by Dorothy Eden
Kitty’s eyes went wide and expressionless. It was a defence she had, that baby look, for there was nothing babyish in her complete control of herself.
“Liam hasn’t had any other girl-friends,” she said. “He loves nothing but his horses. You might be interested to know that he only admires you because you look well on a horse. Otherwise he’d have taken no notice of you. Beyond being pleasant, of course. He has much better manners than Rory. If it’s women-friends you’re interested in, Rory’s the one you want to investigate.”
Bigamy would be the last thing this family needs… But to which nephew was Miss O’Riordan referring? Kitty turned her cool gaze to Peggy.
“If you want to be of use, nurse, you might go down and make Mrs. Lamb some tea. Otherwise she might collapse again and have even stranger fancies. She seems to think we’ve been hiding a baby in the west wing. My aunt says she must see a psychiatrist when she goes back to London.”
Cathleen wanted to make a heated retort to that, but sheer physical weakness overcame her. The pain was thumping in her head again, making everything a dream. She let Peggy help her back to bed, and lay with her eyes closed miserably. She was a fool to antagonize Kitty. Kitty had an unexpected core of strength, and where Liam was concerned it was obvious she would lie, steal, perhaps even kill.
I would do anything in the world for you… That wasn’t Kitty, it was her mother writing to her father. But, it showed the same tenacious, unreasoning loyalty.
This explained nothing of the immediate problem. The existence of the baby’s shoe…
Cathleen lay wondering whether there was any use in making this revelation to Peggy. Peggy was a sane young creature, but she was a rumour bearer, all the time. And was it wise to involve her in possible danger?
Danger! That was the first time Cathleen had admitted that fact to herself. She knew now, very soberly, why everyone said she must go, even Liam with his more subtle suggestion to meet her in London. If she remained something would have to be done to stop her compulsive activities. Because she wouldn’t be able to stop them herself, not while she knew there had to be a foot to fit that small shoe, there had to be ears to hear the nursery rhyme, there had to be a reason for a night-light…
Peggy came back with a breakfast tray. Her cheeks were pink with excitement.
“The police are back! Two of them. They’ve asked for Mr. Rory and Mr. Liam. I wanted to stop and listen but Mary Kate shoo’d me off. I only just heard them saying that they’d found out the tinker’s name wasn’t Danny King but Danny Regan, and he had a wife somewhere about here, but they can’t locate her.”
Cathleen was out of bed and pulling on her dressing-gown.
Peggy’s voice came from a long distance.
“Mrs. Lamb! Sure and you’re not strong enough to go downstairs. The police wouldn’t be wanting you.”
Regan! The name was shouting in her mind. Moira Regan! Danny must be a relation of Moira’s. Her brother, perhaps. He was seeking to claim her, rights from the O’Riordan family. So he had died…
“Mrs. Lamb! You’re as white as a sheet.”
“I’m all right,” Cathleen said irritably. “Just let me go.”
The two policemen, a sergeant and a constable, were in the library. Now it was Cathleen instead of Kitty who was listening at doors. She had to grip the doorpost as she heard Rory saying in his level voice,
“But you have no actual proof that Eileen Burke was his wife?”
“No proof, sir. Just a matter of deduction. Mrs. Murphy saw the tinker calling on her a couple of times, once in the morning and once after dark. But she admits he may have been trying to sell Mrs. Burke something. On the other hand, Mrs. Murphy says this woman was usually pretty sharp at sending people about their business, but the tinker’s visits were quite lengthy. Moreover, just as he meets with his death, Mrs. Burke disappears, telling no one she was leaving.”
“Then she’ll have to be found, won’t she?” Liam said.
“She’ll be found, sir, sooner or later. We were wondering if either of you gentlemen could give us a lead.”
There was the smallest silence.
Then, with a hint of anger, Liam said, “Because her husband, if he was her husband, had the misfortune to die on our property, I don’t see why you should think we’re concealing a distraught woman. I should think she’d be glad to see the end of him, if you ask me.”
“Don’t get me wrong, sir. But Danny King, or Danny Regan, wasn’t the only caller Mrs. Burke had. Did either of you gentlemen happen to know her?”
“Never set eyes on her,” said Liam.
“And you, sir?”
Cathleen stopped breathing.
“I know who she was, of course,” Rory answered. “She had a child, hadn’t she?”
“A boy of about two years.”
“Have you checked trains and buses?”
“That, naturally, is being attended to,” said the sergeant in a pained voice. “There’ll also be a notice in the newspapers. But we’re making urgent inquiries about here.”
“Urgent?” said Liam.
“We feel the matter may be urgent, sir,” said the sergeant pompously. “If anything comes to your memory that you think may be of importance I’d ask you to get in touch with the station.”
“Where are you searching?” Rory asked.
“There’s a lot of bog country around here,” the sergeant said vaguely. “Nasty stuff to get lost in.”
Cathleen didn’t wait to hear any more. She was almost certain she knew where the missing Eileen Burke and her child were. She must find them before the police left. Mrs. Burke must be told that she was in deadly danger. If her husband could be silenced by means of an accident, so could she, all too easily. A fall down the stairs, for instance…
The passages and the staircase leading to the west wing were so long. At the top of the stairs Cathleen had to pause to get her breath, and will herself not to collapse. The pain throbbed in her temples. She shouldn’t have attempted to come up here alone. But if she had burst into the library with her fantastic suggestion, Rory or Liam or both of them would have laughed scornfully, would have told the police that unfortunately she had had a nasty crack on the head which had made her temporarily of unsound mind…
And there would have been just enough delay for someone to hide the furtive guests.
In a moment now the suspense would be over. She had only to go quickly from door to door, looking into the empty rooms until she found the one that wasn’t empty.
It was impossible to believe that they were all empty. Finally, she stood in dismay in the last one, looking at the bare floor, the shape of a bed and other furniture humped under dusty covers. There was no one up here. Even when she called no one answered.
A baby would have been awake and making sounds at this hour.
The only sound was the harsh cawing of the crows, the far-off sound of a car engine starting, the bang of a door. The police had gone.
It came to her that the rooms were uncannily quiet. If Eileen Burke, who was not a meek person, had been held against her will she might have had to be controlled.
Cathleen stared fascinatedly at the covers over the furniture, at the large wardrobe, fast shut. Could she bring herself to look under the dusty covers or open that door? There were places of concealment in the other rooms, too. One would have to start a systematic search.
Tentatively she turned the handle of the wardrobe door. Something billowed at her out of the dark. She stepped back, stifling a scream, and a hand caught her wrist.
“Ghosts?” said Liam pleasantly.
She could hardly speak. She scarcely knew which was the most frightening, the dark forgotten garment that had seemed to fly out as she touched it, or Liam’s hard grip round her waist.
“You scared me! You came without a sound.”
“I heard someone up here. I thought it might be you. Aunt Tilly said you needed watching. I didn’t believe her until now.” His blue eyes looked
down at her. “My poor darling!”
Cathleen wrenched away from him. Did he think her mad?
“You won’t find your baby up here,” he said with the greatest gentleness. “She’s in England, don’t you remember?”
“Stop it, Liam!” she said furiously. “You know it isn’t Debby I’m looking for. It’s Danny Regan’s baby. That’s the one there’s been all the fuss about, isn’t it? Not Moira’s at all.”
She had been making a wild guess. But now, from Liam’s still face and his watchful eyes, she seemed to be getting near the truth.
“Moira never did have a baby, did she?”
“How would I know? She was my brother’s wife.”
“But you knew about Danny and what he was doing, didn’t you? Blackmailing your aunt. Making her sell all her valuables, so he—why, I don’t believe he was getting the money at all!”
She was staring beyond Liam at the other figure in the doorway.
“You’re both in it!” she whispered.
Rory strode over to her, took her shoulders and shook her violently.
“You’re not a fool! Don’t behave like one. Are you coming with me to try to find this woman?”
Cathleen blinked away tears of shock and pain. She had to cling to Rory simply because she couldn’t stand upright.
She heard Liam saying, “Are you going to do the police’s work for them? Can’t you see what’s happened? The woman’s been in this with her husband. Naturally she’s got away while she could.”
“All the more reason to find her before the police do.”
“You’re a fool. It’s a bit late now to protect the family from scandal. Or is it yourself you’re protecting?”
“We’ll see,” said Rory levelly. “Cathleen! Are you coming?”
She didn’t know Liam had gone until she saw that the room was empty except for herself and Rory. His face above hers was without any kind of tenderness. She was recovering from the effects of her accident and could hardly stand. Yet she knew she was going with him.
“I can dress in five minutes.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting.”
The long journey back to her room and the effort of dressing should have enfeebled her more, but now some inner strength had come to her and even her hands were steady.
When she went downstairs again Rory was waiting for her, and Mary Kate had just brought in a pot of coffee.
“There it is, sir. And is it planning to kill the poor girl you are, taking her out in that condition?”
“Drink this,” Rory said, pouring out a cup of coffee and handing it to Cathleen. “I hope Mary Kate isn’t speaking the truth. But I need you. It’s the first time I’ve believed in a woman’s intuition.”
“I suppose it’s because of my own baby,” Cathleen said dully. “It seems to give me a sixth sense. Do you think I’m right in saying Moira never had a baby?”
“I think you may be right. We’ll talk about that later.”
Cathleen sipped the coffee and the pain in her head ceased to be such a tumult, but merely thumped steadily like a ponderous clock.
“Have you found out what your aunt and your sister know?”
“My aunt and my sister can be wonderful liars when they choose. They swear there have been no guests in the west wing, or anywhere else. They may even be speaking the truth.”
“The baby’s shoe—”
“They say you had an hallucination. We’ll talk in the car. Are you ready?”
Cathleen nodded. She was aware of Mary Kate’s horrified gaze following her. Why, the funny old woman thought she was going to disappear too, like Eileen Burke.
Rory opened the door of the car. She climbed in, wrapping her coat round her against the chill of the morning. He started the car and turned it expertly in the narrow drive.
“Thanks for coming with me.”
“It doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“I thought that was exactly what it did mean.”
She looked at him silently, not trying any more to read his unreadable face.
“To be honest, I didn’t want to leave you in the house. And don’t imagine, for sweet heaven’s sake, that that means I want to get you at my mercy. Unless,” he added, “you would like it that way.”
“I’m not in the mood for jokes.”
“That wasn’t a joke. Haven’t you noticed that we’re not a joking family? All these wild melodramatic threats aren’t threats at all. They’re actual happenings. We don’t talk about hypothetical skeletons in cupboards. There really are skeletons, bones and all.”
Cathleen huddled into her coat.
“Is this why you’re in such a hurry to find Eileen Burke?”
He didn’t answer at once. He was driving very fast, the stone walls going by at a flickering blur. There was drizzle in the air, and a low grey sky. It was a mournful morning, all too suited to their apprehensive mood.
“I think Eileen Burke can save her own skin,” he said at last. “It’s yours I’m worrying about.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ROSY STOPPED OUTSIDE THE hotel. There was nobody about in the little town. For once they had evaded the loungers and the starers. The street was quiet and grey and empty.
Rory rang the bell, and after a long time Mrs. Murphy, in a shabby cardigan and skirt and bedroom slippers, opened the door.
“Good morning,” Rory said with his rare charming smile. “Any chance of some coffee? We have a long journey to make.”
The woman looked past him to Cathleen. She smiled, more shyly than grudgingly.
“I expect it’s something stronger than coffee you want. You’d better come in the dining-room. We’ve had no peace around here since Mrs. Burke disappeared.”
“We want to talk about her,” said Rory.
“Do you then? I thought you would. Well, I can’t tell you anything except that the baby cried a lot that night. My room faces her house. I can’t help hearing.”
“You didn’t hear anybody come late?”
“No. Not a soul. And I didn’t hear her go. She’d have to wheel the pram over the cobblestones, and I don’t sleep that well. I can’t think why I wouldn’t have heard.”
“She could have left by the back way?”
Mrs. Murphy looked up suspiciously.
“If she had a car. It could come up the lane. You know that as well as I do. If she was catching a train or a bus she’d have gone by the front. Anyway, the first bus isn’t till seven and she must have been gone by then.”
“So she was getting ready to leave when the baby was crying?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What time was it?”
“About two o’clock, I’d say. And that’s all I can tell you.” Her face was closed and sulky again. “I didn’t fancy Mrs. Burke as a neighbour and I don’t want to be mixed up in any of her doings. All those cheap beads and earrings, like a gypsy. She didn’t belong here. She never once went to Mass, did you know? I’ll get your coffee. It was Irish you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Murphy. I’ll say a prayer for you.”
“But do you know—” the woman had come back to say in a scandalized voice, “—there’s some say she helped her husband to fall in that lake. Fancy that now! I wouldn’t be surprised at all—her telling lies that he was in India, and all the time he was peddling pots and kettles. How do you know who you can trust, tell me that.”
“Mrs. Murphy’s got quite talkative,” said Cathleen, not looking at Rory.
“A little scandal’s a great loosener of the tongue. So, I hope, is her Irish coffee.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to tell me why you don’t trust me.”
“Rory—there’s no time for that now.”
“There’s time.”
She was forced to answer. His eyes never left her face.
“I don’t think I trust anyone in your house. Certainly not your aunt, certainly not Kitty. Liam, I’m not sure—I think he has some
kind of private obsession, just as you all have. And you—Magdalene Driscoll says you’re in love with someone else, and love can make anyone a bit crazy, but more especially—and don’t tell me I’m wrong—an O’Riordan. So!” She shrugged.
“Then am I a bit crazy,” said Rory, “for wanting you out of that house? Even if you do babble about babies’ shoes, and that I find an enormous bore, if you don’t mind my saying so. But I assure you I want you here with me, right now.”
He gave her his charming, deliberate smile. She met it with a cool stare.
“You just want your own way about something. You’re talking to me the way Liam did to Kitty last night.”
“Did he, then?” Rory said thoughtfully. “But Kitty’s his sister, which is different.”
“You’re in love with someone.” It must be her aching head that was making her lose her ability to keep the main point of an argument. This remark was irrelevant “Magdalene said—”
“And would Magdalene know? And were we talking about love?”
He wouldn’t let her escape his gaze. She flushed, and welcomed the arrival of Mrs. Murphy with steaming cups of coffee smelling strongly of whisky. She thanked Mrs. Murphy, and abruptly changed the subject.
“Rory, there is a baby!”
“Oh, sure. Ireland’s full of them. Then drink your coffee and we’ll find this elusive baby, and it’s not mine, I’m telling you.”
“Nor Shamus’s.”
“Nor Shamus’s?”
“You know this for certain?”
“Drink your coffee,” he said. “You’re going to need it, since you insist on finding out unpleasant information. Here’s some more. Moira Regan, or more accurately Moira O’Riordan, is dead. She drowned herself precisely eight weeks ago in the Liffey. She was childless. There was no fuss about her death. Her family knew, but kept it from us, perhaps understandably. What had we ever done for her?”
“Oh, no!” whispered Cathleen, and remembered suddenly the grey water of the Liffey slipping beneath the humped stone bridges, and the old woman saying, “Red hair turns black in water…”
