Read Online Irish Lady by Jeanette Baker - Free Book Online Page A

brought in the London Times with her tea the following morning, Michael’s picture was featured on the front page. He had called a hunger strike. Unless the British government agreed to his demands, all of which seemed perfectly reasonable to Meghann and therefore impossible for the government, four men would refuse all food until they starved to death.
    Meghann knew that hunger strikes were common in Irish history. The early Celts used self-immolation as a way of discrediting someone who had done them a disservice. An unpaid poet or tradesman would starve himself in front of the residence of an uncaring patron, the result being either death for the tradesman and a ruined reputation for the patron or payment for services received. Bobby Sands’s death by starvation made world news in the eighties.
    Meghann pushed aside her cooling tea. She was well aware that in order to make the front page of the Times , the strikers had already gone weeks without food. God alone knew what Michael’s physical condition was at this moment. “Mrs. Hartwell,” she called out.
    The housekeeper poked her head through the kitchen door. “Yes, Lady Sutton?”
    â€œCall my office, please. Tell them I’ve been called away rather suddenly. I’ll be in touch within the week.”
    â€œAs you say, ma’am.” Not by so much as the lifting of an eyebrow did the well-trained Mrs. Hartwell suggest that Meghann’s announcement, the third such in three months, was the least bit unusual.
    The phone rang just as Meghann was leaving. When she learned that it was Cecil Thorndike, she debated with herself before picking up the extension in her bedroom.
    â€œMeghann, what the devil is going on?”
    â€œI’m in a bit of a rush, Cecil. What do you mean?”
    â€œWhy the sudden need for another week away from the office?”
    Meghann’s voice cooled. “I can’t imagine why my travel plans should be any concern of yours.”
    The long silence on the other end of the line unnerved her until she reminded herself that it was Cecil on the other end and he wasn’t in the least bit intimidating.
    â€œI thought we were friends as well as associates, Meghann,” he said at last.
    â€œI’m sorry, Cecil,” she said, instantly contrite. “Please forgive me, but I really don’t have time to discuss this now. I’ll give you a full accounting when I return.”
    â€œAre you all right, my dear?”
    â€œYes, quite. Thank you for asking.”
    â€œWhat shall I tell my father?”
    Meghann bit her lip. She was going to miss the flight. “Tell him I’m taking care of a legal matter for my family.”
    â€œSo that’s it.” Cecil sounded relieved. “Is it one of your sisters in America?”
    â€œCecil, I really must go. Be a love and hang up the phone.”
    â€œVery well. Call if you need anything. Where can I reach—”
    â€œGood-bye, Cecil,” she said quickly and hung up.
    Meghann waited until after she’d paid for her ticket before phoning the Devlins. Briefly, she explained her plan and requested that the entire family be present when she arrived.
    This time she flew into Belfast, looked for a taxi sporting a red poppy to take her to the entrance of the Falls Road and then flagged down a black taxi to take her up the road to Annie Devlin’s house.
    The door opened before she knocked. The entire family was assembled in the shabby living room. Annie, with her beautiful manners, had prepared a lovely tea. Meghann dropped her bag and sank down into a chair with frayed upholstery. “How is he?” she asked.
    Cormack leaned forward, blue eyes blazing, dark hair falling across his forehead. “We haven’t seen him since he’s been on the protest. He’s not allowed visitors.”
    Meghann frowned. “Surely we can get someone in. What about the men who are with him? Don’t they have