Declared Dead

by John Francome

  'Where is what?' I replied, trying to play the innocent.

  'Don't be so stupid, you silly girl. Gerald has told me everything. He has been very foolish, very foolish indeed, but I have no intention of seeing everything he has achieved thrown away now.'

  'There's no need for that to happen.'

  'It's money you want, is it? Or are you trying to blackmail us into letting go of our little Freddie?'

  I liked that! Suddenly my own son had become their property.

  'I'm not looking for your money and you can leave Freddie out of this. He's staying with me. What I want is that old-fashioned thing called justice.'

  'What a noble sentiment! What you really mean is that you want your lover to escape spending the rest of his life behind bars, where he belongs. How could you behave like this, after what has happened to my poor son? Edward never hurt a soul in his life.' She gave out a strangled, and in my view theatrical, sob and started searching her handbag for a handkerchief.

  'Your poor son?' I exclaimed in disbelief. I was beginning to wonder just what Gerald Pryde had told his wife. I went on the attack.

  'Lady Pryde, your poor son, as you call him, was a blackmailer who regularly beat me up into the bargain.'

  'How can you talk like that, after everything we and Edward did for you? I told him never to marry you, I warned him that you were a scheming little social climber who would drag him down, and how right I was. Give me the original of that letter, please.'

  'I can't.'

  'What do you mean, you can't? Where is it?'

  I lied. 'In a safe place with instructions that if anything happens to me the letter is to be sent to the national press.'

  'So you are the blackmailer?'

  'No, Lady Pryde, just think of me as an instrument of justice. If your husband admits to the police that he was being blackmailed by his own son I undertake to destroy that letter.'

  She stared at me with an expression of complete and utter contempt.

  'My dear, you are quite mad. My Edward would never have done such a thing. I warn you, you are playing a very dangerous game and if you persist with it someone is going to get hurt.' With that less than noble parting sentiment she turned and strode majestically out of the room and from the house into her waiting car.

  Chapter 10

  We were like a couple of giggly teenage girls playing truant from school. We checked in one after the other at Heathrow, without giving away we were travelling together and then sat in different sections of the departure lounge. Once on board the plane, having been allocated seats right next door to each other, we dropped the subterfuge and talked away nineteen to the dozen. I suspected that Amy was as nervous as I was, but we were both making a real effort to appear calm and even jolly. She had remembered my ammonia and I slipped it in my bag.

  We had agreed that when we arrived at Shannon we would act as complete strangers just in case Corcoran had taken the precaution of coming to the airport to ensure I was keeping to my side of the bargain. We had rented separate cars and Amy was going to make her own way to the racecourse and then leave before I did to go to Mrs Moloney's tea rooms. That way, if Corcoran was waiting there himself or watching my every movement, no one would connect us. He had never met Amy and until the publication of the notice in the Sportsman, there was no likelihood of his having heard of her either. Finally, when I left the tea shop she was going to follow me at a respectable distance. It all sounded so simple!

  I arrived at Limerick just after twelve-thirty and as far as I was aware, Amy was about ten minutes behind me on the road. From now on, as far as the world was concerned, I was on my own. Willie O'Keefe, his curly grey hair protruding beneath his tweed cap, was already in the weighing room, engrossed in conversation with an extremely rough-looking individual, who had the furtive air of a man who expected to be summoned before the stewards at any moment. Both his front teeth were missing and his right eye was the colour of a bloody mary. He did not look at all happy at whatever Willie was saying to him. To either side of them were groups of owners, trainers and jockeys swapping jokes and lyricising about their chances that afternoon. I waited for Willie to finish his conversation and then went up and patted him on the shoulder.

  'Your jockey reporting for duty,' I said brightly.

  He grinned with pleasure and doffed his cap. 'Now there's a real treat, and me a married man with eight children! You're looking mighty well under the circumstances and to think that in less than an hour you'll be booting home a winner.'

  'Are you really that confident, Willie?' I asked, hoping that he was just hooking me up. On the way over I had studied Jimmy the One's form and it struck me that even carrying ten stone two on his back, he had at least six pounds to make up on the favourite.

  'Confident? The money's already in the bank. Did you see that chap I was talking to just now?'

  I nodded, wondering what the particularly villainous individual and Willie had in common.

  'That's my nephew, Shaun. Ugly looking fellow isn't he? My sister's eldest boy. He's a bit disappointed that he's not got the ride today after his efforts last time out on the horse.'

  'Why, what happened then?'

  Willie dropped his voice to a confidential whisper and turned me away from the nearby group of trainers. 'Shaun rode a waiting race.'

  'There's nothing wrong in that, is there?'

  'Only that he was waiting for today's race. That's why Jimmy the One's half a stone better than his handicap rating, and is going to start at 6-1. With you on his back, my little darling, and no offence meant, the odds might well be longer.'

  'And Shaun is very upset?'

  'Don't worry about him. I just told him he can count himself in for a monkey at the starting price.'

  I gulped. Five hundred pounds at 6-1 or better for not even riding in the race was not to be sniffed at. I shuddered to think what Willie himself was going to wager. Here I was coming over to Ireland for a fun ride, followed by some very serious and possibly dangerous business, and I now found myself in the middle of a betting coup. Keep calm, I told myself; remember you've ridden the winner of the Gold Cup. I just hoped Willie didn't notice my hands shaking.

  'And the opposition, Willie? Do they have any triers amongst them?' I asked anxiously.

  'Just a couple. There's going to be a lot of money for the favourite and the word is the connections are going for a right touch on the bottom weight, Hill of Tralee. They've even flown a jockey over from England for the job.'

  I could feel the butterflies in my stomach. 'Who's that?'

  'That devil, Eamon Brennan. But don't you worry, my darling, my fellow is fit as a fiddle and you sure showed Brennan how to ride a finish at Cheltenham. Oh yes,' he said, rubbing his hands gleefully, 'the money's in the bank.'

  I couldn't believe my bad luck. I was desperate to avoid Brennan and here he was being presented with yet another opportunity to attack me. I made up my mind to leave the course as soon as the race was over.

  There was still half an hour to go before the first race and therefore nearly fifty minutes before I needed to change for my ride in the second. Since I had never ridden at Limerick before, or even in Ireland for that matter, I decided it would be sensible to walk the course and take a look at the Limerick fences.

  For the first two furlongs past the stands the course was perfectly straight and then two sharp right-handed bends led round to the far side where the ground began to undulate. You then went up a slight hill to the turn, from where the course runs down steeply before reaching the final fence, followed by a stiff climb up to the winning post. Considering the time of year, the going was on the soft side and I had even noticed one or two boggy patches on the far side, almost certainly explained by the close proximity of the Shannon Estuary. It wouldn't be an easy course to ride and if I was stuck on the rails behind a tired horse turning for home, the race would be over before I had time to take part. I was going to have to keep my wits about me and hope that Jimmy the One was as goo
d as his trainer cracked him up to be.

  I watched the first race, which was won by an outsider who led all the way, changed and weighed out. Willie was waiting for me in the paddock grinning from ear to ear.

  'There he is,' he said, pointing to Jimmy the One being led round by a ginger-haired lad. 'What a picture. Remember he's got speed and stays all day, so do what you like, my darling.'

  The horse certainly looked superb. He wasn't exactly thin, yet there wasn't an ounce of fat on him either. He followed his lad around with an air of the utmost confidence, as though he could take on anyone. I began to think this might be my lucky day after all. The bell rang for the jockeys to mount and Willie legged me into the saddle. He just smiled benevolently and wished me luck and I couldn't believe he was so relaxed and confident. He was acting as if Jimmy the One had at least two stone in hand and the only interesting question was who would come second.

  Once on the course, we hacked alongside the iron railings in front of the old stand and then cantered back to the two mile start on the far side of the course. Five minutes later, having had my girths adjusted, we were called in by the starter and I lined up on the outside. If Jimmy the One was the business, that was the position I wanted to go round.

  For the first couple of fences I just felt my way, sitting about eighth of the ten runners and finding out how Jimmy liked to jump. In fact he was as near perfect as I could have hoped for, measuring the takeoff point for each fence to within the inch. I was beginning to enjoy myself, flying through the air at thirty miles per hour on the back of an animal who oozed confidence. Provided Brennan stayed out of my way, I was going to have an enjoyable race.

  Everything went smoothly until we came to the regulation fence, or the ditch as we call it in England. Eamon had dropped back on his mount to race beside me on the inside and as we galloped towards the fence, matching strides like chariot horses, he deliberately bumped into me. This attempt to unbalance Jimmy and bring him to the ground failed miserably. Jimmy just changed legs and popped over as if nothing had happened. I now began to make up ground on the leaders and as we jumped the final fence on the far side there were only three horses ahead and I knew I could pick them off whenever I wanted. Feeling cocky, I decided that it was time to teach Brennan a little lesson.

  As we rounded the far bend, I took a pull and let Brennan come almost upside me before cutting in sharply and jamming him against the plastic running rail. I could hear him shouting a stream of obscenities as his ankle bounced off the rough pieces of plastic where the rail was held by the uprights, I didn't bother to look round and instead coolly picked off the leaders going down the steep hill and pinged the last to win hard held.

  The roar from the stand told me that Willie and his muckers had got their money on and for a few brief seconds I was the toast of Limerick. The cheers that greeted me in the winners' enclosure brought back memories of Cheltenham and Gold Cup day.

  1 weighed in and changed. Willie couldn't understand why I wanted to leave the course straight away and seemed surprised when I asked him to escort me to my car.

  'The bookies won't lynch you, you know. They're a friendly bunch here, even if you have taken thirty thousand out of the ring!'

  I smiled, seeing no need to tell him that it was Eamon Brennan whom I really feared.

  'My darling,' Willie put his arm around me paternally as I unlocked the car door. 'You were magnificent. Are you sure you won't come to the stables tonight for the party? It'll be one hell of a hooly.'

  'I wish I could, Willie, but I've already accepted an invitation from friends in Kilmallock.'

  'Bring them along too.'

  'They're teetotal.'

  'No problem, we've all been vaccinated against it!'

  'No, it's just not possible, but thanks all the same. And thanks again for the ride.'

  'The gratitude's all mine,' he replied, throwing what looked like a wad of Irish punts onto the back seat, 'and if you ever want a job over here just give us a call. Shaun will understand.'

  I'm sure he will if he gets that well paid every time I ride a winner, I thought to myself.

  Five minutes later and with no sign of Brennan I was on the road to Limerick town and the first step on the way to my rendezvous with the elusive Corcoran. I killed an hour or so walking round the town and by the time I arrived at Mrs Moloney's tea rooms it was fairly crowded. I was shown to a small table in the corner and a pretty, dark-haired waitress took my order.

  Over on the other side of the room I could see Amy hiding behind a copy of The Irish Times, doing her best to appear inconspicuous. I had been told to wait at the tea shop for further instructions and that was just what I proposed to do. I wondered whether they would be delivered over the phone or by written message. I looked inquiringly at the middle-aged woman behind the till, whom I took to be Mrs Moloney by the way she shouted commands at the waitresses and asked the customers if they had enjoyed their tea. She smiled back and turned away. My pot of tea and two pieces of toast arrived. Twenty minutes later, having finished both, I was beginning to feel like a prize lemon and tried desperately to catch Amy's eye. I was sure she could see me, although she steadfastly refused to give any acknowledgement of my presence. Perhaps she thought Corcoran might be watching us, but unless he was under one of the tables, he was nowhere to be seen.

  What, I wondered, if the whole thing was a practical joke and we were out here on a wild goose chase? At least I hadn't parted with any money; in fact, as a result of the race, I was another thousand-odd pounds better off. I looked over again at Amy and saw Mrs Moloney talking to her. Amy was shaking her head and for a brief second she lifted up her hand as if to indicate in my direction, but then just stopped herself in time. Mrs Moloney was carrying a letter in her hand and now walked over towards me.

  'You're not Victoria Pryde, by any chance, are you?' she asked.

  I nodded.

  'Well that's good, because I've just asked that young lady over there and I was beginning to worry that there'd been some mistake. I've a letter here for you which I was asked to hand over at five o'clock on the dot. A friend of yours, perhaps?' She winked knowingly as she handed it over.

  I just smiled, took it from her and waited until she was behind the till again before opening it. The instructions had been typed out: 'Leave here and drive out of Limerick in the direction of Tipperary. After half a mile, take a left turning signposted Kilconnell. Go through the village, and then take the third turning on the right signposted Tipperary. After two miles turn right at a crossroads and after another two miles you will come across a track on the left, leading to Milligan's Farm. Drive down the track, park in front of the farm and enter by the back door.'

  I began to feel tense and uncomfortable. One thing Amy and I had omitted from our plans was how I was to pass on any further directions. She couldn't just walk out of the tearooms behind me, as Corcoran could be watching me for all we knew. My only course was to copy out the instructions and leave the original piece of paper behind where Amy was bound to find it. The waitress was hovering near my table waiting to clear up; by now there was only one other couple and Amy still having tea. In a voice loud enough for Amy to hear I asked the waitress where the lavatory was and then paid it a visit.

  There was no obvious place to hide the letter other than in the cistern, which was black and peeling and could be reached only by standing on the seat. I climbed up, lifted the cover off and put the letter on the top of the ballcock. I just had to hope it wouldn't slip into the water. As I was about to open the door, it dawned on me that if I didn't pull the chain someone – I didn't stop to think who – might regard it as suspicious. I therefore recovered the letter, pulled the chain and then replaced it again inside the cistern. It was obvious I would make a lousy secret agent.

  I washed my hands and returned to the main room and paid my bill. Although I caught Amy glancing at me, I pretended not to notice her. I followed the directions without any problems, and twenty minutes later, after
resisting a plaintive voice from within telling me to turn around, I arrived at the front of Milligan's farm.

  The building was semi-derelict; at least two of the windows on the first floor were smashed and vandalised. The farmhouse had the dilapidated air of having been uninhabited for months if not years, and I prayed hard that Amy had used her imagination and found those directions. I reluctantly got out of the car, taking the bottle of ammonia in one hand and clutching my handbag with the two thousand pounds in the other. I had already hidden Willie's wad of fifty-pound notes inside my bra. I walked, or rather tiptoed, round the side of the house, avoiding the weeds and what looked like stinging nettles. The back door was closed. Before opening it, I peered through the least dirty of the panes of glass in the window immediately to its right. Over in the far corner I could see what appeared to be an old stove and on top of it a frying pan.

  I turned the handle and pushed open the door. It creaked under the pressure and I stepped gingerly over the threshold and into what had once been the kitchen. I paused and listened. Not a sound. 'Is anyone here?' I called out, the words fighting to stay in my throat. Still that dreadful silence. I walked across the kitchen and into the hall. By the front door were a couple of circulars from which I learnt that a Mr O'Malley had once lived there. I opened the nearest door and found myself in what had been the sitting room. In the hearth were the remnants of a log fire and dozens of cigarette ends. Now for the stairs. I took each step as slowly and deliberately as if it led to the gallows and clung tightly to my bottle of ammonia. I was sweating terribly; my heart was pounding as if at ramming speed. I was forcing myself to look in all the rooms – I owed that much to Tom – and then I was going to run down those stairs, out of the back door and drive to Limerick as if the devil himself was chasing me. Amy will be here by now, I told myself. There's no way she wouldn't be within shouting distance, probably a few yards down the drive. I pressed on. There were only four doors, thank goodness. The first three rooms were empty. Just one left. I thought I heard a noise.