Kilpara Page 7

  “No! I’ll never go back to the country or anything that resembles that place I came from.”

  “Is Rudy willing to stay?”

  “I don’t know.” Astelle’s voice turned concerned. “He needs a wife. He’s been ready for a family for a long time. The years are passing. If he doesn’t marry soon, it’ll be too late.”

  Privately, I wondered if Rudy thought the same about her; that she should remarry. She’d be more likely to find a suitor in a stable community instead of the owner of The Metropole. But Rudy was a man of few words who would never verbalize his concern.

  Maureen’s pleasure showed when she appeared unsummoned to remove our plates and to serve dessert and coffee. We had managed to eat everything she set before us. She smiled broadly when Astelle complimented her and said few cooks compared to her.

  After dinner we retired to the drawing room where Astelle commented casually, “These apartments are like you, Ellis, strong, masculine, and admirable. I’ll miss you...”

  “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  She fidgeted with her dress. “Will you stay for Clara’s birthday party?”

  “Yes, she insisted on it at dinner last night. I’d never hear the end of it from Emmons if I didn’t attend.”

  “Jim Armstrong asked me to accompany him to the party.” She looked at me directly, her eyes holding mine.

  “How’s Jim these days? Is he still in the steamship business?”

  “Yes, expanding all the time.”

  “Have you accepted his invitation?”

  “Never. You know how the social class loathe me.” She smiled wryly. “I can imagine the gossip now.”

  “They’re all wrong about you.”

  “That doesn’t change who I am or what I do.”

  She put her arms around my neck and brushed her lips softly against mine. “Ellis, tell me honestly, would you marry the likes of me?”

  Taken aback, I didn't answer immediately.

  “Jim Armstrong would,” she said.

  The intensity in her voice caused me to stare hard at her. I saw longing in her eyes that I had never seen there before.

  “Has he asked you to marry him?”

  “No, but he’s very attentive, and lonely, ever since his wife died.”

  “What are you saying, Astelle?”

  “If you’re asking if I’m interested in him, I’m not. But it started me thinking. That’s all.”

  “You know how much I treasure our friendship.”

  “Enough to declare it openly?”

  “You made the rules.”

  “And they suit you perfectly.”

  “Whatever is bothering you, now is the worst time for a serious conversation,” I said.

  She withdrew her arms and stood back. In a calm voice she said, “The truth is often difficult to admit, Ellis.”

  I pulled her back into my arms and brushed her forehead with my lips. “Wait until I return before pressing me about such promises.” She looked up at me and smiled sadly.

  She departed soon afterward amid thanks and compliments. I helped her into the carriage, whispering in her ear that I would meet her at the club later. She nodded. Then the driver cracked the whip and guided the horses away from the curb. Maureen and I stood on the sidewalk waving until the carriage disappeared round the corner. Back inside the apartment we separated to our individual rooms after talking over the next day’s plan.

  When I thought Maureen was asleep, I slipped out quietly and joined Astelle at the club. I had expected her to bring up our earlier conversation, but instead she ignored it like it had never occurred. When we retired to her apartments, the mood surrounding our lovemaking became nostalgic; our embraces more intense. As we lay in each other’s arms, I mused how our affair had deepened over time. Admittedly, I had admired her the first moment we met, but soon afterward I discovered her strong character and found it liberating. As our acquaintance grew, our mutual need fueled by our strong attraction for each other, demanded satisfaction. On my first visit to her apartments, she insisted that I respect her wishes, that our arrangement should never be mentioned in public. It was strictly between us. She maintained we should enjoy each other’s company for as long as we both favored it, but not to expect permanence. Now, I wondered if she had broken her cardinal rule and had grown attached. I decided to probe what lay beneath her insecurity.

  “Astelle, have you ever considered remarrying?” I asked, pulling her closer.

  She laughed, and touched my cheek. “No—never.”

  I stared at her uncomprehending. Her gaze never wavered. “I mean it. I don’t know what came over me earlier this evening. I suspect it was a twitch of self-pity prompted by the realization that no matter how wealthy I am, I’ll never be accepted in certain social circles. It’s tiresome being treated like you’re inferior.”

  I shook my head. “You’re wrong. People admire you, even if they don’t understand your world any more than you understand theirs. You’ve said numerous times that supercilious socialites bore you. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No, of course not.” She smiled up at me. “I shouldn’t have been so direct. It was unfair to our arrangement.”

  “You know, I’d never dishonor you.”

  She got out of bed, pulled on her robe, walked to the window, and stared outside. “I know,” she said, her back to me. “I was hitched once—had the devotion of a very special man. But I favor my own person now. I’ve wanted it that way ever since Maurice died.”

  I suppressed a long sigh of relief.

  The next four days followed a set pattern. I found I really did need Maureen’s help. She organized the movers and made sure boxes were labeled correctly. They were to be transported to a depot in New York where they would remain until I boarded ship. As Clara’s party approached, the apartments took on a deserted look, as if I had already left. I telegraphed Stonebridge and told Mother to have Seamus meet us at the railway station in Hagerstown early Tuesday afternoon.

  CHAPTER 5

  Sunday arrived, and we prepared for Clara's party. Maureen spent hours on her appearance and emerged dressed in a deep blue gown that lay softly against her skin. The bodice fit snugly around her waist and the neckline hovered temptingly above her breasts. With regret, I thought, if she were a debutante some rich young beau would be proud to ask permission to court her. She must have sensed my mood for she said, “I feel like an imposter.”

  “And a lovely one, too,” I chuckled. Maureen giggled.

  I took her wrap, put it around her shoulders and gave her an encouraging squeeze. I opened the apartment door and waited for Maureen to pass through. She paused momentarily, inhaled, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she took my arm with the determination of an actress about to woo her audience. I led her to the waiting carriage. She was going to make the most of this moment because soon there would be Eileen and Seamus to face.

  The afternoon was mild as Shanley drove the carriage south along the Washington Road toward Oakhill, Emmons’ estate. After nine miles or so, we turned into a large oak-lined drive that wound toward the white-columned house with large porticos. We walked up a long pathway bordered by unfolding boxwood to the front steps. Magnolia trees were scattered throughout the smooth lawn. Beneath them white wrought-iron seats invited rest. The ballroom where the party was being held faced to the back of the house, with an outside balcony and wide steps leading the way to immense gardens filled with flowering trees and shrubs.

  Servants escorted us to the ballroom where Emmons, Eloise, and Clara stood in a receiving line. I kissed Clara’s hand, who then turned to Maureen and hugged her warmly. She looked paler than usual in a pink dress chosen to show her sweetness. Instead it emphasized her bony neck and shoulders, making her look crow-like. Her brown hair piled on top looked wispy as it hung in limp curls. She had been introduced as a debutante three years ago, and Emmons had used every opportunity since then to try and marry her off. I was certain he planned to sna
re some gullible young man at this party into accompanying her to some important function that he excusably could not attend himself. In previous instances, those chosen to accompany Clara had dutifully indulged his requests out of good manners. But after escorting her to a couple of engagements, they purposely claimed prior commitments and disappeared from the horizon. Thus, the quest to find a husband for Clara was a continual source of frustration for Emmons.

  We moved among the guests, mingling and sipping white wine while the orchestra played softly. Maureen curtseyed and used the rehearsed comments I had taught her: “How do you do? Pleasant weather for this time of year.” Having assisted with functions at Stonebridge, she easily imitated what she had observed during those occasions.

  A butler announced that a light supper would be served, and we followed the ushers into the dining room. I could feel Maureen’s fingers tense against my arm and saw fear enter her eyes when we were separated. I was guided to one side of the table, Maureen to the other. Clara sat on my left, Mrs. Travers on my right. Jim Armstrong took up residence next to Maureen and Mr. Travers was seated on her opposite side. From this arrangement, I suspected an appeal had been made by Maureen during her outing with Clara to be seated among people she had already met. Maureen's face relaxed when Mr. Travers beamed at her. Within moments their dialogue became lost in the chatter that circled the table. This was interrupted only by the occasional guffaw rising above conversations. Throughout the light meal of green salad, roast duck, vegetables and a delicious sherbet, knives and forks clinked as they were modestly raised and lowered.

  After supper the orchestra struck up a waltz, an indication the hosts would begin the dancing. Emmons led Clara onto the dance floor and was followed by Eloise in her father’s arms. Other family members joined in and when the music ended, there was loud applause.

  Maureen was familiar with most dances, music having been a big part of happier times at Stonebridge. Father and Mother celebrated many occasions, with one obvious difference, Irish fiddles and banjos were blended into the entertainment. The family, along with Eileen and Seamus, performed Irish set-dancing for guests. Formality was often abandoned at these gatherings, considering Stonebridge was miles from its nearest neighbor and music often depended on the availability of instruments and their owner’s versatility.

  This evening was much more elaborate. As the orchestra played, Maureen stood in awe of what she called “sheer elegance.” She would have been content to stay in the same spot all evening, never moving a muscle, taking in everything, and etching each detail in her mind. But several young men noticed her and claimed her for dances. After each dance, she and Clara huddled together and giggled.

  At one point, while dancing with Clara, I spotted Maureen twirling between couples with Emmons. It didn't matter if he became suspicious now, he would have no time to investigate the truth; we were leaving in a day’s time. Later, when I danced with Mrs. Travers who talked on about her children, I searched the room for Maureen. Scanning the guests for her familiar blue skirts, I found she wasn’t visible anywhere. Then I noticed a servant come in from outside and look intently at the dancing figures. He moved around the room to inspect the crowd better.

  I didn’t pay particular attention at first, until his eyes locked with mine and he hurried toward me. His look caused my heart to freeze. Mrs. Travers noticed his approach, as did Clara who was dancing nearby with Jim Armstrong.

  The servant quietly asked me to follow him. I went, a small entourage trailing behind me. We walked quickly toward the balcony and down the steps into the gardens. There under a magnolia tree sat Maureen, her hair disheveled, her dress ripped and torn, partially covered by a man’s shirt. A bare-chested young man hovered close to Shanley who stood brushing off dirt and dead leaves that lingered on his clothes. He winced and rubbed his jaw where he had received an obvious blow.

  I went to Maureen and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?” I asked, gently pushing hair from her eyes. She whimpered and turned her face away. With her head hung and eyes diverted, large tears spilled onto her once pretty blue skirt. I looked from Shanley to the young man. “What happened here?” I demanded, anger welling in my chest, my fists clenching automatically.

  “The name’s Tom Townsend, sir,” the young man answered firmly. “I was tending horses over there, sir.” He pointed beyond the gardens to the stables next to where carriages stood hitched. “I happened to look this way and saw this here gentleman grab that there lady.” He pointed to Shanley and nodded toward Maureen. “She seemed to be struggling, sir, and then she screamed. I came to investigate and found this man shoving her into the bushes and tearing at her clothes. I tried to pull him off her, sir. He shouted it was none of my business and wouldn’t let go of the lady. So I punched him. I had trouble getting the lady to tell me who she was. All she kept saying was to go get Ellis O’Donovan. I found a houseboy and sent him to find you, sir.” The young man stated the situation like a soldier reporting facts before a commanding officer.

  During this explanation, Shanley’s lips formed a thin smile that never reached his dull eyes. He addressed me quietly. “You know she’s no lady.” He pointed a finger at Maureen. “She’s nothing more than a whore—a wretched bitch brought here to cater to your whims. Caused all this commotion, she did, with her screaming and struggling. The common tramp tempted me. Smiled that bitch smile. Hiked up her skirts and held onto my hand. She knew what she was doing.”

  The world had gone still. I found myself unable to speak. The young man who had rescued Maureen stood apart but within earshot. He moved into a stance and looked ready to pounce on Shanley. Uncontrollable fury overtook me, partly from the shame I had brought upon Maureen, but mostly fueled by the sly, arrogant smirk on Shanley’s face. I leaped forward and hit him, sending his glasses flying as he stumbled and fell backward. The young man moved to stand over him. “One word,” he said, “one word, and we’ll finish this right here.”

  “Tom!” Travers, who had been some distance away, moved closer and addressed the young man sternly. Tom continued to stand unmoved, glaring at Shanley, his fists folding and unfolding as he fought for control.

  Travers put a hand on Tom's shoulder. “This is a matter for the authorities,” he said firmly.

  “No!” Maureen burst out in a terse whisper. “No authorities. I just want to go home.”

  Travers stared at Maureen for a moment, then nodded and turned to Tom. “Take these people home and fetch the doctor,” he ordered.

  Shanley rose to his feet. He stumbled away from me out of striking distance and went over to Emmons who had come on the scene but had yet to say anything.

  “You understand don’t you, Mr. Emmons—sir?” he pleaded. He put on cracked glasses and squinted. “She’s a whore, nothing more. Just like your Miss Lacey. That's what you always call her. Not our people, you say, no manners, no class, whores, beggars. Latch on to decent men, you say. You know what I mean don't you, Mr. Emmons?”

  “Hold your tongue for God's sake, Shanley!” Emmons commanded.

  “Say you understand, sir.” Tears spurted from Shanley’s eyes as he clutched his jaw.

  “Get on home now,” Emmons insisted. Shanley nodded reluctantly and shuffled away. Emmons followed the man's slow movements, scorn twisted on his face. He looked around to see if their discourse had been overheard. But most of the attention had been centered on Maureen with the occasional contemptible look sent Shanley's way. Only Clara, who had been comforting Maureen up until now, looked curiously at her father.

  Emmons' wife knew something was amiss in the gardens, but she had been told to keep the party going and not allow guests to wander out.

  Tom, who I later learned was the Travers’ groom, led the way to the carriage. Maureen pressed tightly against my chest as we went; Armstrong and Travers following along behind. Armstrong offered his carriage, but Tom had already opened the door to the Travers’ carriage and was helping Maureen inside.

  “Don’t worry
about us, Tom,” Travers said. “Just take care of these people and then report to me when you arrive home. I will look in on you tomorrow, Ellis.” He patted my arm, and I settled across from a dazed Maureen. As the carriage moved away, Emmons watched us depart, unmasked disgust in his eyes.

  Back at the apartments, Maureen sat limply on the divan. I fixed stiff drinks and pressed one into her hands. She drank automatically, pausing only to make a face as she swallowed the liquid. Afterwards, she stared into space until Tom arrived with the doctor. Dr. Mellott introduced himself to Maureen and then unlatched his medical bag. He set about examining her while I waited in the library. He joined me there when he finished and reported that Maureen had suffered a terrible ordeal, but she was young and would recover.

  “She needs to put the incident behind her as quickly as possible,” he stressed, “otherwise she could suffer complications. Encourage her to talk to a confidant or minister. It will hasten her recovery.” He handed me a sleeping draught and explained how to administer it. “This will help her sleep through the night,” he said. He left then with a promise to return the following day.

  I had thought about Astelle during this whole episode, and how comforting it would be to place Maureen in her capable hands. On impulse, I wrote a hasty note and sent Tom to fetch her.

  She arrived looking concerned and immediately began asking me pointed questions as I helped to remove her cloak. I took her to Maureen who whimpered and reached her arms out to the older woman.

  “There, there,” Astelle said, hugging Maureen and smoothing her hair. “Tell me what happened.”

  I retreated leaving the door slightly ajar, so I could listen. Maureen began to blurt out how Shanley had followed her into the gardens where she had slipped away for a moment to reflect on the evening's excitement. She had wandered farther away from the house than she intended, lured by the beauty of the flowering shrubs. That's when Shanley accosted her, placing his hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream. He dragged her to a dark corner behind some thick bushes and attacked her. In the struggle, she had managed to get out one scream and it was enough to summon help.