Call Home the Heart (5 page)

 

 

"His wife!"

 

 

"Aye, Muireann Graham from Fintry in Scotland. They were on their
honeymoon, just married a fortnight in fact. That's why it seems so
unlikely that Augustine would have killed himself. It has to have
been an accident.  But the doubt is why I've come to you for
help. We need to be discreet, for Muireann's sake, and for the sake
of any unborn child she might be carrying.

 

 

"Also, I have to tell you now the estate is virtually bankrupt. In
the years I've been in Australia, he's run Barnakilla into the
ground with his gambling, drinking and hunting. No doubt womanizing
too, if the truth be told," Lochlainn said disgustedly.

 

 

"No, that was never Augustine's problem," the priest said quietly.
"The drinking and gambling kept him busy enough. So you're asking me
to bury him decently in my churchyard even though I can't be certain
he didn't take his own life?"

 

 

Lochlainn threw himself into a small wooden chair by the fire so
roughly that it groaned under the weight of his huge frame. "Would
it be so wrong? The poor girl has gone through enough!"

 

 

"I would imagine so, being married to Augustine," Father Brennan
said, looking ill at ease. "This girl, Muireann, I believe you
called her. What is she like?"

 

 

"A rare jewel," were the first words that sprang to Lochlainn's
lips. He blushed, and wanted to take back the words as soon as he
had said them, but it was best to be truthful with his old friend.

 

 

"I have no doubt Augustine married her for her money, but she seems
to have loved him. I wouldn't wish to hurt her, or disillusion her
in any way. Besides, any scandal about his death would have the
creditors swarming around Barnakilla like locusts. Please, if I can
convince Muireann to come back with me, to channel some of her
wealth into the place, then we might be able to keep the place
afloat."

 

 

"But if the estate is bankrupt, wouldn't it be best to get her to
sell it?"

 

 

He shook his head. "We would never get a good price, not if the
scandal broke. And even if it didn't, things are so bad now that we
would just have to take the first offer, no matter how low. It might
not be enough to cover all the debts. The new landlord would more
than likely have his own tenants and servants. Where would Ciara and
I go? Barnakilla has been our home all our lives. Only for the want
of a slip of paper,  a couple of words from old Douglas
Caldwell, Barnakilla could have been mine!"

 

 

"I did notice you keep using the word we," Father Brennan commented
shrewdly.

 

 

"All right, I admit it! I wish the place were mine, and I don't want
to leave. I've traveled around the world, but always, I dreamt of
coming home. I can't help it. It's in my blood," he declared in
agonized tones as he ran his fingers through his hair.

 

 

"Please, Father Brennan. Declan. You've never let me down in the
past. Please, help me now. It might just buy me the time I need, and
it wouldn't be harming anyone. I'm not just asking you to do this
for my sake. I'm asking you to do it to protect Muireann, who's
completely innocent of any wrongdoing. And for all the poor souls at
Barnakilla. They need a place to live, work to do, a kind landlord.

 

 

"As estate manager, I can improve their lives," he argued
passionately. "I can make a difference. If Muireann sells, they'll
have nothing, and nowhere to go if the new owner decides to enclose
the lands and put sheep in the fields. You know I'm right. It's
happened on far too many estates recently for you to think
otherwise, old friend."

 

 

"All right, Lochlainn," the priest decided at length. "If you can
tell me honestly that you think it was an accident, and that you're
not simply doing this for your own selfish motives, then I shall
agree."

 

 

Lochlainn rose from his chair. "Thank you, Declan. I can't tell you
what a weight that is off my mind."

 

 

"But one other thing before you leave, Lochlainn. How is Tara?"

 

 

He sucked in his breath, and felt as though he had been punched in
the gut at the abrupt question. But he was able to reply fairly
evenly, "She left me, Declan. Ran off to the Continent with
Christopher Caldwell, about a year after you moved here."

 

 

"I'm sorry," Father Brennan apologized. "No wonder you look as
though you've suffered cruelly."

 

 

"Australia was a pretty tough place, you know." He gave a tight
smile.  He moved quickly towards the door before Father Brennan
could ask any more uncomfortable questions.

 

 

"But now back to the business at hand, Father. The doctor has
released the body, the undertakers are coffining him now, and I've
arranged for the hearse and flowers. I just need you to set a time.
How soon can you manage to perform the funeral?"

 

 

"In view of the weather and the situation, the sooner the better. If
we don't hurry, the ground might freeze solid, and you'd have to
wait several days."

 

 

"We can't afford to wait," Lochlainn said bluntly. "I'm not even
sure we have enough money to pay the hotel bill."

 

 

Father Brennan shook his head. "I had no idea things had come to
such a pass. Very well then, if I get my sexton out with his son
right now, can you be ready by noon?"

 

 

"Aye, I can. I just hope Muireann will be."

 

 

"Go tell the undertaker the arrangements, and I shall meet you
here."

 

 

"I'll see you at noon, then. Thank you, Declan," Lochlainn said,
pumping the priest's hand as he took his leave.

 

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

After his visit to St. Francis's to arrange Augustine's funeral with
Father Brennan, Lochlainn ran back to the undertaker's as fast as he
could. Then he returned to the hotel just long enough to tell
Muireann the arrangements, and collect all of Augustine's luggage
from the manager, Mr. Burns.

 

 

"She couldn't bear to have any reminders of him, you know,"
Lochlainn lied, as he took the valises away, "so I think I'll donate
them to charity,"

 

 

With the cash he was able to raise by taking all of dead man's
personal effects and jewelry down to a pawn shop, Lochlainn was able
to pay off the undertaker and the hotel bill and other expenses they
had incurred in Dublin for the previous two nights. He thanked the
gods he had managed to strike some good bargains.

 

 

As he counted the notes and coins one more time just to be sure, he
heaved a huge sigh of relief. He had just enough left over for one
more night at an inn on the way back to Enniskillen, and for food
and livery there.

 

 

 But even as he thanked the gods again for his good fortune,
wondered how on earth he was going to manage after that. There was
no help for it. He would have to tell Muireann something soon. But
not now. Not until after the funeral.

 

 

Lochlainn went back to the Gresham and paid the bill. He asked if
the manager would be kind enough to let him hold onto the room just
until the evening, so that Muireann could rest after the service
before heading into the country.

 

 

Mr. Burns was most accommodating. "So long as you're out by six,
that will be fine. Once again, I'm terribly sorry about all this. I
was only too glad to be of service."

 

 

"You have been, sir, more than you could know." Lochlainn shook the
older man warmly by the hand.

 

 

 

Lochlainn went upstairs and supervised Muireann's toilette. "If you
insist on coming, my dear, you'll need as many layers on you as you
can carry. Come on, take out your warmest dress, and your shawls and
a good muff."

 

 

Muireann opened one valise, and shook out a gown from the bottom,
putting the others in a neat pile on the bed without even looking at
them.

 

 

"This is my warmest dress. Will brown do? I'm afraid I haven't got
anything black."

 

 

"It will be fine under your cloak," he reassured her. "It's black."

 

 

He watched her disappear behind the screen to change.

 

 

She came out only a few moments later wearing the rich sable velvet
gown, with black lace trimmings at the wrist and throat, and a lacy
black jabot decorating the front. "I have a black bonnet too, in
this hat box," she said, crossing over to the pile of cases.

 

 

"Good," he said, and bent to check her boots. "These are a bit
flimsy. Have you anything heavier?"

 

 

"I have my old pair which I used to use for long walks at Fintry.
They're a bit scuffed, but I've just had them resoled."

 

 

"Let's see them."

 

 

She dug in one of her smaller bags, where she had packed the most
precious items from her old home, and showed them to him.

 

 

"A bit of polish and they'll be fine," he said, and called down the
corridor for the boot boy.

 

 

He certainly didn't want Muireann to look like an impoverished widow
at the funeral, but all the same, she had to be warm.

 

 

Oddly, the old boots cheered him somewhat, for they seemed to
confirm that his instincts about Muireann had been correct. His
first impression of her as haughty, and his second impression of her
as an overdressed china doll when he had seen her go down to supper
the night she had arrived in an impossibly flouncy gown, had been
the wrong assessments. She had a certain amount of steel in her
character which he simply had to exploit for his own ends.

 

 

He felt guilty about leading her into a trap, but as he had told
Father Brennan, it wasn't just for himself that he wished to get the
Caldwell estate out of the dire straits it was in. There were over a
hundred tenants at Barnakilla. He knew they all owed rent, but times
had been hard for everyone in recent years. He just had to find some
way to make ends meet for all their sakes.

 

 

"I'm ready," she announced a few moments later as she straightened
up and tested her boots to make sure they were tied securely, and
then looped the ribbons of her bonnet under her chin.

 

 

Again, Lochlainn found it odd that she dressed so rapidly and didn't
seem the least bit interested in her hair or clothes. He noted that
she wore virtually no ornaments apart from her wedding ring. Yet she
had to be wealthy if Augustine had married her… He had been
incapable of love.

 

 

"Let's go." He put on his hat, and took her arm. He escorted her
down the stairs hurriedly, hoping to avoid the prying eyes of
members of the public as they crossed the lobby. He hoped the
carriage was waiting for them outside as he had ordered.

 

 

The cold weather continued unabated, making it dangerously icy
underfoot. Lochlainn felt Muireann slip, and he steadied her quickly
as she began to slide.

 

 

"Thank you," she said breathlessly as she at last scrambled safely
into the seat he propelled her towards. She offered him a hand up as
his boot skidded on the iced-over metal stair. Her grip was strong
and firm, he noted, as he hauled himself up and sat next to her.

 

 

He knew he should have gone to sit above on the box with the driver,
since by rights he was little more than a servant. But Muireann had
made it quite clear by offering her hand that he was to sit inside
with her.

 

 

At any rate, it was bitterly cold outside. It would do no one any
good if he got pneumonia. She certainly seemed to need his warmth as
she nestled closely against him under the traveling rugs and
observed, "It's freezing."

 

 

"Aye, that's why Father Brennan wanted to take care of the matter
straight away," he said as he tucked her into the corner of the
carriage. He draped the folds of his cloak securely over her lap
before once more settling the carriage rugs over them both.

 

 

He pointed out several impressive-looking buildings as they traveled
through the snowy streets, such as Trinity College and Christ Church
Cathedral.

 

 

Muireann had to admit to herself that despite her difficult
circumstances, she enjoyed the impromptu tour of the city. She
looked with interest at all the things Lochlainn pointed out to her,
and was certainly pleased with what she saw.

 

 

Ireland had often been ridiculed in her hearing as a troublesome,
backward sort of place, but certainly Dublin seemed a fairly modern
European capital.

 

 

"And Australia, what was it like?" she asked conversationally as the
coach lurched to and fro on the icy streets, occasionally throwing
them intimately together.

 

 

"Very hot some days, freezing the next, all of that and rainy in
Melbourne. I worked all over, mainly with cattle, but also doing
some carpentry and blacksmith's work, which I picked up over the
years at Barnakilla.

 

 

"Some of the country is like a desert, no green for miles. After
Ireland, well, I just couldn't get used to the bleakness. That's why
I had to return. When my sister wrote to me and said that Augustine
was begging me to come back and look after things as I had done when
his father was alive, I jumped at the chance," he told her. "I'd
made some money, enough to keep myself and my sister comfortably,
but not enough to set up my own place, as I had once dreamed."