Woman of the House (19 page)

“The bishop,” Kate breathed.

“That’s right. Over the years we did not keep in close touch, but always at Christmas we wrote.”

“You went to him about the school?”

“Yes,” Sarah said; “last Monday I hired Joe’s hackney car. Joe is a good man to keep his mouth shut. I went over to the bishop’s house and we discussed the whole thing, and he just told me to let it with him.”

“He must have moved on it straight away,” Kate said thoughtfully, “because Fr Brady told me on Tuesday night that they were expecting him.”

“I knew that I could depend on him to do whatever was necessary,” Sarah said with assurance. “The only problem now is that Fr Burke might think that you were the one who went to the bishop.”

“I can live with that,” Kate told her with relish. “It might be no harm if he thought that I had a leg in with the bishop. Keep him on his toes.”

“Now that you know,” Sarah told her, “we will leave it between ourselves.”

“But what about David? He’ll think that I swung it with Fr Burke, and I don’t like him thinking that when it didn’t happen. It puts me in a false position with him – he’ll think that I helped more than I really did.”

“You’re too honest, Kate. Many a woman would be delighted to have that string to her bow in the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

“Kate Phelan, don’t be playing the innocent with me! You never wore your heart on your sleeve, but I always saw that when David Twomey was around you had a special glow about you. I wanted him back in Kilmeen for the school, but I also wanted him back for you as well.”

Kate looked across at Sarah and shook her head in wonder. “Sarah, you’re a wise old owl,” she said gratefully, reaching across the table and covering the older woman’s hand with hers. “I have hardly admitted it to myself.”

“Well, you’ve a better chance with him here under your eye than up in Dublin where you wouldn’t know what would come his way.”

“Oh, Sarah,” Kate laughed, “but you’re some dark horse. To think that you had all this worked out and not to say a word about it, and to never mention all these years that you were friendly with the bishop.”

“As I told you before mass, there is no virtue in broadcasting some things. One of the problems of life today is that there are too many people saying too many things.”

“Well, you’re not one of them: you’re one great woman!”

“Just one other thing now,” Sarah instructed, “before we put this conversation behind us for good.”

“What?” Kate asked with interest.

“David will be employing teachers for this new school, and some of them could be pretty young women. You have a long summer ahead of you before they come to Kilmeen. Make good use of it.”

“They might be all settled matrons and men,” Kate said smiling.

“Don’t depend on it.”

Just then there was a loud knock on the door and Kate rose reluctantly to her feet.

“The last thing that I want now is someone with a pain,” Kate said, but when she opened the door David swept in and swung her around the hall in delight.

“Kate, isn’t it just wonderful! I might have chanced going ahead with the school, but this takes all the hardship out of it. I knew that you got to him last Sunday.”

“There’s more to this than meets the eye,” she told him. “Come in and Sarah will fill you in.”

“Is Sarah here?” he asked in surprise.

“She is indeed,” Kate told him, “and we wouldn’t be dancing in delight today but for her.”

Kate watched David’s face as Sarah filled him in briefly on the happenings of the past week.

“Kate said that you showed a special interest in the school from the beginning,” he said.

“Well, I had that ace up my sleeve all the time,” she told them, “but I didn’t want to use it except all else failed.”

“Well, all else had failed,” Kate assured her; “there was no way he’d have given in but for the pressure put on him by the bishop. When I heard him say that he was giving it his blessing, I knew that there had to be a hidden factor.”

“They’ll all think now that you went to the bishop,” David told Kate.

“Well, let them think it,” Kate smiled.

“I’d best be going,” Sarah said, “and thanks for the breakfast, Kate.”

“I’ll run you back,” David said. “I’ve Dad’s car outside and it’s just starting to rain.”

As they went out the hallway he told Kate, “Dad said to come up for the dinner.”

“This is becoming a habit,” she said.

“Well, we’ve something to celebrate today,” he smiled.

As they drove away Kate stood at the door and looked along the village street. It was always very quiet between the masses on Sunday. There was no movement but for a brown terrier and a black sheep dog trying to outdo each other in sprinkling the base of the light poles along the street. Across the road Julia’s curtain moved and Kate smiled to herself as she went in and closed the door.

She tidied up after the breakfast and then walked out into the garden where a light mist was falling. She went over to the old seat under the apple tree and sat there listening to the birds singing. She wished that she felt joyful. It was great news about the school and she was delighted for David, but he had given her no firm indication that she was part of his plan. Maybe Kilmeen was the obvious place for him to start his own school and it had nothing to do with her. Could she stay on here without being part of David’s plans? Sarah was right about her feelings for David, and it was best to admit it to herself. But as well as David there was the question of Mossgrove.

Could she live here with Mossgrove sold? The thought of the sale and the auction at which everything would be sold off frightened her. Had she failed Nellie and Ned and Grandfather that she had not succeeded in persuading Martha? Should she have understood Martha better and talked things over with her? But Martha was determined to prove that she was the one in control.

The drizzle dried off and the sun shone out, sparkling off the moisture-laden leaves. It’s going to be a lovely day, she decided, rising with determination from the seat. I’m going to enjoy Hannah’s wonderful cooking, and being with David, and tomorrow we will have the evening together going over to Mr Hobbs in Ross.

P
EOPLE ALWAYS
REFERRED
to Mr Hobbs as old Hobbs, even though there was no young Hobbs. He was extremely tall, thin, bald and courteous, and as soon as one entered his office it seemed clear that hurry had no part to play in his life. His softly spoken, unassuming and slightly bewildered air clothed a brilliant legal mind that sometimes annihilated an unsuspecting arrogant young barrister in court. The people of Ross and Kilmeen knew that if they were going into court it was better to have old Hobbs with them than against them. For the drawing up of wills or other legal documents free of loopholes, Hobbs had been tried and tested over the years. As well as that, he had the ability to listen carefully to his clients, and sometimes he read from their voices what it was they wanted to say rather than what they were actually telling him. He gave visitors to his office his undivided attention, and his secretary was under sentence of sacking not to interrupt under any circumstances.

This place is like a confessional, Kate thought; some great stories must have been told in here.

“Now, Mr Twomey,” Mr Hobbs began in a precise voice, his long, thin fingers opening the file on his desk, “regarding the Jackson property in Kilmeen, tell me exactly what you have in mind.”

He must know that already, Kate thought, when she saw the correspondence on his desk; nevertheless Mr Hobbs listened attentively to David’s plans for the house.

“Sounds a very commendable plan,” he commented mildly.

“I have sent a detailed account of it to Rodney Jackson in Boston,” David told him.

“Well, that certainly helped things on,” he remarked, “because Mr Jackson lost no time in getting back to me.”

“Is he in favour of the idea of letting the house for a school?” David asked. Kate could feel the restrained urgency in his voice.

But Mr Hobbs was not to be hurried. He put a pair of small silver-rimmed spectacles on top of his thin nose and picked up a flimsy sheet of paper and ran his eye over it. Then he laid down the document and looked at David over the top of his half spectacles and cleared his throat delicately.

“Mr Jackson actually sent me a cablegram and made a phone call,” he smiled thinly. “Not at all necessary in the circumstance, but then the Americans are a fast-moving people.”

“And what did he say?” David asked with barely suppressed impatience.

“Actually, he’s very enthusiastic,” Mr Hobbs announced, nodding his head in approval.

“Well, that’s great,” David sighed in relief.

“Yes,” Mr Hobbs agreed; “it is the only place in Kilmeen suitable for what you have in mind.”

“That was my problem,” David agreed, “but now with Mr Jackson willing to rent I’m home and dry.”

“Not quite,” Mr Hobbs informed him calmly.

“But why?” David asked in alarm.

“Our Mr Jackson has made a stipulation,” Mr Hobbs said.

“What kind of a stipulation?”

“A rather unusual one really,” Mr Hobbs told him, putting his hands together in a praying position. “It would appear that Mr Jackson has a great interest in the arts, and he wants the walls of this school to be adorned with paintings and drawings so that the children will develop an appreciation of such things. He is very specific about this requirement and there will be quite a number of pictures required; he will make a bequest to cover the cost.”

“How extraordinary,” David said.

“I rather thought so too,” Mr Hobbs agreed.

Kate, however, was not so surprised. “I remember his great-aunts the Miss Jacksons; they were interested in art and often spoke about the lack of any such facilities in Kilmeen, so they obviously had spoken to him about it.”

“Well, he took their opinions seriously,” Mr Hobbs said, “and he is prepared to be very generous in the pursuit of their wishes. But it still puts you in a bit of a dilemma, Mr Twomey, because he will not sign the contract until he is guaranteed that the pictures will be hanging for the opening, which I assume will be at the beginning of the school year in September. Not a lot of time to acquire a specified amount of drawings and paintings. He also wants some of
them to be of local interest, as he feels that this would be good for the children.”

Kate looked at the two men on either side of the desk. David wore a puzzled look on his face and Mr Hobbs was waiting for a response.

“Mark, of course,” she burst out. “His stuff would be ideal.”

“That’s the solution,” David sighed in relief.

“Excuse me,” Mr Hobbs intercepted politely, “but who is this Mark?”

“He lives in Kilmeen,” Kate explained; “he’s an artist, and his pictures are excellent.”

“I would have to see them,” Mr Hobbs said cautiously, “because Mr Jackson would expect a high standard.”

“Of course,” Kate assured him, “and by a strange coincidence it was the Miss Jacksons who encouraged Mark as a child. They took him to exhibitions and arranged classes for him, and I think that there is a family connection there. I can let you have some pictures within a few days and you will see for yourself how good he is.”

“That sounds satisfactory enough,” Mr Hobbs agreed, “and if everything goes according to plan I believe that Mr Jackson intends to come over for the opening.”

“That’s wonderful,” David said with enthusiasm. “But what about the rent: are we talking big or small money?”

“Very modest, I would say,” Mr Hobbs informed him, mentioning an amount that Kate knew was less that David had expected to pay.

She felt a great surge of appreciation for the absent Rodney Jackson. What an amazing stroke of good fortune! She wondered had his great-aunts told him about Mark and was he giving him an opportunity? His aunts had been
lovely old ladies and he was obviously influenced by them. It would be interesting to meet him when he came over in September.

“Was Mr Jackson ever in Ireland?” she asked Mr Hobbs, who was busy making notes.

He finished what he was writing and laid down his pen. “As a child he came once with his father, and it must have made a lasting impression on him. He is an only child and born, it would seem, with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth.”

“So that’s why he didn’t need to sell the house,” David said.

“That’s right,” Mr Hobbs agreed; “he seems quite attached to it, really, because his grandfather was born there. He is delighted with the idea of it being turned into a school.”

“Lucky for me,” David smiled.

“Yes, indeed,” Mr Hobbs agreed. “Now we have covered everything and I will be in touch with you at your Dublin address, so I think that completes our business.”

As they both rose to go, Mr Hobbs turned to Kate. “Miss Phelan, could you stay for a few minutes: there is something that I would like to discuss with you.”

David shook hands with him and told Kate he would wait in the car. Mr Hobbs carefully returned everything to David’s file and put it in a drawer beside him. He then took down a much thicker file from a shelf above his head and opened it on his desk.

“Your sister-in-law Martha Phelan is proposing to sell Mossgrove?” he queried.

“That’s right,” Kate said in surprise; “it was in the
Kilmeen
Eagle
.”

“I do not get that particular publication,” he told her.

“So she has come to you about it?”

“Not quite, but her solicitor has been in contact with me.”

“Her solicitor?” Kate said in surprise. “But you have always been our family solicitor.”

“Correct,” he agreed, “but Mrs Phelan has chosen to go elsewhere. Not always a wise decision.”

“She probably went to someone else,” Kate said thoughtfully, “because what she is doing is against our way of thinking.”

“I take it from that that you are not in agreement with the decision to sell?” he asked.

“Totally against it. I have tried to persuade her not to, but it’s no good. I can’t stop her.”

“Yes, you can,” he told her simply.

Kate looked at him in amazement. “I can what?” she gasped.

“Mrs Phelan cannot sell Mossgrove without your agreement,” he told her slowly.

“But why?”

“Because years ago your mother and I made provision for such an eventuality.”

“My mother,” she said in surprise. “What has my mother got to do with it?”

“Shortly after your father died, when your brother Edward and you were both children, your mother came in here to me and drew up a will,” he told her.

“And she left Mossgrove to Ned,” Kate filled in.

“That’s right,” he agreed, “but she gave you the right of residency.”

“The right of residency,” Kate echoed.

“Yes, the right of residency.”

“But what does that mean?” she asked in bewilderment.

“It means,” he said slowly, “that you have the right to reside in Mossgrove for as long as you live and, more important still in the present situation, it cannot be sold unless you waive your right to residency.”

“Good God!” she declared.

A slow joy started at her toes and spread throughout her whole body. She looked at Mr Hobbs with naked gratitude. It was simply incredible. She felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her back. Mossgrove was safe!

“My mother made that provision in her will when we were both children?” she asked in amazement.

“That’s right, and when she came in here to fix up her affairs in later years we decided to let the original will stand. You had your own job by then and did not need to reside in Mossgrove, but I pointed out to her that the only time the clause in the will would cause a problem was if Mossgrove was to be sold.”

“That was very far-seeing of you,” Kate concluded.

“We solicitors have to cover all eventualities. We need to protect the wishes of the dead, the rights of the living and the interests of the unborn. It is a formidable task, but one a good legal man will always strive to perform for his client. Your mother was guided by me.”

“But she never mentioned it,” Kate said in wonder.

“There was never any need to,” he told her. “Usually these things never come up until somebody decides to sell, and then they are an impediment to the sale. In this particular case, rightly so.”

“Does my sister-in-law know about this?”

“Well, I wrote back to her solicitor last week informing
him of the right-to-residency clause, so I would imagine that she has heard from them by now.”

“But you would not in normal circumstances have written to me?” she asked him.

“Not unless her solicitors requested me to do so,” he said.

“So as far as Martha is concerned, she could think that I know nothing about the right-to-residency clause?” she asked.

“That is probably correct.”

“I’d like to leave it that way.”

“Very wise,” he said.

“I never thought to look for a copy of my mother’s will,” Kate said thoughtfully.

“People don’t.”

“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “I’m very grateful: it takes a huge weight off my mind.”

“Your family have always been valued clients of mine, and if your sister-in-law had come to me in the first place she would have been made aware of the situation and spared herself a lot of unnecessary trouble.”

“She knows that now,” Kate said.

“She does,” he agreed, rising from his desk, “and if you have any problem you can come back to me.”

“Thank you,” she said as they shook hands. “I’m sure you have seen the Phelans through a few sticky patches over the years.”

“And my father before me,” he told her evenly. “He represented your grandfather in that famous case against the Conways. We should have lost that one, I think, but they were lucky on the day. The gods smiled on them.”

“And on me today.”

When she got outside the door Kate stood and closed her eyes better to absorb what she had just been told. She could hardly believe it. It was almost too much to take in. She felt that she could explode with relief and happiness. When she opened her eyes she saw that David had wound down the window of the car and was viewing her with an amused look on his face.

“Kate, have you gone into a trance?”

“I feel as if I’m in a dream,” she slipped into the car beside him; “a good dream. So many things are coming right today.”

“I feel the same – everything is coming together for the school. It’s none of my business, but old Hobbs must have told you that you have come in for a fortune judging by the look on your face.”

“I have,” she told him. “Martha can’t sell Mossgrove.”

“Good God, why not?”

As she explained a look of understanding came over his face. “God, Hobbs is a wily old fox,” he said, starting up the car and taking the road back to Kilmeen.

“He is all of that,” she agreed “He says that a family will has to protect the wishes of the dead, the rights of the living, and the interests of the unborn.”

“That’s some challenge.”

“It is,” she agreed, “but my mother and himself did just that when they drew up that will.”

“Wonder would Martha agree?”

“Maybe not now, but in a few years time I think she might.”

Kate looked out at the passing countryside. Everything looked better and brighter than it had a few hours earlier. The sunny day was in perfect harmony with her mood.

“This visit has been a great success for the two of us,” David said.

“And for Mark. I’m so delighted for him. It’s a wonderful opportunity, and to think that it is the Jackson family again who are opening doors for him.”

“You’re very fond of Mark, aren’t you?” David asked thoughtfully.

“Oh yes,” Kate declared. “I’ve always felt that Mark is someone special, and it drives me mad when people around here dismiss him as an eccentric.”

“Well, I suppose in a small country village like ours someone like Mark is bound to stick out a bit; even to look at him you’d know that he didn’t spend his days piking hay.”

“I suppose so,” Kate smiled, “but he is such a gentle soul that he always makes me feel good. He was so understanding about Mossgrove, and it was not easy for Mark, being Martha’s brother.”

“I’d say that as far as Mark is concerned, what you think is far more important than Martha,” David said ruefully. “I’ve always been jealous of your relationship with Mark.”