In a gruff voice Roger said to him, ‘I am one of the Viceroy’s police agents from up at the castle. Are all the servants in?’
‘Yes,’ replied the man, with a scared look. ‘It is having our bite of supper we are.’
Having judged the time of his call carefully, that was what Roger had hoped for, and he said, ‘Good. Take me to them and I’ll see you all together.’
The footman led him down a smelly passage, past the open door of a kitchen and into a room beyond it at the back of the house. Only one other man and three females were seated at a table, confirming Mr. Knight’s statement that Lady Luggala was by no means well off, or she would have had a bigger staff. It transpired that the footman also acted as butler; the other man, an uncouth-looking lout, did the chores, the eldest woman was the cook, a pretty girl in her twenties combined the duties of lady’s maid and housemaid, and a teenaged drab did the scrubbing.
The three senior servants all had lilting Irish accents, the other two could speak only Erse. It was from the footman and the lady’s maid that Roger got the information he wanted, and without their even asking to see his papers, as his manner of speaking told them that he was English, and his having said he came from the castle filled them with awe.
They confirmed that Lady Luggala and Jemima had arrived from England with Susan in mid-February. In mid-March all three had left Dublin in a hired coach, as her ladyship did not keep one of her own, but she had not said where they were going. Two days later Lady Luggala had returned alone. Then, one afternoon toward the end of March, a young English milord had called and spent over two hours with her ladyship. Two evenings later she had entertained both the young lord and a tall, lean priest to dinner. After the meal the priest and the young lord had driven off together in the priest’s coach, but the servants had no idea where. Since then they had not seen either of the young ladies nor the English milord, and her ladyship had had no other guests to stay.
Roger then asked if any of them knew a woman named Katie O’Brien and, if so, when they had last seen her.
All of them shook their heads, with the exception of the middle-aged cook, who had been in Lady Luggala’s service much longer than the others. She replied that in the old days, before her ladyship went to live in London, she had a friend of that name, who came frequently to see her; but since her return they had neither seen nor heard anything of Mrs. O’Brien.
Convinced that he could learn no more from them, Roger enquired if her ladyship was alone upstairs. When they said that she was, he bade the footman put on his jacket and take him up to her. But, before leaving the room, as a precaution against the cook having lied and perhaps leaving as soon as his back was turned, to warn the witch that Lady Luggala was being questioned by the police, he said sternly:
‘All of you will remain here until I come downstairs. If any of you leave the house you will be charged with aiding and abetting a very serious crime.’
They could not know it to be an empty threat, and cowed into silence they resumed their supper of potatoes, bread and pickles.
Upstairs, outside the door of the drawing room, the footman asked whom he should announce, but Roger ignored him, pushed him aside, walked into the room and shut the door behind him.
Maureen Luggala was lying on a chaise longue, wearing a negligée and reading a French paper-back novel. At Roger’s entrance she dropped the book, stared up in surprise and demanded:
‘Who … who are you?’
Roger made a leg and replied with deceptive courtesy. ‘May it please Your Ladyship, I am a government agent from London, and it is my duty to question you on a very serious matter.’
‘I … I don’t understand,’ she faltered.
‘The name Katie O’Brien will not be unknown to Your Ladyship?’
‘I … yes. I knew her when I lived in Dublin some years ago.’
‘And more recently when you both lived in London.’
Maureen Luggala came to her feet, pulled her negligée round her and said angrily, ‘With whom I am acquainted has nothing to do with you, and I have committed no crime to be questioned in this manner.’
‘My superiors are of a different opinion, milady,’ Roger smiled a little grimly. ‘A regular visitor to Mrs. O’Brien’s house in Islington was a Dutchman, named Cornelius Quelp. You, too, were a regular visitor, and you met him there.’
The blood drained from Maureen’s face, so that the patches of rouge on her cheeks stood out and she pressed one hand over her wildly beating heart.
‘Quelp was arrested as an enemy agent, tried, convicted and is now in prison,’ Roger went on inexorably. ‘We have recently come upon evidence, milady, that you supplied him with information to the detriment of the safety of the realm.’
‘I … no,’ she gasped. ‘I told him nothing of importance. Perhaps I talked foolishly, but I had no idea that he was an enemy agent.’
Roger had no evidence, but his bluff had succeeded. ‘Quelp will testify that you did know,’ he declared harshly. ‘And your assertion that the information was of no importance is untrue. Otherwise you would not have been paid for it, as you were through Coutts Bank by Mrs. O’Brien.’
His stricken victim collapsed on to the chaise longue and covered her face with her hands. Then after a moment she withdrew them and panted, ‘’Tis not true. The money was not for that. I am far from rich and was taking a daughter out in fashionable London society. Katie O’Brien is the girl’s god-mother, and she helped to finance me.’
Drawing a paper from his pocket, Roger told her sternly, ‘At your trial you will have the opportunity of trying to persuade the jury of your innocence, but I’d wager big odds on it that you will fail. And I have here a warrant for your arrest.’
‘No!’ Her voice quavered and tears began to run down her cheeks. ‘No, please! I’ve done no real harm. I’m certain of it. And the war is over. I’d be ruined, ruined!’
‘That would be only justice, since you have been responsible for the ruin of others,’ Roger snapped. Then, abandoning his rôle of a government official, he sat down in an armchair, crossed his legs and went on in a quieter tone, ‘And now we will talk of that. I am wearing these clothes only because they are better suited for questioning your servants than my usual attire, which might have made them doubt my being a police agent.’
She looked up quickly, with new hope in her pale blue eyes. ‘Then you are not … All this …’
‘Oh, yes I am,’ he asserted quickly. ‘I will show you the papers I carry if you wish. But I have assumed the rôle only temporarily. Although we have never met, my name is not unknown to you. It is Roger Brook.’
She stared at him aghast. ‘Then … then you are Susan’s father.’
He nodded. ‘And god-father to the Earl of St. Ermins. My primary purpose in coming here is to find out what has become of them. I am convinced that you know and could take me to them.’
‘No!’ she shook her head violently. ‘I cannot. I’ve no idea where they are. The two girls left me against my wish. And I’ve not seen the young Earl since I left London.’
‘You are lying, woman. That was the story you told the Duchess of Kew in your letter to her, but I know the truth. I had it out of your servants before I came up here. The girls left this house with you in mid-March in a hired coach, and St. Ermins also left here with, presumably, a friend of yours—a priest—on the 29th of that month.’
She shuddered. ‘I know! I know! It was stupid of me not to realise that you would have found out. But I can’t take you to them, I can’t!’
‘You can, and you will,’ snarled Roger.
‘I dare not. They are with the O’Brien woman, of course. You must have guessed that. If I betrayed the place where she is, she’d put a curse on me.’
‘I’ll take care of her. You have only to take me to the place where she has gone to earth, and leave the rest to me.’
‘I won’t! I’d rather die! She knows my weakness. She’d render me incapable of ever pleasuring a
man again.’
Roger stood up, grasped her by the wrist, pulled her to her feet and shook her. ‘I, too, have that power. If the witch remains in ignorance of who led me to her you’ll have naught to fear from her, and I’ll tear up this warrant I have for your arrest. Refuse, and I’ll execute it. You’ll sleep tonight in one of the dungeons below Dublin Castle. Then you’ll be tried and condemned to penal servitude. When you have served a year or two with the female scum of the city, such looks as you have will have been replaced by lacklustre eyes, scrofulous grey hair and the wrinkled face of an old crone. Maybe you will catch typhus and die in prison. If you do come out alive, you’ll have to haunt the lowest taverns to find even a drunken dock rat who’ll be bemused enough to sleep with you.’
‘You awful man,’ she whimpered. ‘How can you threaten a woman like me with such a terrible fate? Have you no pity?’
‘None,’ he retorted, shaking her again. ‘None for lecherous bitches of your ilk who corrupt young people, and trade them to a priestess of the Devil in return for opportunities to gratify your lust. Come now! Make up your mind. Do you give me the information I require, or do I send you to live on skilly and stitch mail bags for a term of years? The choice is yours.’
Falling back on the couch, she sobbed, ‘I … I’ll do as you demand. But it is already night, and the place is far from here—thirty miles at the least.’
‘In that case we’ll need a coach, and had best postpone our journey until tomorrow. But foster no illusion that you will succeed in playing me any tricks. I propose to hold you incommunicado for the night. Now show me the way to your bedroom.’
Stifling her sobs, she led the way from the room and upstairs to the second floor. Her bedroom was at the back of the house. Roger walked over to one of the windows and looked down. Below, in the semi-darkness, he could make out a small, paved garden. Satisfied that there was no way down to it and that the window was much too high for her to risk a drop, he recrossed the room to the door, removed the key from the inside and transferred it to the outside. Then he said to her:
‘For tonight you must dispense with the services of your maid, as I have no intention of giving you the chance to smuggle out a letter or message. I am about to lock you in here, and I shall give the servants orders that if you ring your bell they are not to answer it. Moreover, I do not mean to leave the house. I’ll doss down in one of your spare bedrooms. You are to be up and dressed in travelling clothes by eight o’clock. I will by then have made arrangements for our journey.’
As she stared at him in silent dismay, she was not a pretty sight. Her eyelash black had run and her cheeks looked raddled. She had clearly gone to pieces, and he felt confident that she would give him no trouble. But he was taking no chances; so, having locked her door behind him and put the key in his pocket, he went down to the basement to deal with the servants.
They were still sitting round the table talking in low voices in Erse. As he entered the room they fell silent and looked up at him apprehensively. He gave them a smile and said pleasantly:
‘I have questioned her ladyship and I am now satisfied that none of you is involved in the serious crime of which she is accused. Providing that you obey my orders, you have nothing to fear.’ Taking the paper from his pocket he handed it to the footman and went on, ‘As proof of my authority, here is the warrant for her ladyship’s arrest.’
The man took it, stared at it a moment, then murmuring, ‘It’s no great one at the readin’ I am,’ he passed it to the lady’s maid, who slowly read it aloud before handing it back to Roger.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Had I arrived here earlier I should have taken her ladyship to the Castle for the night. As things are, it will be more convenient for her to remain here locked in her bedroom. If she rings her bell, none of you is to answer it. In the morning you,’ he pointed to the cook, ‘will prepare two breakfast trays by seven o’clock. You,’ he pointed to the maid, ‘will take one up and leave it outside her ladyship’s door and put the other in the dining room for me. Tomorrow I have to take her ladyship some thirty miles into the country to confront a confederate. You,’ he pointed at the footman, ‘will go out and secure for me a two-horse coach from a livery stables, with a coachman prepared to drive that distance. It is to be here, in front of the house, at eight o’clock.’
He produced a guinea from his waistcoat pocket, gave it to the cook and said, ‘In the depths of the country it may not be possible for us to get a decent midday meal, so when you have finished cooking breakfast I wish you to go out and get some things for me. At one of the better hostelries nearby you should be able to buy a ready-cooked chicken or duck, with some slices of ham and a cake or some pastries, also two bottles of red wine. We’ll need butter and bread as well. Pack them all into a basket, with plates and cutlery, so that they are ready for me when we set off. There should be a few shillings change. You may keep them for your trouble.’
Delighted at such a windfall, she smilingly bobbed him her thanks as he added, ‘You may now all stay up or go to bed as you wish. But none of you is to leave the house before tomorrow morning.’
From the beginning he had thought it most unlikely that any of this group of servants would have the temerity to challenge his authority; now, having shown them the warrant he felt confident that none of them would sneak out in the night to inform the police that a stranger had come to the house, browbeaten them and locked their mistress in her bedroom.
Going up to the second floor he found the room opposite Maureen Luggala’s to be another bedroom. The bed was not made up, but folded blankets and sheets lay beneath the coverlet. Well satisfied with his evening’s work, but still desperately worried about Susan and Charles, he partially undressed, made the bed and, still wearing his underclothes, settled down for the night.
In the morning he woke early, but remained in bed until his turnip watch told him that it was half-past six. That he was unable to shave or do his hair annoyed him, but he was able to wash as an ewer of water stood in a basin in one corner of the room. By the time he had dressed it was seven o’clock and, on going out onto the landing, he saw that a breakfast tray had been set down outside Maureen’s door. Unlocking it, he pushed the tray inside and called out to her, ‘Here is your breakfast. We start in an hour’s time. Be ready by then. I dislike being kept waiting.’
Downstairs in the dining room the pretty maid served him, and he found that the cook had done him well: a fried herring with two poached eggs to follow, and the remains of a cold sirloin on the side-board in case he still felt hungry. But he scarcely noticed what he was eating, because his mind was so occupied by thoughts of his coming encounter with the witch.
A little before eight o’clock he went down to the basement, inspected the picnic basket and had it brought up to the hall, then he went upstairs to fetch Maureen Luggala. She was sitting waiting for him with, he was pleased to see, a cowed look on her face, for he had feared that during the night her terror of the witch could have caused her to change her mind and he might have considerable trouble in making her obey him.
‘I have a coach below,’ he said. ‘Where shall I tell the man to take us?’
‘Along the road through County Wicklow, that leads to Tullow,’ she replied tonelessly.
‘Good. You can tell the servants as we go through the hall that you expect to be back in a few days. In no circumstances are you to mention my name in front of them. Susan stayed here and I do not wish them to connect me with her. I gave them no name, and they know me only as a police agent.’
‘How long shall I be away?’ she asked anxiously. ‘That … that is if Katie O’Brien does not keep me with her and enslave me.’
‘You need not fear that; for I do not intend that you should even see her. Provided you behave yourself and do as I tell you, you should be home again before very long.’
With a sigh of relief she led the way out of the room. In the hall she spoke a few quick words to her maid. Roger told the coachman the road to t
ake, then handed her into the coach. The footman put the basket on the opposite seat and closed the door. As they drove off Roger smiled to himself. His blackmail had succeeded.
The way lay almost due south and on leaving Dublin they passed through Donnybrook Fair. In view of their anything but friendly relations, for the two of them to have to travel together for a considerable distance created an awkward situation, and for the first few miles they sat side by side in silence. But as they passed Galloping Green, with its solitary inn and smithy, Roger found his speculations about what might have happened to Susan so worrying that, to divert his mind from them, he decided to break the strain, and asked Maureen if she had found life in Dublin dull after having lived for several years in London.
She readily responded that she missed the magnificent spectacles provided by the great entertainments given by London’s wealthiest hostesses, but she had many old friends in Dublin and found the quieter social life there very pleasant.
From that point on they exchanged remarks intermittently, and she told him the names of the Anglo-Irish nobles whose mansions lay behind the long, stone walls they passed, and pointed out to him as they approached, features of interest such as Bray Head and the rushing Dargle river. There were stretches of beautiful, bright green grass, on which small flocks of sheep grazed, but no sign of cultivation.
About twelve miles from Dublin the narrow road became more winding as it entered the upward slopes to the Wicklow mountains, with the Sugar Loaf high above the ivy-covered trees on the right. A little further on a track to their left led toward the monastic settlement of Glendalough to which, Maureen said, the religious came from all over Ireland.
From that point onward the slopes became steeper, with deep, wooded valleys made very picturesque by granite boulders lying among the trees which were now showing their young spring leaves of tender green. Climbing all the time at walking pace, they eventually emerged from the trees on to high, flat moorland where heather grew between clumps of gorse. Then came more patches of woodland from which they came out on to another wide stretch of moorland, known as Featherbed Mountain. Maureen told him that Dublin drew a large part of its peat for fires from there.
The Irish Witch Page 35
