by John Coyne
"Yes?" Barbara asked. After the first shock she had realized that they were boys, not men-but older than Scotty, stronger. "Why are you in my house?" she demanded, hoping her nervousness didn't show; knowing that it did. "Mrs. Gardiner?" Nick came forward. He had Valerie's clothes in his hands. "Who are you?" Barbara asked sharply. "Well, we're on the football team with Scott, and..." Nick smiled and, wordlessly, held out Valerie's clothes. Barbara recognized Valerie's brown leather vest at once. "What," she demanded, "is going on here? What are you boys doing with those things?" "Is Scott here, Mrs. Gardiner?" Nick said politely, as if the answer were a secret he thought it best to keep from her. "What's wrong? Why do you want to see my son?" She raised her voice, tried to sound parental. "Well, actually, it's Scott I'd like to talk to," Nick stalled. He hadn't expected to meet the preppie's mother. She was ruining everything. "No, you can talk to me." Barbara folded her arms, as if in a show of defiance. Borgus shrugged, glanced at Simpson, who couldn't think of anything to say. Still Scott did not appear. "I think you'd better leave;" Barbara said next, advancing on them as if to push them physically from the kitchen. "Would you give him these?" Barbara was shaking her head. "Why? What are they?" She did not let on that she recognized the clothes. "Coach Tagariello asked us to go through Scott's football locker, you know, to get his uniform from last week's game, and we found these." From the bottom of the pile Nick produced Valerie's bra, let it dangle from his finger by a strap. He caught the look of shock in Barbara's eyes, and realized at once that this was better than seeing Scott. "I don't know anything about these clothes," Barbara began to protest. "I suggest that you take them back where you found them." Her face was flushed. She could feel the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks. Still, she stood her ground. She would not be intimidated by teenage boys. "Well, you know, we thought we'd do Scott a favor, getting these out of his locker before Coach found them." Borgus could not contain himself. The thought of the preppie trying to explain himself broke him up. "Besides, we thought maybe Scott needed his bra." At that, Simpson burst out laughing and Borgus joined him but kept watching Barbara to see how she would take it. "Get out of my house," she ordered. "Just tell Scott we brought him a change of clothes," Borgus answered, dropping the small bundle on the kitchen table. Then he paused, his eyes scanning her body, lingering on the loosely gathered neckline of her robe. "I'll have you arrested," Barbara said calmly. "I'll telephone the security guard." "Mrs. Scotty, we ain't done nothing." He kept grinning. "We ain't even armed." He gestured, opening his arms to her. "See?" Barbara moved toward the phone, then turned back again as she heard the refrigerator door open. Simpson was going through the shelves, moving things around as if he was looking for something in particular. "Stop that!" Barbara ordered, automatically taking a step toward him. She realized that the refrigerator was not important. She had to phone Security. She turned back toward the phone, but now Borgus stood behind her, the receiver in his hand. "Just calling my mom," he said. "I worry about her when she's home alone." Then he ripped the receiver from the wall. He and Barbara stood face to face, eyeing each other warily. If she could just reach the hall, Barbara thought, she could run up to her room and use the phone there. Her eyes had darted in that direction, measuring the distance, when, smiling, Borgus moved to block the exit. The screen door was unguarded, Barbara knew. She backed up, trying not to signal her intention this time, when Simpson shouted from behind her. "Beer!" Tossing a bottle over her head to Borgus, he lifted the rest of the six-pack out of the refrigerator and headed for the door. "Come on, Nick," he said. "Another minute, she's going to get crazy on you." Borgus saluted Simpson mockingly, headed for the door agreeably, flicking Barbara's breast with two fingers as he passed. Then the two boys went out, laughing, into the dark grounds of Ballycastle. "Bastards," Barbara whispered. She would've liked to call Security anyway, to get Ted Ward to throw both of them off the estate, but she realized it would just cause Scotty more trouble. She went back to the pile of clothes, picked them up and, out of habit, folded the jeans and the leather vest neatly. The bra wasn't in the pile, she realized; the boys must've kept it. Disgusting. But was it any more disgusting, she found herself thinking, than Scotty stashing it in his locker? Immediately she dismissed the thought. There was no reason to believe those boys. They could have said anything to her; made up any story about Scott. She went to the back door and stared out through the screen, listening. At night she was more aware of the woods, of the insect life that seemed to make the darkness come alive with noise. She lifted her head, poised herself to call again for Scotty, but realized that they might still be out there, watching her from the shadows beyond the arc of flood light, and immediately she stepped back inside and locked the kitchen door. Well, Scotty would just have to knock if he wanted to get inside tonight. She walked back to the table and almost compulsively felt the clothes, fingered the material, as if it would give her some clue to where they might have come from. The boys would have to have stolen them from Valerie, or...Oh, nod she realized, they had taken them off the poor child. She spun around, tried to focus on what she ought to do. Valerie was out there somewhere. They had stripped her, taken her clothes and left her. Barbara rushed to the door and, unlocking it, ran outside to the edge of the white birch woods. She called Scott's name, called Valerie. These children were out of control and somehow, she knew, they were after Scotty.
The branches tore at Valerie as she ran all-out toward the castle. Again and again she tripped on branches and went sprawling, scraping her knees and palms, but she would scramble up and keep running, too frightened to stop, to listen for the sound of someone behind her. She reached the creek at the bottom of the hill, jumped it easily and sprinted across the lower lawn between the castle itself and the horse barns, running now in moonlight. At that moment Conor came out of the mansion carrying his dinner basket, the evening meal. He saw the girl on the lawn before him, the bright October moon, low on the horizon, silhouetting her as she ran. "Oh, Mother of God," he whispered and blessed himself. The sight of her, the cool, clear evening. He could hear again the voice of Himself, telling Conor to fetch the girl back to him. "Maeve, wait!" The old man ran forward a few steps, waving and calling out. "Maeve Donnellan, my dear, we won't hurt you." But the woman wouldn't heed him and so, dropping the dinner bucket, he ran after her. Valerie never heard Conor, never saw him. Her eyes were fixed on the guest house, on its bright display of lighted windows. She ran off the lawn and into the woods, following the old, worn path that looped down the slight slope to the house. It was there that Conor caught her. "Now, Maeve, we won't be hurting you." Valerie heard his voice but didn't recognize it. A hand on her arm could only be one person and she wheeled around and shoved, determined not to be captured again so close to home. Weak and breathless from the chase, Conor went down under Valerie's assault. He hit the ground, but before she could turn and run, he grabbed hold of her ankles and pulled the naked girl into his arms, trying as he did to soothe her. "Aah, Maeve, there's nothing to wont' about. It's just a bit of fun. Now don't be fretting about your immortal soul. There'll be absolution for you in the morning. Himself has arranged it." The old man's grip was as strong as his anvil; Valerie couldn't break free, no matter how she squirmed and kicked. Crying with frustration, she took a deep breath and screamed. Scott was walling up from the river when he heard her. Conor regained his feet and pulled her up beside him, whispering obscenely in her ear. "Come on now, lass, we'll have a fine time, and Himself will give you a nice present for your troubles." Valerie understood nothing of what he was saying. All she knew, at that moment, was the feel of his rough arms on her bare skin, the smell of his filthy body and old clothes, and she started swinging at him, hitting at his head with both arms and crying to be let go. Barbara heard her. She had heard the first cry only faintly and thought it might be Scotty, fighting with the two football players in the dark. She came through the screen door on the run and spotted Scott, racing up the slope and into the birch trees. Scott pulled the old man o
ff Valerie, wrestling him to the ground and pinning him with the weight of his body. It was only then that he looked clearly at Valerie standing shivering on the path, clothed only in panties, sneakers and white socks. "Val," he asked innocently, bewildered by the sight of her. "What happened to your clothes?" Valerie was hysterical, trying to speak and choking on her breath. She was saved by Barbara who burst out from the trees and ran straight to them. Embracing Valerie with both arms, she pulled the child's head down against her shoulder, let her bury her face in the warmth of her terry cloth bathrobe. Over Valerie's shoulder, Barbara spoke quickly to her son. "I'll go telephone for Security. Can you hold him that long?" They both looked at the old man, lying quietly under Scott's body. "Yeah, I'm okay. I don't think Conor would hurt me. But what's going on here?" "I have no idea, Scott. But we'll find out. Give us a few minutes to get downhill. I don't want this girl frightened again. All right, Valerie darling, come along." She turned the sobbing girl and led her along the path to the guest house. Scott waited until he heard the screen door slam before he got up and helped Conor to his feet. "Thank you, Liam," Conor said, fixing himself, straightening out his work trousers. He seemed to have forgotten what had just transpired. "Conor, what was going on?" Scott asked, ignoring Conor's greeting. "What's that, Liam?" "Why were you fighting with Valerie? Where are her clothes?" The old man looked confused. "Who would that be, then?" he asked, fidgeting nervously. "Hey, Conor!" Scott touched him lightly, reassuringly, on the shoulder. He realized then that the old man didn't understand him. "Conor, who was that girl you were chasing?" "Aah, that's Maeve Donnellan. She ran away from Himself and he sent me to fetch her back. She's only seventeen, you know, and she hasn't the good sense God gave her." He was grinning, displaying his mucky teeth in the moonlight. "What are you talking about?" Scott asked, bewildered. "Aah, don't be pretending, Liam. You know well enough, as well as me." "Liam?" Scott laughed nervously. The old man was crazy. Or maybe he thought Scott was so dumb, anyone could put one over on him. Well, he'd show him you couldn't. "You know I'm not Liam," he answered back, his voice rising. "Conor, I know you know who I am. Conor's head jerked, as if he were snapping out of a trance. "Oh, Scotty, what is it, lad?" He looked around, confused by where he was. Where was his dinner pail? She'd be looking for it. "Hey, Conor, are you okay?" "I'm fine. Now, why wouldn't I be all right?" He turned away, to walk back toward the castle. He seemed to be regaining strength, pulling himself back together. "Conor, who's Maeve Donnellan?" "Maeve Donnellan? Now what would you be wanting to know that for?" Conor paused on the path to look back at Scott. "Well, you were shouting her name and everything. You called my friend Valerie by her name. I mean, does she work at the castle or something?" "Maeve Donnellan is dead, lad. She has been dead now for forty years." He jerked his head toward the ridge beyond the castle. "She's buried up there with all the others-Carmel Burke and Maureen Leahy and that little lass from Tobermoe, Anne Kilferick. They're all buried there, lad." His voice choked up at the end, as if he were in tears, and Scott peered at him more closely in the dark. "But what did they die of, Conor?" The old man walked on as if he hadn't heard. "Was it the Nuckelavees?" Scott asked, already feeling his fear returning. Conor nodded. "Aah, the Nuckelavees," he whispered, then walked on slowly, fatigued by the long night, his run through the birch wood, by memories of the terrible past when Himself was still alive and the servants' hall was filled with girls just off the boat from home, all of them fresh as spring flowers, spirited as colts, and virgins all. Virgins all.
"Who's Maeve Donnellan?" Valerie asked. She was sitting crosslegged on the sofa, wearing her jeans and an old sweatshirt of Scott's with "Spencertown Academy" stenciled across the chest. With both hands she cradled a red Coca-Cola can. Barbara looked across at her and then at Derek Brennan, who stood before the fire. After Barbara called Security, Ted Ward called him, and he had just arrived. He hadn't yet said a word, only warmed his hands as he listened to the long account of the evening. Now, under Barbara's gaze, he had to answer Valerie. "Maeve Donnellan is a young woman who once worked here," he said. "There's a tombstone over her grave up at Steepletop. Conor, it seems, has gone senile. He must have thought you were Maeve." "Was it Conor who untied you up in the graveyard?" Barbara asked. Valerie shook her head. "It was the Black Annis." She glanced at Scott. "You know, that woman we saw in the woods on the south drive, the one you said looked like that Hobgoblin character." "Our shoppingbag woman," Barbara said softly. She was watching Derek, saw how he suddenly moved away from the fireplace and took a chair. "I'll have to talk to Ted about her again," he said quickly. Barbara knew he was lying, but she kept still. "And Conor was calling me Liam," Scott added. "Who's Liam?" That one Barbara herself could answer. "There's a Liam MacMathuna on the employee rolls. He worked here with Conor during Fergus's days on the estate." Derek left his chair and resumed his place at the fire. "MacMathuna was the manager of the farm, Scott, for almost twenty years. He retired and went home to Ireland. I believe he's dead." He took the poker and stirred up the logs, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. "What we have here is the mental decline of an old man. For your sake, Valerie, I'm sorry I never noticed till now. I'm afraid I've been concentrating on Foundation programs and not paying much attention to the staff. We'll just have to do something with Conor-care for him more." "But suppose he goes after Valerie again?" Scott asked. "Thinking that she's Maeve, I mean." "Oh, I don't think you have to worry about that, Valerie." He smiled reassuringly. "I'd suggest that we keep this in the family. Conor's just an old man. He won't hurt you. There's no need to take this up with anyone else, is there?" "Wait, Derek." Barbara jumped in before Valerie could agree. "Conor would never have gone after Valerie if those boys hadn't abducted her first. We have to do something about that." "Valerie, what do you think we should do?" Derek appealed to her directly. "Do you want me to call the police about them?" She shrugged. "I don't know." She glanced at Scott as if for help, then said softly, unevenly, "They didn't actually hurt me or anything." "But, Valerie, they did!" Barbara insisted, incredulous at Valerie's hesitation. "Things like that happen at school sometimes, Mrs. Gardiner," Valerie said. "You know, Scott getting his locker painted and having the kids jump him in Times Square. There's always something like that going on." "What do you mean, Valerie? Did somebody attack Scott at school?" Scott looked at her nervously, and she understood. "Well, we can talk about that later. What happened to Valerie was more serious." "Barbara, this isn't Spencertown Academy," Derek said quietly. "Oh, come on, Derek, we're not talking about blue blazers versus denim jackets. This was a criminal offense. If Valerie won't press charges, I will." "Please, Mrs. Gardiner, I'll only get into trouble at school." Her eyes had widened in fear at the thought of what Borgus's friends would do if she got him in trouble. "Then I'll talk to your principal about what happened in Times Square. And about them stealing Scotty's car. They're probably still joyriding around, and God knows when we'll see it again. I think there are enough grounds for complaint." "I told Mr. Carpenter I fell down, and that's how I got hurt," Scott reminded her. "He'll think I'm a liar if you tell him differently." "And Nick will leave the car in the school lot tomorrow morning," Valerie added. "I'm sure of it. The tank will be empty, that's all." "Oh, God, I don't believe this!" Barbara dropped back into the leather chair. "Do you kids think you're doing the right thing, standing up for each other? Well, who's standing up for you, Scott? And you, Valerie? You could have been raped by one of those two boys. They certainly looked capable of it" "Barbara, I'll talk to Joe Carpenter," Derek joined in, being helpful, "and I'll make a complaint about those kids being on Ballycastle after closing. How did you get inside anyhow, Valerie? Weren't you stopped at the front gate?" "No, Nick just raced through. The gate was open." "Okay, I'll talk to Ted and Lou about that." "Mrs. Gardiner?" Valerie spoke softly. "Yes, dear, what?" Barbara smiled at the girl. "Do you think I can go home? It's getting late, and I haven't had supper." "Of course, Valerie, I'm sorry." Barbara was out of the chair at once, going into
action. "I'll take Valerie home," Derek offered. "Scotty, do you want to come along?" "No, I don't want Scotty going out again tonight" Barbara answered sharply. They all stood for a moment, looking at each other. Then into the silence Valerie said, "Scott? Can I ask you something-you know, privately?" She was blushing with embarrassment, but Barbara admired her determination. "Scotty, why don't you and Valerie go into the kitchen," she suggested. "I have something I'd like to say in private, too." She kept smiling as they left the living room, then turned at once to Derek. "All right. Enough of this bull. Who is this crazy woman?" "Maeve Donnellan," he admitted at once. "No, the woman in the woods. This alleged shoppingbag lady." "Maeve Donnellan," he repeated. "But she's dead. I saw her tombstone." Derek shook his head. "She's alive. She lives at Ballycastle, in that small cabin back in the forest, the section beyond the river that's closed off to the public. She's sixty-some years old and completely out of her mind."