Pay the Devil. Jack Higgins
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‘I’m so wet already, it doesn’t make any difference,’ Joshua said.
Clay shook his head. ‘No arguments. Come down and get inside. That’s an order.’
His tone brooked no denial and Joshua sighed, threw back the blanket and started to clamber down. At that moment, two horsemen moved out of the trees and splashed across the stream.
The leader reined in sharply so that his horse danced sideways on its hind legs, crowding Clay against the side of the coach and splashing him with mud. A shock of yellow hair showed beneath the brim of his battered hat, and the eyes above the red bandana which covered the lower half of his face were vivid blue. His rough coat was buttoned up to the neck and he held a shotgun crooked in his left arm.
Four years of being on the losing side in a particularly unpleasant war had taught Clay Fitzgerald to accept the vagaries of life as they came. He produced his purse and said calmly, ‘Presumably, this is what you want?’
Before the man could reply, his companion, who had reined in on the other side of the coach, moved round and said in an awed voice, ‘Would you look at this now, Dennis? A black man. Did you ever see the like?’
The man addressed as Dennis laughed. ‘Every time a Spanish boat puts in at Galway.’ He snatched the purse from Clay’s hand and hefted it. ‘Rather light for a fine gentleman like yourself.’
Clay shrugged. ‘Only a fool would carry more in times like these.’
The man slipped the purse into a pocket and leaned forward. ‘That’s a fine gold chain you’ve got there,’ he said, pointing to Clay’s waistcoat. ‘Would there be a watch to go with it?’
‘A family heirloom,’ Clay told him. ‘My father left it to me. You’d get little for it.’
The man reached down and grabbed for the chain, tearing it free with a ripping of cloth. He held it up and examined the watch. ‘A gold hunter, no less. I’ve wanted one all me life.’ He shook his head reprovingly. ‘You’ve not been honest with me, me bucko, and that makes me wonder what might be travelling with you in the coach.’ He turned to his companion. ‘Pull his baggage out into the road and go through it quickly.’
The boy dismounted, pushed Clay roughly out of the way and leaned inside the coach. After a moment, he turned, a black leather bag in one hand. ‘You’ll find nothing of value in there,’ Clay told him. ‘Only some surgical instruments and medical drugs.’
The boy opened the bag and examined the contents. ‘He’s telling the truth, Dennis,’ he said, holding it up so that his companion could have a look.
‘So you’re a doctor, are you?’ Dennis said.
Clay nodded. ‘Among other things.’
‘I’ve the greatest respect for the profession,’ Dennis told him. ‘On another occasion, I’d let ye pass, but these are hard times, and at least you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing your money is going to a good cause.’ He nodded to the boy. ‘See what else ye can find.’
Clay thought of the hundred gold sovereigns hidden inside his spare riding boots at the bottom of the leather travelling trunk and sighed. He slid one foot forward tentatively, ready to grab for the shotgun when the right opportunity presented itself.
At that moment, a cry sounded from somewhere nearby, that was immediately followed by the flat report of a rifle, muffled by the rain. The bullet dented the ground beside the coach. Dennis cursed, trying to control his frightened horse with one hand, as he turned and looked behind him.
Several riders were plunging down the hillside toward them, and Dennis turned and menaced Clay with the shotgun. ‘Up with you, Marteen,’ he said to his companion.
The boy swung a leg over the broad back of his mare and dug his heels into its sides. Without a word, Dennis followed him. They splashed across the stream and broke into a canter on the other side, disappearing like shadows into the mist.
Joshua scrambled down to the ground and leaned against the coach while he mopped his damp face with a handkerchief. ‘Colonel, what kind of a country is this?’
Clay shrugged. ‘Everything that lawyer told me in Galway must be true. I thought he was exaggerating.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t tell me an old campaigner like you was frightened?’
‘I stopped being frightened after Pittsburgh Landing, when we rode into that Yankee artillery regiment in the dark and you bluffed our way right out again,’ Joshua told him. ‘I was only worried in case you tried something silly.’
‘I must admit I was thinking about it,’ Clay said.
Joshua snorted. ‘Then that shot came just in time to save you from getting your fool head blown off.’
At that moment, the riders who had been making their way down the hillside reached the coach. Three of them galloped straight across the stream without stopping and disappeared into the mist on the other side. The fourth reined in his horse and dismounted.
He was in his early thirties, thick-set and muscular, in muddy jackboots and tweed riding coat, his mouth cruel in a pale face. Clay disliked him on sight.
The man glanced curiously at Joshua and touched the brim of his hat briefly with his riding crop. ‘Colonel Fitzgerald?’ Clay nodded and he went on, ‘It seems we arrived not a moment too soon. My name is Burke. I’m Sir George Hamilton’s agent. He heard you had arrived in Galway yesterday and sent me to meet you. Did you receive his letter safely?’
Clay nodded. ‘It was waiting for me when I visited my uncle’s lawyers yesterday.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘A pity you didn’t arrive five minutes sooner. I’d have been fifteen sovereigns and a gold watch the richer. Have you any idea who they were?’
Burke shrugged. ‘The country is swarming with such rogues. If we catch them, they’ll tell the judge they were true patriots collecting funds for the organization and damn the Queen’s eyes in the same breath.’
‘I see,’ said Clay. ‘Do these men belong to this Fenian Brotherhood I heard so much about in Galway?’
‘Fenians, Moonlighters, Ribbonmen.’ Burke shrugged. ‘There are several of these secret societies, all hell-bent on setting Ireland free, as they call it.’ The rain continued its steady monotonous downpour and he went on briskly, ‘But this is no place for a conversation, Colonel. Sir George is hoping you’ll spend the night with him. If you’ll get back in to your coach, I’ll lead the way.’
Clay shook his head. ‘That’s very kind of him, but I prefer to go on to Claremont tonight. Is it far from here?’
‘Drumore is another four miles along the road,’ Burke told him. ‘Claremont is about a mile the other side of it.’ He seemed to hesitate, a slight frown on his face and then went on, ‘You’ll find cold comfort there tonight, Colonel, and that’s a fact. The house isn’t fit for man nor beast.’
‘But I understand my uncle was living in it until his death,’ Clay said. ‘Surely it can’t have deteriorated to such an extent?’
‘But you’re forgetting about the fire,’ Burke said.
Clay shook his head. ‘No, the lawyers gave me full details. I understand the damage was extensive.’
Burke nodded. ‘Most of the house went. Your uncle lived in the west wing for the last six months of his life. It was the only part left with a roof.’
Clay shrugged. ‘There have been many occasions during the past four years, Mr Burke, when I desired nothing more of life than a roof over my head – any kind of roof. If my uncle managed to continue living there, I’m sure I’ll survive.’
‘Suit yourself, Colonel.’ Burke swung into the saddle of his horse and gathered the reins in his left hand. ‘One thing more,’ he said. ‘Mind how you go when you reach Drumore. They don’t take kindly to strangers.’