Page 33 of Road Trip
He bowed from the waist, doffing his cap to reveal a head of unruly black curls. “Joe Riley, at your service.”
Dolly had stopped crying as suddenly as she’d started and now placed her thumb in her mouth and regarded the man with open curiosity.
“I’m Maggy Perkins, and this here is Dorothy, called Dolly.”
Riley turned to Kathleen. “And who might you be, miss?”
Kathleen looked away, watching as the others began trooping toward the gangway to exit the barge. “We’d better go,” she said, ignoring the question.
“Not very friendly, is she?” Riley asked Maggy, who gave an apologetic shrug before she followed Kathleen’s lead.
“He’s not here,”Maggy concluded, blinking back tears. They’d trekked the length of the pier, and as the crowd dwindled and the sky began to darken, her desperation grew.
“We shouldn’t have come,” she said. “Davey, he means well, but sometimes he makes big promises…” Her voice trailed off and sheshifted her sleeping daughter in her arms. “What do I do now? I can’t go back. I just can’t.”
“You’ll come with me,” Kathleen said impulsively. She produced the slip of paper with the name of the church and the priest she’d been referred to by Lady Delia. “A priest can’t turn away a mother and child alone in a strange land.”
“But what if…?”
“Hush,” Kathleen said. A policeman in a splendid blue uniform stood on the street corner, where he’d been directing traffic. She marched over, planted her feet, and addressed him.
“Excuse me, Officer, but my friend and I just arrived here from Ireland.” She showed him the slip of paper. “Can you tell me, please, how we can get to this church?”
“Have you tried prayin’?” The policeman’s brogue was unmistakable, and he punctuated the question with a playful wink.
Kathleen sighed. She was in no mood. “Please? We’ve come a long way, and it’s getting late, and my friend has a little girl.”
“Have you money for a taxicab?”
She nodded.
Without another word, the cop stepped off the curb, put a brass whistle to his lips, and blew. Moments later, a cab glided up to the curb. The officer opened the passenger door, leaned inside, and said something to the driver, who nodded his understanding.
Kathleen hesitated. She’d never been in a taxi. “How do I pay?”
“You don’t,” the cop said, gesturing for her to get in. “It’s been taken care of by the Sons of Ireland Benevolent Society. Off with you now.”
CHAPTER 15
“Where are we headed?” Therese asked, after they’d cleared customs, claimed their baggage, and were in the rental car about to leave the Dublin airport.
“Did you even look at the itinerary I gave you last week?” Maeve asked, not bothering to tamp down her annoyance.
“Could you just refresh my memory and spare me the lecture?”
Maeve clipped her cell phone to an air vent on the dashboard. She’d already typed in the address for their destination. A woman’s voice with a slight British accent directed her to something called the ring road, and she tried to quell her nervousness about driving on the wrong side of the road.
“First, we head to Wicklow, where Kathleen was born, in a village called Tarrymore. We’re booked into an inn on the Tarrymore House property for the week,” Maeve said.
“Tarrymore is the manor house the portrait came from?”
“Supposedly. I tried to email Lady Esme Rossington—her family is the one who actually deeded Tarrymore over to the National Trust, and I think they have something to do with the inn.”
Therese’s interest was instantly piqued. “So, they’re the family we’re related to? Why would they just give away a castle like that?”
“We don’t actually know that we’re related to them,” Maeve reminded her. “My guess? Estate taxes. A house that size, thirty-eightthousand square feet, on twelve thousand acres, must be a huge tax burden. And realistically, it probably costs a fortune to maintain and staff it. Who needs a house with seventeen bedrooms, a banquet hall, ballroom, gun room, and a billiards room?”
“So, Lady Rossington, did she agree to meet with us? To talk about our portrait?”
