Ill-Gotten Gains (19 page)

‘Hello?’ Lew’s voice was sleepy.

‘Lew, it’s Nell. I’m sorry to call so early but I need a name checked.’

‘A name?’ He yawned. ‘Like … a name? Huh?’

I hurried on. ‘You said yesterday you’d checked the orphanage records, which must mean you have access. Do you?’

‘Well, yes.’ He sounded a little more awake now. ‘But I can’t give it to you.’

‘That’s okay. You check it. Alice May Sheridan.’

‘Sheridan? But she was
Logan’s
child. Hang on.’ He paused. ‘I see. Yes, yes it could be. Okay, you’ve got me interested now. I’ll give it a go and ring you back.’

‘No, I’ll hang on. And keep my fingers crossed.’

The phone clunked in my ear. I imagined his wheelchair gliding smoothly towards wherever he had his laptop. Then I counted to twenty, and twenty again. Gusto had curled up by the filing cabinet but as I looked at him, he began to wag his tail in happy sweeps across the floor. It was another ten minutes before Lew returned. He was breathing heavily and I knew before he even spoke. My stomach clenched.

‘Nell, you are
brilliant
! You’re right! She was received 8 November 1888. But her name isn’t registered as Alice May Sheridan.’ His voice contained an undercurrent of glee. ‘It’s Alice
Mary
May Sheridan.’

‘So she threw in an extra name. I wonder why?’

‘Think, Nell. I’ll say it again. Alice
Mary May
Sheridan.’

I frowned, and then realisation dawned. ‘Oh my god. Of
course
. Wait.’ I swivelled to stare at the whiteboard containing the Sheridan genealogy. And there she was. ‘My god. Mary May. She was here all along. Why didn’t we
see
that! Born 1885. Look at the gap between her and the brother! Hell, her father didn’t even get married until 1892! She was seven years old!’

‘Right in front of our bloody eyes. Unbelievable. But now we’ve found her. Actually,
you
found her. How did you know?’

‘Guesswork, and a bit of brilliance,’ I said modestly. ‘Hey, what’s her birth date on the orphanage records?’

‘23 September 1885. Matilda brought it forward three months.’

‘She had no choice,’ I said defensively. ‘Paternity had to be plausible.’

‘Yep. And she was released from the orphanage on 21 January 1889. I don’t have the name but can find that out. A hundred bucks says it was young James. Collecting his little cuckoo and taking her home.’ Lew paused and then suddenly bellowed, ‘Well, fuck me!’

‘No, thanks. Deb’s a friend.’

‘Nell! Don’t you realise what this
means
?’ He lowered his voice but the excitement still ricocheted through his words. ‘She had no Sheridan blood
at all
! With the death of her brother, she became the sole heiress and got the lot! There
are
no fucking Sheridans! The last one died in, what … 1916!’

I was still gazing at the whiteboard. ‘Then they’re all descended from Petar Majic, not James Sheridan. Every single one. This is
un
believable.’

‘And
this
is a secret worth killing for. Hold on, Nell, my mobile’s going off.’

I tried to absorb the information but it felt too large to be legitimate. No Sheridans at all. Despite the machinations of that original Sheridan, it seemed that fate had stepped in to ensure that justice was served, eventually. I circled Mary May’s name with black texta and then wiped out the line between her and James II. That gave our discovery both life and clarity. Later on I would rewrite the entire thing.

‘Nell, I have to go.’ Lew came back on the line, his voice even more energised. ‘Guess who just called? James Sheridan himself. The mayor, that is. I want to tell him. D’you mind?’

I shrugged. ‘Go for it.’

Gusto leapt up, ears pricked, and rushed out. Soon after, he began barking furiously in the family room and I could hear his nails scrabbling against the glass.

‘Hey! Stop that!’ I followed quickly, annoyed to have my concentration interrupted. The picture window now glowed with a dappled morning light that sifted through the trees. I walked over to Gusto and peered outside. ‘You silly boy. It’s just a dog.’

He looked up at me and back towards the focus of his attention. But at least he had stopped barking. I ruffled his fur as I sat down on the armrest of the couch. Lew was wrong; this wasn’t a secret worth killing for, rather it was a secret that could have saved lives. If Will had known this, or Sam been given the chance to uncover it, then he and Ned may well have been spared. Because they had been murdered to protect the Sheridan name and assets, when there
was
no name and the assets were always perfectly secure. The rightful family had them all along. The irony was tragic.

I remained where I was for some time, lost in the paradox. I wondered how the mayor had taken the news, that dapper little man so proud of his ancestry. Would he see it as justice prevailing, or unbearably injurious to reputation? Perhaps
he
would see it as a secret worth killing for. I rolled my eyes. Sometimes my imagination took on a life of its own.

The doorbell rang and Gusto belatedly switched focus, running out to the hallway and positioning himself at the front door. I rather hoped it was Petra, or at least someone with whom I could share my brilliant powers of deduction. Why should Lew get all the fun? But instead, to my utter shock, particularly given my last line of thought, I opened the door to reveal James Sheridan himself.

Really enjoyed your column on mothers and daughters last weekend. It reminded me of my favourite Oscar Wilde quote: ‘All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his.’

‘May I come in?’ he asked, his customary smile nowhere to be seen. ‘I’ll only take a minute of your time.’

I stood back wordlessly. Given the door was already open, it seemed I had little choice. Although it did occur to me, not for the first time, that manners brought restrictiveness with their security. Death before dishonour. ‘
Victim invited murderer in for warm beverage’, say police, ‘but it was a cold day, so at least she was polite
.’

He stepped into the hallway, with Gusto sniffing curiously at his ankles. ‘Thank you. How is your injury?’

‘Ah, fine, thanks. Just fine.’ I cleared my throat. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Yes, of course. Um, sorry to come by like this unannounced, but … look, I shouldn’t have come at all. I’ll go.’ However he made no move to leave, instead staring at a point just over my shoulder, clearly hoping that I would insist he stayed. The silence stretched uncomfortably.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea?’

‘That would be
lovely
,’ he replied with an earnestness that was reassuring. He followed me into the family room and stood at the bench while I turned on the kettle.

‘Which one?’

‘Tea, please. White with two.’

Gusto had now lost interest, returning to the windows to check for intruders of the canine variety. I examined my visitor surreptitiously as I worked. I didn’t even know whether to call him James or Mr Sheridan. He seemed paler than usual, and slightly disoriented, his habitual veneer of oiliness conspicuous by its absence. He picked up the festival flyer from my pile of junk mail on the bench and stared at it.

‘Here you go.’ I passed him a mug and wrapped my hands around my own, waiting.

‘I was going to visit you anyway, you know. Decided after I heard the news yesterday. Apologise on behalf of the family. Terrible thing Willy Akermann did. Terrible thing. I feel a little responsible.’

‘Why would you be responsible?’ I said, surprised.

‘Well, he is family. Married to my niece. And, see, after you came to the centre that first day with the broken plaque, we were talking about what it could mean. I said it’d better not be anything too earth-shaking, not on the eve of the biggest thing to hit Majic since the sunset ride. Then I said –’ he paused to pleat a corner of the flyer ‘– that I was relying on him to keep everything in order.’

‘Yes, but you didn’t ask him to
kill
people.’

He shook his head. ‘I put a lot of emphasis on duty though.’

‘I think you’re overestimating the power of your words.’

‘And I think you’re underestimating them.’ He smiled, for the first time, but it only lasted a moment. ‘I know I didn’t incite the actual murders, and I know it’s not my fault per se, but I do think I have to take on board the fact Will thought, on some level, he was being community-minded, family-minded. I did fuel that.’

I nodded slowly. ‘Okay, fair enough. Have you spoken to Lew?’

‘Yes.’

I took a sip of coffee, waiting once more. My nervousness had all but dissipated because this was not a man who was about to kill anyone. Although I would have said exactly the same about Will up to the moment he incriminated himself, so perhaps I wasn’t a very good judge. I pushed that aside and concentrated on James Sheridan. If anything he looked a little paler. ‘Can I take your coat? Would you like to sit down?’

‘Yes, please.’

I hung his coat over a bar stool and led the way into the family room, waving him to the armchair. He did not so much sit as fold into it, his tea swilling. I sat opposite, on the couch. ‘He told you everything then.’

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘It is pretty amazing. Right under our noses the whole time.’

He nodded, staring into his mug. ‘I knew there was something there, because Sam rang me that night. But he didn’t tell me. Just dropped hints about a photo. Me finding out for myself.’

‘Same here.’

‘I just pushed it aside afterwards.’ He shrugged, paused once more. ‘I always knew my grandmother was the product of an earlier relationship, although we thought it was a marriage. She used to talk about how she’d just about brought her brother up, being so much older and her stepmother being delicate.’

‘Did she ever talk about her time before? Before she came to Majic?’

‘Not that I remember.’ He looked up and frowned. ‘Although I do recall staying with her once as a teenager, after a fierce argument with my mother, and she said, “Be grateful for what you have. The absence of a mother is far more painful than anything you think you’re going through now.” She was right, too.’

‘What was she like?’

‘Oh,
marvellous
.’ His smile returned. ‘A bit of a martinet at times and she definitely wore the pants where my grandfather was concerned, but she was terrific with us grandchildren. She used to give us a shilling each and then play poker, win it all back.’

‘Was she happy?’

He gave this question some thought. ‘Yes, definitely. I think she married for convenience, to carry on the line, but they were good together. And she loved this place. My father always said that she was never quite the same after his younger brother died in the war, but that was before my time. She lost her brother in the first war, and then a son in the second.’

‘To carry on the line, you said. The irony being …’

‘Yes.’ His face stilled. He stared out the window, then sighed. ‘That’s what I’m having trouble with this morning. The funny thing is we’ve always been inordinately proud of my grandmother for saving the lineage. But she wasn’t at all.’

‘Actually she was, just not the one you thought. A more worthy lineage, if anything. It doesn’t change your immediate family anyway, or who you are.’

‘But that’s exactly what it does. You don’t understand. My entire life has been framed by being a Sheridan. When I was a kid, my father would take me to the cemetery, show me the graves, tell me how my great-great-grandfather created this town. He used the tortoise and the hare analogy. Petar Majic was the hare, flamboyant but impractical, while we were the tortoises. Slow and steady and constructive. The backbone of Majic.’

‘You still are.’

‘That’s where I was, you know. At the cemetery. I barely slept last night, after the police told me, knowing what he did. This man who was always held up to me as a hero, but who was actually a bastard. And a criminal.’ He pulled his tie out, curled the end around one finger. ‘So I went there this morning, sat by the graves. Don’t know what I was thinking.’ He looked up and laughed, without humour. ‘It’s not like the dead can talk.’

‘I’m not sure about that. Maybe the plaque breaking was communication.’

‘Yeah, communication from Petar Majic about how my family did him wrong.’

I leant forward. ‘But, Mr … I mean James, Petar Majic
is
your family.’

‘So then I thought I’d ring Lew,’ he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘I knew by then he was involved in your research. I think I wanted him to say it was all a mistake. Instead he told me that …’

After a few moments, when he hadn’t finished the sentence, I did it for him. ‘You weren’t a Sheridan at all.’

He flinched. ‘Yes.’

‘But that could be a
good
thing, given what the founder of that family did.’

‘I get that, in theory.’ He paused, trying to find the right words. ‘But in practice I feel responsible. The fraud, the manipulation. The profiting from deception. What we,
he
, did to those people. That poor bloody girl. Her whole family.’

‘
Your
family,’ I stressed. It suddenly occurred to me that I was being supportive towards the Sheridans. Or, actually, the Majics. ‘Yes, it’s confusing.’

‘And we’re about to have this huge celebration, starting this evening. But it’s all a sham.’

‘No, it’s not,’ I said insistently. ‘Majic was
still
founded one hundred and fifty years ago, and it’s
still
a thriving community. That’s what we’re commemorating. Not the dreadful behaviour of one single man after the event; a man who has
no
living descendants.’

‘What about the statue? Petar and James side by side?’

‘Hmm, yes, that’s a little … unfortunate.’

He fell silent, staring out the window again, curling his tie. Now, every time he let it go, it kinked up at the end as if pointing at me. When he finally looked back, the softness of uncertainty had firmed, just a little. ‘That has to be changed. At least.’

‘Will you have time?’

‘I’ll make time. It can’t be unveiled the way it is. The hypocrisy is ridiculous.’

I regarded him thoughtfully. I would never have attributed him with such high principles. Or perhaps he was already, even subconsciously, realigning his commitment.

‘And you have to write about it.’ He was now staring at me intently. ‘Yes! That’s what we need to do. Lew tells me you’d already discussed doing an article. That way we have some control over the truth. We can’t have Majic turned into a laughingstock. We can turn this around instead, use it in our favour.’ He drummed his fingers on the armrest. ‘It’s actually a fascinating story, when you think about it. Human interest. This could put Majic on the map. More tourism.’

‘I suppose so. But …’

‘I’ll give you an exclusive interview. Today. I’ll fit it in somehow. We’ll have lunch.’

I nodded slowly, my chin sinking into the softness of the collar. My editor was going to be thrilled. Maybe I could get the photographer to take a shot of James sitting at the cemetery, in front of the crypt.

He jumped up. ‘I need to get to work. So much to do.’

‘Yes.’ I rose more sedately and went over to get his coat. Instead of taking it, though, he grabbed my hand and pressed it firmly.

‘I can’t thank you enough. Not even sure why I came here except I had you on my mind, what with Will. You know. And I was just up the road. But I’m so glad I did!’

‘Glad to be of service,’ I said. His hand was a little sweaty.

He let go, still beaming, and took his coat. ‘Okay then! Onwards and upwards.’

I showed him out and then rested against the door. Gusto had padded out to join me and now cocked his head. I smiled at him, bemused. ‘Well, well, well. That was a little unexpected.’

The article was already beginning to form in my head. It would have a catchy headline, like
MACHINATIONS IN MAJIC. AFTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS, JUSTICE PREVAILS
. I would start with the plaque and then peel back the layers, like an onion. All the ingredients were there: romance, mystery, duplicity, pathos, murder. The irony of the altered genealogy would provide the happy ending, of sorts. I already knew that this article was going to write itself. Which was exactly how I liked it.