Death at Balfefield Abbey

Chapter 18, Dublin 1903

Clara Sullivan almost missed the last train back to Cashelroe.

She had spent two days in Dublin and managed successfully to avoid her newspaper's offices for most of the time, but that day Edward insisted, mandated by telegram no less, she make an appearance. Thereafter, she could not extricate herself from an extended lunch in the afternoon followed by an editorial meeting back at the premises of her employer.

She knew Edward didn't care if she missed the train. He'd spent the day arguing that public interest in the Darley case was fading and they should cut back coverage. When Clara pushed back, he was quick to mock what he called "her sudden enthusiasm," reminding her he had to order her to go to Cashelroe in the first place.

Clara was keenly aware there were other reporters on the paper who would not have been extended the courtesy of lunch and a discussion on the merits of pursuing the story but simply ordered to cover another feature. But then, they had not been in a common law relationship with Edward, one that ended amicably only the previous year.

Clara tried not to be obvious when looking at the clock on the wall behind him, and she resisted the suspicion he planned to delay her to the point when it would be too late, for that day at least, for her to return to Cashelroe.

"Clara, do you really need to go back there?" he asked, not for the first time.

"Yes. I have a feeling this story is going to get big again."

"How on earth can you substantiate that claim? Just because Dublin Castle has sent that detective fellow down there, it does not mean they are about to make an arrest or that they have a significant development in the case."

"Don't be so disingenuous, Edward. That detective fellow, as you put it, is Inspector Keating. Need I remind you; it was our reporting of his investigation into the Henrietta Wilson murder that drove our circulation figures to levels you could only have previously imagined."

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently, "but that does not mean history is about to repeat itself."

"The Monitor hasn't let up on this story. Why should we?"

"You know very well their coverage is being driven by Sir Trevor Balfe."

"What of it?" replied Clara petulantly.

Edward exhaled in exasperation. "The man is not only the victim's uncle but has a significant stake in the newspaper itself. Their reporting lacks any credibility even. It's only rumor and half-baked gossip. It amounts to little more than the taking up of one side of what is essentially a family dispute.

"Clara, all I'm asking is we scale back the coverage and keep an eye on the story from here. If any significant developments occur, I promise, you can drop everything and get back to Cashelroe at a moment's notice."

"Edward, if we resort to such a pitiful approach, it will be too little, too late. All that will be left for us to do is jostle for scraps with the rest of them. Where's the benefit in that?"

"But you must understand, Clara, our resources are not inexhaustible, and we have expended quite a lot on this story already."

Clara wasn't ready to concede. "Think back to when the Wilson murder fell off the front pages after only a couple of days, this fledgling newspaper of ours was alone in keeping it in the minds of the public, so when it did become big again, The Independent Recorder, even more than the police, became the real authority on the matter. People looked to us for the truth. That story did more than just increase our circulation and repay your investors, it put us on the map; made us relevant.

Besides, you must admit, there's something deeply wrong in a society where a young woman, little more than a girl, is brutally murdered, and not only does the killer remain free, but the world's prurient interest is quickly sated, already looking for its next gory spectacle.