The hours wore on and Patrick finally fell into a more peaceful sleep. In the early hours of the morning she felt his brow and he seemed to be much less fevered. She put more coal on the fire, curled up in the chair and fell asleep. She awoke because she heard someone calling her name. Light filtered into the room and she blinked quickly and went over to the bed.
"Kitty. Thank you for staying with me. It couldn't have been very pleasant."
"Are you feeling better, sir?"
"Yes, thanks to you. Listen, Kitty, when my family comes in, I want you to tell them I had a very peaceful night."
But you didn't, sir," said Kitty.
"I want you to lie for me. Otherwise they won't go to London."
Jonathan O'Reilly came in wearing a dressing gown followed by Mrs. Thomson with a breakfast tray. Patrick tried to conceal the distaste he felt for the food before him as his father hovered anxiously about the bed.
"How are you feeling, lad?"
"Quite well, everything considered."
"What sort of a night did you have?"
Patrick turned to Kitty with a conspiratorial look. She curtsied to Jonathan O'Reilly and said quickly, "He had a very peaceful night, sir. I stayed just in case he became ill."
"Good lass," Jonathan said. "A couple of days in bed and you'll be right as a trivet."
"It won't work, Father. I'm on my way to the mill and you're on your way to London." As Jonathan started to fume, Patrick said, "I'll make a bargain with you, Father. If you leave for London, I promise to get this looked at by a doctor friend, and after a couple of days seeing that the mills are running smoothly without any hitches, I'll follow you. No later than the weekend; that's a promise. When you get to London I want you to complete plans for Julia's wedding. Plans must be made."
"If you keep your word about seeing the doctor, I'll take the girls," their father said grudgingly. He turned to Mrs. Thomson. "Tell the girls to get packed; this will be a real surprise for them."
Kitty spoke up, "They've been packed for days. We're all ready to go."
He smiled at the "we," secretly delighting in the thought that she would be going with them. "In that case, young lady, you can come and help me pack." Left alone, Patrick arose from the bed and stood still for a few minutes with his eyes closed until the room steadied around him. He was in pain, but for the most part, he could ignore this. It was the condition of his rubbery legs that worried him. He rang for Terry, who helped him to bathe and shave and then helped him to dress.
"How do I look to you?" he asked Terry.
"Pale," he said bluntly, "but you look like you're in control"
"I want you with me today. Kitty's going up to London with the girls."
Terry hesitated a moment, then said, "The old man's got his eyes on her, and she don't know about men and things. She thinks he's just being kind to her."
Patrick smiled and said, "Don't worry about Kitty. I intend to take very good care of her."
This statement only added to Terry's worries about his sister, but he had sense enough to keep his own counsel.
In spite of the girls' pleadings, Jonathan refused to leave until Patrick returned from the mills. He showed up in the middle of the afternoon much annoyed to see the huge traveling coach still on the driveway. He wanted only to seek his bed, but he now realized he'd have to undergo a torrent of questions he didn't feel like answering.
"Father, if you'll come upstairs where we can be private I'll answer all your questions," he said curtly and ascended the steps.
Terry sought out Kitty, glad that he could have a few words with her before she left.
"Did he find out who stabbed him?" she asked breathlessly.
"Oh, aye. A few coins in the right hands soon put him in touch with the bastard, but, Kitty, it was the most curious thing. They came to an understanding and Patrick told him he wanted him on his payroll."
Kitty laughed and said, "He must be planning to get rid of somebody."
"By God, I wouldn't put it past him."
"Terrance, I want you to go and see Grandada and tell him I won't be able to see him for a while."
"I'll tell him. Kitty, you're changing! You don't even talk the same, and I don't like the way O'Reilly looks at you."
"Oh, don't be after worryin' yerself about Patrick O’Reilly. I've got plans for him, I have an all, an all," she said in a thick brogue.
"Saints preserve us," muttered Terry.
Patrick was thankful the day was over. His wound had been attended to and the new bandage was much more comfortable. He lay in bed going over the events of the day, but Kitty's image kept intruding in his thoughts. With a sigh, he gave up the effort and let his mind dwell on her more fully. She was extremely beautiful. She excited his senses as no female had ever done. She was small and dainty as a kitten. All her movements were graceful, almost exotic. Her face was exquisite and her eyes flashed fire and held his attention with a seductiveness he knew was unconscious. He fantasized how he would like to make love to her. He realized she was very young, but he hoped that once he had aroused her sensuality, he would have the pleasure of satisfying all her hungers. His imagination slowly stripped her naked and his hands could feel her body's smooth contours. He thought of kissing her slowly-her mouth, her breasts, her navel, her mons veneris. He felt his loins tauten, his manhood rise and his testes ache. He knew he would never be able to sleep in the state into which he had worked himself. He savagely threw back the covers and poured himself a stiff drink. "Damn her eyes," he cursed.
Chapter 5
By rights Kitty should have been almost immobilized with the shock of coming from the bog to the City of London, but she absorbed everything like a sponge and seemed to thrive. The London house was very grand. There were a butler and two footmen who were the required six feet tall, as well as numerous other servants. There was a chef de maison rather than a housekeeper. Kitty learned to keep out of the way but she also managed to observe the visitors who came calling. The plain-faced Jeffrey Linton seemed to be wrapped around Julia's little finger, but Kitty thought privately that there was more to him than met the eye. She expected that once they were married he would assume a quiet authority that would keep Julia in her place. His mother and father were obviously titled upperclass, and the necessity of making a connection with "trade" was distasteful to them, but they swallowed their pride and accepted Jonathan O'Reilly because of his vast wealth.
The date for the engagement party was settled and it was decided to have the wedding in October. Julia insisted that Kitty have a new brown dress and cloak so she could accompany her about London in her many shopping expeditions. Kitty loved to go with Julia to the Burlington Arcade, running north off Piccadilly. There were thirty-one specialty shops in the arcade, which was known as London's most exclusive shopping thoroughfare. While Julia dreamed over the rings in S. J. Rood's Jewelers, Kitty coveted the beautiful tablecloths in the Irish Linen Company, the cashmere shawls, the folio cases in the Unicorn Leather Shop and the gleaming lead crystal in the windows, all the while rubbing elbows with the British upper crust. It had great Regency charm and a "Beadle" in full dress of frock coat and trousers, which was like a policeman's uniform; in effect he was a policeman. The prices were pretentious and often outrageous and Kitty longed to be able to go inside and spend lavishly.
The servants did not take to Kitty and gave her the most menial tasks, but she carried them out and didn't complain. She knew they were jealous because she went about with Julia and Barbara, and the old man always had a smile and a kind word for her, saving his bad temper for the other servants. One of the housemaids said, "She's a real bleedin' apple polisher." "Ha, tool polisher, more like! Have you seen the way the squire looks at her?"
Jonathan had promised that if Julia met him at the Silver Vaults, he would buy her a full service of sterling for twenty-four. It was understood that any party larger than this would be catered. Tradesmen from the various guilds were falling over themselves to bring samples of
their wares to Cadogen Square
, but O'Reilly could not resist a bargain, and he knew the Silver Vaults contained magnificent heirlooms from the aristocracy, who had had to sell when their coffers became depleted. "We wish to go to 11 Charterhouse Street
, which is just off Chancery Lane
," she explained to the cabby.
"Yes, ducks-I know where the Silver Vaults are, believe it or not," the old Cockney replied cheekily.
Once inside the Vaults, Kitty was transported to seventh heaven. Every conceivable article that could be made from silver was to be found there. Some of the precious articles were only being stored, but most of it was for sale. Jonathan O'Reilly was already being shown around by a salesman when the girls arrived and Julia had a hard time picking what she fancied. The more ornate, ostentatious articles appealed to her father, while Julia realized the plainer pieces with a simple monogram were in much better taste and would meet the approval of her in-laws. After Julia had selected a tea service and some soup tureens, she wandered over to the antique jewelry and inspected several pieces. One was a silver bracelet with silver coins alternating with tiny silver bells, and it tinkled deliciously when it moved. Kitty felt an overwhelming· desire to possess the bracelet. Never before had anything quite taken her fancy as this little trinket did. She was quite content to wait for the large silver pieces that would someday grace her own table, but the idea of waiting for some future mythical bracelet to· grace her wrist sat all awry with her. She wanted this bracelet, and she wanted it now! She tried to push away the longing, but the more she denied herself, the stronger grew her compulsion to own it. That covetous feeling quite overpowered the petty one of self-denial and without ever seeming to have even glanced in its direction, she was filled with elation as her fingers caressed it inside her pocket.
Jonathan O'Reilly insisted on paying cash for everything and loved to pull out large rolls of banknotes before clerks, especially those with clipped, upper-class accents who pretended they were doing a favor by condescending to wait on you.
"Where shall we deliver the silver?" inquired the salesman.
"We'll take it with us." The clerk was taken aback, and o' Reilly added, "My carriage is outside with two great lanking footmen idling about doing nothing. Just step outside and fetch them," he directed. "Kitty, show him where." She bobbed prettily and started to climb the stairs to the street level. The clerk spoke from behind her. He had dropped the Mayfair accent and spoke to her in Cockney. "The old bleeder’s takin’ it wiv him coz he’s scared of bein’ diddled. Fancy him tryin’ to be a nob! Well, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, can you? Hid beedin’ daughter pinched one of them bangles when I ‘ad me back turned, but never mind, I just added the price onto his bill, and that way everybody’s happy, eh? He chuckled.
Kitty smiled happily. “Yes, everybody,” she agreed.
The day of the engagement party approached and Patrick had not arrived, to everyone's consternation. There were a lot of preparations required and Kitty was nearly run off her feet. The household was in chaos without Patrick. In one way or another every detail seemed to depend on him. Their father’s temper lacerated everyone's nerves to ribbons and it was feared that in Patrick's absence, nothing could be accomplished. He arrived the day before the party. Julia flung open the door for him, kissed him soundly and blurted out, "Thank God you're here! You must do something about Father and, oh, yes, I want you to mount me; the horse Father has supplied is a positive hack-I'm ashamed to death to be seen on it."
Barbara came flying down the stairs and rushed into his arms. He picked her up and swung her around, completely ignoring his recent wound. She blushed profusely when she saw Terry struggling in with the luggage. She lowered her voice and whispered urgently, "Patrick, you will allow me to attend this party, won't you? And please make Father get us a dancing instructor. I absolutely must know how to dance before the wedding."
All he needed to do was be there, and miraculously everything fell into place. His eyes went up the staircase until they found the one he was looking for. He put Barbara down and gazed up at Kitty, only just visible over the banister. She looked down longingly as if she would like to be lifted into
God, how I'm going to enjoy lavishing her with luxuries. I'll smother her with affection and pamper every whim once we get this damn engagement out of the way."
Kitty, ashamed to be caught peeping through the railings for a glimpse of him, put up her chin and slowly descended the stairs. She kept her eyes carefully lowered and started to help Terry with the luggage. Patrick was horrified and beckoned the two footmen with an imperious finger. He said coldly, "See that this child doesn't carry anything heavy again."
Halfway up the stairs one footman said to the other, "Damnation, I was going to slip up to her room one night, but it looks like she's a private crumpet!"
The other shrugged and said, "When the maids are nicer lookin' than the daughters, you know they have to be warmin' the master's bed."
They were dining en famille that evening and Julia, animated even more than usual, was doing her utmost to cause another dinnertime brawl.
"Patrick, I shall just die, just simply die, if Father starts in tomorrow night on his old theme of 'I'm a self-made man; I pulled myself up with my own bootstraps.'"
Barbara eyed her father fearfully as his jowls turned purple and he began breathing heavier, but Patrick put in coolly, "Julia, I know we're beyond the pale because our dirty fingers dabble in trade, but sometimes I think you should look to your own manners instead of concentrating on Father's. While you're cataloging his faults, you've overlooked his generosity toward you. I'm afraid you've been sadly spoiled, and I'm guilty in that department. I think I'll have a quiet word with Jeffrey."
She wanted to pull the tablecloth off and smash dishes, she wanted to throw the contents of the soup tureen over him, she wanted to fly at him and scratch his eyes out, but she knew better than to tangle with Patrick when he was in this quiet, cutting mood. Barbara's dinner was totally ruined now that her brother as well as her father was hostile; she tried to conceal her sniffling behind her napkin. Without glancing in her direction, Patrick said, "That noise is unacceptable at table. You may go to your room." Barbara fled; Julia followed.
Jonathan O'Reilly looked down the table at his son and felt uneasy.
"What's the matter, lad? Is your wound plaguing you?" He shook his head and said, "A bit tired, I suppose. It's just these women-they're all the same, they always want something.”
"We've both spoiled them because they've no mother, but who spoils us, eh, lad? Anyroad, tell me about the mills. Who did you leave in charge?"
"I know you trust Tom Connors, so I put him over all three mills. If things work out well. I think you should leave him as manager to take some of the load from your shoulders. I'm putting my money into that shipping venture I told you about with Isaac Bolt, and I'm seriously considering going to America on one of the trips."
"Maybe I should sell the mills and retire altogether," Jonathan mused.
Patrick was shocked; though he agreed completely with that suggestion, he had never thought to see the day his father would propose it. "Well, there's no hurry. Once Julia's married, perhaps you can think about it more seriously. I certainly intend to invest any future monies in London rather than the North; perhaps you should do the same."
***
On the day of the engagement party Kitty was up at five o'clock. She was told to light the kitchen fires and when she discovered all the coal scuttles empty, she could have cried with vexation. She hated going to the cellars for coal, as there were always rats, but worse than the rats was the degrading nature of picking up the filthy cobs with her hands to fill the scuttle and then heaving it up the stairs, a job much too heavy for her. The chef had a hired helper for the day, so naturally he had to establish total authority by throwing a temperamental fit of pique. The chef demanded the flagstone floor of the huge kitchen be scrubbed before he set fo
ot on it, and this job fell to Kitty. While she longed for the fancy jobs such as making exquisitely patterned butter pats and putting silver balls on the pretty gateaux, in reality she got the job of gutting and cleaning the fowl. She only thanked God that someone had had the foresight to pluck them the day before. So while the other maids helped make canapés and hors d'oeuvres, she sat with a bucket of guts between her legs and pinched her nostrils together as best she could to prevent her gorge from rising. She silently prayed that Julia would need her for something and call her away from all this, but of course the girls were busy with their own preparations. Their gowns were to have final fittings and each spent over two hours with the hairdresser. After lunch she was put to work cleaning vegetables. Her hands were in water so long they became crinkled and red. When at last she was finished, she wiped them on her apron and surveyed them with dismay. She shrugged; there was no alternative but to steal some of the hand lotion from Julia's room next time she passed that way. Kitty longed to find a concealed hide-away where she could observe the guests, but due to a mild conspiracy of the other servants she was placed at the sink once again. At first she took pleasure in handling the fine crystal glasses and china plates, but after she had stood at this task four hours without respite, her legs began to ache painfully. Her hands stopped being red and wrinkled and turned white and bloated. Kitty felt sorry for herself. She hated them all. She could imagine the music and the laughter in the big salon that stretched across the whole front of the house, and vowed that when she was rich and gave parties she would always remember the poor drudges belowstairs who had to do all the dirty work. She wasn't allowed to go up to bed until after one o' clock in the morning, and her weary legs could hardly carry her up the back stairs to the attic. The thought of arising again at five appalled her, and she thought enviously of Julia and Barbara, who could stay in bed until noon if they fancied.