Page 53 of Road Trip
“Us?” He hooted in disbelief. “God no. Irishmen don’t have feelings. And if we did, we certainly wouldn’t talk about them. Now, if I promise not to spike your Red Bull and sell you into the sex trade, can we go inside and have a pint?”
CHAPTER 23
December 1928
Dearest Tommy:
Merry Christmas to you! By now I hope you will have received the woolen scarf and the bit of money I sent over by way of Dorothy Shea, a very kind lady who I met at church, who was going back home for a visit with her family. My knitting is fearsome bad, nothing like the beautiful socks and mittens Mum used to turn out for us, but I hope the sentiment, and the scarf, though lumpy and full of dropped stitches, will keep you warm through these next cold winter months.
I do thank you for your last letter and was so sorry to hear about the passing of poor little Beatrice. The croup is a cruel plague. Such a shock it must have been to dear Mrs. Boylan. I will light a candle for her this Sunday and pray for her eternal soul.
I have happy news to report! Next week I leave the city and move to a place called Geneva, New York, because I have secured a position in the household of a nice family living in a fine house there. My employer is named Mr. Kaufmann, and he is a lawyer of good reputation. There are four young children in the family, and I will be helping take care of them, along with the housework, because their poor mother is unwell. My salary will not be as much as whatI earned at the shirt factory, but I will have my own room there and take meals with the rest of the household staff, which will be a great relief, since food is so expensive here in the city, and also, the conditions at the tenement building on Orchard Street were becoming quite dire, with typhus and cholera affecting our neighbors there.
My friend Maggy is the one who gave me a letter of recommendation to Mr. Kaufmann. Maggy took a job in Geneva working in the rectory at Our Lady of Peace church a few months ago, and I had missed her sorely.
Finally, I was so alarmed by your last letter with the news about Lady Delia. I hope you know and believe that I had nothing to do with her demise, or with the thefts the Rossingtons have accused me of. I can tell you that she must have died at the hands of her own wicked family. That night when she was killed, I heard Lady Fiona, Teddy, and David arguing with Lady Delia. I heard a scream, and then I ran, as fast as I could, from the house to the stables, where Lady Delia told me Mr. Donovan was to take me to the ship to come to America.
The items they accuse me of stealing were all given to me by Lady Delia, who assured me that they were, by all rights, something I was entitled to. It was Lady Delia who arranged for my passage to the States, who gave me money for the trip, and a referral to the priest in New York City who helped me after I arrived. I am so sorry for any shame or blame that has been placed upon you by the Rossingtons. The pin that I gave you, the one you asked about, was given to me by Lady Delia, because it had belonged to her father, and she did not want her nephews to inherit it. It’s probably wise not to let folks know you have it, only because of the hateful rumors you say are going round about me.
As for the painting, Lady Delia assured me that it should rightfully belong to me, because somehow, I am kin to Lady Geraldine. I told her that I didn’t understand how that could be, but she vowed that it was true, and that I should never question that.
I swear, on our dear mother’s grave, that I am neither a thief, nor a murderer. Someday, I hope to understand whatever secrets Mumkept from us. But in the meantime, dear Tommy, I hope that your respect and belief in me will never waver.
With love, K
Therese added theletter to the stack she’d already read. Her eyes burned from the strain of trying to decipher the faded, blurry writing, but her mind was racing with the possibility of what that last letter from Kathleen could mean. On one hand, she had proof that Lady Geraldine’s portrait had definitely come from Tarrymore, brought over to the States when Kathleen immigrated.
But the letter raised as many questions as it answered. Why had Lady Delia Rossington decided Kathleen should have that painting? And why ship her off to America with it? And also, how had the IRA gunmen managed to steal a painting from Tarrymore that had vanished almost fifty years earlier? Had Lady Geraldine’s portrait been among the ones recovered by the authorities after the bungled robbery?
Therese stood up, stretched, and reached for her purse. She was hungry and she knew just where to get some dinner, and hopefully, some answers.
It was aslow night at the Willow Tree. No pool players were present, but she found Esme at the same table where she’d encountered her the night before. Her billiards buddy sat nearby, at the bar, nursing a pint.
Tonight Esme was dressed in a maroon-and-navy-striped rugby shirt and baggy jeans. Her wild mane of silver hair was held back from her face with childish red plastic barrettes. Sinead O’Cocker was perched on her chair and she gave a short bark of recognition when Therese arrived at the table.
Esme was smoking a cigarette and studying a folded pamphlet of some sort. A half-empty pint of beer sat on the tabletop, along with a sodden paper plate of chips and the crusts of a sandwich.
“Mind if I join you?” Therese sank down into the other vacant chair at the table without waiting for permission.
Ignoring the question, Esme picked up a chip and tossed it to Sinead, who caught it in midair. She addressed the dog. “The American girl again.”
“Exactly.” Therese pointed at the pamphlet. “What’s that?”
“Racing form.”
A server materialized at the table and Therese ordered the ploughman’s special and a Guinness.
“I bet you know a lot about horses. Is there a track near here? I’ve never been to a horse race.”
“Leopardstown Racecourse isn’t so far away,” Esme said.
“Maybe I’ll talk my sister into going. Although Maeve isn’t much of a gambler.”
“And you?”
“I definitely enjoy a game of chance. I’ve played craps and blackjack at the tables in Atlantic City, up north, but casinos aren’t legal in Georgia where I live. There are a few Indian gaming parlors in Florida, Mississippi, and Louisiana though. Of course, Las Vegas is the biggest gambling mecca in the US. Have you ever been?”
Esme made a sour face. “I don’t care for crowds. I don’t like travel and I really don’t care for crowds of Americans.”
