LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘Would you be kind enough to tell him Colonel Clay Fitzgerald is here?’

      ‘I’ll do that, sir.’

      She went through to the back and Clay moved behind the bar, took down a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, as the door opened and Josh entered, water dripping from the brim of his hat.

      ‘Taken care of, Colonel, and I took pity on those two mounts outside, put ’em in the barn, too.’

      The two men stopped eating and the one with the red kerchief at his neck said, ‘Niggers stand outside in the rain, that’s their proper place, and I don’t take kindly to you touching my horse, boy.’

      Clay laid his Dragoon on the bar, and poured two glasses of whiskey. ‘Over here, Josh. A young lady’s gone for Regan. Somebody shot Holt.’

      Josh produced the sawn-off from his left pocket and came forward. He took one of the glasses and savoured the whiskey.

      ‘Now I wonder who would have done a thing like that, Colonel.’

      At that moment, young Sybil appeared, Regan behind her, a small, bearded man of middle years, wearing steel-rimmed glasses. He grasped Clay’s hand warmly.

      ‘Colonel, a pleasure to see you alive.’ He turned to Josh. ‘And you, Joshua.’

      ‘You’ve news for me, I believe,’ Clay said. ‘You left word at Fairoaks.’

      ‘That’s right. Let’s sit down.’

      He drew Clay to the fire and sat opposite him. Josh leaned against the wall, watching the two men. Sybil stayed behind the bar, drying glasses.

      ‘I had business in the area, Clay, and hoped you’d be close to Lee, and I wanted to check out things at Fairoaks.’

      ‘It’s not good, I hear.’

      ‘Burned to the ground by Yankee cavalry. Nothing for you there, Clay.’

      ‘Never thought there would be.’

      ‘The thing is, I’ve got more bad news. Your uncle Sean died a month ago and left you no money, only two properties: Fairoaks, burned to the ground, and Claremont, the old family house in Ireland that he returned to when your grandfather died. In a manner of speaking, it’s suffered a similar fate. It’s half burned to the ground.’

      ‘What are you telling me?’

      ‘There’s trouble in Ireland these days, lots of trouble. Rebels who call themselves Fenians, who want to throw the English out.’

      ‘But my uncle was Irish American.’

      ‘Who owned a big house, a large estate. The aristocracy’s seen to be on the side of the establishment.’

      ‘Hell, at the end of it, what does it matter?’ Clay told him. ‘Two burned-out properties. I end up with nothing.’

      ‘Not really,’ Regan said. ‘I’ve got documents with me for you to sign, relating to your uncle’s estate. Then I need you in Savannah.’

      ‘And why would that be?’

      ‘To appear before Judge Archie Dean for your identity to be accepted by the court at the request of the Bank of England in London.’

      There was a pause. ‘Why?’ Clay persisted.

      ‘Your father made a fortune blockade-running, Clay, but he was always foxy and he knew the South would lose. So, he deposited his funds in London and some in Paris.’

      Clay said, ‘What are we talking about?’

      ‘Well, forget about American currency. Confederate money is a joke and the dollar is strained. If we stick with pounds sterling, I’d say there’s somewhere over a million.’ There was silence as Clay stared at him, and Regan said lamely, ‘Of course, I do have my fees.’

      Clay looked up at Josh in astonishment, and behind them, the man in the red kerchief snarled at Sybil, ‘Hey, bitch, let’s have another bottle.’

      She hesitated, then took one down from a shelf and came from behind the bar. As she reached the table, the other man grabbed her, pulled her on his knee and yanked up her skirt. She cried out.

      Josh said, ‘God, how I hate that.’

      Clay stood up, walked forward and produced the Dragoon. He rammed the muzzle into the forehead of the one fondling the girl. ‘Let her go now or I’ll blow your brains out.’

      The man released his grip slowly, Sybil slipped away. Red Kerchief said, ‘No offence, Colonel.’

      ‘Oh, but you have offended me,’ Clay told him. ‘Take their pistols, Josh.’ Josh complied and Clay stood back. ‘Out we go, straight to the barn, and be sensible. Just ride away.’

      They stood glaring at him, then turned and walked out through the door, Clay and Josh following them. Clay stayed on the porch and watched Josh take them to the barn, shotgun ready. They went inside. A few moments later, they emerged on horseback.

      ‘Damn you to hell, Colonel!’ Red Kerchief called, and they rode away.

      Josh turned and moved back to the porch.

      In the darkness beyond the fence, Red Kerchief turned and reached into his saddlebag, taking out a Colt. ‘You got your spare?’ he demanded.

      ‘I sure as hell do,’ his companion said.

      ‘Then let’s take them,’ and they turned and galloped back out of the darkness, already firing.

      Josh turned, dropping to one knee, and gave Red Kerchief both barrels. Clay’s Dragoon came up in one smooth motion and he shot the other out of the saddle.

      Sybil and Regan came out of the door behind and Clay said, ‘No problem, child, we’ll dispose of the bodies before we leave.’

      Regan said, ‘You all right, Clay?’

      ‘Not really,’ Clay said. ‘I’ve been killing people for four years. Frankly, I could do with a change.’

      Joshua walked back, reloading his shotgun. ‘What kind of a change, Colonel?’

      Clay holstered his Dragoon, took a cheroot from his silver box and lit it. He blew out smoke. ‘Josh,’ he said, ‘how would you like to go to Ireland?’

IRELAND 1865

       1

      The coach lurched violently to one side as a wheel dipped into a pothole and the luggage piled upon the opposite seat was thrown against the man sleeping in the far corner, hat tilted forward over his eyes.

      Clay awakened as the vehicle came to a halt. They had been four hours on this apology for a road, and since leaving Galway conditions had got steadily worse.

      He glanced out of the window at the rain soaking into the ground. The road ran through a narrow valley beside a small stream, with a scattering of trees on the far side shrouded in mist. He opened the door and stepped down into the mud.

      Joshua said, ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Colonel, but I always understood you to say that Europe was civilized.’

      He wore a heavy greatcoat buttoned tightly to his chin and a horse blanket was draped across his knees. Rain dripped steadily from the brim of his felt hat as he sat with the reins of the coach in his hands.

      Clay turned slowly and grinned. ‘This is Ireland,’ he said. ‘My father always told me God made things a little bit different here.’

      Joshua wiped rain from his face with one sleeve. ‘I’d say the good Lord forgot about this place a long time ago, Colonel.

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