Luke nodded. “So you think we should blend in and act like tourists then?”
“Precisely.” (Elementary, my dear Watson.)
“It’s not like you to be so sensible about things. I had visions of you coming in here and pinning somebody against the wall.”
“Who says I won’t?”
He slipped his arm around me as we stopped and waited for the guide to speak again.
“I see we have some new guests,” she said as she nodded a friendly greeting to Luke and myself. “I’m Aisling and you can ask me anything.” Then she continued with her spiel. “Monroe Manor was a large, sprawling stone mansion. It still retains most of the features of the original house and a lot of the hallmarks of the gentry who once lived here. The long tree-lined avenue leading up to the house provided them with privacy whilst the extensive lands surrounding the property gave them ample hunting grounds.”
Aisling then invited the assembled group to come to the window where we could see the acres of land spread in front of us.
I could see Mammy’s little cottage nestled amongst the trees near the entrance and felt a stab of fear. She was so happy there and I couldn’t bear the thought of her being moved (which wouldn’t be happening unless somebody fancied dying before their time).
Aisling set off again and we all moved on.
“The different wings of the manor were utilised for various purposes with certain parts being used only by servants, whilst guests were housed in the more plush surroundings of the main building. There was an entertainment room where a piano and harp took pride of place, a sewing room and a gentlemen’s room where the Monroe men retired to drink brandy and play cards. The Piano Bar is situated where the entertainment room used to be and has retained some of its original artefacts as the piano and harp which are on display were the very ones which sat in this room.” She pointed to the instruments which sat in the corner of the bar. “It is rumoured that Lord Bartley had an American entertainer shipped across to Ireland to tune the piano.”
“We’re the best!” a Texan man wearing a Stetson shouted out.
Aisling acknowledged this with a smile. “In his later years Lord Bartley began to run the manor as a country-house hotel. We have tried to retain the traditional ambience as best we can, as you can see here in the foyer.”
I watched as the tour group nodded to each other in approval as they took in the scene in front of them. The foyer was dotted with large dark-green leather and mahogany sofas which overlooked the large grounds. Oil paintings depicting hunting scenes adorned the walls whilst a glass cabinet beside the reception desk displayed the decanters from which the Monroe men apparently used to pour their brandy.
“There are a lot of beautiful pictures here,” one onlooker commented. “Are they originals?”
“Oh yes,” the girl nodded and for the first time during the proceedings I stopped and listened intently. “Most are the work of Irish artists. Although some were imported from America and France. The Monroes collected art and some of the pieces that you see are very valuable. The servants’ quarters were situated at the back of the house where our extensive kitchens are now,” she continued. “They were apparently very nice. The Monroes had the reputation of being good employers who treated their staff well. Many young girls worked happily under Lord Bartley.”
“I bet they did!” the Texan shouted again, winking salaciously at Aisling. “Maybe we could go for a drink later on, little lady, and then you can tell me more about Lord Bartley and what he did with his women?”
“I’m afraid hotel staff fraternising with guests isn’t permitted,” Aisling said, looking worried. She caught my eye and gave me a rueful smile.
“Darn shame,” the gruff American said. “Pity there wasn’t another hotel nearby and then maybe we could get friendly.”
“She seems very nice,” Luke muttered to me. “I know that they’ve done a lot of work in restoring the place to the way it used to be and that’s a good thing. It certainly seems to have brought the tourists in anyway.”
“Which is why Mammy is worried, you dufus!” I hissed. “The more people who come here and want to stay, the more likely they are to want to try and get rid of her. I thought she was exaggerating but I know now why she’s so concerned.”
Aisling ended the tour by answering a selection of questions and then gave a grateful sigh as the crowd started to disperse.
“Have you been here long?” Luke asked when she turned to walk back towards the reception area.
“I’ve been here around five years now,” she answered. “I’ve always been the tourist officer but have only just started giving guided tours of the hotel.”
“Why’s that then?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“New management,” she said, speaking between her teeth and looking furtive. “They’ve had lots of new ideas.”
The last comment was uttered with barely concealed disgust and Luke shot me a knowing look.
“A bit radical, are they?” I said casually.
“Not so much radical as ruthless,” she said. “They know they’ve got a right little goldmine here and they’re determined to do whatever it takes to make the best profit from it.” She suddenly stiffened.
The source of her reaction seemed to be standing at the reception desk, looking fit to be tied.
“I think you have work to do. Too much work to be standing around making small talk.” The comment came from a woman in her late thirties who had long blonde hair, was wearing a pencil skirt and white shirt with breakneck heels (which she obviously used for breaking balls). Her mouth was down-turned in an expression of sour disdain and she had the coldest eyes I had ever seen. I recognised her instantly.
“Gotta go,” Aisling muttered before waving us goodbye.
“Can I help you?” the blonde asked.
I was about to tell the fire-breathing nutcase that I could help her by suggesting a few management courses which would undoubtedly improve staff relations by teaching her how not to be so feckin rude, when I realised that she wasn’t actually speaking to me.
“I’d like a room for the night,” a well-dressed woman with a clipped English accent said.
“Of course,” the bright-red-lipstick-wearing Rottweiler said, sweetness and light personified. Her mood seemed to dip however when she switched on the computer, checked for vacancies and falteringly told the lady to wait a moment.
She disappeared into the office behind the reception desk.
“Why did nobody put up the sign to say we’re full? Are you all as stupid as you look?” we heard her screech before she came back out and gave the (justifiably startled) prospective guest a tight smile.
“I’m sorry, madam, but we’re fully booked for the night.”
“Oh, that’s such a shame! This place came very highly recommended. Is there nowhere you could squeeze me in?”
“Unfortunately not, but we’re working on expanding this place so we’ll have more rooms in the future.”
“Really?” I interrupted sharply. “And what will that entail?”
“Bulldozing the grounds to build chalets,” she snapped.
“And what about the cottage?” Luke asked suddenly.
“Yes, it’s very sweet,” the lady commented thoughtfully. “Is it vacant?”
“Not at the moment but give me time,” the Antichrist said, looking straight at me. “It would make a lovely wedding-night retreat for future brides and grooms so we’re working on it.”
My blood ran cold and I felt Luke’s grip as he steered me out before I could do my wall-pinning, head-butting trick.
“Over my dead body,” I hissed, looking back.
Chapter 15
“Bloody hell,” I said worriedly as Luke and I walked the short distance back to the cottage. “What are we going to do? We can’t allow this to happen.”
“And we won’t,” Luke said, his face set in determination. “Look, try and not worry about it too much for the moment. Let’s deal with the
more pressing issue of you getting the information you need.”
I looked at him. “Everything’s going to be all right, isn’t it?” If Luke told me everything would work out I knew it would as I trusted him implicitly.
He grabbed my hand and held my fingers to his lips. “I promise that everything will be fine, my love. I know you’re confused and that you have a lot in your head at the moment but we will get through it.”
“I believe you. As long as I have you I can do anything.”
We came back to the house to find Mammy knee-deep in strawberry and gooseberry jam so, before I got a job (Delia Smith and Nigella were both safe), I decided to make myself scarce.
“I’m going to take another stroll,” I said to Luke. “I need time to think.”
“Do you mind if I stay here?” he said. “I wouldn’t mind resting for an hour – besides, I’m dying to get my hands on some of that jam.”
I smiled fondly at him and ruffled his hair. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For putting up with me. I know I can be difficult sometimes.”
“Well, as long as you know,” he said solemnly before taking me in his arms. “It will all work out, y’know. I’ll make sure of it. I won’t let anything spoil our wedding day or get in the way of you finding your real mother if that’s still what you want.”
“It is what I want.” I pulled back and looked at him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I just don’t want you getting hurt, Ruby. I understand why you want to do it but, given the way your mother reacted and what she knows, do you not think you should give it a bit more thought?”
“I am done thinking, Luke,” I said, feeling annoyed that he was putting a dampener on me. “It’s all the more reason why I need closure on this and some answers as well, especially as my mother would rather talk to other people about it instead of enlightening me.”
I tried to push past him but he held my arm.
“Ruby, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just don’t want you being too impulsive.”
“Impulsiveness is another one of the many traits I inherited from my real mother, don’t you know?” I snapped. “Just another stupid gene that makes Ruby act irrationally. Who knows? Maybe I’ll become an alcoholic and start sleeping around too.”
I left Luke flapping his arms in despair and marched out the door. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew that I was going to keep walking until I felt better.
I had only walked about half a mile when I gave it up as a bad job. I had developed a blister on my heel and my legs were killing me. (Donegal hills definitely weren’t developed for those who took up stomping down the road in bad temper as a recreational activity.)
I looked around me and spied a parting in the trees nearby that led down to a small river with a pier. I could see fishing gear had been left unattended and moved further along the bank as I was in no mood to talk to anyone or be interrogated as to who I was, where I was from or what my connection with the place was.
I finally positioned myself on a rock and splayed my hands on my knees as I took in the view and contemplated my next move. I did want to find my mother. I’d had my moments of doubt where I had thought about all the trouble I might cause but reasoned that none of this was my fault and that nobody had given a second thought to the trouble they might cause by leaving me in the first place. I examined my hands and thought about what I had overheard. Was it possible that I could be the product of some type of seedy out-of-control lifestyle where I had been viewed as an inconvenience? A nasty accident that hadn’t been dealt with in time? I didn’t want to hurt Mammy either but she hadn’t spared my feelings when she’d decided to share the apparent circumstances of my birth with her toy boy before telling me.
I angrily threw a stone into the river and immediately incurred the wrath of every fisherman within a two-mile radius.
“Oi, what are you playing at? You’ll scare the fish! Clear off!” one shouted at me.
“Don’t you be getting on your high horse with me!” I snorted, taking a good look at his waders and floppy hat. “And don’t be pretending to care about the poor wee fishies getting scared when you’re going to slit them open, gut them and eat them with chips later! What sort of a sad individual wants to spend their time standing knee-deep in reeds catching rotten mingin’ fish anyway? Yuck!”
“As charming as ever, I see,” I heard a voice say behind me. “May I introduce Ms Ruby Ross, gentlemen. You all probably know her mother Isobel – runs the shop down by the hotel.”
I looked behind me and was faced with a glowering Robbie O’Donnell and then turned around to see the shocked expressions on the faces of the fishermen (who still looked like a pack of gobshites, I might add).
“You must look like your father,” one said.
“And act like him too. Her mother’s a lady,” I heard another one mutter just loud enough for me to hear.
I lifted the two biggest stones I could see and proceeded to fire them into the river and earnestly hoped that they would miss the fish and hit the mouthy arseholes with the rods instead.
“She’s a big hit with the locals,” I could hear Grouchy Slippers saying before he left them all standing open-mouthed and followed me. “You really know how to endear yourself to people, young lady,” he said. “Planning on staying long?”
“Not longer than I can help,” I muttered.
“Good. Because the longer you stay around here acting like that, the more bad light it reflects on your mother.”
“And we wouldn’t want to upset her, would we?” I said, gritting my teeth (and wishing I had a grenade in my hand). “She’s so honest and upfront and thoughtful and considerate of other people’s feelings.”
“Yes, she is,” he said gruffly. “And you’re making her look bad with your terrible attitude and big mouth.”
“Listen, Robbie, you know nothing about me or what I’m experiencing at the minute so do me a favour and feck away off!”
I stomped off back in the direction of the cottage and didn’t stop until I had arrived and my legs were ready to drop off.
When I opened the kitchen door Mammy, Luke and Donal were sitting at the table laughing and drinking coffee and eating huge hunks of home-made bread and jam.
“Good walk?” Luke asked.
“Wonderful. I’m knackered and going to bed.”
“But it’s only six o’clock,” Mammy said mid-chew, looking at her watch.
“As I said, I’m tired.” (And need to be sedated and locked away in case I kill somebody before the night’s out. There was quite a list of would-be victims forming.)
“Okay, love.”
I threw myself down on my bed in the guest room and felt hot tears prick my eyes. I was totally fed up and feeling very let down by the people who were supposed to love me. Nobody understood how I was feeling. Nobody was even interested. Nobody cared. (I was prone to self-pity when I was pissed off.)
I closed my eyes and gradually felt my eyelids getting heavier and willed myself to fall asleep because the sooner I slept the sooner morning would come and the closer I’d be to getting some answers.
An hour and a half later and I was still awake. Even though I was tired I couldn’t sleep and although I was loath to go back out to the kitchen, where the others were sitting and probably having a great time, I really didn’t have any other option as I was slowly going mad.
I was saved from humiliation and questions, however, as I discovered when I went out that there was nobody there. A scribbled note told me that they had all gone to Donal’s house and would be back later.
I wouldn’t have wanted to go to Donal’s house but felt huffy anyway. Feckin cheek of them all, deserting me. I looked out the window and surmised that they must have taken Mammy’s car as our clapped-out Renault Clio was still there and suddenly I had an idea. If they could go on an adventure, then so could I!
I was tempted to go up to the attic and ransack the area – eh, look around
demurely, I mean – for what I so badly wanted but felt that it was too risky as they could come back any time. Although I was capable of being irrationally impulsive, I had a stronger desire not to make Mammy suspicious as then I might never find anything out. There were several ways to skin a cat, however, and there were other things I could do to help myself.
I got dressed quickly and then bustled about making sure I had everything I needed. I squinted at the map which told me that it wasn’t too far away. A drive over the mountain and I would be there. I could maybe call into a shop and ask a few well-worded questions that might shed a little more light on the situation.
It was a wet and miserable night and I had second thoughts about my plan when I thought of the warm and comfortable bed I was leaving, to go on what would probably turn out to be a wild-goose chase. However, it might be my only chance.
The drive, although not as long as I expected, was treacherous and my heart rocketed to my shoes several times while I was rounding corners where there were no markings on the roads or barriers to prevent a car from sliding over the cliff face and into the sea below. (Donegal Tourist Board was definitely going to be getting a letter detailing how people would rather not be killed going out for a drive, thanks very much.) I was relieved beyond belief when I finally saw lights in the distance and a sign welcoming me in Irish and English to Mulroy Cove, home of Georgina Delaney, and a place where I might finally get some answers.
To my dismay it seemed somewhat deserted as there were very few cars parked around. There was noise coming from somewhere, though, and as I locked the car and then walked slowly down the street I saw a small group of men hanging around a fire-exit door smoking.
“I bet she’s on holiday,” one of them said in a stage whisper as I approached.
“She could be one of them foreigners. There’s loads of them here at the minute. She could be here to stay.”
“Want to bet on it?” one of the others said.
“Ten euros says she’s a foreigner.”
Anyone for Me? Page 9