The Lord and the Banshee (Read by Candlelight #13) - Gillian St. Kevern Page 0,19

banshee doesn’t appear to those outside the O’Flaherty family?”

The old man shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that. All I know is that me and mine have no reason to fear the banshee of Connaught Castle.”

What was the man getting at? “Why is that?”

“What son need fear his own mother? Sure, wouldn’t she be moving heaven and earth to protect him—and those that belong to him?” The old man nodded. “I think Una herself must be proud of her great grandson.”

Thomas sucked in a breath. This old man was Una’s illegitimate child? “I beg your pardon. I did not know to whom I spoke.”

The old man cackled. “That’s the truth and all. If you’d known, you’d not have mentioned the banshee.”

Thomas cast around for an appropriate comment. “I hope my words haven’t offended you.”

He shook his head. “No. Nor saddened me, though I’m sorry I never got the chance to see her, not in all the years I worked at the castle.”

Thomas blinked. “You wanted to see her?”

The old man nodded. “She’s my mother. If anyone has the right to see her, it’s me.”

“But the legend—the death—”

“I’m old enough now, I don’t mind if it takes me.” The man looked out over the churchyard. “It would be worth it just to see her, see in her eyes that she knows me.”

A remarkable wish. To not fear death. Thomas felt a pang deep in his chest. This old man would outlive him!

The old man heaved himself to his feet. “I’ll leave you now. Enjoy your time in Connaught, and if you see the banshee, tell her not to forget her boy Jack.” Raising his cap in salute, he shuffled back the way he’d come.

Thomas caught voices. Looking up, he saw the Castle party walking towards. Was the old man avoiding them?

Interesting. Thomas might not have got the answers he’d wanted, but he’d learned more about the banshee—and the legacy of Una Malone.

10

Pip pronounced himself delighted with the countryside and asked if he might walk back to the castle. Julian, never one to pass on a walk, accompanied him, carriage trailing behind in case they tired.

Cross heaved himself into the second carriage, a rather old fashion brougham, with relief. So long as he didn’t move, the pain in his gut subsided to a dull ache. He rubbed his stomach.

Mrs O’Flaherty seated herself next to him. “I see you made the acquaintance of old Jack Malone.”

Cross glanced up at her. What was that tone? “I did. An interesting man. I imagine he is quite the local character.”

“An old dreamer.” Mrs O’Flaherty smoothed out her skirts. “Lives in a fantasy world. You read of cases like his—a child growing up without a father, inventing a family for himself, painting himself the hero in a story. Poor old Jack harbours the delusion that his father was a member of the local gentry—an O’Flaherty in fact.”

“I like him.” Miss O’Flaherty jutted out her jaw. She appeared to have recovered from her earlier shock, sitting opposite her mother in the carriage.

Connaught took the last seat, and the carriage set off. “What did you say the chap’s name was—Malone?”

Mrs O’Flaherty inclined her head. “Harmless, but troublesome. The problem is that there are people who believe his wild tales. That grandson of his. I’m sure he resents us.”

Miss O’Flaherty squared her shoulders. “Liam has always been a hard working gardener. You said yourself, the roses have never looked better.”

“As a gardener he is beyond compare,” Mrs O’Flaherty allowed. “As a servant…” She shook her head.

Connaught’s brow furrowed. “Has his claim to the castle ever been investigated?”

The carriage rattled over the ill-kept country road, jolting its inhabitants. Cross stifled a pained grunt. “Do you take the old man’s stories seriously?” More seriously, it seemed, than he gave the bulk of his tenants’ concerns.

“Something I learned as a journalist was that you can’t take anything for granted.” Connaught tapped his nose, swaying along with the carriage. “Especially on the crime beat. Trouble can surface from the most unexpected of quarters and on the flimsiest of pretexts. We might know that there’s nothing in the stories, but this grandson… If he’s grown up believing the old man’s nonsense, a fixed idea like that could persist into adulthood and cause a lot of harm.”

Mrs O’Flaherty pressed her lips together, giving her the impression of a displeased fish. “Old stories can do a lot of harm.”

Cross saw an opening. “A lot of help, too,. Did you find anything pertaining to the banshee