Free The Irish Upstart by Shirley Kennedy

I went to County Clare. ”
    “ And? ” Trevlyn sat straight, hardly able to contain his eagerness.
    “ Actually there’s not much to tell. The land is poor, not much more than dirt, grass, rocks and a few sheep. Hardly worth bothering with. A widow and her five children presently occupy the place. ”
    “ Tell me her name, ” Trevlyn said quickly.
    “ Sinead O’Fallon. She’s been a widow for quite some time. She’s a well-educated, refined woman, not the type you would expect to find living in that miserable cottage, but it seems in recent years she’s fallen on hard times. The cottage is quite small, and the land suited for nothing more than a small garden and a few sheep. Frankly, I wouldn’t bother collecting rent. It’s hardly worth the effort. ”
    Looking crestfallen, Trevlyn asked, “ You found nothing to tie this Sinead O’Fallon to Randall? ”
    Damnation ! Thomas wondered how could he lie to a direct question. He could not. There was no way around it, he was bound by his own honor to tell the truth... the partial truth anyway. “ There is a connection. O’Fallon was Sinead’s first husband. Her second husband was–brace yourself, sir. ”
    “ I’m braced. Go on. ”
    “ Your son, Randall. ” There, it was out, and no harm done unless Trevlyn asked details of the children. Thomas paused to let his news sink in, but Trevlyn’s face had become a mask. He seemed to be taking the news with equanimity, but it was hard to tell. Thomas continued, “ From what I understand, she was quite well-off when they married, having inherited a small fortune from her first husband, who was some kind of an Irish earl, by the way, the eighth earl of something-or-other. You know how those Irish titles go. She and Randall weren’t married long before Randall died of typhoid, I’m sorry to say, but before that, he’d managed to run through her fortune. ”
    There was a long pause. “ Typhoid, ” bitterly remarked Lord Trevlyn. “ Good Lord, how could I have had a son who... ah, well. ” He looked inquiringly at Thomas. “ And the children? Tell me about them. ”
    God help me , thought Thomas. If only he’d learned to lie as well as Montague. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat—something he never did—crossed one smart nankeen covered leg over the other and paid meticulous attention to a piece of lint on the sleeve of his short frock coat. “ The children, ” he repeated.
    “ Yes, Thomas, the children. ” Trevlyn was regarding him strangely.
    “ Well, let’s see now. There are four girls... Evleen who’s about twenty-four, Darragh who’s twenty-three, Sorcha who’s around fifteen, I’d say, and the youngest, who’s fourteen. All pretty, by the way, and well educated, and quite— ”
    “ You said five children, ” interrupted Trevlyn, voice brimming with impatience.
    Damnation again . “ There’s a son, Patrick. ”
    “ And how old is Patrick? ”
    Trapped . Why hadn’t he realized Trevelyn was no fool and could add as well as anyone? “ Ten, sir. ”
    “ Randall died nine years ago. ” Trevlyn’s voice had gone sharp. His gaze pierced Thomas’s as he asked, “ How long was he married to Sinead? ”
    “ Two years. ”
    For a time, the room was heavy with silence as Lord Trevlyn first shut his eyes, as if absorbing the shocking fact, then opened them and gazed at Thomas with an expression of incredulity, followed by pure joy, followed by a look of dawning disbelief. “ You were not going to tell me? ” There was a faint tremor in his voice.
    “ I was not. ” A war of emotions raged within Thomas. He was relieved because in his heart he had wanted Trevlyn to know the truth, but on the other hand, he could only begin to imagine the grief and turmoil his truthfulness was bound to cause.
    Trevlyn could not contain himself. “ By God, I’ve got a grandson, ” he exclaimed, rising to his feet, eyes gleaming with excitement. “ Tell me what he’s like, Thomas. Tell me ...”