The Kilternan Legacy (12 page)

Snow hooted with derision, and then Simon leaped to his feet and advanced ominously toward Ann. “So, my gel, behave with me!” He twirled an imaginary moustache and leered down at her, until she had to smile. “I’m the man in this family, you know.”

“You are not to worry over what Mrs. Maginnis may say, Ann Purdee.”

“My, you’re well grown for fourteen,” said my irrepressible daughter in Mrs. Maginnis’s bright accent, “‘Twins? How intrusting!’” She went on, although she accidentally slipped into the role of Lady Bracknell discussing handbags and railway stations, but she had Ann Purdee actually laughing, getting her face all floury when she raised her hand to cover her mouth.

I decided we had said enough on that subject and rose. “The other thing was, did someone dispose of my aunt’s old letters and correspondence?”

“She told me to burn all her letters. She made me promise I would …”

“Oh, please don’t misunderstand me, Mrs. Purdee. We just noticed the absence of letters in the desk. We were looking for the family Bible.” I didn’t want her to think we were pawing through my aunt’s things.

“She’d burned a great lot herself when she recovered from the first stroke, you see. Said she didn’t want anyone laughing at her mementoes.”

“I’ll bet Great-great’s mail would have made fab reading,” said Snow.

I reprimanded her, but Ann Purdee smiled and went on shaping the loaves, slapping them negligently on the baking tray before she deftly sliced the tops with a heavy knife.

“I’ll be a bold American—may I buy a loaf from you when they’re done?”

“Sure, and I’m baking one with your name on for welcome!”

“Wow!” came from Snow and Simon.

“C’mon, kids,” and I signaled them. “We’ve got a lot to do, and so does Mrs. Purdee.”

Ann didn’t try to stop us, so I knew my guess was accurate. Snow pleaded to stay with the babies and keep them out of Ann’s way, but I insisted on her coming with me. Ann Purdee was a well-organized body, and I’d bet her children kept out of her way, young as they were, until she had time for them. Just as we were about to leave, I heard the sleepy cry of a young child upstairs, so I hurried my twins out the door. When Ann Purdee realized that we were going to walk down the front of the cottage row, she—almost frantically—suggested that it was shorter the way we had come.

“I thought I’d see if I could meet the other tenants,” I explained. “Which one is Lark?”

“Ah, oh, the end one, but Mary’d be at work. And no one else is at home either.”

I wondered why she was apprehensive, but the child cried again and Ann just closed the kitchen door.

“Great-great only said Swallow and Lark cottages should stay, and I can see why the others could go,” Snow said, pointing to the litter in front of the one immediately to the right of Ann’s.

The back seats of two cars, stuffing coming out through the rents in the upholstery fabric, were propped up against the wall, under the two dirty windows. Muddy bottles crowded the windowsills; cracked pots held dead branches and assortments of rusty tools and shredded paintbrushes. Propping up one end of a wooden bench were several rusty, corroded gallon paint buckets. The only door was bare of paint in places. I wasn’t very happy with the appearance, and wondered how Aunt Irene had let the tenant get away with such slovenliness. Although I knocked on the door, I hoped that no one was in.

“Hey, Mom, we gotta do something about this,” Simon said, and I agreed. “Maybe this is who Auntie Imelda meant as ‘those’ tenants …”

“Nonsense, I distinctly remember she said all the cottages,” said Snow.

“Well, their days here are numbered,” I said, glaring at the disreputable place.

The next cottage was not as bad, although the tenant was still no great shakes as a householder. I knocked on the door and was surprised to hear a querulous voice telling me to go away. “It’s Irene Teasey, your landlady. I’d like to speak to you.”

“Who?” The voice was terror-stricken. “Who? Go away! For the love of God, go away!” And I caught fragments of a feverish recited prayer litany. “Go away!”

“Well!”

“No sale there, Mom. I’d better try next time,” said Simon. “They may think you’re Aunt Irene back to haunt them!”

“If I were, I would.”

The last cottage was more in the style of Ann Purdee’s, with two doors, but there was sufficient evidence of order to reassure me that Lark cottage would suffer no change of occupant. No one was at home.

“So much for making like a landlady,” said Snow. “C’mon, I’m hungry.”

“You just had breakfast.”

“If breakfast is over, can lunch be far away? I can’t wait to taste Mrs. Purdee’s bread!”

When we got into the house, Simon elected to see if Irish chopped meat (minced steak?) made suitable American burgers. Snow volunteered to do the french fries, and I could just see myself getting hog-fat and wondered if I cared.

Suddenly there was an unmerciful pounding at the front door, and a loud and abusive shouting for me to open the door.

“Now just a living minute!” Simon roared back. He pushed me out of the way and jerked open the front door. “Who the hell do you think you are using such language?”

Simon doesn’t look fourteen, and Teddie’s training had given him a good deal of self-assurance beyond that chronological age. He’s also a responsible young man, and considers himself the man of our house. He has never used vulgar language in my presence, though I’ve heard him curse in Teddie’s best manner when Sim thought I wasn’t within hearing distance.

“And who the hell might you be?” asked the big, flame-faced man belligerently poised on my threshold, sizing up my son.

“I’m Simon Stanford. What’s your business here?”

“I want to know who’s been frightening the hell out of my old mother. What kind of people are you to frighten an old woman with ghosts? What business have you here in the first place? Where’s the bitch who’s playing that fucking trick on my poor mammy?”

“No trick was played on your mother,” I said, coming to the door.

The man’s eyes bugged out at the sound of my voice, and he turned very pale. “Who are you?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper.

“I’m Irene Teasey.”

“You’re not!” He said it emphatically, denying my existence with a wild wave of his arms. He took two steps backward, stumbling against the potted plants as I stepped beside Simon.

“I most certainly am Irene Teasey. My great-aunt willed me this property, and I only called at your cottage to introduce myself. I’m not a ghost, and I don’t go about frightening people. Besides, Mrs. Purdee—”

“Her!” and the color flooded back into his now contemptuous face. “We’ve no dealings with the likes of them two.” He stepped forward now, leaning toward me with a confidential air. He reeked of beer and cigarette smoke. “You wouldn’t, a’ course, know about
them
yet. But you’d do well to turf her out of that cottage and put in decent folk. I was on to your great-auntie about it many’s the time. I don’t want me old mammy having to—”

“My great-aunt specifically requested me to keep the tenant of Swallow cottage,” I said, and had the satisfaction of knowing that he caught my emphasis.

He gave me a slit-eyed look. He had a mean mouth, I thought and tried not to glance at his hands. What I saw of his stained jacket, dirty sweater, and oily tie were sufficient character references.

“Truth be known, missus, your auntie wasn’t all that right in the head after her first attack. Aye, that’s the truth of the matter.” He jerked his chin to his chest two or three times to give weight to his statement. “I can see you’re a respectable lady and all, and you shouldn’t associate with that lot.”

“Mr…?”

“Slaney’s the name, missus. Tom Slaney.”

“Will you please explain to your mother, Mr. Slaney, how sorry I am that I caused her a moment’s alarm? I only wanted to get to know her.”

His eyes, which had been wandering over me, came back to my face, and his whole body was still a moment. Then he relaxed and began to smirk.

“Sure now, and you won’t be staying on any longer an’ you sell the place? With all them wanting it so?”

“Mr. Slaney, I’ve made no plans at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lunch is ready.”

He touched his forehead. “Sure ‘n I’m only home meself fer me dinner.”

There was more he wanted to add, but I closed the door firmly.

“He’s something, isn’t he, Mom? Did you hear his language?”

“All too clearly.” I gave my son a big hug, very grateful for his presence and his size. If I’d been there on my own, I doubt that I’d have had an easy time with Mr. Tom Slaney.

After lunch, we were poring over the map to see where we would wander that afternoon when the phone rang. It was Mr. Noonan.

“It’s kind of you to ring, and I’m glad you did, because something else has come up,” I said. After he’d confirmed having all the business correspondence and records, I went on. “That Brian Kelley character was back again, offering twenty-five thousand pounds for the entire place. He intimated that if I didn’t accept his offer…”

“You did mention that the will had not yet been probated and you couldn’t sell?”

“Yes, and he intimated that probate wouldn’t occur unless I did accept the offer.”

“Oh, did he so?”

“He did! Can he?”

“Ah, it is possible to delay probate,” he finally said, slowly “But two can play at that game, Mrs. Teasey. Not to worry.”

“With someone like Mr. Kelley, I do.”

He chuckled, but the sound wasn’t as reassuring as I’d have liked. Still, I did trust Michael Noonan.

“I’d also like to know who my tenants are, besides Ann Purdee. And she’s paid me the rent direct. What about the others?”

“Ah yes, Mrs. Teasey.”

“Oh dear.” His tone clearly said “problem.”

“Not to worry. Something can be done about them, you know.”

“I hope so. Two of the cottages look as if pigs live there.”

“Slaneys and Faheys.”

“I don’t know about Faheys, but I’ve met Tom Slaney.” I gave the solicitor the details.

“Good Lord!” And then Mr. Noonan began to laugh. He’d a very nice one, rich and deep. “To be truthful, Mrs. Teasey, you do sound extraordinarily like your great-aunt. You startled my receptionist out of her wits, so it’s easy to see the effect you’d have, knocking up Mrs. Slaney. The poor ol’ thing’s half-witted as it is.”

“You mean, my aunt tolerated
him
for her sake?”

“He made himself bloody scarce while your aunt was alive.”

“Well, can you contrive to make him bloody scarce again? What are the Faheys like?” I’d better get all the bad news at once.

“The trouble with them is more absence than presence. Your aunt had initiated proceedings to have the cottage returned to her, but she died and the matter was not pursued. You’ve met Ann Purdee?”

“Yes. Now, she’s charming. And she gave us the silver and the carburetor.”

“Silver? Silver? I don’t know anything about any silver, Mrs. Teasey.” That’s what he said, but the laugh in his voice indicated that that was only his official position.

“Slaney’s not very complimentary about ‘the likes of her.’”

“Slaney wouldn’t be,” and Noonan’s voice turned hard. “Also, his mother is five months in arrears on the rent.”

“He looks the type to drink up every cent in the house.”

“You can do something about him. But I think we’d better arrange a meeting so that you understand the entire position.”

“Oh dear, problems!”

“Not really Mrs. Teasey. And the tenants of Lark are absolutely reliable. The Cuniffs, a mother and daughter. No worry there.”

“Two out of four isn’t a good batting average.

“I beg your pardon?”

“An Americanism, I’m sorry.”

“Would tomorrow, Friday, at half twelve be convenient?

“I’ve nothing planned. Yes.”

“Fair enough. See you then.”

SINCE I’D BE SEEING Noonan tomorrow, we decided to leave Trinity College viewing until the next day and fare south by road now.

We were just piling into the Renault when a squat and stolid black Morris Minor pulled past the gate. So we piled out and intercepted a dumpy, short woman whose faded features nevertheless bore a familial resemblance to Imelda Maginnis. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember this one’s name.

“She’s the Alice, I’ll bet,” Snow told me sotto voce, and then assumed her little-girl-innocent pose.

Just as the aunt saw us, another woman came through the gate, turning around and craning her neck in such a way as to suggest that this was her first visit here, and something more.

“May I help you?” I inquired.

Both women stopped, mouths dropping open, and stared at me. I sighed. This was getting to be the stock reaction to me, or at least to the sound of my voice.

“You’re Michael’s child.”

“Grandchild. And you’d be my Aunt Alice.”

Thanks to Snow’s memory, the identification was accurate. Ignorance would have been tantamount to insult to one of Alice’s nature.

“Of course I am.” She didn’t introduce the other woman, who seemed accustomed to such treatment—or should I know who she was? Aunt Alice also didn’t offer to shake hands, or, fortunately, to kiss me. She stood on the pathway, we on the grass—a demilitarized zone, as Simon later styled it.

“We were just about to leave …”

“Dublin?” Hope livened Great-aunt Alice’s faded features.

“No,” said Snow, all surprise. “Sightseeing.”

Aunt Alice’s lips pursed. “We had expected that you would get in touch with us.”

“Oh?”

“We didn’t know your address, and there are so many Hegartys in the phone book,” said my clever daughter.

That was not quite enough justification to suit Aunt Alice’s sense of self-consequence. That anyone should fail to know the address of chief relatives was unthinkable.

“
We
[there was never a more regal pronoun] have arranged a family gathering on Sunday, at teatime, so that you can meet with your cousins and get proper advice.”

I couldn’t resist the temptation. “Proper advice on what?”

“Why, the arrangements that must be made for this!” She gestured with contempt at the house and land. “It wouldn’t do to leave the house unoccupied while probate is pending. Tinkers! I think it’s possible that Jimmy and Maeve here might move in. They need a large house.” So that was the unidentified quality to Mouse-face’s look: seeing if she liked the house her mother had promised her.