Page 2 of Road Trip
Now Delia proceeded with her teenage protégé to the wide set of polished mahogany double doors, pushing through without hesitation.
It was, as might be expected, a stunning room. Fiona never spared expense when it came to her own comforts. “Come now,” Delia said, stepping around the canopied bed and moving into Fiona’s dressing room.
She went directly to the dressing table, which was cluttered with cut-glass bottles and silver-handled brushes and combs and the litter of face paints and powders Fiona affected.
A large carved wooden casket with silver fittings sat in the center of the table. She raised the lid and clicked her tongue. “Ahh. Here’s what we’re after.” From the velvet-lined case she lifted out a fine gold bracelet encrusted with tiny diamonds and tossed it into her satchel. Next came a brooch—a large, cushion-cut sapphire in a round shape with a border of pearls—and then a pair of pearl drop earrings. She rifled around in the box and shook her head in annoyance.
“She’s worn the necklace to that party, it seems, which is too bad. It’s mine by rights, and any day now that no-good Teddy will have it dangling from the neck of that cow he’s married, but there’s nothing to be done about that now.”
Delia plucked a gold stickpin from the jewel box and held it briefly to her chest. “This was Edward’s and our father’s before him, and our grandfather’s before him.” She tapped the delicately wrought design on the head of the pin. “That’s the Rossington family crest. I’ll not have those boys swanning around with it, I promise you that. So it’s yours now, Kathleen. God willing, maybe you’ll have a son someday, and you’ll tell him the story of how all this came to be.”
“Mine?” Kathleen said. “How can any of this be mine?”
“I’ll explain later,” Delia said. She dropped the stickpin into the bag with the rest of the jewelry, then began opening the drawers of the dressing table. In the bottom drawer, she found a thick wad of pound notes.
“Here we are,” she said as she counted the money. “This will set you up once you get where you’re going.”
Kathleen’s face paled. “Going? Where would I be going?”
“To America,” Delia said. “With me being sent off, it’s no longer safe here for you.”
“America?” The word came out as a cross between a whisper or a whimper, or maybe both. “But… how?”
“Donovan will take you to Mr. Finney’s shop. He knows what we’re about, and he’ll get you to the port. He’s been paid already, and your ship’s passage is paid too. So don’t give him any of that money. There’s a little secret compartment in the bottom of this case. You’re to hide the jewelry and money there, until you get to America.”
Delia grabbed Kathleen by both hands. She was a petite woman, and the top of her head, with its auburn hair gone silver now, only reached Kathleen’s shoulders. Her blue eyes glinted with steel. “This is important now, my girl, so listen carefully. There’s a letter in this case. When you get to New York, you’ll go to St. Mary’s Church, askfor Father McInerney. Give him that letter. Have you got that? Say it back to me now.”
“New York? St. Mary’s? Father McInerney?” Kathleen’s face mirrored the worry and grief she was experiencing.
“Clever girl.” Delia patted her hand before releasing it. “Catholic or not, you’re a Rossington, and there’s no denying that. Come along now.”
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 downthe 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…”
