by Cathy Gohlke
Katie Rose’s face took an ugly, grim turn. “That’s a lie, Maureen O’Reilly. May God strike you for such a lie!”
“Did you think Lord Orthbridge let you both squat in a cottage not our own because he took pity? He was not well acquainted with pity!”
Katie Rose began to tremble and shouted back, “He did it because Mam paid him with her body and soul, regular as clockwork every Monday and Thursday night that he stumbled home from the pub. She paid him in her bed, to keep us and to keep you in your fine, grand life—you with your feathered bed and painted walls and clothes and shoes and more food than we saw all the year!”
Maureen felt a rush of waters through her body, a dinning in her brain.
“So don’t tell me that you did anythin’ worth anythin’! Mam did it all, and you did whatever you did because you wanted it. You wanted him crawlin’ over you and whatever luxuries he gave you for it!”
Maureen knew her head moved from side to side in sick denial. She knew that Katie Rose had it wrong—terribly, terribly wrong. Unless . . .
“And now you want to pull me down with you—when I’ve a chance to be good, to lead a good life, and an offer to help me have those luxuries you enjoyed. Only I’ll have them without your sin!”
Lord Orthbridge played us all for fools, two ends against the middle, knowin’—bankin’—that we’d never confess the horror of our shame to one another. “It’s not true . . . I never knew he went to Mam.”
Katie Rose glared as though she didn’t believe her.
“Those nights he frequented the pub—they were my only nights of reprieve after Lady Catherine died. But I never suspected he—he never told me, and Mam never did. He took my wages for your rent and food all those years, and he took me after Lady Catherine died because he said the money wasn’t enough for—Oh, why didn’t she stop him? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Mam made me swear.” Katie Rose turned her face to the wall; Maureen could not tell if she cried.
“But how could she keep such a secret in the village?” Everyone knew what he did to me. They never let me forget!
“They knew.”
“But they treated Mam with respect.”
“Because ‘a husband has his rights’—that’s what Mam said.”
“A husband . . . his rights?” Maureen could not believe her ears. “He had no rights to force her! Mam was Da’s widow, alone and defenseless. He took his liberties because he was landlord and powerful, not his rights!”
Katie Rose stared blankly at Maureen a long time, so long Maureen whispered, “Katie Rose?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“That he was Mam’s lover—long, long ago.”
Maureen felt the blood drain from her face. “What?”
“Before she and Da—your da—ever married. They’d bed and wed in a makeshift ceremony in the woods. But Lady Catherine wouldn’t have it, Mam being a country girl and no title, no dowry—a nothin’. Lady Catherine cast her out.”
Maureen stood, the room falling around her.
“And so she married Da. But Mam said she still saw Lord Orthbridge from time to time.” Now Katie Rose cried. “She said she could not help herself.”
“No.”
“And that’s how it was that Da had his stroke—when he found them together. He’d not known before. All the village had known, Mam said, but Da had been too grateful to have a family of any sort to heed, and they’d had the decency not to openly shame him.”
Maureen could not believe the slander, and yet it forced itself with steel-edged clarity into her brain.
“And that’s how I was born.”
Maureen sat down again, her knees weak, her stomach broiling, her wits seeking a mooring.
“Lord Orthbridge is my father, not Da. That’s why Aunt Verna insisted you take me away. Because Gavin Orthbridge is my brother—my half brother.” Katie Rose faltered, then went on. “Lord Orthbridge wouldn’t touch his daughter, but there was no tellin’ if he’d keep his son away or be able to.”
A minute, two minutes passed as Maureen tried to put the tale in order, but it swirled and tumbled through her heart, her mind, her limbs.
“Did you not notice that my hair and eyes were nothin’ like yours and Da’s—nor even Mam’s? Did you never wonder?”
Maureen swallowed, trying to push down the bile in her throat.
“Have you nothin’ to say, then?”
“I didn’t know.” All that time, all that time he used me night after night, he was sneakin’ off to do the same to my mother—but no, he didn’t rape her. She willingly went to him, let him come to her. She carried his child. Katie Rose is his child—and Da found them together! Da found them together, and it brought on the stroke that shaped the rest of his days! She couldn’t bear the tale; she couldn’t bear to take it in but, unable to grasp it, did not dare to let it go. Aunt Verna’s words coursed through her veins: “She was not a good wife, my sister.”
“I won’t allow myself to be caught in that tangled web that you and Mam wove—which is exactly what will happen if we stay here. We’ll be workin’ for Mr. Crudgers or someone like him. I won’t do it! I won’t!”
Yes, a web—so tangled, so convoluted. But I must protect her. She’s his daughter . . . she’s not Da’s girl, but . . . I must protect her.
“You suit yourself, Maureen. I’m goin’ to—”
“You can’t,” Maureen whispered. “You can’t,” she pleaded more loudly. “Don’t you see that you’d become beholden to them as well? The Meitlands are the Orthbridges of New York City!”
“What I see is that you don’t want to go—you and your pride—and you don’t want me to go without you. You fear I’ll come above you. And you don’t like that, do you? You don’t think I’m equal to you.”
“Katie Rose! It’s not like that!”
“You despise Mam’s love for Lord Orthbridge. And now that you know I’m not Da’s daughter like you—you so noble and high . . . but I’m the daughter of a lord! But to you, all you can see is that I’m his dirty leavin’s! That’s what you think, isn’t it?” Tears streamed down Katie Rose’s face.
“No! I never thought such a thing!”
“Are you goin’ to tell Olivia?”
“Tell Olivia? Why would I—?”
“Are you goin’ to tell her I’m not Da’s daughter, that I’ve no rights to her protection?”
“Of course not. I’m just tryin’ to take it all in—”
“Well, I don’t care. I’ll deny it. I’ve as much right to the Wakefields as you do—not by Da’s blood, but by all Mam did.” Katie Rose picked up her plate and threw her meal into the slop basin. “I don’t know what to believe about you anymore, Maureen. You say one thing—as if you’re so concerned about doin’ what’s right, what’s best for us—and then you go and do another. You made us beholden to that Jaime Flynn, and you got us stuck in this hovel! You forged a letter and you lied about the Wakefields.” She glared at her sister. “You lost your good job, and you refused to take the Lord’s Communion, for pity’s sake! You’ve spurned the best man we know, the man I . . . I love, and turned your back on good and decent people. And now that horrid man is comin’ to our door for—for—” But she couldn’t finish.
“Katie Rose, we’ll move. I promise. But the Meitland man is mixed up with the disappearin’ women; I’m sure of it. I don’t want you near him!”
“So you said before, but you’ve no proof of it.” Katie Rose stepped back. “How do I know that you’ve not spun that tale? People don’t just disappear with no one cryin’ the alarm.” She tilted her head and looked squarely at Maureen. “You’re tryin’ to scare me. You are, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“You’re tryin’ to frighten me from acceptin’ Olivia’s offer so I’ll stay with you. Well, it won’t work, and I won’t stay.”
Maureen saw the light of decision in her sister’s eyes. Whatever I say she will discount. Whatev
er I say will add fuel to her fire. Maureen sighed. Her head splitting, she turned away, knowing that only a miracle could heal their breach.
Olivia stepped into the motorcar. She knew it was totally beyond the bounds of propriety for her, unchaperoned, to invite Curtis Morrow to her home, but a midday stroll through Central Park seemed harmless enough.
And she needed to talk with someone about the O’Reilly sisters. She couldn’t talk with Dorothy. Her sister had struggled with inviting the O’Reillys to attend the Ladies’ Circle and tea in her home. How would she respond when she told her that Katie Rose had moved into Morningside?
But Curtis had helped her find Maureen, and from the beginning he’d seemed to grasp and support her desire to help the sisters—no questions asked.
Why can’t Dorothy exhibit that same kind of faith? But Olivia knew the answer. It was all too close to her sister’s heart and health. Beautiful immigrant girls in need of help, perhaps desperate. Just the type of women Drake must see every day in the tenements he buys and sells. Olivia sighed. No, I can’t ask Dorothy. And Joshua is busy working for Curtis—besides, he’s too smitten with Maureen to be objective. Curtis is the only logical choice.
Despite her conviction of the need for this meeting, the corners of her mouth tugged upward. She didn’t mind seeing Curtis Morrow again, for any reason.
Ralph, her new driver, pulled the motorcar to the curb and ran round the back to open the door for his employer. He proffered a steady hand as she stepped onto the frozen ground. “You’re certain you don’t want to wait in the car, ma’am? It’s biting cold, and the path to the pond may be slippery.”
“Quite certain, Ralph, thank you. But you’ll keep the motorcar here?”
“Of course, ma’am. I’ll keep the motor running. But don’t you want me to accompany you?”
“No. No, of course not.” And she walked off, her head held as high as she dared while watching for icy spots.
Olivia had thought it brilliant and proper enough to meet Curtis in the open-air company of the colorful, swirling ice skaters in Central Park. Now that she was descending the slippery path in the cold, she wondered if it was the best location for a serious conversation.
By the time she’d reached the pond’s edge, a tall and graceful skater had sped by, returned, and waltzing near the edge, tipped his black hat to her in a rakish grin. Not daring to return his forward glance, she turned aside, pretending she’d not seen. When she was fairly certain he’d gone, she turned again, wishing mightily that Curtis would come soon.
A few couples with heads close together, whispering and laughing, dominated the frozen landscape, gliding, twirling, cutting lavish figure eights.
When a handsome pair flew by in tandem, their arms and eyes locked, Olivia momentarily imagined herself being led and twirled round and round by Curtis in a Viennese waltz. So mesmerized was she by the idea that she stepped gingerly onto the ice and attempted a little glide in her shoes. Three feet from the shore she realized the impetuous folly of what she’d done and, clasping a hand to her chest, chided herself for behaving in such a schoolgirl fashion. One step toward shore and her feet flew from under her.
But Curtis Morrow was suddenly beside, behind, and around her in one smooth glide, lifting her to her feet. “Where are your skates, Miss Wakefield?” he teased, spinning her once.
“My skates? But I didn’t come to skate!” Olivia slipped again, was caught again by Curtis and righted in one smooth swoop, and left breathless from the sudden nearness of the strong and confident man.
“No skates? For a skating meet?” Curtis swerved, digging his blade to a sudden stop.
“No!” she tried to laugh, doing her best to cover her heated face. “It’s not that kind of meeting!”
“But you said you wanted to meet at the skating pond—oh—oh, I thought this was a social event.” Curtis frowned, looking sincerely disappointed, though he couldn’t seem to keep the grin from pulling up the corners of his lips. “At least, I’d hoped you wanted to engage me in a social event.”
“No, I didn’t. I don’t. I mean, another time, of course, but—you see, it’s about something else entirely. I need—” But Olivia could hardly remember what she’d wanted and couldn’t remember feeling so flustered. This is not at all how I imagined this! She straightened her coat and brushed her gloved hands down the front to regain her composure, an action he apparently found charming from the twinkle in his eyes. “No, this is business. Well, not exactly business . . .” She couldn’t stop the infernal blush from rising up her neck to warm her cheeks or the break in the rhythm of her heart. If only you weren’t so handsome!
“Ah.” Curtis stopped his teasing as quickly as he’d appeared. “This is about your book, isn’t it?” He led her from the ice and toward the nearest bench. “It’s high time we talked about your writing. I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“No.” She pulled away, annoyed. As though I’d pull you from your work to talk about my scribbling! As if I’m a schoolgirl begging to show you my copybook!
“You must take my arm, Miss Wakefield,” Curtis admonished. “Those shoes were never made to traverse ice patches.”
Is that a reprimand? She felt herself blush again at the chide. Why didn’t I wear a sensible pair of boots on such a day? You know why, she told herself. Because they simply weren’t attractive enough.
Her concern for the appearance of her feet made the purpose of her visit seem pure irony. But there was nothing to be done but to get on with it. Humiliated or not, she was completely at a loss to know how to handle the situation he’d helped her create by locating the O’Reilly sisters.
“If it’s not your writing—and I’m sorry if it’s not—then forgive my presumption and allow me to be of whatever service I may.” He brushed the bench and saw her safely seated before taking a place beside her.
Olivia’s bristles melted. She’d no desire to be contrary—indeed, had no sympathy with pouting females. “I must talk with you—with someone—about the situation with the O’Reilly sisters.”
“Things have not gone well?” Curtis seemed confused.
Olivia lifted her hands. “I issued the invitation to Maureen and Katie Rose in all sincerity, hoping they would join me at Morningside, hoping they would trust me to embrace them as the family Father intended and help them find solid footing in New York,” she began. “But I never imagined Katie Rose would come alone—or with wild tales of Maureen losing her job for stealing and the most horrendous accusations against her character and behavior, both here and in Ireland.”
“That seems most unlikely. Joshua Keeton speaks highly of Maureen.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that too.” Olivia thumbed the clasp of her purse. “In fact, he seems rather infatuated with her.”
“Is he?” Curtis looked mildly interested in the idea but more interested in her. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Olivia sighed impatiently. How can someone so clever be so obtuse?
“Even so—” Curtis pulled on the business face Olivia had seen before—“I doubt Joshua would be taken in; he’s a good judge of character, as near as I can tell.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. But why would Katie Rose say such things, and about her own sister?” Olivia implored. “And why would she abandon her to come to me?”
“Ah, I can answer your second question.” Curtis smiled again, pulling his gloves from his hands and blowing on his fingers to warm them.
“Will you, please?”
“Haven’t you offered her the world—your world? Can you imagine what that looks like to a young girl, practically a child, who’s never had enough to eat or nice clothes to wear? Who’s probably never ridden in a motorcar or eaten ice cream?”
Olivia drew back, confused and indignant that he’d think Katie Rose so shallow. Even so, her naiveté dawned slowly. “I’m ashamed to say I never thought of it like that. Maureen’s so proud. When I visited her at the store, she’d take nothing from me—wanted nothing to do wi
th me.”
“But you said they joined your Ladies’ Circle for tea. She didn’t turn that down.”
“Well—” Olivia nearly laughed—“she did, but Katie Rose came anyway . . . and then Maureen burst through the door as though she was sure we’d sold her sister to the gypsies!”
Olivia could not mistake the sudden flame in Curtis’s cheek.
“Sold her? What do you mean?”
“Just that she came in forty or so minutes after we’d assembled, absolutely terrified for her sister’s safety.” Olivia lifted her shoulders. “In any other situation I should have been insulted, but I put it down to her fear of the unknown—her lack of experience in society, at least New York society.”
“This was at Morningside?”
“No, at Dorothy and Drake’s home.”
Curtis leaned forward and took her hands. “What did she say—when she first came through the door? What were her first words?”
Olivia did not understand Curtis’s sudden, intense interest. “She demanded to know if her sister was there.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, that was her concern. Evidently, when she realized where Katie Rose had gone, Maureen raced across town as though she were being chased.”
“And what did you do?”
“I tried to calm her, of course.” Olivia replayed the scene in her mind, trying not to notice that he suddenly seemed far removed, no matter that he still held her hands. “Oh,” she remembered, “and she asked if Drake was there.”
“Was he?”
“No, of course not. It was a ladies’ tea.”
“But it was his house. She might have expected he’d be at home. And how did she react when you told her Drake wasn’t there?”
“She seemed visibly relieved, almost to the point of exhaustion.”
Curtis unceremoniously dropped her hands, sat back, and made a pyramid of his fingers. “She fears him.”
Olivia shrugged slightly, trying not to let on that she felt . . . That I feel what? What are his moods to me? “It’s a misunderstanding, I’m sure. But Katie Rose said Maureen claimed Drake is a dangerous man. All I can think is that she referred to her first encounter with him at Thanksgiving. He was monstrous to her.”