The Kilternan Legacy (4 page)

“But you said my great-aunt wouldn’t sell to him.” I was rather confused.

Kieron Thornton grinned. “So I did. And so she wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” I said, not much wiser.

“Then you don’t intend to sell?”

“Sell what? The right of way?”

“No, the queendom?”

“The queendom?”

Kieron Thornton frowned, as one will at an idiot child. “This”—his gesture included the lane, the house, the cottages, and the fields beyond—“is what your Great-aunt Irene called her queendom.”

“I didn’t know that.” Then I caught his look of exasperated disapproval—so much like that mood of Teddie’s that I quaked and hastily began to explain. “Please, I only arrived yesterday. We’ve only just now looked through the house. I haven’t a clue … And then there’s this man bothering me with an offer.”

Simon and Snow stepped closer to me, their protectiveness registering with Thornton, who made a slight bow of acknowledgment.

“I’m not talking out of turn by saying that this property is worth a great deal, Mrs. Teasey, to the wrong people. A great deal more, not necessarily in terms of money, to the right ones. I was very fond of your great-aunt. She asked me to protect her queendom”—and he smiled gently as he used the odd word —“until you got here. Then she asked me—” He stopped, changing his mind with a rueful smile.

“You were about to say, Mr. Thornton?”

“She asked me to help you, if I could and you would.”

“My great-aunt and I never met. That’s why I can’t understand any of this.”

“No more can others I could name.”

“The relatives?” I asked, feeling sick with apprehension.

He nodded. “I won’t say more on this subject, Mrs. Teasey. My judgments are colored by my partiality for your aunt. You may have an entirely different view.”

“Wait…” I put my hand on his arm, for he’d given me a little bow and taken a step away. “At least show me what I’ve inherited, for good or bad. You’d know and, apart from the house, and this lane, I don’t.”

“Your solicitor can tell you.”+

“And undoubtedly will, but in an office with a surveyor’s map or some such two-dimensionality. That doesn’t tell me
what
, “and I held up my hands to express a need for tactile assimilation.

He gave me a long look, then shrugged and turned toward the house. “As you will.”

He led us back into the house long enough to replace the shotgun, warning the twins to stick to the story that he had held the weapon. I was to apply instantly at the local Garda station—by the traffic lights in Cabinteely—for a permit.

“If it was Aunt Irene’s gun, how can you use it?”

“I’ve a permit. More than one person can have a permit on the same gun, you see, but everyone who uses the gun must have a permit for that gun. Complicated. And if the troubles up north get worse, you may be asked to surrender it to the Garda.”

That made Simon bristle. “Surrender my gun to the police?”

Very politely, Kieron Thornton asked Simon how old he was, and then said that the age for gun permits was eighteen.

Simon muttered under his breath. He had been mad crazy to own a gun ever since that weekend in Pennsylvania with some of Teddie’s friends who’d had a skeet shoot. Simon had shown a tremendous aptitude for marksmanship, outclassing his father, which hadn’t set too well (Preserve the Image!). I’d managed to point out to Simon that he couldn’t very well have a skeet shoot in suburban Westfield, but I’d been backed into promising that if he ever lived in the country, he could have a rifle. Well, we wouldn’t be staying in Ireland that long.

Kieron Thornton knew the house and property well. He spared us the worst of the muddy parts and a very close look at the four cottages nestled in the hillside. These were rented, and he said that I’d have a chance to see the tenants later on. He owned the cottage he lived in and the land within its fences, having purchased the place from my great-aunt three years ago.

Now he led us past the house and the barn, which was well stocked with hay and straw, to the flourishing vegetable garden.

“I planted that for Irene. She wasn’t well enough, and the lack worried her.” His unspoken comment was that he’d known that my great-aunt wouldn’t survive to enjoy the produce, but he’d humored her in the planting.

“Yummy. Fresh vegetables,” said Snow. She was devastatingly pert all through the tour, ignoring my disapproving looks and Simon’s disgusted snorts. However, she failed to attract Kieron Thornton’s amused interest, and I was beginning to think that Ireland might be very beneficial for my precocious daughter if the males over twenty-one kept reminding Snow that she was still a child.

“Now,” Kieron said, “the land extends another three acres beyond this,” and he laid his hand on the earth-and-stone fence, “to the west, and down to the road, from there to the field across the lane. There’re natural springs, plus the stream.”

“Whose is the horse?” asked Snow, less affectedly.

“Your mother’s … now. Horseface.”

“Horseface?” Both Snow and Simon whooped with laughter.

Kieron laughed too, a nice rich real laugh. “I believe he has another name in the registry, but that’s what he answers to.”

“My aunt rode him?” He looked very big.

“Yes indeed, right up to her first stroke, and gently when she’d recovered completely from it. He’s about twenty now, I’d say. In their prime, Irene hunted him.” Kieron turned to me. “Call him. He answers to his name.”

“Me?” But I raised my voice. To my utter surprise, the beast raised his head instantly, looked unerringly in my direction, and whinnied.

“You see, he does know his name,” Thornton said as the horse trotted eagerly to the pasture fence.

“Hey, Horseface,” called Snow, and she and Simon went off to meet him, gathering fresh handfuls of grass to feed him.

I caught a suspicious gleam in Thornton’s eyes, which I couldn’t account for. I was about to question him when we were startled by the angry blasting of a car horn.

“Hmmm. I was expecting that,” said Thornton, taking me by the arm and guiding me back to the house. “The visitor is impatient,” he added as the horn continued to break the pleasant soft noises of the countryside.

“Who is it?”

“Can’t you guess?”

I stopped short. “Mr. Kerrigan?” Kelley and now Kerrigan? And with no real idea of what to do! “Mr. Thornton, couldn’t you …”

“Mrs. Teasey,” and he gave me a stern, reproving look, “you own this property. Admittedly, I have caused you an embarrassment by more or less forcing you to stop that bulldozer. But I knew that was what your aunt would have done. I did not know you were in the house. You may, after an appraisal of the situation, want to let Kerrigan have that right of way. I only ask that you wait until you’ve had time to arrive at a fair decision. Or maybe you Yanks like acres of houses all around you.” He had managed to hurry me through the yard, and now he gave me a push toward the kitchen door.

“Oh, don’t leave me!”

He gave me an amused look, disengaging my hands from his arm. “Believe me, you don’t need
my
help.” And he was away.

The car horn was still blaring, in a fashion guaranteed to irritate, and I was already annoyed at Kieron Thornton for landing me in such a compromising situation with an unknown and infuriated man. I raced around the side of the house to the front. A man was standing on the driver’s side of a blue Jag, bent slightly so that he could lean on the horn. The car, the arrogance of the action, plus memories of other helpless moments like this, combined to give me unusual courage.

“Stop that infernal racket,” I shouted, and it was cut off instantly.

The man who stared at me across the blue Jag top was as handsome as sin. Sandy-haired with a well-trimmed, slightly darker moustache and very black eyebrows, my importunate caller was elegantly dressed in a blazer and slim trousers, a trendy patterned shirt, and a solid-color cravat.

“You’re not Irene Teasey,” he said in a flat, surprised voice.

“I most certainly am.”

Suddenly his angry expression turned into a smile. “Oh, but of course. You’re the niece. The American.”

“Yes, I’m the American
great
-niece.”

“Well,” and he walked toward me, all smiles, hand extended. “Welcome to Ireland—
cead mille faille
. That means a hundred thousand welcomes, Miss Teasey.”

“Was that why you were blasting the horn? A royal salute?”

“I’m Shamus Kerrigan. I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding.”

“Was that your frightful bulldozer thing that tore up my lane?” I asked, trying hard to be severe, for Kerrigan had the sort of charm that is very difficult to resist.

He turned to survey the damage as if he hadn’t just had to tool the Jaguar very carefully over the ruts.

“I do apologize. But it would only be the one transit. Once the dozer is in the field, it wouldn’t have to come out.”

“Oh?” I looked pointedly at the stout stone wall. “How had you planned to get across that?”

“Well, rather, through it,” he admitted, smiling ingenuously. “Of course, we’d build the wall back up again behind it.”

“What comes in must go out, Mr. Kerrigan.”

“Oh, I expect to get permission to use the other road.”

“All the way from Glenamuck?” I asked, delighting in the surprise in his face at my knowledge, however spotty it was. “Surely you know that this is a private lane, Mr. Kerrigan, and that even one transit—much less knocking down my wall—constitutes trespass?”

He nodded and then smiled reassuringly. “Actually, I did have permission.”

“From whom?” I was suddenly suspicious of Kieron Thornton. I’d only his word that my great-aunt hadn’t wanted Kerrigan to have the right of way. Maybe the solicitor …

“From a relative. You see after Miss Teasey died…” and he looked appropriately regretful.

“No false condolences, please. I’d never met my great aunt.”

“I had, Mrs. Teasey,” and there was suddenly nothing of the suppliant in Mr. Kerrigan’s manner. “She was a most admirable woman.”

Because she’d refused him? I wondered privately.

“I tried to find out who had inherited the property so I could have my solicitor make the proper application. I’ve got a lot of money tied up in that land.”

There was now a flash of impatience in his voice, which he covered instantly with his facile charm.

“Yes, that would be a consideration,” I said agreeably.

“So,” and his smile was hearty again, “when I learned that it was yourself, and you in America and no one knew where, I tried to find someone in the family who could give me permission to use the lane.”

“If
I
had inherited the property, Mr. Kerrigan, none of the relations here had any authority to give you permission for anything.” I wasn’t certain of that, but, by the expression in his eyes, I was within my rights.

“That’s why I apologize,” and he bowed with contrition. “Because the relative assured me that he had the right to grant me the one use of the lane.”

“Who was the so obliging relative?”

He smiled again. “I don’t think that would be fair, do you, until this has all been sorted out?”

“Fair to whom, Mr. Kerrigan?”

He smiled more broadly. “You wouldn’t consider my using the lane today, since I’ve the equipment laid on and all?”

I shook my head, smiling back. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, you’re a wise one, you are,” he said finally, the grin still firmly in place. “But I feel we could sort the problems out,” and he nodded at the battered road and the stone fence, “and very soon. Say, this evening? At half seven? Over dinner?”

“A very good suggestion.” I emphasized the last word slightly, and saw that he took my meaning. “I’m at the Montrose.” By the expression in his eyes, I guessed that he knew that.

“You’re certain about the dozer?” he asked, with winning wistfulness.

“Positive. You’re taking an unfair advantage of me, Mr. Kerrigan, for all your thousand welcomes.”

“You Yanks!” I wasn’t certain if that was a compliment or not. Nonetheless, he left, bumping the Jag carefully over the ruts.

Snow and Simon erupted out of the hedge where they’d been hiding.

“Who he?”

“Didn’t you hear all?”

“Arrived late!”

“And why didn’t you come out?”

Simon shrugged. “You were handling him just great.”

“Hmmmm.”

“So we all get a free dinner tonight, huh?” asked Snow, her eyes wide.

“Yes indeedy. This pore li’l ol’ Amurrican needs chaperones from that big Irish woof!”

Snow giggled.

“Sure has a beautiful Jag,” and Simon whistled softly. “Say, Mom, that car in Aunt Irene’s garage is a Mercedes! It’s in beautiful condition inside. It’s up on blocks and all, and the tires are there too.”

“Really?”

“Horseface is just darling, Mom. Can I learn how to ride him? I mean, is twenty years too old for a horse to be ridden?”

I SUPPOSE our fate had already been decided that morning, but I don’t see such events with an awareness of their immediate and future significance. Teddie always did, and my obtuseness irritated him. Just as well he was safely three thousand miles from me—and someone else’s problem now.

We went through the house again, peering into cupboards this time. And bare they were. I kept telling myself that it was because no one had been tenanting the place that there was only a dusting of sugar in the bowl, a half cup of flour in the canister, a small tin of curried beans, an inch of ketchup, a fingernail of salt and the same of pepper. The fridge had been cleared and unplugged. Snow turned it on with a dramatically uttered, “There! We can shop later. That’ll be fun.”

“Expensive, too,” I said, knowing my daughter’s proclivity for impulse buying. However, we did have to eat.

Snow was rattling on enthusiastically about redecorating, which would mean more outlay of cash. I
could
see the merit of her suggestions (take a positive attitude, Rene). A touch here, some paint there, new curtains at those windows, some judiciously placed new carpet, and new vinyl and paint in the kitchen would give the house a much more cheerful atmosphere. Simon volunteered to paint the outside trim, Snow to weed the neat garden, and both were so generally enthusiastic that by lunchtime I could relax and appreciate the potential charm of the house.