Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [35]
“But he does,” Clay said. “Or rather, he did.” He sighed. “It was quite like old times, Josh. Riding through Indiana and Ohio with Morgan’s Raiders.”
“What about that Georgian accent of yours?” Joshua persisted. “Marley, or anyone else who heard it, won’t have any difficulty in recognizing it again.”
Clay grinned. “I was a natural mimic as a boy, you know that better than anyone. I managed a pretty fair imitation of an Irish accent back there in Kileen.”
Joshua shook his head and started to ladle food onto a plate. “You’re a naturally violent man, Colonel. That’s your trouble. So was your father before you, and look how he died.”
Clay shrugged. “At least it was quick. As a physician, I can assure you there are worse ways to go than with a bullet.”
He rose to his feet to move to the table and a horse clattered into the yard outside. A moment later, there was a knock at the door. Joshua glanced across, alarm on his face, and Clay smiled calmly and crossed the room. When he opened the door, he found Kevin Rogan standing there.
The big man smiled. “Sorry to bother you at this hour, Colonel, but we’re in need of your professional services.”
Clay motioned him in and closed the door. “What’s the trouble?”
Kevin shrugged. “After our earlier visit to Drumore House, we went down to Cohan’s pub for a drink. There was trouble with a man called Varley, one of Hamilton’s boys. He cut my father up a little.”
“How bad is it?” Clay asked.
“A nasty slash on the inside of his right thigh. Varley was trying for the groin.”
“I’ll get my bag,” Clay said. “If you’ll saddle Pegeen for me, it would save time.”
Rogan turned to open the door and hesitated. “By the way, don’t forget that package, Colonel. You did say you wanted to deliver it personally. Now would be as good a time as any.”
Clay nodded, a slow smile appearing on his face. “A sound idea. It’s been on my conscience for long enough.”
The door closed softly behind Rogan, and Joshua appeared from the stairs, the black bag in one hand, tweed riding coat over his left arm. As he helped Clay into the coat, he said, “I’ve taken the liberty of placing the Dragoon at the bottom of the bag, Colonel. You never can tell.”
Clay nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve got a point there.”
Joshua moved across to a cupboard and took out the package. “Presumably you’ll be wanting this?”
“Perhaps I’ll find out what it contains before the night’s out,” Clay said. “I think I’ll make that my fee for attending Shaun Rogan.”
They went outside as Kevin emerged from the stables with Pegeen saddled and bridled, and a moment later, he and Clay clattered across the cobbles and moved up through the trees to the moors.
6
They rode in silence across the quiet moor, Kevin Rogan leading the way. As they approached the head of the valley, he gave a peculiar liquid whistle and a horseman moved out of the trees on their left, moonlight glinting on the barrel of his shotgun.
“Is it yourself, Kevin?” Dennis Rogan called softly.
“I’ll send Marteen up to relieve you in an hour,” Kevin told him as they passed.
Dennis grinned cheerfully. “Good night to ye, Colonel,” he said, and melted back into the darkness of the trees.
“So you’re mounting guards now?” Clay said.
Kevin nodded. “You might say things are beginning to warm up.” At that moment they came to the rim of the valley, and all further conversation ended as they concentrated on safely negotiating the steep path.
A dog started to bark as they rode past the paddock into the yard, and as they dismounted, the front door opened, casting a shaft of yellow light into the night.
Mrs. Rogan peered out at them, a lamp in her hand as Clay walked toward her, saddlebags over one arm. “How is he?” he asked.
She shrugged. “He’s suffered worse and lived.” She led the way along a narrow, whitewashed passage and through a door at the far end.