A SUDDEN BLOW
There was always a good deal of interest for Lady O'Gara in the affairs
of Castle Talbot. She went out after her solitary lunch to look for
Patsy Kenny. She wanted to talk to him about the turf and wood to be
given away to the poor people for Christmas. Little by little Patsy
had slid from being stud-groom into being general overlooker of the
business of the place.
Having found him she went with him into the stables where the light was
just failing, going from one to the other of the horses, talking to
them, fondling them, discussing them with Patsy in the knowledgable way
of a person accustomed to horses and loving them all her days.
Suddenly she caught sight of Black Prince, wrapped up in a horse-cloth,
hanging his long intelligent nose over his stall and looking at her
wistfully.
"Why," she said, "I thought Sir Shawn was riding the Prince!" She put
out her hand to fondle the delicate nose and Black Prince whinnied.
"No, m'lady. The Prince was coughin' this mornin': and Tartar was a
bit lame. You might notice I was late comin' round. I didn't want the
master to ride Mustapha. Not but what he's come on finely and the
master has a beautiful pair of hands. You'll remember Vixen that broke
her back at the double ditch at Punchestown, how she was a lamb with
the master though a greater divil than Mustapha to the rest of the
world?"
She knew that way Patsy had of talking a lot about a subject when he
was really keeping something essential back. It was quite true that
Mustapha had been coming to his senses of late--and Shawn had a
beautiful pair of hands, gentle yet as strong as steel. She had
thought Patsy's anxiety about Mustapha's being ridden by any one but
himself unnecessary, perhaps even with an unconscious spice of vanity
underlying it. Patsy had conquered Mustapha. Perhaps he would not be
altogether pleased that the horse should be amenable to some one else,
yet Mustapha had taken a lump of sugar from her hand, only yesterday,
as daintily as her own Chloë, his muzzle moving over her hands
afterwards with silken softness.
"I hope Mustapha will repay all the time and care you have spent on
him, Patsy," she said, and would not acknowledge that her heart had
turned cold for a second.
She hoped Shawn would be home early, before she had time to feel
alarmed. Of course there was no cause for alarm. Patsy himself said
that Mustapha had come to be that kind that a lamb or a child could
play with him. It was absurd of Patsy not to be satisfied about
Shawn's riding the horse.
There were some things Patsy needed--a bandage for Tartar, some
cough-balls for Black Prince, which could be procured at the general
shop in Killesky.
She went into Sir Shawn's office to write the order. Patsy would come
for it presently.
After she had written it she went out by the open French window and
climbed the rising ground at the back of the house. Very often she
went up there of afternoons to look at the sunset. She had always
loved sunsets.
The afternoon had been grey, but at the top of the hill she was
rewarded for her climb. On one side the sloping valley was filled with
a dun-coloured mist. Over it leant the dun-coloured cloud which was a
part of the grey heavens. To the other side were the hills, coloured
the deep blue which is only seen in the West of Ireland. Behind them
were long washes of light, silver and pale gold. The dun cloud above
had caught the sapphire as though in a mirror. Round the Southern and
Western horizon ran the broad belt of light under the sapphire cloud,
while to North and East the dun sky met the dun-coloured mist.
She went back after a while, her sense of beauty satisfied. From that
hill one could hear anything, horse or vehicle, coming from a long way
off. The sound ascended and was not lost in the winding and twisting
roads. But she would not acknowledge disappointment to herself. She
had gone up to look at the evening sky and it had been beautiful with
one of the strange kaleidoscopic effects which makes those Western
skies for ever new and beautiful.
The tea had been brought in and the lamps lit when a visitor was
announced--Sir Felix Conyers. She was glad she had not heard the noise
of his arrival and mistaken it for Shawn's.
Sir Felix was an old soldier who had held an important command in
India. He was a rather fussy but very kind-hearted person whom Mary
O'Gara liked better than his handsome cold wife with her organized
system of charities.
"This is kind, Sir Felix," she said. "Shawn is not home yet. They met
at the Wood of the Hare this morning. The scent must have lain well.
We were a little anxious about the frost before the wind went to the
South-West."
Then she discovered that Sir Felix, a transparently simple person, was
labouring under some curious form of excitement. He stammered as he
tried to answer, and looked at her furtively. He dropped his riding
whip, which he was carrying in his hands, stooped to look for it and
came up rather apologetic and more nervous than before.
"The fact is ... I came over, Lady O'Gara ... to ... to ..."
"Is anything the matter, Sir Felix?"
Down went her heart like a plummet of lead. _Shawn!_ Had anything
happened to Shawn? Had this stammering, purple-faced gentleman come to
prepare her? Her heart gave a cry of anguish, while her eyes rested
with apparent calmness on Sir Felix's unhappy face. Of course it was
Mustapha. Would he never speak? Why could they not have found a
better messenger than this unready inarticulate gentleman?
At last the cry was wrung from her: "Has anything happened to my
husband?"
"No! God bless my soul,--no!"
Her heart lifted slightly with the relief and fell again. She had been
frightened and had not got over the shock.
"It is a perfectly absurd business, Lady O'Gara. Your husband will--I
have no doubt"--he emitted a perfectly unnatural chuckle--"be immensely
amused. I should not have mentioned it ... I should have shown the
ruffian the door, only that new District Inspector ... Fury ... a very
good name for him ... mad as a hatter, I should say ... brought the
fellow to me."
"What is it all about, Sir Felix?" asked Lady O'Gara, in a voice of
despair.
"My dear lady, have I been trying you? I'm sorry." Sir Felix pulled
himself together by a manifest effort.
"I apologize for even telling you such a thing, though I don't believe
one word of it. The fellow was obviously drunk and so I told D.I.
Fury. I absolutely refused to swear him, but I had to issue a summons.
Yes, yes, I'm coming to it now! Don't be impatient, my dear lady. A
low drunken tramp went to the police with a ridiculous story that your
husband was privy to the death of young Terence Comerford, poor fellow!
Ridiculous! when every one knows there was the love of brothers between
them. The ruffian maintains that he was on the spot,--that your
husband and Comerford were quarrelling, that your husband struck him
repeatedly, he not being in a way to defend himself, finally that he
lashed the horse, a young and very spirited horse who would not take
the whip, saying: 'You'll never reach home alive, Terence Comerford!
You've forced me to do it.' My dear lady, don't look so terrified. Of
course there's nothing in it. Your husband will have to answer the
charge at Petty Sessions. It won't go any further. If it were true
itself they couldn't bring it in more than manslaughter. Indeed, I
doubt if any charge would lie after so many years."
He stopped, panting after the long speech.
"It was very kind of you to ride over this dark night to tell us. Of
course it is a ridiculous tale. But the mere suggestion will upset my
husband. As you say, they were so devoted, dearer than brothers. Why
should this person come with such a tale at this time of day?"
"That is exactly what I asked, my dear lady. Trumped up, every bit of
it, I haven't the smallest doubt. Only for Fury it would end where it
began. The fellow says--I beg your pardon, Lady O'Gara,--that Sir
Shawn paid him to keep silence--that he has grown tired of being bled
and told him to do his worst. As I said to Fury, you had only to look
at the fellow to see that the truth wasn't in him."
Lady O'Gara was very pale.
"Would you mind waiting a second, Sir Felix?" she said gently. "You
were not here at the time of the dreadful accident. The one who really
all but witnessed it is here, close at hand. You might like to hear
his version of what happened."
She rang the bell and asked the servant who came in answer if Mr. Kenny
was waiting. Patsy was Mr. Kenny even to the new butler.
Patsy came in, small, neat, in his gaiters and riding breeches, his cap
in his hand. He stood blinking in the lamplight, looking from Lady
O'Gara to Sir Felix Conyers.
"Sir Felix would like to hear from your lips, Patsy, the story of what
you saw the night Mr. Terence Comerford was killed."
There was a wild surmise in Patsy's eyes. Not for many a year had that
tragedy been spoken of in his hearing.
"I would not recall it," Lady O'Gara went on in her gentle voice, "only
that Sir Felix tells me some man has been saying that Sir Shawn flogged
Mr. Comerford's horse, using words as he did so which proved that he
knew the horse would not take the whip and that he had it in his mind
to kill Mr. Comerford."
"Who was the man said the likes of that?" asked Patsy, his eyes
suddenly red.
"It was a sort of ... tramping person," said Sir Felix, putting on his
pince-nez the better to see Patsy. "He has been in these parts before.
A most unprepossessing person. Quite a bad lot, I should say."
"A foxy man with a hanging jowl," said Patsy. "Not Irish by his
speech. Seems like as if he'd curse you if you come his way. No
whiskers,--a bare-faced man."
"That would be his description."
"It's a quare thing," said Patsy in a slow ruminating voice, "that for
all the rage I felt agin him, so that I wanted to throttle him wid me
two hands, I never thought of him with the man that was there the night
Mr. Terence Comerford was killed. Did you notice the big hairy hands
of him? They all but choked me that night. I thought I'd cause enough
to hate him when he came my way again because o' the poor girl and the
child. I could scarce keep my hands off him. The villain! I'd rather
kill him than a rat in the stable yard."
"You seem to have a very accurate idea about the person who has made
this grotesque charge against your master," Sir Felix said in his
pompous way. "Your feelings do you credit, but still ... I should not
proceed to violence."
"Please tell Sir Felix what happened that night, Patsy," Lady O'Gara
said. She had stood up and gone a little way towards the window. She
spoke in a quiet voice. Only one who was devoted to her, as Patsy was,
could have guessed the control she was exercising over herself.
Patsy's eyes, in the shadow of the lamp, sent her a look of mute
protecting pity and tenderness.
"'Tis, sir, that I was in the ditch that night." Patsy turned his cap
about in his hands. "I was lookin' for the goat an' she draggin' her
chain an' the life frightened out of me betwixt the black night and the
ghosts and the terrible cross ould patch I had of a grandfather, that
said he'd flog me alive if I was to come home without the goat. I was
blowin' on me hands for the cowld an' shakin' wid fright o' bein' me
lone there; an' not a hundred yards between me an' that place where the
ould Admiral's ghost walks. When I heard the horses' feet comin' my
heart lifted up, once I was sure it wasn't ghosts they was. They
passed me whin I was sittin' in the ditch. No sooner was they gone by
than I let a bawl out o' me, an' I ran after them for company, for it
come over me how I was me lone in that dark place. You see, your
Honour, I was only a bit of a lad, an' th' ould grandfather had made me
nervous-like. Just then I caught the bleat of the goat an' I was
overjoyed, for I thought I'd ketch her an' creep home behind Sir Shawn
an' the walkin' horse. They parted company where the roads met, an' I
heard Sir Shawn trottin' his horse up the road in front o' me, an'
Spitfire--that was Mr. Comerford's horse--was unaisy an' refusin' the
dark road under the trees. You couldn't tell what the crathur saw, God
help us all! No horse liked that road. Thin I heard Spitfire
clatterin' away in the dark an' I ran, draggin' the little goat after
me to get past the place where the unchancy ould road dips down.
Somewan cannoned into me runnin' out o' the dark road. I couldn't see
his face, but he cursed me, an' I felt his hairy hands round me neck
and me scratchin' and tearin' at them. It was that villain that's
comin' here to annoy the master, or I think it was. Mind you, I never
seen him. But he took me up be me little coat an' he dashed me down on
the road an' nigh knocked the life out o' me. The next thing I knew I
was lying in the bed at home an' me sore from head to foot, an' able to
see only out o' wan eye be rayson of a bandage across the other: an' me
grandfather an' the neighbours wor sayin' that Mr. Terence Comerford
was kilt, and that Sir Shawn O'Gara was distracted with grief. But the
quarest thing at all was hearin' the ould man sayin' that I was a good
little boy, after all the divils and villains he'd called me, as long
as I could remember."
Patsy stopped, still turning his hat about in his hands, his velvety
eyes fixed on Lady O'Gara, where she stood leaning by the mantelpiece,
her face turned away, one slender foot resting on the marble kerb. If
Sir Felix had been aware of the expression of the eyes he might have
been startled, but even the pince-nez were not equal to that.
"Thank you very much," he said. "That story should knock the bottom
out of our friend's statement. Merely vexatious; I said so to D.I.
Fury. Sir Shawn and Mr. Comerford parted in perfect amity?"
"Like brothers," said Patsy with emphasis, "as they wor ever an'
always. Sure the master was never the same man since. I often heard
the people sayin' how it was the love of brothers was betwixt them, an'
more, for many a blood brother doesn't fret for his brother as the
master fretted for Master Terence. He was never the same man since."