Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [43]
He set her down and said awkwardly, “I’ll go back and see to the horses. Can you manage the path on your own?”
She nodded, averting her eyes. “I’ll only be five minutes.”
When he reached the top of the path, his hands were still trembling. He lit a cheroot with some difficulty because of the wind, and then collected both horses and led them back toward the cliff top. As he did so, she appeared over the edge.
She moved through the long, dry grass and the sun was behind her. He crinkled his eyes and her image blurred at the edges until, when she paused for a moment and looked out to sea again, she might have been a painting by one of the great masters. She looked unreal and ethereal and completely and utterly beautiful.
He dropped the reins and moved toward her, and this time there was nothing of fear in her eyes, only a great warmth, and she came to meet him, a steady, grave smile touching her lips.
She held out her hands, and as he took them, there was a sudden cry in the distance and the sound of hooves drumming on the turf. He turned quickly and saw Joshua approaching at the gallop mounted on the coach horse.
He reined in and wiped sweat from his brow with a large handkerchief. “I’m sure glad I found you, Colonel. Father Costello sent a message up to the house. Says there’s a woman called Cooney having a child in Drumore and she needs you bad.”
Joanna was already moving to her mount and Clay quickly lifted her into the saddle. As he turned to Pegeen, Joshua handed him his saddlebags. “Everything you need in there, Colonel,” he said. “You make tracks. I’ll never keep up with you on this horse.”
“You stay at the house,” Clay said. “If I need you, I’ll send a message.” Already Joanna was away, galloping across the moor, and he put spurs to Pegeen and thundered after her.
8
Clouds moved over the face of the sun and a great belt of shadow spilled darkness like a fast-spreading stain across the ground. As they entered the village, rain started to fall and ragged, barefooted children ran after their horses, hands outstretched for the odd coin. Clay tossed a handful of loose change to scatter them, and he and Joanna moved on past Cohan’s and reined in outside the Cooneys’ cottage.
As they dismounted, the door opened, and Father Costello emerged, relief on his face. “I’m glad you’ve come,” he said. “She’s having a hard time of it, poor soul.”
Joanna moved past him into the cottage as Clay started to unstrap his saddlebags. “Is her husband here?”
Father Costello shook his head. “He left for Galway yesterday and hasn’t returned yet. He was hoping to borrow money from a brother of his in trade. He’s a month behind with his rent and Sir George threatened to evict him if the arrears were not paid by Monday.”
Clay frowned. “That was three days ago.”
“Exactly!” the priest said. “I’m hoping Sir George is exercising a little Christian charity for once, knowing of the circumstances. He owes them some consideration. Michael Cooney was in his employ for nine years until Burke dismissed him for long absences due to bad health.”
“Charity is the last virtue I can imagine Sir George practicing,” Clay said.
The old priest sighed. “I must agree with you, but the world is full of surprises. However, I mustn’t keep you from your patient. I’m going up the street to the Flahertys’ to see to their son’s funeral arrangements. I’ll look in later, if I may.” He walked away, the skirts of his robe lifted against the mud and Clay went into the cottage.
The old crone still huddled by the turf fire, mumbling to herself and Joanna was in the act of lighting an oil lamp which stood upon the table. She nodded toward the bed without speaking and Clay put down his saddlebags and crossed the room.
Mrs. Cooney was only half-conscious, her face twisted with pain. He quickly loosened her clothing and examined her, his hands moving gently across the swollen belly. After a moment, he straightened and walked back to the table.
“Get me a cup of water,” he said to Joanna, and opened his bag. When she brought the water, he mixed