The Tinder Box (6 page)

gave way. There was a shout of approval from the

crowd behind them, and while everyone else's attention

was temporarily distracted, Siobhan watched

Peter Haversley give his wife a surreptitious pat on the

back.

47

Four

Saturday, 30 January 1999

Siobhan had stubbornly kept an open mind about

Patrick's guilt, although as she was honest enough to

admit to Ian, it was more for Rosheen and Bridey's

sake than because she seriously believed there was

room for reasonable doubt. She couldn't forget the

fear she had seen in Rosheen's eyes one day when

she came home early to find Jeremy Jardine at the

front door of the farm. 'What are you doing here?'

she had demanded of him angrily, appalled by the

ashen colour in her nanny's cheeks.

There was a telling silence before Rosheen stumbled

into words.

'He says we're murdering Mrs Fanshaw all over

again by taking Patrick's side,' said the girl in a shaken

voice. 'I said it was wrong to condemn him before the

evidence is heard - you told me everyone would

believe Patrick was innocent until the trial - but Mr

Jardine just keeps shouting at me.'

Jeremy had laughed. 'I'm doing the rounds with

48

my new wine list,' he said, jerking his thumb towards

his car. 'But I'm damned if I'll stay quiet while an

Irish murderer's cousin quotes English law at me.'

Siobhan had controlled her temper because her

two sons were watching from the kitchen window.

'Go inside now,' she told Rosheen, 'but if Mr Jardine

comes here again when Ian and I are at work, I want

you to phone the police immediately.' She waited

while the girl retreated with relief into the depths

of the house. 'I mean it, Jeremy,' she said coldly.

'However strongly you may feel about all of this,

I'll have you prosecuted if you try that trick again.

It's not as though Rosheen has any evidence that can

help Patrick, so you're simply wasting your time.'

He shrugged. 'You're a fool, Siobhan. Patrick's

guilty as sin. You know it. Everyone knows it. Just

don't come crying to me later when the jury proves

us right and you find yourself tarred with the same

brush as the O'Riordans.'

'I already have been,' she said curtly. 'If you and

the Haversleys had your way, I'd have been lynched

by now, but, God knows, I'd give my right arm to see

Patrick get off, if only to watch the three of you

wearing sackcloth and ashes for the rest of your lives.'

Ian had listened to her account of the conversation

with a worried frown on his face. 'It won't help

Patrick if he does get off,' he warned. 'No one's going

to believe he didn't do it. Reasonable doubt sounds

all very well in court, but it won't count for anything

in Sowerbridge. He'll never be able to come back.'

49

'I know.'

'Then don't get too openly involved,' he advised.

'We'll be living here for the foreseeable future, and I

really don't want the boys growing up in an atmosphere

of hostility. Support Bridey and Rosheen by all

means - ' he gave her a wry smile - 'but do me a

favour, Shiv, and hold that Irish temper of yours in

check. I'm not convinced Patrick is worth going to

war over, particularly not with our close neighbours.'

It was good advice, but difficult to follow. There

was too much overt prejudice against the Irish in

general for Siobhan to stay quiet indefinitely. War

finally broke out at one of Cynthia and Peter

Haversley's tedious dinner parties at Malvern House,

which were impossible to avoid without telling so

many lies that it was easier to attend the wretched

things. 'She watches the driveway from her window,'

sighed Siobhan when Ian asked why they couldn't

just say they had another engagement that night.

'She keeps tabs on everything we do. She knows

when we're in and when we're out. It's like living in

a prison.'

'I don't know why she keeps inviting us,' he said.

Siobhan found his genuine ignorance of Cynthia's

motives amusing. 'It's her favourite sport,' she said

matter-of-factly. 'Bear-baiting . . . with me as the

bear.'

Ian sighed. 'Then let's tell her the truth, say we'd

rather stay in and watch television.'

'Good idea. There's the phone. Ton tell her.'

50

He smiled unhappily. 'It'll make her even more

impossible.'

'Of course it will.'

'Perhaps we should just grit our teeth and go?'

'Why not? It's what we usually do.'

The evening had been a particularly dire one, with

Cynthia and Jeremy holding the platform as usual,

Peter getting quietly drunk, and the Bentleys making

only occasional remarks. A silence had developed

round the table and Siobhan, who had been firmly

biting her tongue since they arrived, consulted her

watch under cover of her napkin and wondered if nine

forty-five was too early to announce departure.

'I suppose what troubles me the most,' said Jeremy

suddenly, 'is that if I'd pushed to have the O'Riordans

evicted years ago, poor old Lavinia would still be

alive.' He was a similar age to the Lavenhams and

handsome in a florid sort of way - too much sampling

of his own wares, Siobhan always thought - and loved

to style himself as Hampshire's most eligible bachelor.

Many was the time Siobhan had wanted to ask why,

if he was so eligible, he remained unattached, but

she didn't bother because she thought she knew the

answer. He couldn't find a woman stupid enough to

agree with his own valuation of himself.

'You can't evict people from their own homes,'

Sam Bentley pointed out mildly. 'On that basis, we

could all be evicted any time our neighbours took

against us.'

'Oh, you know what I mean,' Jeremy answered,

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looking pointedly at Siobhan as if to remind her of his

warning about being tarred with the O'Riordans'

brush. 'There must be something I could have done had

them prosecuted for environmental pollution,

perhaps?'

'We should never have allowed them to come here

in the first place,' declared Cynthia. 'It's iniquitous

that the rest of us have no say over what sort of people

will be living on our doorsteps. If the Parish Council

was allowed to vet prospective newcomers, the problem

would never have arisen.'

Siobhan raised her head and smiled in amused

disbelief at the other woman's arrogant assumption

that the Parish Council was in her pocket. 'What a

good idea!' she said brightly, ignoring lan's frown

across the table. 'It would also give prospective newcomers a chance to vet the people already living here.

It means house prices would drop like a stone, of

course, but at least neither side could say afterwards

that they went into it with their eyes closed.'

The pity was that Cynthia was too stupid to understand

irony. 'You're quite wrong, my dear,' she said

with a condescending smile. 'The house prices would

go up. They always do when an area becomes

exclusive.'

'Only when there are enough purchasers who want

the kind of exclusivity you're offering them, Cynthia.

It's basic economics.' Siobhan propped her elbows

on the table and leaned forward, stung into pricking

the fat woman's self-righteous bubble once and for

52

all, even if she did recognize that her real target was

Jeremy Jardine. 'And for what it's worth, there won't

be any competition to live in Sowerbridge when word

gets out that, however much money you have, there's

no point in applying unless you share the Fanshaw

mafia's belief that Hitler was right.'

Nora Bentley gave a small gasp and made damping

gestures with her hands.

Jeremy was less restrained. 'Well, my God!' he burst

out aggressively. 'That's bloody rich coming from an

Irishwoman. Where was Ireland in the war? Sitting on

the sidelines, rooting for Germany, that's where. And

you have the damn nerve to sit in judgement on us!

All you Irish are despicable. You flood over here like a

plague of sewer rats looking for handouts, then you

criticize us when we point out that we don't think

you're worth the trouble you're causing us.'

It was like a simmering saucepan boiling over. In

the end, all that had been achieved by restraint was to

allow resentment to fester. On both sides.

'I suggest you withdraw those remarks, Jeremy,'

said Ian coldly, rousing himself in defence of his wife.

'You might be entitled to insult Siobhan like that if

your business paid as much tax and employed as many

people as hers does, but as that's never going to

happen I think you should apologize.'

'No way. Not unless she apologizes to Cynthia

first.'

Once roused, lan's temper was even more volatile

than his wife's. 'She's got nothing to apologize for,'

53

he snapped. 'Everything she said was true. Neither

you nor Cynthia has any more right than anyone else

to dictate what goes on in this village, yet you do it

anyway. And with very little justification. At least the

rest of us bought our houses fair and square on the

open market, which is more than can be said of you

or Peter. He inherited his, and you got yours cheap

via the old-boy network. I just hope you're prepared

for the consequences when something goes wrong.

You can't incite hatred and then pretend you're not

responsible for it.'

'Now, now, now!' said Sam with fussy concern.

'This sort of talk isn't healthy.'

'Sam's right,' said Nora. 'What's said can never be

unsaid.'

Ian shrugged. 'Then tell this village to keep its

collective mouth shut about the Irish in general and

the O'Riordans in particular. Or doesn't the rule apply

to them? Perhaps it's only the well-to-do English like

the Haversleys and Jeremy who can't be criticized?'

Peter Haversley gave an unexpected snigger. 'Well

to-do?' he muttered tipsily. 'Who's well-to-do? We're

all in hock up to our blasted eyeballs while we wait for

the manor to be sold.'

'Be quiet, Peter,' said his wife.

But he refused to be silenced. 'That's the trouble

with murder. Everything gets so damned messy.

You're not allowed to sell what's rightfully yours

because probate goes into limbo.' His bleary eyes

looked across the table at Jeremy. 'It's your fault, you

54

sanctimonious little toad. Power of bloody attorney,

my arse. You're too damn greedy for your own good.

Always were . . . always will be. I kept telling you to

put the old bloodsucker into a home but would you

listen? Don't worry, you kept saying, she'll be dead

soon . . .'

55

Tuesday, 9 March 1999, 0.23 a.m.

The hall lights were on in the farmhouse when

Siobhan finally reached it, but there was no sign of

Rosheen. This surprised her until she checked the

time and saw that it was well after midnight. She went

into the kitchen and squatted down to stroke Patch,

the O'Riordans' amiable mongrel, who lifted his head

from the hearth in front of the Aga and wagged his

stumpy tail before giving an enormous yawn and

returning to his slumbers. Siobhan had agreed to

look after him while the O'Riordans were away and

he seemed entirely at home in his new surroundings.

She peered out of the kitchen window towards the

fire, but there was nothing to see except the dark line

of trees bordering the property, and it occurred to her

then that Rosheen probably had no idea her uncle's

house had gone up in flames.

She tiptoed upstairs to check on her two young

sons who, like Patch, woke briefly to wrap their arms

around her neck and acknowledge her kisses before

closing their eyes again. She paused outside Rosheen's

room for a moment, hoping to hear the sound of the

girl's television, but there was only silence and she

retreated downstairs again, relieved to be spared explanations

tonight. Rosheen had been frightened enough

56

by the anti-Irish slogans daubed across the front of

Kilkenny Cottage; God only knew how she would

react to hearing it had been destroyed.

Rosheen's employment with them had happened

more by accident than design when Siobhan's previous

nanny - a young woman given to melodrama

- had announced after two weeks in rural Hampshire

that she'd rather 'die' than spend another night away

from the lights of London. In desperation, Siobhan

had taken up Bridey's shy suggestion to fly Rosheen

over from Ireland on a month's trial - 'She's Liam's

brother's daughter and she's a wonder with children.

She's been looking after her brothers and cousins since

she was knee-high to a grasshopper, and they all think

the world of her' - and Siobhan had been surprised by

how quickly and naturally the girl had fitted into the

household.

Ian had reservations - ''She's too young - she's too

scatter-brained . . . I'm not sure I want to be quite so

cosy with the O'Riordans' - but he had come to respect

her in the wake of Patrick's arrest when, despite the

hostility in the village, she had refused to abandon

either Siobhan or Bridey. 'Mind you, I wouldn't bet

on family loyalty being what's keeping her here.'

'What else is there?'

'Sex with Kevin Wyllie. She goes weak at the knees

every time she sees him, never mind he's probably

intimately acquainted with the thugs who've terrorizing

Liam and Bridey.'

'You can't blame him for that. He's lived here all

57