Grandmother and the Priests

  “At any rate, Mr. Gould, who had three children by his first wife, married the present Mrs. Gould, a Miss Florence Osborne, a little over a year after his first wife’s — er — murder. They then came to England, almost immediately, and have two more children. Mr. Gould is very rich; he inherited a great deal of money and is a shrewd investor. He lives very quietly with his family in that village, and is as popular as a reserved man can be. Mrs. Gould, however, takes part in all the Women’s Fairs and what not, and the children are very happy.”

  The Bishop cleared his throat. “You see, my son, I am the third cousin of Mr. Gould, or rather a half-third cousin. It is very complicated to explain, so I will not attempt it. Mr. Gould is some twenty years younger than I am, and we have never met. I don’t know if he even knows of the relationship between us.” The Bishop cleared his throat again. “I am worried about him and his family. Old Tom just about issued a Bull of Excommunication all by himself against Geoffrey Gould.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he was convinced, acquittal or no, that Mr. Gould had murdered his wife, or that the present Mrs. Gould had done so, and Mr. Gould would not admit either the murder, a most mortal sin, or that he had had guilty knowledge of his wife’s crime. You see, she was never tried.”

  Father Shayne whistled. “So, she can’t shelter herself behind ‘double jeopardy’, then?”

  “No. I really don’t know exactly what poor old Tom did want. Did he want Mr. Gould to expose his wife, and then see her hanged, and all those five children stricken down? I really don’t know! And, as Mr. Gould would not admit either to the murder or to guilty knowledge of the present Mrs. Gould’s crime, then he could receive only conditional absolution from Old Tom. It almost drove him frantic. He wrote me that he could hardly bring himself to give Geoffrey Holy Communion, after he had heard the story from Geoffrey, himself — which he did not believe — and finally Geoffrey, to avoid a most disagreeable situation, stopped attending Mass. But his wife brought the children every Sunday and at least once a week besides. It used to shake Tom severely. He intimated to Geoffrey that he’d be very pleased if Mrs. Gould did not enter the Church, and Geoffrey, quite rightly, said that this was un-Christian and uncharitable, and he as much as told the poor old fellow to go to hell.”

  “What made Old Tom think that either Mr. or Mrs. Gould had committed the murder?”

  The Bishop pursed up his lips. “He wrote me that his instinct had told him that one of them had, or perhaps the two of them together, in conspiracy. Now, one does not distrust instinct, especially Irish instinct, which amounts to what is called second sight. Old Tom was particularly fey; we knew each other from our earliest boyhood, and I remember the many times — Well, that’s not pertinent. But he became more fixed in his opinion as time went on. He thought Mrs. Gould an evil woman, Satanic, though I understand that she is a beautiful woman, young still. The late Mrs. Gould — er — died some seven years ago.

  “Now, it is untenable that a man be driven from his own church, as Geoffrey was. It makes a very bad situation for the children, especially the first three, who had known their father to be very pious and devoted to his religion. They are already asking questions, no doubt, as to why their father does not go to Mass any longer. Soon their questions will become more pointed. You can’t put children off, forever, you know. The oldest is fifteen, the youngest four. Their father will eventually inherit a title — baronet. The family has not only money but position. Oh, the whole thing is very tragic!

  “And the situation needs to be managed with much prudence. Old Tom was one of those wild old priests who, when he was convinced of a thing, could not be moved from his position. One or both were murderers, or one was a murderer and the other had guilty knowledge of it and was keeping silent. Old Tom had some points: the quite early remarriage of Mr. Gould after the death of his wife. The fact that Miss Florence Osborne was visiting their house at the time. It was evident, to Tom, that the two wished to dispose of the poor lady because they were in love with each other, and wanted her out of the way, and that doubtless they had indulged in adultery while the late Mrs. Gould was alive.

  “There is one thing he overlooked, however. The late Mrs. Gould was discovered to have a serious heart complaint after the birth of her third child. In fact, she almost died. She was a semi-invalid for a year thereafter, and after that she spent more time in bed than she did up on her feet. She had a nurse in attendance, a sweet girl from Cork who testified at the trial. Rose had left for her evening off, leaving Mrs. Gould in the care of her husband and her visiting friend, Miss Osborne. She did not return until early morning, to discover Mrs. Gould dead in her bed. She had died, the autopsy showed, of a tremendous overdose of her necessary heart stimulant. The nurse swore that she had prepared the drops in a glass for Mrs. Gould to take at midnight, the carefully regulated dose. Mrs. Gould had taken the medicine, and had died of it.

  “Mr. Gould, after long questioning, was taken into custody. There was an inquest. It was decided that he had administered the fatal dose, for he admitted going to see his wife at midnight and giving her the medicine. So, he was tried. But, there was no apparent motive. Friends and neighbors and servants testified that he was a most considerate and kindly husband. He is a very reserved man, so they could not testify that he was overly affectionate towards her. One neighbor did testify, somewhat maliciously, that Mrs. Gould was not a lady of agreeable temperament, but the jury discounted that. A man does not kill his wife if she is a little irritable, especially if she is an invalid, or a little petulant. Unless he wants to be rid of her and marry someone else. Miss Osborne was questioned. She admitted that she had visited Mrs. Gould at nine o’clock that night, had made her as comfortable as possible, and had stayed awhile to chat with her girlhood friend. The nurse had just departed and had given Mrs. Gould her half-past eight dose before leaving. Miss Osborne was quietly vehement in her statement that Mrs. Gould seemed more lively than usual. She was to be awakened at midnight for her last dose of the night, and that was Mr. Gould’s task. Mrs. Gould was also given sedatives regularly, for her heart ailment was sometimes painful, and so she slept considerably.”

  “Did the nurse testify that something was between Mr. Gould and Miss Osborne?”

  The Bishop hesitated. “Well, the girl was young and a little fanciful. She said she thought Mr. Gould and Miss Osborne ‘liked’ each other quite a bit. They had known each other well since the first Mrs. Gould had married Geoffrey, and Florence visited them often, sometimes for a day, sometimes for a week. When queried what she meant, exactly, by ‘liking’, the nurse said that Mr. Gould and Florence often walked together in the afternoons and played with the children happily. There is no question that Florence is devoted to Mr. Gould’s children, and they to her. She is an excellent stepmother and wife and mother. Tom could not deny that.

  “But there was no motive for the murder, if there was a murder in fact. The late lady had come of an excellent but very poor Irish family, and Mr. Gould was rich. He did not have to anticipate a fortune on his wife’s death. On the contrary, he had supported her parents until they died, and was kindness itself. And you can’t accuse a man of wanting another woman so badly as to murder his wife, when the only signs of affection between him and that other woman are walking together and playing with children.”

  “Could Mrs. Gould have died of natural causes, or have committed suicide?”

  “No. The autopsy proved that she had died of a massive dose of her medicine. And only the day before, their priest had heard her Confession and given her Holy Communion. Not Extreme Unction. She was in no danger of imminent death; in fact her physician believed that she would gain strength and perhaps recover in a year or so. The priest made a statement to that effect, that Mrs. Gould appeared to be in much better spirits that day than for some time before. I followed the case closely, though I had never met the first Mrs. Gould.”

  “Could the nurse, thinking of her evening and night off, have been too has
ty and accidentally have prepared the medicine in too large a quantity?”

  “She was asked that. Now, she was a nurse from one of the better hospitals in Dublin, one of the finest and most modern, and her superiors thought very highly of her. She made a good impression on the jury in spite of her youth. Competent. Sure. Careful. Her references were of the best; she had never been known to be careless.”

  “She was fond of Mrs. Gould, my lord?”

  “Well, you know nurses are very professional and discreet. She said only that sometimes Mrs. Gould was a trifle difficult, which, considering her illness, was to be expected. The nurse showed the charity of her profession. Besides, the girl has her living to make. To blabber and chatter would do her no good in the minds of future patients, and the doctors. Incidentally, the doctor testified and said that the nurse was most competent and careful, and she had been warned to give Mrs. Gould only specified drops of the medicine in half a glass of water every three or so hours. She had been with the family a year.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Ah, I know what you are thinking! No, the girl was not attached to Mr. Gould. And she holds a high position now in her old hospital. Her character is impeccable. And she is a good Catholic woman.”

  “Has your lordship any thoughts on the subject, or opinions?”

  The Bishop paused. Then he said seriously, “I do not believe that Mr. Gould murdered his wife. I do not believe that Miss Osborne did so. After all, the medicine was administered by Mr. Gould at midnight, three hours after Miss Osborne had last seen her. I do not believe that Mrs. Gould committed suicide, or took the medicine of herself. Mr. Gould testified that due to the sedation he had considerable trouble waking his wife up, and the nurse said that was always so.”

  “Then, what could have happened?”

  “I do not know. But now that I have been so frank with you, my son, you will understand why I am sending you to that village. Geoffrey, though half cousin third removed, is still my relative. I am afraid for his immortal soul. I am worried about his children. I am hoping that you will smooth matters out and bring Geoffrey back to the Sacraments. It will have to be done delicately, and with prudence. You are only ten years younger than Geoffrey; the present Mrs. Gould is only a few years older than you are. I really don’t know what you can do, but I’ve always been impressed by your tact and diplomacy! You see, I don’t intend that you stay in that parish very long. It can be very stultifying to a young man of your intelligence.”

  But Father Shayne was still engrossed in the story. “Did no one go in to see Mrs. Gould after midnight, to see if she required anything?”

  “What a detective you would make, my son! Scotland Yard is the poorer for your being a priest. Yes. Mr. Gould did look in, at two in the morning. Miss Osborne was with him. They had spent a long time around the fire in discussion, they testified. They saw Mrs. Gould in the dim illumination of the night light. They could hear her light breathing. She was fast asleep, and she never awakened during the night, as the nurse testified, for Rose slept in a cot in the room.”

  “Could they have awakened her, and in her dazed condition have given her the fatal dose?”

  “Yes, they could. That is why Mr. Gould, Geoffrey, was tried. They both testified that they did not do so. At two o’clock the poor lady was alive. And the examining physicians said she was probably dead two hours later, at the most. You must remember that though Mrs. Gould’s heart was not strong, she was not truly dangerously ill. In fact, she was recovering slowly. So it was not necessary for anyone to look in at her after that hour. Moreover, she had a loud bell by her bedside. The doctor had ordered undisturbed sleep after the midnight dose. And the nurse was there at seven, three hours after the death. Mrs. Gould, she said, was a ‘frightful’ blue, which the doctors said could have come from the massive overdose, which smothered the heart, or perhaps had overstimulated it.”

  “If it weren’t for the quick remarriage — those two must have had some fondness for each other, my lord.”

  “Well, Miss Osborne stayed to help Mr. Gould with the children for several months, for he apparently had suffered a shock, and the children loved the young lady. Love can grow very quickly under those circumstances. Besides, my son, a guilty man does not remarry as fast as Geoffrey did. He waits, prudently, for at least two years, to avoid suspicion. It is really very tragic.”

  Father Shayne thought much about this case, being normally curious, while on his way to the village. No one had given Mrs. Gould a fatal dose of her medicine. Yet she had died of a massive overdose. She was not likely to have awakened between two and four in the morning and have given herself that dose that killed her. She knew she was not to have it; besides, she was partially drugged all the time anyway. She had not committed suicide. Had there been the slightest suspicion of that the priest would not have permitted her Christian burial. No one had killed her, yet she had been killed. The servants had all been questioned. They had slept through the night. They had testified that Mr. Gould was most attentive to his wife, and was greatly shocked at her death. They had been brief and discreet. They were also above suspicion. None of them had had a reason to kill the poor lady, and they had been with the family since Mr. Gould and his first wife had been married.

  It was going to be very interesting, in that parish!

  It was, in fact, extremely dull. Pleasant. But infernally dull. Everyone was kind, even the working-class ‘Chapel’ folk, who rarely took to ‘Romans’. Everything moved as smoothly as cream over a custard, and Father Shayne regrettably began to think of the village in those terms. He was a vigorous and intellectual young man, and he found little to do beyond his regular duties. The old gardener had shown him at once that he did not care for interference in the garden, and implied that a city man would not be able to tell a vegetable marrow from a carrot, or a rose from a lily. It was high summer, and the weather was unusually beautiful. It was holiday time, also, and the Sisters were relaxing as much as they cared to relax; after all, they had to keep a stringent eye on the new priest. One never knew about these young men, all with new ideas and enthusiasms which could be disturbing to staid middle-aged ladies like themselves. There was some criticism at recreation that he did, did he not? hurry just a trifle when he said Low Mass. And he had an impatient gleam in his eye as he strolled about the village.

  The village had practically no sin, at least as far as Father Shayne could discover from his small flock. It was comfortable, hearty, rosy, and quite friendly for an English village. Many of the old colonels and widows were on holiday in the Lake Country or were visiting relatives in other parts of the country, or were basking at the seaside. So were two of the lawyers; only one doctor stayed on duty. It was a healthy village, too. The countryside was beautiful, the farming folk courteous. Father Shayne had looked forward to some leisure, but not quite so much as this. Now that he had more than he had bargained for, he discovered that his books did not interest him as much as they usually did. Besides, the weather enticed him out. He could walk in his small and excellently kept garden, but he was always aware of the suspicious eye of the gardener, and hardly dared to bend down to sniff at his own roses. He liked to use his hands, but there was nothing to repair in his handsome little cottage. He tried painting some of the lovely vistas he saw about. And yawned, sleepily.

  He knew by now that his Bishop did not intend to keep him here long. He understood that he was to do something about the Geoffrey Gould family. He was to be ‘prudent’. And prudent he was, and no one spoke to him of the Goulds, who lived in a fine gray stone house on a fine isolated knoll just at the edge of the village.

  Were they off on holiday, like most of the other gentry of the village? Father Shayne could not come out bluntly and ask about them, for he was not supposed to know anything of their existence. Sometimes, at Mass, he would let his eye flash briefly over the communicants, to see if he could identify anyone who resembled the Goulds. The older children would be down from school now; there we
re many children at Sunday Mass, especially. He waited for any of the Goulds in the Confessional. None came that he knew of. He looked at the church records; the two younger children of the second marriage had been baptized here. Alice, six years old. Gordon, four. There were records concerning the Confirmation of young Geoffrey, now fifteen, and Elsa, fourteen, and the First Communion of Eric, ten. Squire Geoffrey Gould, though having been practically excommunicated by old Father Tom, was noted in the records as giving yearly large sums of money for the support of St. George’s, a sum which would have been respectable in the richest parish in London. He had bought fine new bells for the church only three years ago, which showed that he did not bear too much rancor against the former priest. He had also paid for the really luxurious kneelers, and had given a beautiful Oriental carpet which flowed from the step of the high altar down to the Communion rail, there to be greeted by heavy rose carpeting along the rest of the length of the rail. And that beautiful rose window over the thick and polished door, Italian and precious: he had given that also. In the memory of his late beloved wife, Agnes Brady Gould. (Had that raised the gorge of Old Tom?) The organ, of the most exquisite make, was a gift of Squire Gould; it had a beautiful deep tone and filled the small church with resonant thunder at High Mass. In short, everything of value, and loving offering, had been given by Squire Gould.