CHAPTER 65
“See to the girl,” Hugh Ro ordered
gruffly. “Marsmain is neither dead nor dying.”
As soon as Maureen appeared, there was
no further need to restrain Hughy; the lovers were in
one another's arms, revenge forgotten. He shifted his attention to Marsmain who was beginning to stir, pinning him down with
his strength and weight as he had done Hughy. La Pace
folded a blanket about Caroline. The doctor did as he was bid. At his first
tentative touch, Caroline opened her eyes; their gaze withered him.
“Go away!” she cried, “go away. Do not lay your vile hands on me. You have brought
enough evil to the women of this house. See to your master. You may need him
again.”
“Very well, my lady,” he replied
pompously, “but first, I think I must send for a magistrate. Your red-haired
friend may have a crime to answer for ..... and the bog trotter who did his bidding.”
Hugh Ro raised his head.
“Do your duty, quack,” he said
sarcastically, “send for the magistrate. You will have some explaining to do,
I'll warrant.”
“I have nothing to explain. It is
obvious what you and your accomplices have done.”
La Pace had drawn Caroline to her
feet. She leant against him, clutching the blanket. For a moment she seemed
dazed. Then she steadied herself.
“There are witnesses, Dr. Swartz. This
gentleman may not understand fully, but I know the whole story of your perfidy
from the beginning.”
“You are mad, my dear lady. I was a
fool not to recognise madness long ago. Who but a madwoman would roam naked in
the night?”
“She is not mad,” La Pace said
quietly. “I have seen mad people. No magistrate would doubt her sanity. She has
been submitted to great humiliation, that is plain.
This tower seems to be a torture chamber.”
“That it is,” Caroline assented, “see
what incarceration has done to this poor wretch ..... the
elder son ..... the rightful heir to Ballinmore. They said he was mad. You concurred.”
“I may have been mistaken .....”
“Ah, you have admitted that he is
William Marsmain. Were you mistaken when you took the
dead body of a servant's bastard for that of the young heir? Were you mistaken
when you misapplied the splints after his fall downstairs? Did you mistake a
knife-scratch for a duelling scar? Were you sure Lady Ballinmore
died a natural death? Was it a mistake to order thin gruel for his lordship
when he needed meat? Are you prepared to answer for all these mistakes, Dr.
Swartz? If so, call a magistrate.”
“You would dare to bring these foul
..... false ..... accusations
against me?”
“I intend to do so.”
“And who will believe a crazed young
woman ..... or a bastard lunatic ..... an old hag who can make no sound but that of a beast?”
“Nobody, Dr. Swartz ..... nobody!” came Marsmain's cry.
“Their word will count as nothing against ours.”
“Your word, Marsmain!” Hugh Ro rejoined, “you
have forgotten there are other witnesses.”
“Bah, a fig for their witness ..... a serving boy and a serving maid. They do not count. It will
be the gallows for you and them, my bold spailpeen. And for your spying friend. I detect a touch of the French
on his tongue.”
“I am French,” La Pace said quietly,
“and of as noble a house as yours. That means but little nowadays. I am as
nothing in my own country. In yours my stock stands higher. I have learned
associates.”
“Spies and intriguers!”
“Men of academic distinction, Marsmain ..... men whose word
would be respected.”
While this exchange had been going on
Caroline had untied William's bonds. Then, signalling Maureen to her, she
whispered:
“Tell Hughy to
harness Leviathan and another horse, and bring out the Dunalla
coach. William must be got out of here at once. It may be the last chance.”
“He really is the brother ..... the heir?”
“He is. Make haste and do what I say.”
While Hugh Ro held Marsmain
in a powerful grip and La Pace barred the exit to Dr. Swartz, Maureen and Hughy went about their business. They lifted the frail body
and, wrapping the coverlet about him, bore William Marsmain
slowly and gently down the crooked stair and out into the starlit July night.
For the first time in many years William O'Brien Marsmain
breathed fresh air. He cried aloud for pure joy. In the softly upholstered
interior of the coach, they settled him as comfortably as they could. Maureen
brought blankets and pillows to ease his pain. Then she returned to her
mistress for further orders. Hughy followed, anxious
for her safety. Caroline stood, like a legendary queen, magnificent in her
draped blanket, the pistol in her hand.
“Take this, Hughy,”
she said, “and keep guard. Hugh Ro, you will drive the
coach. You know where the friar lives. William will be safe with him. When he
is restored to health, he can return and claim his inheritance. No, do not
think of me. I shall be safe. Go quickly. Francois will go with you. Maureen
and Hughy will stay with me.” Hughy
mounted guard at the door. It took all his strength and vigilance to deter Marsmain, but the gun was a good argument. All Nick could
do was threaten:
“You will hang for this, spailpeen! And you, bog trotter!”
When he turned back to the room,
Caroline had disappeared. She must have escaped. Below in the yard he heard the
clatter of hooves and the rumble of the coach. With a last wild leap, he sprang
Hughy, seized the pistol and, flinging him aside,
rushed, raging, down the stairs. There was no time to settle accounts with
peasants. The truth had gone abroad driving splendid horses. He must stop the
coach.
“Caroline!” he called, “Caroline!
Caroline!”
His voice echoed through the empty
tower.
It took but minutes to saddle the
black stallion. Demon riding Demon struck sparks from the cobbles as he rode in
pursuit. It should be easy. The coach could not have travelled far. His life
depended on this ride. From the cover of tile shrubbery,
Caroline heard the shot just as she
finished dressing and Maureen was about to brush out her hair. The two girls
rushed downstairs and out. Caroline reached the prostrate body first. Kneeling
beside him, she took Nick in her arms, heedless of the blood that spattered her
clean dress. He opened his eyes for a moment.
“Caroline, oh Caroline!” he murmured
once, and sighed and lay still.
The empty upper chamber in the tower
echoed with the cackle of mad laughter. Bony hands tore the straw from the cold
bed, rippled the harp strings, scattered the books. Then, with a wild shriek,
Ninny seized the lantern and flung it to the floor. It fell among the scattered
straw. From the gaping doorway she watched the straw catch alight. When it was
blazing beyond control, she turned and scrambled down the winding stair. In the
pale pre-dawn light, the flames rose angrily, singeing the leaning trees,
blackening the ivy. Like the wraith of the Lady Adeline, the smoke drifted into
the morning sky. In the purifying fire rat and beetle and evil memory perished.
The ancient could rest in peace.
There was nothing Dr. Swartz could do
for Nick Marsmain. There was little he wanted to say
when it came his turn to testify except to clear Hughy
who, when the shot was fired, was holding his horse while he mounted the trap.
Hugh Ro was discovered in impeccable company and well out of range. There was
racing and chasing in all directions. Many were held for the crime, many
accused; but proof positive was impossible to establish. Among these who
scoured the countryside with great zeal was
So Nicholas Arthur Barnsby
Marsmain was laid to rest in the Ballinmore
vault beside the small coffin whose name-plate was later to be altered. Marsmain or Carney, they were brothers still, for, once
upon a time the deaf mute had been a pretty girl and, as always, his lordship
had an appreciative eye and a lusty appetite.
Supported by servants, he attended the
brief burial service. The friends and neighbours who saw him for the first time
in months, knew that it would not be long till he too took his place among the
departed in that musty vault. Pale under her heavy mourning veil, Caroline
stood by the coffin. It was true that she sorrowed for the untimely death of
her dream. Even at the worst times she had hoped for a less drastic resolution,
but that there should be a resolution she was determined. Though she pitied
Lord Ballinmore, she had no mind to let him die in
peace till he had made that peace. If only he survived long to tell the truth.
She would remain at Castle Ballinmore till she saw
William O’Brien Marsmain recognised and legally
established as the rightful heir.
The law's delays were tedious, but
Lord Ballinmore, weakening daily, was anxious for an
heir, however blemished. She determined he would make all clear and, to this
end, insisted that he should be nourished and stimulated in mind. At last, the
whole story was made clear, corroborated by Dr. Swartz, who beat a hasty
retreat from the country immediately after; it was not the first time he had
taken flight under a cloud of suspicion.
As William recovered a measure of
health and strength in the gentle care of the old friar of Gougane
Barra, he was uplifted by the news that his heritage
was assured. Not that he desired property and power except as a means of doing
something worthwhile in the remaining years of his life. In the peace of the
lake island he planned a gentler regime for the Ballinmore
demesne and its people.
Caroline, in the role of a grieving
young widow, found much to do that was commensurate with her position She
resumed her visits among the poor, received the condolences of the better off,
protected herself with mourning from the advances of admirers. In spite of the
many invitations from Gwendaline and Lucinda, she
resisted all attempts to wheedle her back to
One great pleasure broke the monotony
of the slow drift from summer to autumn. Maureen and her Hughy
were wed. They would remain at Castle Ballinmore to
serve the new master for many a long and happy day. Immense quietude reigned.
The rumours of death and destruction that blew in on the wind or were culled
from the
Between August 22 and August 30 the
On the afternoon of
It was mid October when Hugh Ro arrived,
travel-stained and weary. The French were on the sea. Hardy's
fleet had sailed from
“Fergal!” Caroline cried despairingly.
Hugh Ro nodded, as certain as she that
Fergal accompanied Wolfe Tone.