Daughters of Fortune: A Novel (18 page)

For some reason, she sensed that what she had found was significant. She hesitated, wondering if her mam would have approved of her going through her personal correspondence. But now she’d started this, she couldn’t let it go. Feeling a little guilty, she picked up the first letter for closer inspection. It simply had her mother’s name typed on the front, with no postage.

She opened the envelope: there was a letter inside. The paper was cream and stiff, good quality like the envelope. It took her a second to realize that the letter was on embossed Melville-headed paper. Caitlin quickly skimmed the words: it was a letter from the head of personnel at the company, terminating her mother’s employment. A check was fastened to it with a paper clip–made out for one thousand English pounds—never cashed.

What did it mean? Caitlin wondered. Her mother hadn’t said much at the end about what had happened between her and William. She’d simply said he’d ended it with her, before she’d known that she was pregnant. But had her mam been sacked as well? With her heart beating faster, Caitlin opened the second envelope; again, there was no address. And again, there was the same formal covering letter, referencing the check
as per our termination agreement
. This time, the attached
check was made out for five thousand pounds. Caitlin was about to put the letter back when something caught her eye. The date on the check: June 3, 1975. It was her birthday. It took her a moment to process the significance. It couldn’t be a coincidence, surely—which could only mean one thing: William had known about her all along.

The rest of the envelopes were addressed and posted to Ireland—first to her grandparents’ house, and then forwarded on to the cottage in Valleymount. Caitlin went through each one. They all contained the same thing—a brief covering letter, and then a check dated each year on her birthday. The value increased by 5 percent each year, but other than that, no detail changed.

It was a while before Caitlin finally felt able to pull herself together. She put everything carefully back into the trunk and closed and locked it. Then she went to the wardrobe, took out a backpack, and began to stuff clothes inside. It was clear now what she needed to do—she had to get away from the Melvilles and their world. Leaving here, starting over, was the only way to put this behind her.

Tonight, she promised herself. She just needed to get through tonight and then everything would be fine.

“We missed you this afternoon.”

Elizabeth hurried down the stairs toward Caitlin, Amber trailing behind her. The three of them were on their way to the drawing room for pre-dinner drinks.

“We got a huge tree,” she said, falling into step with her half sister. When Caitlin didn’t say anything, she continued, “And then we spent the afternoon decorating it.”

Caitlin still didn’t speak.

“So—what did you get up to?”

Caitlin looked blank. “When?”

“This afternoon, while we were out.”

Caitlin shrugged. “Nothing much.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Well, you should have come along,” she finished lamely.

“Yes, Caitlin, you should have come along,” Amber piped up. She slipped her hand into Caitlin’s. Elizabeth noticed and smiled to herself. At the start of the holiday she’d instructed her to start being nicer to Caitlin. “Why?” she’d asked.

“Because maybe I was wrong about her,” Elizabeth had answered honestly. “She’s not that bad after all.” That had been good enough for Amber.

Now, as the three girls walked toward the drawing room, Amber began to tell Caitlin about the lead role she was sure she was going to get in the spring-term ballet. “Sienna’s telling everyone that Miss Abbot promised to pick her, but I’m a much better dancer.”

As Amber chattered on, Elizabeth darted a glance at Caitlin. The other girl looked dreadful: tired and pale. In fact, she looked almost as haggard as when she’d first arrived at Aldringham. Elizabeth was worried. She could see Caitlin was desperately unhappy, and she was the only person who knew why. But she didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

Caitlin had asked that she respect her privacy, and Elizabeth had tried to do that. She’d thought long and hard about whether it was wrong not to report what had happened. But that was Caitlin’s wish, and Elizabeth wasn’t the type to betray a confidence. She’d done what she could to help—insisting on driving Caitlin to an anonymous clinic in the next town to go through the barrage of pregnancy and STD tests, waiting for her while she was in there, and then taking her back for the results—fortunately so far negative. She’d found out from George about any assignments Caitlin had due before the end of the semester, then completed them herself—something she didn’t even think her half sister was aware of.

But, apart from those practical gestures, she hadn’t really known what else to do. So far, all her overtures at friendship had been rebuffed. In some ways, she couldn’t blame Caitlin. She’d done nothing to make her feel welcome when she’d first arrived at Aldringham. Looking back, she hadn’t stopped to consider how miserable and disorientated Caitlin must have been feeling. So she could hardly be surprised now, when Caitlin didn’t want anything to do with her. But Elizabeth wasn’t going to let that put her off. She’d made the mistake of giving up too easily last time; she wasn’t going to do that again. She just worried that, whatever she did now, it was too little too late: Caitlin was already too damaged to care.

The evening felt interminable to Caitlin. With two days to go until Christmas, Rosalind and Piers had come down to Aldringham. That
meant sitting through an even longer than normal five-course meal in the vaulted dining room. Afterward, everyone took their coffee to the drawing room, where “the girls,” as Rosalind referred to them, were given the job of arranging the presents under the tree.

“Oh, and you, too, Caitlin,” she said, as an afterthought.

Before, those little digs had hurt. But now Caitlin could brush them off, knowing that after tonight she wouldn’t ever have to hear them again.

By ten, she could stand it no longer and excused herself, saying she felt as if she was coming down with the flu. Isabelle was the only one to make any fuss, following Caitlin upstairs with some Tylenol and a glass of water. She seemed reluctant to go, so in the end Caitlin feigned sleep, and her stepmother eventually left.

After she had gone, Caitlin opened her eyes. She couldn’t risk nodding off. Instead, she lay in the dark, waiting for the house to fall silent. Unfortunately it was impossible to judge in a place as vast as Aldringham, so she watched the clock by her bed, the illuminated digits moving from midnight to one, then two . . .

By half-past two she decided she must be safe. She pulled on jeans, a sweater, and sneakers, grabbed her backpack, and took one last look around her room. Then, her heart beating hard from a mix of fear and adrenaline, she opened the bedroom door as quietly as she could and started down the corridor.

It was impossible to make it to the front door in total silence. However lightly she trod, the ancient floorboards squeaked, the doors creaked. She only hoped that anyone waking would assume they were just the usual noises from the old house and not come to investigate. Walking through the long corridors in the dark, even she had jumped once or twice, feeling as though she wasn’t alone, hearing something that could have been another person or just the wind rattling a window.

However, she made it to the ground floor, then through the front door and out toward the electric gate without any problem. She had memorized the code when Perkins brought them home from Greycourt and now quickly entered it, praying it hadn’t been changed. As the gate opened soundlessly, she felt a rush of relief.

It was a ten-mile walk to the station. A cold, dark walk, along winding country lanes. More than once Caitlin had to dodge into a bush to
avoid a car racing back from a Christmas party. She couldn’t risk being caught. She was banking on no one missing her until mid-morning at least. That way, she’d have a good head start.

She finally got to the station just as the cold winter sun was coming up. She found the waiting room and huddled in the corner, as far from the draughty door as possible, trying to warm up.

The ticket office opened just before the first train was due. She had a couple of hundred pounds, taken yesterday from Isabelle’s dressing table. Caitlin O’Dwyer: stealing and running away. Who would have believed it? She’d thought the money was a fortune. But five minutes later, most of it was gone, spent on the last-minute fare.

The man at the counter gave her a curious stare as she walked toward the platform. A young girl on her own, buying a single ticket to London on Christmas Eve . . . As soon as she was out of earshot, he picked up the phone.

When Caitlin stepped off the train at Paddington, she saw them. Three policemen guarding the barrier, two burly men in dark suits with them, scanning faces in the crowd. She knew instinctively they were there for her. She glanced around, looking for an escape route. For a second she thought about getting back on the train, but the disembarking passengers surged forward, carrying her along with them. There was nothing else to do—she would have to try to sneak by. She fell in behind a large, noisy family and tried to blend in.

She walked confidently toward the exit. When one of the policemen met her eye, she stared defiantly back, as though she had nothing to hide. But the ploy, clever as it was, didn’t work. A hand came over and rested on her shoulder, and someone said, “Would you mind coming this way, miss?” Caitlin looked on enviously as the large, happy family continued their journey without her.

The two burly men turned out to be associates of William’s, sent to bring her home. Not a word was exchanged on the way back to Aldringham. It was early evening by the time they arrived. William was waiting for her alone.

In the study, he began the lecture he’d obviously been preparing all afternoon. What had she been thinking? The danger to herself, the worry to him and the rest of the family. Caitlin listened sullenly as he talked.

William caught her blank, angry face and despaired. Sullen—Caitlin? It was a word he would never have expected to associate with her. What had happened to the sweet, quiet girl whom he had first met six months earlier? What had made her this way?

“Don’t you understand the danger you put yourself in?” he demanded. “What on earth was going through your head?”

Again, she didn’t answer.

William felt his frustration mount. Anything could have happened to her, out there alone. If Isabelle hadn’t gone in early this morning to check on her . . . if the man at the station hadn’t called the police . . . She was supposed to be his responsibility. And he needed to make damn certain something like this didn’t happen again.

“I’m not sure how well I’m getting through to you,” he said finally. “So let me make one thing clear.” He leaned across the desk, his face suddenly hard, his voice low and uncompromising. “You can run away as many times as you want, but I promise you that I will keep bringing you back. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do, I
will
find you. Until you turn eighteen, you stay under my roof. Do you understand?” When she didn’t respond, he repeated the question again. “I said, do you understand?”

Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet his. “Yes. I understand.”

He looked into her eyes. There was resentment there, but resignation, too.

He waited a beat before continuing. “Good,” he said. “Now,” he allowed his tone to soften a little, “is there anything else you want to talk about? Perhaps if you tell me why you’re so unhappy, I can help you.”

He’d been hoping that this might be the moment his clearly troubled daughter would open up to him. But instead she shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just tired. I think I’d like to go to bed, if that’s okay.”

Caitlin could tell he was disappointed, but she didn’t care. She owed him nothing. She was almost tempted to tell him how she felt—that he had abandoned her mother when she needed him most and that he needn’t pretend to care about her now. Except there was no point. Once William had made up his mind about something, there was no changing it. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a plan to get out of here on her own terms.

As she walked back upstairs to her bedroom, her head felt clearer than it had for weeks. She didn’t belong here, but if William wasn’t going to let her go, then she would have to stay—at least for the next couple of years. But he’d said it himself. Once she was eighteen, once she was old enough to look after herself, she would walk away from the Melvilles. It was that thought, of one day escaping, that would get her through.

_________

“Steer clear of Belleville,” the other girls at the hostel warned Caitlin. They were very clear on the subject. Belleville was the part of Paris to be avoided. It was rough, tough, dirty, and dangerous. It was a Gallic Harlem.

It was also all she could afford.

The agent made that plain when Caitlin told him her budget. Maybe she did want a place in St. Germain or the Marais. Who didn’t? But Belleville was all he could offer her.

An hour later, standing outside the address he’d scrawled down, Caitlin could see why she was getting it cheap. Hidden within the maze of narrow, cobblestoned streets off Boulevard de la Villette, Place Ste. Marthe was made up of two rows of faded turn-of-the-century townhouses. It might have been quaint, except most of the buildings were either boarded up or covered in graffiti.

Inside wasn’t much better. Five flights of narrow stairs led Caitlin up to the top floor. The agent had optimistically described the tiny attic as
bijou
. It was one small room crammed with a broken sofabed, a two-burner stove, and an elderly fridge. The bathroom smelled of mildew, and there was a ring of grime around the claw-footed tub. Caitlin couldn’t help thinking of William’s sumptuous penthouse on the exclusive Rue St. Honoré. She could be living there in luxury.