Dear Henry,
You must not think I forgot my promise to write regularly-the guilt of not doing so is felt each day. Further, I left my cell phone with its internat’l calling plan in Mitford and am dependent upon the business phone here, which is why I didn’t call back after speaking with Sister’s eldest. He says your last doctor’s visit was good. Thankful to hear you are growing stronger, though yet fatigued. I have a foolish worry that you will forget and eat a ‘thin-skinned’ fruit, as you were cautioned not to do!
In any case, we remain in the fishing lodge at Lough Arrow, and circumstances have been in flux, to say the least.
Cynthia had an ankle incident yet again, but is on way to recovery.
We have made the acquaintance of an Irish woman who, until this afternoon’s unleashing of her heart to God, reminded me of our father. (An amazing story which I will tell you later.) Dad is unforgettable for many reasons; I am today moved by a great tenderness for him. As I once said, you got his good looks-something to be pretty happy about.
Then there are the two brothers and their long antagonism-now it appears that Paddy, the elder, who inherited the manor house and a hundred acres, has stolen the painting (mentioned in my last letter) from Liam, the younger, who through a twist of circumstance inherited but a few pictures and books. Pardon the tangled density of that sentence.
I Googled such a theft in the US and learned it is a felony. If Irish law is similar to ours, Paddy could serve a sentence of up to twenty years if convicted.
Liam will learn this evening from his wife, Anna, that the painting has been found in Paddy’s cellar, making Paddy the prime suspect. Anna, who remembers her convent studies of volcanoes, predicts a large eruption by her husband, ‘with a Plinian column several miles high.’ Actually, Liam is a sensitive soul with many of the most charming Irish characteristics including melancholy and ebullience in somewhat equal measure. I have taken him to heart, as we have the entire household.
For these reasons and more, there have been a few tears around here, some my own.
Would you pray for this family as they move through unprecedented change and, I hope, healing? And will you pray for Dooley as he returns to school for another year on his journey to becoming a vet?
Thanks to the vagaries of C’s ankle, we have been largely housebound, but tomorrow will visit Tobernalt, a holy well not far from Lough Arrow, then on to WB Yeats’s Innisfree. We are at last being Tourists From the States.
I will sign off now and call on arrival home. I know the fatigue was anticipated, but I hope not too much to keep you out of your cantaloupe patch in the cool of the morning. You, Peggy and Sister faithfully in our prayers. C sends fondest love, as do I.
Dhia dhuit, my brother
He signed the letter, folded it, glanced at his wife, who was looking out the window.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘Thinking I’d hate to be an innkeeper,’ she said. ‘I could do everything but keep up appearances. ’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean I could do the laundry and cooking-all that, if I had to-but the smiling and being charming to guests through thick and thin? No way. Poor Liam. Poor Anna. And what about Paddy? What if he should go down to check on the painting and really hide it, so it’s never seen again?’
‘My guess is, Liam will get Corrigan out here pronto. You know Corrigan will want to speak with us.’
‘And Evelyn. They’ll want to question her, too. I hate that.’ She sat in her chair, tapped her foot. ‘We weren’t supposed to go home, of course.’
‘Maybe we weren’t supposed to mess about in people’s basements, either. An innocent bit of sightseeing that opened Pandora’s box.’
‘Darling,’ she said, ‘around here, Pandora’s box stays open.’
A knock at the door. Liam.
‘Can you step away?’
‘I can.’
Boiling this time, none of the ashen, anguished look following previous domestic cataclysms. They went along the hall and down the stairs and turned into a dark passageway with a door at the end. Liam opened the door to a large room filled with light and the smell of sawn wood.
Liam closed the door behind them, furious.
‘If I go up, I’ll kill him. No weapons.’ Liam held out his hands, palms lifted. ‘Just these, Rev’rend, that’s how I’d do it. I got in th’ Rover, but Anna pulled me out an’ I know she’s right. I can’t murder my own brother, be Cain to Abel. And so I shake myself and try to be grateful th’ Barret’s turned up, then it comes over me again, this fierce craving to throttle him, an’ I knew I needed help.’
‘When is Corrigan coming?’
‘Half an hour. Before th’ dinner rush begins in th’ kitchen.’
‘You don’t have time to murder your brother.’
‘God above.’ Liam sat on a sawhorse. ‘Th’ Sweeneys bringin’ family tonight. Twenty for dinner.’
‘Eighteen for dinner. I’m taking Cynthia to Jack Kennedy’s.’
At five o’clock they were sprawled fully dressed on the bed when Maureen gave a knock.
‘Can ye come to th’ kitchen, then, th’ both of ye? Th’ detective with th’ big eyebrows is here with his man takin’ notes, an’ two Gards in th’ car.’
‘We’re coming,’ he said.
‘There’s no stoppin’ a goin’ wheel, is it, Rev’rend? If ’t isn’t one thing, ’t is grown into twenty.’
William, Anna, Liam, Bella at the kitchen table with Corrigan. Maureen took a seat by the door.
Corrigan gave a curt nod toward empty chairs at the table. ‘Reverend, Missus Kav’na, sit there, please. I believe you’re rescheduling your return to the States, Reverend?’
‘My wife’s ankle…’
Corrigan’s eyes nearly disappearing beneath his brows. ‘A deal of trouble, that ankle.’
‘I’ll say,’ said Cynthia.
‘You were with Seamus Doyle when the painting was discovered?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Would you tell us how you came on it?’
‘We wanted to see the concealed room,’ said his wife. ‘And so-’
‘The concealed room, Reverend?’
‘It was written about in a journal kept by the doctor who built Catharmore in 1862. It was his quarantine room.’
‘And did you locate it?’
‘Yes. Seamus was taking us around to the rooms we wanted to see-’
‘There were other rooms you wished to see?’
‘Yes. The surgery and the waiting room.’
‘Because we’d been reading about them,’ said Cynthia.
‘How did you come upon the painting, Reverend?’
‘We found what we believed was the quarantine room, as it fit the description in the doctor’s journal. Currently it’s a storage room for the Conor boys’ childhood paraphernalia. Having been a boy myself, I was curious to see what they’d held on to over the years. There was a stack of louvers leaning against a bunk bed-the louvers caught my eye because they were out of context.’
‘Storage rooms typically lack context.’
‘Indeed. Then I saw something in the stack that didn’t look like a louver, so we put the flashlight on it. It appeared to be a gilt frame. Actually, I didn’t immediately think of the Barret, I was surprised to see such a thing stored in a damp basement. Then it dawned. Seamus pulled the louvers away, and there was the Barret.’
Liam’s face drawn. Bella hunched, head lowered.
Corrigan pushed away from the table, undid the single button of his tweed jacket. ‘Did you have physical contact with the frame or the canvas?’
‘We did not.’
‘Did you replace the louvers?’
‘We did.’
‘Who did?’
‘Seamus.’
‘Did you have permission from the owner to look at the premises?’
‘The owner was away at the time.’
‘Who gave you permission?’
‘Paddy Conor is said to be proud of the place and doesn’t mind showing it now and then. Mrs. Conor knew we were looking about; in fact, we were there at her request.’
‘We’d like to take this journal to the station. Where would we find it?’
‘In our room,’ said his wife.
‘In plain view?’
‘Yes.’
‘Describe the journal, Reverend Kav’na.’
‘Large. Leather-bound. On the table between the wing chairs.’ He didn’t like the idea of the journal leaving their room.
‘But we’re reading it,’ said Cynthia.
‘To your knowledge, was anyone else reading it these last weeks?’
‘Nobody reads it.’ Liam, snappish. ‘’t is long-winded as any politician, an’ faded ink into th’ bargain.’
‘Reverend?’ said Corrigan.
‘I’m guessing it hasn’t been read by anyone else in some time. Also, it’s been in our room for a week or two, not certain how long.’
Corrigan spoke to the Gard taking notes. ‘Second floor, second door on the right, and bring it down.’
‘What are you up to, then?’ Liam asked Corrigan.
William thumped his cane. ‘A good question!’
‘I’m going up with the Gards and have Seamus Doyle show us through the cellar, for one thing.’
‘Sir,’ said William, ‘there’s a very sick oul’ woman up there. I’d like to ask ye not to trouble her.’
‘She must be troubled, Mr. Donavan, as must anyone else in the household at this time. Mr. Conor, I’d like you to come along.’
‘No way can I come up. We’ve eighteen for dinner this evenin’ an’ goin’ on six-thirty, by my watch. No, no.’
‘We’ll need a statement from you.’
‘My statement is that this whole bloody thing is a bloody torment, and I look forward to seein’ it bloody done with. That’s my statement.’
‘We’ll ask you to come to the station tomorrow. Noon sharp. We’ll be taking the painting with us for evidence, dusting for fingerprints, building a case. You say your brother knows nothing of the discovery?’
‘He doesn’t know,’ said Liam. ‘What could be th’ sentence for such as this?’
‘Ten years, and possibly a fine into the bargain. Please come with us, Reverend. As you were the one to discover the painting, you may be helpful.’
His wife had that look. ‘Detective Corrigan, you can’t possibly make use of the journal while you’re at Catharmore. Please be kind enough to leave it here and collect it when you’re done up the hill.’
Corrigan gave her a cold stare.
‘I’m reading it, sir.’
Corrigan stood, buttoned his jacket. No cigar.