Daughter of Australia (21 page)

James winced under the sting of words, of water on open flesh.

“Feel good to you, eh?” she asked. “Taking your fist to somebody's face? Getting your own smashed in? Drown yourself in drink. Makes it all better then, eh?”

James looked at her with his one bloated eye, then lowered it.

“You're better than this, James.” She sank the cloth back into the water, the blood clouding it pink. “I'd expect this from my boys. Not from you. Your mother be turnin' over in her grave.”

He pulled his face away. “Tess wasn't my mother.”

“I know.” She paused. “I was talkin' about your real mother.”

“How'd you know?”

“Any blind fool could tell!” she fumed. “You're about as different from Shamus in feature an' temperament as a man could be!”

She picked up the cloth again. “I got to know your auntie pretty well. Knew Tess was sick 'fore Shamus did. She told me you weren't their son by birth, how they adopted you.”

His face loosened, his body grew limp, the weight of whiskey heavy against his thoughts.

“That woman loved you, James.” Her voice faltered. “It'd be torture for her to see what you did to yourself—what Shamus did to you.”

“She's dead because of me.” A cracked rib stabbed his lung; he didn't flinch.

“That's a lie! Tess had cancer, James! All over her insides, you hear me? She had six miscarriages because of it. You were the only thing that kept that woman alive as long as she was. You! She knew she was dyin'—knew she was dyin' before she left Ireland. Said you were the only thing that kept her fightin' for life each day. You!”

Mrs. Shelby took his battered face roughly in her fingers. “You listen to me, James, an' you listen good. You have a choice in this life. You can let the anger an' the grief eat your insides out. You can drink that anger till it poisons everybody around you. That's what Shamus done. He's a damn coward, James!”

Her hand turned gentle and her eyes glistened, but she spoke firmly. “You got choices, James. What are you gonna bring to this world . . . peace or suffering?”

She wrung out the cloth in the pan, the water dark red now. “Go on to bed.”

James hobbled to the library, collapsed onto the couch. Breathing came from the room's corner and he turned to see Charlotte, sobbing. “Why'd they hurt you, Jamesie?” she asked, her chin wrinkled as an old apple.

The tears stomped his heart. “I was an idiot, Charlotte. Nobody's fault but my own.”

The little girl frowned so greatly that her whole face pulled down. “I got scaret when I saw you. Real scaret. Thought you was dead.”

Shame lit through him like a match and he looked down at his torn, bloodied hands and he saw the choice, saw it clear and bold, felt it down to his marrow.

John and Will entered the room and turned the girl by the shoulders. “Off to bed, little one.” Charlotte nodded and left.

“Mum alone?” asked Will. James nodded and the boys squared their shoulders and went to the kitchen.

James lay on the sofa in the dark, his head pulsing with words and pain. Voices wafted from the kitchen, too muffled to discern. John spoke mostly, Will on occasion. Mrs. Shelby's voice lay mute.

By and by, the chairs scratched the floor. The kitchen door opened. John and Will's footsteps climbed the hall to their room, dull and burdened. The house grew still for a long while. Finally, another chair scratched, followed by the sound of soft shoes on carpet. The lamps in the hallway wound low, turned off. The hinge to the front door squeaked, and through the library window James saw Mrs. Shelby step out onto the moonlit verandah. With her back turned, the woman leaned against the railing, her large weight sinking to her palms. Her head tilted and rested on the porch beam. Her hands clasped her mouth. Below her burning hair, a neck bent and wide shoulders crumpled.

“H
ow long will we be gone?” Leonora broke the silence of the car ride, tried not to let her missing of Pittsburgh taint her pitch. She couldn't stop thinking about the hospital and the soldiers left behind; the way the nurses had rolled their eyes and turned their backs to her, another wealthy volunteer leaving her duties at the wink of a boyfriend. They didn't know she hadn't had a choice.

“Just until your uncle gets this draft nonsense resolved.” Alex's face darkened, spawned a new quiet between them.

A few moments later, Leonora leaned forward, perked at the changing landscape. New York City loomed in the window of the Rolls-Royce.

Alex inspected himself in the side mirror, straighened his tie.

The driver parked in the arch of a towering limestone hotel, the sloped awning licking the air like a metal tongue. Alex nodded to the doorman while young men with buttoned coats and strapped caps bustled for their luggage. Alex led her through the lobby by the elbow, passed under a chandelier as large as a sparkling pond, then up the sweeping stairs. “You've been here before,” she noted, surprised.

“A few times.” He winked and escorted her to a thickly engraved door. “Your suite, Miss Fairfield.”

The room contrasted perfectly in color and texture: dark wood and gleaming white marble; stone and silk; pillows and tiles. Every angle and corner filled with three-foot vases of roses, birds-of-paradise, cannas and jasmine—the smell of which left her light-headed. Gossamer panels hung from the bed's tester, and so many pillows lined the bed that only a foot of comforter showed at the base. The shuttered windows were open, revealing the balcony with more silk curtains blowing gently into the room.

“Do you like it?” Alex asked.

“I don't think I've ever seen anything so lovely.”

“We'll see about that.” He pulled a black velvet box from his jacket.

“What's this?”

“Open it.”

She opened the box to find two diamond-studded earrings. She touched her throat. “You shouldn't have, Alex.”

“Call it a thank-you. For coming away with me.”

“It's a very expensive thank-you.”

He kissed her cheek, looked at her intently. “I'm glad you're here.”

She smiled and kissed him back, her eyes sparkling. “Me too.” And she was. He was handsome again, kind. The conversations about the hospital and the motives around the whirlwind trip faded into the softness of his eyes and she couldn't remember why she had been so angry with him.

He led her to the bed. “It's been a long trip. Why don't you rest a bit and we'll meet up later.” He pointed to the silver tray on the nightstand. “There's fruit and rolls. Champagne.”

“Where are you going?”

He smiled at the disappointment in her voice. “Business, darling. I've got a lot of people to connect with.” He popped a strawberry in his mouth. “A few friends are going to meet us for dinner. They're all anxious to meet you.”

Alex bent his neck and kissed her, found her lips willing. He stirred closer, held her hips in his palms before releasing her quickly. “I better leave now or I won't be leaving at all.” He sighed, then kissed her forehead. “Get some rest, darling,” he directed, and left the room.

Leonora leaned back on the pillows, the softness of his lips still fresh as she closed her eyes. The noise of the city rode on a breeze, filtered through the gossamer. The scents of the flowers mellowed to a warm cologne, and somewhere between her massaged senses she fell asleep before she even knew she was tired.

 

The breeze tickled her cheek, moved down her neck, smelled of drink. She opened her eyes to find Alex kissing her throat and jumped.

“Sorry if I scared you. I knocked. I swear,” he said innocently.

She smiled nervously, bluntly aware of his body lying on the bed next to her, then looked over his shoulder at the night sky. “What time is it?”

“Eight o'clock. I'd have let you sleep, but everyone's waiting downstairs.”

Leonora hurried off the bed and opened the closet. “It'll just take me a minute to change.”

Alex leaned back on the bed and watched her languidly. “Take as long as you want.”

Playfully, she pulled him by the hands to his feet. “In private. Now, go!”

After she dressed, they strolled outside under a full moon to the sweeping stone patio. Arborvitaes lined the edges, their sculpted green points shielding the space from the frenzied lights of the city. Ragtime hummed from an invisible source, its syncopation making the very breeze dance. Laughter, high and shrill, echoed from a long, rectangular table. Cigarette smoke drifted and fogged the stars. Empty bottles of wine were collected by the waiters and new ones uncorked. Chatter rippled, flowed over the slate.

“Finally!” One of the men stood from the table, a cigarette dangling precariously from his mouth. “We started to think you'd forgotten about us!” he said with a smooth British accent melted down with drink.

Alex's manner shifted instantly, loosened like he had traded hard shoes for slippers, and his eyes turned mischievous. “This, my dear, is Edward Warton.”

“And you must be Leonora.” Edward lifted her hand and kissed it with an air of familiarity. “You're as lovely as Alex described.” Suddenly, he pulled her against him. “Why don't you take the seat next to me and we'll see if I can't change your favor in beaus.”

“Not likely,” said Alex as he rescued with one arm and with the other wrestled his friend in a headlock. Leonora tensed under their game.

“Boys!” A woman from the table clapped her hands and scolded, “Don't be greedy with our guest!”

Alex let go of Edward and whacked him on the back, brought Leonora to the table for introductions. “Leonora, this is Molly Brighton, of Brighton teas no less.” The woman rose grandly, her face almost shielded by the tilted, oval-rimmed hat. In one hand hung a cigarette in a black holder that nearly reached to her elbow, in the other a martini glass with drunk olives, a smile of red lipstick stained on its rim.

“Why must you always introduce me that way! It's my father's affair, not mine. I'm not exactly a tea toddler, you know.”

“Quite clearly!” Edward chimed. Molly elbowed him flirtatiously. Her dress dipped down, showing the deep crease of her bosom. She was not beautiful in feature, but quite astonishing in figure and manner. It was hard not to stare.

“And this is Margaret and Robert Farthington.” The middle-aged couple, tighter in face, rose from the end of the table. “Robert runs a diamond plant in Arkansas,” explained Alex.

“I see you're acquainted with our stock.” Mr. Farthington winked.

Leonora touched the studs in her ears. “They're beautiful.” “Then we have the brothers, Ralph and Ronald Hancock. The laziest, wealthiest bastards in New York. What does your family do anyway?” Alex asked, amused.

“White slavery. Opium. Sex. The usual affair,” answered Ralph with a straight face until the table snickered.

Leonora inched closer to Alex and smiled wanly. Every exchange seemed like a carried-over joke that went over her head. Alex pulled out her chair and everyone sat.

Ralph searched the room and his brother's gaze followed narrowly. They were good-looking men, tan and lean, but their faces looked in a permanent state of contempt even when laughing. Ralph snapped his fingers at one of the waiters along the wall. “I'm fuckin' starving.”

Molly tapped her ashes into a silver tray, blew a trail of smoke out the side of her mouth. “Have another drink, darling,” she consoled Ralph, then turned languid eyes to Alex, tilting her head. “It's so nice having our Alex back. We've missed you, darling.”

Leonora's stomach turned uneasy, but Alex seemed unaffected as he leaned smoothly into his chair.

“And how long will we have the pleasure of you in New York?” Molly glanced at Leonora. “Both of you.”

Alex took a sip of wine, irritated. “Depends on the blasted draft.”

“Horrid thing, the draft!” Mr. Farthington chimed, his wife nodding dumbly. “Picking men from numbers! Lining them up side by side as if one were equal to the next.”

Molly leaned her head back, cackled. “A table of cowards! Amen.” She sucked on her cigarette.

“Hardly!” Mr. Farthington blustered. “Someone's got to watch out for the economy. If we all spill our blood, what's the use of fighting?”

“Cheers.” Ralph and Ronald raised their glasses.

Edward leaned in, his beak nose flaring at the side with amusement. “Talk all you want of drafts and blood, but we're all prospering from this war and let no man, or woman, deny it.”

Molly raised her glass for a toast. “To war!”

Leonora stifled a cough with her handkerchief. The tobacco smoke made her eyes water and her throat itch. With every sentence uttered, she felt more and more the uninvited guest. Alex seemed aloof, so engaged in drink and banter that he nearly waved her off with the smoke.

Alex ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed his finger along the edge of his glass. “Soon as I get the word that all this draft nonsense is cleared up, I'm heading back. No offense to my dear friends, of course.”

“None taken!” Mr. Farthington laughed. “I've been wondering, though. Why did Owen let you out of India? You're his best manager.”

Edward snickered and winked at Leonora. “I'm sure there are more important partnerships in the pipeline.” Alex and Edward exchanged grins. “Where is the tiger anyway?”

“Tiger?” Leonora asked.

Alex laughed. “The white tiger—your uncle.” Then, addressing the group, “He's in Harrisburg pulling the strings.”

Leonora turned to him, confused. “I thought he was going to meet us here in the city?”

“He will, dear.” Alex tapped her knee. “The good man wanted to give us a night to settle in first, give us a chance to be alone.” Alex's gaze rested on her lips. “Nice of him, eh?”

“Kind of chaperone every man dreams of.” Edward licked his lips, the comment sending a cold draft up her dress.

Waiters lined to the table and began laying out a spread of bread, beef tenderloin, gravy, potatoes and Yorkshire pudding. “Makes it hardly seem there's a war on, eh?” Edward flapped his napkin, draped it across his lap.

“Here's to the poor saps in the trenches!” toasted Ralph.

“May their stupidity bring us glory and wealth!” chimed his brother.

The table erupted in laughter. Leonora dropped her mouth, scanned each guest. “That's horrible.” Her words rose above the noise of the table. All chatter ceased with the tone.

Alex cleared his throat and smiled to his friends. The top part of his jaw clicked. “It was a joke, darling.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, hid his lips in her hair. “Just shut up and eat.”

They were all strangers, especially Alex, and Leonora wanted to be alone, wanted to be back in that room where everything seemed beautiful and he had been kind, a place where no ugly words had been spoken. She stood to go. “Excuse me.”

Alex grabbed her wrist. “Where are you going?”

It was Molly who spoke. “Oh, I'm afraid we've offended dear Leonora with our callousness!” She scanned the table with mock reprimand. “Watch your manners, children. Please sit, Leonora. We were just having a bit of fun. We'll behave better now; I promise.”

Leonora sat down. The waiter held the tenderloin in front of her, knife ready. “No, thank you.” Alex looked at her coldly but kept quiet.

Molly ignored the plate before her, seemed to feast on the sudden change in mood. “I like her,” she announced. The woman's lips rose pointedly to one side. “Much sweeter than the others. Prettier, too.”

Alex stopped chewing and glared at Molly, wiped his lips with his napkin.

“So, Leonora,” said Molly, leaning in. “You must share your secret. How did you tame the wild Mr. Harrington?”

“That's enough, Molly,” Alex warned, no longer smiling.

She ignored him and moved in closer, confidentially. “You are familiar with his reputation, I'm sure.”

Alex stood then. “Ralph, take Molly home. She's had one too many.”

Ralph took her by the shoulders. “Come on; we'll get you a cup of your dad's tea.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” Molly shooed his hands away. “I'm simply trying to get to know this lovely lady. Besides, I'm sure she'd like to hear some stories of our friend.”

Alex dropped his napkin. “That's enough.” His anger was palpable and a nervous shuffling took place. He moved to Molly and with a few other men, despite her protests, escorted her out.

Mrs. Farthington shot a look back at them, swayed against her husband's shoulder. “I do believe Molly is jealous.” She breathed in her husband's ear and he turned away disgusted. “She's always had a bit of a crush on Alex, hasn't she?”

The men came back soon with Molly nowhere in sight. Conversations and laughter started again, but Alex was distracted, his face dark. He ignored Leonora completely, not even pulling out her chair when the meal ended.

Alex walked her up to the room, did not speak. At the door, he turned. “Don't ever do that again. Do you hear me?” His lips were thin with anger.

Her heart pounded. “Do what?”

“Embarrass me like that.”

“I wasn't trying to—”

He stepped forward until she retreated against the door handle. He spoke each word with measured threat, his top lip twitching, “Don't make me look the fool, Leonora. Ever.”