Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [61]
They crossed the moor at the back of Claremont and skirted the village, coming down to Drumore House through the orchards. Clay and Dennis dismounted and were hustled through a door and along a stone-flagged passage, finally stopping outside the conservatory door.
Burke went in and they waited. After a while, he came out again and led the way through the hall into the long room with the French windows, in which the reception had been held.
One of the men closed the door and another pushed Dennis into the center of the room. Burke said carelessly over his shoulder, “Watch the colonel,” and as he advanced on the boy, the men closed in around Clay.
Dennis had turned bone-white and suddenly looked very young. As he watched him, Clay thought of that first day on the Galway Road and of the dash and bravado that had faded so quickly when the youth had been faced with the harsh reality of violence.
Burke said calmly, “I want to know where that brother of yours is hiding.”
Dennis licked his lips, and Clay said quietly and clearly, his words cutting through the stillness, “Remember your name and nation, lad.”
Dennis drew himself erect, nostrils flaring, a new expression appearing on his face. “Yes, by God, I’m a Rogan, but I’m an Irishman first and I’ll not betray my own kind like you have, ye scut.”
Burke hit him in the stomach, and as the lad keeled over, a fist of iron smashed into his mouth, lifting him backward.
Dennis groaned and tried to get up. Slowly and painfully, he pushed himself onto one knee, his mouth ragged and bloody. Burke hauled him easily to his feet with one hand. “Has your memory improved?” he asked calmly.
Dennis seemed to be trying to speak. His mouth worked and a ghastly grin appeared and then he spat into Burke’s face. The land agent felled the boy with one blow and lifted back a boot to strike. Clay ducked under an arm and, flinging himself forward, caught Burke by the shoulder and sent him staggering across the room. There was a growl of rage from the men behind, but as they moved forward threateningly, the door opened and Sir George entered.
He surveyed the scene calmly and, ignoring Clay, crossed the floor and examined Dennis. “Did he tell you?” he asked Burke.
The agent wiped blood and spittle from his face with a handkerchief and shook his head. “I’d only just started, but he’s stubborn.”
Sir George nodded. “There are surer ways. Have two of the man take him upstairs. Clean him up and make sure he’s sensible when I need him.”
Burke gave the necessary order and Dennis was escorted from the room. As the door closed, Sir George turned and regarded Clay coldly for several moments, and then he walked slowly forward and struck him in the face. “You made a fool of me, Colonel, but it’s my turn to laugh now.”
He snapped his fingers and one of the men opened the door and went out. A moment later, he returned with a bundle, which he handed to Burke. Burke opened it slowly and dropped onto the floor at Clay’s feet, one by one, his old felt campaign hat, the black scarf, and the Confederate cavalry greatcoat.
Burke said, “The fact that Kevin Rogan was rescued after your visit to the Rogan farm yesterday set me thinking, Colonel. I should have guessed it before. Several people described how the moonlight glinted on the brass frame of Captain Swing’s Colt, but a Navy Colt doesn’t have a brass frame.”
“How very interesting,” Clay said.
“Oh, it was,” Burke told him. “You see I remembered reading somewhere how the Confederates were short of metal during the war. They melted down the brass church bells at a place called Macon in Georgia and manufactured a copy of the Navy Colt, using the brass for the frame of the weapon. They called it a Dragoon Colt, I understand, and it was issued extensively to Confederate cavalry units.” His hand came out of his pocket and he was holding Clay’s pistol.
“Even when Burke told me of this, I still found it difficult to believe,” Sir George said. “That’s why we played our little game this morning.” He took Joanna’s letter from his pocket