Ruby Flynn (10 page)

Charles walked over to the drinks cabinet again. ‘Refills are in order,’ he said.

McKinnon knew better than to argue.

Sitting back down with the whisky, Charles took a breath and said, ‘I want my wife to be happy and well, McKinnon.’

‘We all do, sir, we hope this girl will help us get there,’ said McKinnon. ‘We will ask her to coax Lady FitzDeane back into the morning room, slowly ease her away from the nursery. But you must return home, even if only for a short visit. You can discuss with Mrs McKinnon and the doctor about what should be done. It will also only take one word from you to make sure Mrs McKinnon finds someone better than Mrs Bat for this house.’

‘You win,’ said Charles, raising his glass to his lips and swallowing his whisky in one gulp. ‘Next month. I shall return for a few weeks. I have to visit a solicitor here in Liverpool, first, to lodge a number of documents with him to do with the structuring of the company and my partnership with Rory, but then I shall return and do my best to wrap Mrs McKinnon around my little finger.’

‘If she ever heard you saying that,’ McKinnon laughed, ‘she would whack you across your backside with a wooden spoon, lord of the castle or not.’ Then in a more serious tone he added, ‘It will warm the heart of everyone to hear that news, especially Amy. Lady FitzDeane eats like a bird and Amy has no one to appreciate her fine cooking. Why don’t you ask a few of your friends over too, like you used to? You could have a day’s fishing on the river, the salmon will be running in July, and you could have a dinner party afterwards. Just like in the old days.’

Charles looked up sharply and McKinnon wondered if he had overstepped the mark.

‘How is Amy? Is she still making the best rabbit stew in the whole of the west?’

‘She certainly is. You know Amy, the best cook in all of Ireland.’

There was silence for a moment, then Charles said, ‘I think that’s a good idea. Maybe I should think of doing something social at Ballyford, to blow the cobwebs away and draw a line under the saddest years of our lives.’

McKinnon nodded his head enthusiastically.

‘I think that’s what should happen. The doctor says Lady Isobel needs something out of the ordinary to break the circle of mourning she has trapped herself in.’

What about resurrecting the Ballyford Ball? Would that be a good idea?’ said Charles, with hint of doubt in his voice.

This was music to McKinnon’s ears. ‘Excellent idea. All the staff loved the balls and still miss them. They often speak about the last ball, even after all this time.’

Charles said, ‘Right, give me a few weeks and we’ll get things organized. Rory will take delivery of the new ship; he can manage for a short while. He has good workers in place and a new office right down on the Pier Head, next door to the Blue Star Line headquarters. Tickets are already selling well but I won’t be happy unless I can see for myself that everything is in good order. That means I’ll have to be strict about my return date, McKinnon. Come down with me in the morning before you leave and I’ll introduce you to the staff. You can also catch up with Rory.’

Without knocking, Mrs Bat entered the room and noisily pushed a trolley across to the table.

‘Join me, share my pain.’ Lord Charles winked at McKinnon once she had finished crashing about with the plates and had left the room.

They settled down to the almost inedible food and talked over their plan to restore one of the great traditions of the estate, the Ballyford Ball. The estate would buzz, the staff would be happy. Lady Isobel’s health would improve with the prospect of guest rooms full to the brim and friends enjoying the hospitality of Ballyford once again. ‘Let’s raise our glasses in a toast,’ said Lord Charles. ‘To the Ballyford ball and the pleasure it will bring to welcome our friends back to Ballyford once again.’

Never, in the history of time, could two men have been so disastrously wrong.

It was gone midnight by the time McKinnon arrived home to Ballyford. He had made it onto the morning ship from Liverpool back to Dublin. A journey he spent clinging to the rails of the ship, depositing his breakfast over the side. He picked up the car, which he had left parked at the port and drove back as fast as the roads would allow. The journey from Dublin to Mayo always seemed to go faster than from Mayo to Dublin.

As he turned into the long driveway he wound the window down to hear better the rushing sound of the river as it rippled over the stones on its way to the ocean. He noticed that upstairs the nursery light still burned. An owl hooted and he spotted the black silhouette of Lady Isobel standing at the window gazing out into the night and he wondered,
What is she doing? She should be with Lord FitzDeane, supporting him like a proper wife. It should be she running this castle, not my wife, it is too much for her alone.

The irony that he and Lord Charles had just hatched a plot that would double his wife’s workload was lost on him. Through the kitchen window he could see Mrs McKinnon dozing on a chair by the fire. His heart gave a familiar leap as it always did when he returned after they had been parted. He thought what a lucky man he was. She looked to him as beautiful as she had on the day he had married her.

As he quietly lifted the latch of the wooden kitchen door he dipped his fingers in the holy water and blessed himself, thanking God for his good mercy and his safe return, and asked him not to disturb Amy, who slept in the room next to the kitchen door.

Mrs McKinnon awoke before the door was even half open.

‘Oh. You’re back,’ she murmured, piercing her knitting needles through the ball of wool which lay on her lap, before popping them into a bag at the side of her chair.

‘I am that,’ he replied. ‘Tell you what, Mrs McKinnon, I could never live in that place. What with the noise and the traffic, it’s all go it is.’

Mrs McKinnon smiled at her husband. ‘Would you like some tea now? I’ve kept you a ham sandwich, it’s under a damp cloth in the big fridge.’

As her husband opened the fridge door, she put the warmed kettle onto the range and yawned. ‘Well, it’s been a busy day here, too. Did you speak to Lord Charles about his returning home more often?’

‘I did and he’s coming back in a few weeks.’

That was exactly the news Mrs McKinnon had wanted to hear and she almost clapped her hands in delight.

‘Well, thank goodness, you worked a miracle there. How did you manage that?’

McKinnon peeled the damp cloth back from his plate of sandwiches and held them up to his nose.

‘You can’t beat that smell can you? I reckon the best pigs in Ireland are bred here at Ballyford. And I’ll tell you something else, Mrs McKinnon, the potatoes in Liverpool, they are dreadful specimens, awful, white and watery things. I would say they’re not even good enough to feed the Ballyford pigs.’

‘Is that all you have to tell me? You spend some time with Lord Charles in Liverpool and you come back in here talking about potatoes?’ Mrs McKinnon turned a look of amused astonishment on her husband.

‘No, not at all, give me a minute will you, woman. He took me to the office in Liverpool this morning for an early breakfast before my crossing and God knows, I wish I hadn’t eaten it. He’s bought his new ship, the
Marianna
. He wants to have her sailing on the Atlantic, from Liverpool to New York and back every day of the week he says. I met the man who works as his gaffer down at the Pier Head as well, a Mr Kimble, he seemed like a decent chap. They have an office now, a big one full of staff, right down on the Mersey in a huge white building, selling tickets over the counter, mad busy it was in there. People were lined up from when we arrived, early in the morning. They are selling the first tickets half price and there was an unholy scrum, I can tell you. Lord Charles isn’t actually running the company, that is the job of Rory Doyle, would you ever believe it?’

‘Rory Doyle, well I never.’ Mrs McKinnon shook her head in disapproval. ‘Lord Charles could never see any wrong in that boy. I don’t suppose he knows that Rory was over here last week, visiting his mother? As usual, it was supposed to be a secret and no one was to know. The problem with his mother is she tells Miss McAndrew next door everything and she tells me. Likes to keep in my good books, does Miss McAndrew. She was telling me today there has been a McAndrew in that cottage for over two hundred years. I’m amazed it’s stood for so long. Oh and another thing, I know he met up with Amy. He always does. Keeps her dangling on a string and both of them well into their forties. She would never say a word to me, of course. She knows what I would have to say about it all.’

‘Maybe he’s altered?’ said McKinnon hopefully, between bites. ‘Maybe Lord Charles is aware of a side to his nature that we never knew. After all, Amy’s not a bad person and she sees something in him, if what you say is right.’

Mrs McKinnon sat down at the table and watched her husband eat.

‘Well, I’ll tell you what’s worrying me now. I need Lord Charles here. Who is going to look after Lady Isobel if he is to be working in Liverpool all of the time? He can’t be expecting you to do everything on the estate. You aren’t the lord of the castle, you haven’t the authority, he needs to be seen at your side, he should be here. Did you tell him about Ruby?’

Mr McKinnon had not told Lord Charles the full story, as instructed by Mrs McKinnon. He knew that could all come later.

Evading the question, he asked, ‘How is Ruby shaping up? Has she found her way around all right?’

‘Well, you know, we have seen such an improvement. I never would have thought it possible and it’s undoubtedly all down to Ruby. Oh, I know Lady Isobel isn’t as she was when she first came to Ballyford, but I can see a fairy footstep of improvement every day.’ Changing the subject, she added, ‘I have gossip, mind, listen. The main reason I’m worried about Rory Doyle working with Lord Charles is that apparently he has gambling debts and isn’t doing as well as his mother has been cracking on. Miss McAndrew, she heard that from his mother herself, the horse’s mouth so to speak. He was after her for money, would you believe it and her nearly ninety. He is convinced she has a pot of gold somewhere.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mrs McKinnon, because I know you can’t abide the man, any more than I can myself, but not only is he doing very well at helping Lord FitzDeane, his own salvage company is going great guns. He is a changed man, not the rascal he was when he lived here at Ballyford. I saw him today with my very own eyes. If he is a man with troubles and in debt, there was no sign of it today. I would say Miss McAndrew has got that one wrong.’

Mrs McKinnon was sore that her gossip had fallen on stony ground.

‘Well, if he is doing as well as you say and if there was ever proof needed that blood money could do well for a man, there you have it. I wouldn’t be so quick to believe it myself. Miss McAndrew, she doesn’t get anything wrong.’ Mrs McKinnon rose from the table with a flounce. ‘God in heaven, that man was always trouble. Did you not see fit to warn Lord Charles?’ Mrs McKinnon had only ever felt hatred for one person in her life and it was him. She and Mr McKinnon shared secrets that they could share with no one and at the centre was Rory Doyle. At times she felt she would explode with her knowledge. She avoided Rory Doyle’s mother like the plague, relying on her neighbour Miss McAndrew for information, lest she should one day be unable to control her tongue.

‘Warn him? What would you have me say? Do you think he would believe me if I did? I would be opening a can of worms, that’s for sure. Is that what you want, now that Ruby has arrived? I’m afraid that until we have something concrete to say, with irrefutable evidence to back it up, we have to ignore any gossip. I know you have it in your head that he only ever pretended to like Lord Charles, that he really hated him and everyone at the castle. Well, even you have to admit, it sounds a bit far-fetched. Anyway, never mind Rory Doyle, you know the light is still on up in the nursery, don’t you? I saw it as I drove into the yard.’

‘God in heaven, no.’ Mrs McKinnon shook her head. ‘She went to bed hours since. I took her up a Horlicks and switched off her main light myself. She must have got back up. I’m glad Lord Charles is coming home. The long nights seem to be difficult for her to bear alone. At least down here we all have each other. I’d like Ruby to stay with her at night, but it’s too much to ask.’

Mrs McKinnon lifted up the near-empty teapot and walked over to the range to refresh the leaves with boiling water. ‘Did he say what he wanted to do while he was home?’ She placed the full pot back on the table and sat down.

‘Well, I think he wants to have a chat with you about the Liverpool house, and we also talked about resurrecting the Ballyford Ball.’

Mrs McKinnon gave her husband one long hard look. A look he knew well.

‘The Ballyford Ball? Do you remember how much work that was and how much younger we were than we are now? Ruby has only just persuaded Lady Isobel to wear a day dress, never mind fancying her up for a ball. How in God’s name do you think we will manage that?’

McKinnon looked glum. ‘Well, if anyone can work a miracle around here, you can. When he arrives home, you talk to him about it. He was only considering it.’ He wanted to reverse out of the conversation as quickly as possible now that the notion of resurrecting the Ballyford Ball hadn’t been received quite as well as he’d hoped and now said, ‘Let’s turn in.’

As they climbed the stairs to bed Mrs McKinnon said sharply, ‘By the way, how did you get back so quickly? I hope you didn’t drive more than twenty-five miles an hour.’

McKinnon laughed guiltily. ‘I thought you liked a man with a bit of the devil-may-care about him?’

As they got into bed he snuggled up behind his wife and placed his hand on her bottom.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he whispered into her hairnet, ‘you know how to make an old man feel young again in that flannelette nightie.’

‘Get away with you.’ Mrs McKinnon slapped his hand away. ‘You may feel sixteen, but you’re really sixty.’

With a sigh Mr McKinnon rolled over. Only he knew that it was really a sigh of relief. His mind might be willing but his body, in recent years, had certainly become weak. Now, as he lay on his back with his arms folded across his chest, listening to his wife’s gentle breathing, he thought,
Yes, this will suffice, me pretending still to be the raging, sex mad bull of old and she stubbornly refusing. Far better than failing to rise to the occasion and suffering the shame of failure.