The Lady

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Mick’s grand, Selina,” Philip answered, grinning. “No permanent damage to anything but his pride. And a cuppa’s helping that.”

  “Mrs. Comyn’s gone over to Mother’s, Selina, to see about a dress for you,” Harry said, pressing her arm lightly.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Michael took Selina in his arms, embracing her as tenderly, she thought, as if she were Catriona. Then he tipped her face up to his and looked into her eyes.

  “That’s it, Selina. You are not even to see David without witnesses. Strong ones. That’s a dangerous and vindictive man. But he also cannot afford the sort of publicity that I would make certain he received. Much less what your father would do in England. Healey’s businesses right now require too much assistance from City bankers for him to risk it . . . . I told you once that Cornanagh would protect you, Selina.”

  He kissed her, then escorted her back up the stairs to Catriona’s room, telling her to rest until she heard the wedding party returning.

  “I’ve got to have a few stern words with our local banshee now,” Michael said, grinning as he closed the door.

  As she lay on Catriona’s narrow bunk, Selina could hear the noise Bridie was making in the kitchen, a curious blend of weeping, shrieking, and moaning. She positioned the ice pack on the pillow and turned her left cheek to its cooling surface, hoping that she could find enough strength to play a convincingly debonair role at the reception.

  It took considerable willpower, but except for acknowledging Eithne’s startled recognition of the dress she wore, Selina behaved at the reception as if nothing untoward had happened to her. The weals were mainly on her body and upper arms, covered now by long sleeves, and the ice had stanched the blood on her cheek. With heavy concealer and foundation, she’d even managed to hide the lash mark near her eyes. She took the first opportunity to explain to Eithne that she had clumsily spilled salad dressing down the front of her own frock and apologized for taking one of Eithne’s, explaining that she’d had no time to go home for a change. Eithne was too elated to care about such minor accidents, although she did give Selina’s cheek a long, puzzled stare.

  For hours the happy bridal pair were feasted, feted, toasted, and teased. Davis was indeed a merry groom by the time he and his bride drove off to spend a few honeymoon days at Kelly’s in Wexford.

  Shortly after their departure, the party began to wind down, and people made their farewells, while the Gavaghans settled in for a quiet natter among themselves. Michael managed a moment alone with Selina to tell her that reservations had been made in her name at the Glenview Hotel and that her overnight case had been put in her car, along with some things Mrs. Comyn thought she might need. She was to rest and try to put what had happened out of her mind.

  So Selina was able to make gay farewells to the girls and assure them that she’d see them in the morning as usual. On her way down the drive, she stopped at Mick’s house.

  “I don’t hold with beating man or horse or woman, to make it go,” Mick said stolidly. Looking at him, Selina knew the lash marks on his face were as painful as hers. “No, I don’t hold with beatings, missus. And I’d not have let him take you out of the yard iffen I’d had to shoot his—legs off.” Mick smiled at her. “Captain told me that you’re not going back.” When she nodded he cried, “Good! No man’s got the right to beat someone for the joy of it.”

  Rights, Selina recalled as she drove up the Kilquade road, had little to do with her present circumstances. At least that wretched little man in his Ford sedan was no longer shadowing her.

  34

  THE next morning Patricia and Catriona rose early and escaped to the yard. Having so many relations around really wore on the nerves, Catriona thought, listening to Patricia’s usual chatter.

  “I tell you, Cat, something’s going on around here.” Pat tossed the body brush back into her kit. “Everyone—your dad, Philip, Mick, even Mrs. Comyn—everyone’s been acting funny somehow. Smug, pleased as punch. I don’t know what it is, but I tell you, we’re missing something!”

  Catriona didn’t try to argue with Patricia. It was true: no one was acting as they ought, and it didn’t have anything to do with all the relatives staying over. “Sybil’ll know what’s happening,” she said to her cousin. “She was looking awfully satisfied with herself yesterday, and it wasn’t about Auntie Eithne. She said she’d be back this morning.”

  “It’s nearly time to eat,” Pat complained, rubbing her stomach.

  “No, it’s not. We just ate awful early, that’s all.”

  They both heard a car pull into the courtyard, and Pat went to see who it was.

  “Hey, it’s Syb,” she called, beckoning urgently to her cousin before running to meet the arrival. “No,” Pat was saying when Catriona joined them, “we haven’t seen her this morning. Uncle Mihall said she had some errands.”

  “I’ll just bet she does,” Sybil said so drolly that Catriona knew Patricia had been right after all.

  “Okay, Syb, what’s happening? You can level with us.”

  Sybil laughed. “I would if I could, but I can’t. It’s not for me to tell. But I assure you, it’s nothing bad. In fact”—she grinned and ruffled her sister’s hair—“it’s all to the good. You’ll see. Now, I’d better get cracking. Tell Selina to phone me when you see her, will you, pets?”

  She had driven away, one hand fluttering back at them from her window, when both girls heard Tory’s distant but frantic barking. Turning toward the front fields, trying to place his location, Catriona saw the young stock galloping around the big field. And they weren’t galloping for the fun of it. She caught Patricia’s arm and pointed.

  “Tory’s out with Barry, isn’t he?” Pat said, unconcerned.

  “If he was with Barry, he wouldn’t be barking. C’mon, let’s go see.”

  Catriona ran back to the yard, loosing the knot that tied Conker to the wall ring.

  “Mick, something’s scaring the horses,” she called as the old groom emerged, a puzzled frown on his face.

  She vaulted to Conker’s back, saw out of the corner of her eye that Pat had mounted Orphan Annie. Their clattering brought Artie from the stable he was whitewashing. She heard her father call out, saw him leading Temper from the menage. She pointed to the fields, yelling to him about Tory and Barry and the horses. Then she realized that the strap-iron gate to the Ride was closed. She dug her heels into Conker’s ribs, and gallant pony that he was, he soared over it. She heard Patricia’s bitter curse and was fleetingly grateful that Pat had not put the green Annie to such a formidable barrier.

  Almost unconsciously, she guided Conker right, down the Ride, to see what the horses were running from. Conker had sensed her urgency and was going full pelt. Frolic and Tulip’s Son were in the big field with the other young horses.

  Catriona knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that mare and colt were in danger. She urged Conker faster, heard shouts behind her and loud voices coming from beyond the hill in the big field. Without pausing or checking for an instant, Conker cleared the five-barred gate into the field, landing with a jar that threw Catriona against his neck. She hung on to his mane and squirmed erect. As they charged to the flat top of the hill, Catriona saw several men below, saw Frolic protecting her foal, driven into a corner against the hedgerow, rearing and striking out from side to side. She also saw Tory, barking hysterically, standing over the prone figure of Barry.

  Catriona stampeded down the hill, yelling at the top of her lungs and waving her arms. It was when she saw that the men carried lunge whips and ropes, and one was poking a cattle prod at Frolic, that she realized she had absolutely nothing, not even a riding crop. And the lead rope, which she might have been able to swing defensively, was attached to Conker’s head collar. So she hauled Conker around to charge the man nearest her—Mr. Fitzroy. Too well behaved a pony to knock into a human, Conker swerved at the last moment, just as the farmer jumped aside, and Catriona nearly lost her grip on his smooth sides. Feeling his
rider slip, Conker swerved and slowed. One of the other men made a grab for her, but she kicked Conker on, clinging to his mane and breaking the man’s hold on her shirt. Then she was through their blockade and galloping toward Frolic.

  Frolic tried to elude her as well, but she permitted Conker near her, as if she considered him an ally. Catriona tried to grab Frolic’s head collar, but the mare flicked up her head, evading capture.

  Fitzroy was rallying his men, and it was then that she saw the flash of knives in the sun and knew what he had intended: not kidnapping the prize Cornanagh mare and her foal, but hamstringing them, damaging them so badly they’d have to be put down.

  Enraged, Catriona wrenched Conker around and set him in front of the mare, making him bounce under her as she gave the confused pony conflicting aids. Grim and determined, the men began to close the circle.

  Suddenly she heard a bloodcurdling yell and saw Patricia come flying up over the brow of the hill on Annie. Just behind her galloped her father on Temper, wielding a lunge whip, and Artie, armed with the sickle, bareback on Charlie.

  The Fitzroys scattered, racing for the far corner of the field and the hedge that separated Cornanagh’s land from the Kilquade estate next to them. Catriona did not join that charge but stared, openmouthed, at the sight of Temper, neck extended, teeth bared, an equine variation of his rider.

  Tulip’s Son nickered at the disappearing horses and would have gone to investigate, but Frolic rumbled a warning, and Catriona quickly blocked his way. She felt utterly drained, her mouth dry and her arms and legs trembling from exertion.

  Frolic nuzzled her, nickering softly.

  “It’s all right, Frolic. You were marvelous, protecting your baby. And so were you, Conker! Good boy! Good fellow!” She leaned down on the sturdy neck and stroked it, pulling Conker’s pricked ears.

  Tory’s bark, less urgent now but still excited, reminded Catriona of Barry. She turned Conker up the hill and squeezed with legs that were still quivering. Tulip’s Son nickered in his high-pitched voice and cantered beside them. Assured that this emergency had passed, Frolic put her head down to graze.

  Barry, holding his head, was struggling to rise, while Tory danced about him, barking approval.

  “It’s all right, Barry,” Catriona called out as she and Conker trotted up. “Dad’s gone after them. Are you all right?”

  “Oh, Jesus, I’m not,” Barry said, reeling on his feet. There was blood streaming down his neck, and he fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief.

  Instantly Catriona was off Conker. “Come on, Barry, get on Conker.”

  “That I couldn’t,” he said, but he clutched at the pony’s neck and looped an arm about it. “Oh, by Jesus, I don’t know what they hit me with. Sure I thought Tory’d seen a badger or that ferret that lives in the hill. I didn’t so much as look around until wham! Did they hurt the foal?”

  “No, they didn’t, and we’ve Tory to thank for that again.” Tory immediately trotted up to be caressed.

  Catriona, anxiously watching Barry’s stumbling progress, led him and Conker back to the house. They were just turning into the courtyard when Pat and Artie came trotting back.

  “We got ’em! We got ’em!” Pat cried. “Caught ’em in the act! You should have seen your father! He and Mick have them cornered like the rats they are, waiting for the Gardái . . . . My God, Barry, are you all right?”

  “Here, I’ll help,” Artie said, and ran to Barry’s right side to support him.

  “God, Cat, you were marvelous! You should’ve seen the look on your father’s face when you and Conker took the iron fence like that. Then he realized there was trouble, told Mrs. Comyn to call the Gardái, and took off after you. And there you were, holding off an army of Fitzroys! Wow!”

  Mrs. Comyn was waiting for them at the door and quickly helped Artie bring Barry into the kitchen. Both girls heard Bridie’s banshee wail and decided that they’d best put the horses up.

  “Lord, we’ve got to groom all over again,” Pat said in exasperation, fists on her hips as she surveyed Annie’s sweaty hide and muddy legs. “And my dad said I’d have a quiet summer in Ireland.”

  Fitzroy was not one to lay down a quarrel easily. Brannigan, the estate caretaker, roused out of the fields by all the commotion, had stopped the Fitzroy retreat by discharging one barrel of his heavy-gauge shotgun at their feet. Then Michael galloped up, halting with a shower of pebbles from the drive just as Mick pulled the Austin across the drive, and pointed another weapon out the window. The Fitzroys were cornered.

  Even after the Gardái arrived, and Fitzroy was formally charged with assault, grievous bodily harm, trespass, and breaking the peace, he was snarling threats through the spittle on his lips.

  “I’ll get ya, ya bastard. I’ll get ya yet, Carradyne!”

  “Sure, it’s Jere Nolan you should be getting, Fitzroy,” Brannigan cried. “It’s him’s knocked your datter up!”

  “What?” Fitzroy whirled on him.

  “Sure the world and his cousin know it, man,” Brannigan said. “He’s bragging about it. Ask him yerself. When you’re out of the ‘Joy, that is!”

  Fitzroy writhed against the handcuffs, and his sons shouted loud denials and threats.

  “I must get home, Pat,” Michael said, having trouble now controlling the overexcited Temper.

  “I’ll be seeing you soon, then, for the particulars,” Pat Quinn replied affably. “I might as well rent space at Cornanagh this weather.” He grinned and waved Michael on.

  Thoroughly pleased with himself, Temper swung into an extended trot, high-blowing all the way back to the Cornanagh entrance. “Good lad, Temper, good lad,” Michael said, soothing the gelding. Too bad, he thought as he slowed Temper to walk into the yard, that there’s no more cavalry. Temper would have made a magnificent charger. He might just contact Billy Ringrose anyhow. The Army was concentrating on three-day event horses these days.

  Catriona and Patricia were in the yard when he walked Temper in, and a look of apprehension immediately crossed Catriona’s face.

  “It’s all right, pet, it’s all right,” Michael assured her. “Fitzroy won’t bother us anymore, I promise you.”

  Artie came rushing up to hold Temper, his face eager for news. Patricia too was impatient, but Michael ignored her until he had taken Catriona in his arms and hugged her hard.

  “Oh, Daddy, I couldn’t let them hurt Tulip’s Son and Frolic! They had knives!”

  He could feel her slight frame tremble, and he held her, stroking her hair. “Catriona Mary Virginia, don’t you ever, ever take a fence that way again.” Then he kissed her solemnly on both cheeks and smiled.

  “Well, I knew Conker could, Daddy!” she said, grinning proudly.

  An hour later, when the mounts of the irregular Cornanagh cavalry had been duly groomed and given a handful of nuts as reward for their valor, a triumphant Mick drove back into the yard to confirm that the Fitzroys had been taken off in the extra Gardái cars that had arrived from Wicklow town.

  Selina started her day with a bath, but the warm water did not prove as effective for whip weals as for bruises. Mrs. Comyn had included a small jar of comfrey ointment, which when applied had certainly soothed the weal across her face and those on her body that she had been able to reach.

  She waited until 10:30 to call Kathleen, but there was no answer at home at all, so she tried Cornanagh next. Mrs. Comyn answered.

  “Oh, I’m so glad to get you, Mrs. Comyn, because I never had the chance to thank you yesterday for coming to my rescue.”

  “I did very little, Mrs. Healey.”

  “You did more than you know . . . . Is Captain Carradyne available?”

  “He’s just come from the yard, Mrs. Healey. One moment, please.”

  In the ensuing silence, Selina wondered idly just how much Mrs. Comyn had divined about her relationship with Michael. A moment later he was on the phone, sounding both pleased and anxious to be hearing from her.

  “Selina?
Are you well? Were you able to sleep?”

  She smiled. “Not as well as I’d like. You weren’t there to comfort me.”

  “That would have been a lot more palatable than catering to Eithne’s boring relations.”

  “Michael! You’re terrible. Did you see the paper this morning? The Horse Board Bill was passed last night.”

  “I know.” He didn’t sound as triumphant as she’d expected.

  “Michael! You won! It’s gone through. And seemingly much as you hoped it would.”

  “On paper, yes. That was the easy part. Now, it’s got to be sold to the farmers it’s supposed to help. And then there’s the problem of who’ll sit on the board and who’ll be elected chairman. No, I think the real work is just beginning.” There was a slight pause, then: “Have you decided yet, Selina? I mean, about coming to stay at the mews?”

  She hesitated. “Yes . . . I think I’ll hold off on that for a bit, Michael. I’m going after a barring order today; I want to see to it that David can’t get back in the house. I don’t want to give it up, you see. I’ll also have to find out if I can prevent him from selling it without my consent. Mind you”—she laughed—“the mews is a very tempting offer.”

  “I know.” He chuckled with her.

  “But if I did move into Eithne’s place, we would be sorely, sorely tempted.”

  “I know! We’ll be tempted anyhow. We’ll just have to be sensible.”

  She gave a long, low laugh. “Yes, we will.”

  “Listen, Selina. The Gavaghans’re down, and I must play host. When will I see you?”

  “I’ve a lot to do this morning, but tell the girls that I’ll be there this afternoon. And congratulations again! I just know Bord na gCapall will succeed—I feel it in my bones.”

  “Politics ruin many good ideas,” Michael said.

  After she rang off, Selina took a deep breath and tried her number again, but there was still no answer. Troubled now and distinctly uneasy, she rang for appointments with Maurie Woods and Dr. Treacy, then took great pleasure in telling Ian Coghlan to get a barring order against her husband: she had the requisite witnesses. After she’d made all her calls, she drove to Kathleen’s council house in Dun Laoghaire.