Sally Con Doherty from Ballybeg.

Margaret I thought that wastrel had left the country?

Sally Comes and goes.

Margaret What’s he doing trespassing up here?

Sally Snaring rabbits maybe. How would I know?

Margaret He knows very well that’s not permitted on these lands.

Sally Cousin of yours, Maggie, isn’t he? Maybe he thinks that entitles him?

Margaret He’s very wrong, then.

Sally Or maybe like a lot of others about here he believes he’s entitled to walk these lands any time he wants.

Margaret And like a lot of others it would fit him better to do a decent day’s work instead of going around whispering defiance into the ears of stupid young fools. Whatever ugly activity he’s involved in, we want none of it here. And spread a tablecloth on the lawn. We’ll have afternoon tea outside today.

Sally Will ‘we’? You’d do anything to be one of the toffs, Maggie, wouldn’t you?

Margaret Any more cheek like that from you, miss, and you’ll be back down below herding your one cow.

Sally (as she exits) And Con Doherty’s no wastrel!

Sally goes out to the lawn again. She glances quickly at the thicket – no sign of the two men. She goes off right.

Christopher Gore enters from the house. He is in his late fifties: effusive, bumbling, obstinate. Unnoticed by Margaret, he moves up behind her and catches her by the shoulder.

Christopher What’s in that head of yours?

Margaret You’re back! I didn’t hear the car.

Christopher Tell me what’s in there.

She extricates herself deftly.

Margaret Not a thing, Christopher. Did you have lunch?

Christopher You’re so elegant in that dress. Everything you wear you adorn.

Margaret It’s sixteen years old at least.

Christopher Really beautiful.

Margaret For heaven’s sake I can scarcely squeeze into it. Is David with you?

Christopher Mooning about somewhere – I don’t know – in the stables maybe.

Margaret And how was the memorial service?

Christopher Subdued. No, it was awful, just awful.

Margaret A big turn-out?

Christopher Eleven of us.

Margaret Is that all?

Christopher Huddled together; talking in whispers.

Margaret There were no locals?

Christopher What am I, Margaret?

Margaret What I mean is –

Christopher No, only us. Frightened – terrified, for God’s sake: which of us is next on the list?

Margaret You know there is no list. It was an isolated crime, Christopher. How’s Penelope bearing up?

Christopher Valiantly, it would appear. Quite demented, I suspect. And alone now in that enormous barracks of a house. She’ll be seventy next week, Penny.

Margaret Do they know yet what happened?

Christopher He was going to oversee the eviction of one of his tenants.

Margaret Who?

Christopher Some welsher. Does it matter? The police car was in front and his car fell behind – they think his horses had been lamed deliberately.

Margaret Were they?

Christopher Probably. Roarty, the blacksmith, is under suspicion. Anyhow, they shot his driver and then they dragged poor old Lifford out of the car and battered in his skull with a granite rock.