Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [28]
He sat between Joanna and her uncle throughout the meal, enjoying the superb food and listening to the flow of idle chatter on either side. Sir George Hamilton ate sparingly, which was to be expected, and seemed to contribute little to the conversation. Finally, the ladies withdrew and the port was passed round.
Clay lit a cheroot and sat in silence listening to the conversation of others. It consisted in the main of a discussion of the present uneasy state of affairs throughout the country, with various suggestions as to how it might be remedied.
Most of the landowners present seemed to favor a harsher treatment of the peasantry, the strengthening of local garrisons and the introduction of martial law.
One man even suggested that every tenth male in each village might be arrested and held as a hostage against the good behavior of his fellows. The unfortunate wretches chosen were apparently to be hanged if any further lawless acts took place within their own particular community.
Clay had assumed that the man who proposed the idea was speaking lightly, until he heard the murmur of approval which rose on every side and someone said, “Hang one of these swine to every tree between here and Galway. Only way to cure ’em. Wish I could lay hands on the rogue who sent me this.”
A sheet of paper was tossed into the center of the table and someone picked it up. It was passed from hand to hand with angry murmurs, and when it reached Clay, he saw that it was another threatening letter signed Captain Swing, but in a different hand.
The man who had spoken was a gross, evil-looking creature with podgy hands and permanently wet lips. There was something obscene about him, and as they rose to join the ladies, Captain Vale moved to Clay’s shoulder and said, “I see you’re admiring friend Marley, Colonel.”
“Who is he?” Clay asked.
“Owns a large estate about ten miles from here on the road to Galway. A place called Kileen.” Vale made a face. “A revolting individual. I’m surprised Sir George invited him.”
“Presumably he wasn’t joking when he said he’d like to hang a man from every tree between here and Galway?” Clay said.
“Marley never jokes about anything, Colonel,” Vale assured him. “He rules his tenants with a rod of iron and treats them like animals.” They helped themselves to brandy from a salver which was being carried round by a footman, and Vale continued. “He has a penchant for young girls. Anything between thirteen and eighteen suits him. After that they’re too old.”
“Presumably he has a plentiful supply. He seems happy enough with life at the moment.”
Vale nodded grimly. “As I remarked, his tenants have to do as they are told. One of these days, someone will shoot him from behind a hedge and I’ll be called in to hunt the poor devil down.”
“Personally, I’d be inclined to give the man concerned a medal and book him a passage to America,” Clay said.
“Under the circumstances, I’m inclined to agree with you. Marley’s parties are like something out of a nightmare. Only the scum of the countryside will attend. His favorite trick is to have one of the girls stripped and hunted through the grounds by torchlight, the whole drunken mob howling at her heels. You can imagine what the prize is for the first one to catch her.”
Clay took him by the arm and led him toward the buffet table. “After that final slice of information, I really do need another drink.”
A moment later, a small string ensemble, especially brought from Galway for the occasion, struck up a Strauss waltz. Clay excused himself and crossed the room to where Joanna was engaged in giving some instructions to the butler.
“My dance, I think,” he said, with a slight bow.
She consulted her card, brow furrowed. “I’m awfully sorry, Colonel Fitzgerald, but you should have come earlier. I’m afraid I’ve only been able to keep a dozen dances open for you.”
Laughter erupted from his throat, so that people standing near at hand turned as he took