In the Company of Others (6 page)

Seven

‘There, now,’ said James Feeney. ‘Nothing broken as far as I can tell.’

The silver-haired, blade-thin doctor was seated on the footstool by Cynthia’s chair, her foot resting in his lap. Several chamber sticks lit the room.

‘But that’s only as far as I can tell. It’s swelling more than a bit. ’T would be wise to have X-rays. That would be best.’

‘No, please,’ she said. ‘Can’t I just stay off it awhile?’

‘My best advice is for X-rays.’

‘Please, no, I’ll do anything.’

Feeney gave a kind of sigh. ‘Then you must stay off it, of course. For some days. Perhaps a boot ...’

‘No boot,’ she said, dismayed. ‘I just had one. I promise I’ll stay off it.’

His wife was not known for being a model patient; the doctor’s face registered frustration.

‘You’ll need crutches, then; I can lend you a pair.’

‘Déjà vu all over again,’ she said, quoting a ballplayer whose name she could never remember.

‘There’s no way around the use of crutches unless you confine yourself to your room. And you don’t appear to be a lady who enjoys confinement.’

‘I’ll use the crutches, of course. Thank you, Doctor. Will you forgive me?’

Feeney smiled. ‘Absolutely. We’ll do what we can and hope for the best.’

Through the closed window, voices in the garden below. An occasional arc of light glanced across the panes.

‘Anna, bring a glass of water, please. Reverend, see that she’s given one of these every four to six hours, as needed.’ Feeney rummaged in his case, fetched up an envelope, shook out a pill.

‘You should sleep well tonight, but the pain may give you a fit ’til the medication gets going.’ The doctor stood and took her hand. ‘As in most of our travails, Mrs. Kav’na, patience will be the best cure.’

She swallowed the pill with a long draught of water. ‘I’m a dab short on patience, Doctor, but quite long on endurance.’

‘Can’t I talk you into having it x-rayed? I could take you into Sligo myself, if that would help.’

‘May I just see how it goes for a day or two?’

‘Very well.’ Feeney looked his way, amused.
So this is what you live with
, he seemed to say. ‘I’m afraid you must give a few minutes to the Garda. They’ve done all they can without having their chat with the eyewitness. Are you up to it?’

‘I am,’ she said.

‘I see you’re reading the oul’ journal,’ said Feeney. He opened the cover, peered in.

‘A page-turner, actually.’

Feeney laughed. ‘Never had more than a minute or two to sit with it. Perhaps when I retire.’ He closed the cover, hefted his black bag. ‘Well, then, I’ll be back with the crutches first thing in the morning, and of course, if you need me, give us a shout. Anna, why don’t you stay with Mrs. Kav’na while the reverend and I have a moment?’

‘Of course.’ Anna’s face was blanched. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

‘See that the Gards make it brief with Mrs. Kav’na, she needs her rest.’ Feeney kissed Anna on the cheek. ‘Take care of yourself, Anna Conor, you’re working too hard and we can’t have you poorly. I prescribe two weeks in the Ibiza countryside. ’

He went with Feeney to the landing. Murmurs, occasional merriment from the library. The scent of pipe smoke.

‘She must stay off the foot,’ said Feeney. ‘Absolutely—I don’t know what’s going on in there. My guess is it’s a sprain, but no way to know without the X-ray.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ he said.

‘I regret the terrible fright you’ve had. I’ve been a friend of the Conor family for more than forty years, and must say I feel the upset very keenly for all of you. While I’m thinking of it, your wife will need help on the stairs. Crutches are bloody suicide on stairs.’

‘I’m wondering . . . we have family coming in a few days. They’ll be at Broughadoon for a night, then we’ve a car trip planned.’

‘Give me a notion of your itinerary.’

‘A few cemeteries, the ruin of the Kavanagh family seat ...’

‘Where is that?’

‘Fourteen kilometers east and across a sheep pasture.’ He knew the verdict already. ‘Then Borris House, the Connemara coast . . .’

Feeney pulled at his chin. ‘No, no, I don’t think so. Not at all. But we’ll talk tomorrow. By the way, do you play bridge?’

‘Bridge? Roughly the same way I sit a horse.’

‘And what way is that?’

‘With great trepidation.’

Feeney chuckled. ‘Once a month, Liam’s mother has the local priest and myself in for lunch and an afternoon of bridge. We’re always scouting for a fourth.’

He felt indebted to a man routed from his armchair at a late hour, to attend a willful patient. But, as for sitting at a bridge table, he’d rather have a root canal.

‘Perhaps I’ll think about it.’ He shook Feeney’s hand. ‘Our warmest thanks for your kindness.’

‘Hope you can join us day after tomorrow. Seamus turns out a fine lunch. ’t would be champion of you.’

Feeney trotted down the stairs, passing Liam and the uniformed officers coming up. ‘Try to make quick work of it, gentlemen. The lady has had a great fright.’

He felt her anguish as if it were his own—indeed, it was his own.

‘Anything gone missing?’ asked Liam.

‘I did a quick search—don’t think so.’

‘’t will be crowded in there. I’ll just be in the hall if you need me, I’m tryin’ to run down the ESB on th’ mobile.’

He went in with two officers and a photographer from the Crime Unit and stood by her as they asked questions and made notes. Bursts of light from the camera flash lit the room.

Tall, quite tall, yes. He covered his face with one hand and it was very dark, only a candle burning, she had no idea what he looked like. She had no memory of his hair color—it seemed his head was covered in some way. He must have been young, as he was very quick going over the sill and out the window. She had come into the room only moments before opening the door of the armoire. When he bolted out, he’d thrown his other hand in front of him and struck her arm, all of which caused her to stumble backward and turn her ankle.

Had the Kav’nas discovered anything missing? They had not.

A Gard pulled on a glove and opened the right-hand door of the armoire. Peered in, closed it. Opened the door on the left—drawers only.

‘Anything missing?’

‘Haven’t looked carefully, but don’t think so.’

Cynthia speculated that the intruder had been in the room when he heard them coming along the hall earlier than expected, and had hidden himself in the armoire. The Gards speculated that the intruder may have been looking for easy pickings while the guests were at dinner, and since no one at Broughadoon had found anything missing, perhaps he was frightened off at the top of his rounds. Very likely, they agreed, the intruder had not singled out the Kavanaghs.

Was Mrs. Kav’na known to travel with jewelry?

Only her wedding band, a watch, a strand of pearls, two pairs of earrings.

Was Mr. Kav’na known to travel with cash?

No more than a couple hundred euros, in this case. And he always kept his wallet in his pants pocket, never in a guest room.

Had their room door been locked?

There were no guest-room keys at Broughadoon.

A Gard reported that the soil beneath the window was freshly raked of footprints; a rake was found propped by the gate which opened to a gravel path; the herbs beneath the window were trampled.

Had the Kavanaghs seen anyone in the hall? Noticed anyone suspicious about the place since they arrived? Would the Kavanaghs mind being fingerprinted, and having fingerprint work done on various surfaces in their room?

They wouldn’t mind.

Cynthia leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Anna appeared at the door with a pot of tea. The travel club passed along the hall with chamber sticks, peering into the room and speaking in hushed voices. This would be a long night.

He stepped out to the landing with Liam.

‘I asked them to dust the power box for fingerprints while they’re at it,’ said Liam. ‘God’s truth, I hate this for you. We won’t charge you anything, ’t is on th’ house entirely.’

‘Don’t think about it, please.’

‘Nothing like this ever happened before. We’re a very quiet, very decent sort of place.’

‘Of course.’

‘Anything missing, Reverend?’

‘I don’t think so. Please call me Tim.’

‘Ah, no. I’ve never called a clergyman by his Christian name, Catholic or Protestant.’

‘Give it a try when you feel up to it.’

‘Yes. Well. A whiskey, then?’

‘Not for me, thanks.’

‘Seamus has gone to fetch our Maureen McKenna to be fingerprinted. He said tell you he’s ready to give a hand if needed.’

‘I appreciate it. How are the other guests?’

‘O’Malley’s dead asleep in th’ library; the other lads have signed off for the evenin’. As for the travel club, they thought th’ Gards were real dotes in their new uniforms. So’—Liam shrugged—‘they all took it in stride; I was afraid the women would be checkin’ out. There’ll likely be a wing chair or two pushed up to their doors tonight.’

‘Anything missing from the rooms?’

‘Doesn’t appear to be.’

‘I’d like you to know I’m praying about this. All of it.’

Liam looked startled. ‘After my father died, I forgot that sort of thing—praying. I put it behind me. Some call it lapsed. As for me, Reverend, I’m pure fallen. Fallen entirely.’

It was a quarter to one when he reached to the night table and looked at his watch. It was close in the room—the body heat and commotion had churned up the peace of it—but he had no intention of opening the window.

He thanked God that nothing worse had happened tonight, and wondered again if they should have made the trip at all. From the very outset, their Ireland plans had been hindered by cancellation and delay, and now this terrible fright for her, and pain into the bargain.

He listened for a time to her whiffling snore, a musical sort of sound, actually, which had always charmed him. She would make the best of it; she was good at making the best of things.

Across the Pond in Mitford, tourists were strolling Main Street, languid and bemused in mountain air far sweeter than the August haze they’d left behind. Dooley would have finished up his day as a vet’s assistant, and gone into Mitford, perhaps, to take his three brothers and sister for pizza-with-everything. He thought of the tall, lanky boy with inquisitive eyes and the way he laughed and the way his laughter infected others. He prayed for Dooley’s wisdom and discernment, and for the safekeeping of all the siblings, reunited after years of loss.

He had just found the sweet spot in his pillow when he felt movement beneath their bed. He lay frozen with alarm, listening.

Then, the rapid thumping sound, known to him as the Scratching of the Odd Flea.

‘Pud,’ he hissed. ‘Come out of there.’

Eight

‘I’m so sorry for all of it,’ said Anna. ‘Most guests would have been dreadfully upset by last night, and no power to boot. They’d be packin’ up this morning, sure enough. You’re a very kind man.’

He was often called kind, and never knew what to say in response. He certainly didn’t think he was
very
kind—curious more like it, interested enough in what was going on not to complain of discomfort within reason.

‘And then to have our dog sleeping under your bed. He’s done it only once before—adopted himself out to a schoolteacher on holiday from Cavan.’

‘I’m his first Yank, then.’

Anna smiled a little. ‘We got him from a shelter. They said he belonged to a very hard man; Pud doesn’t like the raised voice.’ She sighed, then straightened herself. ‘Still and all, I shall give you rhubarb every morning if that would make it up a bit.’

‘No need to make it up,’ he said, ‘but I’ll gladly take it.’

They sat at the breakfast table, waiting for Liam to bring out Cynthia’s fry.

‘How is Cynthia this morning?’

‘She slept well, and was singing a little before I came down.’ Where Christ is, Dorothy Sayers had said, cheerfulness will keep breaking in. A description,
in toto
, of the woman who shared his bed.

‘Do you think she might like to move rooms?’

‘She hasn’t mentioned it.’ Unloading drawers, schlepping their jumble—an aggravation he wasn’t up to.

‘We don’t have an extra room available, but one of the anglers may be willing to make an exchange. I could ask Pete, his room would give you a larger bath and a lovely writing table.’

‘Same view?’

‘Ah, no. Blocked by the beeches, I’m afraid. I’ve given you our prettiest room, really, with hardly a twig to obscure the scenery.’

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Unless you hear otherwise, we’ll stick where we are.’

‘Two of the travel club will be bunking together tomorrow to free up the room for your cousins. That was understood when the ladies booked.’

‘Musical chairs,’ he said.

‘Always.’ Anna ran her fingers through a reckless mass of red curls. ‘Forgive my appearance, Reverend, I’ve somehow not put the comb to my head this morning. It’s as much to keep as the garden.’

She was a beautiful, big-boned woman, intense and present to the moment, with eyes that appeared to take in a horde of details and sort them at lightning speed. Their eyes met as he lifted the cup and polished off his coffee—she looked worn, conflicted, and for a brief moment made no effort to conceal it. He felt there was something she wanted to say to him—four decades of counseling had honed a certain skill at sensing trial behind the forced smile, the hard jaw, the stiff upper lip.

‘I hope you won’t regret not getting about ’til the cousins arrive. There are so many grand places to see—Ben Bulben, of course, and the lovely Knocknarea walk to Queen Maeve’s grave, and Lissadell House and Inishmurray Island, and, oh, the Tubbercurry Fair coming ...’

She went on, dutiful in limning the list. Even if they could get about, he lacked the grit to look at anything grand or affecting just now—the view of the lake was enough. He’d never been much of a tourist, and anyway, he’d seen a lot of Sligo on the previous trip. A day in the library would be a banquet of sorts, with a jog by the lake in the afternoon. He had no idea what to do about Walter and Katherine showing up full of vim and vigor, unscathed, as usual, by jet or any other lag. Bottom line, James Feeney was in possession of their immediate future. If Cynthia couldn’t ramble over hill and dale, neither would he.

He was leaving the dining room when Anna dropped a fork, which hit the wood floor, bounced, and skidded under a dish cupboard. He set the tray down.

‘I’ll get it,’ he said, dropping at once to his hands and knees.

‘No, no, please,’ she said. ‘Let me, please.’

‘I can see it, it’s right back . . .’ He tried to reach the thing, but it eluded him. ‘A broom,’ he said. Peggy had taught him the efficacy of the broom handle—useful for everything from removing spiderwebs in ceiling corners to adjusting a high-hanging picture on the wall. Anna supplied a broom.

He retrieved the fork, embarrassed that he couldn’t shoot to his feet like a young curate. Halfway up, he took the hand she offered.

‘There,’ she said, smiling.

‘There,’ he said, handing over the fork.

They burst into laughter, the nonsensical kind that felt good and didn’t strain anything in the process.

He was passing through the library with the breakfast tray, noting that the fire had been poked up.

‘Yoo hoo, darling, over here. Scooted down the stairs on me bum, then found an umbrella in the stair hall and used it as a cane.’

There she sat in a chair by the open window, looking up-for-anything. He was foolishly happy. ‘You heedless woman.’

He set the tray on the lamp table and rounded up one of the several footstools and placed the tray on it and shook out her napkin and draped it across her lap.

‘Wait,’ he said, ‘’til your doctor hears about this.’

‘I’ve just heard about it from Maureen.’ James Feeney strode in from the hall with a pair of crutches and propped them against the wall. ‘Good morning to all. We have here a very clever woman. Stays off her foot, as the doctor ordered, and still gets about like a field hare. Did you rest?’ Feeney asked his patient.

‘Well enough, thanks—the little pills are a godsend.’

‘Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, I’ll have a quick look if you don’t mind.’ Feeney squatted by the chair. ‘Have you ever used crutches?’

‘Yes, just recently. And before that, when I was ten years old. I painted one red and one yellow, and added green ribbons.’

‘A harbinger of things to come. I’m told you’re a famous children’s book illustrator.’ He examined her ankle. ‘Swollen, inflamed, stiff. All to be expected.’ He gave the ankle a slight turn. ‘How does that feel?’

‘Not bad.’

‘This?’

She flinched. ‘Ugh.’

‘When you were ten—was it your ankle that put you on crutches?’

‘Yes. The same one. Sprained badly.’

‘And your recent fracture. How did that happen?’

‘Missed a porch step,’ she said.

‘I broke my ankle entirely when I was nine. I was learning to fly with my older brother, Jack.’

‘Did you learn?’

‘Ah, no, but Jack did. Royal Air Force. We lost him in France.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Feeney cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well, I recommend you stay off it for at least ten days. You have history with this ankle and must treat it with due regard. Ten days should do the trick, but absolutely no hobbling about or you’ll put it in a worse muddle than we have here.

‘As for the other piece of business, I can’t recommend you go on the car trip. Sorry. ’t would be begging trouble, in my opinion.’ Feeney stood more slowly than he’d squatted. ‘Practice with the crutches before going full steam, if you will, I’m no good at mending bones. Reverend, if you’d give a thought to our bridge party tomorrow, I’d be delighted. You’ll make me a hero in the eyes of our hostess, not to mention the village priest.’

He looked at Cynthia—she would bail him out; she knew how he felt about bridge.

‘Oh, do go,’ she said. ‘I’ll be so happy staying here with the journal. I’m headed into the mysterious spread of an unidentified bacteria.’

‘You’ll regret it,’ he said to Feeney. ‘I’m no thumping good at it. Believe me.’

Feeney laughed. ‘Our hostess relishes a good slaughter now and then. I should know—I’ve been the poor pig more than once. Well, then, many thanks, Reverend. See you up there at one o’clock tomorrow.’ Feeney gave his hand a first-rate pump and turned to his patient. ‘And no more depending on the odd umbrella.’

The doctor was gone as quickly as he’d come.

‘Dadgum it, Kavanagh. See what you’ve done with your meddling?’

‘You don’t want to go?’

‘Do I enjoy playing bridge?’

‘Well, no. But think how interesting it will be to see the house, you can tell me everything. And of course, look how nice he’s being to us. You made him quite happy, I think.’

‘Seems to me he was happy enough to begin with.’

She asked a blessing she’d learned in childhood, tucked into her eggs, ignored his huff.

‘You won’t miss all the roaming about we’ve looked forward to for nine years?’

‘Eight,’ she said. ‘It’s actually the best of birthday presents, just staying here. No contracts to fulfill, no dear James on the phone gouging a calendar or gift book out of me. And my retired husband off on a wonderful adventure.’

‘That remains to be seen.’

‘I regret it, of course, for Walter and Katherine’s sake—all their best-laid plans upset.’ She looked at him, appealing. ‘I regret it for you, too. Are you terribly disappointed?’

‘Not in the least. Not even a little.’ He saw the pain in her face, the stress of last night. His wife was a better man than himself. ‘I’ll ring them in a few hours; it’s the middle of the night in New Jersey. There’ll be rooms to cancel, that sort of thing.’ Katherine had arranged all details of the car trip.

‘When this ankle business is over, we can visit the family castle and all the other places we’ve talked about—even Yeats’s grave.’ With a look of mock severity, she recited Yeats’s self-written epitaph. ‘Cast a cold eye on life, on death / Horseman, pass by.’

‘Whatever that means,’ he said.

Liam hurried in. ‘The ESB just arrived. We’ll have power before lunch, please God. And I’ve a grand idea, see what you think.’

‘Say on.’

‘We’ve an old estate wagon, a Vauxhall. William bought it before we converted to kilometers, makes th’ Rover look brand-new. You could practice drivin’ up and down th’ lane for a warm-up, then venture out to the highway—and if you scrape a fender, there’s nothing lost. ’t will be a piece of cake. Give it a thought, I’m at the power box if needed.’

‘What a terrific idea,’ exclaimed his wife. ‘You should do it, darling.’

Why was everyone after him to be
doing
? The notion that he might loll about was appalling, he supposed, and this after forty-plus years of running himself ragged. Apparently one must sustain an injury in order to loll unmolested by the well-meaning.

‘Are you out of your mind?’ he asked when Liam left the room.

‘Not yet, but I know you. You only think you want to spend a day in the library. You need to get out and about, Timothy, stir your bones. That’s what makes you tick.’

God help him—now he had no mind of his own.

‘All those years wearing out shoe leather on the streets of Mitford—it made you so happy to walk the beat, see your flock,
mingle
.’

On the other hand, the fellows in the pub had certainly enjoyed a good laugh over his fear of driving on the wrong side. ’t isn’t th’ wrong side, they howled, har, har.

‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘And what about you for today?’

‘I’m sticking in this chair, where I can watch all the coming and going.’

‘In the thick of things.’

‘Correct.’

‘So much for Thomas à Kempis.’

‘If you’d please go up and get the journal and my sketchbook and watercolors, and the Patrick Kavanagh poems and the book on the hunger years . . . just bring the whole darned thing, I’ll be living out of it for a while.’

In the room, he looked for the cell phone and charger, pawing through the drawers, his suitcase, her suitcase, his jacket pockets, his shaving kit, aggravated by the amount of plunder they’d dragged over. He’d never be the one sailing through air terminals with a suitcase the size of a Whitman’s Sampler.

Had he even brought the blasted phone? He hardly used it, except for the occasional call home while doing errands in Wesley, but Katherine had insisted he must have it, along with the phone company’s international package.

He was not amused to find the charger cord stuffed into a sock.

‘There you are, Rev’rend!’

He looked up.

‘Maureen! And there you are!’ The open narrative of her face drew him in at once.

‘We’re glad to have you an’ Mrs. Kav’na.’ She set the laundry basket by the door and came to him with a bobbing gait and shook his hand. He liked the feel of her callused palm in his.

‘Maureen McKenna, Rev’rend.’

‘A pleasure to meet you.’

She put her hand over her mouth like a child, dubious. ‘Mrs. Kav’na says I’m to call her Cynthia?’

‘Absolutely, she likes that.’

‘M’ husband’s youngest brother married a Kav’na from Wexford, and my great-grandfather’s second wife was a Kav’na.’

‘Small world.’

She beamed. ‘Did you like my drawin’, Rev’rend?’

‘Very, very much.’

‘Maureen, she says, I’m drawin’ your inner beauty, an’ I says, all th’ beauty I’ve got is th’ inner. Then she puts th’ oul’ hump in m’ nose, an’ I say, can you erase that off, mebbe? Ah, no, she says, ’t is a
lovely
hump. ’t was th’ same as lookin’ in th’ mirror, that drawin’. She made me a gift of it this mornin’, ’t will go in a nice frame over th’ telly.’

Mere wisps of pale red hair remained on her head, like the Velveteen Rabbit in its age.

‘Did we meet when I was here ten years ago?’

‘Ah, no, ’t was th’ death of me poor husband, Tarry, that kept us away then.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘’t is a lonely washin’ that hasn’t a man’s shirt in it.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘But I’ve never missed a day since. I was with Anna from the first, when she started out alone to fix the oul’ place. ’t was a ruin, Rev’rend. She was slavin’ for Mrs. Conor up Catharmore by day, and us workin’ down here in th’ evenin’ like menfolk.

‘Then Herself gave Anna th’ boot an’ Liam, God bless ’im, came with her. They were married in th’ library with all th’ rubble an’ plaster lyin’ about an’ their guests lookin’ through th’ roof at th’ blue sky. I said, ’t was open to God an’ all ’is angels for pourin’ down blessin’s on us. Aye, an’ they’ve poured down through bad times an’ good, with Anna’s gift for pinchin’ th’ penny.’

Tears pooled in her eyes. ‘Troth, she’s a queen, Anna Conor. An’ look at me jabberin’ when I’m after collectin’ your laundry.’

She held out the basket as one might present the wafer, there was grace in the gesture.