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As Jamie parked the car before the
old farmhouse, Laura gazed out over the scene. The building itself
was a curious mix of stone and wood, surrounded by a rough rock
fence. But it was clean, and even from where she sat, she could
feel the love in that house. Several children were playing in
the yard, and they looked up as Remington helped Laura and Bridget
from the car. Curiosity slowly replaced the somber expressions,
Laura noticed.
One of the children, a young boy of around sixteen, darted into
the house, reappearing a moment later, followed by a short, wiry
man with a head full of gray curls that had once obviously been
dark red. "Miss Bridget," he said warmly, his eyes sad
as he took her hand. "Welcome."
Bridget gave him a quick embrace. "I had to come, Mr. Flaherty,"
she said in a quiet voice. "I've known Mary all of my life
. . ." She noticed his eyes move to her companions. "Oh,
my manners. Thomas Flaherty, Laura and Remington Steele."
Thomas sized Remington up quickly, then held out his hand. "You'd
be the new Lord, then," he said as he took Remington's hand
in a firm grip.
"Uh, yes, I suppose I am," Remington confirmed with
a smile.
Thomas shook Laura's hand as well. "Your Ladyship."
He stepped back. "Come in, please. My Katie will be wantin
t'meet you." He ushered the three of them into the small
house.
Laura had the impression of neatness, the well worn, simple furnishings
seemingly an intregal part of the house. Bridget went directly
to the woman sitting beside the fire, wearing a dark cotton dress.
"Mrs. Flaherty," she said, dropping to her knees to
bury her bright head in the woman's skirts. "I am so sorry."
Katie Flaherty's eyes were red rimmed from crying, but she smoothed
the red curls gently. Without a word, she placed a finger beneath
Bridget's chin to lift the girl's tear streaked face. She searched
Bridget's face for a moment, then sighed. "There, now, child.
It will be fine. She's in a better place, now," Katie explained
in a voice that left Laura with the impression of softly falling
water. "I know you'll miss her. We all will. She was such
a light in the darkness. Such a good child."
Laura noticed that Thomas Flaherty's weathered face tightened
slightly as his wife spoke. "Katie, this is the new Lord
and his wife, come to pay their respects . . ."
Katie Flaherty would have risen as Bridget moved to a nearby chair,
smiling gratefully at Remington as he held out a handkerchief.
"No, don't get up," Remington told Katie, taking her
hand.
"You're most kind, your Lordship," Katie said, "But
I can't be a proper hostess sitting, now, can I? Would you care
for some coffee and cakes?"
"Please don't go to any trouble, Mrs. Flaherty," Laura
protested.
"No trouble at all," Katie assured them as she moved
toward the kitchen. "We've enough food for ten families,"
she said.
"When's the wake?" Remington asked Thomas.
"This afternoon. And the burial will be in the church yard
in the village." Katie returned with a tray and Bridget rose
to help the woman with her load.
"I apologize for the china," Katie said. "It's
not what you're no doubt accustomed to . . ."
"I'm sure it will be fine," Remington told her as he
took a cup. Thomas took his own cup and moved away to the sideboard,
where he poured a generous measure of whiskey into the dark liquid.
"I know that Laura and I are strangers, but I want to let
you know how deeply saddened we were by your daughter's death.
She seemed a wonderful young woman," he said.
"That she was," Katie agreed softly, tears in her eyes
once more. This time, Remington noticed Thomas' withdrawal at
the praise of his late daughter. "She was the oldest. Our
firstborn. It's so hard t'think that she'll never come through
that doorway again," she said with a sigh.
"Well, if there's anything we can do," Remington told
her, "Please don't hesitate to ask."
Thomas dug a package of cigarettes from his pocket. "Excuse
me. I'll just step outside for a minute."
Bridget's eyes followed him out the door. "He's not taking
it well, is he?" she asked.
"No. Mary was her Da's favorite of all the children."
"How many children do you have?" Laura asked.
"Ten," Katie answered proudly as a shy little boy with
dark hair and big blue eyes ran into the room and climbed into
her lap. "Liam here is the youngest at six."
Remington saw Laura wince. "Ten?" she repeated in disbelief.
Putting down his cup, he smiled. "If you ladies will excuse
me, I believe I'll join Mr. Flaherty outside." He ignored
Laura's pleading glance not to abandon her and moved to the door.
Katie watched him out. "He seems a fine man," she commented.
"Oh, he is, Mrs. Flaherty," Laura agreed.
"And do you have any children, your Ladyship?" Katie
asked.
"Laura, please. And - uh, no. Not yet. We haven't been married
very long," she explained as she saw the look on her hostess'
face.
*****
Thomas was standing under a tin roofed shed, looking out over
the green meadows where sheep contentedly grazed. He looked up
as Remington joined him. "Decided to get away from the women's
talk, did you?" he asked, but the teasing gleam in his eye
was dimmed by something that Remington couldn't quite identify.
"I didn't know your daughter well, Mr. Flaherty, but it would
appear to me that she deserves better than a father who flinches
at the words of praise bestowed upon her memory by her grieving
mother."
Thomas looked up at him, then away. "I didn't think it was
noticeable," he said. "Certainly Katie hasn't seen.
I pray to God she never does, either." His gaze returned
to the fields before him once more. "Do you have any children,
your Lordship?"
"Not yet."
"Then there's no way you could know how it feels to be buryin
a child that you bounced on your knee. That you rocked to sleep
after a bad dream." He ran a hand over his face. "I
keep wishin this was all some bad dream. That I'd wake up and
Mary would be runnin down the lane from that house- I should never
have let her go to work there," he said. "She WAS everything
her mother said about her- before she went up to that house. Before
she decided she was too good for the likes of her own family."
"I see. Was she- involved with someone before her death?"
Remington asked as gently as he could. "Another servant,
perhaps?"
Thomas shook his head sharply. "Not likely. Jamie would have
married her in a heartbeat. So would Robby have done. But they
weren't good enough for her. She came in here, wearin' fancy clothes,
jewelry that would have put food on this table for a month."
"Did she tell you who gave them to her?"
"No. And I asked. So often that she said she'd not come back
unless I stopped. That she couldn't tell anyone yet."
"Do you have any ideas about who it might have been?"
"Oh, I have my ideas, your Lordship," Thomas Flaherty
told him. "But I'll be keepin them to myself. For the time
bein, at least."
"Do you think it possible that Bridget might have . . ."
he left the question unfinished.
"No. Bridget couldn't hurt a fly. She and Mary were as close
as sisters. Mary took care of Bridget during a very trying time
in the girl's life. She would never have harmed Mary. Or Mary
her."
Remington nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I meant what I said
earlier. If you or your family need anything, let me know."
"The one thing I want is the one thing you haven't the power
to give," he said. "My daughter back, whole, as she
was before she went to the cursed house. It would have been better
if she HAD gone to Dublin, I think, like all the other young ones
do these days. At least she'd still be alive."
*****
John was waiting on the front steps when they returned. "There
you are," he said to Bridget, taking her arm as she exited
the car. "I thought we agreed to wait until I returned from
Dublin to go running around the countryside?" he asked.
"Remington and Laura wanted to go and pay a call on the Flahertys,"
Bridget told her brother. "I thought it would be a good time
for me to go as well."
"Bridget, you've been ill," he reminded her, leading
her into the house. "Now, you're going to go upstairs and
take your medicine, and then get some rest before the ceremony
this afternoon."
"Must I? I feel fine, John," Bridget insisted.
"Now no arguing, Bridget," he said. "You know I'm
only trying to do what's best for you."
Bridget bowed her head. "Thank you for going with me, Cousin
Remington. Laura," she said softly as she let John lead her
toward the stairs.
"It was our pleasure," Laura called after them as she
started upstairs as well. Remington followed Laura to their suite,
his mind still focused on Thomas Flaherty's revelations regarding
Mary.
As soon as the door was closed, Laura turned on him. "Don't
EVER do that to me again," she said.
"Do what?" Remington asked, caught off guard by her
attack. "What did I do this time?"
"Deserted me. Left me to the tender mercies of Katie Flaherty,
Earth Mother!" she declared. "The minute you were gone,
she started asking how soon we were going to start a family, how
many children we wanted - I expected her to start helping me choose
NAMES, for God's sake!"
"Why didn't you just divert her attention?" he asked.
"Turn it toward Bridget?"
"I TRIED. But your cousin informed me that she believes that
she's fated to end up an old maid like your aunt. If I don't get
OUT of this country and back to civilization, I'll- I'll . . ."
Remington laughed softly, pulling her into his arms. "What
are you afraid of? Afraid that you'll wind up like Katie? Content
to take care of her husband and family in that shack of a house?"
He shook his head gently. "Never happen. Unless it's what
YOU want."
Laura rested her head on his chest, then loosened her arms around
him as he winced. "Sorry. I forgot. Are you hurting?"
"Not until now," he told her. "I'd forgotten as
well until you hugged me." He looked at her. "I found
out a few things while I was having my little chat with Mary's
father," he told her.
"Oh?" Laura asked, stifling her resentment of his ease
in getting information from people that would take her twice as
long to elicit.
"Apparently the only reason she came to work here was so
that she wouldn't leave and go to Dublin to find work. And Thomas
regrets allowing it. He says she changed from the girl her mother
remembers to something quite different. Someone who wore fine
clothes and expensive jewelry from someone here at the Manor."
"Quinn," Laura said. "It would have to be Quinn.
I can't quite see John showering a woman with gifts like that,
can you?"
"No," Remington admitted. "He also doesn't believe
that Bridget could have killed her."
Laura nodded. "She certainly doesn't seem to be capable of
killing someone, does she?" She didn't remember going to
the tower the previous afternoon, either, as they'd found out
on the drive back to the house. "She swears she hasn't been
to the tower in years, that she was sound asleep from the time
you carried her upstairs until she woke this morning."
"Hmm. So that would mean someone else led us a merry chase
to the tower yesterday," Remington said. "But why? There
wasn't anything there."
"Maybe just to keep us thinking that Bridget was the guilty
party. That she was capable of murder."
"Do YOU think she's capable of murdering someone?" Remington
asked her.
"I don't know." She sat down. "Let's see. We have
Quinn and Sheila, who aren't getting along at all, but can't get
a divorce. We have Mary, who was probably seeing Quinn and thought
she was going to be more than his mistress, . . ."
"And who wound up dead at the bottom of the stairs,"
Remington added.
"A perfect way to get rid of a mistress who fancies herself
as the next wife, wouldn't you say?" Laura pointed out.
"But what about this morning?" Remington asked. "I
thought we decided that Quinn. . ."
"I might have been a bit hasty in absolving him of guilt,"
Laura said. "He could easily have cut those reins, then gone
down there to goad you into riding that horse. If he hadn't, I'd
be willing to lay odds that he would have found those cut reins
before he mounted the horse. Or simply changed his mind about
riding. What better way to divert suspicion from himself?"
"Diabolical," Remington stated. "I'll never be
able to understand the way your mind works, Laura," he told
her. "All the little ins and outs of it. I could never have
come up with that scenario."
"The problem is, how do we prove that Quinn's the culprit?"
she asked. "Got any ideas along THOSE lines?"
Remington pulled her to her feet, ignoring the pain in his side.
"I have a few ideas," he told her. "None of them
involving any of my cousins," he told her, putting his arms
around her.
"Sounds interesting," Laura said. "Tell me more."
*****
They were coming downstairs an hour later, showered and ready
for lunch, when someone knocked on the door and Callahan appeared
to answer it. "May I help you, Madame?" he asked.
The blonde, slightly overweight woman smiled. "I think I'm
expected," she said, then, seeing Remington and Laura in
the foyer, she pushed past the butler. "Mr. And Mrs. Steele.
I thought I was never going to get here," she said.
Remington hugged Mildred. "Ah, Mildred. You're a sight for
sore eyes, you are."
"You must have gotten the first flight out," Laura said.
"I got lucky," Mildred said. "The flight was supposedly
booked up, but I knew the pilot. Hank and I -well, anyway, he
happened to pass by while I was arguing with the ticket agent,-
you know, those people don't have a THING on the IRS - and he
bumped some bigwig to get me onboard." She grinned. "And
so here I am."
"Excellent, Mildred, excellent," Remington said. "Callahan,
would you show Miss Krebs up to a room, please? And lunch is almost
ready, Mildred, so don't dawdle, okay?"
"Sure, boss. I mean," she said, smiling, "I guess
I should say your Lordship, right?"
"Please, Mildred," Laura complained teasingly, "Don't
encourage him."
"I'll be right back," Mildred promised, turning to follow
the butler up the stairs. "Boy, this is some place here,
isn't it?" she commented.
Laura looked up to see her husband grinning from ear to ear. "Why
are you so happy?"
"Because Mildred's here," he told her. "And everything
seems suddenly right with the world."
"Just remember that the first time she interrupts us,"
Laura said, running a finger down his lapel in a pretense of straightening
it.
He grinned at her. "We'll just have to learn to lock the
bedroom door, won't we?" he said. "I don't know about
you, but I feel better knowing there's someone else in the house
that we can trust not to put a knife in our backs." Offering
his arm, he said, "Shall we wait in the salon, Mrs. Steele?"
To Be Continued . . .