Cashelmara

by Susan Howatch

  “Never mind my mother. You’re coming with me.”

  “Where to?”

  “The cabin. I’ve got a flask of milk and five currant buns.”

  As we hurried uphill through the woods I told her about the scene with Drummond. Until then I had merely told her that my mother was against the idea of us marrying so young.

  “It’s just shocking the muddle old people get into!” She was appalled. “How can it be wrong for you to get married and yet right for you to visit a scarlet woman? I’d never have thought Mr. Drummond would have been so wicked. Ma and Pa would have a fit if they knew.”

  “Do you think so? Are you sure? Wouldn’t your father simply say it was the way of the world?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder what sort of world Pa lives in. Maybe I’ll retire from it and be a nun after all. I wanted to be a nun when I was ten, you know.”

  I paused to show her how unsuited she was for the cloistered life. “We’re still getting married on my birthday as far as I’m concerned,” I said when she was convinced.

  Now it was her turn to be scared. “Ned, Mr. Drummond’ll be furious!”

  “He can have an apoplectic fit for all I care. He’s not my father, and if he tries to behave as if he is I won’t have it. I’m nearly sixteen years old, and I’m damned if I’ll let anyone dictate to me any more.”

  “Oh, you’re so brave!” exclaimed Kerry admiringly.

  But I wasn’t. I couldn’t even eat a currant bun.

  “I could write to Ma and say I’ve lost my virginity,” offered Kerry, munching thoughtfully. “They’d have to let you marry me then, wouldn’t they?”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” I said. “I’m going to marry you with everyone’s consent and your reputation intact. I’m going to do things properly and no one’s going to stand in my way.”

  I hoped I would feel braver after those bold promises, but by the time we crept back to Cashelmara at five o’clock my heart was pounding like a piston and my hands were so clammy that I could barely open the side door into the house.

  “What happens next?” whispered Kerry.

  “Let’s go up to the nurseries. Nothing awful can happen there, and I promised John I’d help rebuild his farmyard. But I’ll just go to my room first and change my shoes. These ones are falling to pieces and my stockings are wet.”

  “Shall I go on ahead?”

  “Yes, I’ll see you in the nurseries.”

  I sped noiselessly up the back stairs, ran like the wind down all the corridors and finally reached the sanctuary of my room. With a sigh of relief I dived inside.

  “Welcome home,” said Maxwell Drummond.

  He had been standing behind the door, and when I spun around he slammed the door to cut off my retreat. There was something odd about his appearance, but it took me several seconds to realize he was in his shirt sleeves. He had tossed his jacket across the bed and taken off the heavy leather belt he always wore with his working clothes. I looked for the belt but couldn’t see it. It was only when I glanced back at him that I saw it was coiled neatly in his right hand.

  “Where were you?” he said. He spoke in a soft, low voice without any particular expression.

  “I went for a walk,”

  “With Kerry? Your mother said she was missing too.”

  “Yes, I was with Kerry.”

  “I thought we had an appointment.”

  “You were mistaken,” I said. “I changed my mind. Forgive me for not informing you.”

  “I’ll be damned if I’ll forgive you anything. What did you do to that girl?”

  I stared at him. I suddenly found I couldn’t speak.

  “Jesus Christ!” he said, white-hot with rage. “I might have known what sort of foolishness I could expect from a spoiled young bastard like you! Your trouble is that your mother and I have been so busy handling you with kid gloves that we’ve allowed you time and again to get away with behavior no child should be allowed to get away with. Well, you’ve gone too far this time! I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry.”

  I managed to say, “I’ve done nothing wrong. I didn’t touch her. I want to do everything properly.”

  “You goddamned liar,” he said and told me in the vilest possible language how he thought I had spent my afternoon.

  Something snapped inside me. The room spun in a red mist before my eyes, and all fear was wiped from my mind. I stopped cringing against the wardrobe and rushed him. I moved so fast that I took him by surprise, and all my pent-up hatred spilled into violence as I slammed my fist into his face. He dodged but not quickly enough. My fist caught him a glancing blow, and he reeled back against the door. Closing in, I swung my fist again. I was shouting at him, but I hardly knew what I said. I called him names, terse, ugly Saxon names, and I told him to get out of my house. But then he caught my wrist, bending it back so that I cried in pain, and twisted my arm in such a way that I had to sink to my knees, and the next moment I was on the floor, unable to move, my face pressed against the worn carpet. He dragged at my jacket. I should have been able to wriggle free then, but he had me in such a grip that I dared not move for fear my arm would break.

  “Let … me … go!” I twisted my body away from him, but he put a harder lock on my arm so that for a second I couldn’t breathe for the pain. The carpet smelled of dust and damp. I choked. My eyes smarted with tears. I was crying even before he hit me, but I tried not to because I didn’t want him to see my tears.

  He hit me nine times. He had dragged up my shirt and vest so that the belt could bite my skin. When he had finished hitting me he stood up, shoving me away from him, and said he hoped that would teach me a lesson. He said that was just a taste of what I would get if I ever laid a finger on Kerry again and just a taste of what I would get if I ever breathed a word of my dishonorable behavior to anyone. He said he had been more patient with me and more liberal than any father would have been, and it was about time I realized it. He said I had better mend my ways pretty damned quickly if I wanted to avoid further trouble with him.

  He left

  I got up at once. I knew it was very important for my self-respect that I shouldn’t lie sobbing on the floor like a little boy in the nursery. Taking off my clothes, I tried to wash my cuts with cold water from the ewer and then I found fresh clothes and dressed with care. I knew I had to wear my best suit, but it no longer fitted me, and when I raised my arm to comb my hair the material closed upon my burning shoulders like a leaden cape. It was only then that I allowed myself to sit down.

  The pain was so bad that I even wondered if my arm was broken, but I could still move my fingers, so it seemed unlikely that the bone was injured seriously.

  Before I could start to feel sorry for myself I went downstairs.

  I went straight to the library. He was slumped comfortably in a chair with his feet up on the great desk by the window. He had a glass of whisky at his elbow, and he was smoking one of Phineas Gallagher’s big cigars.

  When he saw me he was so surprised that it took him a moment to swing his feet to the floor.

  “Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said, hardening his voice to show me he was making a quick recovery. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to apologize.”

  “No, Mr. Drummond,” I said, more determined than ever now to get what I wanted. “I haven’t come to apologize. I’ve come to deal you a hand that’ll suit us both.”

  Chapter Six

  I

  HE LAUGHED. “THOSE ARE words I never thought I’d hear used against me!” He tapped the ash from his cigar and gestured to one of the chairs that flanked the fireplace. “Sit down and deal your hand in comfort!”

  When I stood my ground he shrugged his shoulders and leaned casually against the edge of the desk. He was still holding his big cigar. “Why don’t you wait for your temper to cool?” he said. “Come back tomorrow morning and say your piece. It’s all the same to me.”

  I still said nothing.

  “Fa
ith, Ned, I’m sorry to see you being childish enough to bear me a grudge. You should take it as a compliment that I treat you as I’d treat my own sons.”

  “You haven’t treated your sons very well,” I said. “And now, if you’ve finished giving yourself time to think, perhaps we can begin. Let me start by saying there are certain facts you should understand. One: Kerry’s a virgin. Two: I’m not a liar and you’ve no right to call me one. Three: I’m marrying Kerry on my birthday, December the fifth, and you’re going to persuade my mother to give her unqualified consent. Have I made myself clear?”

  He roared with laughter, mocking me. “Well, you’ve dealt me a hand that suits yourself!” he said, amused. “But why should that suit me?”

  “You want to continue living here and pretending to be a gentleman, don’t you?”

  The laughter died from his eyes. Recognizing the insult as the challenge I intended it to be, he decided to take me seriously. “I’m a good agent,” he said flatly, “and that’s no pretense.”

  “True, it’s not merely a pretense. It’s a lie. With my mother’s permission you’ve been helping yourself to my money for some time now, and if I chose I could ask the judge in Chancery to remove my mother as trustee. Then my uncles would dismiss you from your job.”

  “Go ahead,” he said. “My old home’s rebuilt now and it’s not yours to dispose of as you please. I’ll go back there and make a fine living for myself. I always was a good farmer, and there’s no reason why your mother shouldn’t enjoy living there with me. I’d see she was comfortable, and she would be near enough to Cashelmara to see the children every day.”

  I began to understand how he had won his gold watch at poker. Panic simmered in me, but I kept my fists unclenched and willed myself to be calm.

  “Come, Mr. Drummond,” I said reasonably, “you know very well that my mother would never humiliate herself and her children by sinking as low as that. Her present humiliation is more than enough for her to bear. If you were disgraced she’d leave you.”

  “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, smiling at last. “She’ll never leave me.”

  The appalling part was that I knew he was right. I stared, my back burning from the beating he had given me, my sore arm throbbing, and found to my horror that I had nothing to say.

  He stopped lounging against the desk and stood up as if the conversation were already over. “Besides, no judge in Chancery would remove your mother from her position as trustee,” he said, taking a casual puff at his fat cigar as he demolished the rest of my threat. “I’ll admit she’s been generous to me, but she’s spent no money that couldn’t be written off in a lawful way. She knows how to keep books, you see, and to be sure no one would ever prove she’d been guilty of mismanagement.”

  Defeat stared me in the face, but I refused to see it. I had never in all my life been so determined not to lose, and suddenly the enormity of my desperation pushed me to a pitch of hatred so intense that my brain was emptied of all emotion, even fear. A single thought, at first no more than a fleck of instinct but soon a huge billowing cloud of total belief, filled my mind until I felt my head would split with the pain of it, and the thought was: This man killed my father.

  My voice said coolly, “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I couldn’t prove my mother had been guilty of mismanagement. But I think I could prove she was guilty of murder.”

  The cigar in his hand went out. He had stubbed it accidentally against the desk as he swung around to face me. Above the fireplace the elephant clock ticked quietly, marking time until I chose to speak again.

  I said, “Of course we both know my mother’s not a murderess, but she did visit my father shortly before he became ill, and if it was found that my father didn’t die of his liver disorder her position might become very difficult indeed.”

  Drummond said evenly in a firm voice, “Your father died of drink. There was no murder. Your father died a natural death.”

  “I’m glad you’re so certain,” I said. “In that case you’ll have no objection if I write to the Chief Secretary in Dublin and request permission for my father’s body to be exhumed for an autopsy.”

  He ground the cigar to ashes in the tray and reached for the bottle of whisky. “You crazy boy,” he said, not looking at me. “Don’t be such a damned fool.”

  “You arranged matters very well, didn’t you? At first I thought my mother’s visit to Clonagh Court was an accident, that she had gone without your knowledge, but now I see it wasn’t an accident at all. You let her go because she was going to act as a shield for you. You knew that if there was any suspicion later the family would cover it up in order to protect her. It was a clever piece of bluff and well worthy of your talents at poker, but that’s finished now because I intend to call that bluff of yours and bring the truth out into the open.”

  “You’ll do nothing that’ll hurt your mother,” he said, pouring himself another shot of whisky.

  “In normal circumstances no, I wouldn’t. But these aren’t normal circumstances, Mr. Drummond. If I have to choose between my mother and Kerry I’m going to choose Kerry.”

  He was silent.

  “I’m choosing now,” I said. “Get me my mother’s consent to the marriage and I’ll leave you and my mother alone. Stand in my way and you’ll both be facing a coroner’s jury within a month. It’s up to you.”

  He drank the whisky in a single gulp. While he was considering the situation I thought it prudent to add, “I’ve already posted a letter to Mr. Rathbone in London and enclosed a second letter which is to be opened only in the event of my death. I thought it wise to list my suspicions on paper and make a written demand for an autopsy. In the circumstances I’m sure you’ll understand why I felt such precautions were necessary.”

  I stopped. He remained silent. His glass was empty, his cigar a mangled ruin, his face closed and still.

  “Well, Mr. Drummond,” I said, “are you going to help me?”

  He backed away around the desk and sat down in the chair. He moved slowly, as if it were a relief to take the weight off his legs, and at last he said without looking at me, “So be it. I wash my hands of you. I’ve tried to prevent you from making the mistake of your life, but if you don’t want to listen there’s nothing I can be doing about it. Go and marry the girl, but don’t ever come whining to me later to ask why I didn’t try harder to stop you being such a goddamned fool.”

  All I said to him was “I shall expect my mother’s consent within twenty-four hours.”

  “I’ll speak to her tonight.”

  It was over. I’d done it. I’d beaten him to his knees.

  “Very well. Good night, Mr. Drummond,” I said shortly and hurried upstairs as fast as I could to write my confidential letter to Mr. Rathbone.

  II

  “But, Ned,” said my mother in tears, “how can you think such things about Maxwell, who’s always been so good to you? And how can you threaten me as if you no longer loved me?”

  “I do love you,” I said, “but I love Kerry too.”

  “How can you love her! You’re too young to know what the word means! Listen, Ned, never mind what I said to you yesterday about Kerry’s reputation. Better that she should have no reputation than that you should marry when you’re only sixteen.”

  “No, Sarah!” exclaimed Drummond strongly. “How could I face Phineas Gallagher again if I stood by and knowingly let such a thing happen?”

  “Why should I care about the Gallaghers!” she cried. “I wish to God we’d never met them!”

  “If we hadn’t we’d still be in America. Sarah sweetheart, you’ve got to be reasonable about this.”

  “I refuse to consent, I tell you! I’ll never, never consent.”

  “Sarah, it’s blind you are or you’d see things differently! You can’t truly want the shame and scandal of an autopsy. Haven’t your children been through enough shame and scandal already?”

  “Patrick died a natural death,” said my mother. “Ever
yone said so. ‘It was the result of his drinking,’ Madeleine said. Madeleine did say that, didn’t she, and Dr. Cahill agreed with her.”

  “He did, yes.”

  “Then why, why, why does Ned keep talking about an autopsy?”

  There was a pause. My mother started to cry again. After a long while Drummond said, “Let him marry, Sarah.”

  My mother tried to speak but could not. I suspected she had at last realized there was nothing she could say.

  “Let him do as he wants.” Drummond was still trying to make it easier for her. “When he tires of her later at least he’ll have the money to set himself free and start again.”

  “Roman Catholics don’t recognize divorce,” said my mother, weeping harder than ever, but I knew her tears weren’t for my conversion to Rome.

  Drummond found it best to pretend they were. “His feelings for Rome are all bound up with his feelings for Kerry, don’t you see? He’ll get over Rome when he gets over her, and it’ll all sort itself out. It won’t be the end of the world. Give in to him now and let him make his own mistakes. Sometimes you have to let children make their own mistakes, so let go, Sarah, because you’ll win nothing now by clinging on. Consent to the marriage, give it your blessing and welcome Kerry as your daughter-in-law.”

  “I can’t,” sobbed my mother, forgetting in her distress that she had no choice. “That plain, dumpy, common little girl …”

  “Sarah, Sarah …” He brushed his hand across her lips as if to smooth away the words and stooped over her. “Don’t say any more. Not in front of Ned. Please, for your own sake.”

  It was only then that she managed to take his advice and hold her tongue. However, when I saw her later she seemed more resigned to the situation and even went so far as to apologize for her harsh words.

  “I was only anxious to do what was best for you,” she said, trying to smile. “I still can’t pretend that I want you to marry when you’re so young, but I see now that Maxwell was right and that it would be better for me to accept the situation.”