The Secrets of Armstrong House

by A. O'Connor

  “And by a twist of fate being born the first son you ended up being Lord Armstrong! A role that everyone says you’re not suited to!” she retaliated.

  “Well then! What a compatible couple we make! Now can I have breakfast in peace, please?”

  A meeting was called at the McGrath farm in the aftermath of the evictions. The house was packed with tenant farmers from the estate. There were so many there the whole yard and field outside was jammed with people as they strained to hear what Joe McGrath said.

  “As you all bitterly know, five farmers and their families were evicted from this estate,” he shouted. “Five farmers who we knew as friends and neighbours . . . most of us were related in some way to one or more of those families.”

  There was a chorus of disapproval from the crowd.

  “Five farmers and their families who had the misfortune to fall behind on their rents, as many of us have over the decades due to circumstances outside our control,” continued Joe McGrath. “In the past we always made up for back rent once we could. We understood that as being the way here. But there’s a new lord up at the Armstrong House. A new lord who doesn’t care about the good working relationship that was always here. And now he just shoved those famers off the land and threw them on the side of the road like rubbish. Things have changed on this estate and we have to act to protect ourselves!”

  The crowd erupted with shouts of approval.

  “Because, today it’s the Mulrooneys and the others being evicted – but tomorrow it will be you!”

  There were screams of protests from the crowd.

  “Lord Charles puts children out on the streets while he and his snobby wife hold posh cocktail and dinner parties up in their mansion. A mansion that you pay for with the sweat of your work!”

  “Fuck them!” screamed a woman from the crowd.

  “I call for a rent strike immediately. I call on all tenants on this farm to stop paying rent from today until those farmers are given back their homes and land!”

  The people erupted in screams and shouts of approval.

  Arabella was in the drawing room writing a letter when Fennell came in.

  “Pardon me, my lady, one of the footmen wishes to see you.”

  Arabella looked up from her notepaper. “Oh, Fennell, can’t you deal with him? I really have too much on today to deal with staff problems.”

  And every day, thought Fennell.

  “No, my lady, I’m afraid it’s of a serious nature.”

  Arabella sighed. “Very well, show him in. Will you remain while he’s here?”

  “Of course, my lady,” said Fennell as he opened the door and showed the young man in.

  “Sorry to bother you, my lady, but I have to leave your service today,” said the footman whose name was Anthony.

  “That’s very short notice, Anthony. Why can’t you give a month’s notice as expected?”

  Anthony looked uncomfortably at Fennell. “Because my daddy said I’m not to stay here any longer on account of those evictions, and I’m to return home to Castlewest without delay.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Arabella, taken aback. “And do you always do what your daddy tells you?”

  “Yes, my lady,” said Anthony.

  “I see. In that case, we’ll be sorry to lose you,” said Arabella.

  Anthony nodded and left the room quickly with Fennell.

  As Arabella looked out the window she muttered “Oh, Charles, what have you started?”

  Charles was looking through the rent books in the library and he looked up abruptly at James.

  “What’s going on? All these rent books are blank for this month!”

  “Charles, they’ve called a rent strike. They refuse to pay any more rents until you meet with them and you agree to their demands,” said James.

  Charles sat back in horror. “But they can’t do that! It’s blackmail!”

  “There’s not one farmer on the estate willing to break the strike.”

  “But – it’s against the law!”

  “They’re holding together as a union. They won’t pay,” said James.

  Charles got up and started pacing angrily. “Who do they think they are?”

  “Meet with them, Charles, negotiate with them,” urged James.

  “I most certainly will not! They’ll regret the day they took this course of action. They might have been able to bully and intimidate every other landlord in this country, but they won’t do it with me! Tell Brompton to come to me immediately. I’m going to serve evictions on another five farmers straight away. And I’ll keep evicting five farmers every month until order is brought back on to this estate. They want a Land War? I’ll give them a bloody Land War!”

  The second set of evictions took place the following month as Charles intended. The following morning one of the gamekeepers reported an incident in the western part of the estate and Charles and James made their way there. There were fields of wheat in that part of the estate and when they arrived there they found the crops had been destroyed. The wheat had been trampled on and it looked like somebody had trampled horses through all the fields.

  Charles stood there staring at the annihilated crops.

  “Who did this?” he demanded, consumed with anger.

  “Don’t know, sir. One of my men spotted it this morning and reported it,” said the gamekeeper.

  “It’s obviously in retaliation for the evictions,” said James.

  “Get me the police!” demanded Charles.

  “I’ve made extensive enquiries, and I’m afraid nobody saw anything,” said the policeman to Charles later in the library.

  “You can’t do that kind of damage without people noticing who did it!” objected Charles.

  “Well, if anyone saw anything, they aren’t telling me, your lordship,” said the policeman.

  “I see!” said Charles, furious. “They think I’ll back off over a few fields of crops destroyed, do they?”

  “I do think they are trying to give you a clear message, Lord Armstrong,” the policeman pointed out.

  “It’s unbelievable that people can get away with this kind of behaviour.” Charles’ anger was not subsiding.

  “Without any evidence or co-operation from the people living nearby, there’s nothing I can do,” said the policeman.

  “It was probably the people who lived nearby who caused the damage!” shouted Charles.

  “It’s not wise to speculate in these circumstances, sir. All you’ll do is inflame further anger,” said the policeman.

  “Inflame! How much more inflammatory can the situation get? I’ve got hundreds of rents outstanding, I’ve got crops wantonly destroyed!”

  “Regarding the next set of evictions, would you like to postpone them?”

  “Certainly not! I want them done even more now,” confirmed Charles.

  “Very well, your lordship. Good day to you,” said the policeman as he left.

  chapter 67

  Charles was having a cocktail party in the drawing room. Harrison and Victoria were there along with the Foxes and other close friends.

  “Fields and fields of crops destroyed, for no reason, other than spite,” said Charles as everyone sat around listening.

  “And they’re not paying their rents either?” checked Harrison.

  “Not one of them!”

  “So what are you going to do, Charles? Evict every last one of them?” asked Arabella pointedly.

  “If I have to – yes!” said Charles.

  Mrs Foxe leaned over, concerned. “You have to be very careful, Charles. I mean, we had our own troubles with our tenants a few years ago. You can’t underestimate them. They are very intelligent, and they know how to organise themselves.”

  “Very intelligent! Pooh!” dismissed Charles.

  “They are, Charles,” said Harrison. “Just because they didn’t go to our schools or universities doesn’t make them unintelligent.”

  “Well, I think the whole thing is disgusting,”
said Victoria. “The idea that they would engage in this kind of criminal activity. I mean it’s bad enough they are on this rent strike – we know all about unions and strikes in America, I can assure you. But to destroy property like that! I think it’s awful.”

  Arabella raised her eyes to heaven as she drank her cocktail. “Oh, shut up, Victoria! This isn’t a moral debating club in Newport, or wherever you come from – this is the west of Ireland!”

  The drawing room hushed as everyone felt embarrassed by Arabella’s outburst.

  Victoria turned to Harrison. “Maybe we should be going. I think somebody has had too much to drink, and I really don’t want an argument with a drunk, thank you very much.”

  “I am not drunk! You condescending little know-it-all!”

  “Enough everybody!” demanded Charles. “Please! This is supposed to be a night of enjoyment. I don’t want the agitation on the estate finding its way into my drawing room, if you please!”

  Arabella sat back, glaring angrily at Victoria.

  “Fennell, fill everyone’s glasses, please – except Lady Armstrong’s,” said Charles, and Fennell went around filling the glasses.

  Arabella’s angry glare switched from Victoria to Charles.

  “Did you hear about that new play at the Gaiety?” asked Mrs Foxe and everyone started chatting about that topic.

  “Fennell, put some more turf on the fire,” said Charles.

  Fennell went over to the brass turf box and scooped turf and wood onto the fire until it started blazing. Suddenly thick black smoke started to pour out of the fireplace.

  “What the . . ?” demanded Charles as he saw the thick smoke billow around the room.

  “Quickly, open the windows!” said Victoria as the room became engulfed in smoke.

  “It’s too late for that,” said Charles, almost choking. “Everyone out!”

  Everyone raced to the door and opened it, only to find there was thick black smoke billowing from the fireplace in the hall as well.

  Charles quickly ran back into the room and to the French windows which he opened. “Everyone out!”

  Everyone ran out the French windows onto the patio and started gasping and choking in the night air.

  “It would seem that your turf was covered in some kind of chemical,” said the policeman the next day, “causing this smoke reaction.”

  “How did they do it?” demanded Charles.

  “I imagine they just walked into your stables where you keep your turf and wood and they poured the chemicals all over it. I take it you don’t keep those stables locked?”

  “No. What a despicable thing to do!”

  “I strongly advise you to destroy all your wood and turf supply – it’s probably all contaminated with this chemical.”

  “And there’s nothing you can do again?” snapped Charles.

  “I’ve spoken to your staff and they said they saw nobody unusual around the back stables. They probably came at night and did the interfering when everyone was asleep.”

  Arabella walked down the corridor upstairs. It was after ten in the evening and she was calling in to the children to say goodnight. She stopped as she heard a curious howling coming from outside. The howling was relentless and sounded like wolves. She had never heard a sound like it in all her time at Armstrong House and it unnerved her.

  She walked into Pierce’s bedroom.

  “Mama, why are the wolves howling?” asked Pierce, sitting up in bed.

  “They’re not wolves, silly,” said Prudence, walking into the bedroom in her dressing gown from her own room next door. “There haven’t been wolves in Ireland since the great forests were cut down centuries ago.”

  “Well, what are they then?” asked Pierce anxiously.

  “They’re the tenant farmers, of course, making those noises to scare us,” said Prudence who didn’t seem too concerned by her own revelation.

  “Prudence!” warned Arabella.

  “I’m just saying!” Prudence defended herself.

  “That’s nonsense, Prudence, and you shouldn’t say such things,” admonished Arabella.

  “It’s the truth, I tell you! I heard Mrs Fennell say it to the terrified kitchen staff,” stated Prudence.

  “Prudence, I’ve told you before to stay out of the kitchens!”

  “Why? Somebody has to check they are doing their work properly,” Prudence said in a matter-of-fact way.

  Arabella felt a pang of shame at her daughter’s comment, even though Prudence wasn’t being intentionally nasty in commenting on Arabella’s shortcomings as Lady Armstrong.

  “Anyway, whatever is making the sounds, you’re quite safe here. Nothing or nobody can get into the house,” Arabella assured Pierce as she kissed him goodnight.

  Arabella was getting ready one morning in their bedroom when she heard a scream from downstairs. Panicked she hurried from the bedroom, along the corridor and down the staircase.

  “What is it?” she demanded of the parlour maid who was standing at the open front door, looking terrified.

  “Look!” cried the girl, pointing to a dead crow on the doorstep outside.

  Fennell and Prudence arrived together.

  “For pity’s sake, girl! It’s only a dead bird!” Arabella said angrily. “It flew into the door.”

  “A crow might fly into a window, but never a door, my lady! It’s been left there as a warning.” The girl seemed terrified.

  “Don’t be so ridiculous!” snapped Arabella.

  Prudence bent down and inspected the bird. “No, she’s probably right, Mama. Its neck has been broken.”

  “Prudence!”

  “I’m just saying!” Prudence said.

  “Fennell, get rid of the revolting thing,” ordered Arabella before turning to the maid. “And you return to your duties at once, without any further unnecessary silliness.”

  The girl rushed off.

  “The staff are a bit unnerved with everything that’s been going, on, Lady Armstrong,” said Fennell.

  “I will not have the house disrupted by such hysterics, Fennell,” ordered Arabella.

  “Very good, my lady. I’ll have the crow removed at once.”

  Prudence held Arabella’s hand as they walked back upstairs.

  “She’s quite right, of course, Mama. The crow probably was left there as a warning to us.”

  “Don’t you start! And do not tell Pierce about it. I don’t want him any more upset than he already is,” said Arabella as she reached the top of the stairs.

  “Yes, Mama,” agreed Prudence.

  Leaving her daughter in the corridor, Arabella went to her room. Once she got there she sat down on the bed and started to shake.

  The incidents continued as did the evictions. One of the footmen was beaten up in Castlewest one night when he was leaving a pub. A carriage had one of its wheels tampered with, resulting in it coming off while travelling through the estate, injuring the groomsman driving it. Arabella was walking through the gardens one day and she saw the prized flowerbeds had been uprooted and destroyed. Charles went on as if nothing was happening. He continued organising social occasions at the house. But Arabella noticed whereas before their invitations were eagerly sought after, people were now politely declining, frightened of becoming embroiled in the conflict at Armstrong House.

  Arabella was walking quickly through the hall with Fennell. She tried the front door and found it unlocked.

  “Fennell! Why is this door unlocked?” she demanded.

  “We never lock the front door at Armstrong House, my lady, only at night.”

  “Well, we will in future! I want this door locked and all the doors kept locked throughout the house.”

  They went into the small parlour.

  “Fennell!” she nearly shouted when she saw a window open. “What’s that window doing open?”

  “I presume a maid left it open to air the room.”

  Arabella walked across the room and slammed the window shut.

  “
Not in future! I want all the downstairs windows closed and secured at all times, am I making myself clear?”

  “As you wish, my lady,” nodded Fennell and he backed out of the room.

  Arabella waited till he was gone and then raced to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a strong gin.

  Emily sat at one end of the table in the dining room at Hanover Terrace while Hugh sat at the other. They ate in silence.

  She suddenly put down her fork and glared at him.

  “What’s your problem?” he asked.

  “Your table manners are disgusting!” she declared with a look of revulsion on her face.

  He glared at her before throwing his own fork down on his plate with a clatter, giving her a start.

  “Oh, are they?” he said, his voice thick with anger and sarcasm. “Are my table manners really disgusting?”

  “Yes, they are. You manage to eat properly when we are with your friends, and I expect the same level of respect.”

  “Respect? What do you know about respect? You sit there, like the queen of England, thinking you’re better than me.”

  “Well, if the cap fits!”

  “I’m sorry if I don’t eat like the fine people you were brought up with in Armstrong House.”

  “You can try to eat like a civilised person!”

  “If I’m so uncivilised why did you marry me?”

  “I’ve asked myself that many, many times. I can only put it down to a moment of madness.”

  Hugh picked up his food and continued to slobber over it.

  “If you can’t eat properly I refuse to eat with you.” She stood up and walked towards the door.

  Hugh stood up and walked after her.

  “Who do you think you are?” he demanded.

  “I know who I am! I’m Lady Emily Armstrong. It’s you who are pretending you’re something you’re not all the time. Throwing your money around, thinking it will make you accepted when everyone laughs at you and calls you names!”

  “Shut your fucking mouth!”

  “I will not be spoken to like that!”