The Kilternan Legacy (8 page)

“Don’t think of your great-aunt Irene as an old-lady aunt,” and there was strong feeling in the grin on his face. “She was a grand gal. Had she been younger or I older …” He gave me a mischievous wink and, with accustomed ease, slipped into a chair at the small table.

Strangely enough, I didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed by Kieron Thornton’s presence in my kitchen. What harm could I come to with a man who succored teething babies and distraught mothers at all hours?

“Is it Ann Purdee’s baby?” I asked. He hesitated before he said, “Poor little tike.”

Then I nearly let the milk boil over, because it suddenly struck me as odd that Kieron Thornton was at Ann Purdee’s. Had she no husband?

“She’s no man in the house, you know,” he said in a slow drawl, and I wondered if I’d been thinking aloud again. “Which is as well,” he added slowly, his eyes on mine. “One more such beating and there’d’ve been bloody little left of her, there being not much of her except willpower anyway.”

“She dropped in on us this afternoon,” I said, matching his casualness. “To pay the rent.”

He caught and held my eyes. “
You’ve
no objection to her staying on then?” There was something he didn’t add.

I shook my head, and he smiled with relief and approval.

“There’s a story about Ann Purdee?”

“I’m not wide in the mouth, Mrs. Teasey, not about other people’s affairs, Irene, your aunt, was satisfied, let’s say, and helped out a bit now and again. No more than was neighborlylike.”

I caught the hint and nodded. Ann Purdee had already struck me as a proud person whom well-meant but ill-timed generosities could wound deeply.

“I’m pleased you thought to move in right away,” he said, taking a judicious sip of the hot milk and whiskey. “Hmmm. Very tasty.” I’d doctored it with a bit of nutmeg and sugar. “Possession is nine points of the law in any country.”

“And there’ll be trouble?”

“Have you spoken with Mihall Noonan?”

“Yes, for all the good it did. I’m just as confused. And then, my aunt left a letter of instruction.”

He was nodding, so I gathered he’d known about it. After all, Mr. Noonan had said he’d saved her life.

“Do you think,” I asked him urgently, “that there’ll be trouble with the relatives?”

“Not to worry, Mrs. Teasey. You were always to inherit, or so she told us time and again. God rest Queen Irene! God save Queen Irene!” And he raised the mug in a toast. “Not to worry, I said. You’ve loyal subjects here.” He inclined the upper part of his body in a bow. “Given half the chance, we’ll defend you to the death.”

“Good God, it won’t come to that?” I was half teasing, and yet I could hear the warning, the resolution to defend, in his tone.

“Finish your drink, pet. Get the good of it,” he said in a sort of paternal tone, and lifted my hand off the table. “It’s chilly, and you should be abed.”

I could feel the cold even with the warm, laced milk in my tummy. And I could see the lightening of the sky through the kitchen window. “Good Lord, what time is it?”

“Half three. We’ve short nights in the summers here.” He downed his drink and rose, pocketing the bottle of liquor. “Sleep sound, and God bless!”

He was out the door, softly humming a tune that was vaguely familiar.

I did sleep soundly. Very soundly. Until the thudding on the front door penetrated my sleep, and I felt Simon shaking my shoulder urgently.

“Mom, it’s that Kelley guy.”

The presumptuous manner of knocking added to my fury at his unheralded arrival. Perhaps it was close to ten in the morning, but I don’t fancy being awakened by people I’m avoiding. I tried to open the window, but it was too tight.

“I’ll tell him to go away,” Simon said, starting down the stairs.

“No, I’ll handle him!” I grabbed up my coat, more concealing than my flimsy dressing gown, and nearly tripped down the steep, short stairs. “What do you mean by pounding on my door in that fashion?” I demanded as I threw it open.

Brian Kelley, hand poised for another whack on the panels, stared at me, popeyed, his face gone white. Only for a moment, though, for he rapidly recovered his poise, his ruddy complexion, and his accumulated frustration.

“Are
you
Irene Teasey?”

“And whom else were you expecting in this house? And why have you been pursuing me? I left specific instructions that I would contact you.” Then I belatedly realized that I shouldn’t know what Brian Kelley looked like. “I assume, that is, that you are the persistent Brian Kelley.”

“I am.” He made a movement as if to enter the house, and I closed the door just slightly to emphasize unwelcome. Simon and Snow had ranged themselves on the stairs, and I was glad of their moral support.

“Well?” I said, tapping my foot.

“I have been trying to get in touch with you, Miss Teasey, to present a very fair offer.”

“For what?”

“Why, for this,” and he spread his chunky-fingered hand to indicate the house and grounds. “A very good offer, considering there are sitting tenants, and your circumstances.”

“Which circumstances?”

“Why, that you have to sell.”

“Who told you that I have to sell?”

“Well, you’ve the death duties to be paid. I happen to know that they’ll be pretty stiff on a property like this.”

“Will they?”

He wasn’t liking my attitude at all. “I’ve a firm offer of twenty-five thousand pounds. That would be sixty-five thousand dollars!” He seemed impressed, and I refused to be. “You’d still get home with money in your pocket.”

“Mr. Kelley, you seem to know a lot more about my affairs and my plans than I do. Among other points, you’ve neglected to take into consideration that my great-aunt’s will has not yet been probated. Until it is, nothing can be done about buying or selling.”

“If you accept this offer, Miss Teasey, you might find that probate is only a question of time.” He was unctuously implying aid.

“I’m given to understand that it’s only a question of time anyhow.”

“You’re in Ireland now, Miss Teasey.” The threat was stated now.

“So I am, come to take up my inheritance, and comply with the terms of my great aunt’s will…” The piggy eyes informed me that Mr. Kelley knew the terms of that will. “… And her letter of specific instruction, which I intend to follow to the spirit and law.” Well, he didn’t know about any letter, that was certain. “Now, if you do not leave my premises I shall be forced to get the shotgun for which I obtained a license from the Cabinteely Gardai yesterday.” That really shook him, and he backed out of the doorway and the small porch.

“You’ll be sorry you turned that offer down, miss.”

I slammed the door behind him, and while Simon was shaking the clasped hands of victory above his head, we heard the choleric Mr. Kelley starting his car.

“Mom, you were great!” Snow said, chortling with pleasure.

“Who does he think he is, threatening you? Could he really hold up probate, Mom?” Simon wasn’t the least bit upset about that prospect.

“Don’t know and I don’t care, but I’ll ask Mr. Noonan,” I said, inordinately pleased that I had actually outfaced a man.

“Among other things, you’d better get that license today,” Snow said, then sighed. “If only you’d stood up to Dad like that once in a while …”

“It would only have delayed matters,” Simon said, glaring angrily at his sister. “Besides, Dad would have made Mother sell Kelley this place for sixty-five thousand bucks!”

“Oh no!” Snow didn’t fancy that alternative.

My sudden triumph turned to doubt. “Do
you
think I did the right thing?”

“About Kelley?” Simon’s outraged response answered the wrong question. “Oh …” and then he realized what I had meant and put both arms awkwardly but sweetly about me. My, he was getting tall. I had to look up at him. “Mother, you did exactly the right thing. With Kelley and with Dad. Sara and I have no regrets. None!” His serious face was suddenly split by an inimitably Simonesque grin. “Hell, Dad had no real use for us except to show off ‘his twins’ or prove his authority by snapping his fingers and having us, and you, waiting on him hand and foot. And I will
never
forgive him for that night in December—”

“Simon!” Snow’s voice was sharp and scared.

I’d known that something had happened to the children the night they’d gone with their father to the Harrisons’ party, but they’d never talked about it. I’d been flat on my back with one of those sudden, terribly debilitating stomach viruses. Teddie’d been furious with me because he’d wanted to go to the Harrisons’ “do”; they always “did” so extravagantly. I knew he hated going to parties alone, as he was at his best scoring off a foil—like me. In desperation, and because the Harrisons had a daughter the twins’ age, I suggested that he take the children. They’d come home about midnight: I’d been listening for their return, but they’d whispered in the hall outside my room without coming in. Which was unusual in itself, but I’d chalked it up that night to their concern about my health. I didn’t know until much later that Teddie hadn’t brought them home. Indeed, I didn’t learn until after I’d initiated divorce proceedings that Teddie’d been put to bed at the Harrisons’ stoned out of his mind, and was never invited there again. Something devastating had indeed happened, which the children were determined to keep from me.

Now Simon’s face softened, and he patted me on the shoulder.

“No, Mother dearest of them all, you did the right thing.
We’re
not sorry. You’re a real tough mother!” And he kissed me.

“And I’m starved!” Snow said, as if Simon’s overt show of affection irritated her. She was the less-demonstrative child. Now she marched toward the kitchen.

“Say, who does that Kelley character think he is,” asked Snow into a pause at the breakfast table. “This place is worth a lot more than any old twenty-five thousand pounds.”

“Did Kelley mean just the house, Mom? Because it would be a pretty good price that way.”

“No, Simon, he meant the whole property.”

Simon considered that momentarily. “Then he’s a crook. Particularly threatening you with no probate unless you played his game.”

“You don’t suppose he’s acting for Shay Kerrigan, do you?” asked Snow. “No,” she answered herself, even as Simon exploded with a negative.

“Shamus Kerrigan’s not that sort of guy. He wouldn’t sneak about—”

“Well, he tried to sneak a bulldozer up our lane.”

“Children, children!” I called them to order, but I had to admit that Snow’s suggestion of Shay Kerrigan as Kelley’s client had also occurred to me—and been discarded. “I agree with Simon, as far as Mr. Kerrigan’s concerned, Snow. But that Mr. Kelley knew too much …”

“He didn’t know about the trust fund, did he?” said Simon. “And that Mom wouldn’t
have
to sell to pay the death duties!”

“Come to think of it, I don’t know what’s in the will.”

“You said you did.”

“I said I’d comply with it… Where
did
I put it down?”

Snow swished from the kitchen and flounced back again in very short order with the document and Aunt Irene’s letter.

The will was considerably less dramatic, and fairly straightforward, once you discounted all those whereases and thingies. I was named co-executrix with a representative of the solicitors. We were to pay all her just debts and death duties. I was to administer the Brandel trust as long as necessary. Otherwise, everything, lock, stock, and barrel, was left to me, Irene Teasey Stanford.

As I could plainly see, the will had been signed ten years ago. That had been rather a hellish year for me. If I’d known of Aunt Irene’s bequest, I’d’ve endured it with a stouter heart. That was the year I’d been sure I couldn’t stick marriage with Teddie, when he’d flaunted that Joan creature all over town. However, you can put up with rather more than you think you can.

“What’s the Brandel trust? Mr. Noonan said nothing about that yesterday,” said Snow.

“That’s another thing I’ll have to ask him.”

“If this Kelley character can hold up probate, do we get to stay on in Ireland?” asked Simon, eyes wide with hopefulness.

“
If
he can hold it up, we’ll have to see how long … but however long, you two have to be back in school come September ninth, and don’t forget it.”

That unholy pair exchanged glances, and I had the suspicion that I’d already acceded too much.

“I don’t know why you’re so keen to stay here when obviously there’s a lot of trouble brewing,” I said, feeling a bit put out with their connivery.

“Aw, Mom, it’s a lot better here than Westfield.”

“Right
now
.” I hinted at their well-known boredom.

“Ha!” Simon was contemptuous of my skepticism. “With trials and scrambles on every weekend?”

“And a horse for me to ride?” piped up Snow.

“We’ll see, we’ll see! Now let’s get organized.”

We’d tidied up and dressed and were going out the front door when I heard the phone ringing.

“Damn!”

“Mom!” Snow’s tone was exasperated. “It’s probably that Kelley character.”

It was nearly noon, and though I honestly doubted that Kelley would be presumptuous enough to beard me again, I didn’t want to put it to the test. So I left the phone ringing.

We found the nearest supermarket, which was more a discount house than a grocery. You could buy everything, including a TV. We had two huge shopping carts full, and I forked over £32 and odd pence, which didn’t seem like much to me until Snow did a rapid calculation and said we’d spent over $75. I was flabbergasted, but, as Snow pointed out, it was cheaper than eating out.

I must say, it was fun putting things away in our new kitchen, making discoveries in the dining room like the beautiful Staffordshire dinner set and the delicate Beleek tea service. We kept some of the table linens for our use and carried the rest upstairs to store. The closets were already fairly full of my great-aunt’s clothing. She couldn’t have been a very large person, and certainly hadn’t been given to frivolous clothes: Everything had a hard, durable look, though nothing appeared worn. Snow went into hysterics over the long-John winter drawers and knitted vests, but I advised her not to laugh.