"It doesn't matter a jot to me! I didn't start the feud, but it might be beneficial to us all if we finished it."
"It's a huge step, Muireann," he warned.
"Well, we don't have to decide right now, Lochlainn. We have more pressing matters here at Mr. Blessington's."
Muireann went into the accountant's office like an avenging angel. Lochlainn accompanied her, carrying the mountain of books and papers Muireann had brought with her from Barnakilla. She insisted he remain in the room as the oily little accountant tried to explain the expenses.
It wasn't long before Muireann confirmed her suspicions, that Mr. Blessington had been skimming a substantial amount of money off the top, and stated quietly, "Well, sir, if you can't satisfy me as to the veracity of the accounts, I shall have to go to every single one of these creditors and ask them to produce their copies of these bills."
She rose from her chair. Mr. Blessington tried to waylay her by declaring, "Perhaps there has been some small error. I tell you what, I won't charge you for my service for this quarter, and we'll call it quits."
"You will not be receiving wages for any quarter, Mr. Blessington. The only thing you will receive is a court summons from my solicitor," Muireann threatened as she stormed out.
Going on foot, Muireann and Lochlainn wove in and out of the narrow streets of the town, going to each shop on the lists she had jotted down. It took Lochlainn and Muireann the whole afternoon to see the various shopkeepers and obtain copies of the Barnakilla accounts. Even then their information wasn't complete, but at least Muireann was at last able to determine to some extent the level of Mr. Blessington's thievery.
In the course of the proceedings, however, the shopkeepers all discovered that Augustine had been tricked, and revealed that even though some of the sums owing were actually less than had supposedly been paid out, few of them had actually been paid at all. Mr. Blessington had therefore robbed the estate blind. Many of the shopkeepers were facing ruin if they didn't call in the debts soon. It was the same story everywhere, at the butcher's, the baker's, the smith's, everywhere that Augustine had done business.
Armed with the money from the clothes and carriage she had sold two days before, Muireann paid out at least a third of what was owing to each shop owner as a sign of good faith, until her once-fat purse was almost empty.
She got receipts for the money paid out, an updated account for each, and she entered all the figures in a new ledger which she set up and vowed she would always keep herself.
Then she went to the local magistrate, Colonel Lowry, to present the evidence she had gleaned from her visits.
"I want the man arrested and prosecuted!" Muireann declared angrily when she had finished her tale.
Colonel Lowry, tall, distinguished, with silver hair and deep-set sherry-brown eyes, listened to her plea tolerantly before replying, "My dear, it will give me great pleasure to arrest the toad. I'm only too glad you have the proof against him in black and white. But if you will forgive an old man presuming to offer you some advice, I would suggest you get rid of your lawyer as well. They've been in each other's pockets for years."
Muireann and Lochlainn both stared at him open-mouthed.
Colonel Lowry offered, "I'll give you the address of my son Anthony in Dublin. I'm sure he will suit you better, and not take you for every penny you're worth."
He wrote down the name and address on a slip of paper, and issued a writ seizing all of Mr. Blessington's assets. He said to Muireann encouragingly, "I'm fully booked up at the moment, but I can see you're desperate. I'll make sure it gets on my calendar of cases for March.
"If we can tally all the accounts, we shall make sure the shopkeepers are paid, and shall get back some of the money he has stolen from you. But it will take time. From what I can see, the fraud goes back years. God only knows what he's done with all of the money."
"I know it will be difficult, but I'm sure you will do the best you can, you and your son. Thank you, sir. Thank you very much for all your help!" Muireann replied gratefully, shaking his hand as she made ready to leave.
"Good to meet you, Mrs. Caldwell. I'm only too happy to be of assistance. Nice to see you again, Lochlainn. Glad to see you looking so well. And make sure she looks in on Mr. Henry the lawyer, won't you?"
"Of course, Colonel," Lochlainn agreed, shaking the older man heartily by the hand. "We're both very grateful."
"The wee lassie has spark, that's for sure," the colonel said, directing a wink at Muireann.
They took their leave of the magistrate. Then Muireann marched determinedly after Lochlainn as he led the way to the lawyer's office.
As Colonel Lowry had warned, Mr. Henry had abused his position of trust most blatantly, having paid out all sorts of false legacies to himself on Augustine's property as soon as he had heard Augustine's father had died.
He had read about Augustine's death in the morning newspapers the day before, and had wasted no time in drawing up false papers for fake bequests for himself and his partner in crime, Mr. Blessington.
He tried to invent all sorts of excuses as to why he couldn't hand over the will to Muireann. Lochlainn's large and brooding presence soon persuaded him otherwise.
Looking at the widow in her rich brown sable velvet gown, Mr. Henry attempted to present his false bequests for immediate payment, but Muireann laughed in his face. "I know those papers are forgeries, and not only because they're very poor imitations of Augustine's signature, which was quite distinctive, as I can prove from my marriage lines. I also know he couldn't possibly have signed them here in front of your notary, as it states here, in December and January, because he was with me in Scotland.
"At any rate, since he was marrying me, why would he want to leave anything to you? He would have a new family to consider, would he not?" Muireann argued logically.
"Well, with the New Year, and all that, perhaps he thought it was a good time to take stock of the estate? Maybe wanted to get some of his affairs in order. No doubt marrying you might have prompted it," the fat little bald man said desperately. "He sent me the orders from Scotland already signed."
"Don't take me for a fool. I know he sent no papers. He was otherwise engaged," Muireann hissed angrily. "At any rate, you know as well as I do how unreliable the postal service to Ireland is at the best of times. Even if he had signed these on the most recent date indicated here, which, by the way, was the second day we were traveling on board the steamer, they still wouldn't have arrived here in time for you to have them in your possession now. So stop wasting my time. I want all the papers relating to the estate this instant, do you hear me!" Muireann stamped her foot.
Lochlainn loomed over the tiny man threateningly, sending him scurrying into an inner office, where at length Mr. Henry produced a huge dusty trunk and several other folders. Muireann looked at some of the papers on the top of the trunk while Lochlainn went to fetch the junior magistrate of the town, Mr. Clarke, who had an office two doors down from Mr. Henry. All of the legal documents were entrusted into his safekeeping pending the trial. With a last withering glance at Mr. Henry, Lochlainn escorted Muireann to the cart.
"Is there anything else you wish to do before we head back?" he asked softly.
"Nay, without money, there isn't much we can do," Muireann said, dejection at last creeping into her voice.
"Well, it was a trifle foolhardy, my dear, but you did the right thing. It will make the shopkeepers feel confident that you will pay the rest of what you owe. It will stop them panicking once they find out that you have had Mr. Blessington and Mr. Henry's assets frozen and property seized because they cheated you. Well done."
They lapsed into silence then, and remained quietly huddled up against one other as the evening dropped down dark all around them.
At last Muireann said, "I suppose it could be worse. We'll have to get by somehow for the rest of the month, but at least we don't owe as much money as we had at first assumed."
"Not to the shopkeepers i
n Enniskillen, but there might be gambling debts all over the place," Lochlainn warned. "And there's still the mortgage to be paid out. God only knows how far behind that is."
"They'll just have to wait until the court case in March is heard. In the meantime we shall have to convince them we can keep Barnakilla afloat. I shall take over the accounts from now on. I've got the whole thing off to a start by paying the butcher and the others. But now we're going to have to try to wipe the slate clean at home."
"What do you mean?"
"I want us to tally everything we have on the farm, down to the last cup, spoon, stick of furniture, and farming implement, no matter how old, or dilapidated. Once we see what we have to work with, we can decide what to do with the surplus, and what we need to buy."
"But we haven't any money now that the magistrates have taken the books, and you've spent just about every penny you had."
"I know. That's why I'm going to start collecting the rent first thing tomorrow morning."
He looked appalled. "What do you mean? The tenants at Barnakilla have no gold or coins!"
Muireann looked up at him calmly. "You told me to trust you in Dublin, Lochlainn. Well now you'll just have to trust me, won't you? Can we use Patrick, Mark, Colm and their wives, and four or five other trustworthy men, as well as yourself and Ciara?"
"Yes, but . . ."
"Good. Inventory tonight, rent tomorrow."
"But I still don't understand--"
"I know how much they have paid, how much they owe. If they have no money, they can pay me in other ways. I'll know better once we've carried out that inventory," Muireann replied, refusing to say more.
After a hasty supper of stirabout and a thin slice of bread, Muireann began with the kitchen storage area. With Brona, Sharon, Siobhan and Ciara helping, she tallied up the food down to the last sultana.
Lochlainn, eager to be of help, and deeply impressed by Muireann's business acumen, went through the outbuildings with Patrick, Colm and Mark, and began to count all they possessed, down to the last nail. As he worked, he prayed that whatever scheme Muireann was formulating, she would know what she was doing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
At about midnight, Lochlainn went in search of Muireann. He found her at the top of the house, organizing a chain of workers from the cottages to bring down all the items from the upper stories.
"Surely you can't mean to throw all of these things away!" he gasped as he spotted some quite handsome pieces descending.
She shook her head. "Not throw them away. Sell them at the market in Enniskillen, if any one is willing to buy them. These won't fetch much, which is probably why Augustine never bothered to sell them himself, but whatever price we get is better than nothing. Anything we can't sell, we can use ourselves. Besides, these rooms haven't been cleared out for years. The last thing we need is to get everything cleaned, and then have to start all over again because the vermin have moved from one part of the old place to the next."
She grimaced, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "Besides, I need to see just how bad the house really is. I can't do that until I move all these things out."
"But how will you live? What will you use?"
She shrugged. "So long as I have a bed and a dresser, and a nail on the back of the door to hang things, what else do I need?"
"But Muireann, you weren't brought up like this! There are some sacrifices you shouldn't be expected to make."
"It's only furniture. You can't eat it, or pay taxes with it," Muireann pointed out casually, as if the matter weren't of the least concern to her.
Lochlainn watched her march down the stairs with an old chair. In the end he gave up and decided it was fruitless trying to fight Muireann once she had made her mind up. It was like trying to wrestle with the wind.
They labored all night indoors, and in the cold morning light, at half past six the next morning, Lochlainn began to supervise the loading of the cart to take to the market in town.
"We should repair the two-seater carriage and the small dog cart soon, so we can sell them too," Muireann said as she came up behind him.
"But Muireann, you're a genteelly brought up lady. How can you pay social visits without a carriage?"
Muireann laughed then. "I haven't got the horses to pull them! We sold the team in Dublin, remember, and the farm horses are needed in the fields. Besides, how can I reciprocate and entertain anyone here when I have nothing but empty rooms and crumbling walls!"
She marched back into the house and headed up to her small bedchamber, where she splashed some water on her grimy face and hands before drying herself with a towel.
Then she went back down the stairs to begin searching inside the trunks which the workers had placed in what Muireann guessed must have once been the drawing room.
Lochlainn, alarmed at the cold which seemed to creep into every crevice of the old house, checked the chimney first to make sure that it wasn't blocked, then brought in some wood and lit a fire for her.
The trunks were full of old and rather expensive clothes. Muireann soon determined that Patrick and Siobhan, who had experience trading in the markets, should take them into town to sell as well.
"But someone might need them here!"
Muireann shook her head. "They're too rich. Look at the brocades and velvets. No, sell them all. When more of my things arrive in a couple of weeks, we can see what's needed then."
"More of your things?"
"Well, what I had with me was for the wedding tour, supposedly of the Continent, and those clothes were my trousseau. I've asked my cousin Michael and his mother to supervise the removal of the rest of my things from Fintry. I've told them no matter how small it is, they are to send it.
"The wedding presents also haven't been sent here yet. Due to the suddenness of the wedding, not everyone in my family was able to give me something then. I've told Michael to see what comes in and sell what he can in Glasgow, and to post me a banker's draft for the money. Anyone who hasn't sent a present is to be told to send a banker's draft. There is no sense in shipping a million toasting forks over here, now is there? But I do have some clothes suitable for daily wear, and some elegant ball gowns and so on that I can sell so we have more ready cash."
Lochlainn scowled again at the thought of her getting rid of all her things so easily, but decided that complaining every two minutes wasn't going to get the work done.
Muireann was headstrong, true, but his admiration for her grew with every passing moment. She certainly had a good eye for detail, and seemed to think of everything.
So instead he brought up the subject which had been troubling him ever since their chat on the way home from Enniskillen the previous evening.
"What was that you said about collecting rent today?"
"As soon as we've had some breakfast, we shall start," she said, dusting off her hands. She finished searching another trunk, and pushed it off to one side to be sold later.
"Muireann, you've been up all night. Please don't overdo things," he begged, stroking back a damp tendril from her forehead.
"Lochlainn, I haven't got time to stop. If I sat by idly and thought about this whole mess, I should probably crumple with despair. Now, will you join me in a bowl of porridge or not?" she asked, stepping away from him quickly to head for the kitchen.
"Aye, if I may."
Muireann poured some warm water into the sink and scrubbed her hands and face yet again, hating how filthy she became every time she moved in the house.
Lochlainn needed a wash before eating as well, and dipped his hands in the basin. Their slippery fingers mingled intimately under the water, sending delightful tingles coursing through their veins. They indulged in a few shy but intense caresses, until Muireann moved away from the sink and went over to the stove.
There she ladled out two bowls of porridge from the vat Ciara had prepared for the workers that morning. Then she called everyone in the house to come wash and eat.
Thanks to eve
ryone's hard work, the kitchen was now spotless and very cozy. The workers all began to chat quietly among themselves in quite a cheerful way about all they had done that night. Muireann sat down on one of the long benches in front of the fire, and ate her oatmeal hungrily.
Lochlainn sat next to her on the bench, slightly crushed because of the others. He couldn't help feeling acutely aware of Muireann's softness whenever he brushed against her. Their legs were practically touching, and the contact for both of them was utterly thrilling.
At the same time, it was comforting huddling close together in the kitchen, and Muireann began to feel as if she belonged at Barnakilla for the first time since she had arrived.
But Lochlainn was worried about this new state of affairs. He disliked the fact that Muireann was not eating in the dining room. All the laborers helping to ready the house came in and went out, availed themselves of the porridge, and no longer seemed to be in awe of the unusual Scottish woman who had come into their midst. But since Muireann herself seemed to be completely at ease with the circumstances, he remained silent.
Call Home the Heart Page 12
