“Nonsense, I distinctly remember she said all the cottages,” said Snow.
“Well, their days here are numbered,” I said, glaring at the disreputable place.
The next cottage was not as bad, although the tenant was still no great shakes as a householder. I knocked on the door and was surprised to hear a querulous voice telling me to go away. “It’s Irene Teasey, your landlady. I’d like to speak to you.”
“Who?” The voice was terror-stricken. “Who? Go away! For the love of God, go away!” And I caught fragments of a feverish recited prayer litany. “Go away!”
“Well!”
“No sale there, Mom. I’d better try next time,” said Simon. “They may think you’re Aunt Irene back to haunt them!”
“If I were, I would.”
The last cottage was more in the style of Ann Purdee’s, with two doors, but there was sufficient evidence of order to reassure me that Lark cottage would suffer no change of occupant. No one was at home.
“So much for making like a landlady,” said Snow. “C’mon, I’m hungry.”
“You just had breakfast.”
“If breakfast is over, can lunch be far away? I can’t wait to taste Mrs. Purdee’s bread!”
When we got into the house, Simon elected to see if Irish chopped meat (minced steak?) made suitable American burgers. Snow volunteered to do the french fries, and I could just see myself getting hog-fat and wondered if I cared.
Suddenly there was an unmerciful pounding at the front door, and a loud and abusive shouting for me to open the door.
“Now just a living minute!” Simon roared back. He pushed me out of the way and jerked open the front door. “Who the hell do you think you are using such language?”
Simon doesn’t look fourteen, and Teddie’s training had given him a good deal of self-assurance beyond that chronological age. He’s also a responsible young man, and considers himself the man of our house. He has never used vulgar language in my presence, though I’ve heard him curse in Teddie’s best manner when Sim thought I wasn’t within hearing distance.
“And who the hell might you be?” asked the big, flame-faced man belligerently poised on my threshold, sizing up my son.
“I’m Simon Stanford. What’s your business here?”
“I want to know who’s been frightening the hell out of my old mother. What kind of people are you to frighten an old woman with ghosts? What business have you here in the first place? Where’s the bitch who’s playing that fucking trick on my poor mammy?”
“No trick was played on your mother,” I said, coming to the door.
The man’s eyes bugged out at the sound of my voice, and he turned very pale. “Who are you?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper.
“I’m Irene Teasey.”
“You’re not!” He said it emphatically, denying my existence with a wild wave of his arms. He took two steps backward, stumbling against the potted plants as I stepped beside Simon.
“I most certainly am Irene Teasey. My great-aunt willed me this property, and I only called at your cottage to introduce myself. I’m not a ghost, and I don’t go about frightening people. Besides, Mrs. Purdee—”
“Her!” and the color flooded back into his now contemptuous face. “We’ve no dealings with the likes of them two.” He stepped forward now, leaning toward me with a confidential air. He reeked of beer and cigarette smoke. “You wouldn’t, a’ course, know about them yet. But you’d do well to turf her out of that cottage and put in decent folk. I was on to your great-auntie about it many’s the time. I don’t want me old mammy having to—”
“My great-aunt specifically requested me to keep the tenant of Swallow cottage,” I said, and had the satisfaction of knowing that he caught my emphasis.
He gave me a slit-eyed look. He had a mean mouth, I thought and tried not to glance at his hands. What I saw of his stained jacket, dirty sweater, and oily tie were sufficient character references.
“Truth be known, missus, your auntie wasn’t all that right in the head after her first attack. Aye, that’s the truth of the matter.” He jerked his chin to his chest two or three times to give weight to his statement. “I can see you’re a respectable lady and all, and you shouldn’t associate with that lot.”
“Mr…?”
“Slaney’s the name, missus. Tom Slaney.”
“Will you please explain to your mother, Mr. Slaney, how sorry I am that I caused her a moment’s alarm? I only wanted to get to know her.”
His eyes, which had been wandering over me, came back to my face, and his whole body was still a moment. Then he relaxed and began to smirk.
“Sure now, and you won’t be staying on any longer an’ you sell the place? With all them wanting it so?”
“Mr. Slaney, I’ve made no plans at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lunch is ready.”
He touched his forehead. “Sure ‘n I’m only home meself fer me dinner.”
There was more he wanted to add, but I closed the door firmly.
“He’s something, isn’t he, Mom? Did you hear his language?”
“All too clearly.” I gave my son a big hug, very grateful for his presence and his size. If I’d been there on my own, I doubt that I’d have had an easy time with Mr. Tom Slaney.
After lunch, we were poring over the map to see where we would wander that afternoon when the phone rang. It was Mr. Noonan.
“It’s kind of you to ring, and I’m glad you did, because something else has come up,” I said. After he’d confirmed having all the business correspondence and records, I went on. “That Brian Kelley character was back again, offering twenty-five thousand pounds for the entire place. He intimated that if I didn’t accept his offer…”
“You did mention that the will had not yet been probated and you couldn’t sell?”
“Yes, and he intimated that probate wouldn’t occur unless I did accept the offer.”
“Oh, did he so?”
“He did! Can he?”
“Ah, it is possible to delay probate,” he finally said, slowly “But two can play at that game, Mrs. Teasey. Not to worry.”
“With someone like Mr. Kelley, I do.”
He chuckled, but the sound wasn’t as reassuring as I’d have liked. Still, I did trust Michael Noonan.
“I’d also like to know who my tenants are, besides Ann Purdee. And she’s paid me the rent direct. What about the others?”
“Ah yes, Mrs. Teasey.”
“Oh dear.” His tone clearly said “problem.”
“Not to worry. Something can be done about them, you know.”
“I hope so. Two of the cottages look as if pigs live there.”
“Slaneys and Faheys.”
“I don’t know about Faheys, but I’ve met Tom Slaney.” I gave the solicitor the details.
“Good Lord!” And then Mr. Noonan began to laugh. He’d a very nice one, rich and deep. “To be truthful, Mrs. Teasey, you do sound extraordinarily like your great-aunt. You startled my receptionist out of her wits, so it’s easy to see the effect you’d have, knocking up Mrs. Slaney. The poor ol’ thing’s half-witted as it is.”
“You mean, my aunt tolerated him for her sake?”
“He made himself bloody scarce while your aunt was alive.”
“Well, can you contrive to make him bloody scarce again? What are the Faheys like?” I’d better get all the bad news at once.
“The trouble with them is more absence than presence. Your aunt had initiated proceedings to have the cottage returned to her, but she died and the matter was not pursued. You’ve met Ann Purdee?”
“Yes. Now, she’s charming. And she gave us the silver and the carburetor.”
“Silver? Silver? I don’t know anything about any silver, Mrs. Teasey.” That’s what he said, but the laugh in his voice indicated that that was only his official position.
“Slaney’s not very complimentary about ‘the likes of her.’”
“Slaney wouldn’t be,” and Noonan’s voice
turned hard. “Also, his mother is five months in arrears on the rent.”
“He looks the type to drink up every cent in the house.”
“You can do something about him. But I think we’d better arrange a meeting so that you understand the entire position.”
“Oh dear, problems!”
“Not really Mrs. Teasey. And the tenants of Lark are absolutely reliable. The Cuniffs, a mother and daughter. No worry there.”
“Two out of four isn’t a good batting average.
“I beg your pardon?”
“An Americanism, I’m sorry.”
“Would tomorrow, Friday, at half twelve be convenient?
“I’ve nothing planned. Yes.”
“Fair enough. See you then.”
Chapter 7
SINCE I’D BE SEEING Noonan tomorrow, we decided to leave Trinity College viewing until the next day and fare south by road now.
We were just piling into the Renault when a squat and stolid black Morris Minor pulled past the gate. So we piled out and intercepted a dumpy, short woman whose faded features nevertheless bore a familial resemblance to Imelda Maginnis. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember this one’s name.
“She’s the Alice, I’ll bet,” Snow told me sotto voce, and then assumed her little-girl-innocent pose.
Just as the aunt saw us, another woman came through the gate, turning around and craning her neck in such a way as to suggest that this was her first visit here, and something more.
“May I help you?” I inquired.
Both women stopped, mouths dropping open, and stared at me. I sighed. This was getting to be the stock reaction to me, or at least to the sound of my voice.
“You’re Michael’s child.”
“Grandchild. And you’d be my Aunt Alice.”
Thanks to Snow’s memory, the identification was accurate. Ignorance would have been tantamount to insult to one of Alice’s nature.
“Of course I am.” She didn’t introduce the other woman, who seemed accustomed to such treatment—or should I know who she was? Aunt Alice also didn’t offer to shake hands, or, fortunately, to kiss me. She stood on the pathway, we on the grass—a demilitarized zone, as Simon later styled it.
“We were just about to leave …”
“Dublin?” Hope livened Great-aunt Alice’s faded features.
“No,” said Snow, all surprise. “Sightseeing.”
Aunt Alice’s lips pursed. “We had expected that you would get in touch with us.”
“Oh?”
“We didn’t know your address, and there are so many Hegartys in the phone book,” said my clever daughter.
That was not quite enough justification to suit Aunt Alice’s sense of self-consequence. That anyone should fail to know the address of chief relatives was unthinkable.
“We [there was never a more regal pronoun] have arranged a family gathering on Sunday, at teatime, so that you can meet with your cousins and get proper advice.”
I couldn’t resist the temptation. “Proper advice on what?”
“Why, the arrangements that must be made for this!” She gestured with contempt at the house and land. “It wouldn’t do to leave the house unoccupied while probate is pending. Tinkers! I think it’s possible that Jimmy and Maeve here might move in. They need a large house.” So that was the unidentified quality to Mouse-face’s look: seeing if she liked the house her mother had promised her.
Snow was having some sort of spasm beside me. I think Simon had kicked her.
“And once those … those … persons are turfed out of the cottages, I don’t doubt but what you’d get a decent return from the properties instead of the pittance that satisfied Irene. Certainly you could realize enough to pay the rates until you can sell up.”
“Sell up?”
“Well, you’ll have to sell up to pay the death duties.” Then my dear great-aunt stopped and stared hard at me. “I suppose that you could pay that out-of-pocket and never miss it.”
“No, I couldn’t pay those death duties out-of-pocket and not miss it. I don’t know why you should think all Americans have gold mines.”
“Michael did very well in America. Everyone knows that.”
“My grandfather’s business is none of mine.”
She sniffed and crossed her hands—oh dear, they were paws—at her waist, as if girding her loins for another attack.
“You’d be well advised to listen to what the men have to say to you on Sunday. Property values being what they are, you’d do well to take the first decent offer you get.”
“I have to wait until probate …”
“So you do, but if, for instance, Jimmy made you an offer on the place, it being in the family and all, the details could be worked out to everyone’s satisfaction.”
The last person I’d sell my house to was vacant-eyed mousy Maeve.
“So far, my solicitor has been quite capable of advising me, though you’re very kind.”
“That young man is too bold by half,” said my great-aunt, “so firmly that I suspected she’d run up against Michael Noonan’s unrufflable intelligence already. “These are your children?” she continued.
No one else’s.”
She snorted at my flippancy as I performed the introductions. She gave another snort but made no attempt to introduce Maeve properly.
“And you’ll need someone very keen to break that ridiculous Brandel trust! Well, you’re to be collected Sunday afternoon. Be sure you’re ready at half four sharp.”
She wheeled, made a peremptory gesture to the shadow Maeve, and was gone before I could get breath enough to say that I found I had other arrangements for Sunday. And what was the Brandel trust anyway, that I should break it? I’d forgotten to ask Michael. Oh, well, I was seeing that bold young man tomorrow.
“Wow!” was Simon’s heartfelt response. “With relatives like that, who needs enemies?”
“That poor Maeve,” said Snow.
“Poor Maeve nothing!” replied Simon. “She’s panting to get into our house.”
“Well, she won’t!” I said definitively.
A car had impeded our progress by the time we got as far as the turn into the … my lane. And the car was an Austin, which was hurriedly braked, as much to avoid ramming us as because the driver was in a flap to stop us.
“Oh, wait, please wait!” the woman cried, and raced around her car to me. “Please, I know my sister-in-law was just here. I saw her car in the lane and pulled out of sight till she’d gone. I’m Winnie Teasey, your uncle Richard’s widow. And please, please, do say you’ll come Sunday? I’d be glad to collect you. No, Bob is to do that. I’ve wanted so to meet you. You are Irene Stanford, aren’t you?” And suddenly the flustered woman was blushing with additional confusion. There was something very appealing and sweet about her disorganization. One had the urge to reassure her at all costs.
“Yes, I’m Irene, and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
“Oh, Alice has been that way.” Her face contorted with distress. “I knew it. You see, she’d been certain that it would all come to her, being the oldest surviving sister like, and she’d already decided that Maeve and Jimmy must have the Lodge, and Tom and Michael would have the row cottages, and Betty the big end one. Oh dear, I probably shouldn’t have said that, but you’d find out soon enough anyhow. But I mean, Alice has very good qualities … she’s a pillar of the church, it’s just that tact was never her long suit, and she gives such a different impression than she should.” She paused long enough to take a breath, and seemed to notice Snow beside me for the first time. Then Simon.
“Are you Sara? And that must be Simon. How clever of you to have twins. And how charming you are! And only fourteen? My, whatever do you feed your children to make them so big? Now please don’t let Alice put you off coming this Sunday. There are so many of us who want to make your acquaintance that you can simply ignore her and talk to us. And Tom—that’s Alice’s husband—doesn’t let her run on so when he’s about.
But we all want to meet Michael’s children. Not that I knew Michael, you understand …”
In a way, Winnie was as overwhelming as her sister-in-law.
“Michael’d left before Beebee—that’s what Richard was called—married me.”
“I’ll be truthful, Aunt Winnie, I never heard anything about my Irish relatives, except that I had some, until Aunt Irene left me her queendom.”
Winnie’s still pretty face illuminated in a rather astonishing way, showing us that she must have been a lovely young woman.
“Irene’s queendom!” Tears filled her eyes. “She was such a good person. So understanding of people’s problems. And I told them that Irene was quite right in the head when she made you her heiress, for I can just imagine what would have happened had she chosen any one of us. I mean to say, it would have been just desperate. If only Beebee had been alive!” She sighed. “Oh dear, there I go on, but I did try to get out early before Alice was likely to come.”
“Auntie Imelda beat Auntie Alice,” said Snow in a sweet voice that dripped acid.
Winnie’s mouth opened in an “oh” of surprise. “Imelda’s been here?”
“Between you and me, Aunt Winnie,” my daughter went on before I could answer, “there’s not much to choose between ‘em.”
“Oh, there is, there is!” Winnie was plainly upset that both sisters-in-law had had the jump on her. “Oh dear, oh dear, and really they’re not like that.”
“Money’s involved,” remarked Snow in a knowing tone.
“Oh, and you couldn’t be more right. How clever you are. Oh, but please do come. I’ve a granddaughter, just your age, not nearly as pretty, and a grandson, my Betty’s oldest, who’s Simon’s age. I suppose you’re wild about motorbikes too?”
She couldn’t have uttered wiser words to change Simon’s mind about going to the tea.
“And don’t ever tell Alice’s Betty, but her second boy has a motorbike. He hides it in a friend’s shed.” Aunt Winnie said this as if she were certain Alice’s ears were still tuned to the happenings on Swann’s Lane. “So please do come.”
“We’ll come, Aunt Winnie. I promise.”
Her relief was so intense that tears started in her eyes again. “Oh, you are good. Just like dear Irene. I miss her so much. Now I must run. I’ve these things to give Ann for the children. Such darlings!”
The Kilternan Legacy Page 10