Read Online Pay the Devil (v5) by Jack Higgins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jack Higgins
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enquiringly at Joanna, who nodded, and they went inside. Joshua said, “A letter was delivered by one of Sir George Hamilton’s men an hour ago. I’ve put it on the table.”
Clay excused himself and opened the envelope, while Joshua poured the coffee. After a while, he looked up and smiled. “Your uncle is holding a small reception this evening to welcome me to the district. Did you know about this?”
She sipped her coffee and nodded coolly. “But of course. I’ve had the preparation in hand for two days now. In such matters, he leaves everything to my judgment. I flatter myself I’ve never let him down yet. An invitation to a Hamilton affair is never refused.”
Clay nodded slowly. “I see. How many guests are expected?”
“Between fifty and sixty, depending on the weather and the state of the roads. Will you accept?”
“As you will be there, how could I refuse?” he said gravely.
For a brief moment, they gazed at each other silently, and then she smiled and picked up her gloves. “If you don’t mind, I think we should be making a move. I’ve a great deal to do back at the house and this business in the village will take us another hour.”
He excused himself and went upstairs for his bag. When he came down again, she was already mounted and waiting for him, Joshua standing at Pegeen’s head.
Clay swung up into the saddle. “I shouldn’t be longer than an hour and a half,” he said.
Joshua nodded and went back inside, and Clay and the girl moved round to the front of the house and cantered down the drive to the main road.
It was still raining heavily when they rode into Drumore, and he decided he had seldom seen a more dismal sight in his life than the village, with its unpaved street and wretched cottages squatting in the mud.
There was a well in the center of the street, and as they approached, a woman was in the act of lifting a pail of water down to the ground. She leaned against the parapet for a moment, as if tired, and then bent wearily to pick up her pail.
Clay stepped down to the ground with an oath and hurried toward her. She was in an advanced state of pregnancy, her belly swollen, face blotched and ugly.
He took the pail from her hand and said gently, “You shouldn’t be at such work, you’ll do yourself an injury.”
She shrugged hopelessly. “Who else will if I don’t?”
“Why, I will!” Clay told her. “Which is your cottage?”
She pointed silently across the street and he walked before her and opened the door. He found himself in a dark, miserable room. The stone walls streamed with moisture and the only warmth came from a turf fire which smoldered in the wide hearth. An old woman stirred something in a large iron pot and ignored him. His nose wrinkled in disgust and he put down the pail and went back outside.
Joanna still sat her horse and smiled down at the woman. “Colonel Fitzgerald is a doctor, Mrs. Cooney. If you need his help when the baby is due, you’ve only to send to Claremont.”
The woman turned to him inquiringly, and he nodded. “Any time of the day or night, Mrs. Cooney. Send a message and I’ll come running.”
Sudden tears appeared in her eyes. She seized his hand and held it to her face for a moment and then rushed into the cottage and closed the door behind her.
As he climbed back into the saddle, there was disgust on his face. “That cottage is little better than a kennel. What chance does she have of bringing a child into the world under such conditions? Who owns the place?”
“My uncle,” she told him. “Only the Rogans own their own land in this district, and you, of course.”
“Then, by God, he should be ashamed to call himself a man,” Clay said. “And I’ll damn well tell him so when we meet.”
“You’ll be wasting your breath,” she told him. “He won’t know what on earth you’re talking about. Don’t forget he classes the Irish with the negroes.”
“Then I’ll tell him I’ve seen slaves better
Clay excused himself and opened the envelope, while Joshua poured the coffee. After a while, he looked up and smiled. “Your uncle is holding a small reception this evening to welcome me to the district. Did you know about this?”
She sipped her coffee and nodded coolly. “But of course. I’ve had the preparation in hand for two days now. In such matters, he leaves everything to my judgment. I flatter myself I’ve never let him down yet. An invitation to a Hamilton affair is never refused.”
Clay nodded slowly. “I see. How many guests are expected?”
“Between fifty and sixty, depending on the weather and the state of the roads. Will you accept?”
“As you will be there, how could I refuse?” he said gravely.
For a brief moment, they gazed at each other silently, and then she smiled and picked up her gloves. “If you don’t mind, I think we should be making a move. I’ve a great deal to do back at the house and this business in the village will take us another hour.”
He excused himself and went upstairs for his bag. When he came down again, she was already mounted and waiting for him, Joshua standing at Pegeen’s head.
Clay swung up into the saddle. “I shouldn’t be longer than an hour and a half,” he said.
Joshua nodded and went back inside, and Clay and the girl moved round to the front of the house and cantered down the drive to the main road.
It was still raining heavily when they rode into Drumore, and he decided he had seldom seen a more dismal sight in his life than the village, with its unpaved street and wretched cottages squatting in the mud.
There was a well in the center of the street, and as they approached, a woman was in the act of lifting a pail of water down to the ground. She leaned against the parapet for a moment, as if tired, and then bent wearily to pick up her pail.
Clay stepped down to the ground with an oath and hurried toward her. She was in an advanced state of pregnancy, her belly swollen, face blotched and ugly.
He took the pail from her hand and said gently, “You shouldn’t be at such work, you’ll do yourself an injury.”
She shrugged hopelessly. “Who else will if I don’t?”
“Why, I will!” Clay told her. “Which is your cottage?”
She pointed silently across the street and he walked before her and opened the door. He found himself in a dark, miserable room. The stone walls streamed with moisture and the only warmth came from a turf fire which smoldered in the wide hearth. An old woman stirred something in a large iron pot and ignored him. His nose wrinkled in disgust and he put down the pail and went back outside.
Joanna still sat her horse and smiled down at the woman. “Colonel Fitzgerald is a doctor, Mrs. Cooney. If you need his help when the baby is due, you’ve only to send to Claremont.”
The woman turned to him inquiringly, and he nodded. “Any time of the day or night, Mrs. Cooney. Send a message and I’ll come running.”
Sudden tears appeared in her eyes. She seized his hand and held it to her face for a moment and then rushed into the cottage and closed the door behind her.
As he climbed back into the saddle, there was disgust on his face. “That cottage is little better than a kennel. What chance does she have of bringing a child into the world under such conditions? Who owns the place?”
“My uncle,” she told him. “Only the Rogans own their own land in this district, and you, of course.”
“Then, by God, he should be ashamed to call himself a man,” Clay said. “And I’ll damn well tell him so when we meet.”
“You’ll be wasting your breath,” she told him. “He won’t know what on earth you’re talking about. Don’t forget he classes the Irish with the negroes.”
“Then I’ll tell him I’ve seen slaves better
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