As Death Draws Near (23 page)

There was also one other option, and Gage had evidently already thought of it.

“Could she have lied about this contact of hers?”

Casey's mouth twisted, not liking that suggestion one bit. “'Tis possible. But she did bring us useful information she got from somewhere. 'Bout the government's plans to enforce tithe collections an' so forth.”

Father Begley shifted abruptly, making the pew beneath him creak. It was obvious he was distressed by this new information. “What of all this talk of yer plannin' armed rebellion? Ye swore there was no truth in it.”

“There isn't,” Casey snapped. “Dat just be the Orangies tryin' to stir up trouble.”

“And all the other men?” Gage prodded doubtfully. “They intend to remain peaceable if and when the government tries to collect their tithes?”

Casey's hands flexed in his lap and his eyes dropped to bore into the back of the pew behind Gage. “I'll not be claimin' we don't have a few hotheads who like to talk, to be sure.”

If he was saying some of these men were even more short-tempered than he was, then it was no wonder people were concerned this protest could erupt into violence.

As if he'd heard my thoughts, one corner of his mouth quirked upward wryly. “We're all a bit enraged o'er dis matter. We may've got our emancipation, but at the expense of many o' us losin' our votin' rights when Parliament raised the county freehold franchise from those with forty shillings to ten pounds' worth o' property.” He scoffed. “An' now wit all these tithes goin' to the Church o' Ireland.” For a moment I thought he was going to spit on the floor, but he seemed to catch himself in time, remembering where he was. He inhaled deeply. “It's a lot to swallow, to be sure. But I took an oath to the British Crown when I accepted dis post as constable, and I'll not be dishonorin' it.”

“In spite of your assurances, I would still like to see this place where you are keeping the cattle. To confirm for myself that you're telling the truth and not stockpiling weapons or worse.” Gage's eyes hardened in the face of Casey's defiant
glare. “I know they're at Rathfarnham Castle. I could go on my own. Take a few of your fellows from the constabulary. But I'm allowing you the opportunity to show me around instead.”

I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Bree, who had folded her hands in her lap as if to keep from reaching out and smacking her stubborn brother. Her lips were nearly white from being pressed together in an effort to remain quiet.

Casey sat back with begrudging respect, folding his arms in front of him. “So be it. I'll take ye. But in exchange I want yer promise you'll not be interferin' tomorrow at the fair when we'll be bringin' the cattle to market.”

“So long as I do not find any evidence that violence is planned, I'm agreed to that,” Gage replied readily enough. “However, you do realize Chief Constable Corcoran is almost certainly already aware of your ruse? In fact, I'm certain he's counting on your voice being the one of reason in this matter.” Gage's tone fairly dripped with skepticism, which made a smile flicker across Casey's features.

“Likely. But dat's my matter, not yers. I don't be intendin' to violate any laws, or lettin' anyone else do so.”

“Just like two nights ago when you and your fellow Ribbonmen trespassed and set fire to an outbuilding at the Priory.”

Father Begley sucked in a harsh breath, clearly hearing this bit of news for the first time.

Casey at least had the grace to look abashed. “The trespassin' was just to scare ye away. I didn't know any o' the men meant to take it further.”

“Well, forgive me, if that means I don't have as much confidence in your fellow protesters' adherence to the law and willingness to avoid violence as you do.” Gage turned away, lowering the knee he'd propped up on the seat of the pew as if to rise.

“What of Miss Lennox and Mother Mary Fidelis?” I pointed out before he could do so, not wanting them to lose sight of the most important matter at hand. “Do you think any of the other protesters could have harmed them?”

Casey shook his head. “They were one o' us.”

“But what if they weren't? What if someone found out that one or both of them was betraying you? Are you confident they wouldn't have harmed them then?”

The grim expression that stole over his face was all the answer I needed, but still he shook his head insistently. “No. I'll not be believin' they betrayed us, and neither would the others.”

I met Gage's eyes, seeing the same distrust of his certainty.

A
s Casey walked next door to the Yellow House to fetch Anderley on his behalf, Gage pulled me aside to ask me to remain at the abbey with Bree rather than join them. I could hear the concern in his voice as he explained how uncertain he was of what exactly they would find. There was every possibility they would be ambushed by a dozen men. Casey seemed reliable, but we couldn't be certain the other men would not be rash enough to shoot first and ask questions later.

None of this was in the least reassuring, and I was tempted to demand he forget the bargain he'd made with Casey and go speak to Chief Constable Corcoran now rather than risk it. But I knew he would never go back on his word, especially when such a raid could jeopardize so many more lives than Casey's. So I agreed, knowing Gage didn't need my pair of eyes, nor the distraction of worrying about my safety. In any case, much as I wished to see the castle, this wasn't a tourist excursion, and Homer's warnings about the derelict state it had fallen into made me suspect I would only be distressed by the sight.

Gage did, however, want us to show him the location of the tunnel which led from the abbey. Casey confessed he had not taken that passage in some years, and could not
recall its exact placement, so Bree and I agreed to lead the way. It would have been quicker for Casey to guide them through the tunnel that began at the Yellow House, but since our main objective was to solve the murders of Miss Lennox and Mother Fidelis, Gage felt it was important to see which route they had traveled.

Leaving the phaeton and horses at the abbey, Bree and I led them through the door by the gardeners' cottages and along the abbey wall, past the pond, and up the hill to the wild cherry tree growing against the old stone wall. Now that we knew what we were looking for, it was easy to find the set of steps leading downward, shielded behind the blackthorn and spindle. Bree and I stood back to watch as they disappeared from sight, a lantern from the carriage guiding their way down into the dark tunnel. I felt a moment's uneasiness when all evidence of them vanished, but I turned my back determinedly on the prospect and began striding toward the abbey.

The ground was still soft from a downpour of rain in the early morning hours—not long after the girl outside the window at the Priory had disappeared—so we made our way carefully. The workmen who had labored on the wall the day before could not do so while the ground was so saturated. So rather than return through the door by the gardeners' cottages, we picked our way through the gap, attentive not to disturb anything. While I paused to wait for Bree, I glanced around me, examining the work that had been done.

It was then that I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, a swift flash of white against the brown and green of the orchard. Perhaps it had just been the startled flight of one of Miss Lennox's birds, but I didn't think so. Holding a hand up to forestall anything Bree might have said, I lifted the hem of my soft emerald green skirts and crept forward on the balls of my feet in the direction I had seen the white vanish, peering through the trees. Bree was at my heels, blindly following my lead as she did so often.

I reached up to brush a long branch laden with small yellow-green clusters of growing fruit. A bee buzzed past my hand, attracted by the sweet scent. Ahead of me sat a large rectangular wooden box on the opposite side of the next tree in line, positioned up against its trunk. I was certain I'd seen it before as we'd woven our way through the trees, but I'd not taken note of it. After all, it was normal to see such large trough-like containers as well as barrels spaced throughout an orchard. But I marked it now.

If one was in need of concealment, it was the perfect hiding spot. Particularly, if the people you were hiding from were not looking for you.

Was that why Miss O'Grady had not seen anyone fleeing from the murder of Mother Fidelis? She'd described hearing a noise, the reason why she'd set off in the direction of the wall in the first place. Had what she heard been the killer concealing himself? If so, did that mean our thinking was all wrong? Did the murderer not come from outside the walls, but within? Were they hiding here even now?

I felt a chill run down my spine at the prospect.

I glanced at Bree, pointing toward the box. She nodded and began to circle around the tree before us in the opposite direction even as I slowly moved forward. Reaching inside my reticule, I withdrew my pistol, ready to use it if necessary.

When we were within one step of seeing into the chest-high trough, we both paused, staring through the branches at each other. Then I cocked my pistol, and with a nod we sprang forward.

The girl inside shrieked at the sight of me leveling my gun at her. “Don't shoot me. Don't shoot me,” she begged, clambering to the opposite side of the box. Old leaves and sticks crunched under the soles of her shoes.

I lowered my pistol to my side, uncocking it. My heart still pounded in my ears. “Miss Walsh, isn't it?” I snapped in exasperation. The troublemaker. “What are you doing here?”

“W-why do ye have a gun?” she demanded with false bravado.

“Because I thought you were a killer.” I glared down at her. “Are you?”

“No! No. How can ye ask such a thing?”

“Then, I repeat, what are you doing here?”

She pushed unsteadily to her feet, brushing off the leaves and dirt clinging to her frock. Her eyes darted over her shoulder at Bree and then back to me as she rubbed her arm where she must have bruised it when she launched herself backward away from my pistol. “I decided to go for a walk.”

“While you're supposed to be in class?”

She lifted her chin. “Aye.”

“And
here
of all places, where you know a murderer has already killed two women?” Fury tightened my voice as I tucked my gun back into my reticule. “I didn't take you for a fool.”

Her spine stiffened. “I didn't leave the walls. An' besides, he killed two nuns. Not the students.”

Her callous retort made the skin on the back of my neck ruffle like a cat. “Yes, but Miss Lennox was dressed much the same as you, wasn't she? Are you certain, should the murderer return, he would know the difference?”

This silenced her, making some of the peachy color of her complexion drain from her face. I almost felt sorry for speaking so bluntly. Almost.

“Miss Walsh, please be straight with us. Lies will not help you.” I stared daggers at her, letting her assume whatever she wished to think I meant by that statement. “
Why
are you here?”

Her shoulders drooped and her eyes dropped to the floor of the box. I followed her gaze to where a book lay half-concealed by leaves. The cover was nondescript, but it was obvious that whatever the contents were, she did not want me to see them.

“Do I even want to know what type of book that is?”

The fiery hue that suffused her cheeks told me all I needed to know.

I held out my hand, demanding she give it to me. She
hesitated a moment before stooping to pick it up and thrusting it into my fingers. I saved her the indignity of examining it.

“Where did it come from?”

“Miss Kelly's sweetheart snuck it to her durin' his last visit.”

“Your sweethearts are allowed to call on you?” I asked in surprise.

She peered up at me through her lashes, some of her normal mischievousness sparking in her eyes. “If they say they're our brothers.”

I didn't know whether to laugh or frown at this last pronouncement. No wonder the sisters had so many rules about silence in the halls and strict adherence to schedule. How else were they to keep these girls out of trouble?

“And is this where you all steal off to read it?”

“We can't be keepin' it in the dormitory, now can we?”

I arched a single eyebrow in scolding at the insolence that had returned to her voice. “Then one of you must have seen Miss Lennox and Mother Mary Fidelis leaving the abbey's property?”

Her rebelliousness swiftly fled.

I stared at her in expectation, letting her know I was not going to dismiss the matter.

“Maybe,” she hedged.

“Tell me.” I glanced at the book in my hands. “And maybe I'll fail to mention I found you with this.”

She stared at the book, and then asked hopefully, “Will you give it back?”

“No,” I snapped.

Behind her, Bree lifted a hand to her mouth and turned aside, hiding her amusement. The girl had cheek, I had to give her that.

She shrugged and sighed, dropping her gaze again. “We saw dem. Well, we saw Miss Lennox.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “We thought maybe she was just
havin' a tryst, maybe wit one o' the boys from Nutgrove o'er the hill. One last fling before she gave herself o'er to the Lord's service.” It was clear Miss Walsh was not destined to be a nun, for the manner in which she spoke of Miss Lennox's impending profession was akin to sending someone off to their execution.

“I see. And you girls didn't think to tell anyone?”

“We told Mother Fido after Miss Lennox was killed. But then she was killed, too.” Her gaze drifted to the side.

Under the circumstances, I allowed her use of what must have been the girls' nickname for Mother Fidelis go without comment. “And you were afraid if you told anyone else, they might also be killed?” I guessed.

She nodded.

It formed a twisted sort of logic, particularly to impressionable minds. Except I knew that Mother Fidelis had already been aware of Miss Lennox's ventures outside the abbey, and that she had not left to conduct a tryst.

I studied Miss Walsh, wishing there was some bit of advice I could give her that I thought she would heed, but it was clear my words would be wasted. The dark-haired girl was too lovely and obstinate for her own good. I only hoped some small bit of the sisters' example and instruction influenced her for the better.

“Go on. But stay away from the orchard in the future,” I warned her. “At least, until this killer is caught. And tell the other girls that if they know something, they should speak to me now, before it's too late for someone else.” The last was a bluff. We had no idea whether the killer intended to strike again. But I hoped as an intimidation tactic it would prove effective.

Miss Walsh nodded and leapt out of the box, dashing off between the trees.

Bree shook her head. “That girl is gonna find herself in a whole pile o' trouble someday that she canna worm her way oot o'.”

I was inclined to agree, until I opened the book we'd confiscated from her. One look at the title page and I burst out laughing. “Or maybe not,” I managed to say, tipping the book for her to see.

“
The Canterbury Tales
. What's that?”

“A collection of stories from the Middle Ages. And not as indelicate as we might have feared.” I glanced up toward where the girl had disappeared. “Perhaps there's hope yet for our curious Miss Walsh.”

•   •   •

I
n the end, I couldn't keep my encounter with Miss Walsh a secret from the mother superior. As we made our way through the gardens up to the abbey, I realized the girl had certainly been missed, and when she failed to appear in a timely fashion, the sisters would fear the worst. My suspicions were proven correct. For when the reverend mother and Mother Paul joined me in the parlor, their first concern was for the wayward girl. I hastened to reassure them that she was unharmed and should have returned to the abbey even before me. They exhaled a collective sigh of relief, and were further reassured by a message from another sister, informing them that Miss Walsh had finally appeared in class.

“What was her explanation for being there?” Mother Paul asked, irritation furrowing her normally smooth brow. “Curiosity?”

“Something of the sort,” I replied, having told the girl I would try not to tell them about the book.

Even so, it was evident Mother Paul wasn't completely fooled, but she didn't press the matter. “In this case, I think it might be time you contacted her parents,” she told the reverend mother.

“Yes. You may be right. It's no longer an issue of simple tardiness anymore, but safety—hers and the other girls. We cannot have that.”

“She is rather willful, isn't she?” I asked, not wishing to
stick my nose into matters that didn't concern me, but curious all the same.

“She is the constant subject of all our prayers,” she replied tactfully, despite the evident strain in her eyes. She clasped her hands together in her lap. “Now, I'm quite certain you did not come to see us today for the sole purpose of saving Miss Walsh from her folly.” Her gaze focused intensely on my face. “What have you uncovered?”

I should have known better than to think the reverend mother would have missed the restrained energy vibrating through me. Even so, it was not easy to deliver the news I had to tell her about both Miss Lennox's and Mother Fidelis's involvement in the tithe war. I felt certain the shock that registered across her face was genuine. However, Mother Paul was more difficult to read. She accepted the news as equitably as her mother superior, but her expression merely tightened with each new revelation, her gaze turned aside.