The Godforsaken Daughter

by Christina McKenna

  There was no security. But the word was enough. That was another little stratagem he’d picked up from Kojak.

  May scowled at him. She was what his mother would have termed “a brazen hussy.” But he stood his ground and glared back at her in an equally assertive manner. These young women could be a handful. And so very tedious, having to go through the theatrics with the injured party time after time. But not to worry: the tactics he deployed usually resolved things pretty quickly.

  Much to his relief, he saw the angry twin do his bidding. Slowly, and with a show of pained reluctance, she took her seat again.

  “Thank you,” he said, returning to his chair. He slipped his spectacles back on.

  Ruby’s heart was beating like a drum. What would the result of all this be? She glanced at her sisters. May’s face was grim and angry; June’s, wet with tears.

  “Now, where was I? Yes . . . here we are . . . ‘To my daughter, Ruby Vivian Clare, I give, devise, and bequeath all the rest of my estate, as my husband, Vincent Alfred Clare, desired thereof. The dwelling known as Oaktree Farmhouse, its contents, and the lands on which it stands, sixty-three acres and three quarters in total, entirely and absolutely in perpetuity.’”

  “Perpee—what . . . ?” June asked through her tears.

  “Perpetuity. It means that Ruby has ownership for life. Only on her demise will it pass to you, and only on the assumption that she wants to pass it to you. If, for example, she decides to marry, and has issue, then that would most likely present a very different set of circumstances.”

  May sniffed with derision. “Not much chance of that,” she muttered, whipping another tissue out of Mr. Cosgrove’s box.

  “Of course she is also free,” continued Mr. Cosgrove, “to leave it to a charity of her choice, or indeed the Church.” He shifted his eyes back to the will. “And just on that subject, the Church, there are a couple of other small bequests. If you’ll allow me?”

  Ruby sank back in the chair. Oh, the joy of hearing it all explained in plain terms! Her father had stood by her in the end. Tears fell, tears of sadness mingled with joy.

  The twins now refused to acknowledge the solicitor. They sat with heads drooped, eyes cast down.

  “‘To Father William Kelly, parish priest of St. Timothy’s parish, Tailorstown, I give, devise, and bequeath the sum of four hundred pounds absolutely, to be used in his ecclesiastic ministry in whatsoever way he sees fit. Also, the sum of fifty-five pounds for Masses to be said for the eternal repose of my soul. And the souls of all the faithful departed, especially that of my dear husband, Vincent Alfred, and his little brother, Declan Gerard.’”

  Ruby noted the absence of Grandma Edna’s name. No forgiveness for poor Edna . . .

  “I should inform you that Mrs. Ida Nettles sends her apologies that she couldn’t be with us today,” Mr. Cosgrove announced. “However, that fact should not detain us.”

  He coughed politely and returned to the reading.

  “‘Finally, I leave, devise, and bequeath the sum of one hundred pounds absolutely to my friend, Ida Mavis Nettles, for all the good times. Also my Tara brooch and’”—Mr. Cosgrove hesitated—“‘and matching . . . clip-on earrings with the green glass studs . . . which she so admired.’”

  He regretted the mention of green glass studs at the close of his summation. It was an unworthy, trivial note to end on, but you never knew with people. Perhaps the trinkets in question were of immense sentimental value to the deceased.

  Anyway, it was done. And not a broken bone, blackened eye, or fainting fit to deal with.

  He handed out three copies of said will. Then got the weeping sisters to sign the appropriate documents, before releasing their checks.

  The twins marched out the door ahead of Ruby, ignoring Mr. Cosgrove’s cheery good-bye. Ruby followed behind, elated, but not knowing what to say. They crossed the street without looking back, heading in the direction of the car park.

  Ruby was forced to run after them.

  “May! June!” she called out, catching up with them.

  “Will I see yins . . . see yins at the house? It’s just that I’m meeting somebody in the café for half an hour. I made some spaghetti bolognese for supper.”

  “How dare you speak to us after what you’ve done!” spat June, feeling the need to continue what May had started back at the office.

  “But . . . but I didn’t do anything!” Ruby cried.

  “Like hell you didn’t.”

  May unlocked the car door.

  “Don’t waste your breath, June. She’s mental, always bloody has been. Well, let me tell you something, Ruby Clare: you can have the house, the frigging land, and all the bad luck that goes with them. You killed Mummy with your antics. Pity I didn’t let you kill yourself that night in Beldam. None of this would be happening now. Mummy would still be alive and there’d be peace. I saved you and this is all the thanks I get.”

  “I didn’t kill Mammy. Her heart was never good.”

  “You killed her! You’ve got that on your conscience. Now get out of my way.”

  Ruby stopped to draw breath. She met May’s dangerous gaze. Dr. Shevlin’s words came to her: “And no one—absolutely no one—can take your peace away from you, because they don’t have the power to do that. You no longer give them the power to do that.”

  Well, May had taken quite enough away from her down the years. But not anymore. It was time to square the circle.

  “And you killed a baby. You’ve got that on your conscience.”

  The words, once freed that could never be taken back. “I could easily have told Mammy what you did. But I didn’t. So, I saved you.”

  “Coo-eee . . . Ru-u-uby.” The sound of Rose McFadden’s cheery voice.

  Had she heard them?

  May, knocked sideways, staring. June helpless in the passenger’s seat. Ruby so relieved at the appearance of her friend.

  “I was just over in the café there and saw yins through the windee. I’m sure yins are all glad that old meetin’s over. What about a nice cuppa tea?”

  “Aye . . . Rose.” Ruby moved away from the car.

  She heard May get in and slam the door.

  “Everything all right? Are your sisters not coming, too?”

  Ruby shook her head.

  Rose’s question was answered by the vehicle roaring off.

  Chapter forty-four

  Tuesday morning, August 28, found Henry at the wheel of his car, speeding along the Killoran road on his final trip to Rosewood.

  Two weeks before, he’d been ordered to leave by Hanson and Webb, so that he could “put his affairs in order.”

  Now those affairs had been seen to.

  It hadn’t taken long, he reflected, to leave a life behind, when you had to. To dismantle all the certainties, kick away the props, shred the documents that linked you to a name—birth, marriage, and degree certificates, check books, bank statements—and the love letters you once held dear.

  All that was left now of Dr. Henry Shevlin sat on the backseat of the car in a suitcase: his clothes and a book, In His Own Write by John Lennon. A parting gift from Finbar.

  He pulled up at the clinic, picked up a bouquet of white lilies from the passenger seat, and left the car.

  Edie was already at the door to greet him.

  “Henry, how very good to see you! I didn’t expect you at all.”

  “For you, Edie.” He handed her the flowers. “Couldn’t leave without saying good-bye.”

  “Oh, goodness me, they’re beautiful!” She blushed. “How very kind. It’s not often I get flowers.” She sniffed them deeply, savoring the scent.

  “How are things?” Henry asked, looking about the empty waiting room. “No one here?”

  “No. Dr. Balby rearranged his schedule, and your locum, Dr. Lewis, has just been called out on an eme
rgency.”

  “Nothing too serious, I hope.”

  Edie shook her head wearily. “Oh, the Sproule family. I don’t believe they figured on your radar, which was very fortunate for you. The eldest boy, Chuck, has a tendency to go off from time to time . . . alcohol, you understand. In the early hours he climbed onto the roof of a house in town, singing ‘Wrap the Green Flag Round Me, Boys’ at the top of his voice.”

  The secretary saw Henry’s puzzlement.

  “It’s a rebel song, I fear, and the roof belongs to Mr. Wilson-Paisley . . . a Protestant gentleman and chairman of the county council, who did not appreciate being woken up by such a racket and such a provocative song.”

  “I can imagine. Isn’t it a job for the police?”

  “Yes. But apparently Chuck threatened to jump off the roof if the police dared arrest him, so Sergeant Ranfurley rang us for assistance. Hopefully Dr. Lewis can coax him down.”

  “I see . . .”

  “It’s a pity you’re missing Dr. Balby . . . but we didn’t know you were coming, you see.”

  “Yes . . . sorry about that. Give Sylvester my best wishes, won’t you?” Henry checked his watch, moved to the door. “Well, I’d best get going.”

  Edie deposited the blooms on her desk. “I’ll just walk you to the car,” she said.

  They exited through the revolving door into the morning sunlight.

  “Oh, meant to ask . . . how is James McCloone? Still attending his sessions?”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, he turned up once, and when he discovered you weren’t here, he took off again.”

  “Really!”

  Edie gave a mischievous little smile. “And the following day, Ruby Clare did the same. Shows you how much you were appreciated. But to tell you the truth, Henry, I do believe he and she are an item, as they say.”

  Henry grinned. Poor put-upon Ruby and the lonely farmer? A match made in heaven surely.

  “That’s delightful news!” he said. “So Rosewood Clinic is now doubling as a dating agency.”

  “Yes, Henry, see what you started. But, between you and me”—she threw a look back at the clinic—“isn’t it the loneliness that drives most of them through those doors?”

  “Yes . . . more or less, Edie. More or less.”

  “So perhaps now that they’ve found each other, there’ll be no need to visit Rosewood at all.” She smiled broadly. “I love a happy ending, don’t you?”

  He didn’t answer. Just grinned. “Thank you . . . thank you for everything, Edie. It was a pleasure to work alongside you.”

  He hugged her warmly.

  “The feeling is entirely mutual.” There was the glint of a tear in Edie’s eye. “We’ll miss you . . . You were a breath of fresh air . . . made us all feel special.”

  He squeezed her arm gently. Got back in the car.

  “Oh, you haven’t told me where you’re going.”

  “Abroad . . . somewhere . . . Things aren’t finalized yet.” Which was the truth.

  “You’re a dark horse, Henry. Send us a postcard, won’t you?”

  “I will.” But, as he said the words, he knew that he could never honor her simple request.

  He pulled out through the clinic gates, saw her in the rearview mirror, and raised a hand.

  She fell from sight.

  Another ending.

  Another good-bye.

  His last on Northern Irish soil.

  Chapter forty-five

  The parting with May and June had been less than harmonious, and Ruby was glad Rose had been there, a shoulder to lean on. Lean on, but not cry on.

  She’d done enough of that.

  Again something Dr. Shevlin had said came back to her now, as she sat in the car in Tailorstown, running through her shopping list. “The hard times, Ruby, make us realize we are stronger and more capable than we thought.”

  Only now in retrospect did she understand what he’d meant.

  Yes, she was stronger. There was no doubt about that. She’d survived the worst. Her father’s death, then her mother’s. Oaktree would not be sold. The farm was hers. Really hers, to pick up again where he’d left off.

  She’d won the right to fully take her place.

  A winner, not a loser.

  A survivor; helpless victim no more.

  The yelping of dogs pulled her out of her reverie. Barkin’ Bob, the peddler, was drawing up alongside her. She saw that the source of the commotion was a trailer full of little puppies hitched behind his van.

  She got out to take a closer look.

  Bob climbed out. “How ya, missus,” he said, raising his hat in greeting, and launching immediately into his sales pitch. “Would yeh loike tae bouy one’a them wee puppies? Wan pound and fifty, and cheap at twoice the proice.”

  Ruby hesitated. She didn’t really know what to do. Then she thought of someone. It would be the perfect gift.

  Bob waited.

  “I would,” she assured him. “But I don’t know . . . don’t know how I’d get it home, Bob.”

  “I’ve a box with a hole in it, missus.” He gestured at the Cortina. “Just sit it there in the back.”

  Ruby grew excited. Should she?

  She’d never conducted a transaction of this nature before. Everything she’d bought in the past had to be first approved by her mother. And this purchase she would definitely disapprove of. “Smelly things, dogs. Do not want them about the place.”

  Ruby dipped into her handbag for the money.

  Bob smiled, eyes twinkling in his weathered face. “Any wan in partickler, missus?”

  There were four in the trailer. Ruby pointed to a little black-and-white bundle with a white star on its forehead. It was the least lively, and lying half-asleep.

  “That wee one there . . . I think is nice.”

  Bob gathered up the puppy and placed it gently in Ruby’s arms.

  “Hould her there a minute till I get the box for yeh now.”

  He leaned into the van and quickly reemerged, a Smoky Bacon Crisp box in one hand, a length of twine in the other. Ruby eased the puppy into it. Passed the money over and the deal was done.

  Chapter forty-six

  Henry parked his car in Lane H, Bay 22, at Belfast International Airport, leaving the keys in the ignition, as instructed.

  He loaded his luggage onto a trolley and made his way to the check-in area. It was late afternoon and he was happy to see that the lines were not so long.

  He went directly to the information station. There was a young man behind the desk. He checked his nametag. Gerry. He was attending to a large lady in a brightly colored dress, her hair built up into an elaborate pyramid of plaits.

  “But this is preposterous,” the woman was saying. She spoke with a cultured English accent. “I’ll have you know I am Mimi in La Bohème at the Grand Opera House tonight, and I simply must have my gowns, young man. How could you possibly have lost my bag between London and here? We’re not in Outer Mongolia, you know. But you people in Belfast might as well be, I suppose.”

  “I’m sorry, madam, but we’re doing everything we can.”

  “Well, your everything is not enough. The show . . . that is, my show, must go on, you understand. I simply must have those gowns.”

  Henry caught Gerry’s eye.

  Gerry nodded and lifted the phone.

  “Why are you attending to him when you are still attending to me?” She gave Henry the once-over from her haughty perch. “Can’t you see I was here before you?”

  “I’m in rather a hurry, madam; I do apologize,” Henry said. “My plane is leaving in twenty minutes. Good luck with Mimi.”

  Gerry escorted Henry to a door marked Private, knocked politely, nodded, and set off back to his station.

  Henry pushed the door open. He found Hanson and Webb sea
ted at a desk in a brightly lit office.

  “You made it, Henry,” Hanson said, getting up. “Good to see you. This can’t be easy for you.”

  “No,” he said flatly.

  Webb eyeballed him, and Henry met him with an equally glacial stare.

  “Please . . . sit, Dr. Shevlin,” he said. “Except you’re no longer Dr. Henry Shevlin now.”

  He slid a passport across the desk. “Pleased to meet you, Kenneth Marcus Lawson.”

  Henry refused to inspect the passport. “May I be allowed to know where I’m going, please? And how do I know this isn’t another one of your games?”

  “We don’t play games . . . Mr. Lawson.”

  It was Hanson, back in her official role. He saw her sitting at the kitchen table in Hestia House over a year before, giving him a grilling. How could he have known back then that it would all end like this?

  “No, we certainly don’t,” Webb added grimly. “You are still in danger until you alight from that plane at your destination. We’re not out of the woods yet, you know. We are doing everything to aid your safe passage out of here.” He leaned back in the chair. “Isn’t it a pity now that you didn’t know your wife a bit better? Then none of this would have been necessary.”

  Henry lost his composure. The pent-up anger. He could contain it no longer. He glanced about the room, noted the tiny surveillance cameras spaced at intervals in the ceiling. He’d no doubt that this office was under constant scrutiny by the authorities. He didn’t care.

  “How dare you?! My wife is an innocent bystander in all this! She got caught up in something murky. Something that you people set in train.”

  Webb’s response was to slide a large envelope across the desk.

  Hanson spoke again. “You may open that after takeoff. And I mean after takeoff. It contains important papers, birth and marriage certificates, details of your new identity.” She attempted a smile. To calm him, no doubt. There was a lot riding on Henry keeping calm.

  “We will escort you to the plane. You will sit in row twenty-seven, seat A. You will talk to no one, absolutely no one. Not even during the flight. Is that understood?”