The Lady

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Oh, missus”—Kathleen’s eyes went wide as she opened the door and got a clear look at Selina’s face—“I was afraid for you when he came storming into the house yesterday noon. He was raging. Raging! I never would’ve thought a man like Mr. Healey could act so wild.”

  “What exactly did he say, Kathleen?”

  Kathleen flushed and looked away. “More’n I cared to hear, missus, he was so about in the head. He throws money at me and tells me to get out, that I was sacked for good and all—and with no reference, what with all that’s been going on in his house.” Kathleen shot Selina a querying glance. “I did tell him then, missus, that there’s been nothing going on, an’ that’s the truth! But he wasn’t listening, just throws me coat in me face and tells me to get out.” Kathleen managed to look both affronted and piteous.

  “Don’t worry about a reference, Kathleen,” Selina said. “I’ll give you one, and a good one, for you’ve been excellent.”

  Relief flooded the earnest face “Ah, thank you, Mrs. Healey, you’re a real brick.”

  “Not at all, you deserve it. I’m only sorry you had to get caught in the middle of all this. I’ll be in touch in a few days, when I’m settled again.”

  When she reached the house, Selina discovered that David had changed the locks. She stood on the steps of the front stoop, jiggling her now useless keys, and wondered what to do. The clothes didn’t matter so much, but there were things she’d brought with her from her family’s old home in Kildare that were precious to her. David didn’t own them, too. Or did he?

  So she kept her first appointment with Maurie Woods, which didn’t take long, and then went on to Dr. Treacy. Treacy was appalled at the marks on her body and tut-tutted throughout the examination. But he seemed most grateful when Selina spared him a blow-by-blow account of David’s brutality.

  Having elected not to conceal her battle scars, she was gratified by Ian Coghlan’s swift intake of breath at his first sight of her. She gave him the names of the Cornanagh witnesses, the fact that the Gardái had been called in, and her assumption that the private investigator, too diligent by half, had precipitated this latest attack.

  “Healey has fired my housekeeper, terrifying her in the process, changed the locks on the doors to a house that was a wedding present from my father—”

  “But is in your husband’s name.”

  She held up her hand. “There are some items of furniture, a few paintings, and prints of mine”—she stressed the pronoun—“that have been in my family’s possession for many years, and I certainly don’t want those sold out of hand. Can you prevent it?”

  “I can try,” Coghlan replied. “I’ve already initiated proceedings for a barring order. But if you’re not in the house . . . ”

  “Does a barring order prevent him from entering any place I occupy?”

  “Yes, but where are you?”

  “I’m at the Glenview Hotel in Glen o’ the Downs for a few days, but then I shall be taking up residence at the mews cottage, Cornanagh Stud, Kilquade.”

  Coghlan promised to get a barring order as soon as possible, and Selina believed he was sincere. From his office, she dropped in to Brown Thomas and purchased enough clothes to go on with. She was told by an embarrassed floor manager that her husband had cancelled her account the previous afternoon. As she paid for her purchases with cash, she remembered, with a certain malicious satisfaction, that the bulk of David’s cash was securely in Cornanagh’s safe, along with her jewels. Feeling quite jaunty, she dumped her parcels in the back of the Lancia and returned to the hotel.

  She found three telephone messages waiting for her, all from Sybil.

  “What news, Sister Anne?” asked Sybil when Selina rang her back. “I’ve been trying to get you all morning.”

  “Let’s see . . . David fired Kathleen and changed the locks on the house, so I couldn’t get in. So I went to see Maurie Woods, old Dr. Treacy, and Ian Coghlan, who’s getting a barring order.”

  “Janey Mack but you’ve been busy.”

  “Strike while the iron’s hot.”

  “Speaking of which, what’re you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to change my clothes and apply to your father for a job. He’ll be losing Philip after the Horse Show, and Trina’s a shade too young to compete in the big events.”

  “Then you’re going to take the mews cottage?” Sybil sounded so enthusiastic that Selina had to laugh.

  “Certainly until I can find something else nearby,” she said.

  “Good! There isn’t a chance of your being depressed or lonely about this wretched business at Cornanagh.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  When Selina arrived at Cornanagh after lunch, everyone crowded around her, babbling in unison about the Fitzroys’ latest attempt on Cornanagh.

  “This is the last one, Selina,” Michael promised her when he saw how shaken she was at the account.

  “Cat was the heroine,” Patricia said proudly.

  “Only because it was Frolic and Tulip’s Son,” Catriona mumbled, examining her boots.

  Selina gave her a quick hug, and Catriona looked up shyly, only to draw back in horror.

  “Your face—Selina, what happened to your face?”

  Selina glanced uncertainly at Michael, who gave a reluctant nod. So she sat down on the couch, pulling Catriona to her right and keeping her arm about the girl. Patricia slid into the space on the left, and Michael, folding his arms, slouched against a nearby table.

  “My husband has been in the north a great deal,” she began, “with all the troubles up there and the bank strike, and when he came home and found I was at Cornanagh, he came looking for me and . . . ”

  “He beat you up,” Pat said bluntly, her expression bleak.

  Selina nodded. “And tried to force me to return home with him.”

  “When was that?” Pat asked, amazed that she’d managed to miss such an event.

  “While you were all at Eithne’s wedding.” Selina felt Catriona’s hand creep over to cover hers protectively, felt the girl’s slender body lean against her. “Mick and Mrs. Comyn kept him here until your father and brothers got home. They’ve persuaded David—my husband—to leave me alone, and I’m seeking a legal separation from him.”

  Catriona put both arms about Selina’s neck and hugged her close. “You’re not to go back to that man, Selina—not ever! Is she, Daddy?”

  Selina, unable to look at Michael at that moment, returned Catriona’s embrace. She felt close to tears suddenly, aware that she was being offered exactly what she had once thought beyond attainment—Michael, Catriona, and Cornanagh.

  “I think Selina knows that she’s welcome at Cornanagh for any reason,” Michael said, his voice rough.

  “You know, Selina,” Pat said gently, “you can get divorced in the States.”

  As Catriona’s hold tightened convulsively, Selina shook her head.

  “Since I’m welcome, I don’t think I’ll leave Cornanagh!”

  Afterword

  CORNANAGH pulled out all the stops for Michael’s birthday: the horses did well at the day’s show; the newlyweds returned from Wexford looking well pleased with themselves; all the nonresident Carradynes, including Andrew and the grandchildren, showed up; and Bridie, Mrs. Comyn, Susan, Sybil, Selina, and Eithne worked together to produce an unparalleled feast. For despite his protests, everyone was determined that Michael was going to have a proper birthday celebration.

  When the lavish meal had been consumed, the birthday cake, sixteen inches across and elaborately decorated, was carried in by James as the eldest son and greeted with cries of admiration and delight. Bridie followed it into the dining room, and even Mick and Barry joined the family for the ceremonial toast that followed.

  Then it was time for the presents. Michael was effusive in his thanks as one item after another emerged from all the gaily wrapped boxes and brown-paper parcels. Mick’s gift was a beautiful brass-mounted head collar with “Tulip’s Son�
�� affixed to the cheekpiece. Philip gave him a new folded leather girth and Andrew a fine set of spurs. Soon, the table in front of him looked like a tack shop counter, and Michael was more than a little touched by such generosity. At last Catriona, looking apprehensive, brought him her package.

  “Tack this is not,” Michael said, and everyone laughed.

  He felt the breathless silence in the room and took his time about undoing the gaudy birthday paper, sensing this was the high point of his party. He ended up unwrapping it backward, and there was a ripple of surprise and admiration from those opposite him who could see the picture. Grinning in anticipation, he turned it around.

  As he saw the sketch, saw old Tulip in a pose that had often gladdened his heart after a long and trying day, his grin faded. It was such a powerful image that he could almost feel the touch of those searching lips on his hand. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, and he was not ashamed. He turned to Catriona, saw her anxious face, and carefully put the portrait on the floor before he embraced her, hugging her as tightly as he could. He felt her relax, her arms wrapping about his neck as she accepted his love and approval.

  Rubbing his eyes and nose with a napkin, he rose and went to the wall. He took the center hunting print down, set the Tulip’s portrait in its place, and stepped back with a slightly dramatic flourish. Then, retrieving his champagne glass, he gestured for all to join him. When everyone had stood up, he inclined his glass to the daughter of his heart, then raised it high.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, a toast: To the Tulip, alive forever in Cornanagh!”

  Glossary

  aids hand, seat, leg, stick, and spur are considered “aids”: a horse “between the aids” or “on the bit” is one ready to respond to any or all of the above-mentioned aids

  alanna Irish endearment—“little girl”

  bascule the natural curve of a horse’s body over a jump

  brushing boots strap-on guard pads to prevent horse brushing his own fetlocks

  chuffed puffed up with pride

  Dáil Irish House of Parliament

  ESB Electricity Supply Board, usually abbreviated

  exhaust muffler on a car

  farrup (v) phonetic rendering of a horse noise

  forehand the front end of a horse, including legs—a horse “on his fore” is generally heavy on the hands and unbalanced

  Gardá, Gardái police—Gardá Siochanna

  girth band that runs under horse’s belly to hold saddle on

  hames a mess

  jumper in most cases, a sweater

  loo UK euphemism for toilet

  menage an outdoor ring, an arena for lunging or schooling horses

  mucking out cleaning manure and wet straw bedding out of a stable

  nick swipe or steal

  nixer moonlighting—off-hours job or one not reported to employer

  on the bit see entry for “aids”

  over-reach bells rubber “bells” slipped over hooves to prevent hind hooves from clipping front hooves in wide, high, long jumps

  oxer a wide spread fence frequently used in show jumping

  quartering grooming a horse in four sections—generally in winter, by turning up one quarter of the horse rug at a time; otherwise a lick and a promise of a grooming

  skipped out removing only recent droppings or wet straw/shavings

  stable rubber cloth used to “rub” horses down as final part of grooming

  stone UK weight measurement—one stone equals fourteen pounds

  swede traditional root vegetable, like rutabaga

  sweet dessert

  T.D. Teachta Dáil pronounced “chok-tah doil”: Speaker in the House, meaning Speaker in the Dáil, the Irish Parliament, usually abbreviated to T.D.

  Táoiseach Prime Minister—Irish

  wellingtons rubber boots—“wellies”

  whinge whining—Irish idiom

  Books by Anne McCaffrey

  Decision at Doona

  Dinosaur Planet

  Dinosaur Planet Survivors

  Get Off the Unicorn

  The Lady

  Pegasus in Flight

  Restorree

  The Ship Who Sang

  To Ride Pegasus

  Nimisha’s Ship

  Pegasus in Space

  THE CRYSTAL SINGER BOOKS

  Crystal Singer

  Killashandra

  Crystal Line

  THE DRAGONRIDERS OF PERN® BOOKS

  Dragonflight

  Dragonquest

  The White Dragon

  Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern

  Nerilka’s Story

  Dragonsdawn

  The Renegades of Pern

  All the Weyrs of Pern

  The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall

  The Dolphins of Pern

  Dragonseye

  The Masterharper of Pern

  The Skies of Pern

  By Anne McCaffrey and Elizabeth Ann Scarborough:

  Powers that Be

  Power Lines

  Power Play

  With Jody Lynn Nye:

  The Dragonlover’s Guide to Pern

  Edited by Anne McCaffrey:

  Alchemy and Academe

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  Acclaim for Anne McCaffrey and The Lady

  “Fans of Anne McCaffrey can look forward with delight to her latest offering . . . McCaffrey’s wonderful novel is rich with the feel and texture of the Irish countryside, with all its accompanying charm.”

  Rave Reviews

  “Absorbing and engaging . . . This book certainly captures that mysteriously wonderful relationship between people and horses that pervades all the ever-popular and enduring horse sagas.”

  News-Free Press,

  Chattanooga, Tennessee

  “This one should be just a hoofbeat away from the hearts of McCaffrey fans.”

  The Kirkus Reviews

  A Del Rey® Book

  Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group

  Copyright © 1987 by Anne McCaffrey

  Map copyright © 1987 by David Lindro

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States of America by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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  eISBN: 978-0-345-45757-8

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