by A. O'Connor
Contents
Prologue
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
chapter 13
chapter 14
chapter 15
chapter 16
chapter 17
chapter 18
chapter 19
chapter 20
chapter 21
chapter 22
chapter 23
chapter 24
chapter 25
chapter 26
chapter 27
chapter 28
chapter 29
chapter 30
chapter 31
chapter 32
chapter 33
chapter 34
chapter 35
chapter 36
chapter 37
chapter 38
chapter 39
chapter 40
chapter 41
chapter 42
chapter 43
chapter 44
chapter 45
chapter 46
chapter 47
chapter 48
chapter 49
chapter 50
chapter 51
chapter 52
chapter 53
chapter 54
chapter 55
chapter 56
chapter 57
chapter 58
chapter 59
chapter 60
chapter 61
chapter 62
chapter 63
chapter 64
chapter 65
chapter 66
chapter 67
chapter 68
chapter 69
chapter 70
chapter 71
chapter 72
chapter 73
chapter 74
chapter 75
chapter 76
chapter 77
chapter 78
chapter 79
chapter 80
chapter 81
chapter 82
epilogue
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names,
characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the
author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Published 2013
by Poolbeg Press Ltd
123 Grange Hill, Baldoyle
Dublin 13, Ireland
E-mail: [email protected]
www.poolbeg.com
© A. O’Connor 2013
Copyright for typesetting, layout, design, ebook
© Poolbeg Press Ltd
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781781991367
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
www.poolbeg.com
About the author
A. O’Connor is the bestselling author of seven previous novels – The House, Talk Show, Full Circle, Ambition, Property, Exclusive and This Model Life – and is a graduate of NUI Maynooth and Trinity College Dublin.
Also by A. O’Connor
This Model Life
Exclusive
Property
Ambition
Full Circle
Talk Show
The House
Acknowledgements
A big thank you to Paula Campbell, Kieran Devlin and the rest of the team at Poolbeg, especially Sarah, David and Ailbhe. Thank you, Gaye Shortland, for your continued guidance and editing skills. My gratitude to the book buyers for their support and to you, the reader.
For Orla
Book one
1888–1889
Prologue
Present Day
The man came rushing out of the front door of Armstrong House into the winter’s night. He was dressed in a black tailored Edwardian suit and his cloak blew in the wind as he quickly made his way down the steps in front of the house and across the forecourt to his awaiting phaeton two-seater carriage. Jumping in, he whipped the horse and took off at high speed.
The carriage raced out of the forecourt and down the long winding driveway that led through parklands. The bare branches of the trees swayed in the wind and stretched out against the clear moonlit sky as he drove past. He continued his journey down the driveway which hugged the lakeshore until the large stone gateway came into view. As he approached it he pulled on the reins and the horse slowed to a walk to go through the gateway.
Suddenly from the shadows of the night a man stepped out in front of the horse, blocking the carriage’s journey. The horse drew to a halt. Dressed in shabby clothes and a peaked cap, the man on the road produced a shotgun and aimed it squarely at the carriage driver whose face twisted in panic.
The man in the peaked cap pulled the trigger. The driver screamed in agony and fell back onto the leather seating of the carriage. At the sound of the gunshot the horse plunged forward through the gate and bolted down the road.
“Cut! Cut! Cut!” shouted the director in frustration.
Kate Collins quickly made her way to him.
“It’s no use, Kate!” he snapped, annoyed. “This can’t be the way the shooting happened!”
“It is, Brian! I’ve checked and checked it with the inquiry and the newspaper articles at the time,” Kate defended herself. “Lord Charles Armstrong was just coming out of the main gates of the estate, exactly here, when he was ambushed and shot.”
The film’s firearms expert joined them. “It’s as I said – the horse would have bolted with fright when Charles was shot and there was no driver to control it.”
“So then, Charles couldn’t have been found here as you insist, Kate!” said Brian. “The gun we’re using is a blank-firing gun which has the same explosive sound and flash as if it was shooting for real. So the horse is reacting as it would to a regular gunshot. The horse would have been terrified by the gunshot and raced down the road to somewhere else, as we’ve just seen.”
“No! All the reports say Charles was found here at the gateway, shot in his carriage,” Kate insisted. “Even his mother Lady Margaret testified at the inquiry that she was the first to arrive at the scene and found him at this exact spot.”
Brian shook his head in despair. “Well, we’ve retaken this scene three times and each time the horse has bolted, and we’ve used two different horses!” This was the second night of trying to film the scene, as Kate had insisted the horse be changed.
Kate’s husband Nico Collins stepped forward. “Brian’s right, Kate. I’ve grown up with horses all my life and they don’t just hang around stationary after something like this.”
Kate sighed in frustration. “Well, this is how it happened. Maybe Charles’ horse was tame and timid?”
Both Brian and Nico looked at her sceptically.
“Okay, I think we’ll call it a day, or a night!” said Brian and the film crew all h
eaved a sigh of relief. “It’s late and everyone’s tired and cold and wants to go home. We’ll film around this scene for now.”
“Thank goodness for that!” said Nico who had feared they would have to re-shoot the scene when all he wanted to do was get out of this freezing cold and back to the warmth of their home, Armstrong House.
“Are you sure?” questioned Kate, ever the perfectionist. It had taken a long time to get right the exact circumstances of a crime that had taken place over a century beforehand and Kate didn’t mind in the least if everyone had to work through the night to get this crucial part of her docudrama correct.
“Yes, Kate!” insisted Brian.
The film crew was quickly dismantling the equipment and taking away the props.
“What we’ll have to do is use a replica prop gun which won’t make a noise, as the firearms expert advised,” said Brian, “and we can dub the gunshot sound to it digitally later. Then we won’t frighten the horse.”
“Come on, Brian!” Kate protested. “I’ve been on enough movie sets to know those replica guns just don’t have the same effect. I know no director who likes to use them and they’re only used as a last resort.”
“This is a last resort!”
“But the scene has to be as authentic as possible!” objected Kate.
The actor who was playing Charles was trotting the horse and carriage back up the road after regaining control of the animal. He pulled up at the gateway.
As Kate was talking in depth with Brian about the next stage of filming, Nico walked around the carriage. He had to admit it all looked very authentic to him. The carriage, the long winding driveway behind it and the lights of Armstrong House in the distance. He imagined what he had just witnessed being acted looked very like the real crime back in 1903, the night this shooting actually took place. Nico got an eerie feeling. For the film crew it was just another day’s filming. Even though his wife Kate cared passionately about the history of Armstrong House, she was still an actress by profession and had the professional training to be able to look at the filming in purely objective terms. But for Nico it was different. At the end of the day they had just filmed the shooting of his great-grandfather, Lord Charles Armstrong. And he would have to be made of stone not to have somehow been affected by seeing his ancestor being shot down in cold blood, albeit for a docudrama.
It took an hour for all the props and film equipment to be taken away. Then Kate came over to him as he waited patiently for her in their Range Rover.
“Well, I’m at a loss as to why the original horse didn’t bolt away after Charles was shot back in 1903!” she said in exasperation as he started the engine.
Nico just shrugged.
They drove back up the driveway to Armstrong House and pulled up in the forecourt.
She saw his unhappy expression. “Don’t you find it all fascinating?” she asked as they stepped out of the car.
“Well, it’s fascinating all right . . . but just remind me why we’re making this programme again?” He looked at her cynically as they walked up the steps to the front door.
“For the money, honey,” she said. “This house is costing a lot to upkeep, and we need the money.”
Both of them knew that was not strictly true. Ever since he had known Kate she had been fascinated with the history of Armstrong House and Nico’s family who had lived there for generations. They had been married only a couple of months when she had come up with the idea of a documentary about life at the Irish ‘Big House’ during its golden age of the late Victorian and early Edwardian period. She had discussed the idea with film-producer friends of hers and managed to get the project agreed to. Kate had always known it would be harder to convince her husband to agree to it than the film producers. Nico disliked the idea of their home and his family history being held up to public scrutiny. However, with acting roles thin on the ground for her lately and his architect’s practice struggling, she had used the financial rewards offered by the film as the lever to get him to give the go-ahead.
“So are you going to use a prop gun as Brian suggests?” Nico asked as they walked into the drawing room.
“No, not yet anyway. I want to know what the police report has to say first.”
“Police report?” Nico asked, surprised.
“Yes, when the horse bolted last night I decided to send away for the police report on the crime to see if that could shed any more light on it.”
Wearily, Nico sat down on the couch. “And how long is that going to take?” he asked, frowning.
“I’m assured it won’t take long at all. I’ve a friend in the police press office who said he would help locate it for me in the police archives. A couple of days at most. I haven’t told Brian yet because he’d be furious, seeing it as causing a further delay.”
Kate noticed Nico’s frown become more pronounced.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, pouring two glasses of wine.
“I just didn’t realise when we started all this we’d be concentrating so much on the shooting of Charles. I thought it was going to be about the social life at the house.”
“Of course we have to include the crime – that’s the hook for the whole film! Audiences love to hear about a glorious crime!” She handed him a glass and sat down beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder.
“It’s easy for you to be so clinical about it – it’s not your great-grandfather being shown in such a bad light.”
“No, my great-grandfather was probably one of the peasant farmers who cheered when he was shot!” she laughed. Although Kate had mostly been brought up in New York, her family originally came from the area.
“It’s not funny, Kate. I feel I’m betraying my heritage with all this. I mean, I’m not saying Charles was a saint –”
“Far from it!”
“But I’m just saying we shouldn’t be concentrating on all his bad points.”
“Oh come on, Nico! Everyone would love an aristocratic cad in their family’s past. You should be proud!”
“Well, it’s too late to back out now, I suppose,” he said.
“Yes, it is! And I’ve put too much work and time into this for you even to say such a thing, Nico. I need your support on this!” She looked hurt.
He had to admit she had been working round the clock on it. He knew his wife and when she decided to do something she gave it everything. She had dug up a copy of the inquiry into Charles’ shooting and meticulously studied it so she could get the filming of it perfect. She had pored over all the newspaper reports of not only the crime but the terrible land war he had engaged in with his tenant farmers.
He smiled at her. “I’m sorry. Of course I support you, and if I’m proud of anyone it’s you, for working so tirelessly on what you believe in.”
“Thanks, Nico.” She smiled at him. “Let’s go to bed – we’ve an early start with more filming tomorrow.
Kate walked through the ballroom at Armstrong House, speaking as the camera filmed her.
“The ballroom here at Armstrong House witnessed many extravagant receptions. The Armstrongs were known as being generous and hospitable hosts and as one of the great ‘gentry’ families in Ireland residing in what was known as a ‘Big House’ would have considerable wealth to fund their lifestyle. The source of their wealth was the several thousand acres in the vicinity rented to tenant farmers whose own lifestyle was in stark contrast to the one led here at the house.
“It was the relationship between these tenant farmers and Lord Charles that erupted into a land war that ultimately led to the attack on Charles. At the inquiry, there were numerous accounts of the increasing animosity and aggression displayed on both sides. Chief witness at that inquiry was Charles’ mother, Lady Margaret Armstrong. Lady Margaret at the time lived at Hunter’s Farm, a dowager house down the road from the main entrance to Armstrong House. Lady Margaret testified that on the night of December 8th 1903 she heard a gunshot. Concerned, she went to her front door and said she saw
what she described as a peasant man race past her house from the scene of the crime, holding a shotgun.
“Suspicion then fell on a tenant farmer called Joe McGrath. McGrath had recently been evicted from the estate. With a history of violence and known to the police, McGrath had threatened to kill Charles in retaliation for his ruthless eviction. Lady Margaret later identified the man she saw running with the gun as McGrath, from a police photograph. Police made extensive searches for McGrath, but he had fled from Ireland to America before he could be apprehended and interviewed, where it is presumed he disappeared into one of the teeming ghettos of New York or Boston, never to be found.”
“Cut!” said the director. “Great, Kate!”
Kate was glad when the filming was done for the day. Her friend in the police press office had come up trumps and located the file on Charles’ shooting. Kate had been handed the file by her researcher that morning and she was looking forward to spending the evening reading through it, to try to get to the bottom of the mystery of why Charles’ horse hadn’t bolted, as everyone was suggesting must have happened.
She waved off Brian and the rest of the film crew for the day, then walked through the hall and down the stairs to the kitchen where Nico had made them dinner.
They sat up at the island in the kitchen, eating spaghetti carbonara, as they discussed the day’s filming.
“Well, I haven’t managed to do a jot of work all day with all those strangers in the house filming,” complained Nico as they finished eating. “So I’ll try to catch up now while I have some peace!”
“I’ll leave you to your architect’s board then,” she said as she stacked the dishwasher.
“And I’ll leave you to your police report!”
Nico went into the library and Kate went into the drawing room where she poured herself a glass of wine and put on some music. She took the police folder from the sideboard and settled back on the couch to read through it. She started to decipher all the handwritten reports and then stopped when she found a black-and-white photograph. She picked up the photo. Along the top was written: Morning of 9th of December 1903 – Crime scene, shooting of Lord Charles Armstrong.
