Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [242]
“It is true,” he acknowledged, “that I have received kindnesses once or twice in my life.” He gave her a wry look. “Whether I’ve returned them is another matter.” Then he fell silent and it seemed he had no further wish to discuss the issue. But Ailred’s wife was not to be so easily put off.
“Tell me,” she pressed him, “what is the greatest kindness you ever received?”
Doyle gazed at her thoughtfully for a few moments, as if he were considering something else; then, having apparently reached a conclusion of some kind, he spoke again.
“I could tell you of one. It happened many years ago.” He nodded slowly, as if to himself. “I’ve two sons. My eldest has always been steady, but my second, when he was young, fell into bad company. I never worried about it, because I thought, being my son, he’d have too much sense to do anything stupid.” He sighed. “That shows you how much I know. So one day, he disappeared. Just like that. Days went by and I’d no idea where he was. Then I found out that he’d been stealing money from me, for gambling, mostly, and other things. A large sum, too. He couldn’t repay it, of course. He was so afraid of me—with reason—and so ashamed, he’d run away. Left Bristol. Not even his brother knew where he’d gone. Months went by. Years.” He stopped.
“What did you do?” Ailred’s wife asked.
“Actually,” Doyle confessed, “I lied. I wanted to protect his name, but my own pride, too, I dare say. So I gave out that he’d gone to France on family business. But as we never heard from him, I thought he might be dead.
“Finally, we did hear. He’d been taken in by a London merchant. Funnily enough, I only knew the man slightly. But he’d taken my son into his house, acted as a father to him—quite a stern one—and helped him set up in business so he could start to pay me back. Then this merchant had made him come to me and ask my forgiveness. That was a kindness, if you like.” He paused. “You can’t really repay a thing like that. You just have to accept it.”
“And did you forgive your son?” asked Ailred’s wife.
“I did,” the dark Bristol merchant replied. “To tell the truth, I was just grateful he was alive.”
“He returned to live with you?”
“I made two conditions. He was to let me forgive him the rest of what he owed me. It was my own guilt which made me do that, I should think. I blamed myself, you see, for being such a stern father. I drove him away.”
“And the other condition?”
“He was to marry a wife I chose for him. Nothing unusual in that. I found him a good, steady girl. They’re happy.” He rose abruptly. “It’s getting late. I thank you for your hospitality.” He turned to Ailred’s wife. “One good turn deserves another, I dare say. I’ll think about this girl and her family and let you know in the morning.”
When he had departed, the Palmer and his wife sat alone in their hall.
“I’m sure he will help her,” she said.
“Say nothing to Una,” he replied. “Let’s wait and see what he does.”
For some time after that, they sat together, saying nothing. It was she who finally broke the silence.
“How strange that his son did the same as Harold. He even gave out a story, the same way we did. Except we said Harold had gone on pilgrimage.”
“He got his son back,” said Ailred grimly. “I suppose I drove Harold away, too.”
“You were never stern.”
“No. I was too kind.” He gestured towards the dormitories. “What can you do when you steal from your father and he is Ailred the Palmer?”
She was about to say, Perhaps Harold is alive, too, but she realised that the subject was too painful for him.
“Let us hope,” she said instead, “that Doyle will do something for Una.”
Una was in the road outside the hospital the next morning when the man arrived. A tall, handsome, red-haired man with a weather-beaten face. He asked for the Palmer, but she did not realise that he had come from Doyle the Bristol merchant.
She started to show him