Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [332]
What would the Fitzgeralds do? Everyone was watching young Silken Thomas and his five uncles. There had already been one furious quarrel with Archbishop Alen over the Church estates. Before May was out, the young Fitzgerald heir had been up in Ulster talking to the O’Neills, and down in Munster, too. There was no sign of the Gunner yet. Would the Fitzgeralds bide their time or start stirring up the provinces right away? The measure of the danger, for Margaret, was the day late in May when her husband arrived at the house carrying an arquebus, gunpowder, and shot. “I bought the gun off a ship’s captain,” he explained. “Just in case.”
So how was it, in the middle of all this uncertainty, that William Walsh found time and energy to pursue his affair with Joan Doyle?
Margaret could hardly believe it, yet this was what he seemed to be doing.
There had been several occasions, since his return with Richard, when she had guessed that her husband might be seeing the alderman’s wife. In early May, he had gone into Dublin with Richard and then—she only discovered later—sent Richard on an errand into Fingal for two days. The same thing had happened the following week, when he had dispatched Richard to Maynooth and a nearby monastery. How could he use their own son to provide his cover, she wondered? But it was no doubt the Doyle woman who’d suggested it, she thought in disgust. If there was any doubt in her mind about what was going on, however, it was dispelled in early June.
A ship had arrived in Dublin with news that the invalid Earl of Kildare had been executed in London. The Fitzgeralds were beside themselves. “It may not be true,” Walsh pointed out. He went into Dublin anyway, to find out more, taking Richard with him. Two days later, Richard appeared back at the house.
“Silken Thomas has just been summoned to London. We still don’t know what’s happened to Kildare,” he told Margaret. “Father says you should hide anything valuable and prepare for trouble. We may even need the arquebus.” Nobody in Dublin knew what was going to happen. Even the king’s men in Dublin Castle seemed in the dark, he reported. “I told Father he should discuss the situation with Doyle,” Richard went on confidently. “He’s got the best judgement. But we can’t,” he said regretfully, “because he’s away in Waterford all this week.”
“Away all week?” Without meaning to, she allowed her voice to rise almost to a shriek. He looked at her, surprised.
“Yes. What of it?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Nothing.” So that was it. She saw their game. It had all been arranged. The Doyle woman had known her husband would be away. Joan Doyle had made a fool of her yet again, and sent her own unsuspecting son to her with the message. What was she supposed to do? Send Richard back? Risk his discovering the truth? The woman’s evil cunning passed belief. But still nothing had prepared her for what came next.
“I’ll tell you a strange coincidence, by the way,” Richard said. “Father and I found out this morning.” He smiled a little sadly. “Do you know who just took up the lease on that Church land we surrendered? Alderman Doyle. Still,” he added philosophically, “I suppose he can afford it.”
Doyle? It took a moment for the full implication to sink in. But then, gradually, it seemed to Margaret that she understood. Wasn’t this exactly what Joan Doyle had done before? First she had lulled her into a false security, the night of the thunderstorm, and then used the information she had so foolishly provided to strike at the family. Now she had deliberately set out to seduce William while her own husband, who was no doubt close to Archbishop Alen, stole away the Walshes’ land. Was there no limit to what she’d do to destroy them? Poor William. She even felt sorry for her husband now. What was any man, after all, in the hands of a really determined and unscrupulous