Chapter 34
“Still raining,” Therese said, when they reached the inn’s lobby. It was a steady drizzle, the wind had picked up, and it felt chilly to the two Southerners. “The one time I could really use a nice walk.”
“Maybe later.” Maeve retrieved the keys to the rental car from her purse. They’d only driven a few hundred yards when Therese spotted a lone figure, draped in an oversized mackinaw, trudging along the side of the road.
“Stop the car,” she told her sister. “I think that’s Esme Rossington.”
Maeve eased the rental onto the narrow shoulder of the road. “I bet she’s walking back to the Willow Tree to retrieve her helper—and her truck.”
Therese jumped out of the car, holding the passenger door open. “Miss Esme,” she called to the solitary walker. “Can we give you a lift?”
Esme Rossington approached the car warily. She peered in at Maeve, then looked back at Therese. “You two again.”
“Please get in the car,” Maeve replied. “You’re soaked.”
“Very well.” The old woman climbed into the passenger seat and Therese got in the cramped back seat.
Rain streamed from the brim of Esme’s hat and off her waterproof jacket. She was still wearing the mustard-colored sweater Maeve had seen her in the night before, with corduroy trousers whose legs were tucked into a pair of ancient-looking Wellingtons. She reminded Maeve of Paddington Bear.
“Where to?” Maeve inquired.
“Back to the pub. I’ve got to collect Reggie and my truck.”
When they were on the road again Esme turned around and stared at Therese. “So. Sisters. Not much of a family resemblance, is there? One of you a dirty blond, the other a brunette.”
Therese laughed at the description of her hair color. “I’ve been dying my hair since I was fourteen.” She pushed her bangs away from her face. “Now, look again. We both have the same high forehead, which we got from our mother’s side of the family.”
Esme turned her attention to Maeve, who’d fastened her hair in a loose ponytail with her bangs swept off her face.
“And both of you with a widow’s peak,” she mused. “My dad had one too. Handsome man. Died with a full head of hair on him. But now Geoffrey, my brother, was completely bald by the time he was thirty. Took after our mum’s side.”
Esme reached into her pocket and unwrapped a cellophane-wrapped hard candy, which she popped into her mouth.
“This painting you’re on about,” she said abruptly. “That was a long time ago. They’re all dead now. My dad, his wife, the villains who stole my family’s art. They went to prison, but now everyone is dead and buried. So why do you care?”
Therese cleared her throat. “Because our great-grandmother was accused of stealing a valuable portrait from the manor house. And of murdering the woman who gave it to her. Kathleen brought that painting to the States with her. It’s hung in our mother’s house for our whole lives.
We want to clear her name. But we also want to find out how a portrait of Lady Geraldine, painted by the same artist, came to be stolen from Tarrymore fifty years later—and then, how that painting came to be auctioned off by a New York gallery fifty years after the robbery, and sold for over a million dollars. ”
“Your painting must be a fake,” Esme said. “And I wouldn’t know about any painting being auctioned off in the States. So you’ve come a long way for no good reason.”
“It’s not a fake,” Therese said hotly. “And we’re going to prove that.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the car, and then Maeve pulled into the parking lot at the Willow Tree. It was still before noon, and there were only two cars in the lot, a small white compact and a pickup truck.
“You can put me out here,” Esme said. She reached into her pocket again and brought out two more candies. “Take these,” she said, placing them in Maeve’s hand. “Butterscotch rum. From a shop in the village. My favorite.”
“Okay…” Maeve said, looking at Therese’s amused expression in the rearview mirror.
Suddenly, they saw a man emerge from the pickup truck.
His gray hair was askew, and he wore a sweater wrapped around his neck like a scarf.
He stepped out of the truck, stretched, rubbed his hands in his hair, and proceeded to unzip his fly and relieve himself in full view of the three astonished women.
“Gross,” Therese said.
Esme got out of the rental car and stomped over to the truck. “Reggie!” she yelled as she approached. In one swift motion she removed her hat and swatted him in the head with it.
The man tried to shield his head with his arms. “Stop, Esme, ya daft old coot.”
She swatted him again and his knees buckled and he fell to the pavement.
Maeve pulled up alongside the pair. “Miss Esme, is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” Reggie said, struggling to stand but falling helplessly back to the ground. “Go on with you.”
Esme gave a heavy sigh. “This useless gobshite is still drunk. I can’t have him driving like this.”
“I can drive you back to your place,” Maeve offered.
“And I’ll follow with your friend in the truck,” Therese said, emerging from the back seat of the rental.
“Put him in the bed of the truck,” Esme said. “I’ll not have him vomiting in my nice new vehicle.”
“In the rain?” Therese said. “Have a heart.”
She grabbed the man under his armpits. He weighed maybe 150 pounds, soaking wet, which he was, she estimated. She loaded him into the passenger seat of the truck, where she found the keys still in the ignition.
Her passenger mumbled something incoherent.
“You okay?” Therese asked.
“Feck off.” He said nothing else during the short ride to the gardener’s cottage, just rode with his head lolled to one side, eyes closed, softly snoring.
Therese had to breathe through her nose to avoid the stench he emitted.
Esme Rossington was studying Maeve’s face as though it were a road map. Maeve tried not to let it fluster her, but she felt unnerved.
“You friend looks like he’s in a bad way,” she said, trying to make conversation.
“Lately, that’s how he always looks,” Esme said, her expression sour. “He’s of no use to me like this. I’ve a mind to put him out.”
“He lives at your cottage?”
“In the shed round back.”
“How long has he worked for you?”
“Eight or ten years now, off and on. He worked at the pub, ’til Rodney got fed up with him. He’d no place to go, so out of kindness, I took Reggie in.”
She unwrapped another candy and popped it in her mouth. “But charity only goes so far, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose. What will you do for a helper if he leaves?”
“What I’ve always done. Look after myself. You know what that’s like, do you?”
“Yes.”
“Not married then?”
“No.”
“And your sister, what about her?”
“Also single.”
“Spinsters then,” Esme said approvingly. “Life is simpler that way. I had a husband once, a long time ago, and he was nothing but a bother.”
“You’re a widow?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Esme said.
“Don’t you ever get lonely?” Maeve asked.
“Never. I have Sinead. She’s all the company I need. You and your sister—how do you two get along?” the old woman asked.
“Therese and I? We’ve had our ups and downs over the years.
We’re very different, but we love each other.
This trip to Ireland, it was our mother’s idea.
She thought it would bring us closer together.
She was a widow, like you, but for years she saved back a little money from her paycheck because she wanted us to come to Ireland together and visit the place her people came from.
After she died, our uncle gave us the money and told us about her plan. ”
“When did she die?”
Maeve had to stop and think. So much had happened since Mary Helen’s funeral.
“Only two weeks ago. But she’d had dementia for the last year or so.”
“Sorry for your loss,” Esme said, sucking on her hard candy. “Don’t miss the turn now.”
Maeve followed her directions and saw in the rearview mirror that Therese was right behind.
She pulled the car as close to the front of the house as possible.
“Tell your sister to park the truck just there,” Esme said, pointing to a crumbling parking pad in front of the porte cochere.
As soon as the truck rolled to a stop, Therese’s passenger tumbled out. Reggie steadied himself with one hand on the hood of the truck, straightened up, and without a backward glance at the women, made a beeline toward the rear of the cottage.
Therese helped Esme out of the rental car.
“Thank you,” Esme said, giving her a curt nod. “You two can go along now.”
“You’re welcome,” Maeve replied, and then the two sisters watched as she clumped, wet boots and all, into her cottage.
“That was interesting,” Therese commented as they drove away. “Did the old bat talk to you at all?”
“Some. She told me she’d been married once and that husbands are a bother. She called us spinsters.”
“Ouch. I thought spinsters had to be in their fifties or sixties?”
“It’s Ireland,” Maeve reminded her. “Esme also said her friend Reggie has been living in her shed for years, but she’s thinking of running him off, because of all the drinking.”
“The milk of human kindness just flows through her veins, doesn’t it?” Therese said. “Still, she did give us each a piece of candy. I think she’s warming up to us.”
“Keep dreaming,” Maeve said. “You still hungry?”
“Starved.”