September 13th, 1894 — Dempsey Estate, Galway

Don Juan had been prowling the estate all afternoon, looking for the ideal moment to spring a conversation on his mother. He wasn't trying to catch her alone; to the contrary, the larger an audience they had for this supposedly spontaneous conversation, the better. He didn't know whether or not Valencia had already tried to pin down other members of his family, but if he'd spotted her talking to his mother it was clear she wasn't above anything. Best to head her off at the pass on a many fronts as possible.

"I saw you talking to that Spanish woman the other day," he said, aggressively casual. It would have been better to have used her name, but presumably there were few enough Spanish immigrants in his mother's immediate social circle that she would know which one he meant. If his mother hadn't already cornered him about this it was clear that Valencia hadn't introduced herself as Valencia Dempsey, though that was the name he'd left her under; he didn't know which one she was using now. She might not even have used her real first name. "Did she say anything about me?"

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