of hearing about these escapades although Bernie and the other three were obviously enraptured. Under Bernie’s prompting, they now imagined an abduction to be a grand adventure, a light-hearted prank which would spice up their lives. They seemingly dreamed endlessly of taking part in one.

I wanted none of it, partly because I had a dim memory from when I was a young lad of a man being hung in Cavan for just such an offence but mainly because, for the most part, I was very content with my life.

Yet I was willing to humour them up to a point. After all, they were my friends. And from stories we had heard recently, abductions nowadays were not truly considered crimes despite the fact that the law still said otherwise. Occasionally they even had successful outcomes, with the girl more than willing to marry her man.

I sipped my ale, still with only half an ear on their conversation, and sat gazing across the bar to where Da and one of his friends were chatting. Da was fully engrossed in his conversation, though I could tell by his companion’s florid cheeks and waving arms that he was having difficulty in making Da see things his way. I smiled for I had inherited Da’s serene nature. We were both willing to sit quietly and ponder while others around us worked themselves into a state.

‘William, pay attention! We’re discussing your future here, boyo.’

‘What?’ The mention of my name brought my attention back to my friends and I looked over at Bernie. ‘What would you be saying, Bern?’

‘We have found just the right girl for you, Will! Now that you’re a man, it’s high time you took for yourself a wife.’

Little did I know then that this bold talk by my friend on this night would form into something very real and that Bernie was setting us on a course that would change all of our lives forever.

I laughed and sipped my ale. ‘Really, Bernie? I don’t think so.’

‘No, I’m serious and all, Will. Listen up.’

‘Oh, all right. And who might you be thinking of this time, Bern?’

As he had always done since he was a small boy, he wrinkled his nose at me and winked, a merry smile creasing his lips. He had beguiled me before with just that look. ‘Catherine Rourke.’

‘Catherine Rourke,’ I repeated. ‘And who might she be?’

‘For your information, Mr Darling, Miss Catherine Rourke is a young woman recently settled with her father a few miles out of Cavan on the Cootehill Road. She is seventeen and quite the beauty. And, as she is the only child of Captain Rourke himself - a recently retired sea-captain - she is heiress to his property, an amount estimated to be in the region of £200. However, and more to the point, Captain Rourke’s father and older brother recently died of the cholera so the captain has lately inherited the family farm of round thirty acres.’

‘You mean the Hilldale farm? Where old Mr Rourke died last summer?’

‘Aye, the very same. Now, might you be interested in such a match?’

I shook my head and raised my eyes skyward but he was not to be put off.

‘It would be just a lark, Will. Something exciting to brighten up this dismal time of year. We’ll wear the customary white shirts to carry out our derring-do.’ His eyes pleaded with me to at least consider it.

‘No, Bern. Not for me. If you are wanting some excitement, you go ahead and get her yourself. I remember a man getting himself hung for an abduction.’

‘Oh, Will, that was years ago and he did a real crime. This would be only a bit of fun. Come on!’

I continued shaking my head.

‘Will, we’ve decided. It can’t be me. You must go first.’

I shook my head again but humoured him by responding. He was like a dog at a bone. ‘Have you now? And why should I be the lucky one?’

‘Because we’ve taken a vote and chosen yourself.’

‘Hmm. And what if I don’t agree? Why would you be giving this beautiful young woman – if she is indeed beautiful - to me? If she’s such a prize, surely you would be wanting her all to yourself, Bernie McGrath?’

‘No, not at all, not at all. You are the oldest, my dear friend William, so we must have you married off first. After that we can work our way down the line to me. Besides, you are much more of a catch than any of us, boyo.’

I stared at the three other lads in turn and saw they were all nodding in agreement. I shook my head. I still wanted no part of it. ‘You’re really serious about this?’

They all grinned and raised their glasses to me.

Unwisely, on the spur of the moment and still far from convinced, I decided to let them have their little fantasy, at least for a while longer. I sighed. ‘Go on then, tell me your plans.’ I still didn’t believe they would seriously contemplate pulling off a heist of their own.

‘Aye, it’s high time we began planning our own little abduction,’ Bernie went on, grinning at my capitulation. ‘We are all wanting to be married and all, each settled down with a little wifey to warm our bed. And now young Catherine has fallen into our laps, so to speak. So what do you think of our plan, young Will?’

I sat there gazing at my friend, trying to work out what was going on behind those black, twinkling eyes. ‘I am truly lost for words, Bern.’

Next I regarded the others. ‘You’re all stark raving mad. I didn’t think you’d ever truly be serious about actually doing it.’

‘Aye, we are all of us serious,’ answered John. ‘We were talking about it on the way to the tavern tonight.’

I shook my head again. ‘You’re all daft, the lot of you!’

‘Do I take it that you’d be not at all interested in our plan?’ asked Bernie, pretending hurt.

‘Come on Will, it would be just for fun,’ added Alex.

I sipped my second ale, considering all they had said. I didn’t want to be involved but right at that moment I couldn’t see any real harm in it. ‘And it would only be a bit of a lark, you say? If this Catherine Rourke were not in agreement with our plan, we would let her go again?’

Bernie was pleased I was finally taking a real interest. ‘Oh, aye, of course. We don’t want any serious trouble. But she may be willing and all, especially if she’s already made your acquaintance.’

‘Oh, and how do you imagine I will be able to manage that?’

Bernie grinned. ‘I’m sure an enterprising young man like yourself will come up with something. Surely you could somehow contrive a meeting?’

Shaking my head again, I made a face at my friends. It didn’t sound at all likely. But maybe it would be a bit of fun and all. I would think about it some more. Maybe it would all work out. Who was to know? Perhaps this Catherine Rourke would fall for my charms and consent to marry me. I might get my piece of land after all. Strange things did happen sometimes...

No, that wouldn’t happen. Fairy tales don’t happen to farming boys.

Chapter 2

Strangely, I did come across Catherine Rourke a couple of weeks later at the Longford market though it was not much of a meeting. I had given no further consideration to my friends’ plan since they had talked it up at the tavern and, if I had, I would have hoped they’d have forgotten all about it. My reluctant agreement to their plan had been the ale talking.

But on seeing Catherine at the market, I recalled the conversation and had to admit that my interest was seriously roused for the first time. She was, indeed, a beauty.

Da, Hugh and I were at our stall with crates of hens and chicks for sale along with five dozen fresh eggs. I was mucking out one of the cages when a well-dressed gentleman stopped to chat with Da about his hens and it turned out to be Captain Rourke. He introduced himself to Da, before presenting his daughter, Catherine.

Da right away removed his cap and greeted the pair with great respect.

‘Could I by chance purchase some of your hens, Mr Darling?’

As Da spoke to his customer, I stopped what I was doing and sidled over, hoping Da would include me in the conversation but although he introduced Hugh, much to my disappointment he ignored me. Nevertheless I stayed beside him, not taking my eyes once from Catherine.

Her thick black curls framed coal-black eyes that sparkled in the sunlight above her high cheekbones and unblemished complexion. When her eyes briefly caught mine, she gave a fleeting smile before dipping her head demurely.

Glancing across at Hugh, I saw that he was equally taken with her.

‘Of course, Captain Rourke. How many would you be wanting?’ asked Da.

‘Oh, say, a dozen. Could you spare that many?’

‘Aye, Captain, that would be no problem at all. And I can have one of my sons deliver them to you early next week.’

‘Perhaps you could make it the week after? I shall have to see to a coop before I can take delivery.’

‘Of course, Captain.’

They discussed a fair price before the captain made to move on. At once I seized the opportunity presented and stepped forward, blocking their path and addressing the captain.

‘Captain Rourke, sire, my name is William Darling and I would be pleased to deliver your hens when you are ready to receive them.’

‘Why, thank you, Mr Darling. I would be most appreciative. Good day to you.’ He tipped his hat and moved off around me. I thought I saw Catherine give another faint smile as she followed her father but it may have been only my imagination.

At least I now knew Catherine by sight. She was indeed lovely and suddenly the plan to abduct her was something to ponder.

After the market, I began daydreaming more and more of Catherine and of actually carrying out the abduction. As the days passed, it came to seem not simply a possibility but something easy to achieve. In my head the outcome was always in my favour.

Two weeks after that chance meeting at the market, my spirits were light as I held the reins of our horse as he ambled along the road to Cavan. The twelve hens were safely stowed in a light cage behind me on the cart and their worried cackling eased into a near silent contentment as they settled into the rhythm of the journey. Only the odd pothole jarred them into voice. From our farm at Ballinagh it was only three miles to the town but Captain Rourke’s farm was a further four miles beyond, in the direction of Cootehill.

I pulled up outside their farmhouse sometime around mid-morning.

After climbing down from the cart and removing my cap, I approached the front door. It opened before I could knock and Catherine stood there, dressed in a plain grey day dress overlaid with a white smock. Her smile was sunny.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Ah, I … I …’ I was lost for words. All the sensible remarks I had practised along the road flew out of my head as embarrassment took hold. She was astonishingly beautiful and suddenly I wanted to marry her more than anything else in the world.

Her merry eyes told me that she was enjoying my discomfort but, after a moment, when she glanced over my shoulder and spied the crate of hens, she rescued the situation.

‘Oh, I remember now. You are the man bringing the chickens for Papa. Please wait while I go and fetch him.’

By the time Captain Rourke appeared, I had calmed and was unfastening the ropes holding the crate of hens. Aided by the captain, I carried it to their rear garden. I could sense rather than see Catherine following along behind.

The twelve young hens made a merry racket once more at their rough handling but quietened again as I placed the crate on the ground outside the new coop.

The captain sprinkled some fresh seed on the ground inside and, as I loosened and raised the hatch, first one then the others left the crate and entered the pen, happily pecking at the bounty inside.

Whilst they were busily employed, I removed the crate and secured the coop’s door.

‘There you are, Captain Rourke. Twelve healthy young hens and all happily installed. I can see you have comfortable nooks for them all laid out with fresh straw so give them a day or two to settle, then you can expect them to start laying. Soon you will be having more eggs than you need.’

‘Thank you, young man.’ He smiled and handed across an envelope addressed to my father. ‘Here is the sum your father and I agreed on. I can’t readily recall your first name?’

‘Will. William, sire.’

‘Ah, of course, I remember now. Your father is rather famous around these parts for his poultry.’

‘Aye, Captain.’

‘As you can probably gather, Mr Darling, I am relatively new to this farming business. I sincerely hope I can manage to keep my new little clutch healthy and thriving.’

‘Oh, you will be quite all right, Captain. Hens are most hardy creatures.’

‘I am delighted to hear that. Ah, would you care for some refreshment before you start your return journey, Mr Darling?’

‘Thank you, Captain. I would be most grateful.’

The captain looked across to his daughter and she nodded, before turning and entering the house through their kitchen door. While she was away the captain plied me with questions on the care of his new hens.

Catherine reappeared with a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses which she placed on a small garden table. As she poured, I had time to admire her long, slender fingers and well-trimmed nails.

‘Thank you, Miss Rourke.’ Finding my confidence had returned, I tried to draw her into a conversation. ‘And are you enjoying living in Cavan, Miss Rourke?’

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Darling. It seems a lovely town and we are well settled already, although I would be content anywhere if my dear Papa was by my side.’ She smiled across at her father.

‘Of course. And have you had the chance to attend any social functions since your arrival?’

‘Yes, I have attended one soiree. A sweet lady from the church, a Mrs O’Brien, arranged the evening, allowing me to meet a few of the local young people.’

‘How welcoming of her. I know Mrs O’Brien and she is a sweet old lady. Miss Rourke, there is to be a ceili in three weeks’ time in the town square… or in our church hall if it decides to rain. Perhaps I shall see you there?’

Catherine glanced at her father and I saw him give a slight nod.

Turning her attention back to me, she answered, ‘Yes, Mr Darling, perhaps you might.’

Chapter 3

Ceilis were always cause for excitement. This particular March gathering was especially anticipated for both a dancing master and a caller had been engaged to help us Cavan folk learn some new dance steps. We all knew the old favourites like the Haymakers Jig and the Bonfire but notices had been posted up around town proclaiming two new dances to be taught during the evening.

Cavan had three reasonable pipers who always accompanied the fiddlers. The best of them was Alex Keelen’s Da. He could make his uilleann pipes sing and could always fit his tempo to the energy of the dancers.

Trying hard to hide my unease, I climbed up onto the family cart wearing a clean, white shirt under my heavy coat and waved goodbye to our parents as Hugh clicked his tongue to our horse. Our abduction was planned for this night, to take place at the conclusion of the ceili.

Our cart rolled along the road towards Cavan with Lizzie and my two younger brothers, also dressed in neat, clean clothes beneath their coats, sitting behind Hugh and myself. Their excited chatter failed to distract me and Hugh noticed my disquiet.

‘Got yourself a girl, have you Will?’

‘Ah, no, of course not, Hugh.’

‘Then why are you so jumpy?’

‘Ah, I don’t know. Maybe a bit excited, like the little uns back there.’

Hugh laughed and, thankfully, did not press me further.

We rode in comfortable silence for the rest of the way, half listening to the continual loud chirruping of Lizzie and my brothers. My mind was the exact opposite to Hugh’s outward calm. Butterflies churned in my stomach and my thoughts flitted from one outcome to another… How would Catherine respond? What would her father do? Did I have a chance of winning her? Where would we marry? Or would it all go horribly wrong and would I be arrested?

On reaching the town, I forced my mind back to the present. Leaving Hugh to care for the horse, I reminded Lizzie to stay in the square as I helped her down from the cart.

She nodded obediently before scampering away with Owen and George.

Wandering alone into the gathering, I first found Alex standing beside one of the many braziers scattered around, a tankard of ale in his hand and his foot tapping time to a lively jig.

He winked at me and punched my arm. ‘Will! All ready for your big adventure, are you, boyo?’

We had finalised our plan the week before, sitting around a table in Ballinagh, and it had all sounded so easy. But now that the actual night was upon me, I was fighting to control my nerves. Too many things could go wrong.

‘Has Bernie borrowed the horses?’

‘As far as I know he has.’

‘And the barn in Stradone, it’s empty?’

‘Aye. It’s all under control, Will. Stop your worrying. Go and fix yourself an ale and relax.’

John and Andrew found us a little while later. Bernie was the last to appear.

‘It’s all set, Will, my man,’ Bernie whispered. ‘The horses are saddled and ready to go as soon as the captain leaves for home. I can see your wearing your white shirt. Now all we have to do is settle in and enjoy the evening.’

‘Have you seen Catherine and her father?’ I asked John.

‘Aye. She’s over yonder, sitting near the refreshments and talking to old Mrs O’Sullivan.’

As my eyes followed the direction he pointed, the fiddler stopped playing and called for couples to line up ready to begin the Haymakers Jig. ‘Go on, Will, go over and ask her for a dance.’

‘No, not yet. I don’t want to appear too eager. Anyway, I’m too late.’ I jerked my thumb in her direction and we all watched as Hugh asked Catherine to dance. She smiled and offered him her hand.

‘Great! Your older brother’s beaten you to it!’

I smiled. It didn’t matter. There were plenty of dances to come. ‘I’ll go and find myself a drink.’

By the time I had worked up the courage to ask Catherine to dance, three more jigs had come and gone and two ales had washed down my throat. Now the dancing master was calling for volunteers to learn some new steps.

With the growing confidence that the ale had given me, I sauntered over to where Catherine was sitting. ‘Miss Rourke, may I learn this new dance with you?’

Her smiling eyes glanced up into mine. ‘Oh, hallo. You’re the man who delivered Papa’s hens.’

‘Aye, that’s right. I’m Will, Will Darling.’

‘Yes. Well, if you give me a moment to catch my breath, I will certainly dance with you. But I must warn you, I am awfully slow at learning anything new. I shall try and master this new dance, however I am exceedingly thirsty so do you think you could find me some lemonade before we begin?’

‘Surely. I shall return in a moment.’

The new dance was not complicated and soon, as we took our turn as leaders, we were whirling and skipping with the best of them. When the music finally died away, I led her back to a chair. Collapsing into it, she laughed and pretended exhaustion. I fetched more lemonade before sitting beside her.

‘That was such fun, Mr Darling.’

‘Aye, and it wasn’t that hard. You learned the steps very quickly.’

‘Ah, but I had an excellent partner.’

I smiled. ‘Then we must do it again.’

But I was not the only one wishing to dance with Miss Catherine Rourke. Besides Hugh, there were at least three other lads all waiting a turn.

Catherine smiled. ‘Perhaps later.’

After that she was whisked away from my side.

We did manage one more dance before her father came for her, declaring it was time to start for home. I bid her a good night and, when she had gone, readily found my mates.

‘Are we ready?’

Four heads nodded. They had been dancing and singing along with everyone else throughout the evening but they all had been waiting for this moment.

I was a little more relaxed now that the time had actually come. I was sure of my affection for Catherine and, on the strength of my downed ales, had half convinced myself that she liked me well enough and would offer no resistance to our plan.

When we judged that enough time had elapsed for the captain to have located his pony and trap and set off along the road towards his home, we five novice abductors left the ceili.

Bernie