The Kilternan Legacy

by Anne McCaffrey

  I felt very good about the world and the future of mankind as I undressed for bed. Surely Ann would emerge a little from her man-hater’s view of the world. As I drifted off to sleep, it occurred to me that my Great-Aunt Irene hadn’t really been all that liberal in her views.

  Chapter 19

  I WASN’T DEEPLY ASLEEP—I’d had a shade too much, or too little, to drink—when a sudden sharp noise woke me. I lay there in a sort of rosy doze with my mind idly bouncing from one topic to another, like those word-cuers in a sing-along film. But I couldn’t identify the noise in my dozy state. I suppose that’s why I roused further. And thought I heard a man swearing softly. It was that sort of a still night, clear, breezeless, on which sound can carry.

  My first thought was, good Lord, doesn’t Nosy ever sleep? And then, is he making sure where I’m sleeping? It amused me to think that he’d have to break and enter this house to be certain. And then I wasn’t amused. After what Teddie-boy had already done, he was capable of doing anything.

  With that notion rankling in my no longer sleep-soothed breast, I went to the window. And thought I saw a shadow pass in the lane.

  Well, if Nosy or anyone was now prowling my purlieu, I was going to give him a rude surprise. I’d had it with this nonsense. And who but Nosy had told Teddie about Mrs. Slaney? I slipped on my loafers, grabbed up my top coat, since navy blue is the color for skulking after skulkers (Preserve the Image), and padded downstairs. I removed my trusty fouling piece and proceeded in search of a target. I giggled a bit at the notion of actually firing the shotgun, although the thought of creating some mayhem of my own did have a certain shining appeal. I even checked to make sure the damned thing was loaded. Because if it wasn’t Nosy, and was Tom Slaney, or even that Fahey creep …

  If I was to skulk properly, I’d have a less impeded vision if I came up the lane from Ann’s. I’d meet him head on, since he was proceeding down it. So I scooted along the back path to Ann’s and came around her house by the kitchen door.

  He was there! Trying to get in. Trying to force the door. And it wasn’t Nosy. It was, I realized, in a blaze of outraged perception, Paddy Purdee! Next to Teddie-boy, he was the man I most wanted to meet on a dark night with a loaded shotgun in my hands.

  “What are you doing here?” I cried in a stage whisper. If Ann found out he knew where she was …

  “Huh?”

  He whirled at the sound of my voice, and in the clearness of the night his white eyes stared at me in fright. His jaw dropped and his hands—they were nasty big porkfingered paws—went up in an automatic defensive gesture.

  “Who-who’s that?”

  I was surprised but very pleased at the real fear in his voice.

  “How did you find Ann? Who told you where she was?” I demanded, still in my hoarse whisper. If I could just scare him away…

  His hands were raised now to his eyes, and he started to step backward, away from me.

  “No! No! Go away! Go away! You’re dead! She said you were dead. She told me you were dead.”

  Wow! Hey, I’d better preserve that image! He thought I was Aunt Irene.

  “Didn’t I tell you once that you were never to bother Ann again? Didn’t you promise me? Did you think I wouldn’t remember that promise?”

  I advanced, keeping in the shadows of the house, backing him up the lane as I spoke, trying to sound as sepulchral as possible. I hoped he wouldn’t realize that, though I sounded like my great-aunt, I was five inches taller. Or that ghosts don’t generally carry shotguns.

  I shrugged off the topcoat, because my nightgown was long and filmy and shroudlike.

  “Paddy Purdee, you have sinned. You have sinned against Ann. You have broken your sworn oath. Your soul is in grave mortal danger. And I, Irene Teasey, will not rest until you have paid for your faithlessness.”

  He’d stopped stepping backward, and was running, trying to put distance between us. Although wife-beaters are usually bullies, I wouldn’t have thought him such an arrant coward.

  “No, she is dead. The old woman wouldn’t lie.”

  “Irene Teasey is not dead …”

  “It’s a trick. That’s what it is. It’s a trick!” He turned back, started for me, his voice getting firmer as his confidence returned.

  There’s nothing like having your bluff called when you’re playing ghost. How the hell could I disappear convincingly?

  “A trick is it? You fool! This is Irene Teasey. But Irene Teasey is dead. Whose voice is speaking to you if not Irene Teasey’s?” Ghosts use cryptic language, don’t they? To confuse the people they’re haunting?

  “Rene? Irene, is that you?” cried a woman’s voice in the night. It came from Mary Cuniff s cottage. “Oh, Rene, what are you doing here?”

  The real panic in Mary’s voice was sufficient to loosen Mr. Purdee’s tenuous grip on common sense. He turned on his heels and sped down the lane as fast as his legs could pump, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “But she’s dead! The old woman told me she was dead! She’s got to be dead!”

  The light went on in Mary’s cottage, and her front door sprang wide.

  I ran toward her, trying to keep her from rousing everyone, particularly Ann, when I tripped over the nightgown.

  I went down, and the last thing I heard was a huge bang! right by my head.

  Suddenly, there seemed to be an awful lot of light in my face. And someone was weeping bitterly in the background. I heard several male mutters and Snow’s chirp. When I opened my eyes, only Mary was in my room, busily wringing out a cloth in a basin of water. My head hurt.

  “I’m here again,” I said, with what I felt was some originality. I did know where I was. “And I shot off that damned gun, didn’t I? I hope no one was hurt.”

  Laughter and concern warred in Mary’s face.

  “Yes and no.”

  “Oh? You mean that I hit the right person but not fatally?”

  Her laughter bubbled up. “That was buckshot, you know, and it has a wide range.”

  “Right persons?”

  She nodded encouragingly.

  “I must’ve got Paddy Purdee.” She nodded again, egging me on. “And Nosy?”

  She agreed with considerable enthusiasm and then, rising, went to the door.

  “She’s conscious. I told you she’d only knocked herself out.”

  Ann Purdee, her face streaked with tears, rushed into the room. Kieron was right behind her, with Simon and Snow a poor third and fourth but looking righteously smug. Sally Hanahoe hovered tentatively by the door. And I could see a blue hulk and the shadow of a hat that suggested a Garda in abeyance.

  “Oh God, not the police again!” I groaned, before I caught his smiling face.

  “Well, sure now and you can’t go around shooting everyone in sight without the Gardai taking some sort of notice,” said Kieron. He too looked immensely pleased.

  “Oh, Rene, you are all right, aren’t you?” cried Ann.

  I grabbed her hands, which were ice cold and shaking. “Of course I am.”

  “But he might have hurt you. He might have—”

  “Him? That lousy coward? Running from a ghoulie-ghostie …”

  “Who went bang in the night!” finished Simon with a loud crow.

  “Well, if you’ve been afraid of that poor excuse of a man all this time, Ann Purdee, you ought to be ashamed.”

  The Garda tactfully cleared his throat and rocked on his feet in and out of the doorway.

  “Please come in. I am decent and well chaperoned,” I told him. “Besides, if I tell you the story in their presence, then everyone will know and I can get some sleep. My head is splitting.” It wasn’t, not badly, but my ear hurt. And my left arm and knee!

  “Well, now, missus,” the Garda began, taking out his notepad.

  So I told him that I had spotted an intruder, that we’d had other intruders, that I knew I was under surveillance by a private investigator sicced on me by my former husband, and about the ISPCC, and Padd
y Purdee deserting his wife for the last few years (I could see the Garda knew all about that), and my voice being like my aunt’s (he recognized it too), and so I thought I’d put the fear of God in Paddy Purdee, and I’d about chased him away with Mary’s inadvertent assist when I tripped on my nightgown and the silly gun had gone off. And had I killed anyone?

  His eyes were twinkling as he gravely assured me both men had taken only minor injuries. “Not where a man would wish them, missus,” which figured if the men were hightailing it.

  My intervention had been timely, because Purdee had jimmied open the lock on Ann’s door and had been about to enter.

  At that point there was a wheeze from my front doorbell and Simon went clattering down, muttering something about the doctor.

  “Good Lord, I don’t need a doctor for a lump on the head.”

  “And a few lacerations,” said Snow.

  “If it’s the doctor,” said Kieron, beginning to steer Ann out, “we’d best be off.” Sally, grinning mischievously at me for my evening’s work, started to follow them.

  Ann got no farther than the door and stopped dead, all color draining from her face. She shot such an apprehensive glance behind her that I thought for a moment that some idiot was making her confront her husband. But Shamus Kerrigan walked through the door.

  “Are you really all right, Rene?” he asked, brushing past Kieron, Ann, and Sally. He reached my bedside in a swift stride and took my good hand in his warm, firm, and very comforting grip.

  I was so terribly, terribly glad to see him that I nearly burst into tears. I was trying to reassure him and not disgrace myself, or count too much on the unnervingly anxious expression on his face, so that I didn’t really see the byplay until Kieron spoke.

  “Sally, have you ever seen that man before?”

  Kieron was pointing at Shay even while Ann was trying to lug Sally out of the room.

  Sally peered obediently at Shay, who looked around, mystified. I recovered my wits.

  “This is Shay Kerrigan, Sally. Shamus Kerrigan.”

  Sally’s hand flew to her mouth, but there was no recognition in her eyes as she and Shay looked at each other.

  “Well,” said Sally after a very taut pause, “he’s not the Shamus Kerrigan I’d like to meet in a dark lane with a shotgun.”

  There was a little moan from Ann.

  “Thanks, Sally,” I told her, but I felt no triumph now. In fact I felt sick because of the terribly sad look in Shay’s eyes as he turned back to me.

  “Is that why Irene turned against me so?”

  “It wasn’t fair!” I cried. “I knew it couldn’t have been you. I only just heard what it was, but you’d gone away and I couldn’t tell you and …” I started to cry. Reaction set in: some pain, intense relief, and that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach for the injustice.

  I was being held against a comfortable masculine chest which smelted reassuringly of fresh linen and ironing and soap and shaving lotion, with gentle hands stroking my hair and patting my shoulder, and a vibrant male voice muttering soothingnesses in my ear, so that it was scarcely surprising that I wept up a storm. And mumbled all kinds of inanities in between sobs.

  “She should have known. And you’ve lost so much money, and I ought to have given you permission, because the twins said you had hands and they liked you and they’re smart enough to know. Only you didn’t come back and I was—”

  “There, there, Rene. Don’t distress yourself so, pet. Now, do be a good love and stop crying. There, there!” My sore hand and arm were being gently kissed, and then he had the inspiration to put his hand on the nape of my neck, and, like a kitten, I sort of shook myself and sagged into silence.

  “Oh, my God, my face. I look such a sight when I’ve been crying,” I said, sort of knowing it wouldn’t matter to Shay at this juncture, and caring all the more because it didn’t.

  A cool facecloth was tenderly pressed against my eyes and hot cheeks while suitable reassurances were conveyed in that heavenly voice.

  “Oh, Shay,” I had such a budget of things to tell him.

  “I don’t know why I have to time my entrances like this,” said a man from the doorway.

  It was some minor comfort that, with this gross interruption, Shamus seemed as reluctant to release me as I was to be released.

  “You don’t act concussed, Mrs. Teasey,” the doctor continued, swinging his heavy bag to the bedside table. He looked tired and disgruntled. I couldn’t blame him. I felt the same way.

  He gave my injuries a quick glance, grunted, made with the light in the eyes, remarked on the sites of probable contusions for the morrow, and complimented me on my markswomanship. He then forced me to take some little white pills “because you look as if you would benefit from a good night’s sleep,” and glared at Shamus, who had been hovering in the hall. Then the doctor turned out my light and firmly closed the door behind him. Leaving me alone. I could hear Shamus protesting, and then the doctor’s firm, “Come along now, it’ll all keep till morning!” And two heavy treads going down the steps.

  I lay there, appalled, annoyed, and aching. Wondering if Shay had meant all those comforting, lovely things, and being finally able to relax in his innocence. Honestly, how could Aunt Irene have ever suspected him?

  Whatever the doctor had given me was working with extraordinary speed … my legs were numb and my hands and arms. I must really ask him for a few more … less potent … Shay’s voice and Snow’s and Simon’s … damned birds outside heralding a dawn that came at 3:30 in the morning in Ireland…

  Chapter 20

  I WOKE SLOWLY, aware of the sweet scents of sun-warmed air, the myriad little muted sounds which meant that ordinary events hadn’t waited for me to wake. I moved, found myself stiff, and … remembered.

  I did not shoot bolt upright in bed. First I had to struggle to get up on an elbow, then move myself around carefully before a judicious shove raised me somewhat. My head didn’t ache, but my ear (had I hit the ground ear-first?) felt bigger than it should, hot and pulsing. So did my elbow, hand, and knee.

  I did make it to the loo, and fearfully inspected my face. Which looked just as it ought to: sleepy. Washed, it looked perfectly normal, which was reassuring.

  I peered out the bathroom window and saw Shay’s blue car parked in front. Ridiculous waves of relief coursed down my spine and into my tummy.

  “Good Lord, glad Nosy isn’t about! That would have been provocative …”

  “Mom? You conscious?” Snow’s dulcet tones floated up the staircase. She sounded anxious.

  “Yes indeed.” I leaned down the railing and grinned at her. “Any coffee?”

  “Sure thing. You just pop right back into bed, Mommy.”

  I had that precise intention, because breakfast on a tray, when Snow is in a good helpful mood, is a real treat. But if Shay’s car were outside my door, I didn’t want to miss another opportunity.

  I shucked my nightgown, slipped into panties, and was fastening my bra when there was a knock at the door. I said “Come in,” even as I thought that it was odd of Snow to knock. I turned, and there was Shay, balancing a tray on one hand. We stared at each other for a moment, me horrified, him just… just taking me all in.

  He said, “Don’t please,” as I reached wildly for my discarded nightgown. He put the tray on the bed, kicked the door shut, and came toward me with both arms outstretched and a look on his face which rearranged a lot of my resolutions instantaneously.

  His hands closed most proprietarily about the bare skin at my waist, and slid up around to my shoulders to hold me sensually against him. At the same time, he was kissing me in such a devastating way! And bare skin, compromising situation, and impropriety notwithstanding, I was kissing him back with all the longing that had been building up in me, with all the conflicting emotions that had dominated our relationship since the bulldozing day we’d met.

  We both sort of had too much at the same time. He released me, his hands still caressing
my bare back, but holding me slightly from him so that we could look into each other’s eyes.

  “You’d better put that thing on, Rene,” he said unsteadily, and dropped his hands to his side. “I’m sorry,” he went on, turning about, one hand jammed in his pocket, the other nervously combing his hair back. “Snow said you’d gone back to bed … Hell, I am not sorry!” He circled abruptly back to me, his eyes dark with an expression I knew I reciprocated.

  But I’d managed to get the gown around me while I rummaged in my closet for the dressing gown. He let me put that on and then reached for my hands, drawing me back into his arms.

  “God, you’re pretty,” he said, smiling down at me, and he didn’t mean my face. “Long and slender.” His fingers wafted down my back to my waist. Then he took a deep breath and spun me toward the bed. “Get in there, safely, get that tray on your lap. Your darling daughter sent me up with your breakfast, but she’ll be up in a minute or two or my name isn’t Shamus Kerrigan.”

  “Wasn’t that a bit of luck last night?” I said, seizing on any topic to divert my torrid thoughts.

  “Huh?”

  “Sally being here and all, so we could prove to Ann that you really weren’t that Shamus Kerrigan.”

  Shay gave me a long keen look. “And that was what Irene and Ann—had against me?” His tone was bitter and resigned. “I can credit Irene, but not Ann. I thought she trusted me.”

  “It may be that she felt Irene had the right of it, and I gather my great-aunt was a trifle difficult to argue with …”

  “But for Ann to think that I’d abandon a pregnant girl to the mercies of Ireland? Jasus!”