by Anna Jacobs
‘You’re always going down to the village and talking to common people. You should spend more time with people of your own class.’
‘I grew up with some of those men in the village and we played together as boys.’
She let go of his arm, moving away to fiddle with the ornaments on the mantelpiece. ‘Well, you’re not boys now. What you need, my dear, is to settle down with a wife and children. That would steady you.’
‘Hubert isn’t married and he’s the eldest. Turn your matchmaking on to him.’
‘I’ve got one or two young women in mind but he’s as stubborn as you. He says he wants to get the estate in better order before he thinks of marrying.’
‘Because of Father’s gambling.’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t comment on her late husband’s weakness for cards; she never had. ‘Well, at least my youngest son has married well and Patrick’s given me grandchildren, too – though they’re in England so I hardly ever see them.’
She’d been saying that sort of thing for years, introducing Ronan to a string of eligible young ladies, but he hadn’t met a single one who wasn’t a dead bore. Hubert hated social occasions and avoided them when he could, even though he was the landowner now. He avoided his own family too, preferring to sit on his own in the evenings. Ronan had never understood him and if they hadn’t been brothers wouldn’t have bothered with him at all.
His mother shook his arm to get his attention. ‘You’re not listening. Do think about finding a wife. I’m sure it’d make you happier.’ She flung herself down in a chair.
‘I doubt it. And I’d need a house to put a family in, which I don’t have.’
‘You’ve the money to buy one. You had a very comfortable legacy from your great-aunt Mary. You could live nearby and make your poor old mother happy. You’re thirty, Ronan darlin’. If you wait much longer, it’ll be too late for you to father children.’
He didn’t let himself smile, but he doubted he’d have trouble with that. He’d fathered one illegitimate child already and had seen it well provided for.
She began drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair. ‘It’s all that travelling that’s unsettled you. Have you any idea how much I worry when you’re off on one of your trips?’
‘I’ve always been perfectly safe.’
‘Then perhaps you could take me with you one day. I get very bored here sometimes when you’re away.’
He’d hate to travel with her. She’d be fussing about every little thing. ‘I think you like your comforts too much to travel, Mother.’
‘It might be worth the discomfort. I get very lonely here when you’re away.’ She forced a smile. ‘Maybe one day I’ll surprise you all, and go off to see a bit of the world. London. Paris. Rome. You make them sound so interesting.’
The wind suddenly howled round the house and he thought longingly of warm, lazy days in Italy and Greece. But the less frequented parts of southern Europe weren’t very safe at the moment so he didn’t feel inclined to risk his life there till things settled down. There had been years of patchwork troubles, with the shifting of territories and minor kingdoms from Austria to Prussia to France. Who knew what would happen next? He’d no mind to run into danger.
‘Well, I’d better go and write some letters.’ He left her with her embroidery.
In his bedroom he unlocked the writing desk and took out the newest letter, rereading it carefully. He was very tempted to accept the invitation to visit Australia. Conn wasn’t guilty of conspiring against Queen and country, but his cousin Michael had given convincing evidence against him. All Ronan had been able to do was sort out the finances so that when his friend arrived in Australia, there was money waiting for him.
How could justice go so awry? Conn had received no support from his damned father, either.
Someone rode up to the front door. Good. A caller. That would cheer his mother up. But a few minutes later she called up the stairs, her voice urgent. ‘Ronan! Come quickly! They’ve just sent a message round from Shilmara. Poor Mr Largan has had a seizure and is like to die. We must call on Kathleen at once, to offer our sympathy and help.’
‘Didn’t I tell you I’d never cross that threshold again?’
‘You’ll respect our neighbour in his last hours, if you respect nothing else, Ronan Maguire, or you’re no son of mine.’
When she spoke as sharply as that he usually did what she wanted. And in any case, it occurred to him suddenly that if he did go to Australia, Conn might like to know how things were at his old family home.
‘I’ll go and have the horses put to,’ he called back.
When he came back into the house to tell her the carriage was ready, his mother met him, arms akimbo, cheeks flushed with anger. He looked at her in puzzlement. Fenella Maguire’s temper was mercurial at the best of times, but this sudden change of mood baffled him. ‘What’s upsetting you now?’
‘Your friend Conn seems to think you’ve agreed to go and visit him in that heathen place.’
‘You’ve been reading my letters again.’
She tossed her head. ‘And why should I not? You left the latest lying about. How was I to know it contained secrets? I’m your mother, aren’t I? And anyway, I’ve a right to read what comes into my own house. I’ll not have you going so far away! You’re staying here in Ireland and that’s my final word.’
Her prying made up Ronan’s mind for him. He was going, but he wouldn’t tell her that until he’d finalised his plans. No use trying to change her. She’d interfere in their lives and nag them for as long as she had breath in her body. She meant well, he’d grant her that, but he didn’t want her pushing him into a marriage like his brother Patrick’s, one where neither cared about the other, only about money and their position in county society. Ronan intended to follow his own destiny, wherever it led.
‘Are you ready to leave, ma’am?’
Something in his voice and the formal way he called her ‘ma’am’ instead of ‘Mother’ must have warned her that he was seriously annoyed. She looked at him a little warily, hesitated and when he said nothing more about Conn’s letter, put her hand on his arm and let him lead her out to the waiting carriage.
He could see Shilmara long before they got there, a sprawling, two-storey building on a rise overlooking a small lake. He’d not visited it since Conn sailed for Australia and wondered what they’d think of him coming here today. Well, who cared what they thought? He was here for Conn’s sake, not because a scheming, lying old man lay on his deathbed.
A groom came running to open the carriage door, whispering, ‘’Tis grand to see you again, Mr Ronan. Have you heard from Mr Conn lately?’
‘I heard only yesterday. He’s doing well in Australia, breeding horses. You know how good he always was with animals.’
‘And his mother?’
‘She’s in better health there in the warmer climate, though still not able to move about easily.’
‘It’s good to be hearing that. The poor lady used to suffer terrible bad from the rheumatism.’
A cough from inside the carriage reminded them of their obligations and Ronan went to help his mother get out.
‘Do you have to chat to grooms like that?’ she snapped as they climbed the stairs to the front door.
‘I’ve known Bram since we were lads together. It’s only natural he’d be asking after Conn and Mrs Largan.’
‘That woman didn’t know her duty to her husband. I can’t even bear to speak her name.’
To his mind, when she fled to join her son in Australia, Mrs Largan had been obeying a higher duty, serving the cause of truth and justice rather than staying out of duty with the husband who’d allowed them to jail his son on a trumped-up charge without making a single protest. Ronan thought less of his mother for her changed attitude towards a woman who had been her closest friend for years. ‘We’ll not be arguing about that again.’
She tossed her head and led the way through the front door, which had been opened b
y then. The Largans’ housekeeper was waiting to show them in.
He slowed down to greet her by name as well, to his mother’s annoyance.
‘It’s nice to see you again, Peggy. I hope your mother is better.’
She nodded but after a glance towards his mother said only, ‘Mrs Kathleen is waiting for you in the parlour, Mrs Maguire.’
‘Thank you.’
As they entered the room, Kathleen Largan moved forward from the window, where she must have been watching their arrival. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ she asked her female visitor. She didn’t attempt to greet Ronan, hadn’t spoken to him since he helped her husband. As if he’d disown a good friend like Conn. He went to stand on the other side of the fire, one hand resting on the mantelpiece, and prepared to endure a boring visit.
His mother shot him a glance warning him to behave, then said in the cooing voice she used when out in society, ‘We heard about Mr Largan and came to enquire. How is your poor dear father-in-law?’
‘Holding his own, the doctor says. That’s all we can hope for at the moment.’
‘Was it a bad seizure?’
‘Yes. One side of his body is completely paralysed and he’s only half-conscious. I’ve sent for Kieran – in case.’
Well, Ronan thought, Conn’s oldest brother would be a much nicer person to have as a neighbour. He wouldn’t make his tenants’ lives a misery as that wicked old man had done. James Largan had sat in the pocket of the English from the moment he’d inherited, even changing his religion to suit, furious when his wife and sons hadn’t followed his example.
The two women chatted for perhaps five minutes. Kathleen didn’t address a single remark to Ronan, which suited him just fine. She really was a strange woman, rigid in her ways and he knew Conn had only married her under strong pressure from his father.
As he listened, Ronan studied the room, thinking how shabby it was looking these days. Were the Largans also short of money, then?
When he and his mother took their leave, he was again ignored by his hostess. He wondered what she’d do without her father-in-law to look after her. He knew Kieran couldn’t stand her and doubted he’d let her live at Shilmara after his father died.
The visit made Ronan wonder whether he’d ever be coming back here again himself. Perhaps he’d stay in Australia. Or if he did return to Ireland, he might buy himself a house somewhere else. Oh, who knew what the future held?
But the thought of buying a house depressed him. He hadn’t unlimited money and would need to buy the sort of estate that brought in a regular income – and tend it carefully, too. So there would be no more travelling, except maybe to Dublin or London.
Did he want to settle down?
Did he know what he wanted?
Pandora paced up and down the parlour above the shop, staring through the window at the main street of Outham. Why, she thought rebelliously, were pregnant ladies supposed to hide away as if there was something indecent about their condition? Nothing was more natural than having a baby. And heaven forbid she should show herself in the shop now! Why the whole town might vanish in a clap of thunder if she did that!
Not that she considered herself a lady. She was neither fish nor fowl in that respect. She had worked in the mill when she was younger but now had money and property, so people didn’t know how to treat her.
She saw their lawyer’s clerk moving down the street and when he turned into the shop, she wondered what he wanted with Zachary. He’d better not avoid her if he was here on her business, because she wasn’t going to let anyone exclude her from helping manage her own inheritance.
Mr Dawson didn’t come out into the street and she wondered if Zachary had brought him out of the shop to have a private conversation in the hall that linked the two parts of the building. She went out to the head of the stairs, to see if she could hear them, annoyed that she had to resort to eavesdropping.
Sure enough, Zachary’s voice floated up to her. ‘I don’t like to disturb my wife with this, in her condition, so perhaps I can come to Mr Featherworth’s rooms in about an hour, when things will be less busy in the shop?’
Angry at this, she called down the stairs, ‘You won’t be disturbing me and if it concerns me or my sisters, I insist on being involved.’
There was a brief silence and she could imagine the two men exchanging glances, then Zachary called, ‘I’ll send Mr Dawson up, then, and I’ll join you in a moment or two, my dear.’
She heard the sound of footsteps and Mr Dawson came round the turn in the stairs. She was quite prepared to say something sharp if he avoided looking at her and her baby-filled stomach, as some men did, but instead he gave her a beaming smile as he got to the top.
‘No need to ask how you are, Mrs Carr. You’re blooming.’
‘Do come and sit down. How is your wife?’
He blushed. ‘She too is – um – in a delicate condition.’
She looked at him in surprise. Both he and his wife were in their mid-forties and recently married, so no one had expected them to have a child. ‘How wonderful for you!’
He smiled but there was anxiety in his eyes. ‘She’s rather old for a first child, I’m afraid.’
‘Alice is in good health and was well-nourished during the Cotton Famine, so I think she stands as good a chance as any of a safe delivery.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I daresay I’m worrying for no reason. But since my sister died, Alice is all I have. If I lost her . . .’
She didn’t try to reassure him, because as far as she could see, women risked dying every time they bore a child. She was relieved to hear Zachary run lightly up the stairs and turned to stare at him challengingly, answering his most frequent questions even before he asked them. ‘No, I’m not tired and no, I shouldn’t be resting.’ She turned to Mr Dawson with a smile. ‘My husband fusses too much over me. I find it more than a little trying because I’m in excellent health. I hope you’re not driving your wife mad!’
Zachary gave her a wry, apologetic look and of course she couldn’t help smiling back at him. Impossible to stay angry with him. She turned back to the lawyer. ‘Well, Mr Dawson, please tell us why you’re here.’
‘You’ll be glad to hear that I’ve sold two of the three cottages you inherited, and for the prices we expected.’
Pandora clapped her hands together. ‘That’s wonderful news! So we can send a decent amount of money to my sisters. Have you worked out how we do that?’
‘Mr Featherworth has been looking into the matter, but it seems all the methods have their disadvantages. The main safeguard, we feel, is not to try to send the money all at once. If we send everything and the ship founders, as the London did in January in the Bay of Biscay, then the whole inheritance is lost. With the recent bank failures, we don’t feel sure of the banks, either. And they seem to be opening and shutting banks rather frequently in Australia, as they are here. So . . . the best thing would perhaps be to send some of the money in the form of gold sovereigns in the care of a responsible person. But I don’t know how to find someone one can trust absolutely.’
‘I know someone,’ she said, feeling smug at the surprise on their faces. ‘I had a letter from my sisters in Australia recently. Xanthe is going to leave the Swan River Colony and come back to England as soon as she gets some of her money, though she hopes to do some sightseeing en route. She said a friend of her employer is probably going out to Australia to visit the Largans, so Conn has written to him to ask if he’ll take some money out for them. He’d be very reliable, I’m sure. He’s not a poor man. And if he’s a friend of Conn’s we can definitely trust him. Until she gets some money, Xanthe can’t even afford her fare back, you see.’ She couldn’t withhold a sigh. Her three sisters were all so very far away!
‘Who exactly is this person?’
‘He’s called Ronan Maguire and is from a landowning family near Enniskillen. Xanthe’s sent me his name and address so that I can write to him.’
‘Perhaps it would be
better if your husband did that?’ Mr Dawson suggested.
She breathed deeply. ‘I think I can manage to scratch a few words down legibly.’
Zachary smiled. ‘My wife has some very firm views on what she wants to do – and it is her money, after all.’
‘Legally, it’s yours now, as her husband.’
‘Then the law is wrong,’ he said quietly. ‘She inherited it. Were I to take it for my own use without her permission, it’d be no better than stealing.’
Pandora looked at him, feeling emotion bring tears into her eyes. Few men were so liberal in their views about their wives’ money. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
The look he gave her said he perfectly understood how she was feeling.
Strange that he was so liberal about this, yet would not countenance the idea of women serving in the shop. He insisted customers would regard it as lowering the tone, which would perhaps make them go elsewhere. She had to abide by that for the moment, because he did understand about running the grocery emporium, loved what he did, had been trained by her uncle, who’d made such a success of what had been quite a small shop before.
When a letter arrived a few days later, Ronan’s mother studied the envelope with a frown, not tearing it open as she usually did. He guessed it was for him and twitched it out of her hand.
‘Now, who would be writing to you from England?’ she demanded.
‘I don’t recognise the handwriting so I won’t know till I’ve read it.’
She looked at him expectantly but he took it up to his bedroom, promising himself that this time he’d make sure his writing desk was locked.
Dear Mr Maguire,
My sister Xanthe Blake works for Conn Largan in Australia. She’s written to say you’re considering visiting her employer there, and Mr Largan thinks you might agree to carry some money out to the Swan River Colony for us.
Would you be so kind as to do this?
If you agree, perhaps you could visit us before you start your journey? My husband Zachary and I would be happy to give you a bed for the night and to pay any expenses you incur in making this detour.
