On Sparrow Hill (31 page)

With a wide table between them, Berrie knew she couldn’t touch him even in comfort, especially with his hands tethered. “I believe you, Duff. Only we must clear this up, or the school’s future is at risk. Why should Finola do this?”

“I have no guess!” His face, his voice, the droop of his shoulders all spoke the anguish behind his words. “I–I wanted to love her, but I never touched her. I vow ’tis the truth.”

Berrie nodded. “We’ll prove it, then, Duff. Somehow. Even now, I’ve sent a note to my brother and sister-in-law, asking their help.”

He was shaking his head. “They want a speedy trial because of my position at the school. ’Twill be over by the time anyone from London can help.”

He was undoubtedly right. Berrie stood. “The truth will be heard, Duff. I’ll do my best to make sure Finola is the one to tell it. She must be made to explain why she’s conjured this lie.”

Nothing made sense. If Duff was innocent, as Berrie believed to the depth of her soul, why should Finola bring such a charge? Surely she wouldn’t want the school to be endangered; it was her future! Once Conall was old enough, didn’t Finola plan to return? There was nothing for her to gain, only a future to lose, in such false accusations.

Berrie must find her. If she’d mentioned the town where she’d once lived, where her brother still resided, Berrie couldn’t recall. Even Duff knew only that Finola had come from County Dublin, somewhere north of the city. Cosima might know how to find her cousin, but Berrie had no time to wait for letters to go back and forth between Dublin and London. So she asked Duff the name of the barrister who would be representing him, and the bailiff told her where she could find the lawyer. To Berrie’s relief, Jobbin was able to take her there without delay. Unfortunately the lawyer was not found in his office, though a clerk told her he would return in a few hours’ time. She asked the clerk, a round-faced, friendly apprentice to the law, if she could learn the whereabouts of someone named in a suit against one of their clients.

Instantly the clerk lost the image of youthful innocence she’d imagined him to possess. He aged before her eyes and grew cold as well, stating even if their lawyer was in his office this moment, he could not divulge such information. He then showed her the way outside, though she could easily have found the door on her own.

This was not to be easy, but Berrie refused to believe the task impossible. The clerk’s behavior told her it would be futile to seek the lawyer who’d once represented Finola on her brother’s behalf, the one demanding half the estate. Undoubtedly that office would prove as protective of its client as this one had been.

Finola had a friend right here in Dublin. Berrie remembered the name—Nessa O’Brien O’Donnell—and how Finola had fairly sung the rhythm of it. Nessa would surely know how to find Finola, and with a bit of luck, Finola might even still be there, staying with this friend.

But in such a large city, how could someone with as common a name as
O’Donnell
be found? She told Jobbin the challenge. All she knew of the woman was that she must possess some means, for she and Finola had met during Finola’s more prosperous childhood at a girls’ school on the north side of the city. Jobbin tipped his hat and directed Berrie back to the wagon with the smile of a man who knew what next to do. A Nessa O’Brien O’Donnell of little means would be hard to find in a city like Dublin. But a Nessa O’Brien O’Donnell with anything higher than the most modest of respectable homes and from a certain girls’ school? He knew the pubs in both rich and poor neighborhoods, and both were frequented by those who knew their neighbors. The rich ones would be a much narrower search at that. He estimated they would find Mrs. O’Donnell within two hours’ time.

The search might have been quick for Jobbin, but for Berrie, waiting in the wagon while he visited one pub after another proved nearly intolerable. Her mind hopped from worry to worry, especially when she smelled the scent of whiskey on the older man’s breath.

“I have to raise a glass, don’t you know,” he told her, “otherwise who would trust me with a bit of information, harmless or otherwise?”

She received the pronouncement tacitly, adding a new prayer to her long list of others: for Jobbin’s safe sobriety. Still, she looked for a wobble in his step or a slip of the reins when he was driving the wagon.

Her prayers were answered before she detected any compromise on Jobbin’s behavior. After a half dozen pubs in the northern neighborhoods, he had narrowed down the girls’ schools, then the O’Donnell and O’Brien families. Before long, Jobbin pulled up before a three-story home in a respectable neighborhood. Berrie let him help her alight, grateful he appeared at the ready. The humble Escott Manor wagon wasn’t a Hamilton carriage, but Berrie knew how to hold herself as if it were.

A maid answered the door, and Berrie would have handed her an announcement card had she not left such habits and possessions on the other side of the Irish Sea. Instead, Berrie told the servant her name, asking if Mrs. O’Donnell was at home and could receive a brief visit. Berrie was told to wait.

Standing inside the front door, Berrie couldn’t hear much of what went on beyond the entry alcove. If Finola was indeed here with little Conall at her side, they were either napping or perhaps out of doors in a yard if one was to be found with such a city house as this. Humbler than the London town house Berrie had known all her life, this was still a comfortable place. Dark woodwork graced the hall and stairway to the left, and to the right she saw a parlor furnished with well-upholstered chairs, a settee, and a piano. Every furniture leg in the room, as far as Berrie could see, was draped in a familiarly modest and up-to-date fashion.

The maid returned, leading Berrie into the parlor. “Mrs. O’Donnell will be down shortly, miss,” she said. “May I bring in some tea?”

“No, thank you,” Berrie said, despite her desire for something warm and soothing. The thought of putting something into her roiling stomach both enticed and revolted her. “I’ve no wish to be an inconvenience. I shan’t stay more than a few moments.”

The maid curtsied. “Very well, miss.”

The room hosted a variety of bric-a-brac, and for a moment Berrie pictured Conall here, with his unsteady gait, his inability to understand the word
no
, his attraction to shiny items like crystal and porcelain. Any number of items would be in danger if he were allowed access.

“Miss Hamilton?”

Berrie turned at the inquiring voice behind her, seeing a woman enter who was about Berrie’s own age. She was pretty; her eyes were small, her nose narrow, but her smile demanded all notice. Stark white, straight teeth were the epitome of health.

“I’m told you have a few questions for me, only I don’t believe we’ve had the honor of acquaintance.”

“If I am in the correct home, we have a friend in common: Finola O’Shea.”

The woman’s light brown hair was severely pulled back so her attractive smile showed off those teeth and generous mouth. “Finny is your friend too? How nice. I’ve known her nearly all my life. How is it that you know her and yet you and I haven’t met?”

“Finola and I are new acquaintances. We have a connection through Escott Manor, where she stayed for a short time. In between visits here, I believe. Is there any chance Finola is still here?”

“Oh no. She asked her brother if she could return home, and he agreed. To be honest, I don’t know why Thaddeus agreed to let Finny return. Generosity isn’t in his disposition.”

“Her brother must have had a change of heart,” Berrie said, “about letting Finola stay with him.”

Nessa O’Donnell harrumphed. “I take it you’ve never met Thaddeus?”

Berrie shook her head.

“So like his father it would make you doubt the wisdom of God, having created not one but two such men.”

“Her stay with him is only temporary, of course,” Berrie said, “until Conall is twelve. Then, if they haven’t something else in store, they can return to Escott Manor.”

“Ah, yes, Finny told me about that offer from the headmistress. It’s really too bad it didn’t work out for them to stay there right along. Conall won’t be twelve for another eight years.”

Berrie was surprised by the woman’s frankness. She must not be aware of the charges Finola was bringing against Duff. Otherwise Berrie was certain the woman would have brought it up the moment Berrie revealed her link to Escott Manor—the very place that employed Finola’s alleged attacker. Berrie decided to keep her identity as headmistress to herself. “I was wondering if you could tell me how I might visit Finola?”

She stared at Berrie. “I’m surprised you don’t know, if you’re friends.”

“She knew where to find me, and since her plans were uncertain when she left Escott Manor, she didn’t bother to give me a forwarding address yet.”

That seemed logical enough, even to Berrie. Mrs. O’Donnell told her where the O’Shea manor house could be found, an hour north of Dublin. On her way out, Berrie knew she must try to ask one more question without alarming the other woman.

“Tell me, Mrs. O’Donnell,” Berrie asked, “did Finola ever mention a man by the name of Duff Habgood, one of the men who work at Escott Manor?”

Mrs. O’Donnell shook her head. “Finny hasn’t been of any mind to talk about a man, not since her husband annulled their marriage. She vowed never to trust one again, and Finny isn’t the kind to go back on a vow, especially to herself. Why do you ask?”

“I thought she and Mr. Habgood were friends,” Berrie said and left it at that. She bid Mrs. O’Donnell a good day, then found her way outside, where Jobbin waited with the wagon.

She gave him directions to the O’Shea manor house. They wouldn’t arrive until almost dark, but there was little to be done about that. She couldn’t wait another day.

Settling back, Berrie mulled over the information she’d received. Finola had gone to the O’Donnell home after leaving Escott Manor. If Duff had supposedly accosted her while she was in residence at the school, and if Finola and Mrs. O’Donnell were the hob-or-nob friends Mrs. O’Donnell seemed to portray, wouldn’t Finola have confided in her about an attack? Especially if she were going to make the incident public by bringing action against Duff?

Berrie was more certain than ever no attack had taken place, but even if something improper had happened between Duff and Finola, if it had occurred
after
Finola left the school, might that make a difference? He’d been in Dublin, searching for families in need of their school. Had he come upon Finola by accident, and had she misinterpreted a simple greeting as something more than it was? Duff admitted he’d been enamored of her; perhaps he’d forgotten himself and hugged her upon sight. Maybe Finola was so embittered against men in general, because of the way her husband had treated her, she would take any revenge upon Duff that she could. An innocent substitute for the wrongs her husband had enacted.

Such theories filled Berrie’s mind as Jobbin drove the wagon at a brisk pace north of the city. It was more vital than ever that Berrie speak to Finola, to make her see what sort of trouble this caused the school. It endangered Finola’s own welfare, not just Duff’s, if she still hoped the school would be part of her future.

If Berrie wasn’t able to change Finola’s mind about this accusation, all might be lost.

49

* * *

The telephone rang. Rebecca glanced at the clock. Almost eleven. Only Quentin would—

She scrambled to answer, nearly dropping the receiver from unsteady hands. After issuing a successfully calm greeting, her mind didn’t register her sunken heart until moments after realizing the voice on the other end was a woman. Despite her disappointment, the momentary shot of adrenaline had fully awakened her. Rebecca had been at her desk, almost too tired to work a moment ago, but she had a few things to catch up on before the judges’ visit day after tomorrow.

“Is Dana there?” the voice said after her hello.

“Dana? Yes, she’s here, but I’ll have to fetch her; she’s retired for the night. This is Rebecca Seabrooke. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Oh, Rebecca! We’ve never directly corresponded. This is Dana’s sister, Talie Ingram.” A pause, filled by a slight echo on the line. “I’m sorry, it’s almost eleven o’clock there, isn’t it? I’ve been so busy I didn’t realize how late it must be for you.”

“If you’ll hold the line, I’ll see if she’s awake.” Rebecca popped up from her chair.

“No, don’t.”

Rebecca caught back the receiver, her movements still jerky, spurred by emotion that had nothing to do with the call. “Yes, what’s that?”

“Don’t wake her. In her condition she needs all the rest she can get. I only called to let her know I’m coming. I have a million things to do before my mother gets here to watch the kids. Tell Danes I’ll be there tomorrow night by this time, right at the door.”

“So you know about the baby?” Rebecca was breathing more naturally now. She sat down again.

“Aidan called a couple of days ago. He’s pretty worried about her.”

“Yes, so am I.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be any help, but I’m coming to offer whatever support I can. And to see if I can convince her to return to Ireland and to Aidan as soon as possible.”

“That’s wonderful. Dana told me you went through this sort of pregnancy yourself, not knowing what was ahead.”

“Longest months of my life. I’m living proof that the fifty-fifty chance is real, but from what Aidan says it sounds like she thinks it’s 100 percent guaranteed she’ll have a fragile X child.”

“I think that’s an accurate assessment.”

“You tell that sister of mine every minute she worries is another minute wasted. Oh, forget that. She won’t listen to you any more than she’d listen to me. Just tell her I’m coming. One more thing, then I really have to go. This is a little awkward. I hate to ask favors, but Aidan seemed to think it would be all right if I stayed there with you and Dana. Will that be all right—you know, with the owner? I’m not sure cousin-umpteenth-removed counts as family, so I don’t want to impose.”

“It will be fine,” Rebecca said. How easily she offered this roof, when it was entirely possible she wouldn’t have much to say about its usage before long.