Chain of Evidence (13 page)

‘She’s had nothing but what she has brewed herself,’ said the voice of Tomás from behind her. ‘My wife, Cait,’ he indicated a small thin woman with mild blue eyes who looked up in a fearful manner at him. She bobbed a quick acknowledgement of Mara’s greeting and Tomás smiled at her in a kindly fashion. ‘Cait,’ he continued, ‘was worried about how agitated and sleepless Slaney seemed to be – she couldn’t seem to relax, just kept pacing up and down the floor of her bedroom and twisting her hands together and sobbing.’

‘Wondering what was to become of her, poor soul.’ Cait heaved a sigh and cast her eyes piously in the direction of heaven.

‘I don’t think she would need to worry about that,’ said Mara in bracing tones. She thought about the likelihood of Slaney worrying about the future while Tomás was explaining that Cait had just given Slaney some medicine she flush-leftly took – a jar beside her bed, apparently. But why had the bereaved wife suddenly become so distraught? Slaney, she guessed, unless Garrett had gone to another lawyer to make a later will, would be very well endowed and would be able to go back to Galway, her native city and live there in comfort, if not luxury. Mara cast her mind back to the time, a few years ago, when Garrett had made his will. Yes, Slaney had been present, had interrupted so often and had reminded Garrett of various bequests in such an authoritative manner that her scholars had been helpless with giggles as they all rode away from the castle at Carron.

Slaney, in her right mind, could have had no doubt that she had been left extremely well provided for.

In the meantime, though, the woman seemed to be locked into some stupor – not a quiet sleep, either. She continuously tossed and turned and muttered as though haunted by nightmares. Mara looked across at Slaney’s personal maid.

‘Fetch me this medicine that your mistress brewed for her personal usage – the one that was given to her today.’

The woman gave a quick glance at Tomás, but he said nothing, so after a pause she went out of the room slowly as though reluctant or worried in some way. Mara waited
impassively
, her eyes on Slaney. The woman did dabble in various remedies; she knew that. And on many occasions, her fits of rage and her lack of self-control were deeply
embarrassing
to Garrett. Perhaps she had concocted something to calm her, or something to change her mood. Slaney’s pride would not allow her to consult a physician on the Burren as she had imbibed the Galway attitude: Galway people, who spoke the English language and lived by English laws and English customs, had contempt for the ways of the Gaelic Ireland, referring to the people as ‘mere Irish’.

There was silence after the maid had left the room and it was broken only by the mutterings of the woman on the bed. There was a feeling of tension in the air, thought Mara. It did not emanate from Tomás, who seemed perfectly at ease and in command of the situation. From his wife perhaps, who appeared fearful of him, or perhaps from the other women servants?

What were all these women doing in the room, anyway? wondered Mara. One woman, Slaney’s personal maid, should be enough. A suspicion crossed her mind that Tomás had them there to emphasise how Slaney was no longer – and could not be – mistress of the house, but was now a prisoner. And, perhaps, that he was now in command. This last thought angered her so much that she turned towards the woman who had been housekeeper of Carron Castle from right back to the time of Garrett’s father.

‘Have you been given orders to remain here?’ she asked, her eyes going to the other three maidservants who were standing around doing nothing.

The housekeeper’s eyes went to Tomás and then back to Mara.

‘Because, if not,’ said Mara pleasantly, but with a note of authority in her voice, ‘I’m sure that you have a lot to do with all of your visitors. Your presence here, and that of your maids, is probably unnecessary.’

Jarlath will need to take the reins of this household firmly into his own hands, was her thought. What a pity that Jarlath did not have a capable wife. Mara’s mind ran over suitable girls in the Burren as she waited for the housekeeper to finally leave the room. She was gesturing to the maids to go to the door but at the same time casting nervous glances over her shoulder at Tomás. I’ll find Jarlath a wife as soon as possible, thought Mara. A
taoiseach
needed a wife. Ardal O’Lochlainn, it was true, had no wife, but Ardal had a capable steward, an intelligent young man who managed everything for him. This housekeeper did not look too bright.

Once again there was that odd look from the housekeeper towards Tomás, almost as though she were asking for his permission, but he said nothing so the woman dropped a curtsey and jerked her head at the other servants indicating that they should follow her.

It seemed a relief when they were gone. Despite the cold weather the room was unpleasantly warm with a roaring fire in the chimney and several braziers, burning charcoal, dotted around the room which was hung with dust-laden tapestries and strong-smelling sheets of painted leather. Aidan wiped his brow and Hugh looked a little pale, his freckles standing out against his white skin. Mara was sorry for them.

‘Wait for me outside,’ she said and they went instantly, Moylan holding the door open for Fiona and then continuing to hold it as Slaney’s personal maid came back in with a small jar in her hand.

‘What is in it?’ asked Mara, holding the jar up to the light of the lamp above the bed and regretting her ignorance of herbs. Still, she thought, Nuala will be here soon and there was little that Nuala, even as a child, did not know about the properties of medicinal plants.

‘Cowbane and some other things; I’m not sure,’ said the woman hesitantly.

‘Cowbane!’ Mara’s voice rose with surprise. She knew nothing about the medicinal use of the plant but remembered clearly how Cumhal, her farm manager, scoured the marshy land on the edge of her property for traces of the tall white flowers and uprooted and burned every vestige of them – especially the roots. He had warned her and told her to warn the scholars never to touch the plant.

‘Some of the young ones might think to make whistles from the hollow stems,’ he had said. ‘They need to be told of its dangers. I’ve seen a cow die ten minutes after swallowing an uprooted plant.’

‘Are you sure that Slaney made a medicine using cowbane?’ she asked the maid.

‘Probably only used it in tiny quantities,’ said Tomás reassuringly and his miniature wife nervously nodded an agreement.

‘Better sure than sorry,’ said Mara weightily. ‘I’ll keep this and ask a physician about it.’

‘If you think that it would be best,’ he said with a note of indifference in his voice.

‘And there should be no question of locking the door; I shall speak to Jarlath about the proper courtesies due to the widow of his brother.’

‘Even if she were guilty of that terrible death—’

‘At the moment,’ said Mara firmly, ‘God alone knows why the poor man went down there alone and unarmed and faced the terrible stampede of cattle.’

She bent over the woman’s bed and took the wrist in her hand again. Slaney had shut her eyes now, but Mara was still not convinced that this was a flush-left sleep. Perhaps there was some level where she was conscious of those around her.

‘Don’t worry, Slaney,’ Mara said, replacing the wrist on the linen sheet, and deliberately speaking with a raised voice, ‘I shall make it my duty to find out what happened to your husband.’ She straightened and looked around at the assembled women and at Tomás’s brown eyes. Cait had moved over beside him, standing on tiptoe, and he was whispering in her ear. Had Cait been placed here as a jailor by the efficient Tomás; had his own wife been given the task of imprisoning the wife who was going to be blamed for her husband’s death? A feeling of anger came over her. Who was Tomás MacNamara to appoint himself as judge of this matter?

‘You may safely leave all investigation into this sad death to me and my scholars,’ she assured him, allowing a patronising note to creep into her voice and then turned towards the door as an elaborate triple knock from a fingernail came from it.

‘Yes, Moylan,’ she said opening it.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Brehon,’ said Moylan suavely, ‘but—’

But Mara had already seen the tall, broad-shouldered form of Jarlath behind him and she turned herself towards him with concern. Only the threat of the man bursting into Slaney’s bedchamber would have made Moylan disturb her. Something was wrong. Jarlath’s sea-browned face had a yellowish tinge to it and his lips were compressed. His voice, though, was steady when he spoke.

‘I need to speak to you about something very important, Brehon,’ he said and she moved towards him instantly, concerned for him and braced for more bad news. She waved back her scholars and Tomás who had followed her out of the room, and withdrew into the privacy of a window embrasure. The walls were about twenty-foot thick in this old part of the castle and they had complete privacy there, but Jarlath looked unable to come to the point. He moistened his lips, looked over her shoulder as though he feared that they would be followed, and when he did speak, his voice cracked uncertainly.

‘One of the maidservants told me that you were enquiring about a chain tied around Garrett’s leg, Brehon,’ he said eventually. ‘So you are sure that there was such a chain. I couldn’t understand it when you asked me about it, but I have been thinking of it since then.’

‘I did hear from someone that was the case, but it appeared, from what Slaney and the maids said, that they felt my
information
was incorrect,’ said Mara carefully.

‘Could it be that someone tied him up there in the path of the marauders?’ he muttered.

‘It doesn’t seem likely,’ she replied calmly, looking closely into his face by the light from the tiny window. ‘Remember that the report said that the chain was around one leg. Now, if it had been around both legs, and if the arms, also, had been bound, well then—’

‘Yes, but he could have worked loose from his bonds before the herd came. One could hear them from miles; everyone at the castle heard them apparently; all the clan members from Thomond were at the windows and some were on the roof when I arrived,’ he interrupted, his voice shaking.

‘So Tomás was on the roof, was he?’ asked Mara quickly.

‘No, no, Tomás went hunting for Garrett – he thought he was in Slaney’s bedroom but she shouted out that she had not seen Garrett for hours. By the time he got outside, it was too late to do anything. The MacNamara cows were already breaking out of the fields and running down the hills. Cows do that, you know. They will always join a herd.’

‘That’s right,’ said Mara. Cumhal had told her that. But what was bothering Jarlath? Why had he interrupted her? Why had he wanted to see her so urgently? What was there in the maid’s information to have upset a tough young man who had little acquaintance, little affection, probably, for a brother that he had not seen for years?

‘So you think this affair about a chain around Garrett’s leg was just a fancy, is that it?’ he asked. ‘Could have been a piece of torn material from his trews or from his jerkin?’ he added and she was sure that she heard a note of hope in his voice.

‘I don’t think that my witness would make a mistake like that,’ said Mara.

He stared at her for a moment. ‘So you believe that someone caused his death, do you?’ he asked and when she didn’t reply, he said hurriedly, ‘but who would have a motive to do something like that? I certainly could be held to . . .’ He stopped and when he spoke again his voice had changed.

‘That’s not really what I wanted to see you about, Brehon,’ he said. He straightened himself and moved back out towards the passageway outside Slaney’s bedroom and when he next spoke it was in a clear, fairly loud tone of voice.

‘All of the clan are assembled in the hall, Brehon,’ he said politely. ‘There is something that I wish to say and I would like you to be there to hear me say it. Would you come down, also, Tomás, and anyone else that can be spared from caring for Slaney, poor woman?’

Saying no more, he turned and began to go back down the staircase. Mara followed him without a word, though she was conscious that Tomás had uttered a startled question. Her scholars were behind her and she was glad to observe that none of them spoke and that they trooped down in a sober manner. Jarlath, she noticed as she turned the twist of the spiral staircase, was in the rear. She did not look at him. Soon she would know why she had been summoned. Could there have been another death? Or could it be a terrible revelation about the strange death of Garrett?

‘What is it?’ whispered Fiona to Moylan as they passed through the doorway into the hall.

Mara did not look at them. She, like they, was in the dark. The room was full of people including the tall, dark-haired figure of Stephen Gardiner, the emissary from Cardinal Wolsey in London. Apart from him, the hall held only the MacNamara clan as Rhona and her son Peadar were absent. All of the members of the
derbh fine,
the descendents of a single great-grandfather of royal blood, were present and several other members of the clan, also. Many of them were unknown, or only known slightly by her as the majority of the higher levels of the MacNamara clan lived in Thomond, south-east of the Burren. As she looked at them a door at the back of the hall opened and Cait, Tomás’s diminutive wife, came in with her tall son Adair and they both took their place beside Stephen Gardiner.

It was obvious that they were all puzzled by the summons. Several of them, by their wind-flushed faces, had been called in from the out-of-doors. Others looked as though they had been dozing in their chambers, awaiting the call to the evening meal. But there was no food or drink laid for them, just Jarlath standing by the great fireplace and looking very tense. He waited until all were inside and until the doors were closed and his relations seated or standing beside the walls, or ensconced into window seats.