Page 24 of The Irish Gypsy

After a week's rest in London, Kitty was launched into a whirlwind of social activities that dispelled forever her fear about being accepted. They were immediately deluged with invitations by those who were vying for a return invitation to the Duke and Duchess of Manchester's. Charles couldn't resist showing off his son for all their visitors. Kitty allowed him to show off his new son because it gave him obvious pleasure and pride.

The first thing Kitty had done on her return was to make sure Terry took their grandfather to her estate in Ireland. After that, every moment was taken up with fittings for new clothes, making the rounds of the shops for new pieces for the house, and entertaining Charles' friends.

They went to the ballet, the opera and the theaters. Kitty began to enjoy herself. At first she had been nervous of society, but Charles encouraged her to be herself and she bloomed under his encouragement. She didn't affect any airs, but spoke to any and all with her natural exuberance. Charles chuckled to himself when he heard two of his friends discussing her at a party.

"Remember this: The bluer the blood, the bluer the language, I say. The girl's descended from royalty--wrong side of the blanket, of course."

Sometimes Charles accompanied her shopping and she became very familiar with Hatton Garden off Bond Street. It was a dark shop with a room behind where they kept their stock of diamonds, and the tellers in Coutts' Bank knew her on sight.

Men were very attracted to Kitty, but soon she acquired a witty repartee that kept them in their place. However, there were one or two ready to step over the line the moment she gave them the slightest encouragement. At buffet suppers, they rushed to help her select the tastiest dishes.

"Do try some of the cucumber salad, my dear,"

said Lord Macklesfield, standing much closer than he needed to.

She fixed him with a direct look and answered.

"A cucumber should be well sliced, dressed with pepper and vinegar and thrown away."

"Touché, my dear,"

he said with an appreciative twinkle.

"You can't blame a chap for trying!"

Granville, a rather small man, overheard them and cautioned Lord Macklesfield.

"Patience is bitter, but it bears sweet fruit."

Kitty winked at Lord Macklesfield and said.

"Never listen to a man with short legs--brains too near his bottom."

"I won't tangle with you, your Grace; your tongue has a decidedly sharp edge to it,"

he said and laughed.

The Duke of Portland, whose job it was to engage all the royal footmen, saw Kitty coming toward him. He turned to Lady Chatham and said.

"Here comes an angel, and by God I'd like to clip her wings. I do believe she fancies me, you know. She always singles me out for a compliment or two."

Kitty gave him a dazzling smile.

"How do you do it?"

she asked sweetly.

"Do what, my dear?"

he bridled.

"Delude yourself practically every day of your life."

Lady Chatham hooted with laughter.

"You're incorrigible! Come, let's find that husband of yours. I think he went into the card room with the dowager Duchess Gresham."

"Good God, not that horsey woman! Did she have Mr. Weatherley's stud book under her arm?"

she asked with horror.

"She doesn't go anywhere without it, does she?"

laughed Isobel Chatham.

"We must rescue him at all costs. The last time she cornered me I had to get away from her before I was wormed or served!"

Kitty slipped behind Charles' chair and put her hands on his shoulders.

"Darling, I was hoping you'd take me home. It's a terrible crush tonight."

"Excuse me, Maude, duty calls,"

he said politely.

After the theater, they often invited a few friends back for a light supper. Kitty enjoyed these intimate evenings because the conversation was always lively and interesting. She became famous for her devastating imitations of people in the inner circle.

"Where were you last evening? I missed you at the opera,"

said Lady Derby.

"Viscountess Palmerston's soiree in Charlton Gardens,"

answered Charles.

"Oh, it was lovely,"

said Kitty.

"except I got cornered by the Duchess of Sutherland. She uses all those double words. What do you call it, Charles?"

"Reduplicative,"

he said with a smile, knowing what was coming.

Kitty mimicked.

"Pish tush, I say! The whippersnapper talks claptrap. He's a wishy-washy, namby-pamby nitwit. What a mishmash it is tonight, nothing but riffraff and ragtag. Tut-tut, girl, drink up, chin-chin, no more chitchat, don't shilly-shally. Oh, fiddle-faddle, here's the major so I'll say ta-ta."

Her appreciative audience clapped their delight at her takeoff.

"Isn't she marvelous? Kitty, do the Foreign Secretary."

Charles cut in smoothly.

"I don't think that would be wise. Kathleen is to be presented to Her Majesty next week."

"Oh, marvelous; she'll take an instant dislike to you of course--far too pretty, Remember, no bright colors; it's an unwritten rule that all the ladies wear sober attire. What shall you wear?"

"Oh, bottle green, or something equally hideous, I suppose,"

Kitty said and laughed.

Patrick's sister Julia lost no time rekindling her friendship. Kitty suspected it had a great deal to do with her new status, but she did find Julia's social advice invaluable. The London Season was upon them, and social activities reached a frenzied peak. Charles paid careful attention to dressing the evening his wife was to be presented to the Queen. He was vying for a new appointment, and although he didn't think he'd get to be Chancellor of the Exchequer, he thought he stood a good chance for customs collector for the Port of London.

Inside the anteroom the gentlemen handed their capes and top hats to footmen on the right, while ladies went to the left to remove their cloaks. They came together again to be announced as they entered the state ballroom. As he turned, Charles was shocked to see Kitty standing resplendent in flame-colored silk with crimson poppies in her hair.

He thought wryly: There goes my appointment.

"Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Manchester,"

rang out across the room, followed by a shocked silence that seemed to stretch out for minutes. Inwardly, she wished with all her heart that she hadn't done this stupid, impulsive thing. Then a gentleman separated himself from a group of courtiers and walked down the ballroom toward Kitty. He bowed low in front of her.

"May I have the next dance, madame?"

"Thank you, Prince Albert. You are the most courageous man in the room."

He raised her quickly and everyone around them gave a collective sigh that she had been accepted.

Later, when she danced with Charles, she told him she regretted her whim.

"Now I shall have to learn how to dismount gracefully from my high horse. Darling, I'm sorry if this queers your chances with the Queen."

"Nonsense; she'll probably take pity on an old man like me, saddled with such an incorrigible snip of a girl for his wife,"

and he squeezed her hard before letting her go. She dreaded the moment coming and when at last she was face to face with Victoria, Kitty sank into a curtsy and waited to be spoken to first.

"Irish, are you not?"

inquired the Queen.

Kitty nodded and began.

"Your Majesty, I'm sorry...."

"No need to apologize; you'd stand out anywhere, rather like a tiger lily at a funeral."

Kitty had many offers to take her in to supper. She chose Lord Liverpool, who joked that Liverpool and Manchester should always go arm in arm.

"Here comes the Prime Minister,"

hissed Lord Liverpool.

Lord Palmerston, with a fatuous look toward Queen Victoria, said.

"Ah, ladies, your cause has come a long way because of our gracious Queen Victoria. Because one of your own fair sex rules, womanhood has come out of the dark ages."

"I don't agree, Mr. Prime Minister,"

said Kitty.

"The Regency and the Georgians were frankly bawdy. Victoria's suppressions have turned us all into hypocrites."

"However do you mean, madame?"

"Well, for example, take an innocent thing like afternoon tea."

"My dear lady, you aren't suggesting...."

"Of course I'm suggesting! Big overstuffed sofas are more comfortable than featherbeds. Now, here's where the hypocrisy comes in. The Victorian woman is one mass of pads, cushions and corsets from head to foot. Frilled trailing skirts prevent a man from going up and boned necklines prevent him from going down, so what is the very latest fashion? Why, the tea gown of course. That miracle garment which falls loosely about the figure and can be discarded in a trice. Our society is based on the hypocrisy of not being found out. Why, the last weekend we had in the country I needed a bloody program to keep the players straight as they went from one bedroom to another!"

"Brava, brava, my girl,"

cheered Lady Derby.

"Taking tea with other men's wives is a shameful custom."

Lord Palmerston bowed to Kitty with a twinkle in his eye.

"Your husband is a lucky man, and I shall tell him so when I confirm his new appointment."

The London house in Strand Lane had lawns that sloped down to the river. Kitty and Charles Patrick were running back up to the house. His shoes were muddy from the riverbank and he played tag so fiercely with his mother that his hair stood on end. The dampness had given both a wild look. She took tea in the nursery with him and by the time he was finished, jam had smeared up his cheek and into his curls. His mouth opened in a cavernous yawn."

"I think you're tired," she said.

"Not!"

he protested stubbornly, but at the same time he yawned again.

"Look, you be a good boy and have a nap now, and later, when nurse gives you your bath, I'll come up and watch."

"Can I splash you?"

"Not in this velvet dress you can't."

"I'll splash nurse,"

he countered.

"You little bugger, I bet you will,"

she said and laughed.

"Daddy?"

he asked hopefully.

"I suppose he'll let you,"

she agreed and lifted him into bed, fully dressed, minus the muddy shoes.

"I love you,"

she whispered.

"Love you,"

he answered sweetly.

She slipped into her bedroom to smooth her hair before Charles arrived. It was almost five and she could count on his arrival like clockwork. She was on the upstairs hall landing when she heard him.

"Kathleen, come and see the surprise I have for you!"

he shouted happily.

She lifted her skirt and began a rapid descent when his next words caused her to hesitate.

"Can you imagine the damned fellow being in England months and not visiting us?"

Her eyes sought out the dark figure beyond Charles, and she stopped dead from the sudden shock.

"You're not seeing a ghost--it's your cousin Patrick."

He looked as reluctant as she was for this meeting as he took a stiff, tentative step forward.

"Bumped into him this afternoon and practically had to drag him here,"

continued Charles in a hearty tone.

She swayed visibly and caught hold of the banister to steady herself. Time stood still as she confronted the man who stood before her. His mouth was set in a grim line, his body tense. His eyes were sharp as a hawk's; they would miss nothing. His aristocratic face tilted arrogantly and he said in a deliberately bored voice.

"How are you, cousin?"

Anger began to swell inside her and she moved down the staircase with eyes blazing.

"Weren't you able to pull off marriage with the American, then?"

she asked cuttingly.

"I leave marriage to others,"

he said dangerously.

"Ah, you don't know what you are missing, my boy,"

said Charles, who had no idea how inflammatory the remark was.

Patrick stiffened visibly as he watched Kitty through narrowed eyes. She could feel his hatred, but could not comprehend it. It was she who had the right to hate him after what he had done to her.

Charles was putting glasses of sherry into their hands and ushering them into the drawing room.

"Here's the best part. Wait till you see my son. You'll be jealous as the very devil,"

he said and laughed, already heading toward the stairs.

"Charles, no!"

cried Kitty.

"He's having a nap and you know how I hate you to disturb him,"

she pleaded.

"Nonsense; whatever's gotten into you? You know I can't resist showing him off to all and sundry."

He winked at Patrick affectionately.

Patrick murmured politely.

"I heard you'd had a child."

They stood alone like two protagonists unable to control events that swirled about them. Neither spoke. The muscles in Patrick's jaw clenched like a lump of iron. Kitty's bottom lip trembled until she caught it between her teeth. Each could feel the heat of the other's anger.

"Here we are. Come and see your Uncle Patrick. He's come all the way from America,"

urged Charles.

Patrick looked up and saw the little boy walking down the stairs dragging a dirty stuffed donkey with its tail missing. His eyes narrowed, puzzled at the child's age. Kitty, thinking her son would be terrified at the dark, forbidding figure, picked him up protectively and Patrick said.

"Good God, I thought he was a baby."

"Not a baby!"

cried Charles Patrick, soundly thumping Patrick with a jam-smeared fist.

Patrick's eyes widened in comprehension as he looked over the black curls into Kitty's eyes.

God help me, he knows! thought Kitty.

Patrick's face softened as he gazed at the child with wonder. He finally realized Charles Patrick was using his finger to make a sticky jam pattern on his velvet lapel.

"I don't suppose they beat you, but they ought to,"

he said softly. The boy gave him such a sweet smile that he had to resist the impulse to take his child in his arms.

Kitty said hurriedly.

"Charles, please take him to bed; it's wicked of us to spoil him like this."

"Come on then, old son. Mother's all straitlaced disapproval tonight."

Charles flashed an apologetic look at Patrick.

"Usually she's off and running at the first madcap suggestion."

"I remember,"

said Patrick acidly.

When they were alone again, Patrick said.

"I shall be at Half-Moon Street tomorrow evening. I demand a reckoning."

"I shan't come!"

she retorted with outrage.

"I don't believe I heard you correctly,"

he said in a tone so quiet and menacing she felt her blood run cold.

Charles returned.

"Well, what do you think of him?"

"He's a fine young cockerel, to be sure,"

answered Patrick truthfully.

"Stay for dinner. Believe it or not we're entertaining Julia and Jeffrey tonight,"

invited Charles.

"Can't be done, Charles. Like nothing better, but there it is, old man,"

he lied desperately.

"All right, I know you've probably got so many irons in the fire you haven't time for your old friends, but I'm warning you, we'll catch up with you one of these days and spend the whole evening together."

Patrick shot Kitty a meaningful look.

"Yes, very soon, the whole evening."

That night at dinner Kitty changed the subject every time Patrick's name was mentioned. Although she pretended to listen to Julia, her ears strained to catch what Jeffrey and Charles were saying.

"He's sold all three mills. He's finally out of the cotton business for good,"

said Jeffrey.

"I wonder what he'll invest the money in? I only ask because if we followed Patrick's lead, we wouldn’t go wrong,"

said Charles.

Julia said.

"He has vast shipping interests these days with that Bolt fellow in Liverpool. I hope he puts the money into slaves. The profits are unheard of."

Kitty went cold. She put her fork down and pressed her napkin to her lips. When she was able to speak she said.

"Charles, you don't believe he would do such a thing, do you?"

"Darling, I can understand your repugnance for such dealings, but in the past I haven't been above a bit of slave trade myself; as Julia says, it's very profitable."

She wanted to walk out on them all, but instead she politely changed the subject. Later Jeffrey put his hand on her arm and said quietly.

"She's only speculating, you know. You don't think for one moment Patrick consults Julia about his dealings, do you?"

"Of course not."

She gave him a quick, reassuring smile, but she was far from reassured. She'd have to see him now. She had sworn she wouldn't attend the command performance Patrick had ordered her to, but now she knew she had no choice.

She knew before she opened her wardrobe door what she would wear. It was a burnt-orange walking suit edged in deep brown sable. It had cost the earth. She brushed her hair until the black curls cascaded down her back, and perched the matching fur hat on a saucy angle. She took a parcel from the bottom bureau drawer and marched forth to do battle.

Patrick opened the door himself; she noted there were no servants in evidence. An expression of satisfaction, quickly veiled, came into his face when he saw her.

"I knew you'd come."

"You infuriating bastard, I didn't come because you ordered me to," she spat.

He looked at her with distaste.

"If you live to be a thousand, you'll never become a lady,"

he said quietly.

"At least wait until you're over the threshold before you start screaming like a banshee."

She trembled with rage, but at the same time realized he had the advantage so long as he kept rigid control of his temper.

More calmly she stepped inside.

"It appears you delude yourself with the idea that you are the aggrieved party and deserve some sort of explanation. Let me quickly disabuse you of any such notion, Mr. O'Reilly."

His temper flared.

"You shallow little bitch, you think a simple explanation on your part is enough to set everything right when you've done your damndest to destroy me and almost succeeded."

She looked around for a seat.

"I might as well make myself comfortable while you bore me with an interminable catalog of grievances."

He towered over her, his wrath frightening her more than a little. She had had to sit down because her trembling legs had threatened to collapse.

"It was the simplest request in the world. All you had to do was wait for me. I gave you money and I gave you my word that I would return and we would be married. But oh, no, you acted the thoughtless, selfish, willful child and came racing headlong to America. A more stupid act I cannot conceive of. They say the Irish are thick, and by God they're right! I should have known better than to pick you out of the bog! You're as wild and uncivilized as a bloody aborigine from a rain forest and always will be!"

He caught his breath and her beauty stabbed him to the heart.

"The great pity is you have no conception of the pain and heartache you've caused me,"

he went on in a quieter tone.

"They told me at the plantation you had died from the fever and showed me your grave. I kept vigil and mourned at that graveside like a faithful dog! I didn't want to stay in America, but I couldn't bear to leave you in the cold ground alone. It almost turned my brain. I came to the conclusion that my only way out was to join you in death. Then I discovered you hadn't died but had been sold as a slave. There are no words to describe what I went through then. I had rather you were dead a thousand times over than sold to some brothel." The quiet voice was deceiving; it masked a fierce temper. He sneered now. "I should have known not to worry about you. You can take care of yourself better than anyone who ever drew breath, can't you, Kitty? Well, I hope you're pleased with yourself. Because of your blind ambition for a title, you've deprived me of my own son!"

"Permission to speak, milord?"

she asked with heavy sarcasm.

"Granted."

He nodded and settled back with a cheroot, exhaling the smoke to mask his expression.

She did not use an accusing tone but decided to set forth the facts as simply and quietly as she could.

"The same night you left me, I was frightened out of my sleep. I discovered my husband and his friend raping Terry. I shot my husband through the head. It was an accident of course, but even so it took a great deal of explaining on my part. I went to London after the funeral, hoping you'd been delayed. I met Charles there. He was kind and compassionate and asked me to marry him. The idea of marrying any but you was unthinkable, even when I discovered that you had gone away and left me with child. My one thought and desire was to reach you as soon as possible. Some notion of honor kept me from wanting to be the mother of a bastard. Your whore shackled me to a black man and sold me to the slave trader. I was resold to a brothel in the islands, but before I could be delivered, Charles rescued me. I stood before Charles in this shift, my belly distended with your child, and he took me to his heart and cherished me."

She handed him the parcel and tore it open for him. He pulled out the orange rag caked with dirt and encrusted blood.

Instead of recoiling from it, he held it to his cheek and said.

"Forgive me."

"You are probably right. Most of the blame is mine. Damn if I cry, I'm undone,"

she said, dashing away her tears. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

"Please, I insist, let me be the villain,"

he said and smiled.

"A bloody role that suits you down to the ground!"

she cried, snatching the hanky from him and blowing her nose.

"Darling Kitty, we've hurled accusations at each other, spat out our hatred and venom, and after all the blood and tears, it still boils down to one thing: You're mine, and I want you!"

"Patrick, it's too late for that,"

she said wearily.

"Listen to me, kitten. I've murdered for you. Killing brutalizes a man and reduces his quality. I'll stop at nothing to have you. Besides, it's clear you want me too."

"Patrick, you must listen to me. The only reason I came here tonight was because Julia said you might invest the money from the mills in slaves. I came to beg you to have nothing to do with slavery. I don't want you to destroy your soul."

"Julia's a bitch! She lies to amuse herself. Besides, America is on the threshold of a civil war. Mr. Lincoln will put an end to slavery."

He began to undo the buttons on her pelisse."

"Don't do that, Patrick. I'm not staying."

She put her hands out to stop him and felt the knotted muscles in his arms quiver. His voice roughened with desire as his lips found her neck.

"You don't think I'm going to let you go, do you?"

As the old remembered tingling sensations started, she panicked and tried to pull away. She managed the top half, but his strong hands slid quickly to her buttocks and pressed her into his thighs. She could feel him hard and ready. As he bent his head to take her lips, he was shocked to see the look of fear in her eyes.

"I'm frightening you,"

he said, and reluctantly withdrew his arms.

"Patrick, you're so strong. I know you can force me, but I didn't come here so you could make love to me tonight."

"I don't want you just for tonight; I want you every night and I want my son. I want you to come away and live with me. It's love, not lust I feel for you, Kitty. Why are you afraid of me?"

"You have such dangerous weapons you can use against me. I can't leave Charles and come to you. He's such a fine person and he's been so good to me. He dotes on Charles Patrick; it would kill him to deprive him of the boy. I couldn't be that cruel."

"Believe me, kitten, you are quite capable of cruelty,"

he said pointedly.

"Patrick, I love you with all my heart and soul, and I'm so guilty about it, but I never could leave Charles."

A look of triumph came into his eyes. He tipped up her chin with his fingers.

"I'm content for now. You'd better leave; you're completely aware of how much you arouse me, and I'll curse myself for a fool the moment you're through that doorway."

The next morning she received a basket of tiger lilies. The card read: Somewhere, Somehow, Someway, Someday!