The Kilternan Legacy

by Anne McCaffrey

  “It would only have delayed matters,” Simon said, glaring angrily at his sister. “Besides, Dad would have made Mother sell Kelley this place for sixty-five thousand bucks!”

  “Oh no!” Snow didn’t fancy that alternative.

  My sudden triumph turned to doubt. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

  “About Kelley?” Simon’s outraged response answered the wrong question. “Oh …” and then he realized what I had meant and put both arms awkwardly but sweetly about me. My, he was getting tall. I had to look up at him. “Mother, you did exactly the right thing. With Kelley and with Dad. Sara and I have no regrets. None!” His serious face was suddenly split by an inimitably Simonesque grin. “Hell, Dad had no real use for us except to show off ‘his twins’ or prove his authority by snapping his fingers and having us, and you, waiting on him hand and foot. And I will never forgive him for that night in December—”

  “Simon!” Snow’s voice was sharp and scared.

  I’d known that something had happened to the children the night they’d gone with their father to the Harrisons’ party, but they’d never talked about it. I’d been flat on my back with one of those sudden, terribly debilitating stomach viruses. Teddie’d been furious with me because he’d wanted to go to the Harrisons’ “do”; they always “did” so extravagantly. I knew he hated going to parties alone, as he was at his best scoring off a foil—like me. In desperation, and because the Harrisons had a daughter the twins’ age, I suggested that he take the children. They’d come home about midnight: I’d been listening for their return, but they’d whispered in the hall outside my room without coming in. Which was unusual in itself, but I’d chalked it up that night to their concern about my health. I didn’t know until much later that Teddie hadn’t brought them home. Indeed, I didn’t learn until after I’d initiated divorce proceedings that Teddie’d been put to bed at the Harrisons’ stoned out of his mind, and was never invited there again. Something devastating had indeed happened, which the children were determined to keep from me.

  Now Simon’s face softened, and he patted me on the shoulder.

  “No, Mother dearest of them all, you did the right thing. We’re not sorry. You’re a real tough mother!” And he kissed me.

  “And I’m starved!” Snow said, as if Simon’s overt show of affection irritated her. She was the less-demonstrative child. Now she marched toward the kitchen.

  “Say, who does that Kelley character think he is,” asked Snow into a pause at the breakfast table. “This place is worth a lot more than any old twenty-five thousand pounds.”

  “Did Kelley mean just the house, Mom? Because it would be a pretty good price that way.”

  “No, Simon, he meant the whole property.”

  Simon considered that momentarily. “Then he’s a crook. Particularly threatening you with no probate unless you played his game.”

  “You don’t suppose he’s acting for Shay Kerrigan, do you?” asked Snow. “No,” she answered herself, even as Simon exploded with a negative.

  “Shamus Kerrigan’s not that sort of guy. He wouldn’t sneak about—”

  “Well, he tried to sneak a bulldozer up our lane.”

  “Children, children!” I called them to order, but I had to admit that Snow’s suggestion of Shay Kerrigan as Kelley’s client had also occurred to me—and been discarded. “I agree with Simon, as far as Mr. Kerrigan’s concerned, Snow. But that Mr. Kelley knew too much …”

  “He didn’t know about the trust fund, did he?” said Simon. “And that Mom wouldn’t have to sell to pay the death duties!”

  “Come to think of it, I don’t know what’s in the will.”

  “You said you did.”

  “I said I’d comply with it… Where did I put it down?”

  Snow swished from the kitchen and flounced back again in very short order with the document and Aunt Irene’s letter.

  The will was considerably less dramatic, and fairly straightforward, once you discounted all those whereases and thingies. I was named co-executrix with a representative of the solicitors. We were to pay all her just debts and death duties. I was to administer the Brandel trust as long as necessary. Otherwise, everything, lock, stock, and barrel, was left to me, Irene Teasey Stanford.

  As I could plainly see, the will had been signed ten years ago. That had been rather a hellish year for me. If I’d known of Aunt Irene’s bequest, I’d’ve endured it with a stouter heart. That was the year I’d been sure I couldn’t stick marriage with Teddie, when he’d flaunted that Joan creature all over town. However, you can put up with rather more than you think you can.

  “What’s the Brandel trust? Mr. Noonan said nothing about that yesterday,” said Snow.

  “That’s another thing I’ll have to ask him.”

  “If this Kelley character can hold up probate, do we get to stay on in Ireland?” asked Simon, eyes wide with hopefulness.

  “If he can hold it up, we’ll have to see how long … but however long, you two have to be back in school come September ninth, and don’t forget it.”

  That unholy pair exchanged glances, and I had the suspicion that I’d already acceded too much.

  “I don’t know why you’re so keen to stay here when obviously there’s a lot of trouble brewing,” I said, feeling a bit put out with their connivery.

  “Aw, Mom, it’s a lot better here than Westfield.”

  “Right now.” I hinted at their well-known boredom.

  “Ha!” Simon was contemptuous of my skepticism. “With trials and scrambles on every weekend?”

  “And a horse for me to ride?” piped up Snow.

  “We’ll see, we’ll see! Now let’s get organized.”

  We’d tidied up and dressed and were going out the front door when I heard the phone ringing.

  “Damn!”

  “Mom!” Snow’s tone was exasperated. “It’s probably that Kelley character.”

  It was nearly noon, and though I honestly doubted that Kelley would be presumptuous enough to beard me again, I didn’t want to put it to the test. So I left the phone ringing.

  We found the nearest supermarket, which was more a discount house than a grocery. You could buy everything, including a TV. We had two huge shopping carts full, and I forked over £32 and odd pence, which didn’t seem like much to me until Snow did a rapid calculation and said we’d spent over $75. I was flabbergasted, but, as Snow pointed out, it was cheaper than eating out.

  I must say, it was fun putting things away in our new kitchen, making discoveries in the dining room like the beautiful Staffordshire dinner set and the delicate Beleek tea service. We kept some of the table linens for our use and carried the rest upstairs to store. The closets were already fairly full of my great-aunt’s clothing. She couldn’t have been a very large person, and certainly hadn’t been given to frivolous clothes: Everything had a hard, durable look, though nothing appeared worn. Snow went into hysterics over the long-John winter drawers and knitted vests, but I advised her not to laugh.

  “I wonder how much it would cost to put in central heating,” said Snow when I explained about Irish winters.

  “A bundle probably, and don’t start planning a winter here, too, my girl. School beckons in September.”

  Snow gave me one of her wide-eyed innocent looks.

  “Surely they have schools in Ireland, Mother.”

  “We all need some lunch,” I said firmly and went downstairs.

  We grilled chops, made french fries out of the best frying potatoes I’d ever tasted, had marvelous frozen but fresh-tasting peas and a smallish green melon that was very sweet. We were all in such good moods that the meal became an event; even the washing up afterward went painlessly. Had I known how much the Staffordshire was worth, I don’t think I’d’ve let Simon do the washing. But no harm was done.

  I did call Michael Noonan, but he was engaged at court. The children wanted to do some sightseeing in Dublin, but I wanted to write Mother to inform her of our address and
all the news, so I sent the twins out exploring until I could finish. I made a bet with myself as I heard them clattering out the back door. By the time I got upstairs and could peek out Simon’s window, I’d won. He was in the garage examining the Mercedes, and Snow was halfway down the track to Horseface’s pasture, the plastic bag of sugar lumps swinging from one hand.

  Chapter 5

  WHEN WE GOT BACK from our tour at eight o’clock, there was a card pushed through the mail slot.

  Called to see you. Will call again.

  Imelda

  I turned to the children. “Have you met an Imelda you haven’t told me about?”

  Snow took the card from my hand, turned it over, and pointed to the printed name.

  “Mrs. Robert Maginnis. Who she?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  “Maybe Kieron has,” Simon said, and we took ourselves down to Kieron’s cottage.

  I don’t know what I expected, but when he insisted that we come in and sit down awhile, I was stunned, and not a little embarrassed, by the unexpected charm of the room. The walls were finished off in a creamy paint, the beams darkened for contrast. There was an old-fashioned settee, and a beautiful small teak chest whose design was echoed by the bookcase and side tables. There was, of all things, a rocking chair, from which Kieron Thornton must have just risen, for it rocked to and fro on the braided rug. Pewter, copper, and brass ornaments gleamed on the mantel and table tops. It was a very finished room for a bachelor. He must have seen that opinion in my reaction, but he was gracious.

  “This is embarrassing,” I said, getting down to the reason for our visit. “We don’t know who this is, and ought we to?”

  He glanced at the message and the name, and snorted.

  “One of your great-aunts, Irene’s older sister.” He handed back the card, and I could tell that while he was amused, he was also annoyed. At Mrs. Maginnis, not us.

  “You seem surprised.”

  “I am. That’s the first time she’s called at that house in twenty years.”

  “Twenty years? Her own sister? Why?” I might wish that at least one of my sisters would make herself that scarce.

  Kieron’s eyes twinkled as he replied. “Originally I believe it was because Irene was stupid enough to buy property so far from the city.”

  “Originally?” I asked, hoping he’d go on. “Oh, please, you do know? And I’m dumped here in a real bag of weasels, and Aunt Irene said that you’d help me. In her letter.”

  That obliged him to answer, although he was reluctant. “Irene’s sisters didn’t like the company she kept, nor her tenants.”

  I thought of Ann Purdee’s delicate features, her work-roughened hands, and the two pounds, which was a lot of money to her.

  “My aunt’s letter expressly instructed me to keep on the present tenants in Swallow and Lark cottages.” He was nodding, so that wasn’t news to him. “Unless I find very good reasons for disobeying those instructions, I intend to honor them.”

  Something close to relief passed quickly across his face.

  “Do you mean to tell us,” began Snow indignantly, “that her sisters didn’t come here when she was sick last winter?”

  Kieron’s expression was not friendly. “I believe they did visit her in hospital.”

  “Probably to see if she was dying and if they could get her money and property,” Snow went on, disgusted. Her surmise was accurate, judging by the slight narrowing of Kieron’s eyes. “It was you who saved her life. Mr. Noonan told us.”

  “Irene Teasey …” and he stopped, grinning at me, the second Irene Teasey.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if you called me Rene?”

  He nodded, smiling warmly, and began again. “Irene Teasey was a remarkable woman for her own age, and even this one. She had tremendous vitality and compassion—not the treacly sort, but down-to-earth, practical compassion—” He broke off, hesitating as he tried to explain. “Ireland’s a good fifty years behind the rest of the world, you know.”

  “Part of its charm,” I murmured as he paused again.

  “Not necessarily, Rene,” and he was critical.

  “Are you trying to tell us that Irene wasn’t conventional?” I asked.

  “And that she liked her own sort of people on her queendom instead of the stuffy petty ones like her sisters?” piped up Snow.

  Kieron nodded vigorously.

  “Well!” said my daughter, as if that settled her preference. “And I’ll just bet it made them stinking mad to think her place was worth more than theirs.”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t until Shay Kerrigan paid an atrocious price for the Donnigan land …”

  “Why wouldn’t my aunt give Mr. Kerrigan access to the lane?” I asked, and he gave me such an intense, alert look that I added, “She specifically instructed me, in that letter, not to, even if it seemed spiteful.”

  “Just that?”

  I wondered what else she could have said, but then he asked if we’d driven around the county very much, if we’d seen the housing schemes.

  “Oh no, not ticky-tacky boxes,” groaned Snow.

  Kieron was nodding, but, to be honest, I wouldn’t’ve thought squashed-up building developments were Shamus Kerrigan’s thing. He was very elegant himself. I could see Brian Kelley’s type throwing up ticky-tacky.

  “Is that why Brian Kelley’s so mad-keen to buy this place?” I asked.

  “Kelley?” Kieron was irritated. “How’d he know about you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Irene chased him away no end of times. And I threw him out of the house last February.”

  “He offered Mom a lousy twenty-five thousand pounds,” said Snow scornfully. “The place’s worth much more than that!”

  “Sure and it is.” Then he laughed. “And when you know that Irene paid five hundred pounds for the thirty acres in 1945 …”

  “Wow!” Snow was impressed, and Simon whistled.

  “No wonder her relatives were annoyed,” I said. “But, if they also didn’t like her tenants, you weren’t one then, were you?”

  “My mother was.” And there was a shadow of old anger and sadness in his eyes, and hurt.

  “What is it that the relatives don’t like about Ann Purdee?” asked Snow belligerently.

  “You’re in Ireland now, young lady, and people have different ways of looking at things.”

  Snow made a grimace.

  “What matters is that the relatives, for reasons best known to … and appreciated by … themselves, did not approve of my great-aunt’s way of life,” I said, and Kieron nodded. “It also didn’t sit well with them that she was the smarter businesswoman.” Kieron nodded again. “Well, I could see being annoyed, but not cutting off the association … even if it is Ireland and they do things differently …” Ah, yes, there was more that Kieron Thornton wasn’t telling me. “So I suppose,” and I brandished the calling card, “they’re going to see if I’m more amenable.” Kieron nodded; he was beginning to look like one of those stupid drinking birds. “So if you’d be so kind as to tell me who my relatives are, then I can separate them from the real-estate people who want to con my land out of me.”

  “Irene kept the family Bible up to date, but let’s see. Irene had two sisters, Imelda Maginnis and Alice Hegarty, and two brothers, your own grandfather, Michael, and Richard. He’s dead now but his widow’s alive, Winnie. Each of them had about six kids apiece …”

  “So did Great-granddad’s,” said Snow with a long-suffering groan. “And none of ‘em are Catholics.”

  “None of them here are either,” said Kieron. “You could take tea with a different set of cousins for a month or two.”

  Snow rolled her eyes. “Who’d want to?”

  “Sara! Really, Kieron, I’d no idea we had so much family left in Ireland.”

  “I thought you Yanks prided yourselves on your Irish ancestry.”

  “Not all of us can claim a Timahogue or two,” I said, a bit annoyed. “In America, it�
��s more what you can do—”

  “Or who you know,” chimed in Snow.

  “—than where you came from and who’s your family.”

  “It’s who you know here too,” Kieron said, grinning at Snow for her impudent observation. “Imelda and Alice are the ones to be right careful with. Winnie’s a good sort; she means well.”

  “Are the sisters in bad circumstances? Financially?” I asked, still feeling guilty over inheriting from someone I’d never met.

  “Jasus, no. Even Winnie’s well-off. She watches the family fish business like a gull. None of ‘em’s pinched. They’re just greedy. They can’t take it in that Irene could possibly leave her property to a rich Yank simply because the gel was named after her.”

  “To begin with, I’m not rich.”

  “You are now,” Kieron said.

  “Not until probate. Which reminds me—Brian Kelley hinted I’d get probate a lot faster if I accepted his offer.”

  “Could he really do something nasty and obstructive?” asked Snow. We didn’t need a verbal answer with the look on Kieron’s face.

  “I’d speak to Mihall Noonan on that point, as soon as possible. I don’t know who Brian Kelley knows. But Alice’s daughter’s husband works for the same firm. It’s reputable enough, but Kelley…”

  “Is not,” Snow said, making grubbing gestures with her fingers. “Sausage fingers and sweating palms and a piggy face to go with it.”

  “Would you fancy a cup of coffee and some biscuits?” asked Kieron, rising and politely changing the conversation.

  I started to refuse, but Snow informed Kieron that I took coffee any time, anywhere, but I was choosy about my company, and while I was getting my breath back she boldly asked if she could peek through the rest of his beautiful home. She’d never been in a real Irish cottage before.

  Any thought of resemblance between his home and a “real Irish cottage” was corrected. I wondered how Kieron Thornton supported himself, but by the time we got to his kitchen, through the beautifully appointed dining room, I did know that he’d made the cabinets in Aunt Irene’s house and all the furnishings in this one. He said flatly that he worked only when and on what he wished to, and for whom he chose. I began to understand how charges of unconventionality could be leveled at this one of Aunt Irene’s friends.