by Ann Bridge
“Oh, Mrs. Jamieson, is it? Father O’Donnell here. Well, will you give the General a message as soon as he comes in?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve had a letter from our old friend. I’m afraid she wants her money back—what he kindly banked for her.”
“Oh Lord! What do you suppose that means?” Julia asked.
“I don’t know—I’ve only just heard. I’m afraid it may mean that she’s being got at again by someone. I’m going over to see her now and try to find out. But I thought I ought to let the General know at once. Our mutual legal friend told me about your efforts in Achill; I’m sorry they were only partly successful.”
“I didn’t think they were successful at all” Julia said bluntly.
“Oh yes. At least it gives us a pointer as to where the active parties are. I think that useful.”
“Good. Oh, by the way, do you want the General to unbank the cash?”
“Not at the moment. I shall try to stall—in any case I can invoke the seven-day rule. Goodbye—my regards to Lady Helen.”
“Goodbye” Julia responded.
It occurred to her that, while her hosts were out and the telephone free, it might not be a bad plan to get hold of Terence White, and find out if he knew any reason for this démarche on his grandmother’s part; she rang up Walshe and Walshe and got hold of him. When she reported, carefully choosing her words, that “your aged relative wants her mon back” Terence burst out laughing down the telephone.
“What did I tell you?” he said. “I didn’t think that change of heart would last very long!”
“No but Terence, have you any idea why?”
“Not a clue—I didn’t see her these last ten days. More dirty work, I’ll bet! Did you get the famous paper back?”
“No. I tried, but was told it was in Dublin.”
“There you are! Well d’you want me to see her?”
“No, the Father’s going over.”
“Poor chap! I wish I thought she was going to spend some of the cash on buying him a car!—I hate the idea of his pedalling about on his old push-bike in all weathers. Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“I will” Julia replied.
The General, predictably, was greatly exasperated when, at tea-time, he got the priest’s message.
“Mary’s mad!” he exclaimed. “And utterly untrustworthy. I wonder what she’s up to now?”
“More of the same, I expect” Lady Helen said calmly. “I don’t imagine Mr. O’Rahilly gives up easily—money-grabbers don’t, as a rule.”
“I shall go over tomorrow and see her—she’s got to be stopped!” the old man thundered. Lady Helen let him rave himself out—when he had calmed down sufficiently to ask for a second cup of tea and start buttering a scone, she suggested that it might be a good plan to see the priest first, and find out if he had learned anything as to what lay behind this fresh move. “Did he say when he was going?” she asked Julia.
“Yes, he said ‘now’—and that was about half-past eleven.”
“Then he’s sure to have gone today. I should certainly see him first, Michael” Lady Helen said—and eventually this plan was agreed on.
As before, Julia went too, as co-driver; Lady Helen rang up the Father to warn him of their advent. He was out, but his “house-keep” took the message, and said he should be back within the hour.
He was already at home when Julia and the General drove up to the Presbytery at Lettersall; he saw the car from the window, and came out into the hall to meet them. It was a small and rather comfortless-looking place, with no rugs on the dusty and ill-polished floor. “Come in to my study, I have a fire there—’tis quite chilly today” he said. It was—the weather had broken, and rain was borne on a north-west wind. The study however had a good turf fire going; the General stood in front of this, warming his hands, while Father O’Donnell bustled about, taking piles of books and journals off two chairs to make room for his guests to sit down—the whole room was smothered in books and papers, the desk piled high with them. “This is the most tossed room in Ireland!” the priest said apologetically. “But there—sit down now.” After hunting about he produced a wooden box of rather withered-looking cigarettes—“Do you care to smoke?”
Julia took a cigarette—the General asked if he might smoke one of his own cheroots? “Mrs. Bassett” Father O’Donnell called down the passage, opening the door, “could you bring two saucers? For ash-trays” he explained to his guests; he piled up books by their chairs to serve as tables, and when Mrs. Bassett brought a couple of common kitchen saucers, he triumphantly placed these on them. “There—now we’re all set” he said, sitting down behind his laden desk.
“Well, did you see that poor foolish old creature?” the General asked.
“I did. I’m afraid she has changed her mind, and does want to go on with the deal.”
“Did you find out who’s been after her this time?” O’Hara pursued.
“No. She was very unresponsive” Father O’Donnell said regretfully. “She didn’t really want to talk about it at all. All she would vouchsafe was that ‘a delightful gentleman’ had been to see her, bringing the famous ‘document,’ and had convinced her that selling the land would be of great benefit to the district—and also that Mr. O’Rahilly had nothing to do with the purchase.”
“As far as putting up the money goes, that’s probably true enough” the General said, bitterly.
“Anyhow, all our efforts have been undone—she is determined to have her money back.”
“And you couldn’t get any idea who this ‘delightful gentleman’ was?” O’Hara asked.
“No. All I did manage to do was to get a description of him from old Annie—I left my gloves behind in the hall on purpose, and went back for them and saw Annie alone, and asked about the gentleman who had recently been to see her mistress. Annie has the usual clear peasant memory, and said he was ‘middling young,’ tall, dark and very good-looking; but what really impressed her, oddly enough, was his dress—’Ye never saw such an elegant gentleman!’ Does that convey anything to you, General?”
“Not a thing!”
“Actually it does to me” Julia put in. The priest turned eagerly to her.
“It does, Mrs. Jamieson? And who might the ‘elegant gentleman’ be?”
“An architect called Moran, who’s very much mixed up in property deals. Mr. O’Brien knows all about him.”
“That is extremely useful—or might be” the Father said, eagerly. The General was less encouraging.
“How on earth can you know that, Julia, just from a description? Have you ever met this Moran?”
“No, but I’ve seen him—that’s how I know what he looks like,” Julia said firmly.
“Where have you seen him?” O’Hara asked.
“In Dublin.” Julia hoped this bald statement would be enough; she would have preferred not to reveal Moran’s connection with Mrs. Martin—but it wasn’t.
“Where in Dublin?”
“At Westland Row Station, seeing someone off.”
“And was he pointed out to you as Moran?” the General persisted.
“No—but the person he was seeing off travelled down in the same carriage with me. I was struck at the time by his being so frightfully over-dressed—that’s why I remembered him” Julia said, again hoping that this hare might draw the General’s interest away from Mrs. Martin; again she was disappointed.
“And did your fellow-traveller mention his name? Seems an odd thing to do, to a complete stranger.”
“No. I heard it later from someone else.”
“Oh ah—but the person you travelled down with was the Martin woman from Achill, O’Rahilly’s pal!—I remember Helen telling me that. Yes, that would all fit in—it’s likely enough it was him, so,” O’Hara at last admitted. He turned to the priest. “But even if we know it’s Moran who’s after her, how can we stop him? Did he give her any more money, do you know?”
“I
couldn’t find that out. As I told you, Lady Browne was very reluctant to discuss the matter at all—she just insisted that she had entrusted a large sum of money to me, and that now she wanted it back.”
“Wonder what she wants it back for, if she’s proposing to get more by completing the deal,” O’Hara speculated.
“I imagine to make sure I didn’t complicate matters by returning the money to Mrs. Martin, as I had promised to do, and to tear up the document agreeing to sell. She was triumphant that this time she had been given a copy!” Father O’Donnell said wrily.
“Well, what do we do now? Put O’Brien onto this Moran man, and try to stop him?” the General asked.
“That will require some thought. I should like Mr. O’Brien’s advice on that. I wish we could get hold of him—I tried, but he was neither at his office, nor at home.”
Just then a car drew up in the drive, and a moment later Gerald O’Brien walked into the room.
“Talk of the devil, and let him appear!” O’Hara exclaimed.
“Oh, good Sir, you were never more welcome!” the priest said more agreeably, rising and wringing him by the hand. After further dislodging of papers and magazines another chair was freed, and the newcomer sat down.
“I came over because I heard that my old client has changed her mind again” he said. “I thought I would check, as I was somewhere in this direction. Is that really so?”
“Alas, yes” Father O’Donnell said ruefully.
“How on earth did you hear?” the General asked.
“Ill news travels fast” the lawyer said equably—at the same time he gave Julia a tiny, almost imperceptible wink, from which she deduced that Terence White had passed on the information. He turned to the priest. “Now, I take it that you have seen Lady Browne—may I hear what you have learned?”
Father O’Donnell repeated the rather scanty information he had already given the others, including Annie’s description of the persuasive gentleman who had brought the copy of the document.
“And now Julia here fancies she knows who this person is” the General put in.
“Oh yes—quite certainly Moran” O’Brien said unhesitatingly, to Julia’s secret pleasure.
“Ah, you are satisfied of that too—excellent” the priest said. “We were just discussing what should be done, on that assumption, and wishing that we might have had the benefit of your opinion—and now here you are to give it!”
“I’m afraid my opinion is that it is less a case of what should be done than of what can be done, where Master Moran is concerned” O’Brien said. “He’s a tricky customer, and usually manages to get excellent technical advice, so that he can keep strictly within the law.”
“But I thought you said before that the document Lady Browne originally signed couldn’t stand up in a court of law, because of the circumstances in which it was obtained—a very old lady all alone, with no legal help, and not witnessed” Father O’Donnell objected.
“Quite true—which is probably why he’s brought it back. But you see it wasn’t tricky Dicky Moran who got her to sign it, but poor ignorant Mrs. Martin, an alien! Next time, if the deal goes as he hopes, he’ll come with a lawyer in his pocket—in every sense of the phrase!” Gerald said grinning. “It won’t be me, and I shan’t be told! And he has no moral sense to appeal to. No—I don’t think one can do much with Moran. I’m sure for your best chance is to work on the old lady again; she has got some moral sense, though it’s rather intermittent, let’s face it! But you and the General succeeded with her once before, and I don’t see why you shouldn’t again.”
Father O’Donnell looked doubtful.
“I repeated all the arguments I used before, yesterday, but they didn’t seem to have any effect this time” he said.
“Did you tell her no decent person would speak to her again if she did this?” O’Hara demanded. “She didn’t much like it when I told her so, you remember.”
“Well, not in so many words,” the Father admitted.
“Well, I think someone should reiterate that to her” the General persisted. “Someone she will listen to. If you ask me, her social sense—or sensibility—is a good deal stronger than her moral sense.” He looked rather pleased with himself as he brought out this phrase.
“Who does she listen to, socially?” the priest asked, turning to O’Brien. “I mean, besides the General” he added hastily.
“I think probably Richard Fitzgerald of Kilmichan means a good deal more to her than I do—I mean his good opinion” O’Hara said unexpectedly. “For all her obtuseness, she is surprisingly conscious of the fact that the Brownes, locally, don’t rate very high—only Elizabethans, of English origin. Whereas the Fitzgeralds do rate high—for all that they probably only came in with Strongbow. But the Irish have somehow annexed them as native, and their very own. Anyhow his mother was an O’Malley, and they were here when St. Patrick arrived, according to local belief!”
“Good grief!” Gerald exclaimed. “Can there be anything in that, General?”
“Oh, I’m no expert on pedigrees—but I once met a man who is, and he was firm that one Spanish family, quite obscure now, and the O’Malleys—ditto—could trace their ancestors back, Christian names and all, further than anyone else in Europe.”
“Fascinating” Father O’Donnell said.
“Well, Father have you alerted the bank about releasing the money from your account yet?” Gerald now asked.
“No. I thought I had better hear what the General thought first. Was that wrong? I told Lady Browne it would take a week.”
“Not wrong at all—normally it would take that time. Anyhow it will give us time to mobilise Richard Fitzgerald.”
After further discussion it was agreed that O’Brien should ask “Mr. Richard” if he would undertake the task of making a second attempt to dissuade Lady Browne from her nefarious scheme. “He’s near me—I can see him any time,” the lawyer said. “But I should like to have Mrs. Jamieson with me when I do.”
“Why on earth do you want her?” O’Hara asked.
“She was the first person on the spot after the deposit was given, and saw the old lady actually counting it, and was told about the ‘document’ then—and later also by Mrs. Martin and O’Rahilly.”
“Don’t you think Fitzgerald will believe you, if you tell him the facts?” O’Hara asked incredulously.
“I think Mrs. Jamieson makes a good witness” O’Brien returned urbanely. “Would you mind?” he asked, turning to Julia.
“Not in the least—I’d love to meet him again” Julia said readily.
“Good—I’ll fix a day and ring you up. We can meet in Martinstown.”
“But what do I do about the money?” the priest asked.
“I was thinking about that. To put you in the clear I believe it would be a good plan to return it to the old lady, as she has asked for it. So I should like a chit from you to the bank manager asking him to hand it back to whoever you designate as messenger.”
“And who do you suggest that should be?” O’Hara asked, rather impatiently.
“Richard Fitzgerald, if he agrees to. I think he would actually stand a better chance of succeeding in his main task if he came cash in hand, so to speak.”
O’Hara thought this idea crazy. “Once that greedy old creature feels the actual money between her fingers again, she’ll never let it go a second time! I know Mary.”
But Father O’Donnell disagreed with him.
“No, General—I believe Mr. O’Brien is right about this. I think Fitzgerald would be more likely to persuade Lady Browne if he returned the money to her.”
“But what’s to be done with it then, if she were to give it back to him? Oh, and by the way, Father, did you manage to find out yesterday if Moran—if it was Moran—had brought her any more?”
“No. She didn’t mention having received any, and I thought it more prudent not to ask her.”
“Much wiser not” O’Brien said. “As to what to do with the
original £3,000, if Richard gets it out of her, and the document, it can sit in his account till we find some means of returning the cash to Moran. Personally, I should greatly enjoy leaving the lot with the Land Commission, and telling Moran to collect it from them!”
Julia laughed at this, and Father O’Donnell looked amused, but O’Hara scowled at Julia, and said sharply— “Don’t be frivolous, O’Brien. This has got to be dealt with properly.”
“Well, I’m sure you can trust Richard Fitzgerald to do everything with the utmost propriety” the lawyer said. He got up. “I must be getting along. I’ll ring you when I’ve made the appointment with him” he said to Julia. “Goodbye General; goodbye, Father.” He went off, but a moment later came back again. “That chit for the bank, Father—I forgot it. We must have that.”
“What do I say?” the priest asked, pulling a sheet of writing-paper out of a drawer in his desk. O’Brien dictated a brief simple formula. “We’ll put in Fitzgerald’s name—I’m sure he’ll take it on. Be longing to get at her, when he hears what she’s up to, if I know him!” He pocketed the note, and this time he really did drive away.
Julia looked forward to the interview with Richard Fitzgerald, and enjoyed it when it came off a couple of days later. She took the bus into Martinstown, where Gerald picked her up at the station. “Do we go to Kilmichan again?” she asked, as they drove off.
“No, he’s coming down to my place. You can never be sure of not being interrupted with Norah in the house, so I asked him to lunch.” In fact the Kilmichan car, a rather battered estate van, pulled up on the drive at Rossbeg only moments after they did, and they all went in to Gerald’s study together. As before, Julia was struck by Richard’s extreme neatness of appearance and precision of speech.
“Well, we want you to do a bit of a conservation job” O’Brien said, after drinks had been handed out.
“Of course, if I can. What, and where?”
“Well, it’s quite a story already.” He began by recounting O’Rahilly’s so-called “development” plans, and his first abortive attempt to buy land for it near Rostrunk, thwarted by General O’Hara.
