The Kilternan Legacy

by Anne McCaffrey

  Simon said he’d get back before Ann had a stroke.

  “Tell her I’ll look in as soon as I can,” Michael told him. “I can keep her name out of it.” But he was thoughtful after Simon left, and spent a long time stirring the sugar into his coffee. “You know, closing off the lane is a very good idea right now. Not that Paddy has a chance of discovering Ann here in the south. She used to live in Santry.”

  “But what good would it do him to find her?”

  Shay and Michael exchanged looks. “He is legally her husband. He could force his way in on her.”

  “How?”

  “He’s got the law on his side.”

  “Well, then, it’s a damned foolish law.” I stared at them. “You mean, she has no protection from him? That he can just walk back in on her?” I was sputtering with indignation. “Why, that’s outrageous. Why, in the States, a woman has some protection …”

  “I told you things were different here in Ireland,” Shay began.

  “Different? They’re archaic. Why, it’s inhuman, it’s—” I broke off because they were looking at me with the oddest expressions. “Well, what’s the matter with you two grinning apes?”

  “You sound exactly like your Aunt Irene,” said Michael mildly. “She felt the same way, and so, I’ll add, do I.”

  “Myself as well,” said Shay.

  “Then what are you going to do about it?”

  Michael was looking at Shay rather strangely.

  “Well?” I demanded again, because I was very, very upset. Bad as Teddie had been, I’d had sure legal redress once I’d made the decision to terminate the marriage. It hadn’t ever really occurred to me how extremely fortunate I was.

  “I’m doing what I can right now,” said Michael. “Admittedly, it’s only one isolated incident.”

  “What about making new laws? You’re a solicitor. Or do barristers do that here in Ireland?”

  “No, T.D.s—senators you’d call ‘em.”

  “And why don’t they?”

  “It’s not as easy as all that. You’re in Ireland now, you know.”

  “Too well I know, and I thank my lucky stars that I can leave it.”

  “Now, now, Rene”—Shay’s diffidence changed to alarm—“this is all very upsetting—”

  “Wow! Understatement of the year!”

  “Rene, did you warn Sally, and Mary Cuniff?” asked Michael, taking firm command of the situation.

  I took his unspoken reprimand, because this wasn’t the time to belabor the point, however morally unfair the situation was.

  “They’re both upset, but it’s all for Ann’s sake. Although I don’t see that Sally’s in a much better position. Or did the guy ever own up to paternity?”

  Michael Noonan dropped his coffee cup. Had it been deliberate? He started making all the right noises, so I had to make light of the matter as I mopped it up.

  Another siren heralded the arrival of some new official vehicle, and that gave Shay and Michael the excuse to leave. The next thing I knew, George Boardman was charging in, terribly upset, his silvery hair blown all over his face.

  “Mary called me. What’s this about old Mrs. Slaney being killed? And your finding her?”

  At least my fable was becoming accepted as fact.

  I gave George reassurances and a cup of coffee, and by the time he’d smoothed his wind-blown hair down, the front doorbell gave one of its asthmatic wheezes. The caller was the priest.

  “Oh, but I’ve been here some little time now,” he told me in a gentle voice, his eyes blinking so constantly that I wondered if he suffered from nerves or just an eye ailment. He started asking about requiem Masses. Fortunately, George not only knew Father O’Rourke but knew what to say about Masses, and the dear blinking Father went off in a gentle daze.

  The Inspector arrived before Shay or Michael had a chance to warn me he was coming. They followed close behind, but even if I hadn’t three large male friends, and one of them a solicitor, I don’t think I would have regarded this necessary formality with any dread—once it was over. The Inspector couldn’t have been more courteous, and, after all, the facts, barring my fable, were so straightforward that the questioning didn’t amount to much. He did say that he’d have to be back in the evening to take statements from Mrs. Cuniff and any of the other tenants who might have noticed something out of the ordinary. And he was gone.

  “There’s not much news, Rene,” Michael said, “in an old woman found dead in her own home, not with Belfast claiming headlines and everyone’s sympathy. However, I’ll slip up and have a word with Ann Purdee.” And he was away.

  “Michael’s right, you know,” George said, combing his hair again with his fingers. “But I think I’ll just collect Mary from the Montrose and give her some moral support. ‘Bye now, and God bless.”

  I was getting messages rather loud and clear.

  “I wonder, should I offer him Mrs. Slaney’s cottage instead of Fahey’s? Of course, maybe he’s superstitious or something …” Then I caught Shay’s expression. “Yes, I guess it isn’t the time to make such a suggestion, is it?”

  “My dear Rene, you amaze me more and more.”

  “Why? He certainly wasn’t breaking his neck for worry over me. Though now I understand why an architect would be willing to live in a three-room cottage not big enough to house a drawing board. And Kieron Thornton’s mad-crazy for Ann Purdee, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Sally Hanahoe is still wildly in love with the guy what done her wrong.”

  “Sally who?”

  “Sally Hanahoe, Ann’s housemate, the unwed mother.”

  “Oh, yes. I haven’t met that one. She must have arrived after I got in Irene’s bad books.” He slid into the chair at the small kitchen table, looking tired. I knew how he felt, and sat down opposite him. Then he gave a thoughtful snort, and gazed at me admiringly. At least, I preferred to take that interpretation.

  “If you knew how much you sounded like Irene then, standing up for the poor, down-trodden Irish female …”

  “Don’t you mock—”

  “I’m not, pet,” he said, most seriously, and caught the hand I was brandishing. “I’m very much aware of how unjust the current laws are. But it’s as much their own making.”

  “How? When a guy can beat up a little thing like Ann, leave her without a penny to live on, and three kids, and then take up where he left off if he so chooses—”

  “Wait a minute. You haven’t been in Ireland—”

  “Don’t give me that old—”

  He had both my hands and squeezed them hard. “Listen! I’m not defending the status quo, I’m explaining it, and you don’t know it. Now, that’s better, listen a minute.

  “Simplifying the situation to absurdity, gay young lad sees pretty young colleen, falls madly in love with her wit and light feet, marries with pomp and circumstance and the fear of God from the local priest. All is still lightness and love. But gay young lad knows flipping little about the arts of love, and his pretty colleen even less, because they’re good Catholics. So they fumble about, and before you know it she’s pregnant, and sick, and he’s tired of his pretty wife turned useless. He goes off to the pub for a few jars, where all his old buddies are drinking, and it’s a big gas, and lots of fun down in the pub, with the peat fire and the Guinness and the telly and the dart board. And then the bahbee’s born and he’s a happy man and he’s got a wife again, and whaddya know, she’s pregnant again in next to no time. And he’s off to the pub because her mother’s with her, complaining that he’s a lecher and a no good layabout and why doesn’t he go off to the pub and leave the poor girl to rest. And so the poor girl, pregnant and exhausted, lavishes all her affection on her son, and pampers and spoils him as she’d like, perhaps, to pamper and spoil the man she keeps driving into the pub, and his friends, who are driven there for the same reasons. And then, guess what, the boy grows up, pampered and spoiled and used to seeing his old man go out every night to the pub with his friends, while his mo
ther makes his sisters wait on them hand and foot because it’s a man’s world, pet, and the men get the best of the stick, and whaddya know. The boy grows up and marries the pretty colleen and gets her all preggers …”

  “That wasn’t the vicious circle for Mary Cuniff. And Ann’s busted it.”

  “Ever seen how Ann treats her young son?”

  I looked at Shay, because I hadn’t seen Ann with the boy, but I could see that the pattern he projected could be terribly accurate. And it wasn’t limited to Ireland.

  “Is that why you don’t marry?”

  He gave my hands a final squeeze, winked one of his very brilliant blue eyes, and sat back. “It could happen, and I’d hate it. I don’t want a shrew and I don’t want an innocent. I also don’t want a woman who’s gone too far in the opposite direction.”

  “You don’t approve of women’s lib?”

  He snorted. “I’d prefer a woman who could speak out for herself. But I’d rather stay single and give joy to untold numbers of lonely females.” He pulled himself up off the base of his spine.

  “Aren’t there any happy marriages in Ireland?”

  “Law of averages says there have to be. No, seriously, Irene, Jimmy’s father and mother are devoted to each other. Sheila’s a wonderful person, but Dave got her.” He sounded sincerely rueful. “You have been exposed to more of the exceptions than the average visitor.”

  “It’s all so grossly unfair. These girls—Mary for instance— caught in the most ridiculous set of legalities! Can’t anything be done for them, Shay?”

  “Yes, Rene, they can stay on in the queendom and make their own way. They wouldn’t be here otherwise. Irene wasn’t impractical in her philanthropies. Which reminds me, Sheila told me of a candidate for Fahey’s, once you can get that sorted out.”

  “Oh?”

  Shay got slowly to his feet. “If I can make a humble recommendation?” When I assured him that he could, he went on. “You could even have her in on a caretaker basis. You can check with Michael about the mechanics.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Another unwed mother. She was living with her sister, but the girl got married. Her son’s three, so there’s not so much work for Ann.”

  “She’s practically got a playschool there.”

  “With Snow to help, it’s no big thing.”

  “Hey, Mom,” said my darling daughter, right on cue, but Shay gave me a quick sign to say nothing. With Snow’s exuberant entry came the smell of freshly baked bread.

  “Oh, heavenly!” I cried, reaching for the warm loaves. “However did Ann find time to bake … today?”

  Snow shrugged. “No problem.” She was eyeing Shay Kerrigan oddly. “Ann feels that industry is the best cure for panic—and, Mom, she’s panicky. No matter what Georgie-porgie and Mihall—”

  “I wish you wouldn’t, Snow.”

  “Huh, George doesn’t mind!” My daughter gave me a grin, but her smile faded as her eyes swept past Shay.

  “Maybe I could …” Shay began.

  “No!” Snow’s reply was emphatic enough to be downright rude.

  I remonstrated with my daughter, but Shay smiled. “I don’t know what turned young Ann against me, but I know where I’m not wanted.” I could hear his bafflement as well as the hurt. “Anyway, I’d best be on my way. Look now, don’t hesitate to phone if anything else occurs that worries you, or even if you just want moral support. Promise?”

  I did, because Shay did reassure me in spite of all these unwelcome undercurrents and curious nuances. I must try to figure it all out one of these days.

  Chapter 14

  FRESHLY BAKED brown bread, good butter, and honey made one of the most satisfying meals I’ve had. We ate completely through the loaf, even to wetting fingertips to lift the last remaining crumbs from the table.

  “Why did you give Shay Kerrigan such a cold ‘no’?” I asked my daughter.

  She frowned. “I like Shay, but he was going to Ann’s, and she said he’d never set foot in her house again.”

  “I’ve been given the impression that they’ve known each other a long time.”

  Snow gave one of her indifferent shrugs. “She was pretty positive, Mom. And she wouldn’t say doodly-squat more than that.”

  “Doubtless you attempted to ascertain more details?”

  “Sure did, and she warn’t ascertaining nothing more. And when Ann Purdee has clammed up, Mom, the clamshell is shut.” Snow frowned more deeply, because reticence is a challenge.

  “Now, Sara, don’t you go antagonizing Ann.”

  “Naw, I wouldn’t do a thing like that,” and she glared at Simon for his massive snort of disbelief. “I’m more subtle.”

  “I bet I find out more than you, and sooner,” said Simon. “Man to man.”

  Abruptly Snow came out with the startling notion that we should forthwith tackle the hall’s redecoration, idle gossip being an unconstructive way of spending time. Simon sourly remarked that we hadn’t done the finishing in the living room yet. A wrangle developed, which I ended by suggesting that Simon finish the living room and we slop up the hallway. Snow took exception to my phraseology, and I had to put my foot down.

  We did the kitchen. It was smaller. Ann came over as we were putting on the last of the contact paper.

  “Oh! How lovely it looks!” she said, but she was panting with exertion. She had a child on one hip, Meggie, her Tom, and Fiona holding on to her skirts. I’d thought she wore skirts so much to flatter a thin figure. Now I could see the practical aspect of many handholds for nervous children.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked her, because her worry was apparent. “Not that husband?”

  “I saw Kieron holding back someone at the lane …” She was still breathless from hurrying. “And I just thought… that if no one was in my house …”

  Snow was already hauling her into the room and smartly closing the door behind her.

  “Well then, since you’ve a spare minute,” said my daughter, “come see the rest of the first floor.”

  Ann was truly an encouraging person to show through a half-redecorated house. She was overwhelmed by the changes. Snow was urging her up the steps to the second story just as the doorbell wheezed.

  Simon waved me back and advanced on the door. Not that Aunt Alice waited for him to open it. She barged past my astonished son.

  “Why did you have to kill old Mrs. Slaney? Why couldn’t you have stayed in America where you belong?”

  I stared at her, unable to credit my ears.

  “Now just a living minute,” said my son. I’d never seen Simon so angry. “Where did you hear that nonsense? And how dare you accuse my mother of anything so vile?”

  “I knew, I just knew, there’d be nothing but trouble and disgrace the moment I learned a foreigner had Irene’s property. This never would have happened if Irene’d listened to me.”

  “Alice Hegarty, get the hell out of this house.” Kieron came striding in. He took hold of my great-aunt by the elbows and bodily lifted her out the door, heedless of her enraged sputterings. “Rene no more killed Mrs. Slaney than you did. Tom bashed her once too often.”

  Alice Hegarty had grabbed the door frame. Her face was contorted with a variety of emotions as she stared at me, but the hatred she emanated made me so ill that I sank to the steps, clutching at the banister for support.

  “He said she did it.”

  “Jasus!” cried Kieron. “And you’re the gobshaw who’d believe him!” He laid a large hand on hers and pried her fingers from the wood, spun her around, and shoved her down the walk.

  “You’ll see, Irene Teasey, you’ll just see!” Alice kept ranting as Kieron manhandled her into her car. He had no sooner slammed that door than another car came to a squealing halt.

  “Merciful heavens, Alice, are you out of your mind?” It was Winnie, her voice fluting with distress. “Oh, Alice, how could you? Whatever will Rene think of us?”

  “Winnie Teasey, you get that woman off this
property.”

  “Who are you to give orders, Kieron Thornton?” said Alice in a penetrating shriek. “You’re no better than any of the other floozies and strumpets on the place. Just you wait…”

  “So help me, Alice, I’ll thump you. And there’s no one here who won’t say you were hysterical and needed a clip on the jaw!”

  Alice shut up in mid-vituperation, but the force with which she drove offset Kieron spinning to the side of the road.

  “Oh, Kieron,” Winnie was crying, wringing her hands in distress, “you wouldn’t, you couldn’t…”

  “I didn’t have to,” said Kieron with a mirthless laugh, dusting his hands off, “but, oh Jasus, wouldn’t I have liked to!”

  The black Morris was bucking, stalling, starting, and jackrabbiting toward the main road. By the time it had paused there, I realized I’d been holding my breath and that I was trembling with reaction. I wished I’d never come to Ireland. I wished I’d never had an Aunt Irene. I just wanted to go up those stairs, pack my bags, and get the hell back to Westfield, New Jersey.

  “Oh, Rene, I am so terribly, terribly sorry,” Winnie was babbling, peering up at me through the railing. “The moment she rang off I knew she’d do something outrageous! But I never … I mean I drove as fast as I could to get here and stop her. I don’t know what can have possessed Alice …”

  “Greed,” said Ann Purdee in a hard voice. “Covetousness. She had her plans for this property, and well you know it, Winnie.”

  “Oh dear, but I thought she’d forgotten. Tom spoke to her about it.” Winnie’s face twisted, and she began to cry.

  “Oh, do stop weeping, Winnie,” Ann said contemptuously. “You’ll start all the children.”

  “You’re not responsible for your sister-in-law, Winnie,” I said, because I couldn’t stand her distressful bleating either. “It was good of you to come over.”

  “Where,” demanded Simon, “did she get that garbled version?”

  Winnie looked startled. “I couldn’t tell you.”

  “The truth of the matter is,” said Kieron, coming back into the hall, “that Rene went down to introduce herself to Mrs. Slaney and saw her sitting up in the bed just staring at the window. She was frightened and called me. The door was locked, so I opened the window and saw enough to realize the old lady was dead. So I asked Rene to call the Gardai.”