Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [76]
Shaun Rogan nodded and got to his feet slowly. “I’ll go and tell them about it.” He paused to lay a hand gently on his wife’s bowed head and passed out through the door.
Clay listened to the quiet murmur of their voices, and after a while, Marteen came into the room and there was mud on his boots. He helped his mother gently to her feet and said quietly, “If you could give us your assistance, I’d be grateful, Colonel.”
Clay followed them out into the passage. He gave his arm to Mrs. Rogan, who leaned heavily against him, and Cathal and Marteen picked up the coffin and moved through the back door after their father.
They crossed the yard and entered an old walled orchard and the rain fell heavily into the long grass and dripped from the bare branches of the trees.
They had hastily dug the grave in a flower bed against the ivy-covered wall and Shaun Rogan moved forward to inspect it. “It’s only four feet deep, Father,” Cathal told him in a low voice. “We hadn’t time to do any better.”
His father nodded. “He will rest easy enough here and no one to disturb him.”
Marteen was carrying two lengths of rope and they quickly improvised slings and lowered the coffin into the grave. Afterwards, they stood for a while, heads bowed while their father prayed.
Clay was to remember that moment for long afterwards. The rain, cold and bitter as death as it soaked into his shoulders, a spider’s web across an open gate in the wall, a broken sickle half-buried by leaves at his feet. Shaun Rogan’s voice moved on and stopped. He picked up a handful of earth and tossed it down onto the coffin, and then he turned and led his wife away through the rain back to the house.
Clay waited until the boys had filled in the grave and they all returned together, Cathal and Marteen discussing plans in a low voice. The French schooner would be half a mile offshore at nine o’clock and stay for two hours. A lantern flashed four times from the beach was the signal that would bring in a longboat.
The boys stayed by the back door to clean the mud from their boots, and Clay went inside. Shaun Rogan sat by the fire alone, a glass in his hand. “You’ll excuse my wife, Colonel. She’s gone to lie down.”
Clay sat on the edge of the table. “There’s one thing bothering me,” he said. “My servant is in Drumore with Miss Hamilton. Father Costello is sheltering her for the moment. I’m wondering if I could get in to see them.”
The old man shook his head. “Drumore will be crawling with soldiers. You’d be putting your head into a noose if you tried.”
“A message then?” Clay said.
“Who’s to take it?” Shaun asked, and shook his head. “No one but a fool would venture abroad this day. Each man will sit by his fireside and pretend he knows nothing of what happened at Drumore House.” He leaned forward. “Never worry, man. I’ll let the girl know later what happened to you. If she truly loves you, she’ll follow you to the world’s end.”
Clay nodded slowly. “Perhaps you’re right. At least she’s got Joshua with her. He’ll look after her.”
“Of course I’m right,” Shaun Rogan said. “You’re no good to her dead, are you?”
Marteen and Cathal entered the room and moved to their father’s side. They were dressed for travelling, in tweed riding coats, and carried their hats in their hands.
Shaun Rogan looked up at them and said calmly, “You’d best not bother your mother. She’s stood enough for one day.” Marteen was near to tears and the old man scowled and gripped him by the arm. “If ye bawl before the colonel, I’ll never forgive you.” He smiled and held out his hand. “Now off ye go, like good lads. Don’t disgrace the name, and write to us now and then.”
They shook hands, and as they hurried from the room, Marteen was struggling to hold back his sobs. Shaun Rogan got to his feet, and when he faced Clay there were tears in his eyes. He held out his hand. “Look after them for me, Colonel.”
For one long moment, Clay clasped hands and stared into those great, calm eyes. “We ran