Prologue #2
They were moving from the bedroom out into the hallway when they heard voices echoing from down below, in what should have been an empty house. A man’s voice, and then a woman’s.
Delia’s heart stilled. “They’re back,” she whispered.
She hesitated only a moment, then shoved the valise into Kathleen’s hands.
“Quickly. Down the back stairs you go. Find Donovan in the stable, tell him he’s to take you into town, as planned.
You go directly to Mr. Finney, you understand? He’ll get you to Cobh, and the ship.”
“Now?” Kathleen asked. “But, Tommy. I can’t go without telling him…”
“I’ll get word to your little brother,” Delia said. She pulled Kathleen into a rare embrace, then gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the back staircase.
Delia smoothed her hair with both hands and moved with deliberate grace toward the front hallway, where the voices seemed to be coming closer. “Go,” she said sharply, making a shooing motion. “Run. And no stopping. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Delia glided down the staircase, willing her pulse to slow, and wondering what had brought the family back so early from the house party they’d been attending. She held her head high, chin up. This was still her home, for the moment.
She found Fiona and her nephews standing in the portrait gallery. Fiona was gesturing at the empty frame once graced by Lady Geraldine’s portrait.
Her face was twisted in rage. “What have you done with my painting, you horrid old woman?”
“Your painting?” Delia’s silvery laugh echoed in the high-ceilinged hall. “By rights, nothing in this house should be yours. You might have fooled my brother, but I’ve always known who and what you are—a wicked, conniving strumpet. You can ship me off, but that changes nothing.”
Fiona’s hand shot out, slapping Delia hard on the cheek, the stone on her ostentatious ring gashing her flesh and sending a rivulet of blood down her face.
Instinctively, Delia drew the silver knife from her pocket, brandishing it as a warning.
“Here! What’s that you’ve got in your pocket?” Fiona cried. “Teddy, see what she’s got!”
David, the older of her two nephews, stepped forward. “Now, Auntie Dee…”
Before she could stop him, he grasped her wrist and easily wrenched the knife from her hand. Teddy yanked her arms and twisted them behind her back. She felt something, a slash, a scalding rip, and then heard a scream, her own, she supposed, and the last thing she saw was that empty, ornate frame.
Kathleen heard the sickening sound of flesh on flesh, a slap. Now, Fiona’s voice again, but without the posh overtones. “Here! What’s that you’ve got in your pocket? Teddy, see what she’s got!”
Then, David’s voice. She heard the sounds of a struggle, shoes scuffling on the marble floor. She paused, unsure of what to do.
And then she remembered her promise.
Kathleen turned and crept back up the stairs. She sped toward the back staircase and was halfway down when she heard a scream, so shrill it seemed to shatter the air.
“No!” Delia’s voice.
Another pause, and then a younger man’s voice. “Good Christ. What have you done?”
Kathleen didn’t wait to find out. Something bad had happened. Something very bad. And she remembered what Delia had told her minutes ago. “It’s no longer safe here for you.”
She was down the back stairs and at the kitchen door in seconds. Carefully, she twisted the knob to make her escape, but then the wind blew it open, and it knocked hard against the wall, the sound echoing like a shot.
“Who’s that?” a man called. “Who’s there?”
Kathleen fled out the kitchen door, the valise tucked under one arm, the other hand holding her long skirt, running as fast as her trembling legs would take her, not daring to glance behind to see who might be in pursuit.
“Mr. Donovan,” she called, when she reached the stable. “Mr. Donovan!”
The old man emerged from one of the disused horse stalls. He said nothing, just gave her a questioning look.
She was out of breath, her chest heaving, unable to speak.
“What is it, then?” He looked mildly annoyed.
“Lady Delia said…” Her voice faltered for a moment. “I’m to tell you, ask you, that is…”
“I’m to take you to see Finney straightaway.” He finished the sentence for her.
He walked to the open barn door and peered out. “Who is it you’re afraid of?”
She shook her head, unable to put it into words.
He got into the dusty black farm truck, fiddled with something, then the ancient motor coughed to life. “Come along then,” he called, leaning over to open the passenger-side door. “It’ll be dark soon, and I don’t like this road when I can’t see for shite.”
She slumped down in the seat, still clutching the valise to her chest, as he slowly backed the truck out of the stable.
When they were finally rolling down the long, bumpy drive, he took a cigarette from the pocket of his work shirt and handed it to Kathleen, along with a packet of matches. “Light that for me, would you?”
She did as he asked and handed it over. He took a long drag and then exhaled. “Ready to tell me what’s troubling you now?”
“Mr. Donovan. Something bad happened back there. Lady Delia. I think someone hurt her.”
His glance was sharp. “Hurt her, how?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was shaky, her hands trembling. He handed her the cigarette. She took a drag, exhaled through her nostrils. She coughed, then took another puff. It helped, a little, and she handed it back.
“We were upstairs. I was with Lady Delia. All the family had gone off to a party, but now they’re back.”
“The Howingtons’,” Donovan said. “Mr. Teddy said they’d be the weekend, but I saw the car drive up not long ago.”
“She went downstairs, and I heard them … arguing. It sounded like someone’s face got slapped, and then I heard Miss Fiona…”
“Lady Fiona,” he said automatically.
“She wanted to know what Delia had in her pocket. And then she told Teddy to take it away.”
Donovan flicked ash onto the truck’s floorboard, which was already coated in ash. “Do you happen to know what she had in her pocket?”
“A knife,” Kathleen said. “She had a little silver knife. And there was a scuffle, and then a scream. It sounded like Lady Delia, and I wanted to go help, but she made me promise to leave, to go to you and tell you it was time.”
He let out a long sigh. “It sounds like she was right. Well then, let’s get you into town now. I’ll poke around and see what’s what when I get back to the estate.”
He handed her the cigarette and Kathleen took another long drag.
“Lady Delia said I’m to go to America.”
“That’s true,” Donovan said. “I understand it’s all been arranged.”
“But I can’t go without Tommy,” she said, her voice pleading. “I’m all the family he’s got. Lady Delia gave me money, and it seems like a lot, so I want to take Tommy with me.”
“I don’t think so,” Donovan said, shaking his head. “She’s made sure that Tommy will be looked after. The Boylans are good people. They’ll see to him proper.”
“Please,” Kathleen said, stubbing out the cigarette on the floor. “Please, Mr. Donovan?”
“Lady Delia said you might ask, and she made me promise too. Promise that I wouldn’t take him from the Boylans. They’re a poor family, and they’ve been paid proper to take care of your Tommy. I’m sorry, but the answer is no.”
“I can’t just leave without telling him goodbye,” Kathleen said tearfully. “I’m all he has. I have to see him. Tell him I’ll send for him once I’m in America.”
The old man shook his head and looked up at the sky. “We’ve another hour of daylight, just. I’ll take you past the Boylans, and you can say your goodbyes, but only for a moment. I’ve got to get back to the estate, or there’ll be the devil to pay. They’ll be wondering where you’ve gone off to.”
Donovan turned the truck up a narrow track that led through green fields where sheep grazed among rocky outcroppings.
Kathleen sucked in her breath as they passed the burned-out shell of what had been the Connor farm, now just a blackened pile of rubble with the stone chimney the only thing standing; a stark reminder of all that her family had lost.
The old man crossed himself as they passed and Kathleen followed suit, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. It was the first time she’d seen the homeplace since the funerals, and now, apparently, it was also the last.
He waited a moment, then cleared his throat. “They were lovely people. God-fearing, your mam up at church every time they opened the doors. It was a terrible thing what happened to them. But you know, Kathleen, you’ve been given a chance of a new life, and a fresh start in America.”
“But Tommy…”
“Will be fine. He’s a strong young lad and will be a big help to the Boylans on the farm, with that house full of girls they’re raising. They need your brother, and he needs them. And that’s why Lady Delia made arrangements. She’s a wise lady, and she’s thought it all out.”
The Boylans’ farm was next to the Connors’. As they drove into the yard, chickens scattered and a skinny brown-and-white dog ran into the yard, barking.
Noreen Boylan appeared in the doorway of the cottage. She held an infant in her arms and her two little girls held on to her skirts. Meggie, the older one, waved when she saw Kathleen, and Sally stuck her thumb in her mouth and shyly hid behind her mother, who nodded a greeting to her visitors.
Noreen turned to look inside the house. “Tommy. It’s your sister here to see you.”
“Tell him to be quick,” Donovan called. “We’ve got to get into town.”
Tommy ran out into the yard. He was nine, but tall for his age, with Ma’s inky black hair and a sprinkling of freckles. His bright blue eyes widened when he saw his sister.
He approached the truck and nodded politely at Donovan, whom he’d never seen before.
Impulsively, Kathleen reached into the valise, her fingers closing on a small object, the gold stickpin. “Tommy,” she said, jumping down from the truck. “I’m leaving. For America.”
“When?”
“Now,” Donovan said. “She’s just come to say goodbye.”
“America? But…” He glanced back at Noreen, who still stood in the cottage doorway. “You’ll take me, won’t you?”
“Afraid not,” Donovan put in. “Kiss your sister then, and we’ll be off.”
“I’ll write to you,” Kathleen said, pulling him into an embrace. “And as soon as I can, I’ll send for you, and we’ll be together again.” She pressed something into his hand. “Keep this. But it’s our secret. And when you miss me, as I’ll miss you, remember, we’ll be together soon.”
The boy’s lower lip trembled, his cheeks reddening from the effort not to cry, and he nodded.
“Come along then,” Donovan said, starting the truck’s engine.
Kathleen grasped her brother’s face with both hands and kissed his cheek. “Remember me,” she repeated, before climbing back into the truck. “I’ll send for you as soon as I can.”
Donovan reversed the truck, and she hung her head out the window, watching as the figure of her little brother, the last living reminder of her past, her family, slowly receded in the distance.
A soft rain had begun to fall, and she was grateful for the feel of the rain on her face, the drops merging with the torrent of her own tears.