Erin Hart - Haunted Ground

No one noticed that Hugh Osborne had moved gradually closer until he was standing among the crime-scene officers at the edge of the excavation. Before anyone could stop him, Osborne had jumped down into the souterrain and seized the torch from Cormac’s hand. Devaney held up a hand to signal his fellow officers to hold off for just a moment. Osborne fell to his knees at the entrance to the hidden chamber, and drew a deep breath. Then he looked inside, and what he saw made him release that breath; with it he seemed to release all the hope and fear and anticipation he had held in for so long, to let it all go with a faint sound that was halfway between a moan and a sigh. And when the nightmarish vision before him persisted, and did not fade away, he finally sank slowly downward, and the torch, still switched on, tumbled from his hand. No one spoke or moved until Osborne himself finally broke the silence.

“Thank you—thank you for finding them,” he said in a hoarse voice to the air before him. Then he rose somewhat unsteadily and looked vacantly around him, as if unsure of how to climb out of the chamber. “I’ll go now,” he said. “You know where to find me.” A couple of officers came forward to help him out of the souterrain, and Devaney signaled them to escort Osborne back to the house. Cormac climbed up the ladder, and sought Nora’s face in the crowd. She brushed away her tears as he approached.

Cormac had just set a mug of tea in front of Hugh Osborne when a rap sounded at the kitchen door. It was Una McGann. She must have heard the news in the village; it hadn’t taken long for the story to travel that far. Osborne didn’t rise to meet her, but instead lowered his head to the table and covered it with his hands, in a gesture of the most abject helplessness. When she placed a hand gently on Osborne’s shoulder, Cormac realized that Una was the first person to offer any expression of sympathy, and he felt ashamed. Then the door banged violently open.

“You fuckin’ bastard,” roared Brendan McGann, advancing toward Una and Hugh, his face blotchy with rage. “Your wife’s not yet in her grave and you’re back making a hoor of my sister. Get out of my way, Una. Get out of the way!” He seized his sister by the shoulders and pushed her roughly aside, then turned his attention to Hugh Osborne, who half stood, blinking in disbelief. Brendan McGann landed a fist to Osborne’s jaw that sent him sprawling backward onto the table, and the sugar bowl and mugs of tea smashing onto the stone floor. “Come on, you fuckin’ hoormonger, get up and fight.” Osborne was stunned, and staggered forward, but before Brendan could throw another punch, Cormac hooked Brendan’s arms from behind and pulled him away.

“Well,” Brendan shouted, “what have you got to say for yourself, Englishman? Eh, fuckin’ Sassenach?” Spittle trembled at the corners of his mouth.

Una rushed to steady Osborne, then whirled on her brother. “What right have you to come in here flinging accusations? You know nothing about what’s between us. Nothing. I found those things you had hidden away, Brendan, all the cuttings, Aoife’s birth cert, and the hair clip—Mina’s hair clip—and I said nothing. I couldn’t believe you would harm anyone, but I don’t know anymore, Brendan, I don’t know you.”

As he listened to her words, all the fight drained from Brendan McGann’s limbs, and Cormac gradually released his hold.

Brendan spoke quietly: “You think I—ah, Jaysus, Una, you actually believed that I could hurt a woman—and a child? I found it,” he continued, his voice breaking. “I found that clip in a fuckin’ jackdaw’s nest, Una, I swear it. And the other things, you can’t blame me for being suspicious, people see him giving you a lift every day along the road, and you turn up pregnant, what were we to think? We’re not stupid. And to top it, he goes off and gets married, and leaves you and Aoife to get along as best you can. It tears at me to see you working so hard, and him sitting up here in his big fuckin’ house, telling people what to do, not willing to fork over a few shillings for his own flesh and blood. He’s the one you want to mind, Una, not me.” His finger jabbed toward Osborne. “Ask him how his wife and son ended up dead. Ask him.”

Osborne still looked dazed as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. He seemed completely bewildered, but as he studied Brendan’s defiant expression, a light began to dawn. “You sent the hair clip. And that letter accusing me, to the private detective’s office in Galway. And you sent Mina a letter, too, didn’t you?” Brendan’s eyes shifted guiltily. “Didn’t you? Just before she disappeared. Lucy gave it to me the other night; she said she found it only a couple of days ago going through some of Mina’s books. When I phoned home that night from the conference—she seemed so distressed, but she wouldn’t tell me what was troubling her. It was that vicious, cowardly letter. You made her believe that I’d betrayed her, and I never had a chance—you sick bastard—” This time it was Osborne’s anger that boiled over, and he made a savage lunge for Brendan’s throat.

“Stop it, stop it!” Una screamed, using all the strength she possessed to get between them and push the two men apart. She turned to face her brother; she was trembling with outrage, and spoke only inches from his face. “Hugh is not Aoife’s father. Do you need to hear it again? Sometimes I wish to Christ he were, but he’s not. But he was the only person who befriended me when I got pregnant, the only person who noticed or cared that I was so miserable and confused. Just so you know, Aoife’s father was one of my teachers at university. I should have known better—and I went away, Brendan, only because I was ashamed to think what a fuck-wit I’d been. Hugh knew what people were saying about us all these years. He put up with all the looks and the whispers because I asked him not to say anything. Are you satisfied now, Brendan? Are you fuckin’ satisfied?”

“Why didn’t you come to us, Una? To Mammy and me? Why did you have to go to a stranger? We’d have looked after you, Una. We’d have helped you.” The hurt in her brother’s voice appeared unfeigned, but Una’s face was incredulous.

“You know it wouldn’t have happened that way, Brendan. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I know you went through an awful time with Mammy, and I am sorry I wasn’t there to help you. But I can’t regret having Aoife, I can’t. And I came back here in spite of all the small-mindedness and suspicion, because I wanted my daughter to have a home and a family, Brendan. You and Fintan are all that we have, God help us.”

Brendan’s hands moved feebly at his sides. “Una—”

“Your apologies are no use to anyone at this stage. Go home, Brendan. Will you just go home?”

He turned to leave, but stopped at the open door, and looked outside as he addressed his final words to Cormac. “I’ll pay for the cost of repairs to your cars. I got drunk. Lost the head.” That was the sum of Brendan’s confession. He pulled the door closed, and was gone.

Una knelt to pick up the pieces of shattered crockery that littered the floor. Now it was Hugh Osborne’s turn to comfort her. He stooped and took the pottery shards from her hands and set them on the table, then lifted Una to her feet and put his arm around her. Initially she resisted, but could not hold back a choking sob as he sat her down beside him on the bench beneath the windows. Cormac and Nora worked together without speaking to finish the task Una had begun, mopping up the milk and tea, sweeping up the spilled sugar, collecting broken bits of crockery and disposing of the debris in the bin. By the time they were finished, Una had pulled herself together; she and Hugh Osborne now sat side by side on the bench, linked only by hands clasped on the seat between them, each staring into the chasm of the past.