The Kilternan Legacy (22 page)

“You might say that Irene made a specialty of deserted mothers and children.” He wasn’t mocking.

“Aren’t there any agencies to help unwed mothers?”

“Sally’s unwed to boot? Poor kid. Yes, there are nursing homes that take such girls,” and his face and eyes were hard. “And make them feel like pariahs. Has anyone told Mary?”

“I don’t think—”

“Call the Hotel Montrose. But first I want to give Michael Noonan a shout.” He steered me in through the kitchen, pausing to plug in the electric kettle, and then marched me through to the telephone.

“Why Michael?”

“He’s the one Simon ought to have called. Not me.”

“Oh dear, I am sorry, Shay. Involving you in my problems when I can’t…”

“Not to worry, Rene. Promise? Actually, I’m flattered that Simon thought of me.” He dialed as he spoke. “I like that boy very much. They’re both good youngsters. Hello, there, Noonan, there’s been some trouble …”

Michael said he’d be out as soon as possible and I wasn’t to say anything more until he got there.

Just as Shay started to dial another number, Sean the Garda appeared, very courteously, at the front door. “Here, Rene,” said Shay, handing me the phone, “tell Mary …”

Mary was shocked and very upset.

“They think it was her son,” I told her.

“I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Did you hear anything, Mary?”

“No. The walls are very thick between the two houses, thanks be to God. Oh, I ought to have called in. I knew he’d been drinking … on her bit of pension money, like as not. If only I’d gone over when I hadn’t seen her out in the sun …”

“I think, perhaps, Mary, it’s as well that I found her.”

Mary’s sharp intake of breath was confirmation enough.

“They’ll be on to me, I suppose, living next door.”

“Michael Noonan’s coming out. I’ll ask what we should do and say.”

“Rene, Ann’s name mustn’t get into the papers.”

“We’re doing something about that, Mary. Shay spoke to Sean the Garda.”

She had to ring off. I phoned the supermarket to warn Sally.

Like Mary, she was horrified at the idea of Paddy Purdee’s being able to find Ann. I explained that Michael Noonan would soon be around to advise us, and that Kieron and Simon would be watchdogs. But as I hung up the phone, I realized that I was by no means as reassured as I sounded, and fervently wished that somehow they could get Tom Slaney to admit he’d done it … horrible though it was to think … so that there’d be no fuss at all over the poor woman’s death. I heard the kettle imperiously rattling its lid, and absently made coffee for myself.

Simon had snuck back in through the kitchen door.

“Ann’s in hysterics, Mom,” he said.

“Then go back and tell her that
I
, Queen Irene the Second, have admitted to finding the body. Shay Kerrigan’s dealt with Sean the Garda, Michael Noonan will know how to protect her, I’ve told both Mary and Sally,
and
we’re barricading the road against intruders.”

“Not that I think it’ll be necessary,” said Shay, stepping into the kitchen with Michael Noonan.

“Hardly likely,” said Michael, smiling reassuringly at me. “Not if Slaney’s been drinking. As soon as the Garda have had a word with him, we’ll know more.” He looked wistfully toward the cup in my hand, so I asked who wanted coffee.

Simon said he’d get back before Ann had a stroke.

“Tell her I’ll look in as soon as I can,” Michael told him. “I can keep her name out of it.” But he was thoughtful after Simon left, and spent a long time stirring the sugar into his coffee. “You know, closing off the lane is a very good idea right now. Not that Paddy has a chance of discovering Ann here in the south. She used to live in Santry.”

“But what good would it do him to find her?”

Shay and Michael exchanged looks. “He is legally her husband. He could force his way in on her.”

“How?”

“He’s got the law on his side.”

“Well, then, it’s a damned foolish law.” I stared at them. “You mean, she has
no
protection from him? That he can just walk back in on her?” I was sputtering with indignation. “Why, that’s outrageous. Why, in the States, a woman has some protection …”

“I told you things were different here in Ireland,” Shay began.

“Different? They’re archaic. Why, it’s inhuman, it’s—” I broke off because they were looking at me with the oddest expressions. “Well, what’s the matter with you two grinning apes?”

“You sound exactly like your Aunt Irene,” said Michael mildly. “She felt the same way, and so, I’ll add, do I.”

“Myself as well,” said Shay.

“Then what are you going to do about it?”

Michael was looking at Shay rather strangely.

“Well?” I demanded again, because I was very, very upset. Bad as Teddie had been, I’d had sure legal redress once I’d made the decision to terminate the marriage. It hadn’t ever really occurred to me how extremely fortunate I was.

“I’m doing what I can right now,” said Michael. “Admittedly, it’s only one isolated incident.”

“What about making new laws? You’re a solicitor. Or do barristers do that here in Ireland?”

“No, T.D.s—senators you’d call ‘em.”

“And why don’t they?”

“It’s not as easy as all that. You’re in Ireland now, you know.”

“Too well I know, and I thank my lucky stars that I can leave it.”

“Now, now, Rene”—Shay’s diffidence changed to alarm—“this is all very upsetting—”

“Wow! Understatement of the year!”

“Rene, did you warn Sally, and Mary Cuniff?” asked Michael, taking firm command of the situation.

I took his unspoken reprimand, because this wasn’t the time to belabor the point, however morally unfair the situation was.

“They’re both upset, but it’s all for Ann’s sake. Although I don’t see that Sally’s in a much better position. Or did the guy ever own up to paternity?”

Michael Noonan dropped his coffee cup. Had it been deliberate? He started making all the right noises, so I had to make light of the matter as I mopped it up.

Another siren heralded the arrival of some new official vehicle, and that gave Shay and Michael the excuse to leave. The next thing I knew, George Boardman was charging in, terribly upset, his silvery hair blown all over his face.

“Mary called me. What’s this about old Mrs. Slaney being killed? And your finding her?”

At least my fable was becoming accepted as fact.

I gave George reassurances and a cup of coffee, and by the time he’d smoothed his wind-blown hair down, the front doorbell gave one of its asthmatic wheezes. The caller was the priest.

“Oh, but I’ve been here some little time now,” he told me in a gentle voice, his eyes blinking so constantly that I wondered if he suffered from nerves or just an eye ailment. He started asking about requiem Masses. Fortunately, George not only knew Father O’Rourke but knew what to say about Masses, and the dear blinking Father went off in a gentle daze.

The Inspector arrived before Shay or Michael had a chance to warn me he was coming. They followed close behind, but even if I hadn’t three large male friends, and one of them a solicitor, I don’t think I would have regarded this necessary formality with any dread—once it was over. The Inspector couldn’t have been more courteous, and, after all, the facts, barring my fable, were so straightforward that the questioning didn’t amount to much. He did say that he’d have to be back in the evening to take statements from Mrs. Cuniff and any of the other tenants who might have noticed something out of the ordinary. And he was gone.

“There’s not much news, Rene,” Michael said, “in an old woman found dead in her own home, not with Belfast claiming headlines and everyone’s sympathy. However, I’ll slip up and have a word with Ann Purdee.” And he was away.

“Michael’s right, you know,” George said, combing his hair again with his fingers. “But I think I’ll just collect Mary from the Montrose and give her some moral support. ‘Bye now, and God bless.”

I was getting messages rather loud and clear.

“I wonder, should I offer him Mrs. Slaney’s cottage instead of Fahey’s? Of course, maybe he’s superstitious or something …” Then I caught Shay’s expression. “Yes, I guess it isn’t the time to make such a suggestion, is it?”

“My dear Rene, you amaze me more and more.”

“Why? He certainly wasn’t breaking his neck for worry over me. Though now I understand why an architect would be willing to live in a three-room cottage not big enough to house a drawing board. And Kieron Thornton’s mad-crazy for Ann Purdee, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Sally Hanahoe is still wildly in love with the guy what done her wrong.”

“Sally who?”

“Sally Hanahoe, Ann’s housemate, the unwed mother.”

“Oh, yes. I haven’t met that one. She must have arrived after I got in Irene’s bad books.” He slid into the chair at the small kitchen table, looking tired. I knew how he felt, and sat down opposite him. Then he gave a thoughtful snort, and gazed at me admiringly. At least, I preferred to take that interpretation.

“If you
knew
how much you sounded like Irene then, standing up for the poor, down-trodden Irish female …”

“Don’t you mock—”

“I’m not, pet,” he said, most seriously, and caught the hand I was brandishing. “I’m very much aware of how unjust the current laws are. But it’s as much their own making.”

“How? When a guy can beat up a little thing like Ann, leave her without a penny to live on, and three kids, and then take up where he left off if he so chooses—”

“Wait a minute. You haven’t been in Ireland—”

“Don’t give me that old—”

He had both my hands and squeezed them hard. “Listen! I’m not defending the status quo, I’m explaining it, and you don’t know it. Now, that’s better, listen a minute.

“Simplifying the situation to absurdity, gay young lad sees pretty young colleen, falls madly in love with her wit and light feet, marries with pomp and circumstance and the fear of God from the local priest. All is still lightness and love. But gay young lad knows flipping little about the arts of love, and his pretty colleen even less, because they’re good Catholics. So they fumble about, and before you know it she’s pregnant, and sick, and he’s tired of his pretty wife turned useless. He goes off to the pub for a few jars, where all his old buddies are drinking, and it’s a big gas, and lots of fun down in the pub, with the peat fire and the Guinness and the telly and the dart board. And then the bahbee’s born and he’s a happy man and he’s got a wife again, and whaddya know, she’s pregnant again in next to no time. And he’s off to the pub because her mother’s with her, complaining that he’s a lecher and a no good layabout and why doesn’t he go off to the pub and leave the poor girl to rest. And so the poor girl, pregnant and exhausted, lavishes all her affection on her son, and pampers and spoils him as she’d like, perhaps, to pamper and spoil the man she keeps driving into the pub, and his friends, who are driven there for the same reasons. And then, guess what, the boy grows up, pampered and spoiled and used to seeing his old man go out every night to the pub with his friends, while his mother makes his sisters wait on them hand and foot because it’s a man’s world, pet, and the men get the best of the stick, and whaddya know. The boy grows up and marries the pretty colleen and gets her all preggers …”

“That wasn’t the vicious circle for Mary Cuniff. And Ann’s busted it.”

“Ever seen how Ann treats her young son?”

I looked at Shay, because I hadn’t seen Ann with the boy, but I could see that the pattern he projected could be terribly accurate. And it wasn’t limited to Ireland.

“Is that why you don’t marry?”

He gave my hands a final squeeze, winked one of his very brilliant blue eyes, and sat back. “It could happen, and I’d hate it. I don’t want a shrew and I don’t want an innocent. I also don’t want a woman who’s gone too far in the opposite direction.”

“You don’t approve of women’s lib?”

He snorted. “I’d prefer a woman who could speak out for herself. But I’d rather stay single and give joy to untold numbers of lonely females.” He pulled himself up off the base of his spine.

“Aren’t there
any
happy marriages in Ireland?”

“Law of averages says there have to be. No, seriously, Irene, Jimmy’s father and mother are devoted to each other. Sheila’s a wonderful person, but Dave got her.” He sounded sincerely rueful. “You have been exposed to more of the exceptions than the average visitor.”

“It’s all so grossly unfair. These girls—Mary for instance— caught in the most ridiculous set of legalities! Can’t anything be done for them, Shay?”

“Yes, Rene, they can stay on in the queendom and make their own way. They wouldn’t be here otherwise. Irene wasn’t impractical in her philanthropies. Which reminds me, Sheila told me of a candidate for Fahey’s, once you can get that sorted out.”

“Oh?”

Shay got slowly to his feet. “If I can make a humble recommendation?” When I assured him that he could, he went on. “You could even have her in on a caretaker basis. You can check with Michael about the mechanics.”

“Who is she?”

“Another unwed mother. She was living with her sister, but the girl got married. Her son’s three, so there’s not so much work for Ann.”

“She’s practically got a playschool there.”

“With Snow to help, it’s no big thing.”

“Hey, Mom,” said my darling daughter, right on cue, but Shay gave me a quick sign to say nothing. With Snow’s exuberant entry came the smell of freshly baked bread.

“Oh, heavenly!” I cried, reaching for the warm loaves. “However did Ann find time to bake … today?”

Snow shrugged. “No problem.” She was eyeing Shay Kerrigan oddly. “Ann feels that industry is the best cure for panic—and, Mom, she’s panicky. No matter what Georgie-porgie and Mihall—”

“I wish you wouldn’t, Snow.”

“Huh, George doesn’t mind!” My daughter gave me a grin, but her smile faded as her eyes swept past Shay.

“Maybe I could …” Shay began.

“No!” Snow’s reply was emphatic enough to be downright rude.

I remonstrated with my daughter, but Shay smiled. “I don’t know
what
turned young Ann against me, but I know where I’m not wanted.” I could hear his bafflement as well as the hurt. “Anyway, I’d best be on my way. Look now, don’t hesitate to phone if anything else occurs that worries you, or even if you just want moral support. Promise?”