Unveiled (21 page)

“Ryan?” Katie asked in surprise. Ryan was such a determined, strapping lad that she had been sure he would be incredibly successful on his own.

“It seems he couldn’t make his fortune out west, the way he’d planned,” her grandfather continued as Moira poured all of them a healthy drop of homemade gin. “He’s working in the mining camps in Colorado. Still waiting for the big strike.”

The luck of the Irish, Katie mused. She sipped from her cup, watching her son leave the table, scampering after a kitten. Patrick lit a fire and they retreated to the parlor. The flames threw ghosts on the walls and floor, the gin warmed her, the supper had filled her. Her grandfather spoke of his day at the gardens, where kindly Mr. Foster kept him employed long after his eyesight had failed. But he was as sturdy as an old oak and as vigorous. Katie couldn’t remember a day when he’d been ill.

Sean, tiring of the kitten, curled up beside her on the sofa and fell quickly asleep. Moira disappeared upstairs, then returned in a worn yet elegant gown. She took her familiar place by the fire, and as the liquor disappeared, would become convinced she was indeed Lilly Langtry. Patrick’s voice grew richer as he spoke of the old days, when he was part of the sassenach army, and of the places he saw.

It was as if she’d never left. Katie had a feeling that no matter where she went, or for how long, this six-room house would still be waiting, these strange and wonderful people still here, the gin jar beside the sofa. After weeks of being a Pemberton, Katie saw it all differently, and yet was reassured. They would never be a part of Christopher’s society. They would never fit in with those elegant and cultured folk, who would look at their old clothes, their rich brogues, their odd appearance and would whisper with disdain. Yet these people loved her, accepted her, no matter what.

They were a family.

Christopher felt as if he was on trial as soon as he entered the room. Placing a kiss on his aunt Eunice’s head, he nodded politely to Ella and took a seat in the sitting room beside the window, where the light would cause him the least damage. He had barely lowered himself into the chair, his head pounding fearfully, when Ella fixed him with a stare that would have impaled a more timid man.

“So I understand Fan has left you.”

Christopher nodded, groaning as his head seemed about to burst. “Ella, I am sorry, but there are problems. Do we really have to talk about this now?”

“I should say so.” Ella glared, putting her dainty teacup aside. There was nothing sweet or soft about her this morning, Christopher observed with alarm. Even his own aunt was facing him with a cold look.

“Do you realize what has happened here? Your wife, the new Mrs. Scott, Fan Pemberton, is gone and no one has done a thing about it. Even her husband spent the night gaming and wenching, instead of looking for her.”

“I was not wenching!” Christopher shouted, then was rewarded with a splintering pain that made him grab his head. When he could speak, he continued more softly, “I did drink. And gamble. But that is hardly a crime. I didn’t know Fan had gone until this morning.”

“I see.” Ella and Eunice exchanged a look, then Ella continued in a voice dripping with sweetness. “And now that you know, what do you plan to do about it?”

That was the question of the year. Christopher swallowed hard, then leaned back in his chair and responded truthfully. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Ella, I know that’s not what you want to hear. There are problems between Fan and me that I am not at liberty to fully discuss. Even if I were to track her down and haul her back here, I’m not sure it would do any good.”

Ella took a sip from her cup and then placed it thoughtfully aside. She stared at Christopher with the same penetrating look, then spoke quietly. “I know they all say I’m senile, that I don’t know what I’m talking about, but they’re wrong. I’m going to ask you something once, and I want you to give careful consideration to your answer. I’ll know if you’re lying, Christopher, so don’t waste my time. What do you feel about Fan?”

Christopher looked up in surprise. He had been expecting a discussion of his finances, but Ella was deadly serious. He took a deep breath and answered easily.

“I was infatuated with Fan from the first day I saw her. I never met anyone like her. She is so different from the other girls, so fresh and full of life. I wanted her badly. If you don’t believe me, ask my aunt.”

Eunice nodded in agreement. “That is the truth, Ella. In fact, I tried to dissuade him from pursuing your niece, in that Fan would be a more difficult conquest. Christopher wouldn’t hear of it.”

“In that case, why are you willing to allow your wife to leave you like this?”

Christopher groaned, then looked at his aunt for guidance. Eunice would not meet his eyes, so he looked directly at Ella. There was nothing left but to tell the truth, what he could without doing more damage.

“I’m sure you’ve learned of my financial difficulty.” When Ella nodded, he continued softly: “Fan found out that the Scotts have no money. She had also kept a few things from me. Both of us were severely disillusioned. As a gentleman, I cannot tell you her secrets, but you have mine. Do you understand now why it’s senseless to go after her?”

“Not at all,” Ella said firmly. She stood up and faced him, looking as if she wanted to box his ears. “Christopher, you are going to learn that these frustrations are a part of life. Nothing more, nothing less. I understand that you thought to receive a dowry with Fan. Given the circumstances, coupled with your behavior, I don’t feel comfortable giving Fan the full allotment now. However, I can provide an income for one year, one thousand dollars, enough money to allow an enterprising young man such as yourself the opportunity to get on his feet. Should you do that, and should Fan desire to remain married, the rest of the dowry will be disbursed.”

Christopher gaped in astonishment. Ella was being more than generous; even he could see that. And while it wasn’t everything, it would provide a way to keep food on the table until he could think of something else. And Ella still thought of Katie as Fan. Everyone else knew the real Fan had returned to California. Was it fair to let Ella go on being deceived, when so many others knew the truth?

He glanced at his aunt and Eunice nodded as if reading his mind. She gestured him to silence, and he immediately understood. Ella loved Fan, and she loved Katie as Fan. The old woman didn’t have that much longer to live. What good would it do her to know the truth?

And Katie. Christopher winced as he thought of her, back in Philadelphia, working as a menial for the people he associated with. He couldn’t bear the idea, and if he had to be truthful, he somehow felt responsible for her. Like it or not, she was his wife, and although he was furious with her, he owed her something. Whether Katie would agree to come back was something else.

Ella saw his expression and smiled. “I don’t know if you will be able to convince her to return. Frances can be most stubborn. However, I want her back and I want this resolved. If she doesn’t agree to those terms, then she can come home and we will see about an annulment. However, I have the feeling that the two of you would make quite a team if given the chance. I’m willing to provide that opportunity. The question is, have you the courage to make it happen?”

Christopher glanced at his aunt. Eunice looked so hopeful that it made him feel guilty. “I think it’s an extremely generous offer,” she said quickly. “And you’d be a fool not to take it.”

Christopher nodded. “All right, I’ll find her. But I can’t promise anything else. Frances Scott will do what she wants. That’s one lesson I’ve already learned.”

The murky water of the Delaware River splashed against the docks, lending a quiet rhythm to the sound of drinking inside the tavern. Workmen, their knees and elbows thick with grime, sat at the cratelike tables and drank deeply of the bitter ale. Few of them had the money for whiskey. A meager fire burned on the grate, roasting a piece of beef, and a black and white dog scoured the ashes for a bit of meat before being booted away by a dockworker.

John Sweeney sipped from his mug, watching the river below without interest or awareness. Handsome still, despite the years of wenching and drinking, he nevertheless ignored the glances he received from the serving girl and quietly lit a cigarette, drawing deeply on the cheap tobacco.

It just wasn’t fair. All John Sweeney had ever wanted was to make it big. He knew he was cut out for more than this. He had more looks, more charm, and more brains than half the men he knew. Instead he carried bricks for the row houses that were popping up by the score in the city—dozens of bricks. He could mortar them, applying the thick gray cement in just the right amount on the previous row, then slap a wall together with a precision that had made him the envy of many a new apprentice. But it still wasn’t enough. It never would be. John could wall himself away from the view of the house on Rittenhouse Square, but it was never far away in his mind.

And someday he’d have it. Rubbing his scarred hands on his trousers, he took another sip and swore to himself. If it was the last thing he did, he’d live in one of those houses and watch other poor struggling wretches like himself build homes for a living. He’d wear a good wool coat and have a new derby, like the gentlemen on Walnut Street, and he’d talk of something other than the weather and lack of food.

“Like the same for your supper tonight, Johnny?” The serving girl grinned, displaying a lack of teeth, and John Sweeney returned her smile.

“Sure, Elsie, lass. Ah, you’re a pretty one.” He watched her giggle as she walked away, knowing she was sure to bring back an extra helping of potatoes, which she knew he liked, and an extra beer when no one else was looking. Women were so easy. One compliment, a few admiring words, and they ate out of his hand.

The girl returned a moment later and placed a newspaper on his table. John unwrapped it stealthily, then slipped the bread he found inside beneath the crate. He unfolded the paper and pretended to read it, all the while stuffing his mouth with the bread.

He had the society page. John almost snorted at the detailed descriptions of the rich folk’s comings and goings. The charity ball. The Association for the Preservation of whatnot. The hunt club and the polo match…

It was then that he saw her picture. At first the bread nearly fell out of his mouth, but he closed it quickly and studied the image before him. It was impossible, but there could be no mistake. It was the same eyes, the same nose tilted with an Irish ancestry, the same mouth, barely suppressing the laughter that was always just beneath the surface….

Katie O’Connor. John Sweeney had to wash the bread down with his ale and nearly choked in the process. The serving girl pounded him helpfully on the back.

“Are you all right, mate?”

John nodded, his eyes swimming as he gestured to the picture. “The paper. How old is it?”

“I’d say a few weeks. We gets them from the old gent down the street, the one that carts them away for a penny. Why?”

“I’m just asking.” He stared again, this time aware that he was reading something about a Fan Pemberton. It was odd that he should have the skill to read, but one of his women, a schoolteacher, had taught him. He scanned the accompanying article in confusion. There was something about a seaside wedding, a full description of the gown, the food, and the ceremony itself, but very little about the bride. It seemed the
Public Ledger
had assumed that everyone would know Fan Pemberton as well as Christopher Scott.

It couldn’t be, yet his eyes returned again and again to the picture. He wouldn’t forget that face; he couldn’t. It had been a short affair, yet for all that, the girl had been a virgin. She’d been in love, or so she had thought. John Sweeney didn’t take the word too seriously himself. If a girl took his whispered promises as truth, so be it. All women knew the score. A man did what he could to get what he wanted. It was as simple as that.

Later she had come to him about the child. He had been incredulous at her happiness, and even more amazed that she’d expected him to marry her. Him! John Sweeney, who could have any and all of the women of the city, if he chose. It was all he could do not to laugh then, and it still made him chuckle now.

“Who’s the girl?” The serving wench leaned closer, indicating the picture. “Someone you know?”

His grin broadened and he nodded. “Yes, I’d say I know that girl. And guess what, Elsie me love. It looks like she fell into a pot of gold. And I know just the man she should share it with.”

F
IFTEEN

C
hristopher walked through the streets of Philadelphia, a Philadelphia he’d never really seen. Horses and trolleys clattered over the cobbles, heedless of pedestrians, children, or barking dogs. Row after row of shops and houses spilled onto the street, becoming a part of the road itself, with vendors hawking everything from fresh produce to tea. A Chinese laundry, Hong Way, was the only one that kept within its boundaries and revealed that there was indeed a sidewalk.

The cacophony and the commotion were endless. This part of the city, far from the more sedate sections that he frequented, teamed with life. There was music from an organ grinder, calls from merchants, responses from the customers. Thick brogues, Italian and German accents lingered through the streets, and he had but to turn a corner to hear one or the other. A melting pot, the city had been called, but it was obvious to Christopher that nothing had truly melted.