Page 33 of The Secret Bookshop in Ireland

‘No, but we will go and see it now that you’ve mentioned it,’ Maureen said, looking thoughtful.

Róisín nodded and then left to attend to a couple who had just arrived, while Maureen looked at Ciara.

‘The graveyard,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t we think of going there?’

‘Maybe because we find graveyards sad?’ Ciara suggested.

‘Of course we do, but we have to go and find Martha’s grave,’ Maureen said. ‘Then we’ll at least have her date of birth. Other family members must be buried there too.’

Ciara nodded. ‘Yes, that’s true. So we’ll go to the graveyard when we get back after lunch,’ she said as she spotted Róisín weaving her way towards them with their food. ‘Can’t wait to taste that burger.’

They thoroughly enjoyed the excellent burgers and chips, washed down with frothy Guinness. Then they had coffee and shared a slice of chocolate cake while making plans for the rest of the afternoon. They decided to visit Liz in the craft shop and then they’d go down to Wicklow town to look at cooking utensils and other items to furnish the flat over the bookshop.

While they walked down the street together to find Liz’s shop, Ciara mulled over the events of the day. She felt as if she was on a merry-go-round and she wished it would stop and she could go back to her normal life, before all this happened. But Maureen had the bit between her teeth and there would be no stopping her until everything was revealed. Would they find another piece of this weird jigsaw in the graveyard?

Ciara had been thinking about her own plans after reading that letter. And now she knew exactly what she was going to do. It felt right, as if an invisible hand was pushing her forward into a new life, a whole new adventure.

SIXTEEN

They arrived at the quaint little cottage that housed the craft shop twenty minutes later. There was a striped awning over the door that was painted sage green and the sign over the shop window said, WICKLOW ARTS AND CRAFTS. Tiny bells tinkled as they opened the door. Ciara found Liz at the counter with a customer trying to decide which handmade wall hanging she should buy.

Liz smiled at them. ‘Hi there. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

Ciara smiled back and wandered around the little shop while she waited. There was a display of tie-dyed T-shirts on a counter and she went to examine them while Maureen admired the small watercolours on the walls. There were also some lovely wooden bowls, hand-printed silk scarves, cotton bucket hats, hand-knitted socks and stacks of rugs in beautiful colours.

‘What a lovely little shop,’ Maureen said when the customer had left with her parcel and Liz was free to talk to them.

‘How much are the T-shirts?’ Ciara asked, holding one with a red-and-blue pattern. ‘I love this one.’

‘They’re fifteen euros,’ Liz replied. ‘But I can make you a special deal if you like.’

‘Oh no, that’s very reasonable,’ Ciara said. ‘I’ll take this one. I love the way the colours blend.’

‘And I’d love this little watercolour,’ Maureen said, pointing at a painting of a ruined house overgrown with jasmine. ‘Did Oisín paint this one?’

‘Yes.’ Liz took the little painting off the hook. ‘It’s the wreck of a house that belonged to our great-uncle. He was our grandfather’s brother, actually. The house was quite big but he left it when he was a young man about eighty years ago. The house fell into disrepair and once the roof blew off, it just kind of crumbled. Could have been a lovely place to live if it had been looked after.’

‘That’s so sad,’ Maureen said. ‘Why did he have to leave his house?’

‘Not only his house, he had to leave the country,’ Liz said. ‘I think he went to England. He was involved in some scandal back in his youth.’

‘A black sheep, in other words,’ Maureen suggested. ‘Lots of families have them.’

‘Yes, and he was the blackest of them all, apparently,’ Liz said. ‘Uncle Jarlath became a kind of legend in a bad way. We were all told not to mention his name, which made him even more interesting, really.’

‘Of course,’ Ciara said, smiling. ‘The forbidden is always very exciting.’

Liz nodded. ‘Yes, bad boy Uncle Jarlath was the mystery we all wanted to solve. What did he do that was so bad that he had to leave the country? That’s what we all wanted to know.’

‘Did you find out what it was?’ Maureen asked.

Liz nodded while she folded the T-shirt Ciara wanted to buy. ‘Yes. He stole money and jewellery from an old woman and was found guilty. He managed to escape from custody before he went to jail, then disappeared and was never heard of again.’

‘How awful for his family.’ Maureen studied the watercolour. ‘This house must have been lovely once. Just look at those arched windows with the carved figures above each one. Where is this place?’

‘Just outside Enniskerry,’ Liz replied, holding out her hand. ‘I’ll wrap that up for you. Is it a gift?’

‘No, it’s for me,’ Maureen said and handed Liz the watercolour. ‘Just outside Enniskerry? On what road?’