Kilpara Page 5

  Shanley stopped the carriage in front of my apartments on Liberty Row, climbed down and held the door open. He offered Maureen his hand as she raised her skirts to descend. She smiled and thanked him with more sincerity than was necessary.

  Maureen feasted her eyes on the neat brick row houses packed tightly together while I questioned Shanley about Emmons’ whereabouts. Upon learning he had arrived back from Louisiana and was conducting business meetings with prospective investors in Washington, I wrote a hasty note requesting to meet him next evening and explained that the matter was urgent. As a postscript I added that Maureen, my young Irish cousin, was a guest for a few days. Shanley promised to return with a response the following afternoon.

  We walked up the two flights of concrete steps to the heavy columned doorway that led to my apartments. Maureen reverently stepped inside like a worshipper entering a temple. I motioned her to look around while I set down our bags and went into the library that adjoined the drawing room. I opened the well-stocked liquor cabinet and poured myself a brandy. Maureen returned in a few moments. “Suits you, Mas’—er Ellis,” she said cheerfully.

  Her face belied her enthusiasm. She looked doubtfully at the heavy leather furniture bereft of fluffy pillows and frills, the wallpaper with its straight lines and solid bold colors instead of flowers and pastels. Standing in the middle of all this she whispered, “Where do I sleep?”

  Color rose to her face and I observed her uneasiness with amusement.

  “You can have one of the guest rooms upstairs. Take the first room on the left.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Shouldn’t I sleep in the servants’ quarters?”

  I laughed. “I don’t have much use for servants. I live alone. A domestic comes in a few times a week to clean up and cooks for me if I schedule my meals at home. Besides, if you’re to be my cousin, you should be here in the main house.”

  “Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked shyly.

  “I have much to do. A friend will come by to look after you in my stead. I’ll see you later in the day.”

  She acknowledged this and gratefully retired.

  CHAPTER 4

  I was about to leave the apartments the next morning when a knock sounded at the front door. I opened it to a youth who handed me a telegram. “Please wait,” I ordered. Quickly, I looked over the printed words. It was from Seamus. He had discovered Maureen’s disappearance along with her note and was anxious about her safety. He prayed she was with me and asked if I was returning her on the next scheduled train. He would stay in Hagerstown until he heard.

  I wrote a quick reply assuring him that Maureen was safe and since she was here, I had requested her assistance with preparations for my journey to Ireland. She would accompany me on my return to Stonebridge. He could expect a telegram in a few days giving him instructions when to meet us. I returned this information with a generous tip to the telegraph boy and told him it was extremely important to transmit the message at once. The boy acknowledged my order and took off running.

  I hailed a hansom cab and within half an hour I stood outside the Metropole, a gentleman’s club. It was an unlikely business housed among factories, commercial buildings, and warehouses. The building stood alone and inside its heavy double doors I knew cleanup was going on as workers removed debris from the previous evening. They were busy setting up gambling tables for the coming night’s entertainment, restocking mirrored shelves with clean glasses, and scrubbing and polishing the long bar.

  Astelle Linden ruled the hired help with a firm hand. It was unknown to most people that she was the owner, a fact she kept hidden behind her brother, Rudy. But the staff abided by her standards; they knew who was boss.

  Anyone caught gossiping about the club’s affairs was dismissed. This was a place where businessmen and politicians came to informally negotiate business deals and discuss the national agenda over drinks. Professionally-run gaming tables catered to their riskier natures, if they desired to test their luck.

  Local residents did not approve of Astelle or her brother. Women, in particular, believed they spurred the damnation of men's souls, tempting them in ways that were sinful. This was the devil’s work; the Lindens had power over men’s weaker senses. They enticed the nation’s strongest leaders through their doors and were the keepers of many confidential secrets.

  To avoid curious glances from the staff, I passed the heavy front doors and used my key to unlock a side door that led into a quiet hallway and steps upstairs to the apartments above. I knew I faced a possible rebuttal because Astelle hated to be disturbed before noon.

  Even with this knowledge, I didn't hesitate when the lock clicked noiselessly letting me into her apartments. Moving cautiously through the drawing room with its heavy furnishings, its many paintings, and cold fireplace, I drew back long drapes and let in the sunlight. I peered inside the bedroom, accompanied by light from the outer room. Astelle stirred, removed a mask from over her eyes and asked, sleepily, “Who’s there?” She raised up in bed and her frown turned to pleasure when she saw me.

  “Ellis, darling, you’re back.” She pushed aside the eiderdown, slipped her feet into silk slippers and padded over to where I stood, her pale colored nightdress clinging to a firmness that defied her age. Her hand moved through my hair and came to rest on my neck while her lips found mine. I struggled to deny her scent, her softness pressing against me through flimsy material.

  Firmly, I removed myself from her embrace. “I need a favor, Astelle,” I said. Her lips formed a pout and she moved away slightly.

  “You didn’t rush here to see me?”

  I pulled her back into my arms. “Of course, I had to see you. But first, I must ask your help.”

  She traced my lips with her fingers. “What’s so important?”

  I moved to a comfortable chair beside the fireplace that I had sat in many times before. Astelle lounged against the heavily pillowed window-seat facing me while I told her about Maureen. She toyed with a blond curl as I talked, the outline of her body distracting me constantly. I filled in the details quickly because being near her made it difficult to concentrate.

  When I finished my story she moved behind me, massaged my neck, and began kissing my ear. “You worry so, Ellis,” she said. “Leave young Maureen to me. Before the day’s over, she’ll look like the Irish cousin you want, and no one’ll be any the wiser.”

  I sighed with relief knowing I could trust Maureen to Astelle’s capable genius. With this worry safely resolved, I stood up and Astelle moved into my arms. She pushed my jacket off my shoulders and began unbuttoning my shirt. I didn’t resist this time. Instead I picked her up and carried her to the high-poster bed. Arms locked tightly around my neck, she threw back her head and laughed. We tumbled together on the firm mattress amid scented sheets. “I’ve missed you, darling,” Astelle murmured against my ear. I removed her flimsy nightgown, moving my hand slowly over her taut nipples and naked thighs. Passion burned in my groin, and I abandoned myself to the sensual pleasure of her body.

  I had yet to tell her about my mother’s dying wish.

  It was late morning when I rode the hansom again, stopping only briefly at Chandler's Moving Company, then continuing on to Emmons Acquisition Agency. Ulrich Waiker was busy poring over accounts when I walked in. He was a bright young man who learned quickly and had been training under my direction for a year. I had left him several tasks to settle in my absence. Without looking up he said, “Glad you’re back, Mr. O’Donovan.”

  “How did you know it was me, Ulrich?”

  “Footsteps, sir.” He paused from his calculations to look at me.

  “There are serious family problems,” I said answering his gaze. “But I want to discuss them with Emmons first. I hope to dine with him this evening; perhaps you’ll join us at the Metropole afterwards, since this matter will certainly concern you.”

  Ulrich nodded. “Would you like to see what I’ve accomplished in your absence, sir?” He pulled master ledgers from
a shelf and took them to the large table that we used to examine multiple accounts.

  We became absorbed in our work for several hours. I hadn't realized how much time had passed until Shanley walked into the office, his hat tucked firmly under his arm. Eyes straight ahead, he handed me a note.

  “Mr. Emmons reply, sir,” he said.

  I moved to the window, promptly opened the envelope, and shook open the single sheet of paper. It read. Meet me for dinner at 6:30 in the Cambridge Hotel. Clara will accompany me so bring along your cousin who is likely to be closer in age. Clara will find her company a pleasant diversion, especially now that Eloise is feeling under the weather and will not be joining us. Your cousin is invited to attend the opera with Clara afterwards. This will leave us free to go to the Metropole for drinks and discuss this matter you deem so urgent. Shanley is at your disposal. Clara and I will ride to Baltimore with the Travers who will also join us for dinner. It was signed in Emmons’ usual scrawl.

  Shanley hadn’t moved a muscle. His face remained impassive, his mouth formed a thin line, and his glasses mirrored expressionless eyes. Ulrich stopped what he was doing long enough to assess my reaction. Satisfied, he returned to work. Shanley broke the silence. “Mr. Emmons won’t need me this evening, sir. Are there any orders?”

  “Yes, I shall be leaving here shortly to return to my apartments after which I’d like you to take me to the Cambridge Hotel.” Shanley acknowledged my instruction and retreated to a seat by the door to wait.

  Ulrich’s gaze followed him. “Strange man,” he commented, then returned to the books.

  I worried about the upcoming evening on my way home from the agency. Emmons request to invite Maureen was unexpected and created problems I hadn’t counted on. It was one thing to introduce her as my cousin, but something else to parade her in public. It was folly to have lied; in hindsight, I realized the difficulties it presented. I chided myself for not being firm, for not dealing with Maureen more directly. I should have insisted she return home immediately to Stonebridge.

  My mind was plagued with these thoughts when I entered the apartments. Maureen stood, pen in hand, in the middle of the drawing room making a list of everything I owned. This wasn’t the Maureen of the previous evening. She wore a pretty yellow cotton dress covered by a clean, white apron. Her hair was no longer loose or shaggy, but piled high on her head with soft curls dangling at the nape of her neck. This gave her face length, her neck appearing longer, slimmer. She had added lip-gloss to emphasize her full lips and matched this with polished fingernails.

  “What do you think?” she asked, twirling around in delight. “Your friend, Miss Linden, was so wonderful. She came by and took me to shops, the like I've never seen before or even knew existed. She said I could easily pass for your cousin now. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, Astelle appears to have done well.” The flatness in my voice caused the joy to freeze on Maureen’s face.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she asked. “Miss Linden said you’d be pleased. This was what you wanted.”

  “Of course,” I added quickly. How could I explain to her that my foolishness to pass her off as my cousin had created an impossible predicament for us both? She was a simple country girl who would stand in wonder of Emmons, be charmed by the glitter and pomp of a privileged society.

  In her naiveté she would underestimate him, not recognize him for the man he really was. He would see past her weak subterfuge and discover her true identity. The last thing I wanted was to have Maureen humiliated. Eileen would never forgive me.

  Maureen was giving an account of the shops and salons she visited with Astelle. She had never seen so many people strolling along streets, riding about in hansom cabs and in city passenger cars. Children shopped with their parents and nannies pushed perambulators in the park. It was all so civilized.

  “We’ve been asked to dine with Mr. Emmons, my employer, and his daughter this evening,” I stated cautiously. “You’ve been invited to attend the opera afterwards.” To my dismay, the announcement unnerved Maureen. She crumpled.

  “I-I can’t...” she began. “I can’t possibly have dinner with clever, rich people. It’s different with you, Mas—Ellis. I’ve known you my whole life. I haven’t learned the proper manners. I’ll say all the wrong things, Think of the terrible trouble—I’ll let you down. Oh, what shall we do?” She began wringing her hands. “You’ll have to say I’m ill, the Baltimore air. Something—”

  I would have liked nothing better than to claim Maureen was ill, but such an excuse could raise Emmons’ curiosity. Cause him to casually stop by my apartments for a drink. Maureen would be scrutinized. Any slip-up would lead him to presume I was passing her off as my cousin to hide the fact I had taken advantage of a simple servant girl, coerced her to be my mistress. Such an assumption would devastate Maureen. There was no way out.

  “It’s too late to undo what we’ve done,” I said, feeling trapped, gripped in the vise of misfortune. “We’ll get through the evening somehow. We’ll manage.”

  “I’ve put you in a terrible position,” Maureen said. “You and Miss Linden have been so good to me. I never expected anything like this to happen.”

  “It’s my fault. I never should have mentioned you to Mr. Emmons. I did it out of courtesy, never thinking he would engage you in a meeting. We’re stuck with the situation.”

  “What’ll we do?”

  “Is that the only dress Astelle found for you?” I asked

  Maureen smiled wanly. “Miss Linden bought me several ready-made gowns. She said her dressmaker could make more flattering garments, but there wasn’t time for that. She picked out three gowns for me, more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen before. I fretted over the cost, but she said not to worry.”

  I praised Astelle silently for her foresight and generosity. “Please consider them a gift and wear one of them to dinner tonight.” I lifted her chin. “If mistakes are made, we’ll deal with them.”

  I must have sounded convincing for she nodded her obedience.

  A couple of hours later Maureen looked transformed in a rose-colored gown with a plunging neckline that emphasized her smooth young skin and full bosom. Again I was reminded of the miracle Astelle had worked. Maureen looked nothing like the desperate young servant who followed me to Baltimore. Not only did she look different, she seemed assured in her new clothes. She smiled warmly at Shanley when she offered him her gloved hand as she mounted the coach. A faint hint of appreciation entered the coachman’s dull eyes. I began to feel hopeful.

  The Cambridge Hotel, a three-story white brick building with long windows, sat close to the harbor. The tastefully decorated upper floors were set aside for hotel residents. On the main floor beyond the marbled lobby, a wide corridor led to a large comfortable restaurant overlooking the waterfront. A concierge at the front entrance held the door open for us, and we walked beneath candlelit chandeliers to the restaurant entrance. The headwaiter bowed and showed us to Mr. Emmons' table that was set for six.

  Maureen stiffened when I told her the Travers would also be joining us. Her eyes watered from nervousness, and she twiddled her thumbs in rapid succession. I explained calmly about the Travers, the fortune they derived from making steel tracks for the railroads, and their part ownership in the Union Railroad Company. They had five sons no daughters, all married and settled around the country. My words seemed to make Maureen even more nervous and I worried she would collapse under the strain.

  “Evening, Ellis.” I heard Emmons’ voice before I saw him. I stood to shake his hand then kissed Clara on the cheek, her face even with mine. She smiled, displaying prominent front teeth. Mr. Travers' handshake was firm as usual, and Mrs. Travers smiled warmly.

  I asked after Emmons’ wife and was about to introduce Maureen when Travers interjected, “Who is this ravishing young woman?”

  “This is my cousin, Maureen,” I said, as he seated his wife. “She’s visiting from Ireland.”

  “Indeed.” T
ravers took her gloved hand and touched it to his lips. “Delighted. I’m sure.” He took a seat beside Maureen and engaged her in conversation about railroad construction across the nation and tales of Indians and gunslingers. Maureen was reluctant to respond at first, but Travers captured her imagination, and her natural curiosity came to the fore. Her confidence grew and soon she was commenting shyly.

  “Don’t believe everything William tells you, Maureen,” Mrs. Travers said, smiling at her husband. “He’s such an old fool.”

  “Not so old,” William Travers reminded his wife and all three laughed.

  I was grateful to Travers. He screened Maureen from Emmons. She fell into ease with him, answering questions about Ireland and that country’s difficulties. Mostly, she repeated what Eileen and Seamus discussed from the news they received from Ireland. Travers listened intently, stroked his white beard, and smoothed his thin white mustache.

  His wife added to the conversation, talking about their sons and their sons’ families and how she wished they lived in Baltimore instead of being scattered all across the country. Her youngest son, John, was closest. He lived in Hagerstown.