Chapter 37 #2
Swallowing the lump that formed in my throat, I quickly rose to my feet and smoothed my crumpled dress.
“I am ready for them,” I snapped, straightening my spine. “They are welcome to join me here, for I shan’t step a foot inside that library. Mama’s soul has barely departed, and we shan’t speak business over the rug that became her deathbed.”
“As ye wish.” With a wink, Cormac left to fetch the solicitor and the constable, and I moved from my place at the fireside to a grand Queen Anne armchair that stood in-round with the fine suite of furniture placed carefully for entertaining.
“Tea, Beth,” I commanded, descending into the plush safety of the chair, back rigid, chin up. Ready. Able. The daughter of an earl. The widow of an earl. Wilhelmina.
“Cousin, dear.” Cormac announced his arrival with a bow, before ushering the legal party into the parlor. “This is the Right Honorable Jonathan Plunkett, Esquire. Aunty’s will was addressed to him.”
“Thank you for coming all this way,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. I hoped they would confuse fear for shock, given the circumstances.
He was a reed of a man, clean-shaven, and wearing a fine tweed suit. Well-to-do, but not wealthy, as expected of a countryside solicitor. He bowed. “Your Ladyship.”
“Mama must have held you in high esteem,” I offered, by way of flattery.
“Indeed. I’ve done business with her ladyship for decades, though I haven’t seen her in society for a few years now.
She wrote often to Lords Belmont and O’Brien, however, so I had news of her from them.
” He stepped forward, and I indicated the chair to my right.
He sat. “I was, needless to say, shocked by this news. Such a terrible thing.”
“It was quite the shock to us all,” I replied, sweeping a hand toward the Chippendale opposite. “Do make yourself comfortable, Constable. Cormac, I’ve asked Beth to bring tea.”
“Let’s get to business, gentlemen,” Cormac urged, flopping onto the chair at my left side.
“As exhausted as I am from the hasty journey, my cousin here was so perturbed by events that she deigned to spend the night on the floor of the village hall, afeared as she was to spend a night in this house, alone with her mother’s body. ”
“Dreadful,” murmured Mr. Plunkett, smoothing the papers he carried on his lap.
“Who shall begin?” I asked, gently massaging my temples—both for show and to offset the ache of exhaustion that threatened to undo me.
“Ah. That be me,” said the constable. “The official cause of death is—Roy? Where’s that doctor?”
A young officer popped his head through the open parlor door and ducked out again.
I let loose a long-suffering sigh, but the lad returned a moment later with an older gentleman sporting spectacles and a disheveled shirt tucked into knee breeches that had seen better days.
“Your Ladyship,” he mumbled, bowing far lower than was necessary.
“Doctor Kelly,” said the constable, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “What’s the cause of death, Seán?”
“Exsanguination,” replied the doctor.
“Right, that thing,” said the constable. “It’s clear her ladyship took her own life, but we’ll make sure the death certificate reflects the verbiage ye’d prefer.”
Aye. So she could have a proper burial and a mass said with the grace of the church.
“Please list it as an accidental fall,” I called, addressing Dr. Kelly.
He nodded and swept from the room.
“No foul play,” said the constable, nodding toward the solicitor. “Yer in the clear to execute the will.”
The constable took his leave, and Mr. Plunkett began.
I sat, frozen, as he read the particulars.
Cormac was endowed with a sizable amount, enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life and care for his aging parents.
But the estate—the house and all the land—were now mine. Well, no. Wilhelmina’s. In death, Lady Catherine had fulfilled her promise, and shock settled in, hard and heavy.
The next half hour flew by in a daze—as Mr. Plunkett had me sign the will, and the deed, as he went over the hows and wheres with Cormac.
As we all rose and shook on it.
As I led them from the parlor, to meet the constables and the doctor in the foyer.
As we sauntered outside, into the late-afternoon air, sun shining for the first time in what felt like months—the first true sign of summer, birdsong chirping, the scent of blooming flowers heavy on the gentle breeze.
As they boarded coaches and mounted horses.
Until I suddenly came to, as Dr. Kelly cleared his throat next to me.
“Begging your pardon, Your Ladyship. But I found a sizable amount of this toxin in the attic.” Reaching inside the pocket of the coat he now wore, the doctor pulled a sprig of the dried white, trumpet-shaped flower from within and presented it to me.
My eyes widened.
“Toxin?”
“Aye. It’s angel’s trumpet, m’Lady. Causes hallucinations—makes ye see things that aren’t really there.
Ghouls, ghosties, people, conversations that never happened and the like.
” He pursed his lips. “The flowers themselves give off very little of the damaging miasma, but when dried and burned … well, I did notice incense burners throughout the house, and given the way her ladyship passed, it’s possible that this might be the cause. ”
My lungs ceased functioning as I stared at the sprig in his hand.
“You mean, Mama might have been driven to such an act through hallucinations?” I asked, voice tinny even to my own ears.
“It’s possible. I suggest opening all the windows to clear any remnants, and scrub the place from top to bottom to rid every surface of residue, just in case. If ye’d like, I can return next week and take the stock from the attic, to dispose of it for ye.”
“Y-yes. Yes.” I nodded, and he placed the sprig back into his pocket.
“Next week then, m’Lady,” he said, bowing before boarding the closest coach.
Cormac came to my side and placed a steadying hand against my elbow, waving as the drivers spurred the horses forward.
“Ye didn’t imagine it,” he murmured, words passing through clenched teeth as the second coach passed by.
“I couldn’t have,” I whispered. There was no way … “Diarmuid is here? In the village?”
“He is. I saw him with my own two eyes earlier.”
Whatever knot that had twisted my gut suddenly released, and I was suddenly able to breathe once more.
“The room is gone. I don’t know how, or if some magic kept it hidden until they all left … but there’s no door. We should check again in the morning,” I said.
“Gone?” Cormac’s eyes widened, but Aggie’s crisp voice cut across the drive.
“This young lad is asking for buttered bread,” she called, and I damn near broke my neck as I whirled, eyes wide, to spy Diarmuid skipping along beside her, his little hand in hers.
“Then he shall have it!” I exclaimed, delighted as they neared. “Take him straight to the kitchen, and I’ll join ye in a moment.”
“Ye did well,” Aggie said, smiling as she guided Diarmuid up the steps of Browne House. “Come along now, Young Master. We’ll get ye a treat.”
“What now?” Cormac asked, as Aggie and Diarmuid disappeared into the entrance. “Ye got what ye wanted in the end. A house. Land.”
But I didn’t even have to think about it.
“Sell it. I’ll continue as Lady Wilhelmina until it’s done, then we’ll parse what we earn among the villagers. They can try their luck elsewhere, with enough money to get them by, or take ship to the Americas.”
I glanced at him to find him smiling, and my lips twitched in tandem. “What? What is it?”
“And ye? What’ll ye do, after freeing some four hundred people from the bonds of the land war?”
“I—” My brows furrowed. “Diarmuid doesn’t know me as his mother yet, and it’ll likely take some time. But I should keep enough from the sale of Browne House to buy a small place. Maybe put my learning to good use and find a position in a city. Limerick?”
“Limerick?” Cormac turned his face toward the sun, eyes closing as a grin near split his cheeks. “I suppose I could get used to it.”
With a scoff, I smacked his arm, and he crumpled in on himself with a laugh. “Yer not coming with me. We’ll be fine on our own.”
“And so yer just going to go live in the city, unwed, with a small child?” he asked, straightening, those amber eyes alight with mischief.
“Yes!”
“Ye know … I’m not only the handsomest man in the parish now, but the richest.”
“Cormac O’Dea!” I scolded, but the joy on his face drew a laugh from the depths of my belly.
“I thought ye said ye owed me four near-deaths so our life debt could be even? How will ye save me four times if I’m not with ye?”
“Arra now. It’s ahead of yerself yer getting.” I exclaimed, a spark of “perhaps” blooming across my chest. Not now. But maybe, when time had healed my heart, Cormac O’Dea could have a place by my side. At the very least, he’d earned the opportunity to try.
“All right, all right.” He chuckled, raising his arms in surrender. “No need to worry about all that right now. Come on, let’s go.”
He held out a hand, and I eyed it with suspicion.
“Where are we going?”
“To feed yer son as much buttered bread as he can stomach, Maggie O’Shaughnessy. Let’s go into yer home.”
My son. My home. My name.
Finally, the life I always wanted was there for the taking.
And no one—above or below—would have a say in the choices I made from this day forth.
With a smile, I placed my hand in Cormac’s, and as the gulls of North Clare squawked from the rocky shore, I strode along the path I had made for myself.
Toward the bright dawning of a brilliant future.