Master of Falcon's Head

by Anne Mather

  ‘I guess I did,’ returned Tamar coolly. ‘How are you, Margaret? Sorry I had to miss your birthday party. Did you have a good time?’

  ‘Everyone had a good time,’ said Margaret silkily, ‘including Ben. Didn’t he tell you?’

  Tamar took little notice of Margaret’s cattiness. She was used to the younger girl’s attempts to embarrass her, and Ben cast a rueful glance in Tamar’s direction as though appealing for forbearance.

  ‘What are we going to do, Ben?’ Tamar asked now.

  Ben consulted some leaflets he had taken from his pocket. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve been advised that a trip by jaunting car to Kate Kearney’s cottage for Irish coffee is not to be missed, and nor too is a trip across the lake. Or we can go to Muckross Abbey, a fifteenth-century Franciscan friary.’ He grinned and looked up.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop talking like a guide book,’ said Margaret, grimacing. ‘These simple pleasures might be appealing to simple folk, but I’d prefer a trip to the shops, and a chance to spend some money on real Donegal tweed or a kilt - yes, a mini-kilt sounds great!’

  Ben drew out his cigarette case. ‘Margaret, do what you like. But Tamar and I are not spending a glorious day like this in stores that you can find on Oxford Street any day of the week.’

  Margaret shrugged. ‘You’re impossible! Tamar, are you interested in this woman’s cottage - what’s her name, Kate something or other, or this Franciscan friary?’ She was appealing now.

  Tamar hesitated, saw Ben’s expression and smiled. ‘Well, I don’t see why we can’t combine a little of both. We could go shopping this morning, if that’s what you’d like to do, Margaret, and visit Ben’s ancient monuments this afternoon.’

  Margaret sighed, but gave in. Actually, it was quite a pleasant day. Margaret, after spending several pounds in the stores, was more amiable, and Ben’s contribution towards the day gave them an interesting glance into the past history of the island. There was so much that Tamar herself didn’t know, and she thought Ross had chosen an ideal subject for study. But she deliberately put all thoughts of Ross Falcon and his problems out of her mind, which was easier in Ben’s company, and miles away from the confines of Falcon’s Wherry.

  In the early evening they drove back to the village after Margaret had changed into a long black skirt to replace the rather daring lines of the leather suit. Whether this was her own idea or Ben’s suggestion Tamar wasn’t sure, but certainly in either garment Margaret looked delightful.

  Father Donahue was waiting for them, and they drank a glass of sherry with him while Mrs. Leary dealt with the ready-cooked food that Ben had provided.

  They were having coffee in the parlour, accompanied by a glass of cognac, another of Ben’s contributions, when Mrs. Leary knocked and announced that Mr. Falcon was here to see Miss Sheridan.

  Immediately Tamar felt stiff with apprehension. What now?

  ‘Show him in, Mrs. Leary,’ said Father Donahue, without consulting Tamar. ‘Please.’

  Tamar was conscious of Ben’s quickened interest, and of Margaret Hastings, whose eyes moved speculatingly from Tamar to her brother and back again.

  Ross came into the room with lazy grace, looking lean and attractive in a black polo-neck shirt and a dark grey suit. Older than Ben, he had all the easy assurance of his ancestors, and Tamar could sense’ Margaret’s reactions to his magnetic personality.

  ‘Good evening, Father,’ he said, nodding in Father Donahue’s direction. ‘I’m sorry if I’m intruding.’

  ‘You’re not intruding,’ said Margaret Hastings lazily, leaning back in her chair, a glass hanging from her fingers.

  Father Donahue was surprised at his guest’s interjection, but refrained from commenting, merely saying: ‘Is something wrong, Ross?’

  Tamar sat upright in her seat, holding on to her glass so tightly that she was amazed it did not break in her hands. She would not look at him, she would not allow him to intimidate her, make a mockery of her, with his eyes.

  ‘Nothing is actually wrong,’ Ross was speaking again. ‘My mother expected Miss Sheridan at the house today. When she didn’t arrive, she asked me to come down to ask why. I haven’t had time until now.’

  I bet you haven’t, thought Tamar angrily. He was making damn sure she did not go to Falcon’s Head. It was obviously too late now. But he had had to come, he had given his mother his word.

  ‘Tamar has been out with her friends all day, Ross,’ said Father Donahue now. ‘Allow me to introduce you: Ben and Margaret Hastings. This is Ross Falcon, the master of Falcon’s Head.’

  ‘The village squire?’ asked Margaret smilingly.

  ‘Something like that,’ agreed Ross, smiling in return, making Margaret positively squirm with pleasure.

  Tamar felt a knife twisting inside her. Damn the Falcons!

  She had to speak now, so she said: ‘I didn’t think your mother made any suggestion that I should return today,’ she said coolly.

  ‘I think my mother took it for granted that you would, though,’ replied Ross, equally coolly. ‘However, as Father Donahue has said, you have your friends ...’

  Ben looked at her strangely. ‘Naturally, you must go tomorrow if you promised,’ he said, rather bleakly. ‘I had planned to do some fishing, so...’

  ‘No! That is ...’ Tamar compressed her lips. ‘I don’t think Mr. Falcon is particularly bothered whether I go or not, isn’t that right, Mr. Falcon?’

  Ross turned his dark eyes on Tamar. ‘I have no part of this, Miss Sheridan. My mother makes the arrangements, not me. I merely indulge her little whims.’

  ‘You mean I am “just a little whim”?’

  Ross smiled, rather mockingly. ‘Why, yes, I think that’s what I do mean,’ he said derisively.

  Tamar felt furious, particularly as both Ben and Margaret were listening to this exchange, Ben with annoyance, and Margaret with something like amused pleasure.

  Father Donahue intervened. ‘I think, Tamar, that Mrs. Falcon is a sick old lady who should be indulged, my dear. After all, you didn’t expect Mr. Hastings, did you? And I really think you might go up to the house tomorrow, if that’s what she wants.’

  Tamar was torn in two. She wanted to have nothing more to do with the Falcons, but how could she? Whichever way she took, there were obstacles in her path.

  ‘Won’t you stay and have some cognac with us, Mr. Falcon?’ Margaret was asking now, standing up, allowing Ross the full benefit of her large brown eyes.

  Ross glanced at Ben, then shook his head. ‘I think not, thank you, Miss Hastings,’ he replied. ‘I must get back.’

  Margaret pouted. ‘Oh, don’t call me Miss Hastings.

  My name is Margaret.’

  Ross smiled, and Tamar rose jerkily to her feet. ‘I’ll - I’ll see you out, Mr. Falcon,’ she said.

  Ross shrugged his broad shoulders, nodded to Margaret and Ben, wished the priest good evening, and allowed Tamar to precede him out of the room. He deliberately closed the door behind them, isolating them in the small hall. There was little light here, and Tamar felt overwhelmingly aware of him in the confined space.

  ‘So you’ll come?’ he said softly, and Tamar nodded and opened the front door. ‘What are you scared of?’ he asked, as he passed her. ‘Me? Or yourself?’

  Tamar felt the familiar sense of anger he aroused with his mocking words.

  ‘I’ve never met a man who was such an egoist!’ she exclaimed furiously. ‘Whatever nasty thoughts might be circulating in your brain, I should tell you that you’ve just met the man I’m going to marry!’

  Now why had she said that? she thought bitterly. Committing herself to something which at the moment was anathema to her.

  Ross was at last roused from his apathy. ‘You intend to marry Ben Hastings?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t notice any other eligible bachelors in Father Donahue’s parlour, did you?’ she countered, hiding her despair in flippancy.

  Ross studied her for a moment, then almost caused
her heart to stop altogether as he put out a hand and lifted the pendant watch which Lucy had once admired. He fingered it reflectively, then just as Tamar was beginning to think she had been mistaken in thinking he was angry, he twisted the chain round his fingers so that it bit into the back of Tamar’s neck, and she was forced closer against him.

  ‘And when do you plan to marry this man?’ he muttered savagely.

  ‘Ross!’ she cried, trying to prevent the chain from hurting so much. She had not known Ross could be so cruel.

  As though becoming aware of the pain in her voice, he relaxed his hold, and muttered: ‘Dear God, Tamar, what are you trying to do to me?’ His fingers slid from the chain, over her neck and shoulder, lingeringly.

  Tamar could feel all resistance draining out of her, and she looked up at him beseechingly, then they both heard the sound of the handle of the door turning behind them.

  Immediately there was at least a foot between them, and when Margaret Hastings appeared, she frowned before assuming an inviting expression for Ross’s benefit.

  ‘Still here, Mr. Falcon?’ she murmured silkily, glancing thoughtfully at Tamar.

  Ross was completely in control of himself, while Tamar’s nerves felt shot to pieces.

  ‘We were just discussing arrangements for tomorrow,’ he replied easily. ‘I was just leaving. Good night, Miss Sheridan, Miss Hastings.’

  He turned and walked away, and it wasn’t until she had closed the door that Tamar realized she had no idea what the arrangements for tomorrow might be.

  Margaret turned her attention to Tamar now, and said, in a cold mocking tone: ‘What’s wrong, Tamar, you looked guilty just now?’

  Tamar linked her fingers, knowing the precariousness of her position with Ben’s sister. ‘Why should I do that?’ she countered, and walked across to the parlour door which Margaret had closed after her.

  ‘Wait!’ Margaret moved swiftly, halting her. ‘I - I want to talk to you a minute, Tamar.’

  Tamar was guarded. ‘What about?’

  ‘Ross Falcon!’

  Tamar felt the hot colour surge up her cheeks. ‘Go on.’

  Margaret frowned again, and walking across to Tamar, she said: ‘That chain appears to have cut your neck, Tamar. It’s bleeding.’

  Tamar put up her hand to her neck, and when her fingers came away they were lightly smudged with blood. She stared at her hand in horror.

  Margaret studied her expression. ‘So,’ she said, ‘not only dark, and lean, and attractive - but dangerous, too.’

  Tamar looked up. ‘What are you trying to say, Margaret?’

  ‘Simply this, dear sister-in-law of mine to be, if I were you I would stick to Ben, he’s much more your type. You’re not the kind of girl to like a violent man, no matter how attractive he might be. While I - well, I like a man to be - how shall I put it? - primitive?’ Tamar wiped her neck with her handkerchief. ‘I think you’re making a mistake, Margaret,’ she managed to say coldly.

  Margaret sniffed in derision. ‘Oh, Tamar, sometimes I feel years older than you! Do you imagine your reactions to that man went unnoticed? Of course they didn’t. The atmosphere was electric. However, I’m willing to bet that Ross Falcon doesn’t care that much’ - she snapped her fingers - ‘for you! You’re merely a fresh face to a jaded palate. There, I’ve made an artistic joke, or didn’t you notice?’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, to return to my point. You may have guessed that Mama was rather suspicious of your reasons for deserting Ben as you did, and naturally, not wanting to lose her ewe Iamb, she sent us post-haste to summarily discover you in some compromising situation. But of course we didn’t, and quite frankly, after meeting your secret passion, I’m quite prepared to concede Ben to you without even a fight, if I can spend a little time with Mr. Falcon!’

  ‘Ross Falcon is not my secret passion!’ cried Tamar hotly. ‘But you’re right, I did suspect that your mother was at the back of your sudden arrival! As for conceding Ben to me, surely that’s for Ben to decide!’

  Margaret shrugged, and smiled annoyingly. ‘Darling, don’t get so het up! Heavens, these intrigues happen every day in London! I don’t blame you for fancying the handsome Irish rogue!’ She laughed mockingly.

  Tamar clasped the door handle. ‘You make me sick, Margaret!’

  ‘Do I, darling? Why? Because I’m a little too near the truth for comfort? Anyway, I should go and wash my neck if I were you, before Ben begins to ask awkward questions. Don’t worry, I shan’t tell him. It shall be our little secret!’

  Tamar hesitated only a moment, before uttering an exclamation and rushing away upstairs. In her bedroom she examined her neck minutely. There was a definite mark, like small scratches, where the joining links of the chain had dug into her soft skin.

  Taking a tissue, she wiped the traces of blood away, then applied a light make-up to the place. Then it was practically invisible, and with shaky legs she went back downstairs. Margaret had rejoined her brother and Father Donahue, and gave Tamar an annoying conspiratorial look when she entered the room.

  Ben rose to his feet and came across to her. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go for a walk before we have to leave.’

  Tamar nodded, and went to get her coat. Outside a pale moon had risen, illuminating the scene to ghostly charm. They walked towards the harbour, Tamar waiting for the inevitable.

  ‘You didn’t tell me this man, Falcon, was — well, like he is!’ said Ben reproachfully.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tamar evaded the obvious.

  ‘Well, you must know. You reacted to him.’

  ‘I reacted to his manner,’ agreed Tamar impatiently. ‘Ben, that man hates me. He tries to make a fool of me!’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I don’t know, and that’s the truth.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘It’s one hell of a situation. I wish to God you’d throw it all up and come back with me!’

  ‘I wish I could,’ said Tamar, somewhat wistfully.

  ‘And you can’t - because of this child?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Dammit, there are schools for children like that.’

  ‘I know. That’s what Ross won’t accept.’

  Ben kicked a stone moodily. Then he stopped and stared out to sea with weary impatience. ‘Doesn’t your career mean anything to you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Tamar hunched her shoulders.

  ‘And me?’

  ‘We’ve been through all this, Ben. You know my feelings.’

  ‘Do I? Do I? If you’re so sure you don’t love this man Falcon, or anyone else, why won’t you agree to our engagement?’

  Tamar bit her lip hard. Why indeed? she thought grimly.

  ‘Is that what you want, Ben?’ she asked quietly. ‘Me - on those terms?’

  ‘On any terms,’ said Ben fervently.

  Tamar hesitated only a moment. ‘All right, then, all right, I’ll agree to that.’

  Ben stared at her, and then with an excited whoop gathered her into his arms. ‘You won’t regret it, Tamar,’ he muttered, burying his face in the softness of her hair.

  ‘I hope not,’ murmured Tamar inaudibly.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When Tamar awoke the next morning and remembered the previous night’s events she wanted to roll over and go back to sleep again, forgetting her problems in oblivion. But once the full impact of her actions hit her she could not lie in bed and rose instead, sluicing her face in the icy water vigorously.

  Then she cleaned her teeth, combed her hair, and dressed in fawn corded pants and a green knitted nylon sweater. She did not bother to wear make-up. Since arriving in Falcon’s Wherry she had usually worn only lipstick, and only Ben’s advent had aroused her to take more pains with her cosmetics. But she was not seeing Ben today, and that thought caused her a guilty sense of relief. He was going to spend the day fishing, and although he had suggested returning to see her in the evening, she had decided they could not encroach on Father Donahue’s hospitality continually. Ins
tead, she was to spend the day after with Ben in Killarney, and he was going to buy her an engagement ring.

  Thrusting these thoughts aside, she descended the stairs in time to join Father Donahue for breakfast. She did not feel very hungry, but managed to swallow a slice of bacon and half a slice of toast to waylay awkward questions.

  Father Donahue looked at her thoughtfully and

  said: ‘Are you going to Falcon’s Head today?’

  Tamar shrugged. ‘I said I would.’

  ‘Bridget Falcon is using you, isn’t she?’ He was very astute.

  ‘She wants Lucy sent away to a proper school,’ agreed Tamar slowly. ‘She has asked me to try and persuade Ross to let her go.’

  ‘Ross will never agree,’ said Father Donahue heavily. ‘Haven’t we all tried to persuade him at one time or another? Sure, and he thinks the child is better ignorant of the ways of the world.’

  ‘But that’s terrible!’ exclaimed Tamar impulsively. ‘Heavens, doesn’t he realize that even suffering can produce a certain - well, I can’t exactly explain, but being part of the world, living its hectic life, is what it is - living! And whether we’re happy or miserable, we all cling to life like leeches!’

  Father Donahue smiled. ‘I know exactly what you mean, Tamar,’ he nodded. ‘One has to suffer to find peace or pleasure. Without one we would never know the other.’

  ‘That’s right!’ Tamar sighed, and pulled out her cigarettes impatiently. ‘And couldn’t you get this over to Ross?’