Cashelmara (97 page)

When he saw me he was so surprised that it took him a moment to swing his feet to the floor.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said, hardening his voice to show me he was making a quick recovery. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to apologize.”

“No, Mr. Drummond,” I said, more determined than ever now to get what I wanted. “I haven’t come to apologize. I’ve come to deal you a hand that’ll suit us both.”

HE LAUGHED. “THOSE ARE
words I never thought I’d hear used against me!” He tapped the ash from his cigar and gestured to one of the chairs that flanked the fireplace. “Sit down and deal your hand in comfort!”

When I stood my ground he shrugged his shoulders and leaned casually against the edge of the desk. He was still holding his big cigar. “Why don’t you wait for your temper to cool?” he said. “Come back tomorrow morning and say your piece. It’s all the same to me.”

I still said nothing.

“Faith, Ned, I’m sorry to see you being childish enough to bear me a grudge. You should take it as a compliment that I treat you as I’d treat my own sons.”

“You haven’t treated your sons very well,” I said. “And now, if you’ve finished giving yourself time to think, perhaps we can begin. Let me start by saying there are certain facts you should understand. One: Kerry’s a virgin. Two: I’m not a liar and you’ve no right to call me one. Three: I’m marrying Kerry on my birthday, December the fifth, and you’re going to persuade my mother to give her unqualified consent. Have I made myself clear?”

He roared with laughter, mocking me. “Well, you’ve dealt me a hand that suits yourself!” he said, amused. “But why should that suit me?”

“You want to continue living here and pretending to be a gentleman, don’t you?”

The laughter died from his eyes. Recognizing the insult as the challenge I intended it to be, he decided to take me seriously. “I’m a good agent,” he said flatly, “and that’s no pretense.”

“True, it’s not merely a pretense. It’s a lie. With my mother’s permission you’ve been helping yourself to my money for some time now, and if I chose I could ask the judge in Chancery to remove my mother as trustee. Then my uncles would dismiss you from your job.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “My old home’s rebuilt now and it’s not yours to dispose of as you please. I’ll go back there and make a fine living for myself. I always was a good farmer, and there’s no reason why your mother shouldn’t enjoy living there with me. I’d see she was comfortable, and she would be near enough to Cashelmara to see the children every day.”

I began to understand how he had won his gold watch at poker. Panic simmered in me, but I kept my fists unclenched and willed myself to be calm.

“Come, Mr. Drummond,” I said reasonably, “you know very well that my mother would never humiliate herself and her children by sinking as low as that. Her present humiliation is more than enough for her to bear. If you were disgraced she’d leave you.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, smiling at last. “She’ll never leave me.”

The appalling part was that I knew he was right. I stared, my back burning from the beating he had given me, my sore arm throbbing, and found to my horror that I had nothing to say.

He stopped lounging against the desk and stood up as if the conversation were already over. “Besides, no judge in Chancery would remove your mother from her position as trustee,” he said, taking a casual puff at his fat cigar as he demolished the rest of my threat. “I’ll admit she’s been generous to me, but she’s spent no money that couldn’t be written off in a lawful way. She knows how to keep books, you see, and to be sure no one would ever prove she’d been guilty of mismanagement.”

Defeat stared me in the face, but I refused to see it. I had never in all my life been so determined not to lose, and suddenly the enormity of my desperation pushed me to a pitch of hatred so intense that my brain was emptied of all emotion, even fear. A single thought, at first no more than a fleck of instinct but soon a huge billowing cloud of total belief, filled my mind until I felt my head would split with the pain of it, and the thought was: This man killed my father.

My voice said coolly, “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I couldn’t prove my mother had been guilty of mismanagement. But I think I could prove she was guilty of murder.”

The cigar in his hand went out. He had stubbed it accidentally against the desk as he swung around to face me. Above the fireplace the elephant clock ticked quietly, marking time until I chose to speak again.

I said, “Of course we both know my mother’s not a murderess, but she did visit my father shortly before he became ill, and if it was found that my father didn’t die of his liver disorder her position might become very difficult indeed.”

Drummond said evenly in a firm voice, “Your father died of drink. There was no murder. Your father died a natural death.”

“I’m glad you’re so certain,” I said. “In that case you’ll have no objection if I write to the Chief Secretary in Dublin and request permission for my father’s body to be exhumed for an autopsy.”

He ground the cigar to ashes in the tray and reached for the bottle of whisky. “You crazy boy,” he said, not looking at me. “Don’t be such a damned fool.”

“You arranged matters very well, didn’t you? At first I thought my mother’s visit to Clonagh Court was an accident, that she had gone without your knowledge, but now I see it wasn’t an accident at all. You let her go because she was going to act as a shield for you. You knew that if there was any suspicion later the family would cover it up in order to protect her. It was a clever piece of bluff and well worthy of your talents at poker, but that’s finished now because I intend to call that bluff of yours and bring the truth out into the open.”

“You’ll do nothing that’ll hurt your mother,” he said, pouring himself another shot of whisky.

“In normal circumstances no, I wouldn’t. But these aren’t normal circumstances, Mr. Drummond. If I have to choose between my mother and Kerry I’m going to choose Kerry.”

He was silent.

“I’m choosing now,” I said. “Get me my mother’s consent to the marriage and I’ll leave you and my mother alone. Stand in my way and you’ll both be facing a coroner’s jury within a month. It’s up to you.”

He drank the whisky in a single gulp. While he was considering the situation I thought it prudent to add, “I’ve already posted a letter to Mr. Rathbone in London and enclosed a second letter which is to be opened only in the event of my death. I thought it wise to list my suspicions on paper and make a written demand for an autopsy. In the circumstances I’m sure you’ll understand why I felt such precautions were necessary.”

I stopped. He remained silent. His glass was empty, his cigar a mangled ruin, his face closed and still.

“Well, Mr. Drummond,” I said, “are you going to help me?”

He backed away around the desk and sat down in the chair. He moved slowly, as if it were a relief to take the weight off his legs, and at last he said without looking at me, “So be it. I wash my hands of you. I’ve tried to prevent you from making the mistake of your life, but if you don’t want to listen there’s nothing I can be doing about it. Go and marry the girl, but don’t ever come whining to me later to ask why I didn’t try harder to stop you being such a goddamned fool.”

All I said to him was “I shall expect my mother’s consent within twenty-four hours.”

“I’ll speak to her tonight.”

It was over. I’d done it. I’d beaten him to his knees.

“Very well. Good night, Mr. Drummond,” I said shortly and hurried upstairs as fast as I could to write my confidential letter to Mr. Rathbone.

“But, Ned,” said my mother in tears, “how can you think such things about Maxwell, who’s always been so good to you? And how can you threaten me as if you no longer loved me?”

“I do love you,” I said, “but I love Kerry too.”

“How can you love her! You’re too young to know what the word means! Listen, Ned, never mind what I said to you yesterday about Kerry’s reputation. Better that she should have no reputation than that you should marry when you’re only sixteen.”

“No, Sarah!” exclaimed Drummond strongly. “How could I face Phineas Gallagher again if I stood by and knowingly let such a thing happen?”

“Why should I care about the Gallaghers!” she cried. “I wish to God we’d never met them!”

“If we hadn’t we’d still be in America. Sarah sweetheart, you’ve got to be reasonable about this.”

“I refuse to consent, I tell you! I’ll never, never consent.”

“Sarah, it’s blind you are or you’d see things differently! You can’t truly want the shame and scandal of an autopsy. Haven’t your children been through enough shame and scandal already?”

“Patrick died a natural death,” said my mother. “Everyone said so. ‘It was the result of his drinking,’ Madeleine said. Madeleine did say that, didn’t she, and Dr. Cahill agreed with her.”

“He did, yes.”

“Then why, why, why does Ned keep talking about an autopsy?”

There was a pause. My mother started to cry again. After a long while Drummond said, “Let him marry, Sarah.”

My mother tried to speak but could not. I suspected she had at last realized there was nothing she could say.

“Let him do as he wants.” Drummond was still trying to make it easier for her. “When he tires of her later at least he’ll have the money to set himself free and start again.”

“Roman Catholics don’t recognize divorce,” said my mother, weeping harder than ever, but I knew her tears weren’t for my conversion to Rome.

Drummond found it best to pretend they were. “His feelings for Rome are all bound up with his feelings for Kerry, don’t you see? He’ll get over Rome when he gets over her, and it’ll all sort itself out. It won’t be the end of the world. Give in to him now and let him make his own mistakes. Sometimes you have to let children make their own mistakes, so let go, Sarah, because you’ll win nothing now by clinging on. Consent to the marriage, give it your blessing and welcome Kerry as your daughter-in-law.”

“I can’t,” sobbed my mother, forgetting in her distress that she had no choice. “That plain, dumpy, common little girl …”

“Sarah, Sarah …” He brushed his hand across her lips as if to smooth away the words and stooped over her. “Don’t say any more. Not in front of Ned. Please, for your own sake.”

It was only then that she managed to take his advice and hold her tongue. However, when I saw her later she seemed more resigned to the situation and even went so far as to apologize for her harsh words.

“I was only anxious to do what was best for you,” she said, trying to smile. “I still can’t pretend that I want you to marry when you’re so young, but I see now that Maxwell was right and that it would be better for me to accept the situation.”

I accepted the cue she gave me and thanked her for being so understanding.

She looked relieved. “Please forgive me for being so overwrought earlier, darling. It was such a shock, that’s all—a shock that you were so much in earnest about Kerry.”

I saw the game we were to play with each other. We were to pretend that she had consented to the marriage of her own free will though against her better judgment Perhaps she had even managed to convince herself that Drummond was innocent and that they were both opposed to an autopsy solely on account of the scandal involved.

“I didn’t mean one word I said about Kerry,” she said, stumbling over the lie. “I do truly hope you’ll be happy.”

“Thank you, Mama,” I said, trying not to be angry with her, and offered my cheek dutifully for a kiss.

Telegrams were dispatched to Boston and London, a letter was sent to Clonareen, and within an hour my aunt Madeleine was sailing up the drive in her pony trap to demand an audience with my mother. My mother, panicking, summoned me from my lessons, and when I arrived in the drawing room I found her collapsed weakly on the sofa, while Aunt Madeleine, implacable in navy blue, was stationed in front of the chimney piece.

“Edward,” said my aunt, “tell me the truth this instant. To marry in haste at the age of sixteen suggests to me only one possible interpretation of what has passed between you and Kerry. Kindly provide me with another.”

“Certainly, Aunt Madeleine,” I said. “I’ve decided to become a Roman Catholic and have no wish to imperil my immortal soul by committing a mortal sin. I happen to have very strong views on the subject of fornication.”

“Most gratifying,” said Aunt Madeleine. “Are you receiving instruction from Father Donal? You are? I was afraid so. I’ve no wish to be uncharitable, but the poor man is quite uneducated and hardly fit to give you the kind of instruction you need before being received into the Church. For instance, it seems he has omitted to stress to you the importance in certain circumstances of self-denial and celibacy. Dear child, no one is happier than I am that God has granted you such spiritual enlightenment and has chosen to save you from moral corruption, but it’s quite out of the question that you should marry at the age of sixteen.”

“I’ve told him that again and again, Madeleine,” said my mother in tears. “But he won’t listen to me.”

“I shouldn’t think he would,” said Aunt Madeleine coldly. “You’ve only yourself to blame, Sarah, if he’s become quite unmanageable. What sort of an example has he been set during these past few years? How can he have any respect for you? You’re going to have a lot of trouble with those children, Sarah, and this is only the beginning. However, I fail to see why the sins of the parents should be visited on the children, and if Ned is so uncontrollable that you find you have no choice but to consent to the marriage, I certainly shan’t hold him to blame. The responsibility for the disaster will be entirely yours, Sarah, and you can tell That Man I said so. Good day.”

When my uncles arrived at Cashelmara a week later my mother at once retired to her room with a migraine and I was left to defend myself single-handed against their disapproval.

“I insist on knowing the truth,” said Uncle Thomas, very grim.

“Certainly,” I said. “I intend to get married and my mother has given her consent.”