"No, not Michael. It isn't in him to want to hurt me. Besides, as my husband, it's too easy for him to profit from what's mine."
"That leaves Mr. Whitfield. He wants Gentleman's Folly. He's always wanted it. Master James once told me he didn't trust Mr. Whitfield any further than he'd trust a Yankee running for sheriff of Talbot County."
Shannon licked Anne's chin and wiggled, eager to get to Abraham. "Shh, be still," she soothed the dog.
"I best be off. I don't know anything more. I've got to catch a ride back—back to the other shore before daybreak. I need to get back to my Ivy."
"Thank you... for everything."
"I be obliged for those freedom papers."
"You'll have them. I promise you."
Twigs crunched as a shadow slipped off between the trees. "Abraham?" Anne murmured. Her only answer was the rustle of salt wind through the falling apple leaves.
* * *
She slept a few hours, then rose just after dawn, still mulling over what Abraham had told her. Was it possible that George had tried to have her murdered? She knew he was selfish, but it was hard to believe that he could hate her so much.
If only Michael would get back. He would know what to do about George. Together they would face this threat and find a way to protect themselves against Mary's husband.
* * *
After breakfast, Anne saddled her mare and rode along the river road that led toward Greensboro Hall. Shannon trotted after her, eyes bright, nose sniffing the crisp morning air.
The lane ran through a thick grove of old beech trees before dipping into a low spot bordered by cattails and marsh grass. When Anne reached the small sandy beach, she saw her father's sloop anchored in five feet of water.
"Thank you, Abraham!" she said, reining in her mare to look at the boat. It looked none the worse for wear, and having it back would simplify her life. With roads being what they were for most of the year, travel by water was the life's blood of an Eastern Shore plantation. "See that, Shannon?" Anne called to the pup. "See our boat? That's our boat."
At least she wasn't losing her mind. When she'd awakened, her first thought had been to wonder if she'd dreamed Abraham's return. But if the sloop was here, he'd really come home. And if that was true, his accusations against George were probably—
Anne's reverie was broken by the sound of wagon wheels. She clicked to her mount, urging the animal back onto the dirt path.
"Hallo, Mistress Anne!" A white-haired black man waved to her from the seat of a farm wagon pulled by a team of gray ponies.
Anne recognized him as one of Nate's grooms. "Charles! Good morning!" Shannon barked excitedly as the vehicle came toward them.
Charles took off his cap. "Good day to you, mistress. I was on my way to your house."
"Is there word of Mr. O'Ryan? Of Mr. Greensboro and the others? Are they back?" she called.
He pulled the team to a halt. "No, ma'am, not so I knows. Mistress Susannah, she asked me to carry these folks along to Gentleman's Folly. They come a far piece, and they's tired. Sorry I couldn't bring them in the carriage, but Vernon drove Miss Sibyl to Talbot Courthouse and Johnny's fixing the wheel on the dogcart."
For the first time, Anne realized that there were people sitting in the back of the wagon on the floor: two women, and a small child with porcelain skin, huge brown eyes, and a head of dark ringlets. "Visitors?" she asked.
Charles nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Relatives, Mistress Susannah said."
Curious, Anne guided her mare closer. "I'm Anne O'Ryan. Were you looking for me?"
"'Tis Mr.... Michael O'Ryan we've come to see." A round-cheeked Irishwoman in her late thirties shifted the squirming boy on her lap and smiled at Anne. "I hope he's to home, for as this lovely man has told you, we have come a very long way to find him."
"Want to get down!" the two-year-old insisted. "Want a drink!"
"Hush, darling. Be good for mama. Do not forget your manners. What will Mrs. O'Ryan think of us?" The second woman, her features nearly hidden by the wide brim of a straw bonnet, raised her head, revealing an oval-shaped face and hair as dark and shining as that of the child.
"You must forgive our appearance," the first lady said. "Travel is very hard on one's attire, and—"
"She is Blanche Tully, my dearest friend and companion," continued the dark-haired beauty. "And this is my son Conall."
"And you?" Anne said, knowing the answer before it came. "You are?"
"Oh, I am so sorry," the stranger replied. "I thought you knew. Michael said... Oh dear, now I am embarrassed. I'm Kathleen, Kathleen Brady."
Chapter 24
Gerda and Grace came out of the house to stare at the new arrivals as Nathaniel's groom reined in his team near the front entrance to the manor house. Shannon frisked back and forth, running in circles and wagging her shaggy tail.
"Please, get down," Anne said to her guests, covering her distress with Eastern Shore courtesy. "You must come in. Michael isn't here, but we expect him back at any time."
Nora's son Daniel ran to take Anne's mare.
Blanche Tully got out of the wagon and lifted small Conall in her arms. Instantly, he reached for Shannon. "Doggie!" he cried.
Anne couldn't take her eyes off the boy. As petite and fragile as his mother, he was a fairy of a child, so exquisite that he hardly seemed real. Blanche set him carefully on his feet, and, keeping a firm grip on the child's hand, glanced around as if to ask for assistance.
Anne nodded to Grace.
"I can take him, ma'am," the maid said. "I've got lots of little brothers and sisters." She squatted down so that her head was nearly level with the boy's. "Would you like something good to eat?" she asked. "Gerda has hot gingerbread in the kitchen." She looked up at Blanche. "If you don't mind, missus."
"No, that would be lovely." Blanche beamed. "Would you like gingerbread, Conall?" She chuckled. "Might as well ask a frog if he likes to hop. Our Conall is always ready to eat, aren't you, me wee bobbin?"
Grace took the boy's other hand, and the child regarded her cautiously. "Do you like kitties?" the girl asked him. "There's a kitty in the kitchen, and if you're nice, she'll let you pet her."
Conall's Irish green eyes twinkled with mischief. "I like doggies." He pointed at Shannon. "Like that doggie!"
"Me too," Grace agreed. "Would you like the doggie to come with us?" The boy nodded, and Grace called to Shannon. Anne heard the child giggling merrily as the three disappeared through the open front door.
The groom got down off the wagon seat, and came around to the back of the vehicle. "Let me help you down, miss," he said to Kathleen.
Michael's foster sister raised her head and smiled. Again Anne was struck by the stunning beauty of her dark Irish features. If her husband's heart belonged to this woman, she didn't stand a chance.
Kathleen's attire, like Blanche's, was of expensive cloth and stylish, if somewhat out of date. But it was obvious to Anne that both women's traveling dresses had seen years of use and had been mended more than once. Kathleen's woolen cloak looked to have been cut and sewn from a man's garment, and her leather boots were worn thin.
They're educated and genteel, Anne decided, but extremely frugal or poverty-stricken. Yet, Kathleen wore pearl earrings that were worth the cost of Nate's team and wagon, and the child was dressed well indeed. It was puzzling to her.
Kathleen murmured her gratitude to Charles and extended her hand for his assistance. She missed contact with his hand by inches. Anne's mouth went dry. She stared at Kathleen as Blanche took her arm.
"Here we go," Blanche said. "A long step, Katie. There. That's it."
"We're finally here," Kathleen said smoothly "It was so long, over the sea. Sometimes, I wondered if we'd ever find this place. Your America is very large."
Her eyes were the same sparkling hue as those of her son. But there was something different about Kathleen's sensual, almond-shaped eyes, fringed in thick dark lashes, something that made Anne's breath catch in her throat.<
br />
Kathleen Brady was blind.
"Mrs. O'Ryan?"
Anne hurried forward. "I—"
"It's all right," Kathleen said gently. "Michael didn't tell you, did he? I'm certain it's quite a surprise to you. Please don't concern yourself. I'll be right as rain as soon as I learn the layout of the house."
"She's quite self-sufficient," Blanche added.
Anne felt her cheeks grow warm. "I'm so sorry. And please, you must call me Anne. We are... related."
"Don't feel sorry for me." Kathleen's bright voice was as lovely as her face and figure. "I fell from a barn roof when I was seven and lost my eyesight. It was a long time ago, and I've learned to cope."
"We've no intentions of imposing on you, Mrs. O'Ryan," Blanche said. "It was Michael's idea that we should come to America, but we've only come to visit. We'll be making our home in—"
"If I know my husband, he'll want to have some say about where you settle," Anne replied. She had to keep talking, saying anything to cover her confusion—her fears.
What if Michael had lied to her about his relationship with Kathleen? What if this beautiful child was his son? "Now, please," Anne continued, "do come inside. Gerda will make you comfortable. Would you prefer that the little boy have his own bedroom, or—?"
Kathleen shook her head. "Please, put the three of us together. We've lived so close for so long that I know Conall would be terrified to sleep alone. I need dear Blanche. She's my eyes, you see."
"You must be hungry and weary from your journey," Anne said. "Would you like—?"
"Tea would be heavenly," Blanche answered. "We've not had a decent cup since we left Galway."
"Of course," Anne said. "Gerda, ask Grace to put a kettle on the fire." Heart racing and knees weak, Anne followed the others into the house and tried to welcome her guests as Maryland hospitality demanded.
* * *
In Philadelphia, in the grand townhouse on Spruce Street, the early-morning decorum of the household was shattered when Mary hurled her Chinese porcelain teapot against the wall.
"Blast you!" she cried. "Rot your greedy bowels!"
Two maids came running.
"Get out of here!" Mary snapped. A cup and cream pitcher followed the teapot. She flung them with unerring accuracy, striking the large gilt mirror and splintering that as well.
The wide-eyed cook peered in through the kitchen door.
Mary threw the matching saucer. It smashed inches above the German's head. "Out!" she shouted. "Go back to your duties!" The door closed as quickly as it had opened.
George removed his spectacles with his left hand. "Are you through with your little tantrum?" He stood and gathered the documents he'd been inspecting. "Really, Mary, this is a bit... too dramatic. I realize that women in your advanced condition—" He brushed an invisible spot off his lapel.
"How dare you?" She swept the sugar bowl off the table. It broke into four pieces, spilling sugar and shards of porcelain onto the rich Aubusson carpet. "I've put up with your constant neglect of our daughters and your coming home at all hours smelling of cheap perfume. I've ignored your uncharitable remarks about my appearance and my friends. But I will not let you rob my sister of her birthright."
His eyes narrowed. "Calm yourself. You may do injury to my son."
"Your son? That's all you can think of," she raged. "Your son! Suppose I'm carrying another daughter? Will you ignore her as you ignore little Margaret and Lucy?"
George frowned. "After the luxuries I've provided for you, the least you could do is to bear me a healthy male heir."
"And if this one is a daughter? What then?" Her fingers itched to smack the smug expression off his face. But George had a temper to match her own. The one thing George had never done was physically abuse her. No matter how angry she got, she was afraid to tempt him into crossing that line.
"Then we will have another child, and we will keep having them until you die or you give me the son you promised when I married you."
"What do you suppose I am? A broodmare?"
"You betray your country lineage, my dear, when you bring the barnyard into our house."
"You insufferable prig! How dare you insult my family? We are gentry, landowners for hundreds of years! You, whose grandfather was a common butcher?"
George ignored her challenge. He stepped away from the table and eyed the broken shards that littered the floor. "Be careful, dear. Harm my son by your hysterics, and I'll be forced to take steps to protect you from yourself. Robert Twinning's wife lost her reason, and he placed her in a nunnery in upstate New York. They do wonders with the poor creature, I understand."
"I promised you a son. What did I know? I was an ignorant girl, little more than a child myself when we wed. You promised to love and honor me, husband. And little honor I've found in this house." She put her balled fists on her hips and blocked his escape. "When did you buy Rawlings and Rawlings, George? When did you assume Papa's mortgage?"
His lips twisted into a crooked smile. "I didn't. I've always owned the mortgage. The Rawlings brothers work for me. And if you hadn't been snooping through my papers where you have no business looking, this wouldn't be troubling you this morning."
"You're going there to try and take Gentleman's Folly away from Anne and her husband," she accused.
"O'Ryan's real name is Cormac Payne. He is a common stowaway, a fortune hunter, and a murderer."
"I don't believe you!"
"It's the truth. I had it from the lips of an eyewitness, a man who was present when Payne knocked an unarmed seaman over the head and threw him overboard."
"Who told you that? That no-account Mick I've seen creeping around to your office door?"
"Hold your tongue, Mary. You're too ignorant to realize that I'm doing your precious Anne a favor by assuming control of the plantation." George glared at her. "I've recently learned that this Payne hired thugs to attack the house and burn the fields. If I don't take control, he will. And your sister is more valuable to him dead than alive. Would you prefer me to take the matter in hand, or would you rather he murder Anne?"
"If you're telling the truth, you'll let me come with you." She wasn't convinced that O'Ryan was this Cormac Payne. He certainly didn't seem like a killer to her. She'd heard enough of George's lies to know when he was trying to conceal something, but she hoped that she could be of help to Anne if she was there. "Please, George. Forgive my outburst. I was upset. Take me with you."
He took hold of her shoulders and moved her firmly aside. "You are deranged," he said. "In your condition? A decent woman wouldn't consider setting foot out of the house, let alone taking a sea journey. You'll remain here with our children. Doubtless Anne will want to come back with me, once she sees how she's been betrayed by this scoundrel. You'll see her then."
"Not likely," Mary muttered as her husband stalked from the room. "Anne would sooner go to hell than go one step with you." She sank into a mahogany chair. "And sometimes I feel exactly the same."
* * *
Michael and his neighbors arrived home that afternoon. They'd found and burned a few cabins, rescued three free blacks who claimed that they were about to be sold south into slavery, and cared for a white woman, ill with fever, who seemed to be of limited intelligence.
There had been a single shooting incident. None of the Eastern Shore planters had been injured, but they killed one pirate outright and brought two more back for trial at Talbot Courthouse. Nate's opinion was that the thieves would be convicted and hanged before the month was out.
Anne walked hand in hand with Michael back from the dock. His eyes were bloodshot, his face streaked with sweat and dust, but other than insect bites, he didn't have a scratch on him.
"We need to talk," Anne said. She felt as though a weight of uncertainty were crushing her chest. When Michael had stepped off the sloop, he swept her up, lifted her in the air, then wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately. But her joy at having him home safely was tempered by her fear
of what he would do once he found out who was waiting at the house. Did Kathleen's presence mean an end to all Anne's hopes for their marriage?
"You've had no trouble while I was gone, have you?" he asked her. He pulled off his hat and let the breeze blow through his hair. "I want something to eat, and then I intend to sleep until—"
"Kathleen is here," Anne said bluntly.
"Here? Now?" An expression of amazement spread over his face. "How? She wouldn't have had time to get the money I sent for passage."
"Apparently they'd saved up what you sent earlier. Blanche said they came steerage into New York, then traveled down the coast, first on a cattle boat, then a fishing schooner. They came from Lewis to Oxford by coach."
His step quickened. "How is she? And the baby, Conall, is he well?"
Anne stopped short, still holding his hand. "I want the truth, Michael. I can live with the truth. Is Conall your son? If he is, we'll annul our marriage so that you can—"
"Annie, Annie. Is that what you think? That I've brought my lover and illegitimate child to your house?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "I—I have to know." She swallowed. "I love you, Michael. I don't care if you're a rebel or a mutineer... or even a fortune hunter. I love you, but I won't stand between you and your son."
He took her other hand. Holding both, he looked into her eyes. "Kathleen is my sister," he said. "I love her, and I feel responsible for her. I would do anything in the world for her... anything but be what I can't. You've seen her. You know how vulnerable she is."
"I know she's blind." Her own vision clouded with tears.
"Conall's father was an English officer who befriended Kathleen, took advantage of her innocence, and then abandoned them both. She told me of her condition and begged me to marry her and give her unborn child a name. It is the only thing I've ever refused her, and she suffered terribly for it. Townspeople—friends she'd known for years—threatened her with tar and feathering, terrorized her, and burned the house where she was living."
The Irish Rogue Page 26