Read Online Mulligan's Yard by Ruth Hamilton - Free Book Online Page B

. .’ His voice petered away, then revived itself. ‘My father died a horrible death in this very house, Amy.
Both our fathers endured great torment.’ He turned and faced her. ‘His liver bled, poured away out of him. He was, or so I’m told, the colour of old, dirty vellum and his pain was
intense, to say the least of it. However, before he got to that stage, he mortgaged this place just for gambling stakes.’
    ‘I see.’ She didn’t really comprehend how anyone could spend so much on gambling, but she wanted him to continue the tale. James Mulligan had a habit of drying up and shutting
down.
    His face wore a strange expression now, as if it had snapped closed. His eyes were cold, his lips stiff as he spoke. ‘You sell it,’ he said.
    ‘It isn’t mine to sell.’
    ‘But it will be. I have left it to you and yours, and you must not tell your mother. This is your future, not mine. I am merely trying to give back all that was yours, including the paying
off of the mortgage.’
    Amy almost bridled, was suddenly aware of how her mother felt. Yes, this was charity. ‘I would rather honour my father’s gambling debt.’
    His lip curled. ‘Legend has it that Mr Burton-Massey held a king, while my father had an ace. Out of fifty-two cards, Thomas Mulligan picked the one with the highest value. It’s
unbeatable, Amy. It wipes out all the other aces, certainly makes mincemeat of the king of hearts.’
    ‘What are you saying?’
    ‘That my dad was an alcoholic, a cheat, a fraud, a card-sharp. There wasn’t a gambling den in Dublin would let him in. He got beaten up for cheating so many times that his nose was
spread all over his face. So I’d say there is probably nothing to honour. He cheated you, stole from you.’
    Amy stood up. ‘She won’t listen to any of it, James. It’s down to me and you.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘And you think that we could repay the mortgage by opening a hydro?’
    ‘It’s just an idea.’
    She pondered for a moment. ‘When you die, the place reverts to me and my sisters?’
    ‘That’s the crack. Sorry, an Irish turn of phrase there.’
    Amy picked up her gloves. ‘May you outlive my mother, then. Because she won’t set foot in here again, I’m sure.’
    ‘I am a mere boy of twenty-nine,’ he said, before walking across the room and opening the door for her. When they reached the hall, both stopped as the bell sounded.
    Mary Whitworth opened the door.
    As if to make mockery of Amy’s final statement, Louisa Burton-Massey marched into Pendleton Grange. Followed by her second daughter, she crossed the mosaic floor, tossed her gloves on to a
side table, nodded at her host. ‘Mr Mulligan,’ she said firmly, ‘I should like to have a word with you.’

Five
    Margot, watching from behind a hedge while her mother and one of her sisters entered Pendleton Grange, was rather less astonished when, within seconds, Amy walked out through
the same door. Mother and Eliza visiting James Mulligan? Amy was a different matter: Amy would have been engaged in some practicality or other, perhaps business connected with the horses or the
leasing of Caldwell’s acreage. But Mother? Mother actually entering the lion’s den after saying that she would never see Pendleton Grange again as long as she lived?
    Margot chewed at a blade of grass, her eyes fixed on the house. Amy dashed off homeward. The youngest of the Burton-Masseys remained where she was, hidden from sight, her sole companions a
riding hat and a pair of binoculars.
    Margot, strangely restless these days, was managing to dislike just about everyone she encountered. Mother got on her nerves, Amy was too bossy, Eliza was a dreamer with her head full of music
and poems. They were all boring. So Margot had taken to staying out for much of the time, riding, helping in fields, wishing that she could . . . Could what? Stop having to act like jolly little
Margot, the clown, the tomboy? Everybody and everything was suddenly so