The Hamiltons of Ballydown by Anne Doughty Page B

hill’s as bad as I’ve known it, but they’re safe home maybe an hour ago,’
    ‘A good night to be indoors,’ said Hugh agreeably, as Michael walked with them across the well-swept yard to the snowy road beyond.
    ‘Da, Da.’
    John turned away to stare up the hill. Against the smooth dim surface a small figure raced headlong toward him, tripping and recovering itself by turns.
    ‘Sarah, what are ye doin’ out? What’s wrong at all?’
    ‘Ma’s sick. She was lying on the floor,’ she gasped, leaning against the gate for support. ‘We have to get the doctor.’
    John stared at her, his eyes large in the light of Michael’s lantern. Distress written all over her, her chest heaving, her cape was covered in snow where she’d fallen in her haste to get help once Hannah let her go.
    ‘It’ll be quicker to ride the mare,’ Hugh said. ‘Can you lend me a saddle, Michael, and get me up on her?’ he said urgently. ‘You go up home, John. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
    He urged John away with a gesture as Michael threw a saddle over the mare’s back and bent to tighten the girths.
     
    Sarah followed John upstairs and saw him look at her mother’s inert figure. When she heard him speak to Hannah, his voice breaking with distress, she slipped downstairs and out into the night. Even if the doctor was in his dispensary and even if he came on his horse right away, she didn’t think he’d be much use. It was fully dark now and the wind was getting up, blowing fallen snow from the hedgerows in her face. It didn’t matter about the snow. It didn’t matter how many times she fell over, she would just keep going till she got there. The only person who might be any good was Elizabeth and she must fetch her.

CHAPTER SIX
    Rose felt cold. Icy cold. Even in the barn where she slept curled in a blanket in the hay it was cold, but outside it was even colder.
    When she heard her mother call, she ran across the farmyard to the tall, whitewashed pillars that supported the gate into the Ross’s farm. Ma was standing there with her friend Emily, and Emily’s husband, Walter. They were all looking up the road from Ramelton and waiting, the January sky a monotonous grey, the wind catching at Emily’s wispy hair.
    Back in the barn, she’d been holding the sheepdog pups in her arms, small helpless creatures, their eyes not yet open, but their bodies fat and warm, well-fed and well-licked by their mother, a bright-eyed border collie, Walter’s best servant when he was working with the sheep. She longed to feel their warmth again.
    ‘Look, Rose, they’re coming.’
    Rose stared into the distance and listened.The tramping feet made a strange, rhythmic roar. As the straggling procession of figures drew closer she began to recognise faces. Friends and neighbours from Ardtur, children she’d been at school with before Adair turned them out of their home. She waved at Owen Friel and Danny Lawn who were walking side-by-side carrying a big bundle between them. As they passed, she saw it was a child, all hopped up in an old cloak. It was crying, but it made no sound. The rhythmic roar grew louder.
    ‘Come, we’ll go part of the way with them,’ Hannah said to Rose, taking her by the hand. ‘We’ll never lay eyes on them again,’ she added, turning to Emily, a bent old woman who leant wearily against one of the great white pillars with their conical tops. There was a stone sticking out of each pointed top to stop the fairies dancing on them and bringing bad luck to the house.
    Walter stood under the other pillar. He didn’t believe in fairies. He read to them every night from his Bible. Some nights he read from King James’s Bible, some nights from the Gaelic Bible Ma gave him when they’d come to shelter in his barn. She could understand both. What she couldn’t understand was how Walter came to have King James’s Bible in the first place.
    Even more puzzling now was the roar these people were making. They didn’t look as