The grease that William Harrington rubbed into the rusted bolt on the old wooden gate, did its job. Sliding open the metal rod, the solicitor tugged at the handle but nothing moved. It had been many years since that entrance was last used and William had been hacking at the bushes all morning just to reach the overgrown gate. He knew the only way to get it open would be to push from the other side, so he quickly made his way across the lawn and onto the street at the front of the house.
As he walked around to the rear of his garden, which entailed climbing over a fence, the solicitor made sure there was nobody about. Satisfied that there were no onlookers, William proceeded to attack the overgrown shrubbery and nettles that covered the high, stone wall. Swinging a small scythe to and fro, it wasn’t long before he had made a clearing to the arched gateway. A few good kicks and the wooden gate swung open, taking the solicitor by surprise. He fell headlong into his garden, watched by a herd of curious cattle whose grazing he had interrupted.
That evening after dinner, Mrs. Harrington informed her husband that she would be calling on a neighbour across the street.
“That was very observant of you, William, noticing how lonely Mrs. Ashton seems to be of late. Of course, she would never admit to it, she’s a very proud lady, but she did tell me how much she would be looking forward to my visit this evening. I hope you don’t mind me leaving you here on your own, the house is very quiet once the children are asleep. Or would you care to accompany me?”
The solicitor declined and assured his wife that he had a lot of work to catch up on and that she should have a nice long visit with the lonely old widow. As soon as he was left alone, William Harrington made his way to the bottom of his large garden. While he waited, with his eyes fixed on the old gate, he listened for some sort of signal that he presumed would be used. There was no moon to light up the sky and only a few stars managed to shine their way through the thick clouds.
After what seemed an age, a hand flew out from behind William and fixed itself firmly across his mouth. He felt a sharp pointed object dig into his back through his lightly padded lounge jacket. Before he even had time to panic, a shadow came from his left and the dark form of a tall, broad man stood in front of him.
“I’m sorry to be so furtive, Mr. Harrington, but I’m sure you understand my reasons,” a mellow voice sounded through the darkness.
As the hand was withdrawn from his mouth, William wiped his lips with his sleeve and whispered that he was fully aware of the need for discretion, for both their sakes.
“Do you have a trustworthy man who would be willing to work here as an assistant gardener? It would be the best way for us to communicate. I can afford to pay him for three days labour each week. My own man is getting along in years so it would not look suspicious were he to have a helper. In fact, I have been telling him he needs an assistant these past six months.”
“I know the very man and I think you have already given him a trial, have you not?” said the voice.
“I had a feeling it would be Clarke, so it was you who sent his name to me. If you are happy to trust him, then so am I,” said William. “I have a favour to ask of you concerning James McGrother, may I be so bold as to speak of it?”
There was a moment’s awkward silence. “I’m not in a position to risk any more involvement in that business, if you know what I mean, Mr. Harrington. I don’t think I can be of any further assistance to your client.”
“Please, sir, hear me out. I’ll not trouble you again with this, if you are absolutely sure that it is beyond your capabilities.”
The mellow voice told William to carry on but that time was running out and they would need to bring their meeting to a close very soon.
“James McGrother gave me the proceeds from the sale of his boat, with instructions to hand it over to Lord Devereux. He hoped it would clear his family’s name. You don’t believe they had anything to do with those stolen goods found on Flanagan, do you?” asked the solicitor.
“I know for a certainty they didn’t. That lying thief received his just desserts, I would say,” the voice laughed softly.
“Constable Armstrong is still convinced that Pat McGrother and his nephew had a hand in the theft of that silverware. He was in great haste to make sure the Democrat printed the story of Flanagan’s death, then he had a paper delivered anonymously to the McGrother house in England. That tells me one thing – the head constable is trying to lure James back to Ireland to trap him in some way. He might very well use the evidence of a false witness in order to arrest him and throw him in jail,” the solicitor waited for a response.
“What do you think we can do about that? Kidnap McGrother for his own safety?”
“No, no, you misunderstand. I know of three people, two men and a woman, that would be willing to perjure themselves for a nice sum of money from Armstrong. He has done this before but I cannot prove it,” William produced a piece of folded paper. “Here are their details. Please, take it. If you can find a way to put pressure on these people I would be eternally grateful. Others who might be tempted will then think twice about getting involved. You know that I have certain political contacts but they cannot be associated with the case, otherwise I would have asked for their help before now.”
“Yet you assume that we are willing to take that risk?” the voice sounded sharp to William.
“We are all on the same side, regardless of class or religion, sir. I feel that a further miscarriage of justice may be avoided if something can be done to warn off those people. For my part, I have made arrangements to secure a promotion for Armstrong, thus ensuring his relocation. It will take some months and I fear that every week that goes by poses a threat to James McGrother’s freedom. I do not think he realizes how close he is to being arrested and I cannot tell him what I know.”
“I will see what can be done Mr. Harrington, but I make no promises,” the mellow voice said, as its owner took the paper from William’s hand. “Clarke will receive word about his new position with your staff. It will be up to you to pay him enough to ensure that he comes here every week, after all he has a family to provide for. Now, I have delayed long enough. We will take our leave of you, Mr. Harrington. Goodnight, sir.”
The two bulky shadows moved away from William and disappeared through the arched gateway. Left alone at the end of his garden the solicitor listened carefully for voices or movement outside of his boundary walls. Only the sounds of the night could be heard, amplified in the still air – a dog barking in the distance and the flapping of wings overhead, possibly an owl on the hunt. Satisfied that the men had gotten safely away, William bolted the gate before crossing his neat lawn and entering the French doors to his dining room. Once inside, he realized how much he had perspired as he wiped beads of sweat from his forehead.
Making his way through the dark house, the solicitor was thankful his wife had not yet returned and that the only live-in members of staff were Johnson, the gardener, and an equally old butler. As he walked across the parts of the floor devoid of carpet, William’s footsteps echoed through the quiet house. Undisturbed, the two elderly men remained asleep in their basement quarters, and the children were in the same state upstairs.
When Mrs. Harrington walked briskly into the drawing room she found her husband sitting by the fire, his eyes closed and a book on his lap. She felt it was a shame to wake him, but the hour was late and they would be retiring for the night shortly. The news she had been about to share with him would have to wait until morning. Knowing he would lie awake thinking on it for half the night, tossing and turning, Mrs. Harrington had no intention of losing a night’s sleep over one of her husband’s charity cases.