Anglo-Irish Murders Read Online Free PDF Page A

historian.’
    Miss Grace led them back to the hall and began at the far end. ‘These are Cousin Jock’s. And these Mama’s. O’Brien’s are next to hers. You remember O’Brien, Ida?’
    ‘Indeed I do. He taught me to ride.’
    ‘Our last butler. With us for more than fifty years.’
    ‘These were Phineas’. And those his boys’. You’ll remember them, Ida. Both killed in the RAF during the war.’
    ‘Only just. I was a toddler when I met them.’
    ‘And Cousin Gavin, poor boy. Such a romantic. Nothing would do him but to fight in the Spanish Civil War.’
    ‘On which side?’ asked Amiss.
    Miss Grace looked at him askance. ‘Republican, of course. Only Catholics fought for Franco.’ She went back to the boots. ‘Jim Flur, our gamekeeper. O’Sullivan, the head-groom. And father and Walter.’ Her voice seemed to quaver.
    ‘When did they die?’ His voice was gentle.
    Miss FitzHugh’s voice cut in icily. ‘They were shot by the IRA in 1920 for being Protestant interlopers.’
    ‘How long has your family been here?’
    ‘About eight hundred years. Give or take a few decades. Come on. Leave the boots and come into dinner.’
    ***
    ‘Part of our problem is that money for the peace-and-reconciliation industry is virtually unlimited,’ explained the baroness, as she coped valiantly with a badly-charred trout by washing each mouthful down with copious amounts of the Brouilly she had provided. ‘Ergo it’s impossible to turn down any of MOPE’s crazy demands simply on grounds of finance.’
    ‘Are you telling me, Ida, that these dreadful people are subsidised by the crown?’
    ‘I fear so, Lavinia. But so is your government, so we can’t just blame the dreadful Blair.’
    ‘The dreadful who?’
    ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Grace,’ said Miss FitzHugh, ‘you know who Anthony Blair is. He’s the prime minister, that fearful fellow who’s expelled Uncle Ralph from the House of Lords.’
    ‘Oh,’ squeaked Miss Grace. ‘Yes, of course, I’ve heard of him.’ She gazed worriedly across at the baroness. ‘Is he as ruthless as Cousin Gertrude said when she wrote to tell us the news? You’re not in any danger are you, Ida?’
    ‘No, Grace, frightful, grinning little squirt though he may be, Blair will stop short of the tumbrils.’ She paused. ‘At least I think he will. Besides, I’m not an aristocrat.’
    ‘At least, Ida,’ said Miss Fitzhugh, ‘you still have the Queen as head of state instead of those hectoring lady lawyers we keep having forced upon us.’
    Miss Grace was looking puzzled. ‘Ida, do I understand that this Blair person has given you huge sums of money to hold a gathering of terrorists?’
    ‘No, Grace,’ said the baroness with commendable patience. ‘This is not a gathering of terrorists, although there will be the occasional erstwhile Seamus O’Semtex…’
    ‘And,’ put in Amiss, ‘Davy McPipe-bomb…’
    The baroness looked at Miss Grace’s baffled face and threw in the towel. ‘You explain it, Robert.’
    ‘This conference,’ began Amiss, ‘is intended to help people in these two islands to appreciate each other’s cultures.’
    ‘Do you mean,’ asked Miss Grace, clearly trying hard, ‘you want the Reverend Ian Paisley to learn Erse * and that horrid IRA man with the beard to become a Protestant?’
    ‘Well, Miss Grace, I suppose in an ideal world one should have such aspirations, but we seek only to encourage some further understanding and respect.’
    ‘It’s all balls obviously,’ added the baroness and then, hastily, seeing Miss FitzHugh’s nostrils flaring, ‘…I do beg your pardon, Lavinia. The expletive escaped me inadvertently.’
    Miss Grace was not letting go. ‘I am still perplexed, Mr Amiss. Why should the British government waste enormous amounts of money on something that Ida has no faith in?’
    ‘The British and Irish governments think that if you invite terrorists to conferences and cocktail parties, they’ll give up murder. It