Pay the Devil (1999) by Higgins Jack

Author:Higgins, Jack [Jack, Higgins,]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-03-16T14:26:18+00:00

Chapter 8.

Clouds moved over the face of the sun and a great belt of shadow spilled darkness like a fast-spreading stain across the ground. As they entered the village, rain started to fall and ragged, barefooted children ran after their horses, hands outstretched for the odd coin. Clay tossed a handful of loose change to scatter them, and he and Joanna moved on past Cohan's and reined in outside the Cooneys' cottage.

As they dismounted, the door opened, and Father Costello emerged, relief on his face. "I'm glad you've come," he said. "She's having a hard time of it, poor soul."

Joanna moved past him into the cottage as Clay started to unstrap his saddlebags. "Is her husband here?"

Father Costello shook his head. "He left for Galway yesterday and hasn't returned yet. He was hoping to borrow money from a brother of his in trade. He's a month behind with his rent and Sir George threatened to evict him if the arrears were not paid by Monday."

Clay frowned. "That was three days ago."

"Exactly!" the priest said. "I'm hoping Sir George is exercising a little Christian charity for once, knowing of the circumstances. He owes them some consideration. Michael Cooney was in his employ for nine years until Burke dismissed him for long absences due to bad health."

"Charity is the last virtue I can imagine Sir George practicing," Clay said.

The old priest sighed. "I must agree with you, but the world is full of surprises. However, I mustn't keep you from your patient. I'm going up the street to the Flahertys' to see to their son's funeral arrangements. I'll look in later, if I may." He walked away, the skirts of his robe lifted against the mud and Clay went into the cottage.

The old crone still huddled by the turf fire, mumbling to herself and Joanna was in the act of lighting an oil lamp which stood upon the table. She nodded toward the bed without speaking and Clay put down his saddlebags and crossed the room.

Mrs. Cooney was only half-conscious, her face twisted with pain. He quickly loosened her clothing and examined her, his hands moving gently across the swollen belly. After a moment, he straightened and walked back to the table.

"Get me a cup of water," he said to Joanna, and opened his bag. When she brought the water, he mixed an opiate and, returning to Mrs. Cooney, gently forced open her mouth. She coughed so that a trickle of moisture oozed from one corner, but after a while her head eased back against the pillow and she began to breathe deeply.

Clay moved back to the table with the empty cup, face grave. "Who's been attending to her previously?"

Joanna nodded toward the woman by the fire. "Old Mrs. Byrne there is the village midwife. She's tried everything, but the child refuses to come."

"I'm not surprised," Clay said. "It isn't in the correct position for a natural delivery."

"Why not?" she said.

He shrugged. "Many reasons. She's probably been working too hard for one thing, but it's immaterial now.

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