The Lady

by Anne McCaffrey

  When the riders returned, Mrs. Comyn told the captain that an Italian named D’Albretti had rung, asking if he and some friends, the Bartolomeo brothers, could come and see the Cornanagh horses.

  “I conferred with Mr. Lenahan, and he felt it wasn’t wise to delay an answer, so a meeting was arranged for three o’clock this afternoon.”

  “My God, thank you, Mrs. Comyn. That’s perfect.” He turned to Selina and grabbed her by the shoulders. “God, the Bartolomeo brothers! They’re exactly the market I’ve been aiming at. But where’s Harry, dammit? I can’t ask Pip to take time off from work right now.”

  “Why bother Harry? I’m grand now, Michael,” Selina said. “With four Italians around, I assure you I’ll feel a lot safer in a saddle. Unless you think I wouldn’t show the horses off properly?” She glanced at him slyly.

  “You wouldn’t mind? Of course, they might just want to see the horses lunged over fences . . . ”

  “They can’t pinch me in the saddle, Michael.” She winked at Mrs. Comyn, who was standing in polite attendance. Selina was sure she saw the woman’s lips twitch briefly. “How’s your Italian, Mrs. Comyn?”

  “Sufficient. For refreshments, I think they’d prefer aperitifs to tea, Captain. I’ll have Bridie make some of those hot savories she does so well.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Comyn, you’re a marvel,” Michael said. Grabbing Selina’s hand, he pulled her back to the yard, calling for Mick and the girls.

  By three o’clock, when the chauffeured Mercedes limousine purred through the gates of Cornanagh, there wasn’t so much as a blade of grass out of place in the two yards. Mick had organized clean shirts and vests for himself and Artie, while Catriona and Patricia were turned out in Pony Club fashion. Selina had sponged the saddle soap from her jods and commandeered a clean shirt and smart linen waistcoat from Eithne.

  The effort was worthwhile, for when Ignacio D’Albretti introduced the Bartolomeos to her, they were properly flattering. Selina managed to respond with courteous Italian phrases and was rewarded with such a spate of Italian that she had to laugh and admit to her poor command of the language. She was pleased when Raimondo Bartolomeo was just as attentive to Patricia and Catriona. Although he was courteous enough to Patricia, he surprised them all by caressing Catriona’s cheek and muttering appreciatively in Italian. Catriona flicked a glance at Selina, who smiled encouragingly, and then curtsied, shyly grinning up at the solemn Italian.

  Thus the ritual began. First, the horses were shown in hand so that their conformation could be appreciated. Next, Emmett and Minister were lunged over uprights that Mick, Artie, and Barry had hastily constructed in the menage. Finally, saddles were brought, and the entire group hiked down to the jump alley, over which the Bartolomeos exclaimed with delight and many Italianesque gestures.

  “Two is all you have?” Raimondo Bartolomeo demanded after Selina had jumped both horses down the alley.

  “Two produced and ready to be schooled on,” Michael said. Then, catching the disappointment in the Italians’ faces, he admitted that he had several more in training.

  Temper, Wicket, and Racketeer were consequently brought out and lunged over the jumps. Temper understandably caught their eyes, with his proud and upright carriage and audacious manner, though they also lingered over Racketeer. The brown gelding was the bigger animal, standing 16.3 hands high with the superb front end of his sire. But when the Bartolomeos asked to see Temper ridden over jumps, Michael hesitated. He didn’t want to outface the animal, particularly with his volatile personality. But before he could decide one way or the other, he saw Mick saddling Temper and Selina ready to mount. She winked at him, and then Mick gave her a leg up.

  Fortunately Temper responded well to Selina and took both uprights with an economy of movement, tucking all four legs neatly out of the way as if he were a seasoned jumper. The Bartolomeos nodded their heads and made admiring grimaces. When Selina offered the reins to Raimondo, he gestured at his dress slacks and grinned his refusal.

  To Michael’s deep gratification, the Italians then asked to see his young horses and were thus conducted to the fields. The conformation of the yearlings and two-year-olds was examined and exclaimed over, and the brood mares were inspected with their current foals.

  The ritual completed, Michael offered refreshment. Catriona and Patricia served the hot canapés that Mrs. Comyn brought in, and as the Italians took their leave, Raimondo bowed over Catriona’s hand and offered her a charming compliment, which flustered her completely. Patricia managed to flirt with the man, and he pinched her cheek.

  “We see you at the show, Capitano?” the elder Bartolomeo asked politely as they were escorted to the limousine.

  “Yes, indeed, Major Bartolomeo.”

  “We talk again, then. At the show.”

  Everyone managed to contain their jubilation until the Mercedes had left the yard. Then every moment of the afternoon was carefully reexamined to decide whether there was genuine interest in the Cornanagh horses.

  “I think they’re going for Temper,” was Selina’s opinion. “He just flew those fences. He gave me a great feeling.”

  “Yes, but the Bartolomeos need international-caliber horses.”

  “And the Tulip hasn’t produced any? Come on, now, that horse had great heart and scope,” Selina said, and Mick nodded emphatically.

  “I think they liked Racketeer more,” Patricia said. “They had their heads together all the time Selina was showing him.”

  “Well, they’ll be in every other yard in Wicklow, Kildare, and Meath, so let’s not raise any false hopes,” Michael reminded them.

  “I think you were done a signal honor, Captain, sor, when they wanted to see everything you have here,” Selina said, grinning.

  “Everything except Charlie,” Patricia said bluntly.

  Michael saw the disappointment on Catriona’s face as well. “That, my dear niece, was because I do not wish to be offered a price for Charlie that I can’t refuse!”

  “Oh, my God,” Selina interrupted, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got to fly. Kathleen’s terrified of setting the burglar alarm off if she leaves the house.”

  “We can’t thank you enough, Selina,” Michael said, walking her to the Lancia. “You were marvelous today.”

  “We won’t be sure of that,” she teased, “until we sees their wads of lira!”

  She could see that he wanted very much to kiss her, but they had to be content with shaking hands. As she pulled out of the courtyard, she grinned ruefully; it had never occurred to her that a simple handshake could also convey sensuality.

  Eithne’s wedding day dawned bright and clear, and Selina was out of the house as soon as Kathleen arrived. Wedding notwithstanding, there were horses to be ridden and a great many last minute preparations for the luncheon reception. Selina had packed an overnight case with a change of underwear, cosmetics, and the dress she planned to wear at the reception. She had elected not to attend the ceremony, as the register office was going to be crowded with Carradynes, Coynes, and Gavaghans: even Bridie’s presence had been specifically requested.

  Of course, there were enough minor crises that morning to keep everyone on the hop: Owen’s brother Harry couldn’t find his tie, Eithne had a fit of last minute qualms, and Catriona’s hem came adrift and Mrs. Comyn had to sew it in. Owen and Michael, on the other hand, were ready ahead of time and passing remarks about people in dithers and hysterics on auspicious occasions. Selina was very glad to see them all depart in their various cars at last. Sometimes so many tall Carradynes could be overpowering, she thought.

  “A cup of tea, Mrs. Healey?” Mrs. Comyn suggested, and Selina gratefully agreed.

  “We’ve about an hour before any of the reception guests will arrive, Mrs. Healey,” the housekeeper said as Selina sipped her tea. “Why don’t you take a little rest before you change?”

  “Only if you promise me that you’ll put your feet up for a bit, too, Mrs. Comyn,” Selina said, trying to sound ster
n.

  The woman shrugged. “I’ll do just that, Mrs. Healey.”

  Yes, Selina thought wryly as she left her checking the reception rooms. When pigs fly.

  At Catriona’s insistence, Selina had deposited her case in the girls’ room. She sponged off quickly and changed her lingerie, then lay down. She didn’t think she’d dozed off, at least for not more than a moment or two, when she heard a car drive into the court. Startled, she glanced at her watch, then rose and shrugged into her dress. They must have made very good time, she thought, and started for the door. She had her hand on the doorknob when she heard the voice bellowing her name. David’s voice.

  Astonished, she opened the door and saw him charging up the stairs, his face contorted with fury.

  “I’ve caught you, you bitch! Where is he?”

  “Where is who?” Selina backed into the room, startled and confused.

  David pushed her roughly aside and began opening closet doors. “Your lover! I know you’ve got one, you—you cunt!”

  “David, I was changing my dress for the reception,” she cried, desperate to calm him down. “Look, this is a child’s room, not a love nest.” She gestured at the bunk beds, the schoolbooks on the shelves, the ribbons that adorned the walls.

  “Where is he?”

  “There’s a wedding in this house today, David. I’m an invited guest. Didn’t Kathleen tell you that? I left a message last night for you at the Belfast number. Where the hell do you get your staff in the North?” She tried to sound more annoyed than frightened.

  David, having finished his tour of the room, whirled on her again. “You close your face, bitch. I use what means I can to rescue the business which permits you to play gracious lady and get invited to weddings!” He mimicked her with a sneer. “What else do you ride here, every day, all day?”

  “Well, you should know, shouldn’t you? The man you hired to follow me should have a full report of all my activities!”

  David’s eyes narrowed, and he began to clench and unclench his fists.

  “What’s the matter? Did you think I was so stupid that I wouldn’t notice your little shadow? Ah . . . ” Suddenly Selina realized what had brought David down from the north. “He saw me leave this morning with an overnight case and came to the only logical conclusion for a man of his occupation—that I was off to meet a lover. Well, the only lovers in this house are the two who are getting married today. Sorry, David, it won’t wear!”

  “You sneaky bitch, Declan’s right about you!” Moving far mere quickly than she had expected, he crossed the distance between them and slapped her viciously across her cheek. The left one, of course—she even felt the skin break across the barely healed cut. “You’re my wife!” He punctuated that with another slap, and she felt blood trickling from her nose.

  I should at least have ducked, she thought, stunned by the successive blows.

  “You tend to my house and my needs, not some jumped-up culchie horse trader!”

  David grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out the door and around to the steps. She collided with him as he stopped, for on the top step was Mick, shotgun in hand, and behind him were Barry with an axe and Artie with a pitchfork. As if at a great distance, she heard Mrs. Comyn talking urgently to someone.

  “That’s far enough,” Mick cried. “Miz Healey, you step back!”

  “And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” David bellowed. He made no attempt to move on, however, so Selina wrenched her hand free and tried to step around him. He yanked her back.

  Mick took one look at her face, and his eyes narrowed with fury. “I’m holding you here, you bastard, until the Gardái arrive.”

  “Don’t bother. They can’t interfere in a domestic matter,” David sneered. “She’s my wife.”

  “You’re her husband?” The shotgun barrel wavered briefly, but then Mick recovered quickly and put his finger on the first trigger.

  “You down there,” David yelled. “If you’re phoning the Gardái, call them off.”

  “You have broken into and entered a private house without permission, sir,” Mrs. Comyn said calmly, coming to stand at the foot of the stairs.

  “Why, you interfering old cow!”

  Mick gave him a prod with the shotgun, and David stepped back, his anger cooling slightly now. Selina wondered if she could slip past him.

  “Now, listen here, my good man,” he began in a conciliatory tone.

  “Your good man I’m not. And you’ll not batter Miz Healey about—”

  “I’ll do with my own wife as I please, goddamnit! Now stand aside, I’m taking her home. Where she belongs. Call him off, Selina!”

  Suddenly they heard a car squeal into the court. Mick looked around, grimacing in relieved wonder. “Jaysus, for the first time in their lives the Gardái arrive in time.”

  David swore viciously, his face contorted in rage, as Sergeant Quinn rushed to the staircase.

  “Now, what seems to be the trouble here?”

  David roared down but one explanation, and when taxed, Pat Quinn had to admit that he had no jurisdiction in a domestic dispute, no matter where it was being conducted. To his credit, Quinn took a long time writing down his notes—hoping, Selina thought, that it would cool her husband down. Unfortunately the delay only made everything worse.

  As soon as the Gardái car had left the courtyard, David grabbed her wrist and hauled her to the front door. “Out of my way,” he snarled when Mick did not move fast enough.

  Once again Mick leveled the shotgun at him. “Not if Miz Healey wants to remain here.”

  “Didn’t you hear?” David cried, waving his arms about. “Even the Gardái know that I’ve the right to deal with my wife as I see fit.”

  “Only it’s not fit, ye gobshite!” the old groom bellowed back, and Mrs. Comyn ranged herself beside him, startling Selina with eyes as fierce as Mick’s. “You’re not stirring from this house with Miz Healey, not while I’m here. Beating a woman’s against the laws of God and nature, so it is!”

  Before Mick could protect himself, David scooped up a nearby lunge whip and caught Mick across the eyes with a quick slash. The loyal old groom staggered against Mrs. Comyn, but she held on to the shotgun when David tried to grab it. He pushed her back against the kitchen door, knocking the breath out of her, then renewed his attack on Mick with the lunge whip, beating the man into the yard.

  “Draw a gun on me, will you, you frigging bastard—take that! And that!”

  Barry and Artie rushed forward and hauled the half-blind Mick out of range. David then wheeled around and rushed at Selina, who had been trying to peel Mrs. Comyn’s fingers from the shotgun stock. The first lash caught her across the face, and she lurched away. Barely able to see, she reeled toward the steps, trying to shield herself by the banister, but the enraged David grabbed her ankle, pulling her back down and beating her with the handle when he could no longer wield the lash effectively.

  Then, abruptly, all motion ceased. She heard an oath, the unmistakable crack of a fist on flesh, the thud of a heavy object hitting the floor, and a seemingly endless screeching. The next thing she knew she was being picked up from where she crouched on the stairs. Although she couldn’t focus her eyes, she realized that it was Michael who held her, and she clung to him, too shocked to consider who might witness her reaction.

  “There now, Selina, there now. I’m here, I’m here.”

  “He’s gone mad . . . David’s gone mad. Is Mick all right? He beat him, Michael. And Mrs. Comyn stood up to him, too, but they weren’t enough. Oh, God, I can’t ever go back to him. Nothing can make me go back to him. I never want to see him again. Never!”

  As Michael shifted to bring her farther down the stairs, she saw David’s sprawled body and knew that he was unconscious.

  “Boys, get some ice— Oh, thank you, Mrs. Comyn. Pip, cope with Bridie. I will not have a banshee at Eithne’s wedding.”

  The screeching, Selina soon discovered, was coming from Bridie. Then the co
olness of an ice-cold cloth eased the stinging across her eyes. She reached up and found thin, trembling hands holding it in place. Mrs. Comyn!

  “Oh, God, we can’t spoil the wedding.” Selina struggled to release herself from Michael’s grasp. “That’s not fair to Eithne. They’re not here yet, are they?”

  “No, thank God, not yet,” Michael said. “The boys and I brought Bridie home once the vows were exchanged. Everyone’s involved in getting their pictures taken right now, so we’ve got some time to spare. Mrs. Comyn, see if you can find a long-sleeved blouse or dress in Eithne’s press. The weals mustn’t show.” Michael examined her gently. “This dress is torn, Selina, and dirty, but you’re about the same size as Eithne, and she’ll be too excited to notice.”

  “What’ll we do about him?” Philip asked, nodding toward David. “I think he’s coming to. Why didn’t you hit him harder?”

  “Wrong angle,” Michael said ruefully. “Look, throw some water on him. I think we’d better handle this right now. Selina, stay here. We’ll bring him into the other room.”

  She made a feeble grab at his sleeve as he rose. “Michael, he’s gone berserk.”

  “Perhaps,” Michael said, smiling crookedly. “But I think he’s had enough rope today. You’ve told me often enough that Healey has political aspirations.” She nodded, puzzled. “Well, I’m reasonably sure that your father would take a very dim view of what happened here today. And it only takes three witnesses, doesn’t it, to swear to a public beating?” He patted her hand, then strode into the lounge to join the others.

  Selina could hear snatches of the interview, but, feeling understandably weak and cowardly, she was glad to be absent. When Michael, Philip, Owen, and Harry re-joined her, their faces reflected a certain smug satisfaction. Philip even went so far as to clap his hands together as they all heard a car roaring out of the courtyard.

  “I don’t think he’ll be bothering you anymore, Selina,” Michael said, smiling slightly. “We were able to get him to see reason.”

  “Oh, Michael . . . ” Selina felt drained with relief. “Is Mick all right? He and Mrs. Comyn were tremendous, you know.”