Unveiled. Part 11

"We ran out of money." Fan slammed the table and got to her feet. "You want to know? I'll tell you. Frank ran out of luck in Frisco. We lost Big. I took to waiting tables in the saloon while he tried to rustle up some cash. It was useless. Frank isn't a miner or a rancher, and I don't intend to waste the rest of my life being pinched by some randy cowboy who's had three beers."

"Frances!" Eunice said, appalled. "You worked as a waitress? In a saloon?"

Grace waved a hand. "Go on."

"What else is there to say? I got on the next train for home, and here I am." She grinned, seeing the shocked faces around her. "I thought this is where I should be. Especially since I'm in the family way. That's right; you're all going to have another little Pemberton."

"My G.o.d, Grace, fetch my smelling salts." Anita Pemberton, one of the younger nieces, fanned herself breathlessly and stared at the young woman before her as if seeing a demon.

Grace snorted. "There's no time for that. Is that all, Fan? Or is there any other sordid little fact that escaped you?"

"That's it." Fan shrugged. "I've said my piece, though G.o.d knows, I hated to come back to this place. Frisco is my kind of town, not this crummy little backwater or stuffy Philadelphia. But it seems my reappearance is well timed, that's for sure."

"Frances." George spoke softly, though his voice was thick with disdain. "Am I to understand that you would prefer living in California? And that if it wasn't for the money, you would go back there?"

Fan stared at him for a moment, then nodded, obviously confused. "That's right, I hate it here. I always did."

"Well, what if you could go back?"

"Oh, no." Fan rose, suddenly aware of what they were all thinking. "No. You're not sending me back and keeping that s.l.u.t here in my place. You can't make me-"

"Don't be so sure, Fan," Grace broke in, her voice stern. "This really is the best solution. No one outside the family has seen you yet. Fortunately you arrived after the other guests left. Kate can go on as Fan Pemberton while you can live in San Francisco as anyone you wish. No one else has to know anything."

"No. Absolutely not," Fan said stubbornly. "I won't let her-"

"We'll cut you off without a cent," George said quietly. The other Pembertons nodded in agreement as Fan glanced quickly around the room. There was no support anywhere. "Think about it, Fan. You'll have nothing. No money. No clothes. No friends. Why, you might even have to wait tables here for a living."

Fan glared in hatred at them all, then slammed her fan down on the table and stormed for the door.

"You won't get away with this! I swear...."

Grace smiled softly as the door slammed shut. "I think we may have just solved our problem."

From the hotel sitting room, Ella Pemberton stood at the window and watched as the footman hailed a carriage. A dark-haired woman dressed in a cheap yellow gown stepped into the cab. She seemed none too happy, and when she glanced back at the window, her expression showed her outrage.

Ella let the curtain fall from her hand as the carriage retreated. Her heart pounding, she closed her eyes, remembering a scene exactly like this one that had happened many years ago. It was the same situation, the same face, the same woman. She could see it all clearly, Grace's indignant expression, her daughter's defiant one. Yet it had all come around, and was happening once again.

A small smile crept across Ella's face and she reclined once more against the back of the comfortable chair. They all thought she was senile, that she had lost her wits. Sometimes she wished it was true, for it would make everything easier. Yet it often worked to her advantage.

Like this time. This time they wouldn't win. And no one could be happier than Ella.

THIRTEEN.

Katie unb.u.t.toned the lovely gown she wore, a gown that she could no longer call her own. It was all so unreal, that her entire world could be shattered so quickly and so completely. But it had happened. Like Cinderella, the hour of midnight had struck and the coach was now a pumpkin.

Sniffling, Katie placed the dress back with the others and stood looking at the wardrobe. She had no claim to it now. All of it would revert to its rightful owner, the real Fan Pemberton, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Maybe it was for the best. Katie thought of her son, of how much she missed him, and realized that she couldn't have continued this farce, no matter how much she wanted to. She wanted her son around her, wanted to see her family again, even if it meant returning to scrubbing floors and cooking for the Main Line rich.

And Ella. A painful throb surged inside her as Katie thought of the older woman. Ella had become much more to her than a rich employer. Still, Ella had the real Fan back now. If Katie stayed, she would only add to the woman's grief, to discover that she'd been deceived. She had no choice.

A glimmer caught her eye and she glanced into the mirror, seeing herself clad in her corset and petticoats. The necklace Christopher had given her glittered in the morning sunlight, the gold shamrock twinkling with the emerald. A sudden tightening came to her throat and she felt so ill she had to sit down on the edge of the bed.

It had meant so much to her, this gift. Katie knew it was ridiculous, but it was almost as if she thought it would bring her real luck. It wasn't as if she loved Christopher; she wouldn't lie to herself about that. Still, she genuinely liked him and enjoyed his company. And last night...she couldn't even think about that, it just hurt too much. Yet it had all been lies. First her lies to him, then his about his financial position. None of it had been what they'd pretended. She should be glad it was over, glad that she wouldn't see him again. Why then did she feel so much like crying?

Ah, Katie, it's just the Irish in ye. The G.o.ds weren't happy with her deceit, and once again she was being punished. She, Katie O'Connor, wasn't good enough to hang her hat with decent people. She was being sent back to where she belonged, on her knees, to a life of repentance and dirty floors....

"Mrs. Scott? It's George Pemberton. May I come in?" A slight knock sounded on the door and Katie wiped her eyes, then s.n.a.t.c.hed up her robe.

"One minute!" Katie tied the garment firmly around her waist, then opened the door cautiously. "Mr. Pemberton," she choked self-consciously, but allowed the older man to enter.

"Kate." George nodded, his gaze falling on a small pile of clothing in the center of the bed. "May I ask what you're doing?"

"I'm packing." Katie fought the tears that threatened and kept her voice firm. "I'm only taking my own things, so you can tell the Pembertons not to worry. Fan won't miss anything from her own wardrobe."

"I see." George frowned as Katie continued to pack, placing a ridiculously small amount of clothing into a battered valise. "May I ask where you're going?"

Shrugging, Katie continued her work. "Home. To Philadelphia. I haven't many other choices, and it seems the most logical thing to do."

"Back to your old life?" George sounded incredulous. "Is this something you want?"

"It doesn't matter what I want." Katie gave him a tired smile. "I appreciate all your kindness and concern, but the fact is that Fan has come home. I can't stay."

"What if I told you that she hasn't come home? That she never left San Francisco?"

Katie stared at him as if he'd lost his wits. George chuckled softly. "No, I'm not insane, and neither are you. As it happens, the family...encouraged Fan to go back. No one has seen her; no one knows the truth. We could go on as before."

Katie's mouth parted, but no sound came forth. She sank into a chair, trying to make sense of what this man was saying. "You mean...I couldn't possibly..."

"Why not?" George asked amicably. "Ella cares a lot for you. She would be quite happy having you here. Of course a dowry is out of the question, since everyone knows the truth. But still, with Christopher's money..."

Katie shook her head. "It wouldn't work."

"Why ever not?"

"For reasons I can't go into." No matter what else had happened, she owed Christopher that much loyalty. She wouldn't divulge his family secret. "Don't even ask me. I just can't say."

"I see." George frowned. He obviously hadn't counted on this. "Are you sure you're just not being stubborn?"

Putting the last piece of clothing into the valise, Katie nodded. "Christopher was so disillusioned when he learned the truth that I don't think he'll ever trust me again."

"He'll recover," George said quickly. "Anyone would react that way initially."

"You don't understand." Katie smiled sadly. "You didn't see his face. He thinks I'm nothing more than a liar and worse. You can't base a marriage on that kind of feeling. Christopher wouldn't listen to me; he doesn't care. He can't see past his own hurt. I don't think anything would make a difference."

"I'm sorry to hear that." George rose to his feet and took Katie's hand. "Isn't there anything I can say to change your mind?"

"No," Katie said. "I have to go."

George nodded, then squeezed her hand softly. "Good luck to you, Katie. I have a feeling we'll meet again someday."

"I hope so." She couldn't look at him when he left. When the door closed, she sank down onto the bed and sobbed, feeling as if her heart were breaking. Someday she'd learn not to expect much from life.

Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much when she was proven right.

"Hit me, James."

Christopher relaxed back in his chair as the dealer replaced two of his cards, then glanced around the table to the other men. Tucking the cards into his hand, he grinned with antic.i.p.ation, then downed a whiskey, smiling at the bargirl who kept his gla.s.s comfortably full.

This was his life. He had been ridiculous to think he could make it anything else. Here, at the gentlemen's club of Cape May, in a room filled with cigar smoke and rich men eager to indulge in a game of poker, he was at his best. This was familiar territory, where lying and cheating were part of the rules and everyone knew the score.

The whiskey burned his tongue, but he didn't care, especially when it settled like a warm sun in his belly, dulling the ache. Word of his financial condition hadn't reached this gambling hall yet, and even though a few of the men thought it odd that he should be playing on the day after his wedding, he didn't care. There was no way he was going back to that hotel, to listen to Eunice's fears and Katie's explanations.

Katie. A sour taste started in his mouth whenever he thought of her. It was bad enough that his financial plan had gone awry, and that he and his aunt were in worse straits than ever. But to think that she had lied to him about her entire ident.i.ty almost made him insane.

Never would he have believed it of her. Katie was so forthright, so honest, so carefree and easy. He'd never forget the first time he saw her, when she alone laughed at one of the Mitch.e.l.l girls as she'd screeched her way through a song. Everyone else had been simply polite, but his Katie couldn't help what she thought and it was right there, on the surface.

Anger tightened his throat and he quickly drank more of the whiskey. He had been a fool. He had been taken in by a pretty face-a lovely face, he amended silently. And now he was paying the price. All of their artwork was gone. To start over would mean selling the furnishings of his father's estate. And even that wasn't practical...however could he explain to a new bride that half his furniture was gone? He wanted to redecorate and just couldn't find the right thing?

And that was if he could get out of the marriage. Oh, Christopher had no doubt that he had a real case of fraud. But if Katie chose to fight him, to tell perhaps another lie in court and claim that he knew all along...he couldn't bear to think of the rest. Judges didn't look too kindly on men deserting their wives, whatever the reason. And the marriage had been consummated....

That thought made him more furious and he put down his cards, barely caring that another player called. Was that all part of the lie? He wasn't sure anymore what was real. Had Katie feigned the pa.s.sion she displayed in his arms as part of her scheme? Much as he hated to admit it, that hurt worse than the lack of money, to think that she'd simply used him in the coldest way possible. A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he had done the same thing, but he stubbornly refused to listen. No, Katie was the deceiver here, and he'd best not forget it.

"Chris, why don't we take a break and go for a walk?" Charles asked softly, concerned when Christopher carelessly threw another chip into the pile, his own dwindling at an alarming rate.

Christopher glanced up through a haze of smoke and alcohol. "Now? My luck's about to change, I feel it. If I can just win a few hands, I'll be right back on top."

The dealer hesitated, then seeing Charles's reluctant nod, dealt out the cards. Christopher grinned, looking at four high cards, all hearts. One more card, and he'd have a royal flush.

The bargirl leaned over and peeked at his hand, then gave him an encouraging smile. His eyes wandered appreciatively over her lush curves and tinted red hair. Dressed in a brilliant green gown with a peac.o.c.k plume waving in her curls, she was a woman who was exactly what she appeared to be. Her eyes met his and he saw the invitation there, the calm a.s.surance that she would provide no lack of feminine companionship. Her attention was like a balm to his wounded ego, and when she leaned close to pour him another drink, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rubbed suggestively on his arm.

"One." Throwing his card onto the table, Christopher accepted a replacement, exhaling in relief when he saw the ten of hearts. Hiding his expression, he casually tossed a pile of chips onto the table and waited.

The other players glanced at each other, then back at their hands. The tension hung heavy as one after another folded, leaving but one man sitting across from him. Christopher didn't know the portly gentleman, but some of the players had come from New York, having tired of Saratoga Springs. Normally his gambling instincts would have warned him about the man's deadpan expression, his lack of drinking, his seemingly endless fund of money. But not tonight. Dulled by whiskey and disillusionment, Christopher felt nothing but a gambler's need to score a win.

"Call." The gentleman met his bet and glanced at Chris. "Let's see what you have, son."

Christopher smiled, then unfolded his hand, betraying the flush. The gentleman nodded and gave him a congratulatory smile. "Well done. Barkeep, another drink for my companion."

Scooping up the chips, Christopher ignored Charles's concerned frown and sipped at the whiskey, the bargirl crooning in his ear. It felt good to be home again.

Ella was sleeping. Katie saw her in the little sitting room she'd retreated to, wrapped in a shawl that was as finely spun as a spiderweb, her face wistful in repose like a young girl's.

Katie smiled, though tears came to her eyes. She had come to care about this woman, to know her secret fears and loneliness. Long ago Ella had ceased to be her employer and had become what she'd pretended to be-a dearly loved family member. Katie wished there was a way she could maintain some kind of relationship with the older woman, but that seemed impossible. Rich people didn't a.s.sociate with poor Irish like herself. And it would only upset Ella more to know the truth.

It was better this way, Katie thought. Ella would learn that she'd returned to San Francisco, much the way the real Fan had done. She would be upset for a while, but would go on with her life and forget, the same way she had done so long ago. Only this time, hopefully, she had some new memories to cherish.

Opening her valise, Katie withdrew the sparkling fan that Christopher had given her and placed it beside the old woman. Ella would know and understand that this was her way of saying good-bye. Choking, Katie pictured the woman seated at her window once more, only this time cooling herself against the hot summer breezes with this implement. It was a vision that greatly upset her and she had to leave the room quickly.

Ella Pemberton would soon forget. And maybe then Katie wouldn't feel so haunted.

"What do you mean, she's gone?"

Grace Pemberton stared at her brother-in-law with an obvious lack of affection. "She can't be gone! What does she plan to do? Go back to working as a maid?"

"Impossible." Eunice Scott shuddered, then glared at the Pembertons. "There hasn't been a Scott working as a menial since I was a girl. And the new Mrs. Scott, imposter or otherwise, cannot think of such a thing."

"She might be working for one of our friends!" Ida Pemberton gasped. "Pa.s.s me the salts, Grace!"

"You couldn't talk some sense into her?" Grace asked shortly, still staring at George in disbelief. "Did you explain?"

"Yes. I told her everything, just the way we discussed. That Fan isn't coming back, that she is safe to a.s.sume her ident.i.ty. The chit wouldn't listen. Seems to feel the breach between herself and Christopher can't be mended."

Eunice nodded, aware that there was more to the story than that. She glanced at the others and shrugged. "My nephew spent the night in a gaming hall, and as of yet, hasn't come home. Fan, I mean Katie, is on the train back to Philadelphia this morning. It seems they are h.e.l.l-bent on destroying any chance of a marriage."

"What is going on here?" Ella walked into the hotel sitting room, looking more fragile than ever. The morning sunlight made her curls glisten softly like angel hair, and her blue eyes looked ethereal, almost otherworldly. Carefully taking a seat in the middle of the group, she nodded to the waiter for tea and looked at them all with a peculiar, penetrating glance.

"What do you mean?" Grace asked nervously. "Everything is fine. We were just discussing-"

"Everything isn't fine." Ella cut her off imperviously. "When I wake up and hear Eileen crying in her room, see that Christopher hasn't come home, then I know something is amiss. Now, why don't you tell me what everyone else seems to know."

Grace glanced at the others and shrugged. "You're right, Ella. There's no sense hiding the truth. Fan and Christopher have quarreled. Fan left this morning."

"Ah." Ella digested this, then glanced up once more. "Just this morning?" When they nodded in response, she continued questioning. "Has no one spoken to her? Tried to persuade her?"

"I have," George said. "She won't listen to reason. Fan seems to think she and Christopher will never make up, and given his disappearance last night, she may be right. We've done everything that we could."

"Bring him to me."

Grace looked at George, who frowned, puzzled. "But Ella, we've already tried-"

"Bring him to me. What nonsense is this, anyway? Two young people get married, and at the first simple argument, everyone is willing to let them call it quits. In my day, such a thing was unheard of. These young people have no sense of responsibility anymore. What kind of man lets his wife leave him after a simple misunderstanding? I want to see him. Now."

George nodded, then retreated to find Christopher. Ella said nothing but accepted a cup of tea and sipped thoughtfully while the other Pembertons and the Scotts murmured among themselves. Senile, she might be, but Ella was still the family matriarch.

And the one who held the purse strings.

"Oh, my G.o.d, my head," Christopher groaned, holding his aching forehead between his hands. "What the h.e.l.l did I drink?"

"Everything." Charles sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing his friend with sorely strained patience. "Whiskey mostly. Those bargirls know how to keep your cup full."