The House

by A. O'Connor

  Clara came down the stairs and saw the Fennells and the other servants rushing around following Prudence’s orders.

  Clara walked intothe library where she found Pierce filling his briefcase up with papers.

  He looked up at her. “When you’re packing try to only bring essentials and valuables. Leave everything else here. We’ll secure the house and hopefully it won’t be attacked when we’re gone.”

  “There’s little chance of that!” snapped Prudence, walking in. “I hear they burned down Grangly Hall in Roscommon last night. The poor owners, the Hilgards, weren’t in any way involved with the Anglo-Irish war. They are just targeting Big Houses to burn down as a symbol of British rule. But with your bloody involvement this house is bound to be a target.”

  “That’s why we have to get a move on,” said Pierce.

  “I’ve contacted our cousins in Dublin and we are welcome to stay as long as possible. Hopefully when things calm down we can come back here,” said Prudence.

  Clara laughed harshly. “After what Pierce did, you’ll never be able to return here!”

  Prudence looked at Pierce accusingly. “You did nail your colours to the wrong mast. There are plenty of gentry families who endorsed independence and they are even being given jobs with the new government in Dublin.”

  “You’ve changed your tune,” snapped Pierce.

  “Well, we’re all going to have to sing to a different tune now.”

  “Enough of this talk, let’s keep packing and be on the road for Dublin by this afternoon.”

  Clara sat down casually on a Chesterfield couch and lit up a cigarette.

  “Clara!” shouted Pierce. “Let’s get a move on and pack!”

  “Oh, I’m not going anywhere, husband dear,” said Clara, smiling.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t want to go and stay with your cousins in Dublin. I’ve met quite enough Armstrongs in you two, thank you very much.”

  “Don’t be so stupid and get moving. I’ve no time for your silly antics.”

  “And if I don’t – what will you do, Pierce? Have me arrested, or interned like you have been threatening? Oh, but you can’t anymore, can you? The army is leaving and so is your power. There’s an independent government in Dublin and I’m a free person again.”

  Pierce stood staring at her in shock.

  “All this timebeing locked up at your command is over. I’m a free woman. I even have the vote now.”

  Prudence looked at Pierce’s pale face and then looked to Clara. “So what are you going to do, Clara? Going to London?”

  “Finding your lover Johnny, now he’s been released?” Pierce asked cynically.

  “I’m not going to do anything. I’m going to stay right here – in my house, my home.”

  “But we’re all leaving!” snapped Prudence. “Even all the servants.”

  “Off you go. I’ll be fine on my own.” She looked at Pierce and smiled but her eyes were accusing. “You forced me to stay and that’s what I agreed to do. I’m staying put.”

  “But you can’t, Clara!” shouted Prudence. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I’ve made up my mind.”

  Pierce looked at her. “I won’t ask you againtojoin us.”

  She stared at him bitterly. He grabbed his briefcase and walked out past her.

  Clara looked out the French windows of the ballroom as she saw the cars drive speedily away. Then she walked to the front door and bolted it and leaned against the door, closing her eyes, before walking through the empty house.

  “Lady Armstrong! Lady Armstrong!” came voices shouting from outside the house. Clara was upstairs in her bedroom writing at her bureau and she went to the window and looked out. Down in the forecourt she saw a British army car and two British officers in it.

  She opened the window. “Yes?”

  “Lady Armstrong, I’m Captain Jones from the local regiment.”

  “How can I help you, Captain Jones?”

  “We are literally the last of the regiment leftand we are leaving the country. We’re driving to Dublin now, you can accompany us – please come with us.”

  “No, thank you, Captain. I’m not leaving my house.”

  “But, Lady Armstrong – don’t you understand? – we cannot guarantee your safety once we have left.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but I’m quite all right.” She closed over the window.

  Captain Jones looked at his colleague. “Well, we tried. It’s as the locals say – she’s not leaving.”

  “They say she’s waiting for her lover to return, the artist.”

  “They also say she’s gone mad – driven to madness by her marriage to Pierce Armstrong.” He looked up at the house. “Come on – let’s get out of here.”

  That night like every night, Clara sat at her bedroom window looking out across the lake to where Seymour Hall was. She had been doing it every night since Johnny had been arrested. If a light came on, he would be home and she would rush there and try to explain everything to him. She couldn’t bear to think of him being behind bars for all this time. But now all the political prisoners were being released, he was bound to come home sooner or later. And they could continue where they left off and start their new life together. All she ever thought about was him and being back together with him. She lit up a cigarette and continued to look for a light to come on at Johnny’s, but the house remained in darkness.

  Chapter eighty-six

  The loud banging at the door woke her in the middle of the night. She sat up in the bed. Her heart beat quickly as the loud knocking echoed through the house again.

  “Johnny!” she gasped. She jumped out of bed and ran to one of the windows and looked out. But it wasn’t Johnny – there was a group of men standing there holding burning torches.

  She opened the window. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “Could you open the front door and let us in,” said the leader of the men.

  “No, I most certainly can’t. Now you’re on private property – so clear off!”

  “If you don’t open the door, we’ll smash it down.”

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “We’re burning this house down as a reprisal for actions during the War of Independence.”

  Clara slammed the window shut and ran intoher dressing room where she quickly changed intoa dress. Panicked, she ran from the room and down the corridor. As she came racing down the stairs she heard a shattering of glass at the back of the house. By the time she reached the hallway a group of men came rushing up from the servants’ quarters.

  “Get out! Get out of my house!” she shouted.

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Lady Armstrong. We ask you to leave the house now with us.”

  She was aghast as the men ran through all the rooms downstairs.

  Two of the men took her by the arms and led her to the front door which they unbolted. She saw one of the men set light to the curtains in the drawing room.

  “Oh, please let me get some of my items from the house,” she begged as they led her out and down the steps to the forecourt.

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that. When houses in Castlewest were burned down, that request went unheeded by your husband’s guards.”

  One of the men brought one of the ornate armchairs out and placed it in the middle of the forecourt.

  “Take a seat, please,” said the leader.

  She sat down and looked at the house. She could see flames dancing inside the windows of the drawing room and spreading quickly.

  “I don’t want to see this!” she shouted.

  “Again, you have no choice. The people in the town were made watch their houses burn down, and now you can watch yours.”

  As she watched the flames shoot through the house, all she could do was stare in horror. She remembered Velma, the Frenchwoman who was staying in Hunter’s Farm when she first arrived, telling her fortune and saying she would one day
save the House of Armstrong. As she watched the house go up in flames, she realised that was not to be.

  Clara got on the train and found a quiet compartment in which to sit. She was wearing a hat with a net that covered her face.

  She looked out at the platform that was busy with people getting on and off the train.

  The ticket master came down to her.

  “Ticket, please,” he said.

  She handed him her ticket and he read it out. “A single to Dublin?”

  She nodded. “That’s right – no return.”

  Book 3: 2007–Present

  Chapter eighty-seven

  Kate and Tony Fallon were seated at a round table with three suited men in the restaurant in the Plaza Hotel in New York. Kate was a striking woman in her late thirties with long golden hair. Tony, aged forty-six, was a big man with black slightly curled hair, dressed casually in a suit and open-necked shirt.

  “When Steve suggested meeting you to discuss the deal we were delighted to take the opportunity,” said Kate Fallon as she smiled around the table.

  “We could of course have our pick and choose of investors – but Steve said you were the guys for us,” smiled Tony Fallon.

  “Well, eh, when Steve first mentioned your project we got kinda excited,” said Mulrooney. “We thought we’d better get a bit of the action going on in Ireland before we miss the show altogether.”

  “And what a show is going on there!” said Steve.

  “I just got a couple of questions,” said Mulrooney. “The size and scope of this shopping mall you’re building in Dublin – it will be one of the biggest luxury malls in Europe – you’re sure the demand will be there?”

  Kate gave a little laugh. “Oh, the demand is there, gentlemen, I can assure you. The conspicuous consumption of the Irish has become notorious.” She lightly fingered the dazzling diamond necklace around her neck.

  “Some of those suburbs in Dublin put Beverly Hills to shame,” said Tony with a laugh. “It’s the second richest country in the world, you know.”

  “And Dublin is the third most expensive city in Europe,” added Kate.

  “It’s come along way from the Famine!” said Mulrooney with a laugh.

  “The demand is there, rest assured,” said Kate. “And that’s why we are securing all the right anchor tenants – Tiffany’s, Armani, Gucci. We’re even hoping to get Harrods and Bloomingdales on board.” She flashed another smile at the men.

  “And any project with Tony and Kate’s name attached in Ireland will be a success,” said Steve. “They have the Midas touch.” Steve Shaw was the Chief Executive of Eiremerica Bank, and Tony Fallon’s company Fallon Enterprises was his biggest client.

  “I saw a couple of films you were in, Kate,” said Mulrooney. “You don’t act anymore?”

  “No, I gave up acting when I married Tony.” She placed a loving hand on Tony’s and smiled at him.

  “You miss Hollywood?”

  “I only ever made a couple of American films before I retired, so not really,” smiled Kate.

  “How long have you two been married?” asked Mulrooney.

  “Seven years,” said Tony as he held Kate’s hand and smiled.

  “You’ll have to visit us in Ireland,” suggested Kate.

  “Well, I hope to see you guys there some day soon. I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland,” said Mulrooney.

  “Of course you do! Everyone wants to go to Ireland,” smiled Kate.

  “So – eh, gentlemen, are you in – or are you out?” questioned Steve Shaw, looking slightly nervous.

  Mulrooney looked at the handsome, smiling, confident Fallons.

  “We’re in,” said Mulrooney.

  “Excellent!” said Steve loudly and snapped his fingers at the waiter, who arrived a minute later with a bottle of champagne. He opened it and filled their glasses.

  “So,” said Kate, raising her glass. “To a successful partnership!”

  They all clinked glasses in the centre of the table and repeated. “A successful partnership!”

  Kate walked into their suite in the hotel and riffled her hands through her hair.

  “Whoo! We did it!” Tony yelled loudly.

  She sighed loudly. “I thought at one point they were going to opt out.”

  He came over and put his arms around her. “You had them eating out of your hand. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  She smiled. “Yes, you could. I was just the window dressing.”

  There was a knock on the door and Tony went to open it. Two bellboys entered carrying two huge bouquets of flowers.

  “These ones are from Mulrooney,” Tony said, checking the attached cards, “and these are from Steve Shaw and Eiremerica Bank.”

  “Thank you,” said Kate to the bellboys. “You can leave them over on the table.”

  Tony’s mobile started ringing and he answered it as the bellboys left.

  “Hey – hi, Steve – yep, a great result . . . sure . . .” Tony covered his phone and whispered over to Kate. “They loved you!”

  They loved the idea of making lots of money, that’s all, thought Kate as she went to sit at the bureau and turned on the laptop.

  “Okay, thanks again, Steve – let’s meet for breakfast before we leave for Dublin.”

  Tony hung up and threw off his jacket.

  “Steve is thrilled.”

  “So he should be. He and his bank will make another fortune out of you,” she said as she studied the laptop screen.

  “Any emails?” he asked as he went intothe ensuite and ran the bath.

  “I haven’t checked yet,” she said, distracted by the screen.

  He came out of the bathroom.

  She cleared her throat and said, “Have you given any more thought to what we were talking about – the house?”

  “Oh – you’re not still looking at that place, are you?” He came over behind her and looked at the auctioneer’s website with the Armstrong House photo on it.

  “The auction is next month,” she said.

  “I thought we decided we weren’t interested in it,” he said.

  “No, you decided you weren’t. But I am still very interested in it.” She went through the photos on the screen.

  “It’s a dump!” he declared. “A medieval ruin. It’s even fire-damaged. It’s miles from Dublin, and doesn’t suit our needs.”

  She closed down the laptop and looked at him. “All I’m asking is we go and take a look. Just to make an appointment with the auctioneer and see what it’s like.”

  “You already know what it’s like. You grew up near there,” he pointed out.

  “But I haven’t been down there for years. I want to see what it’s like now.”

  “Oh Kate!” he moaned, annoyed.

  “Please!” She looked at him pleadingly.

  “Oh, how can I say no after that performance you put on over lunch?”

  She leaned forward and kissed him. “Thank you – oh, and Tony?”

  “What?”

  “Your bath is running over.”

  “Damn!” he said as he raced over to the bathroom.

  Chapter eighty-eight

  Nicholas Collins drove his Range Rover up to the front of Armstrong House and parked it in the overgrown forecourt. Janet Dolan’s car was parked there andbeyond it he saw Janet talking to a couple who were climbing into a very flashy car. Janet was from Dolans Auctioneers, the estate agents appointed to sell the house. Janet was a friend of his ex-wife Susan. Which was one of the reasons for her appointment as selling agent, as well as the fact that Janet specialised in large country houses.

  The main source of conflict in his divorce from his ex-wife Susan had been Armstrong House. This house was his, inherited from his mother Jacqueline Armstrong Collins. He had wanted to keep it whileSusan had wanted to sell it to set them up in comfortable new homes. He had felt it wasn’t his to sell: it belonged to the long line of Armstrongs who had gone before him – and to his young daughte
r Alexwho should inherit it from him.

  In the end he was forced to sell and Nico knew it was the right decision. He had separated Hunter’s Farm from the folio of property to be sold. He would hold on to that, at least so long as the Big House raised enough. Armstrong House would just continue to disintegrate – he certainly hadn’t the money to do anything with it. And the money would set them up properly and secure Alex’s future which was the main thing. But his heart still fought against his head.

  He jumped out of his Range Rover and walked towards them. As he reached Janet she was waving the couple off.

  “I’m putting them down as a definite maybe,” she said, making a note on her clipboard with her pen.

  “Is that not a contradiction – putting the words ‘definite’ and ‘maybe’ together like that?”

  Janet ignored him. “All my appointments have shown up today, ten so far.” She looked at her watch. “I’m waiting for my eleventh now.” She peered down the driveway to watch for any approaching vehicle. “I’m quite excited about the next viewing – it’s Tony and Kate Fallon.” Janet had a cat-who-got-the-cream look about her. “A bit of a coup to even get them to make a viewing – it will set tongues wagging.”

  “Tony and Kate Fallon?” He looked unimpressed.

  “Yes, you know, the shopping-centre magnate and his actress wife –”

  “I know who they are!” he said quickly. “They’re very brash and flash, aren’t they?”

  “Brash and flash usually equals cash in my experience, so what’s your problem with that?”

  He looked up at the house. A lot of the windows on the front were boarded up. It was very rundown and dilapidated.

  “I just didn’t think they’d be the type to be interested in a house like this,” he said.

  “They are just the type, Nico. All my clients in the country-house market are nouveau-riche businessmen intent on playing lord of the manor.”

  “Tacky,” he said.

  “Nico!” She was annoyed. “Have you any idea how much money these kind of people are worth? They are the chance of you getting your asking price, paying off your debts, paying off your ex-wife and riding off intothe sunset. If you’re relying on the local farmers to pay your asking price, you’ll be waiting a long time, I can tell you.”