by Sara Seale
“Very tactfully put,” she answered, sounding bored, then her eyes travelled with cool deliberation over the pair of them. Raff—tall and dark and a little untidy, with that provocative ugliness already softened into a look of release, Judy with her bright head resting in sudden weariness against his breast.
“God, how you would have bored me!” she exclaimed with callous cruelty. “I wanted a man, not an old-fashioned knight in armour with one foot in the grave of a lost love and another in the cradle of a fancied second best! Not quite such an innocent, either, if Noel is to be believed—I wish you joy of one another!”
“Shut up!” said Noel, suddenly shouting, and swinging her round roughly, pushed her from the room.
It seemed very quiet after they had gone, and only familiar small sounds disturbed the stillness; the slow ticking of the clock, one of the yard dogs whimpering in its sleep, and the gentle, timeless lapping of the water on the lough’s shore. Judy spun round suddenly and turning her face into Raff’s breast, began to weep.
His arm went round her instantly and he held her close to his heart, the fingers of one hand running soothingly through the tangle of her hair.
“Don’t, my darling ... don’t cry like that...” he said. “Her words can’t touch you ... just the final, spiteful outburst of a rather vulgar woman...”
“I weep for you, not for myself,” Judy sobbed.
“Why, then? Do you think she’s hurt me?”
She nodded, and he smiled above her head, and for a moment his eyes were sad.
“Of the two, I think it was Noel who hurt me most,” he said. “It’s never pleasant to have one’s kindness repaid with ingratitude, but I dare say I was a lot to blame.”
“But Marcia—she must have hurt you.”
“She hadn’t that power. You have to be loved, Judy, before you can strike very deep with your claws.”
“And did you never—love her, I mean?”
“I don’t think so. She attracted me at first, as I apparently attracted her, because she was outside my experience and I had lived for a long time without any woman’s company.”
“But you would have married her,” she said, and lifted her face, streaked with tears, and he wiped them away with a gentle finger.
“At one time, perhaps,” he answered. “The time had come to marry and raise children, I thought, and Marcia was beautiful and seemed a fitting chatelaine for my home—I had never, you see, had a great deal to do with women. It would seem ungallant to say that she made the running if she hadn’t already admitted it herself, but I never, believe me, gave her grounds for such a supposition once you were here.”
“Me?” She looked puzzled, then the faint colour began to creep under her skin and he gave her a little shake.
“Oh, Judy!” he exclaimed, tenderness mixed with a hint of exasperation, touching his mouth. “Don’t you know by now what I feel for you, or have all my tentative probings and hints gone for nothing?”
“Riddles,” she said. “You always talked in riddles.”
“But I remember telling you only this afternoon that you were pretty good at answering in riddles.”
“Yes, you taught me how,” she said a little bitterly, and suddenly pulled away from him.
“Judy—” he said tentatively, “I’d thought—but no matter—tomorrow will do as well.”
“Tomorrow?” she faltered, plainly not having understood half the things he had been trying to say, then she spun round abruptly, with a whirl of yellow skirts and flying hair, and ran out of the room without another word.
She slept late the next morning, the deep, unrefreshing sleep of mental exhaustion, and awoke, heavy-eyed, to find Rosie Boyle setting down a tray by the bed.
“Sure, and I thought you were in a swound, Miss Judy,” she said, her eyes bright with the excitement that prevailed in the kitchen.
“What’s the time?” Judy asked, struggling to sit up and aware from the fullness of the light which streamed in at the windows that it was long past the hour for rising.
“Ten o’clock, no less, and that by the old granddad on the stairs, and he an hour slow,” Rosie replied, and Judy, wide awake now, stared at her with dismay.
“Why didn’t you call me at the usual time?” she demanded, reaching hurriedly for the teapot “The morning’s half gone and there’s work to be done.”
“The master said to leave you,” Rosie replied. “He’s gone to the other side to send telegrams, so you don’t need to choke yourself. Is it true, Miss Judy, that there was fine shenanigans last night and them two was thrown out?”
“If you mean Mr. and Miss Maule, they will be leaving shortly, I believe,” Judy said reprovingly, wondering how much the servants already knew of last night’s events.
They’ve gone,” announced Rosie with every evidence of satisfaction. “Had me brother Ned drive them to Knockferry in the master’s cyar to catch the early train; never a word of farewell to any of us, either, and Timsy carryin’ baggage to the cyar fit to sink a battleship! What will we be doin’ now, Miss Judy, with visitors comin’ from Americy and the elegant plans for them only just begun?”
“We’ll manage,” Judy said. She leaned back on her pillows, eating her buttered toast, while she recalled the happenings of the night before. It was both a shock and a relief to know that the Maules had already gone. They were rats, after all, she thought, not even waiting to tide over Raffs affairs before leaving the sinking ship; a couple of adventurers who, having squeezed the orange dry, had no further thought than their own skins. And what had Raff been trying to tell her afterwards when she had behaved like a child and refused to stay and listen?
When she was ready she spent what was left of the morning sorting out the files and correspondence in Noel’s office, docketing bills and restoring some sort of order to the place. There was, she reflected, a queer feeling about the house. Miss Doyle was singing lugubrious hymns in the kitchen, doors banged without restraint, the dogs wandered through the hall unchecked, and presently Timsy’s cornet could be heard as an inappropriate accompaniment to his niece’s chant. I will never, Judy thought, be able to induce order in this house as Marcia did, then remembered that her own future in regard to Castle Slyne was still undetermined. She had deliberately thrust from her mind Raff’s overtures of last night. He had turned to her, as at first she had turned to him, for comfort and reassurance after that humiliating scene, and if he had implied something more than a fondness for her, it was still mixed up with that old confusion with the happy ghost of the girl who had never hurt him as Marcia must have done. But at least her own defences had not weakened in a moment he might have regretted later.
She wandered down to the lough, followed by the dog which, true to its name, wheezed and snuffled at her heels, and saw Granny Malone picking up pebbles on the shore, as was her custom from time to time, no one knew why. Judy would have avoided her, never having quite rid herself of the local superstition which clung to the old woman, but Granny hailed her, and came shuffling over the stones to engage her in talk. It was evidently one of her more affable days.
“The saints be with you, young miss!” she began piously. “Would it be true what I’m hearin’ that that fine pair have left the castle?”
“Mr. and Miss Maule have gone, yes,” Judy replied warily, and the old woman cackled with laughter.
“Sure, I saw it in the tea-leaves,” she said. “Never good luck to Castle Slyne was them two, bad cess to ‘em, and the bold lady with her two eyes fixed on the O’Rafferty, and he like to be caught by the black heart of her! Granny put the ‘fluence on her, doty, that’s why you’re rid of her.”
“Nonsense!” Judy replied briskly, feeling that she ought not to encourage such primitive notions, but Granny only cackled again, showing her toothless gums.
“Would you be fancyin’ the O’Rafferty yourself, young miss?” she asked slyly, and suddenly seized one of Judy’s hands. “I’ll tell your fortune for you, doty ... och, the disaster of it .
.. the cruel fate to fall upon this place! I see ashes and ruins, and the tollin’ of a bell...
Judy tried to pull her hand away, but the old woman gripped tightly, then suddenly flung it away, at the same time dropping the pebbles she had collected.
“You are bad luck to this place, too, with your red hair like that other wan and your child’s body that would be comfort to no man... The castle is doomed ... doomed...Och, bad cess to you, me pebbles are lost entirely!”
She began grovelling about on the shore to find the pebbles, muttering to herself, a dirty, rather pathetic old woman, with the sparse grey hair sticking out from under the old cloth cap, and Judy left her. She was used by now to Granny Malone’s dire prophecies, but she returned to the house feeling slightly shaken, and it came as no surprise, after such forebodings, to find Grogan’s van standing unattended in front of the portico.
II
She ran into the house, knowing the little dealer would be prying about in one of the rooms, assessing the amount that he hoped to make on his next deal, and wishing that Raff had returned. She had wondered several times if he had stopped away so long to avoid embarrassing himself by having to reopen a subject on which in the clear light of morning he might have had regrets, but although she had been grateful for his absence, she wished he was here now.
She found Grogan in the Grand Saloon, inspecting the tallboy, and wondered whether, with Miss Doyle’s doubtful help, he had already managed to effect the exchange.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Grogan—can I do something for you?” she asked, and he wheeled round from his inspection, and the frown on his swarthy face changed swiftly to an expression of sly ingratiation.
“Well now, Miss Judy, if it isn’t yourself, poppin’ up again when I least expect to see you, and me thinkin’ the house was empty,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
She looked him over coolly, then spared a quick glance for the tallboy, assuring herself with relief that it was still the original piece.
“Don’t you ever ring the bell, Mr. Grogan?” she asked. “One of the servants could have told you that no one was at home.”
“Ah, sure, the place has always been liberty hall to me,” he replied airily. “Besides, I knew the O’Rafferty had gone over to the other side and wouldn’t be here to offer his usual hospitality. Would there be a drop of the crayture handy in the office, Miss Judy? Mr. Maule, now, is very particular about showin’ me a welcome when I come, God save him!”
“If you’ve heard Mr. O’Rafferty went over to the other side, I’m surprised you haven’t also heard that Mr. Maule has gone, and I haven’t the authority, I’m afraid, to offer you a drink,” Judy said.
“Then I’ll just help meself,” Grogan replied jovially, then his face suddenly changed. “What’s that you said? The young felly’s gone—gone without the cash he thinks I owe him!”
“I don’t think he had much choice,” said Judy calmly. “Mr. O’Rafferty knows all about your fiddle with the antiques, and if there’s money owing on the deal I suggest you pay it to him since he’s the owner of the stuff you switched. You’ve come again for the tallboy, haven’t you?”
“You little she-cat! So you told, did you?” he exclaimed furiously. “What’s the O’Rafferty doin’ over in the other side—tell me that! Has he gone to the Garda?” He advanced upon her threateningly and she backed away.
“I don’t know,” she said, her confidence shaken. “Do the Garda have headquarters on the other side?”
“And you playin’ the innocent, gettin’ us prosecuted and sent to gaol! Wait till I get me hands on you! Wait till I get me hands on your scrawny little neck, me fine chicken!” he said, and seized her by the shoulders.
“Grogan!” Raffs voice from the doorway echoed round the room like a pistol shot, and the dealer dropped his hands as if he had been stung.
“Is it yourself, O’Rafferty?” he said, vainly trying to collect his lost bonhomie. “We was havin’ a bit of an argument, Miss Judy and me—I had me temper mislaid for a minute or two.”
Raff crossed the room with rapid strides and took the little man by the collar of his loud-checked coat.
“Get out of here!” he said, his face white with anger. “And if ever I find you laying hands on a woman again, there’ll be more than the Garda for you to reckon with. Ill knock you silly, myself! Now get out.”
“Aisy now, your honour,” Grogan said, his eyes nervous but his boldness still making a fight for it. “We’d not be partin till a little matter of cash is settled between us, would we, now?”
“Your cash dealings were strictly between yourself and my late manager, so I understand,” Raff replied in what Marcia would have termed his king-of-the-castle voice.
“Ah, no! There’s a small matter of payment on the last piece of work I had done for you, and Mr. Maule never settled up. The piece is beyont in the van if you’ve a mind to see it sor—as fine a piece of gen-u-ine reproduction as ever I saw.”
He glanced away as he spoke as if he expected Raff to hit him, but Raff merely looked down on him from his considerable height with a very unpleasant glint in his eyes, and Judy exclaimed with outraged indignation:
“I never heard such barefaced lies! I overheard that conversation you had with Mr. Maule the day you tried to change the tallboys over, you horrid little man! You were holding out on him for the money you’d got for the desk and you taunted him with the fact that such prices that the stuff fetched went into his own pocket and Mr. O Rafferty knew nothing about it. Blackmail, he called it—and so it was—and you laughed in his face and said he wouldn’t dare to insist on his money. And now you have the nerve to suggest that Mr. O’Rafferty should pay you for robbing him! Well, the Irish have me speechless for sheer audacity!”
“Oh, he’s not Irish, are you, Grogan?” Raff said with deceptive casualness. “Just a nasty little mongrel from the slums of some Latin quarter somewhere, overlaid with a brogue too good to be true. The Garda might be interested to see his papers, among other things.”
Grogan’s self-confidence began to ooze visibly. He could, thought Judy with interest, afford to bluff Noel, who was as cheap a crook as himself, but he could not for very long hold out against the master of Slyne, whose mildness of tone matched so ill the hard expression in his chilly eyes.
“Now look, Mr. O’Rafferty, sor, I’ll say nothin’ about the cruel slight you cast on me parentage, the saints forgive you—but we want no trouble with the Garda, do we?” he said ingratiatingly.
“I want no trouble, if it can be avoided, certainly,” Raff answered coolly, then his voice suddenly changed. “Now listen to me, Grogan, you dirty little twister! I have no liking for my affairs being dragged into the open in order to teach you a lesson, and for that reason, and that reason only, I’ll not prosecute you this time. But if ever I catch you round here again, or have any cause whatever to think you’re practising your filthy trade in this district, I’ll have you hounded out of the country and sent back to wherever it is you belong when the local gaol has done with you. Now get out!”
Grogan licked his dry lips and began to sidle towards the door.
“And what about me fine piece in the van?” he whined, hopeful to the last of making some sort of a deal.
“Drive it away and unload it on some poor mug who’ll swallow your blarney before I fetch a chopper and break the ruddy thing up under your nose,” Raff said, and turned his back.
Judy let out a long sigh and sat down rather heavily on the nearest chair.
“I’m beginning to think I can’t keep pace with the natives of this country,” she said, pushing an agitated hand through her hair. “No one reacts as you expect.”
“Well, events have rather crowded one upon the other just of late,” he replied, observing her thoughtfully. “I don’t think you need trouble yourself at not being able to keep pace, though. You seem to tackle most things that come your way, including the unspeakable Grogan, with astonishing nonchalance. He didn’t hurt you, did
he, Judy?”
“Oh, no—only scared me a little on top of Granny Malone’s dire predictions.”
“Granny? What’s she been up to?”
“Oh, telling my fortune again. She sees ashes and ruins and says I’m bad luck to the house with my red hair. Do you think I could be bad luck, Raff? An awful lot of unpleasant things have been happening lately.”
He smiled, and the new tenderness was back in his face.
“For me you mean good luck, my dear, and for Slyne too, I think,” he said softly. “You’re accepted, you know, as Marcia never was.”
“Except for Granny.”
“Ah, the divil fly away with the old biddy and her evil eye!” he exclaimed, and she began to laugh. She laughed so long that Raff gave her an uneasy glance.
“You’ve had about enough, haven’t you?” he said. “Why not go and lie down until teatime?”
She wiped her streaming eyes and got briskly to her feet.
“Certainly not!” she retorted severely. “There’s masses of paper work to be got through yet. Noel’s office is in a terrible muddle and I’ve been straightening things out. What are you going to do about the fabulous Yanks, Raff? Do you think we could manage between us?”
“I’ve cabled them not to come,” he said. “That’s what I went over to Casey’s for. They may, on closer acquaintance, prove to be quite a reasonable family, but I thought we’d be better at present without the doubtful advantages of luxury-loving guests.”
“Oh! Marcia always regarded that as a valuable booking leading to others,” she said dubiously.
“Marcia’s judgement might have been proved wrong, as in other matters,” he returned dryly. “Are you willing to stop on, Judy, and keep me and the books straight? I couldn’t pay you the Maule’s salary until times were better, but you’d make more than you would as a secretary.”
She gave him a puzzled glance. Had those tender hints and half-formed declarations he had let fall last night only been leading up to this after all?