Whistle for the Crows Page 10

  “We’re not travelling together!”

  “Just as you like. But I’ve an empty car.”

  “Rory!” She leaned forward. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Magdalene was so certain Shamus wasn’t married. You knew your brother. Would he have deceived a girl like that?”

  Rory began to shake his head. Then he seemed to recollect himself and said lightly, “An O’Riordan will deceive anyone if he’s in a tight corner. Hasn’t your research proved that to you? Drink up your wine and I’ll take you back to your hotel.”

  It was the hotel where, her first morning in Dublin, the five cats had cried outside her window. Cathleen had looked for them on her arrival today, but they hadn’t been anywhere in sight.

  “The money,” said Rory softly. “Seriously. For your peace of mind. It’s too negotiable.”

  The dark street was empty. No, not quite. A thin tall man slouched by, his cap pulled over his eyes. He paused at the corner, looking back, then disappeared into, a doorway. Cathleen didn’t think the door opened. No shaft of light showed.

  “Will you take it from me, anyway?”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, blast you!” She took the bundle of notes from her bag and thrust them at him. “Who’s interfering now?”

  “Me,” said Rory, and pulled her into his arms.

  She struggled violently.

  “I like you went you come to life.” His face was close to hers.

  “Let me go! You—you Irish barbarian!”

  “Green,” he said to himself. “Sparkling green.” And kissed her slowly and thoroughly.

  “Your eyes;” he added.

  “You’re drunk,” Cathleen said in angry disgust.

  “Not at all.” He drawled the brogue. “Actually, that was for the benefit of the fellow on the corner. I have a small feeling he was watching us. Sure, mavourneen, you’re in a hurry to leave me!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE INCIDENT LAST NIGHT might not have happened. Cathleen sat in the car outside the bleak grey walls of the orphanage waiting for a sober and silent Rory who had done no more than bid her a brief good morning when he had picked her up. Her rehearsed cold remark, “I’ll travel with you because it’s convenient, but just don’t touch me,” remained unsaid. It merely seemed silly, like the behaviour of an hysterical virgin. It was evident that Rory hadn’t the slightest desire to touch her.

  She could hear the voices of the children. They were playing in the yard beyond the brick wall. A ball was bouncing, and there were shrill screams. They sounded like ordinary children despite the fact that they had been abandoned so early in life. She longed to see them. She knew she would search their features, as Rory no doubt was doing at this moment.

  It was almost an hour before Rory returned. He apologized for keeping her waiting.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Talking to the sisters. The children seem happy and well-cared for.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re turning philanthropic.”

  He turned and gave her his unexpected sunny charming grin.

  “Let’s hear your guess as to what I was doing. I’m sure you’ve got a most original one.”

  “I expect you were checking admissions and sponsors, or whatever orphanages require to admit a child.”

  “And thereby found my long-lost nephew? Or by that look on your face, you might even be thinking it was my own son. The only admission recently, you might be interested to hear, was one Peter Brady, the youngest of a destitute family of nine, the father a drunkard, the mother on the streets. He’s a bright little fellow, all the same. A mop of red hair. You like them red-haired, don’t you?”

  “And who was responsible for getting him in?”

  “Who do you think? My tender-hearted and good Aunt Tilly. She’s a great worker, God bless her. Well, Cathleen. Did you sleep well?”

  That was two little boys, fatherless, or virtually fatherless. Tammy Burke and Peter Brady. What had either of them to do with the O’Riordans?

  “Sleep? Oh, well enough.” She hadn’t fallen asleep until long after midnight, and then had been awakened by the sudden agonized squawk of a cat. It sounded as if it had received a mortal injury, and she had sprang out of bed to look out of the window at the low roof where the cats congregated.

  There was no four-legged creature in sight, but a long narrow shadow lay across the galvanized iron. Her heart had jumped violently. She had thought it had moved, and that it was a man. Then she had realized that it was bright moonlight, and a tall chimney cast the shadow.

  All the same, she had closed and locked her window before going back to bed. She had been remembering the tall thin shadow that had slunk into a doorway as Rory had outrageously kissed her goodnight.

  “You’ll be seeing Peter Brady for yourself,” Rory said, as an afterthought. “He’s one of the lucky ones chosen for the great outing to Loughneath Castle. Does that satisfy you?”

  “I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

  “Exactly what I’ve been telling you all the time.”

  He wasn’t being facetious any more. The sober stern look had come back to his face. He didn’t start the car for a minute, but said, “Can you bear to make another call before we leave Dublin?”

  “Peter Brady’s parents?”

  “How did you guess?” he said ironically. “If they’re home. And sober. Sister Mary Martha gave me the address. Let’s go.”

  The house was in a poor street full of noisy children, dustbins, and slinking grey cats. It had dirty torn lace curtains pulled across the windows. The woman who came to the door was a slattern with a scarf tied round her head. A squalling infant inside, and her half-buttoned dress, suggested that she had been interrupted in feeding the baby.

  “Are you Mrs. Brady?” asked Rory pleasantly.

  “I am not. I’m Mrs. Dooley. What would you be wanting?”

  “Does a family called Brady live here?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Not in this street. You must have the wrong address.”

  She stared inquisitively. A gaggle of children had gathered round the car. When the woman saw that Rory was not going to make any explanation she said disappointedly, “That’s my baby yelling his head off. I’ll have to go back to him.” She was unbuttoning her dress as she went.

  “Wrong address,” Rory said briefly, as he got into the car.

  The children scattered, with little puffs of dust, a flight of bedraggled sparrows.

  “Deliberately?” Cathleen asked.

  “Who knows?”

  “But wouldn’t the sisters at the orphanage look into an admission case more fully?”

  “Not,” said Rory dryly, “if sponsored by my aunt.”

  After a long time Cathleen asked the question that worried her most.

  “Will your aunt be in danger?”

  “How?”

  “If she doesn’t get the money you took from me last night.”

  “You mean, because she might not be the golden goose any longer? Well, I suppose even that fabulous creature came to an end of her eggs at some time. I intend to put a stop to whatever nonsense Aunt Tilly is up to. It shouldn’t be difficult. If it’s blackmail, the blackmailer couldn’t be more stupid, could he? Writing infantile anonymous letters. I should think he’s probably a fairly harmless lunatic.”

  “If this is all about a baby, even the possible heir to Loughneath, how can your aunt be blackmailed? What would she have to hide?”

  Rory frowned. He made no answer to that.

  “You would be the obvious person, wouldn’t you? Someone may think you wouldn’t like an heir to turn up. Or even,” she continued boldly, “that you may be hiding him.”

  “Having first murdered his mother,” said Rory levelly. “Or do you give me credit for stopping short of murder?”

  Cathleen stared ahead. After a long time she said, “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean a word of tha
t.”

  “Thanks.”

  She moved slightly nearer to him. She didn’t deserve to be forgiven. She couldn’t explain how important it had been to believe that he was innocent, nor tell him of this first small flowering of trust in him.

  So there was silence again while the miles slid away. At last they were back in the familiar stone wall country, and approaching Loughneath.

  “Keep your eyes open,” said Rory. “Tell me if you see the tinker.”

  But the roads were empty. There was no plump donkey and cart, no sardonic whistling man with his shiny pots and pans. At Loughneath, Rory stopped the car and leaned out to the group of old men sitting, like shabby ungroomed cats, in a sunny doorway.

  “There’s been a tinker around here. Have you seen him lately?”

  “Not today, no sir.”

  “Yesterday?”

  “Yesterday morn, sir. He were going here with a great clatter. Woke the missus!”

  “Has he been in these parts long?”

  “No, sir. Says he come from Connemara, but I’d be thinking he’s a stranger in these parts. He bought the donkey from Paddy Doolan not three days since. Said his own had dropped dead in the shafts. He had money to pay for it, Paddy said. Paddy said he’d a mind to go tinkering himself, if money came that easy.”

  “Thanks,” said Rory.

  The cool fingers of fear were touching Cathleen’s heart again. It had been absurd of her to think that the dark-faced man could have come all the way from Dublin in a donkey and cart. No doubt he had driven a car that was a good deal faster than Miss O’Riordan’s ancient Rolls.

  The grey roads winding between the grey stone walls seemed very empty…

  Liam came out to meet them.

  “Well—had a good time?” He was looking only at Cathleen. His voice was deliberately light, his eyes furious.

  Rory got out of the car.

  “Where’s Aunt Tilly?”

  “Don’t ask me. In her room, I imagine.”

  Rory went inside without another word. Liam looked after him, losing a little of his hostility in curiosity.

  “What’s the matter with him?”

  “I think he has things to talk about. How’s Red?”

  Liam answered absently.

  “He’ll be all right. I dosed him up last night. What’s happened? Why is Rory rushing off to Aunt Tilly like that?”

  “Nothing’s happened. That’s just the point. It’s like stabbing at a shadow. I’m glad Red’s going to be all right. It would have been awful if anything had happened to him.”

  Liam, aware of Cathleen’s sincerity, relaxed a little.

  “Thanks. You don’t know how sorry I was about last night.” His face darkened again. “I didn’t know I couldn’t trust my own brother.”

  “We only ate together and talked about things. When I saw him I thought it was you.”

  “Were you disappointed?”

  “Liam, stop sticking out your lip like that. You’re like a small boy.”

  “I don’t feel like one, I assure you. I could have killed Rory going off like that, knowing you were mine.”

  “Yours!” Cathleen exclaimed in astonishment. “Aren’t you being a little premature?”

  He pulled her towards him.

  “I’m not premature,” he said, kissing her hard and painfully.

  She sprang away angrily, startled by her feeling of revulsion.

  “I won’t stand this sort of thing! I won’t! Rory last night and now you—What’s wrong with you both? You act as if you’ve lived in a monastery.”

  “I love you,” Liam said. “I’m speaking for myself. And I won’t stand you fooling about with my brother.”

  “Liam, will you get this straight!” Cathleen said furiously. “I wasn’t fooling about with Rory. He was only—” she stopped, realizing that now she was about to defend Rory for his particular brand of outrageousness. She sighed, deeply and wearily.

  “If you must know, we were only doing a little investigating.”

  Liam watched her intently.

  “What sort of investigating?”

  “We called at the orphanage to see a child. At least, Rory did.”

  “This wild-goose chase! What happened?”

  “He was a little boy called Peter Brady. Your aunt had arranged for his admission. But whether that’s his real name or not, we don’t know. We couldn’t find his parents. The other name, Moira—”

  “Moira?”

  Cathleen suddenly felt immensely tired. The whole of yesterday and today was taking on the quality of fantasy.

  “Shamus’s wife. I hadn’t known that was her name. It’s pretty, isn’t it? I fancied she had something to do with the tinker, but we couldn’t find him. Other days he has his head stuck in the car at every opportunity.”

  “Cathleen—” Liam had come close. He looked deeply concerned. “You’re talking nonsense, do you realize? I expect you’ve been up most of the night, and travelling all day. That’s why you’re not making sense. Did you do Aunt Tilly’s errand safely?”

  “Oh, yes. But Rory thought he ought to take charge of the money. He told me to lock my door at the hotel. Yes, it does sound like a bad film, doesn’t it?”

  “Worse than that. Do you think you were wise to trust Rory so much? I certainly wouldn’t have. Well, never mind. I think Kitty’s making tea. You look ready for it. And Cathleen?”

  “Yes?”

  “Try to take me seriously.”

  “I do, I assure you.” She tried to laugh. “So much so that you worry me. I only want to be left alone.”

  “Then you’ll have to make that clear to Rory, too, won’t you?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said coldly. “I can cope.”

  But could she? Now, with jealousy, as well as everything else?

  Liam had disappeared when Cathleen had washed and come down to tea. There was only Kitty, serious and uncommunicative, at the table.

  “Where’s everyone?” Cathleen forced herself to speak brightly.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I was talking to Liam five minutes ago.”

  Kitty’s eyes flickered. “He’s gone down to the stables.”

  “Oh, yes. He’s worried about Red. How has your mother been, and your aunt?”

  “You’ve only been away twenty-four hours, Mrs. Lamb. Nothing much happens in that time.”

  “Will your aunt be coming down to tea?”

  Cathleen’s mouth felt dry as she thought of trying to explain to Miss O’Riordan why Rory and not she had the money. It had been a private errand on which she had been sent, and she seemed to have messed it up completely. But had Miss O’Riordan ever tried to withstand Rory?

  “I expect so,” said Kitty. “If she isn’t too upset.”

  “Upset?”

  “She’s been quarrelling with Rory. But that’s nothing unusual. Oh, here she is now.”

  Miss O’Riordan came in smiling. Her long face was arranged in an expression of courteous welcome.

  “Well, Mrs. Lamb. Now we’ll be able to get down to work again. I hope you feel up to a late session tonight.”

  “Certainly, Miss O’Riordan.”

  “You didn’t miss too much sleep last night?”

  Her affability mystified Cathleen.

  “I’m not tired at all. I’m sorry I couldn’t complete the errand you gave me, Miss O’Riordan. I hope I didn’t do wrong—”

  “Rory has explained everything, thank you, Mrs. Lamb. We must allow him his eccentricities. He’s an O’Riordan, after all. What do you think, Kitty, Rory has been showing an interest in my orphanage.”

  Kitty shot her a startled look.

  “Don’t look so disbelieving. There may be some good in your brother after all. He had a long chat with Sister Mary Martha. He even took a look at the children who will be coming on Saturday. Yes,” she wagged a long forefinger, “I knew that would surprise you. But there’s more. He gave me something towards expenses. Now what do you mak
e of that? It must be your civilizing influence, Mrs. Lamb.”

  So nothing more was to be said about the five hundred pounds, which may or may not have changed hands. Now she wasn’t to know whether Miss O’Riordan had had to forgo her passion for a gamble on a horse, or not. Nor was she to know what the old lady thought of the situation. The O’Riordans obviously stood together.

  There was only a minute to slip up to the sickroom before dinner.

  Peggy greeted her eagerly.

  “I’m sure she’s been looking for you. There’s been something on her mind. I can tell.”

  But to Cathleen the face on the pillow showed no change. She looked down at the fragile crumpled cheeks, the eyes turned up like fading flowers. She didn’t know how Peggy Moloney could guess that there was something on her patient’s mind, since there seemed to be no mind at all. But suddenly it seemed unbearably frustrating that inside that brain, if only it could be revived, lay the key to the whole puzzle.

  She was never to know what made her lean forward and say clearly,

  “Moira! Moira Regan! Does that name mean anything to you, Mrs. O’Riordan?”

  With shocking abruptness the woman in the bed began to make her whimpering cries.

  “Oh, dear!” exclaimed Peggy. “Now you’ve upset her. She hasn’t cried all day. There, there, dearie. It’s all right. It’s only Mrs. Lamb. She’s been to Dublin. She’s had a wonderful time. Hope you did,” she added to Cathleen out of the corner of her mouth.

  For no reason at all, Cathleen was thinking of Rory’s kiss. Her lips seemed to burn.

  “Do you think she didn’t like me saying that name?”

  “I doubt it would mean anything to her,” Peggy said cheerfully. “Who was this Moira Regan, anyway?”

  “She was Shamus’s wife. That’s if he had—Oh, never mind. I’ll have to fly or Miss O’Riordan will be up, and she won’t like finding me here.”

  As at tea, there were only Miss O’Riordan, Kitty and Cathleen at dinner. Places were laid for the two men, but neither appeared.

  Mary Kate had her usual grumble about keeping meals hot for all hours, and Miss O’Riordan said firmly,