The Kilternan Legacy

by Anne McCaffrey

  “He’s got a good barrister in you. Too good!”

  “Oh, nonsense, Michael. I simply can’t stand injustice and … and …”

  “You’re feeling guilty about the access?”

  “Well … Oh, I know he was making nice-nice when he thought he could wheedle the right of way out of me but… he’s gone on being …” The waitress fortuitously arrived with our suppers, and when we spoke again, the subject of Shay Kerrigan did not come up. I heard that somehow Michael preferred not to discuss him any more.

  The lights were on at my house when Michael turned up the lane. (My lane.) We were halfway to the door when it was flung open and my children stalked out to intercept us.

  “Where have you been, Mommy?” demanded Snow, worried and angry.

  “Oh, good Lord, I’m so sorry. We went on for a bit to eat and—”

  “It’s my fault, Simon, Snow,” Michael interrupted, with suspicious meekness. “I know I promised to have her back after closing time … but we’re only forty-five minutes late.”

  Snow began to giggle, and Simon’s frown disappeared.

  “Aw, Mom, we’re not that way,” he said.

  “No, it was inconsiderate of us,” Michael said. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Ah, fer Pete’s sake …”

  Then I sensed Snow’s unspoken anxiety.

  “What’s happened, honey?”

  Beside me I could see Michael tense, and we exchanged glances. But Nosy had been following me …

  “Gerry… you know, your cousin … Alice’s son… was here with the motorcycle girl…”

  “And… ?” I prompted, silently complimenting Simon on his diplomacy.

  “They wouldn’t tell us.” Snow was miffed. “But they’re very anxious to see you. Like then!”

  “Gerry said he’d give you a shout tomorrow morning.”

  “Well, that’s that, then.” I turned to Michael, extending my hand. He held it in such a way that, for some obscure reason, I was very glad of my children’s presence. Oh dear, what was wrong with me? Michael was so nice, and yet… I thanked him profusely for the lovely evening and the business we’d done in the pubs, and he said that he’d check into matters and ring me later next week.

  Chapter 18

  I DID NOT sleep well, which was surprising with all I’d had to drink: anxiety over Teddie’s next ploy, I supposed. But at five thirty, I finally admitted to myself that I was in the thralls of sexual frustration.

  I missed Shamus Kerrigan! I missed him for himself, his easy charm, the warmth of his rather boyish smile, the reassurance of his presence in my vicinity, visible or invisible. Not that Michael wasn’t charming too; he did have an easy way about him, a nice smile, good hands, but I relied on Michael, and I most certainly hadn’t wanted to be kissed by him. Which had been very much on his mind during the later part of our evening together.

  I was thwarted, too. Michael didn’t believe Shay Kerrigan would be irresponsible toward a girl he’d got pregnant but it was Ann Purdee I had to prove that to. Because if I didn’t, I lost any chance of influencing Ann. She wouldn’t trust me, and I had to be in her confidence to deal with Paddy Purdee for her sake.

  But clearing Shay would serve several purposes: One, I’d get in good with him by being able, with a clear conscience, to give him access up the lane; two, it would show Ann that Irene could be wrong about a man or men; three, it would put me in a damned good light. (Preserve the Image!)

  I snorted at my conceit. I’d done such a good job of managing my own life that I should give someone else pointers? C’mon, Rene, be honest. The only point of the three is that you’ll ingratiate yourself with Shamus Kerrigan. But what if he really is only buttering you up to get that access? You give it, he goes off his merry way, and then where will you be in Ann’s and Sally’s eyes?

  Well, if that should happen, I’m wrong about Shamus Kerrigan’s character, even if I do prove him innocent about Sally, and I’m well rid of him.

  Now there’s a dilemma for you to ponder, Rene!

  I pondered … and woke, disgustingly refreshed, at eight o’clock, the clean fresh air blowing in my window like an intoxicant. There wasn’t another sound in the house, but out-of-doors was as busy as could be. Birds, bees, other talking things … and loud clanking noisy things …

  I sat bolt upright as I identified the noise. Bulldozers? I ran to the window, but I couldn’t see up the hill past the screening tress. I threw my spring coat around my shoulders and dashed down the steps and out the door. I had to get into the lane before I had any view. A huge yellow bulldozer was on the hill, charging and roaring like its namesake, pawing pieces out of the meadow.

  I glanced down my lane: no tracks.

  So the dilemma had dissolved last night. I felt defeated. Shay must have bought the access rights in from Glenamuck. Was that the business deal which he’d been busy with? Had he really been away from his office these last few days? Or avoiding any calls from me?

  Be fair! How can you blame him, with your shillyshallying?

  Despondently I made myself coffee. I didn’t even get a chance to mope in solitude. Snow came charging down the steps at such a pace that I yelled at her not to break her neck.

  “There’s a bulldozer in the field?” Her words were half query, half accusation. “Did you give—”

  “No, I didn’t.” I didn’t add that I wished I had. “And there isn’t a mark on the lane.”

  Snow flounced into the other chair. “Then how? Levitation?”

  “There was a possible way in from the other side.”

  “Hey, Mom,” and Simon joined us. “What’s with the—”

  “He came the other way,” said Snow.

  “Oh!” Simon was also disappointed and uneasy. Oh dear, if Shay’s action disillusioned them too, I’d have more than Ann, Sally, and Mary to worry about.

  A more somber trio never ate without tasting. It occurred to me as I put limp eggs and soggy toast into my face that the twins were even more upset about this revolting development than I was.

  “It’s Friday,” said Simon for no reason.

  “Yeah!” his sister agreed.

  “Why?” I asked, to prove I was listening.

  “Gotta come sometime, I guess,” said Simon logically.

  “Okay, Mom, like you always tell us,” said Snow, “when you’re down in the dumps, look up. There’s a lot of work to be done about this place. Let’s do it.”

  That’s how we came to sort out Mrs. Slaney’s cottage that Friday. I couldn’t get more depressed than I already was.

  I was, naturally, wrong, but at least I had company. The tired, tattered bits and pieces that had furnished the poor lady’s home ought to have been interred too. Nothing seemed worth saving.

  Ann concurred when she came over to see what we were doing. “But you’ve got to remember that Tom Slaney’s entitled to it, rag, bag, and bucket. And he’s the sort would create trouble if any’s missing.”

  “What’ll we do with it, then?” I asked.

  “You’ve a world of space in the barn,” Ann suggested.

  “We can make a list, Mom,” Snow said, “itemizing everything and having Ann sign it.”

  “Would he accept that?”

  “And Mr. Corrig, the postman.”

  “I’ll get some cartons from Sally’s store,” I said, relieved at an excuse to leave for a few moments.

  By the time I returned with the largest cartons that Sally’s obliging store manager could find me, Jimmy had arrived and Molly was abroad. Snow, with a clipboard and lists (two carbons), was organizing everyone, even Meggie, Tom, and Fiona. Before noon we had all but a wardrobe cleared out and stored in the hay barn.

  “Eat now, scour later,” was Snow’s dictum, and we four repaired to my kitchen.

  I had managed not to look up the lane at the bulldozer, but my resolve weakened when I passed the phone. While the kids were bickering over who used the John first, boys or girls, I dialed Shay’s number. My
ridiculous heart gave a leap at the sound of his rich voice on the other end, but sank as the recorded message idiotically reported back. I hung up quickly as Simon came thudding down the stairs with Jimmy.

  We tackled the cleaning problem after lunch, and I tried to keep firmly in mind that the poor old lady mustn’t have been able for many years. We used a big box of Flash, three cans of Ajax, wore out I don’t know how many rags, sponges, and Brillo pads, but the fusty odor of decay had definitely been blown out of the cottage—had she ever opened the windows?—by late afternoon.

  “Slaney’s may be clean,” Snow said as we drooped on the grass, “but it only makes Fahey’s look worse.”

  As one, we glanced to the left. Jimmy sighed audibly.

  “Not today,” I said, touching his shoulder. “And you are in no way obliged to join our madness.”

  “No honest, Aunt Rene, I like working with you and the twins. It’s fun!”

  Tired as he was, he meant it, and I was about to elaborate on my appreciation when Mary returned home in George Boardman’s car. Soon Kieron put in an appearance, and while the men were occupied with storing the heavy wardrobe. I hemmed and hawed with Mary Cuniff, trying to find an adroit way of suggesting my plan. My progress was nil, because Mary was feeling conscience—stricken about not having looked in on old Mrs. Slaney over that fatal weekend, and not having offered to do any of the household tasks.

  “It’s a mercy the poor old thing’s in her grave, Mary Cuniff,” said Ann bluntly. “She’d’ve been long gone and welcomed it if that doctor hadn’t been such a sanctimonious twit. My, the place looks nice now.” Then Ann’s gaze fastened on Fahey’s, and her mouth tightened.

  “Michael’s going to buy him out as soon as possible,” I said brightly, as a lead-in to my ploy. “Did Michael, by any chance, phone you today?” I turned to George.

  “No, he didn’t.” George looked surprised and, curiously, uncomfortable. “I wasn’t in the office, you see.”

  I wondered fleetingly if his ardor for Mary had cooled, but I had my opportunity. “Well, I’d like to have a man in that cottage, with Tom Slaney floating around.”

  “He’s not likely to come back,” said George firmly.

  “Michael said something about your applying for planning permission, so if you still want to buy it…”

  That touched off the reaction. No, it wasn’t indifference on his part, or Mary’s. I heaved an internal sigh of relief. This playing the lady bountiful/arch meddler can lead to temptation: just one little shove in the right direction … Only how was I so sure that my direction was right?

  I was tired.

  That’s what Kieron and Mary said, and Ann and George dutifully agreed.

  “I’ll cook dinner, Mom,” Snow said, “and Simon and Jimmy can help.” She flashed them warning glances.

  Jimmy said he had to be home for tea tonight: His mom was getting narked. He put himself out of temptation’s way by flinging himself on his bike and beetling off.

  “I’ll have a word with you, Ann-girl,” Kieron said, taking her so firmly by the arm that she was too surprised to break away.

  The rest of us were rather amazed at his masterfulness, but Ann, instead of an outburst of independence, meekly let herself be led toward her cottage.

  Mary and I broke into a series of nervous inanities before we all dispersed. I wondered why George kept looking so worried. Did he know what Kieron was up to?

  “Hey,” said Snow as we walked toward the house, “what’s with the strong-arm Kieron’s using?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” and I wished I had. Something was up.

  The phone’s ringing interrupted Snow’s supposition. We all ran to catch the call, with me hoping fervently that it might be Shay Kerrigan.

  It was Gerry Hegarty, sounding very relieved to hear my voice.

  “I’ve been phoning and phoning, Coz,” he said.

  “Oh Lord!” I’d forgotten the twins’ message about him.

  “We’ve been housecleaning down below …”

  “Where? Oh, old Mrs. Slaney’s?”

  “Yes.” Why did that interest Gerry Hegarty?

  “Rene, are you free this evening? Maureen and I’d very much like a chat with you.”

  I couldn’t come out and bluntly ask him if it was about the free cottage. So I said he’d be welcome and I’d love a chance to talk with Maureen again.

  I worried all through supper about how to let them down gently. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to oblige Gerry (he couldn’t help having Auntie Alice as a mother—maybe that’s why he was so nice) or Maureen. It was just that…

  Gerry and Maureen had both been in the house before. They seized on the subject of our redecorations as though I’d done something incredible. At least, Gerry did more of the talking; Maureen just looked apprehensive. The second time the conversation strangled to death, I rediscovered blunt speech.

  “Now that I know you approve of my redecorating,” I told them, “what is your problem?”

  Gerry glanced at Maureen, and she, all but squirming, passed the buck back to him.

  “Has Brian Kelley been at you again to sell?”

  “The figure’s gone up to thirty-five-thousand pounds. And if I agree to sell he’ll use his influence to assure probate.”

  Gerry cleared his throat. “I’ve reason to believe that it’s my mother trying to buy the property.”

  I couldn’t help it. I let out a whoop. “But she objected to Aunt Irene buying it!”

  “According to the latest,” Gerry told me with a sardonic grin, “it was on my mother’s advice that Irene purchased the land. Because land south of the city was sure to appreciate.”

  “The old—! So now, of course, that’s why she should be left the land?”

  Gerry nodded.

  “Okay, would she have that kind of money?”

  Again Gerry nodded, and I whistled.

  “Mother’s rather shrewd with property.”

  “City property,” Maureen corrected him.

  “Then why the subterfuge? I mean, working through a clown like that Kelley character? And forcing Maureen to let him know when I arrived? And his besieging me?”

  “For starters,” Gerry said, still slightly embarrassed, “she assumed that you only came over here to sell the property…”

  “And if she could get to me first, I’d sell and disappear forever? And then she could say that Irene had left her the property after all? That another will had been discovered?” Maureen stared at me. Gerry gave a short laugh. “I thought you’d only just met my mother!”

  “I can’t blame it on genetics, because it’s from Mother’s side of the family, but I’ve got an aunt in the States …” I didn’t elaborate, because she was his mother.

  “Do you have to sell?” Gerry asked. He glanced at Maureen. “Because if you have to …”

  I scored a large plus for Maureen: She had not betrayed any confidential information about the trust fund.

  “As it happens, Gerry, I don’t. At least not precipitously. And, well, my affairs have taken such a turn that I’ll probably stay on longer than I’d originally intended.”

  The news pleased them. Maureen actually smiled, with an air of relief that finally permitted her to relax on the chair. “Say, mind my asking, but how did you find out your mother was bidding for the queendom?”

  “Something I overheard at the house the other day matched what Maureen had told me about Brian Kelley,” said Gerry, with an affectionate and amused glance at his young niece. “You’re sure you’re all right, as far as death duties are concerned? What I’m saying is, I personally would like to see Irene’s queendom remain as she wished it. So for want of the few odd pounds, don’t feel you have to sell it.”

  “That’s extraordinarily nice of you, Gerry …”

  “The least we can be, with my mother carrying on the way she has.”

  “And the first thing she’d do, did she own it, would be to turf Ann, Sally, and Mary out,” Maureen s
aid bitterly. “And the only one who’s paid her any heed is Maeve. It’s all very embarrassing,” she finished, in a muffled voice.

  Gerry leaned over and patted her hand. “I told you Rene would understand, pet.”

  “I truly didn’t know it was Auntie Alice that Mr. Kelley was representing. And Ann and Sally and Mary have had such a desperate time—you don’t know what can happen to women in Ireland …”

  “Yes, well, I’m beginning to. I’m arranging a caretaker tenant for Thrush cottage … and then, bluntly, I’m bribing Fahey to vacate completely.” Ah yes, there was a reaction there. “I’ll look for suitable clients in the best traditions of the queendom. Did you by any chance know of someone?”

  Gerry saw through that bland question with a chuckle, but Maureen looked surprised, hopeful, and apprehensive.

  “I told you she was a downy one, Maureen. And, yes, Rene, we do.”

  “So does Shamus Kerrigan.” What imp made me come out with that?

  “Shamus?” Gerry frowned, confounding me. “Which Shamus Kerrigan?”

  “She means Shay Kerrigan,” said Maureen, “the one who was such a good friend of Auntie Irene’s.”

  “How many Shamus Kerrigans do you know?” I asked Gerry.

  He gave a chuckle. “Several, two of whom I hope you never meet. Two of ‘em live in Dublin, as well.”

  I cut through the beginning of his next remark with an urgent question of my own. “Would your mother know Shay Kerrigan, the one who was friends with Irene?”

  Gerry glanced at Maureen for confirmation. “Sure and she would. He developed property Dad owned in Ballybrack.”

  Well, that sort of tied in with another great unanswered question about Shamus: Which relative had given him that bogus permission to use my lane? So my dear Great-aunt Alice had been that positive she’d own the queendom? I wondered if she’d socked him a bundle for that one transit. And if he’d got his money back.

  “Would you really consider helping someone, Rene?” asked Maureen, almost timidly.

  “I sure would. Is she deserted, abused, or unwed? Oh dear, and I’m not being snide.”

  “She’s married, been deserted, and has a small boy. Her name’s Sheevaun Donnelly, and her man took the boat, which is just as well, as he’d been a bit too free with his employer’s money,” Maureen said in a rush. “She runs a hairdressing business in Rathfarnham, but the person who’s been taking care of her little boy is altogether unreliable.”