The Kilternan Legacy

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Then no one entered the house before the Gardai?” asked Winnie, her eyes round.

  “Why?” asked Ann. “Because Alice had it that Rene was discovered throwing the poor old soul out of her house so she could let in some other floozy or strumpet?”

  In Winnie’s startled gasp we heard the truth, which she tried frantically to deny. I felt sicker than ever, and hugged myself against the venom of such a perversion. That settled it. I was in no way required to take this sort of slander. I would appoint a caretaker for the place. We’d make it a home for unwed mothers.

  “Winnie, if you don’t mind …” Kieron said, indicating the door.

  “Oh dear, oh dear. I didn’t mean to upset you, Rene,” she said, coming toward me instead, but Ann firmly guided her out the door.

  Suddenly Snow began to laugh. She wasn’t hysterical, and I resented her capacity to find anything remotely funny about the past few minutes.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “But Mother … No one … would believe it. This scene … is … like wow!”

  Simon’s grim expression began to echo his twin’s interpretation. By the time Ann and Kieron had returned, the two of them were rolling with laughter and the small children were giggling uncertainly.

  “Will you two ghouls stop it?”

  “My mother—the Irish murderess!” Snow made a dramatic pose. “A week in Ireland and she done Dublin dirty. Foul American Murders Ancient Crone She’s Never Met!” Snow made banner gestures with her hands. “Westfield will never believe it of you, Mommy!”

  It was nothing to mock at, and yet Kieron was grinning and Ann Purdee looked considerably less grim as the twins went on, falling into Batmanese. “Westfield Widow Witch! Will This Dastardly Deed Defy Dublin’s Dauntless Detectives?”

  “Look,” Kieron said to me when the kids had somewhat subsided, “you get in that car and take yourself off for a nice long drive … away from here …”

  “Go see the Lady Twins,” said Snow.

  “I don’t want to see anybody.”

  I started up the stairs, but Simon blocked my way and Kieron marched me to the door, grabbing my handbag and keys from the hall table.

  “Go down to the Silver Tassie and have a few quick jars. Go down to the Strand at Killiney and observe the shining sea!”

  Getting away from it all did appeal strongly to me. I drove down the lane, each wheel revolution increasing the intense relief. I turned right and put my foot down on the accelerator. I took the next left-hand turn and got lost, naturally. I emerged at a signpost somewhere near Powerscourt, but stately homes were not soothing. Still, the drive was pretty, and I went on and on and on, and there were lovely mountains around me, with richly green growing things.

  Power of suggestion and all that, I was at the bend in the Kilternan Road before the Brandel cottage when I recognized my whereabouts. I was determined not to stop, not to inflict myself on anyone or be forced to consider anyone else’s troubles and found myself flicking the turn signal.

  Lady Maud was in the garden, in much the same spot as we had first seen her, and Lady Mary appeared in the doorway as I closed the garden gate. It was such a repetition of the first encounter that I momentarily wondered if they might not really be dolls, timeless and immobile, until opening the front gate started the action.

  They’d already heard about Mrs. Slaney’s death. They wouldn’t, however, talk about it until I was ensconced on the love seat, sipping tea and eating dainty sandwiches which appeared magically. I was hungry!

  “The one facet of today’s episode which is completely reprehensible,” said Lady Maud when I’d related the day’s events, “is Alice’s intrusion. I cannot, Mary, like the woman.”

  Lady Mary sighed. “Maudie love, you are a very astute judge of character.”

  I said it without thinking: “Do you know Shamus Kerrigan well?”

  Their smiles told me the answer. “He is such a charming gentleman. Always punctual, and such a good heart.”

  “Then would you know why my aunt turned against him?”

  Lady Maud’s brows creased in the tiniest of frowns, and she looked down at her shoe tips as she reflected on my question. Lady Mary sighed.

  “Truly we don’t know.”

  “Though we had been aware of Irene’s sudden and inexplicable dislike of dear Mr. Kerrigan.”

  “It seemed to begin after her first stroke, didn’t it, Maudie?”

  “Yes, I believe that’s correct, Mary.”

  “But he kindly drove us to visit her in hospital, and brought flowers and candy, and did all that was to be expected …”

  “I hate to press you, Lady Maud, Lady Mary,” and both Ladies nodded acceptance of my reluctance, “but you see, he does want to use the lane to get into the land he owns. Only, in her letter to me, Aunt Irene forbade it. And he’s been so charming to me and the twins … But I can’t go against Aunt Irene’s specific instructions unless I know.”

  “Mr. Kerrigan comes from a very good family, ” was Lady Mary’s contribution. “County Meath.”

  “Irene could be very harsh with those who disappointed her. But she was fair,” said Lady Maud slowly.

  “He says he doesn’t have an inkling of what he did.”

  The two Ladies smiled at each other and then at me.

  “Men often don’t, my dear,” said Lady Maud, her blue eyes twinkling.

  “He’s so charming”—Lady Mary took up the narrative—“that one would feel obliged to forgive him almost anything.” Then they beamed at me again.

  “I expect it will all come out right in the end,” Lady Maud added, in such a brisk manner that I realized this subject of conversation was now closed.

  “Could you tell me how you heard about Mrs. Slaney, Lady Maud?”

  “Actually, it was John the postman who told Mary.”

  “The postman?”

  “In Ireland the postmen are usually the worst gossips of all,” and Lady Mary tittered.

  “Did he say where he’d heard it?”

  “No, I don’t recollect that he did.”

  I think Lady Maud would have been more surprised if he’d acknowledged his source.

  “However, Pat the butcher knew it. But then, his wife has a cousin in the Gardai at Cabinteely, so naturally he’d know. And James would tell us, because he knows we’re acquainted with Hillside Lodge.”

  I sighed in surrender, and the conversation turned to other things. They were delighted to learn that I had sung at the tea, exultant at the reactions. They learned that I had met George Boardman. (Oh, a charming young man … such a jolly right Pirate King, too …) And wouldn’t I consider staying on and doing an audition for next year’s show?

  I started my usual disclaimer.

  “Tell me, dear Rene,” asked Lady Maud, “what sort of a life would you be leading in the States next fall?”

  “Well, I… I mean … I’d be …” My voice trailed off as I reviewed my probable activities, dull indeed compared to what was already in progress here. There are certain advantages to being dull—safety from slander is one of them. But how much did I really want to feel safe? And how much more stimulating, if irritating, life seemed to be here!

  Lady Maud smiled back at me, nodding, her eyes twinkling more merrily than ever, as if she realized the impact of that casual but shrewd question. I evaded any further answer by rising and suggesting that I’d taken quite enough of their time and I’d better get back to my twins before they listed me as missing.

  I was never more sincere when I told them that tea had revived me: tea and these irrepressible, valiant, and sensible ladies.

  As I drove into my lane (a sense of possession did a great deal to abet the restoration of my equilibrium), I saw that the roadblock had been drawn to the side. Then I was struck by the quiet. Horseface was grazing at the far side of his field, as if he wished to be dissociated from the goings-on in the houses, and there wasn’t the least sign of activity. Not even the cheerful chimney plumes of s
moke.

  I was getting concerned when I saw the tail end of the blue Jaguar in my driveway. I parked hurriedly and almost ran into the house. Now what?

  Shay Kerrigan was seated on the steps, looking quite at home, chatting on the telephone.

  “Here she is now. Told you not to worry, Simon. Now go enjoy yourselves!”

  He hung up, grinning so broadly that my half-formed suspicions of worse to come dissipated.

  “We’ve cleared the whole lot off. Kieron and George have absconded with a veritable gaggle of females.” From his expression, one was led to suppose an act of incredible heroism on the men’s part. “Simon and Snow have been carried off by Jim-lad, Betty, and Mark Howard, and I am taking you away from all this.”

  He grabbed me around the waist and spun me about in such a vigorous fashion that I had to grab his arms to keep from falling.

  “Were you at the Brandels’?” he asked, still whirling me despite my protests. “Simon said you’d likely end up there.”

  “Yes, yes. Now unhand me, villain!”

  He stopped suddenly, and I clutched to keep my balance.

  “Why should I?” he demanded in theatrical manner. “For the first time, I have you alone! In my power!”

  His extravagant lightheartedness was an antidote to the morning’s grimness—but then he kissed me! All part of the act—but I kissed him back! (Those reflexes—those yearnings—don’t die easily.) And he kissed most satisfactorily. How long had it been since a man—an attractive-to-me man—had kissed me? The end effect, however, put my feet squarely under me, and I felt obliged to push firmly free of that embrace. I also felt obliged to laugh—no, giggle—as if I were a fair maiden alone and in his power.

  “Sir James, your queen must garb herself afresh.” I caught the look in his eyes and made myself whirl away in the best romantic Hollywood tradition. “Adieu, and for a little while adieu …”

  I dashed up the stairs as if Alice Hegarty were behind me. I was rather surprised at the way my pulse was pounding as I flung open the wardrobe door to find something suitable to wear.

  How could I have forgotten that kisses burn on the lips in afterglow? Yes, and how could I have forgotten that something turned my level-headed, fair-minded, friendly great-aunt against the charming Sir Shamus-James Kerrigan?

  My composure restored, my make-up repaired, and my knees only a trifle jellyish, I minced back downstairs. Shay came out of the living room, smiling in appreciation at my quick-changery.

  “My, my,” and he meant the linen sheath I was wearing, “you certainly have wrought changes in the house. What next?”

  “Today the kitchen! Tomorrow the hallway!” I made the appropriate grand gestures. “And then,” I added, suitably prosaic, “the bedrooms!”

  “That green in the dining room certainly sets it off. Were you an interior decorator in the States?”

  “No, but I like doing houses up. The nest-building instinct.”

  “I thought you were a women’s libber.”

  Before I’d thought to control the impulse, I turned to him. “Please don’t label me. Please don’t generalize like that!”

  He raised his eyebrow at my fierce tone, and I relented.

  “I’m sorry. Teddie, the twins’ father, used to do that.”

  “Well, I am sorry if I offended you, pet,” he said.

  “I know you didn’t mean anything by it, I’m very sorry I took your head off. It’s just that it seemed so like the beginnings of other evenings that I…”

  He ushered me out the front door, still reassuring me—or was I reassuring him?

  “Fair enough, Rene. All Americans are not rich, all women who have minds of their own are not women’s libbers, all cats are not gray—”

  “Don’t be outrageous!”

  “Why not? The night is young and you’re so glamorous …” He opened the Jag’s door with a series of complicated flourishes and a bow worthy of the Palladium on Royal night. “Seriously, though, Rene, you are doing wonders with the house. Have you ever considered doing it professionally?”

  “No, I think I’d hate it then. It’d be a job. Take all the fun out of it.”

  “And you wouldn’t do it just for fun, would you?”

  “That wouldn’t be wise. An artisan is worthy of his … or her … hire. I suppose it would be challenging to do a house or two, but I’d prefer to know the house and the people so the decoration would be them, not me or what the current ‘thing’ was in some magazine.”

  He looked slightly puzzled, so I explained the American magazine scene and how to decorate at little cost from old attic remnants and be clever, and laughingly quoted the Flanders and Swann song: “There’s no place safe to dress!”

  “I didn’t think you Americans knew Flanders and Swann.”

  So we entered the dual carriageway to Bray singing a rousing chorus of “Mud, mud, glorious mud.”

  Chapter 15

  WE’D HAD OUR DRINKS in an old hotel in Bray, went for a walk on the seaside, oblivious to others about us, had a delicious dinner—supper, Shay called it—at a seafood restaurant. We talked about nothing that mattered, and yet it seemed that we understood each other rather well.

  As Shay drove me home, we were both silent, a tranquility born of a very companionable evening. A tranquility pierced by the fact that every light was burning in the occupied cottages and my house.

  “Jasus, what’s happened now?” Shay asked under his breath as we drove cautiously up the lane.

  A figure came out of the gloom, brandishing a flashlight and the shotgun.

  “Kieron?” I cried, sticking my head out the window.

  “Not to worry, Rene,” he said, stepping up to the car.

  “Not to worry? With every light on in the place, and you running around waving that damned thing?”

  “Someone’s been lurking about the place. Snow saw him when she was getting to bed. Simon routed him out of the stable, he ran toward Ann’s and then doubled back. You didn’t see anyone running down the road, did you? Or a parked car?”

  I hadn’t been aware of anything but my peaceful feelings, the more fool me. Nor did Shay remember anything unusual.

  “Well, so there we are!” Kieron shrugged. “Lock up everything well tonight, Rene. I’ll go tell Ann the scare is over.”

  “Her husband?” I asked Shay as Kieron trotted off.

  Shay shook his head. “He’s not supposed to know where she is.”

  “That doesn’t mean much, judging by the way news gets about in this town.”

  Shay laughed. “Don’t sound so sour. Sure and you’re news … ah… the rich American grass widow!” He was deft at teasing, all right. “Oh, you’re news, Rene.”

  “I just hope it’ll be as much news when I leave. Which I’ve a mind to do!” I’m appalled to admit that I flounced out of the car in a very bad humor. It just wasn’t fair that our lovely time had been spoiled so quickly. It just wasn’t fair!

  Shay caught up with me at the front door, and kept me from opening it.

  “Rene! Rene!” There was real concern in his voice. He took me by the shoulders and gave me a little shake, to make me look him in the eyes. “You can’t abdicate.” Another shake. “Not at the first sign of hostility. Not strong-backed Irish-American queens!”

  “Why can’t I? I only came here to get—”

  “Away from what you were leaving behind?” He cocked his head to one side, giving me a long searching look. There was a slight smile on his lips, a cynical smile. “No one runs from trouble without it follows them, Rene. And you’ve a good defendable spot here, with loyal subjects.” Another squeeze on my arms. “Who need you as much as you need them. Irene had great hopes for your succeeding her here.”

  “How would you know?”

  The twilight was bright enough for me to see the hurt in his eyes, the earnest smile disappearing from his mouth, and I was instantly remorseful.

  “Shay, I didn’t mean that.”

  “Why should
you mean other?”

  “Shay, please, I really didn’t mean that. You’ve been so wonderful, so considerate …”

  “Having you on, my dear.” I didn’t blame him for sounding so bitter.

  “Oh, Shay, I just don’t trust anyone or anything, including myself.”

  “Including yourself?” He gave a funny little laugh and then pulled me to him, bending his head to kiss me before I could struggle free.

  It wasn’t fair of him to kiss me that way. It wasn’t fair because I had to kiss him back, wanted to go on being kissed and all that followed kissing … and loving …

  “Especially myself,” I said, ruthlessly pushing him away. “And thank you for a lovely evening,” I added, shoving out my hand formally, because the door got yanked open behind me. By Simon.

  “Hey, Mom, we had a prowler! Ann’s scared it was her husband.”

  “Did you have fun this evening, Sim? How would he know where Ann is? Did you get a good look at him? And where are your manners? Say good evening to Shay. It was really a lovely evening, Shamus, thank you.”

  Shay had taken my extended hand in both his, fingers caressing it. And Simon was giving me his “what are you blathering about?” look.

  “I said good evening to Shay earlier. We had a smashing time, Mom, and may we go swimming tomorrow with the group?”

  “I see no reason why not.”

  “You’d better phone the Gardai and tell them about the prowler, Rene,” Shay said, and then, bidding Simon good night, he disappeared into the dark shadows.

  Simon gave a snort. “We did that already.”

  “Well, I don’t know what else we can do, except go to bed.”

  Which is what we did.

  * * *

  The Garda came up the next morning and took full particulars from us and Kieron. When I tried to find out what had happened about Tom Slaney, I got a very polite and embarrassed evasion and Sean the Garda beat a strategic retreat.