The Irish Manor House Murder Read Free

was thinking, Why, Rowena, why?
    “And Inspector O’Hare keeping me overnight in the Ballynagh jail.”
    “Poor Rowena.” Rowena’s wild, contorted face, the rearing stallion.
    “So for now,” Rowena went on, “I’m moving into the old horse trainers’ quarters above the stables at Castle Moore. Later I’ll find a place in Dublin. I exercise the two horses at the castle, and I know it’ll be all right with Winifred Moore. She’s not in residence, anyway. I’ll phone my mother this morning to pack some clothes and have Jennie bring them to Castle Moore. Thank God my mother wasn’t home yesterday afternoon! By now she must think the world’s gone upside down.”
    “I shouldn’t wonder. And your brother, Scott.” The boy with the deformed leg.
    Rowena went still, then she shrugged and turned out her hands in a helpless gesture. “Yes. Scott.”
    “There’s nothing you can tell them? Your mother and Scott?” And me? But Rowena’s green-eyed gaze slid away, her lids lowering. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, a characteristic habit when she was upset.
    Torrey said, “Rowena? If there’s anything, I’m here, at my hot little computer. Keep it in mind.”
    At that, Rowena hesitated, then abruptly she flicked her fingers good-bye. She smiled, but her green eyes were strained. “I’d better get on. Bye, Torrey.”
    Troubled, Torrey watched Rowena walk toward the open door. Rowena’s walk was … what? Different, somehow, heavier these last weeks, and something else. What? A bloom, a blossoming. Something. Torrey rubbed her forehead. What? What? And as though seen in retrospect minutes ago, yes, the unfamiliar tightness of Rowena’s favorite plaid shirt straining across her breasts. Torrey, guessing wildly, called out, “You’re pregnant, aren’t you, Rowena?”

4
    At Torrey’s words, Rowena stood still. Her figure, half turned away, seemed to shimmer in the sunlight reflected up from the lintel.
    Stunned at her own discovery, Torrey said, “None of my business. I’m sorry. If you’d’ve wanted me to know, you’d’ve told me.”
    Rowena turned fully around. Her face was pale. “I wish you hadn’t guessed. Nobody else knows.” She slid her hands deep into her pockets, thrust out her chin, and looked squarely at Torrey. She said carefully, distinctly, “I’m going to abort it.”
    In the small silence that followed, they stood looking at each other, then Torrey said “Oh?” as though Rowena had merely said It’s a nice day. She had an odd feeling that Rowena would otherwise shatter into pieces. Then, “Sit down. You can’t just tell me you’re going to abort your baby and then walk out the door.”
    Rowena’s look softened. She came back and sank down at the table. Torrey pulled out the chair opposite and sat down. And waited. Then without looking up, Rowena said, “I don’t want to kill my baby. But I’m going to. If I could tell anybody why, it would be you.” Now she did look up at Torrey. “But I can’t. So that’s it. That’s the whole tale. The end. Finis. ”
    Torrey said, reasonably, “Just tell me this, Rowena, just tell me, so I won’t feel so obtuse: Exactly what are you talking about? You’re pregnant. You don’t want to abort your child but you must. Well, as a friend, is there anything I can do?”
    Rowena slanted a green-eyed glance at her and managed a half smile. “You are a caution, Torrey. Thanks for wanting to help me. But you can’t. The subject isn’t up for discussion either.” She got up. Against her plaid shirt her slender neck looked white and vulnerable. “I have to do it.”
    “ Have to? Oh, please!” Suddenly impatient, Torrey too stood up. She leaned across to Rowena, both hands on the table. “Come on, Rowena! You have a choice. I under stand that you’re dying to get your degree. You’ve put in four years — five years? — of backbreaking work. And you’re not married, but —” She stopped. Something about the way Rowena was