"We can go in the carriage."
"No, really, it would be faster for me on foot given the conditions. You stay here, read or something. I'll have a good long chat with you when I get back," he promised, all the while accusing himself of being a bold-faced liar.
"How soon can we manage the funeral if the weather is so bad?"
"I don't know, Muireann. I'll see what the doctor says on my way to see Father Brennan."
"Thank you for being so considerate. Well, for everything, really."
"No need to thank me," he said with a small tight smile, avoiding her eyes as he wrapped his muffler around his neck.
Lochlainn headed out into the swirling storm to collect his thoughts. Coward, he berated himself soundly as he trudged through the crunching drifts. You're going to have to tell her sooner or later, aren't you?
But at the same time, he knew he was right. He had to get Muireann through the funeral, then he would confront her with the dire state of affairs at Barnakilla. The last thing he needed was for her to go running back to her old life at Fintry.
Of course, it would be easy enough for Muireann to give him power of attorney to sell the estate, but God only knew who would buy it. Selfish though it was, Lochlainn couldn't bear the idea of being replaced, of having to leave his home once a new landlord took over.
Muireann was young, true, but she didn't seem to be as addlepated as most girls her age. For example, she had argued quite logically about wishing to avoid her parents' suffocating concern. She had spirit, he had to give her that. The fact that she wished to deal with the funeral alone was proof of it.
Of course, she could also be drive by stiff-backed pride. That was a character trait he had noticed amongst the upper classes, the ability to maintain a brave front in the face of adversity. Yet he might be able to use this tendency to his own advantage. He was certain if he convinced her to come to Barnakilla with him, she wouldn't balk.
She would have to make some hard decisions, but she would see through whatever she started, he was sure of that. And he would have the power to guide her, advise her in her decision-making, so that he could look after the interests of everyone on the estate, including his own.
One other obvious point in Muireann's favor was her wealth, and experience of life on a grand estate. He had seen the richness of her dresses, the small case of jewels in her black valise. There was no doubt in his mind that Augustine had not just married her for love, but for the injection of much-needed capital she could provide.
No doubt her dowry was substantial. Had Augustine put it in his bank account already? Or had it been in the form of a banker's draft? Or, due to the haste with which they had married, had the money not yet been paid out by Muireann's father?
Lochlainn would have to look in Augustine's small strongbox when he got back to the hotel. He had ordered all of his late employer's things to be put in a storage room so as not to upset Muireann. He had looked through her things and found nothing too flamboyant, thankfully. She seemed a level-headed woman, despite the fact that she had married Augustine.
He almost wished she did own more jewels. He consoled himself with the thought that if Augustine's past taste in extravagant jewelry was anything to go by, he might at least have enough money to pay for the funeral and the hotel and livery bills if he sold everything and was able to get a good price. He only prayed she wasn't too familiar with her husband's things yet. If she did ask about them, he could always lie and say he had sent them on to Barnakilla.
He stopped in the doctor's surgery first, and was informed that the body was ready to be coffined at any time. The elderly man recommended a discreet undertaker a few streets away, and Lochlainn went there to make inquiries.
Not knowing where the money to pay for it would come from, he selected the cheapest coffin, and arranged for a minimum of flowers: one wreath from Muireann, one from the estate workers, and one from Augustine's cousin Christopher. He was currently residing abroad, after having run off with Lochlainn's former fiancée Tara, the estate manager recollected, the bile rising in his throat.
Lastly, there would be one from Muireann's family, to at least make the thing look above board in case anyone poked a nose in where it didn't belong. They had to make the funeral look as decent as possible, if only to avoid scandal for Muireann's sake, as well as that of any unborn child she might be carrying.
Lochlainn thought resentfully of Augustine as he trudged though the snow to St. Francis' Church. He couldn't help himself. Augustine had been short, fat, red-faced, loud, vulgar and stupid. Yet he had been the heir of a rich father, and had got everything his own way. Lochlainn himself was tall, dark, handsome, well educated and, he prided himself, well mannered, as well as an efficient manager.
If Barnakilla had been his, he never would have allowed the magnificent estate to fall to wrack and ruin. And if Muireann had been his wife, he would have made love to her until they were both utterly satisfied. The thought made him quiver from head to toe. He certainly would never have been so foolish as to shoot himself in the head on his honeymoon.
The question had to be asked: had Augustine known the noose was tightening around his neck? That the debt collectors were howling at the door? Was that why he had taken his own life?
When he arrived at St. Francis', Father Brennan was just emerging from the church after early morning mass. There were few parishioners out on such a snowy day. Father Brennan hugged Lochlainn to him jovially, and dragged him inside the tiny but moderately warm vestry.
"Well, my son, it's been a long time. I can't tell you how good it is to see someone from home," the middle-aged man exclaimed, beaming. He was about average height, with silver hair and sparkling blue eyes which seemed to observe everything.
"So, how are you, lad?" he asked in a hearty tone.
"As you see, Father," Lochlainn replied shortly.
"Older and wiser by the look of things," Father Brennan commented as he glanced at Lochlainn's face, noting his gaunt features.
"I'm afraid this isn't a social visit, Father, much as I've longed to see you these past four years since you left us. No, I'm afraid I have bad news. Augustine is dead."
Father Brennan gasped. "How? When?"
"He shot himself in the head at the Gresham Hotel last night."
The priest stared at Lochlainn in horror. "Suicide?"
He shook his head. "I honestly don't know. It could have been while he was cleaning the gun. His wife was there at the time. She might be able to tell us, but it was a harrowing experience for her. I wouldn't like to upset her further by asking too many probing questions."
"His wife!"
"Aye, Muireann Graham from Fintry in Scotland. They were on their honeymoon, just married a fortnight in fact. That's why it seems so unlikely that Augustine would have killed himself. It has to have been an accident. But the doubt is why I've come to you for help. We need to be discreet, for Muireann's sake, and for the sake of any unborn child she might be carrying.
"Also, I have to tell you now the estate is virtually bankrupt. In the years I've been in Australia, he's run Barnakilla into the ground with his gambling, drinking and hunting. No doubt womanizing too, if the truth be told," Lochlainn said disgustedly.
"No, that was never Augustine's problem," the priest said quietly. "The drinking and gambling kept him busy enough. So you're asking me to bury him decently in my churchyard even though I can't be certain he didn't take his own life?"
Lochlainn threw himself into a small wooden chair by the fire so roughly that it groaned under the weight of his huge frame. "Would it be so wrong? The poor girl has gone through enough!"
"I would imagine so, being married to Augustine," Father Brennan said, looking ill at ease. "This girl, Muireann, I believe you called her. What is she like?"
"A rare jewel," were the first words that sprang to Lochlainn's lips. He blushed, and wanted to take back the words as soon as he had said them, but it was best to be truthful with his old friend.
"I have no doubt Augustine married her for her money, but she seems to have loved him. I wouldn't wish to hurt her, or disillusion her in any way. Besides, any scandal about his death would have the creditors swarming around Barnakilla like locusts. Please, if I can convince Muireann to come back with me, to channel some of her wealth into the place, then we might be able to keep the place afloat."
"But if the estate is bankrupt, wouldn't it be best to get her to sell it?"
He shook his head. "We would never get a good price, not if the scandal broke. And even if it didn't, things are so bad now that we would just have to take the first offer, no matter how low. It might not be enough to cover all the debts. The new landlord would more than likely have his own tenants and servants. Where would Ciara and I go? Barnakilla has been our home all our lives. Only for the want of a slip of paper, a couple of words from old Douglas Caldwell, Barnakilla could have been mine!"
"I did notice you keep using the word we," Father Brennan commented shrewdly.
"All right, I admit it! I wish the place were mine, and I don't want to leave. I've traveled around the world, but always, I dreamt of coming home. I can't help it. It's in my blood," he declared in agonized tones as he ran his fingers through his hair.
"Please, Father Brennan. Declan. You've never let me down in the past. Please, help me now. It might just buy me the time I need, and it wouldn't be harming anyone. I'm not just asking you to do this for my sake. I'm asking you to do it to protect Muireann, who's completely innocent of any wrongdoing. And for all the poor souls at Barnakilla. They need a place to live, work to do, a kind landlord.
"As estate manager, I can improve their lives," he argued passionately. "I can make a difference. If Muireann sells, they'll have nothing, and nowhere to go if the new owner decides to enclose the lands and put sheep in the fields. You know I'm right. It's happened on far too many estates recently for you to think otherwise, old friend."
"All right, Lochlainn," the priest decided at length. "If you can tell me honestly that you think it was an accident, and that you're not simply doing this for your own selfish motives, then I shall agree."
Lochlainn rose from his chair. "Thank you, Declan. I can't tell you what a weight that is off my mind."
"But one other thing before you leave, Lochlainn. How is Tara?"
He sucked in his breath, and felt as though he had been punched in the gut at the abrupt question. But he was able to reply fairly evenly, "She left me, Declan. Ran off to the Continent with Christopher Caldwell, about a year after you moved here."
"I'm sorry," Father Brennan apologized. "No wonder you look as though you've suffered cruelly."
"Australia was a pretty tough place, you know." He gave a tight smile. He moved quickly towards the door before Father Brennan could ask any more uncomfortable questions.
"But now back to the business at hand, Father. The doctor has released the body, the undertakers are coffining him now, and I've arranged for the hearse and flowers. I just need you to set a time. How soon can you manage to perform the funeral?"
"In view of the weather and the situation, the sooner the better. If we don't hurry, the ground might freeze solid, and you'd have to wait several days."
"We can't afford to wait," Lochlainn said bluntly. "I'm not even sure we have enough money to pay the hotel bill."
Father Brennan shook his head. "I had no idea things had come to such a pass. Very well then, if I get my sexton out with his son right now, can you be ready by noon?"
"Aye, I can. I just hope Muireann will be."
"Go tell the undertaker the arrangements, and I shall meet you here."
"I'll see you at noon, then. Thank you, Declan," Lochlainn said, pumping the priest's hand as he took his leave.
CHAPTER FOUR
After his visit to St. Francis's to arrange Augustine's funeral with Father Brennan, Lochlainn ran back to the undertaker's as fast as he could. Then he returned to the hotel just long enough to tell Muireann the arrangements, and collect all of Augustine's luggage from the manager, Mr. Burns.
"She couldn't bear to have any reminders of him, you know," Lochlainn lied, as he took the valises away, "so I think I'll donate them to charity,"
With the cash he was able to raise by taking all of dead man's personal effects and jewelry down to a pawn shop, Lochlainn was able to pay off the undertaker and the hotel bill and other expenses they had incurred in Dublin for the previous two nights. He thanked the gods he had managed to strike some good bargains.
As he counted the notes and coins one more time just to be sure, he heaved a huge sigh of relief. He had just enough left over for one more night at an inn on the way back to Enniskillen, and for food and livery there.
But even as he thanked the gods again for his good fortune, wondered how on earth he was going to manage after that. There was no help for it. He would have to tell Muireann something soon. But not now. Not until after the funeral.
Lochlainn went back to the Gresham and paid the bill. He asked if the manager would be kind enough to let him hold onto the room just until the evening, so that Muireann could rest after the service before heading into the country.
Mr. Burns was most accommodating. "So long as you're out by six, that will be fine. Once again, I'm terribly sorry about all this. I was only too glad to be of service."
"You have been, sir, more than you could know." Lochlainn shook the older man warmly by the hand.
Lochlainn went upstairs and supervised Muireann's toilette. "If you insist on coming, my dear, you'll need as many layers on you as you can carry. Come on, take out your warmest dress, and your shawls and a good muff."
Muireann opened one valise, and shook out a gown from the bottom, putting the others in a neat pile on the bed without even looking at them.
"This is my warmest dress. Will brown do? I'm afraid I haven't got anything black."
"It will be fine under your cloak," he reassured her. "It's black."
He watched her disappear behind the screen to change.
She came out only a few moments later wearing the rich sable velvet gown, with black lace trimmings at the wrist and throat, and a lacy black jabot decorating the front. "I have a black bonnet too, in this hat box," she said, crossing over to the pile of cases.
"Good," he said, and bent to check her boots. "These are a bit flimsy. Have you anything heavier?"
"I have my old pair which I used to use for long walks at Fintry. They're a bit scuffed, but I've just had them resoled."
"Let's see them."
She dug in one of her smaller bags, where she had packed the most precious items from her old home, and showed them to him.
"A bit of polish and they'll be fine," he said, and called down the corridor for the boot boy.
He certainly didn't want Muireann to look like an impoverished widow at the funeral, but all the same, she had to be warm.
Oddly, the old boots cheered him somewhat, for they seemed to confirm that his instincts about Muireann had been correct. His first impression of her as haughty, and his second impression of her as an overdressed china doll when he had seen her go down to supper the night she had arrived in an impossibly flouncy gown, had been the wrong assessments. She had a certain amount of steel in her character which he simply had to exploit for his own ends.
He felt guilty about leading her into a trap, but as he had told Father Brennan, it wasn't just for himself that he wished to get the Caldwell estate out of the dire straits it was in. There were over a hundred tenants at Barnakilla. He knew they all owed rent, but times had been hard for everyone in recent years. He just had to find some way to make ends meet for all their sakes.
"I'm ready," she announced a few moments later as she straightened up and tested her boots to make sure they were tied securely, and then looped the ribbons of her bonnet under her chin.
Again, Lochlainn found it odd that she dressed so rapidly and didn't seem the least bit interested in her hair or clothes. He noted that sh
e wore virtually no ornaments apart from her wedding ring. Yet she had to be wealthy if Augustine had married her… He had been incapable of love.
"Let's go." He put on his hat, and took her arm. He escorted her down the stairs hurriedly, hoping to avoid the prying eyes of members of the public as they crossed the lobby. He hoped the carriage was waiting for them outside as he had ordered.
The cold weather continued unabated, making it dangerously icy underfoot. Lochlainn felt Muireann slip, and he steadied her quickly as she began to slide.
"Thank you," she said breathlessly as she at last scrambled safely into the seat he propelled her towards. She offered him a hand up as his boot skidded on the iced-over metal stair. Her grip was strong and firm, he noted, as he hauled himself up and sat next to her.
Call Home the Heart Page 4