Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahil 02] (27 page)

Even in sleep, he appeared intriguing and dangerous.

He was, she decided, a very interesting man.

She left.

S
UNDAY,
F
EBRUARY 2, 1902—7:00 P.M.

Her coach was moving down Fifth Avenue, following another brougham. Because it was a Sunday night and snowing, there was no other traffic directly ahead, and the pace was a swift one. Francesca stared west, at Central Park, which appeared magical in the glow of falling snow and the dull yellow lights cast from the tall iron street lamps. She was glum. Hart was an unusual man, and she was more convinced than ever that he was not as bad as he clearly wished the world to think him to be. But he was in trouble, and he had lied to the police, creating a false alibi. No good could come of that, it only made him look guiltier, and while she remained convinced he was not capable of murder, much less murdering his own father, she was afraid of what was going to happen when the truth came out.

Unfortunately, she would have to tell Bragg what she had just learned. She could not keep something so momentous from him, and maybe he could help. Francesca felt certain that, when push came to shove, the blood Bragg shared with Hart would win out over any enmity between the two of them.

She glanced out of the other passenger window, aware that they were passing her own house. She sighed, her thoughts turning abruptly to her sister. Where could she be?

Bragg had said she was in a hotel somewhere. But Connie would never let the world know of her difficulties, especially her marital ones. Francesca doubted she would move into a hotel. If only she had not packed a trunk. Then Francesca would be certain she had merely gone out with the girls for the day.

She sighed again and realized they were approaching 59th Street. The posh and elegant Plaza Hotel was on her right and just ahead. It was Connie’s favorite lunch spot. She often met her girlfriends there…. Francesca sat up like a shot.

Beth Anne Holmes.

Beth Anne was Connie’s best friend, and her only unmarried one. Francesca pounded on the partition. “Jennings! We must detour to the Holmes house!” she cried. Her heart was pounding like mad.
Of course. Connie had to be at Beth Anne’s. And why hadn’t she thought of it sooner?

But then, Neil had only insisted that Connie had left him a few hours ago. And she had only disappeared that morning.

Five minutes later the brougham was pausing in front of a large house that took up the corner of 38th and Fifth. Francesca had hoped to see one of the Montrose coaches in front, but to her shock, she saw the second Cahill carriage parked on the street instead. Francesca knew who was calling upon the Holmes family: Julia.

Julia had realized Connie was gone, and she had quickly come to the conclusion Francesca had just reached. Francesca leaped out of the carriage before Jennings had fully stopped it. She flew across the drive and up the front steps of the house. Her knock was greeted instantly by a houseman. She was not close to Beth Anne and hardly ever called—she did not know the servant and he did not know her. But before she could even introduce herself, she could hear voices coming from the parlor, and even from behind closed doors she recognized both Beth Anne’s voice and her mother’s.

“I am Francesca Cahill. I believe my mother is here,” she said breathlessly.

“Mrs. Cahill is in the blue room,” the servant said, waiting for her muff, hat, coat, and gloves.

Impatiently Francesca shed everything, practically thrusting her outerwear into the manservant’s arms and racing to the pair of teakwood doors on the entry hall’s other side before he had a chance to dispose of anything, much less lead her there. Francesca flung open both doors.

Connie sat on one of the room’s two blue-and-gold-striped sofas. Julia sat in a bergere adjacent to the sofa, patting Connie’s hand. Beth Anne, a plump and pretty girl with freckles on her nose and curly red hair, was standing. Connie appeared oddly calm, as if she had not just taken her children and left her husband. In fact, sitting there in a simple navy blue suit, one magnificently cut and stitched, with her hands clasped in her lap, she seemed beautiful, elegant, and composed. But she was so still that she could have been sitting for her portrait. She was so still that it was eerie.

Everyone looked at Francesca at once.

Julia said, grimly, “So you have told your sister that Montrose has a lover?”

Francesca nodded, suddenly realizing which direction the wind was blowing. “Con? Thank God you are all right!” She rushed forward.

Connie gazed at her steadily. She attempted a smile. It was brittle and heartbreaking. “Yes, I am fine,” she said.

Francesca sank down beside her sister, taking both of her hands. Connie looked as if she might break into pieces at any moment, as if she were the most fragile of porcelain dolls.

“How could you tell her such a thing?” Beth Anne cried angrily. Her green eyes were flashing.

Francesca turned incredulously. “She asked me if I knew something! Was I to lie?” Beth Anne was a gossip. In fact, she could not keep a secret if her life—or someone else’s—depended upon it. Francesca felt that Beth Anne had some nerve criticizing her now.

“I do not think it was your place to say anything—and we all know how often you say the wrong thing!” Beth Anne cried.

“Please don’t fight,” Connie said quietly but tersely. Her voice was high with tension.

“I wish you had come to me first,” Julia said, intervening.

Francesca looked at her mother and tensed. “He does have a lover, Mama. I saw them. And I cannot lie to Connie.”

Julia stared at her. “We shall speak privately in a moment, Francesca.”

Francesca stiffened, about to protest. Then she shook her head, becoming angry. Clearly she was going to be blamed, when this was all Neil’s fault. She faced Connie. “I have been so worried about you.” She sat down and took her hand.
“Are
you all right?”

Connie said, “I am fine,” in the exact same odd, detached tone of voice. She pulled her hand away from Francesca’s grasp. Her smile remained, as if carved upon her face. Clearly she was not fine.

“Connie, we have been so worried and … Neil is worried, too,” Francesca said.

Connie looked at her. Her eyes were oddly wild while she remained so still. She did not comment upon what Francesca had said.

“Would you dare to meddle again?” Beth Anne cried.

Francesca stood, glaring at Beth Anne. “He is worried. He is worried and filled with remorse. I am certain of it!”

“Just as you are certain Neil betrayed Connie?” Beth Anne challenged. “What if this has been a mistake? I find it hard to believe that Neil would ever betray Connie.”

Francesca wanted to shout at Beth Anne that no mistake had been made—that she had seen them in the act of fornication. Instead, she glanced at Connie, who had tears sparkling in her eyes, and then she looked at Julia. Julia stood up.

“Ladies, this is not the time to argue over spilled milk. Beth Anne, we appreciate how much you love Connie, but this is a family matter.”

Beth Anne looked ready to burst into tears. “Mrs. Cahill, you know I have been Connie’s best friend for years. I don’t think Francesca had any right to spy on Neil, or any right to tell Connie what she did.”

“I could not lie to my own sister! I never expected Connie to leave her husband!” Francesca cried.

“Connie had the perfect life! And you have simply ruined it,” Beth Anne said harshly.

Francesca stiffened. “I did not force Montrose upon …” She stopped. “Upon another woman!”

“If
there was another woman!” Beth Anne flared.

Francesca wanted to throttle her. She was the biggest pain in the neck! How could Connie tolerate her?

“Please,” Connie said. “Do not fight.”

Beth Anne sat down on Connie’s other side and hugged her. “Everything will be fine. I am certain of it.” Over Connie’s head, she gave Francesca a dark look, as if this were all, entirely, Francesca’s fault.

“Beth Anne, I know how close you and Connie are, but Francesca is her sister, and they are even closer. Would you give us a few moments alone?” Julia asked.

Beth Anne stared, as if incredulous and disbelieving. She glanced at Connie, but Connie did not defend her. “Very well,” she finally said, but she shot Francesca an ugly look as she got to her feet.

Francesca refrained from glaring back. The truth was, it was hard to be patient or pleasant around Beth Anne. Francesca had never really cared for her, and she found her the busiest body there was.

“And, Beth Anne? We all know you would never breathe a word of this to anyone,” Julia said with a smile. “It will only hurt Connie more should anyone learn what has happened.”

“My mouth is sealed,” Beth Anne said firmly.

Francesca made a disparaging sound.

Beth Anne looked at her and left the room.

A silence fell. Francesca said, “If I have done the wrong thing, then I am terribly sorry.”

Connie looked down at her lap. “You did not do the wrong thing, Fran,” she said, low. “I asked you what you knew, and you told me. Thank you.”

Julia said, “Are you certain that you did not make a mistake, Francesca?”

“I am positive, Mama,” Francesca said, glancing at Connie. But Connie did not speak.

“Well, what has been done is done. There is no preventing spilled milk. Now we must think of the future.” Julia sat down on Connie’s other side. “You must go home, dear. Before you do cause a scandal.”

Connie nodded. “I know.” She did not seem thrilled with the prospect.

Francesca was flooded with relief. “Neil does love you, Con. I am convinced of it.”

Connie looked at her. “Perhaps.”

Francesca felt her heart breaking all over again. She glanced at Julia. Julia gave her a look of approval. She said, “Dear, I am not exactly surprised that Montrose has wandered. It is the way of the world. Few men are capable of fidelity in the long run.”

Francesca gasped. “Mama! Surely you do not think most men stray?”

“I do. Or rather, I think most exceptional men wander, at times. But I never expected this to happen so early in your marriage. Your heart is broken now. It will mend. And I agree with Francesca. Montrose loves you. But now, you must go home, before you cause a scandal.”

“How easy it is for you to say,” Connie whispered.

“Connie, the longer you stay here, the more likely it is that society will learn what happened. You should go back to Neil tonight, as if nothing is wrong. In fact, stun him with your kindness. His guilt will know no bounds.”

Francesca said, “I think she should put him on the carpet. I would.”

Julia looked at her sharply. “Marriage lasts a lifetime, Francesca. And waging war upon one’s spouse hardly enhances a union. Connie must go back and pick up as if nothing were amiss. Enough has been said. Neil knows she knows. In little subtle ways, Connie can make it clear that this will not be tolerated again. Andrew will weigh in, as well. Discreetly. After all, should Neil truly incur the displeasure of the family, his future would be threatened.”

Francesca was stunned. Did Julia truly mean that Andrew might threaten Neil with disinheritance? She was shaken. And surely she did not really expect Connie to go home as if nothing were wrong?

“Are we in agreement?” Julia asked, clasping Connie’s shoulder.

Connie gazed at her mother. “Mama … it is too soon,” she said.

Francesca felt every bit of her sister’s anguish then. “Could another day or so really matter? She and the girls are well off here.”

“Francesca, every day matters!” Julia exclaimed. “Connie, you must return tonight. Especially as Neil thinks you have left him on a somewhat permanent basis.”

Connie said quietly, “He knows I would not do that.”

“But you packed a trunk. You left no word,” Julia admonished. “When you return home, tell him you left him a note. That you decided to take the girls on holiday. That a maid must have misplaced your note and this has all been a misunderstanding.”

Francesca wanted to protest. She stared at Julia, aghast. This was not right! Neil’s treachery could not be simply swept under the rug.

Connie nodded.

Finally Francesca could bear it no more. “Mama, I think this is wrong, terribly so. I think Connie should confront Neil. But not in a combative manner, of course. They must discuss this, to ensure that it does not happen again.”

“Francesca, you are twenty years old, and more often than not, your nose is in a book. I have not a doubt as to how this entire sordid affair should be handled, and that is that. Connie?”

Connie took a breath and nodded. “I think you are right, Mama,” she said.

Francesca felt like pulling her own hair out. Her frustration knew no bounds.

“Well, that is settled, then,” Julia said with some cheer. “Francesca, let us go.”

Francesca wished to stay but realized Julia was not about to allow it. But before leaving, she hugged her sister, hard. “Con? If you want to talk, call me on the telephone. Or just come to the house.”

Connie met her gaze. “Thank you, Fran.”

“And I am truly sorry. And if I did speak up wrongly, I am even sorrier.”

“No, you did what was right.” Connie managed a smile, finally standing. She seemed very tired. She walked them to the door but did not leave the salon.

When they were in the entry, awaiting their coats, Julia turned to Francesca. “Dear, I know how much you love your sister. And your desire to help others is so endearing—most of the time. But sometimes it has an opposite effect. I happen to know that you always mean well. I just wish you were less impulsive.”

Francesca was somewhat relieved. The worst had passed; there would be no terrible tongue-lashing. “I had decided not to say a word. But when Connie asked me what I knew, I could not lie.”

“No one was asking you to lie, Francesca.” Julia sighed. “Sometimes, people wish to pretend that all is well. In fact, it has been my experience that more often than not, that is the case. I believe Neil is very fond of Connie, and he certainly adores the girls. Whatever prompted him to stray, I am quite certain it would have passed. I wish you had come to me, instead of to your sister. I am not sure she needed to learn of this.” Her glance was rather reproving. “You could have put her off and avoided telling her the truth.”