The Kilternan Legacy (5 page)

I locked up and we piled into the car. As we bumped down the lane, Simon cursed the bulldozer and I wondered which of my relatives had had the audacity to give Shamus Kerrigan permission.

On the off chance that Brian Kelley would be haunting the hotel, we ate in town, at a charming restaurant just off St. Stephen’s Green. Then we did some gawking down Grafton Street. People hurried, as on other streets, but as many more sort of lounged down the sidewalks, utterly unconcerned about reaching their ultimate destinations. Double-decker buses roared down the narrow street, occasionally puffing hot exhaust around our legs, but not with the horrid urgency of their New York counterparts. Altogether, Dublin was exercising much charm to soothe this savage colonial breast.

We arrived on the solicitor’s street, and I suddenly felt very Georgette Heyer, looking at the beautiful Georgian fronts with the lovely fanlights above the doors. Finding the right number was not hard, but finding a spot to park the Renault did take time.

Michael Noonan looked more like a jet-set playboy than a solicitor, but, fortunately for my peace of mind, his manner and cogent explanations (as far as he went) dispelled any further comparison. He wore his dark hair short on top and close cut but long in the back, with well-trimmed sideburns, which added to his rakish appearance. His eyes behind the heavy black-framed glasses missed nothing of my appearance or my children’s as he welcomed us each with a firm handshake. Despite myself, I looked down at his hands, as the children did, and knew their opinion before I saw it in their eyes. He had hands.

He also had brains.

Ceremoniously I tendered him my identification and my grandfather’s naturalization papers, which clearly established Granda as the late Irene Teasey’s brother Michael Maurice Teasey.

He handed me a parcel of long, folded documents. “Your copy of the will, which makes you principal heir and co-executrix with this office, myself in particular, the authenticated list of the belongings in the house and on the property, and their estimated value for death duties.”

I dutifully opened the uppermost document, and flinched at the whereases and second parts and all that overwhelmingly confusing legalese.

“There were other bequests?”

“Some minor ones in the will, and I’ve a letter here for you which your great-aunt directed me to hand you personally,” and I received a square envelope of heavy paper. “And here”—he was passing me another long, legal-feeling document—“is the trust-fund report.”

“Trust fund?”

“Yes, and it ought to more than settle the death duties. We were exceedingly lucky with the appraisals, despite the fact that your great-aunt’s property had appreciated a good deal over the past few years. The duties could have been atrocious, so I’m very relieved that the fund should prove ample.” He saw my amazement and grinned. “I’m sure it’s a common enough practice in the States too, Mrs. Teasey. Provided the trust is set up, as this one was, five years prior to decease, the money is tax-free.”

“Excuse me, you mean I’ve been the heir that long?”

Mr. Noonan smiled very kindly. “Yes, Mrs. Teasey, you have. Certainly ever since I took over your great-aunt’s affairs, seven years ago.”

“Well!” The twins breathed out “Wows!”

“Mrs. Teasey? Don’t ever feel that you have usurped anyone else’s claims.”

“Well, it was a great surprise to me. I never knew my great-aunt at all. I mean …”

“She knew about you. And she had good reasons for leaving her”—he smiled again, with mischief in his eyes—“her queendom to you. Now, we haven’t received the exact figure for the death duties yet. They must be paid within this year, but not to worry. You’ve the trust.”

“Then it’s unlikely that I’d have to sell the property to satisfy the duties?” And why were there no supplies in the house?

He looked startled. “Good Lord, no. That was the whole purpose of the trust fund.”

“Is the property intrinsically valuable, Mr. Noonan?”

“Yes, quite.” He riffled some papers.

“I don’t need the exact figure. I was just asking because Mr. Kelley—”

“Brian Kelley?” There was surprise as well as steel in Mr. Noonan’s query.

“Yes. He was most insistent about seeing me.”

“Did you?” Mr. Noonan’s hands were suspended in his paper search.

“No. I decided against it. I didn’t like his looks. Nor his insistence.”

Relief smoothed the crows’-feet from the corners of Mr. Noonan’s eyes. “How the devil did he know you were in town? You only arrived yesterday morning.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said, although all three of us had a fair idea from the pleading look in the receptionist’s eyes. She had been the motorcyclist with the keys to my … queendom.

“If it had been at all possible, Mrs. Teasey, I would have met you at the airport. But you gave me no warning of your arrival.” Mr. Noonan rattled the papers before him in a testy fashion.

“The children had finished school, there were seats on a flight, and so … we just came.”

“As well you did. All things being equal, you’d best take possession of the house instantly. I mean by that, physical possession. There is a variety of conflicting interests.”

“One of them named Kerrigan?” I asked. He dropped the papers and slapped both palms against the desk, staring at me with amazement.

“Kelley
and
Kerrigan?”

“Hmmm. I assume that they’re both prime contenders?”

He cleared his throat and said, with a slight, unhappy smile, “Essentially but not actually. To be blunt, Mrs. Teasey, almost every one of your great-aunt’s adult relatives, and she had innumerable, believes that he or she should have been left the estate rather than yourself.”

“Me too.”

“Your great-aunt knew what she was doing, and, believe me, no matter what you might hear to the contrary, had every right to dispose of her property and possessions as she wished.” He was so emphatic that I was instantly more apprehensive. Teddie always said that I have no powers of dissembling, which he thought remarkable, since I had acted. He never could understand that I was playing a particular part then, whereas I was just me off the stage. My thoughts were, as usual, painfully obvious.

Mr. Noonan leaned toward me. “Now, not to worry, Mrs. Teasey. Your position is secure.”

“It isn’t her position that worries Mother,” said Snow in her most protective manner. “We’ve just got her through a very messy divorce scene, and she doesn’t need the greedy-relatives bit.”

Mr. Noonan eyed my outspoken daughter with, I thought, more approval than prejudice.

“I think you’ve no cause for worry.”

I heard, as clear as his spoken words, the tag “not yet.”

He cleared his throat. “Now, how did you encounter Shay Kerrigan?”

“Trying to get a bulldozer up the lane.”

“Oh. He did try.”

“You knew he would?”

“Might. He was rather anxious to get in touch with the heir. My letter to you about his offer must have crossed your coming. I had arranged with one of the residents on the lane—”

“Mr. Thornton?”

“Naturally, you’ve had the chance to meet him, too.”

“Oh yes, he actually stopped the bulldozer this morning. I just seconded it.”

“And you landed here yesterday at noontime? Well!”

“I don’t usually operate at such a high level, Mr. Noonan,” I felt obliged to say, and then saw that he was more amused than critical.

“Mr. Thornton showed us around the estate,” Snow said, mimicking the accent. She went on, in one of her maliciously guileless moods, “He had a shotgun.” I stared appreciatively at my daughter, and so did her brother. (Create the Image?) “But it was Mother who made the guy take that thing back down. You should’ve seen what it did to the lane.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Shay Kerrigan would try that.” Mr. Noonan was annoyed. He had the intense look of a man swearing silently.

“He came later … in person,” Snow said brightly. “To apologize.”

“Be quiet, dear,” I said to her, and meant it. “I did have the right to refuse him the use, didn’t I? He gave me some nonsense about having applied to a relative for permission.”

“What?” Mr. Noonan was now furious. “Who?”

“He wouldn’t say. But maybe I can find out at dinner tonight. He’s taking”—I paused and then indicated the twins—“us.”

Noonan was sharp, and his laughing eyes applauded my stratagem.

“If you can find out which relative it was, it might be helpful later.”

“You mean, there may be litigation about this?”

“That’s possible, Mrs. Teasey. As I said, your great-aunt’s little queendom is now quite valuable. Where pounds and pence are concerned, blood has a tendency to curdle.”

I groaned. I wasn’t certain that I was up to more nasty court proceedings and complaints and countercharges. Not twice in one year!

“You can, of course, sell out as soon as the will is probated.”

His expression plainly told me that he’d be disappointed if I chose that course.

“Your great-aunt rather hoped that you’d like to take your time about selling—if that was your final decision.”

The letter from Great-aunt Irene burned in my hand. I was both reluctant and eager to open it.

“Mr. Noonan? About my great-aunt … Did she … I mean … she didn’t linger or go without anything?”

He shook his head. “No. The final stroke was quick. She’d had one last December. Thornton found her and rushed her to hospital. Saved her life. She’d pretty well recovered by March, and was getting around much as usual when she’d the second stroke. That disabled her completely, and a week later the third one took her life. She was a delightful person,” and Mr. Noonan’s smile was that of regret.

“You liked her,” said Snow.

“Yes, Miss Stanford, I liked her very much. She was a most unusual woman.”

Then he turned his keen eyes on me. “I know substantially what’s in that letter, Mrs. Teasey. I hope that you’ll find it agreeable to you, and possible, but I am required to advise you that you are in no way legally constrained to follow those instructions. As soon as the will is probated, you can sell the estate to whomever you choose.”

“And I do have the right to refuse Mr. Kerrigan the use of the lane?”

“Yes, indeed. That’s private property. Yours … or yours legally … when the will has been probated.”

“Until then?”

“The use of the lane was denied Kerrigan by Miss Teasey, and her order stands until yours rescinds or reinforces it. But you can’t do anything until the will is probated.”

“Mr. Noonan, in simple language, how much is the property worth?”

“It’s still not simple, Mrs. Teasey. You could probably sell the house and its immediate gardens, the stableyard, and the back field for, roughly, say twenty-five thousand pounds.” Snow whistled, and I shushed her. “Mr. Thornton owns his cottage and the two roods of land on which it stands. There are four other cottages, now renting from one to seven pounds a month. I do know that Mrs. Teasey was offered three thousand pounds for one of them recently, but with sitting tenants in all four the value is considerably reduced.”

I thought dazedly of the sturdy cottages and then of the modern semidetached places selling for twice that and wondered.

Snow frowned. “A pound a month is less than three bucks!” She was round-eyed with indignant surprise.

I gathered from Mr. Noonan’s expression that the rent
was
ridiculously low.

“I believe Miss Teasey mentions that offer in her letter to you. Now, the acreage on the roadside would bring in about three thousand pounds an acre.”

“Three thousand pounds?” I was stunned at the difference in three dollars a month rent for a cottage already built that might
sell
for three thousand pounds, and then the same sum for just the land!

“That’s sixty-five hundred dollars an acre, Mom,” Snow said helpfully. “And you could charge Mr. Kerrigan a bundle for a right of way if he’s getting that kind of money for houses.”

“Hush, Snow, you’re distracting me.”

“Mother isn’t interested in the
money
,” Simon said, entering the discussion.

“I’ll bet all the relatives are, not to mention Kelley and Kerrigan,” continued my irrepressible daughter. “Those Jags cost money.”

Mr. Noonan chuckled again. ‘Your daughter has the way of it, Mrs. Teasey. Of course, nothing can be done until the will has been probated.”

“You keep saying that, Mr. Noonan. Is there another problem?”

“Technically, no.” He leaned forward, his eyes intent on my face, an exercise I found rather disconcerting. “Read your great-aunt’s letter, Mrs. Teasey, before you make any further assumptions or decisions. Think carefully about what she asks of you. Miss Teasey was a wonderful person. She was ahead of her times in some ways, but she had certain … shall we say, peeves, with which you may not be in sympathy. You are, you say, seeing Shamus Kerrigan this evening. Undoubtedly Mr. Kelley will be on to you again with his proposition. I don’t know whom he represents in this matter, but there’s no harm in listening to both of them. And you can do nothing until probate is filed.” He smiled reassuringly.

“Which is my defense and alibi?”

“If you choose.”

“How do I get a permit for the shotgun?”

He looked startled.

“I come from pioneer stock. There may be Injuns,” I said in a deadpan voice. “No, actually, Mr. Thornton said that I shouldn’t wave the gun about until I have a permit.”

“I don’t believe you’ll need a gun against Shay Kerrigan, Mrs. Teasey,” and his eyes were dancing with suppressed amusement. “However, speak to the sergeant at the Cabinteely Garda station. You’re over twenty-one, and you have a place to shoot. There’ll be no problem. Miss Teasey felt obliged to … discourage … ah …”

“Invaders?” asked Snow. “Invaders of our queendom, threatening to lay siege?”

“With only a shotgun?” asked Simon. “Nuts!”

Michael Noonan chuckled as he rose, and extended his hand to me. “After you’ve read the letter and the will, please don’t hesitate to phone me if you’ve any questions.”

“That’s kind of you, Mr. Noonan, because I’ve a feeling that I’ve inherited a lot of problems and will need many answers.”