Steele in Pursuit 3

Part Eight

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As they reached the tower, Remington and Laura both paused, trying to catch their breath. "Do you see her?" Laura asked, her eyes scanning the area.

He shook his head, gulping for air. "No."

Laura moved to the wooden door in the side of the tower. It was fastened with a metal hasp- affixed to which was a formidable looking padlock. "It's locked," she said. "She didn't go in there."

"There's no where else she could have gone," he insisted, surveying the remnants of what had once been Castle Cleary. There were a few markers left, enough that even now one could see where the walls had stood-and nothing that offered a hiding place. "Bridget?" he called out. But the summons was answered only by the soft breeze that ruffled his dark hair.

"She couldn't have just- vanished!" Laura said. Her expression became resolute as she turned back toward the way they'd come.

Remington watched her. "Laura, where are you going?" he asked, still braced against the stonework of the tower.

"Back to the Manor," she told him. "Well just ask Bridget HERSELF why she was out here and where she disappeared to."

**********

Callahan was crossing the foyer when they entered the house. Noting their disheveled and out of breath appearance, he looked concerned. "Is there a problem, your Lordship?" he asked.

"Have you seen my cousin Bridget, Callahan?" Remington asked as Laura continued toward the stairs.

"As far as I know, sir, Miss Bridget is still upstairs in her room." He paused. "Will there be anything else, your Lordship?"

"No, no, thank you, Callahan," Remington assured him going to the stairs. Glancing upward, he sighed before quickly catching up with Laura. "This place is almost as bad as your old loft," he muttered.

Laura grinned. "Maybe it's time you reconsidered the benefits of a Health Club," she commented.

"Really, Laura. Me? Working out? Pumping iron?"

"I know," Laura agreed, lowering her voice as they neared Bridget's room. "Boggles the mind, doesn't it?"

John opened the door to her soft tapping. "Yes? Oh, Remington. Laura. What can I do for you?"

"We were just - wondering," Laura began, uncertain as to how to ask the question on her mind.

"How's Bridget?" Remington asked, trying to see behind his cousin and into the room beyond.

"Still sleeping, I'm afraid. She'll probably sleep the rest of the day." He stepped aside to allow them entry. "Is something wrong?" he wondered, noting that Remington was still slightly winded.

"No. Well, Laura and I were just out walking, and we thought we saw Bridget running toward the tower."

"But when we got there, she was no where to be found," Laura explained.

"Well, it wasn't Bridget," John assured them. "I've been here the entire time."

"Then who else could we have seen?" Laura asked.

"Perhaps one of the servants," John said. "Or . . ."

"Or?" Remington prodded gently. "Or- what?"

"It COULD have been the ghost of Maeve Harrison Cleary," he told them slowly.

"A ghost?"

"There are those who swear that they've seen her, running toward the tower," he said.

"But- she was wearing modern clothes," Laura pointed out.

"Then it was likely one of the servants. Did you get a look at her face?"

"No, just red hair," Laura admitted.

"Red heads are a easy to find in Ireland, Laura," John reminded her. "I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

Remington nodded. "Thank you, John."

"Would you like someone to stay with her?" Laura asked. "To give you a break? You've been up here for hours."

"I'm fine," he assured her. "She's my sister. Who else will take care of her if not me? Callahan brings my meals up. I'll be fine. Thank you anyway."

He saw them out the door. Laura moved toward the gallery, peering at the faces of long dead Harrisons. "I wonder if Maeve's portrait is here?" she mused.

"I don't know," Remington said, looking nervous. "Laura, you don't suppose it really WAS a ghost that we saw?"

"I don't believe in ghosts, Remington," Laura reminded him, turning toward their bedroom.

"Let's just hope that they don't believe in you, either," he responded, following her.

**********

"Margaret, is there a portrait of Maeve in the gallery?" Laura asked as they gathered in the salon for drinks before dinner.

Quinn, busy pouring drinks for everyone, snorted. "Not bloody likely," he said. "Old Sean had the thing destroyed, if legend is correct. As punishment for choosing Ian and his family over her own."

"Actually, there IS a small miniature of her," Margaret told them. "I believe it's over there, on the mantle above the fire," she said.

Laura rose from her place beside Margaret and went to examine the frames on the marble mantle piece. "This one?" she asked, picking up an oval frame containing the image of a red headed young woman with laughing green eyes.

"Yes, that's the one. I found it when I was younger, locked away in a trunk in a store room. I've considered having a portrait done from it to hang in the gallery where it belongs."

"Why don't you?" Remington asked, studying the portrait of the tragic young woman who had chosen love over family- much as his own mother had done.

"I don't know, really. I just haven't, I suppose."

"Well, if you don't mind, I think I'll look into it. It's time she took her place with the rest of the family."

Quinn laughed derisively. "Not here twenty four hours and already making decisions, eh, Cousin?"

"Please, Quinn," Sheila begged softly. "Don't create a scene."

Quinn ignored his wife's pleading. "It's going to be rather difficult to do that from Los Angeles, don't you agree, Aunt Margaret?"

"I'm sure I'll be able to find someone to take care of things here, Quinn," Remington said softly. "But even then, I'll be making the final decisions concerning Crayston Manor. And if you can't accept that - then I suggest that you . . ." He stopped as Laura placed a warning hand on his arm. "Learn to live with it."

"Enjoy playing Lord of the Manor while you can, Cousin. Once the novelty wears off, I think you'll decide that I was right earlier. This place is a white elephant. An albatross around the neck of every member of this family."

"Quinn," Sheila said, trying to grab his arm.

He turned to her, and for a moment, Remington was certain that his cousin was about to strike the blonde at his side. Remington tensed, ready to stop him, but Quinn stopped himself, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Why don't you go see if John would like a break, Sheila? Surely you can watch Bridget for a little while. Make yourself useful for SOMEthing, anyway."

Sheila paled as Margaret gasped in disbelief, and then Sheila was running from the room, her eyes filled with unshed tears. Laura rose from the sofa. "If you'll excuse me for a moment?" she said, staring daggers in Quinn's direction before she turned to follow Sheila.

As she left the room, she heard Margaret say, "That was inexcusable, Quinn."

Quinn shrugged, and turned to the window as Remington frowned in confusion. Margaret shook her head in response to his silent question. "Now, Harry. Sit down and tell me about Los Angeles and your work."

**********

Laura caught up with the blonde woman as she entered the library across the foyer. Hearing someone behind her, Sheila jumped, turning, fear on her face. "It's just me, Sheila," Laura said gently. "I wanted to make sure you were all right."

Sheila shook her head, sinking into one of the leather chairs before the fireplace. "I haven't been all right since the day I met Quinn, Laura."

"Why do you let him treat you that way? Why don't you stand up to him? Tell him off?"

"You don't understand. You couldn't. Oh, it's all muddled."

"I've been told I'm a very good listener," Laura said, sitting across from her. "And I doubt that there's anything you could tell me that I haven't already heard before. You hear a lot of things, being a private detective."

"Quinn- Quinn has every right to be angry with me as he is."

"He was going to hit you a moment ago, Sheila. Nothing you've done could have justified that."

Sheila closed her eyes for a moment, and when they opened, Laura saw the deep seated pain in them. "I almost wish he had. It would have been better than what he did."

"I don't understand, Sheila. What DID he do? What did he mean about `making yourself useful'?"

"Because I let him down. You see, Quinn's father thought family- continuing the family, was the most important thing in the world. He'd wanted a large family - but Quinn's mother died when Quinn was born, and his father refused to marry again. So Andrew O'Riley wanted Quinn to marry someone who could give him a houseful of grandchildren. He never liked me, said I was only good to look at, not for anything else." Laura felt herself beginning to frown. "Knowing how much his father wanted a grandson, Quinn and I started trying to have a baby as soon as we married. After a year, and no pregnancy, I went to a specialist." Her voice fell, and Laura had to strain to hear the words. "He told me- I couldn't have children. Andrew used the term `barren' when he found out. He said it- proved he'd been right about me all along."

"That's - archaic!" Laura declared. "A woman's worth shouldn't be measured by how many children she can have! Or even if she can HAVE children. He didn't want a wife for his son, he wanted a - a brood mare!"

"Family is very important to the Irish, Laura. Especially to the older ones. And Andrew was very old fashioned, Laura. So old fashioned that when he found out, he changed his will, cutting Quinn out almost completely, and leaving everything to charity. Quinn really didn't need the money, but it was the shame of it, knowing that his father had told everyone he could the reason for it." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "After that, nothing was ever the same between Quinn and me. He started drinking more and more, and-," she swallowed, looking away.

"Has he hit you, Sheila?"

"No. He's never harmed me physically. He has other- far more hurtful ways. We have separate beds, Laura. We have for two years. And I know he's seen other women. I think he- might have been sleeping with Mary. But I'm not certain. I've no proof of it. I suppose it doesn't matter now, though. She's dead. And he'll find someone else."

"Why do you stay?" Laura asked.

"There are a lot of reasons, I suppose. We're both Catholic. Even if divorced me, he wouldn't be able to marry in the church and have the family he wants. And the bad publicity would destroy his business. And then there's the most important reason."

"You're still in love with him," Laura realized.

"I have been since the first time I saw him. He was so handsome, so kind, and charming- oh, if you'd known him then, you'd have never looked twice at your Remington."

"I think I would have," Laura said with smile. "But I know what you mean." Laura took a deep breath. "Why don't we go back and have dinner? You don't even have to talk to Quinn. If you need to talk to someone, talk to me. And I don't want to hear you say a word again about being a failure. You had a career before you met Quinn, you were your own person. All we have to do is find that person again."

"Easier said than done, I'm afraid. You know, you're very lucky, Laura, to have someone as understanding as Remington."

"I know. I tell myself that every day." She stood up. "Let's go."

**********

During dinner, Laura and Sheila practically ignored their respective husbands to talk between themselves, Laura telling Sheila about her work as a detective, and Sheila returning the favor by telling Laura about some of her experiences as a model before her marriage. By the time the evening was over, Quinn's expression was decidedly dark, and when he put down his glass for the last time, he said, "Come along, Sheila. It's getting late."

Sheila glanced at Laura before answering. "I'm not tired, Quinn. I'll be along in a moment."

"You're my wife," he reminded her. "And you'll do as I say." He grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet as Remington and Laura both stood.

"Quinn," Remington warned.

"Let her go," Laura said.

"Back off, Laura," Quinn warned. "I don't need your interference in my marriage." But he released Sheila's arm, although he didn't move beyond that.

"I think it's time SOMEONE got interfered," Laura returned.

"Mind your own business," Quinn said, then glanced at Remington before looking again at Sheila. "Are you coming?"

She nodded. "I'm- sorry, Laura. He IS my husband," she apologized softly before moving to precede Quinn from the room.

The satisfied smirk on Quinn's handsome face made Laura's hand itch to slap him. "OOOHH," she sighed angrily.

"Would someone care to tell me what's been going on this evening?" Remington asked.

Margaret rose from her chair. "I think I'll let Laura have the honors," she said. "It's getting late, and I need to rest." She offered her cheek for Remington to kiss, then went to Laura. "Good night. And Laura, don't forget that you're not in Los Angeles. Things are a bit different here. Although goodness knows that I've tried to fight the system for many years. And all it's gotten me is a lonely bed in my old age." She touched Laura's cheek, then left the room leaning heavily on her cane.

Remington's expression was wary as he looked at his wife. "Well? Care to tell me what's gotten you so stirred up? Beside Quinn's obvious lack of consideration for his wife?"

Laura simply turned on her heel and left the room, leaving him no choice except to follow her. She climbed the stairs and went directly to the suite. The only thing that stopped her closing the door in his face was his hand on the knob. "Laura," he said, watching as she took a night gown from the dresser and laid it on the bed while she brushed out her hair. "Talk to me." She remained silent as she started for the bathroom, gown in hand. "Hold it," he said, stepping into her path. "Tell me what's wrong."

"You want to know what's wrong?" she asked. "I'll tell you what's wrong. MEN!"

"Seems I've heard that statement before somewhere," he mused. "Tell me, is it all men who've earned your ire, or just Quinn?"

"Not ALL men," she told him. "Just Irishmen!" she said. "Thinking a woman has to have a houseful of kids to be useful. It's positively- Middle Ages!"

"And, as Margaret said, we're not in Los Angeles," he reminded her. "We're in Ireland. Things move a bit more slowly here. Family's very important to the Irish, Laura. For many reasons."

"But to make a woman's life miserable simply because she can't have a child is- heartless and cruel, and-," she said, getting more wound up with each syllable.

Knowing from past experience that if he let her sulk too long, things would just get worse, Remington pulled her to sit on the bed beside him. "Why don't you start at the beginning and then maybe I can understand what the devil you're talking about." Laura told him about her conversation with Sheila, and Remington found himself shaking his head. "I think I understand Quinn's blind determination to tear this old place down, now," he said.

"You do?"

"Crayston Manor represents family continuity to him. Since he and Sheila can't have children, he's resentful of anything that reminds him of that fact."

"I still think it's unfair for him to blame Sheila for something she had no control over. I mean, to treat her that way simply because she can't have any children . . ."

"Come here," he said, pulling her more fully into his arms. "I hope you realize that it doesn't matter to me whether we have one child or two- or none at all."

She looked up at him. "It doesn't?"

"No," he assured her, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "Because, as I told you the day we got married- you're all the family I need. As long as I have you, anything else that comes is merely icing on the cake."

Laura looked into those eyes for a long moment before seeming to come to a decision. Her fingernail traced the line of buttons down his shirt. "What would you say if I told you that I'd been thinking about it lately?"

"Thinking about what?" he asked, keeping very still as he found it suddenly difficult to breathe.

"Having a baby," she told him, her eyes meeting his again, wary, uncertain of his reaction. "Starting a family of our own."

"You're sure?" he answered.

"Well, neither of us are getting any younger," Laura pointed out, sliding her arms around his neck. "And as much as you deny it, I know how much family means to you. I love you, Remington."

"I love you, too, darling. But I don't want you to do anything that you don't feel you're ready to do, Laura," Remington said in a quiet voice, his forehead resting on hers. "But I think you'd be a terrific mother," he said, smiling tenderly.

"Really? And I was thinking that you'd be a wonderful father," she said.

"Tell you what- if you still feel this way once we return to Los Angeles, we'll discuss it further," Remington said, giving her a kiss that left her shaking inside. "Go take your shower," he told her. "We've got a date tomorrow morning, remember? With two horses?"

Laura grinned and slipped from his arms, gathering her nightgown once more. In the doorway of the bath, she paused, turning back to look at him. "Care to join me, your Lordship?" she asked, an enticing smile on her lips.

*********

At the stables, a dark clad figure slipped inside, unseen by human eyes. Going past the tack room, the intruder made for a particular stall, where a black stallion stood watching with warily. "It's all right, boy. It's only me." The horse quieted at the sound of the voice, then allowed his visitor to remove the bridle hanging just inside the stall. Taking a sharp knife, the visitor slashed the reins just behind the bit. Not enough to be noticeable, but enough that any real force would cause them to break. Hanging the bridle back on the hook, the visitor patted the animal on the forehead before leaving the stable.

To Be Continued . . .

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Original content © 1999 by Nancy Eddy