Ship of Dreams (36 page)

Staring vacantly at the street below, her attention was caught by a horseman at full canter. It was Charles, returning, but she could see no law officer with him. Reaching the house, he leapt from the saddle and ran up the front steps, disappearing from her line of vision. She heard the door below her open and slam shut.

Curious, she crossed to her door, but remembered when the knob would not turn that the butler had locked it from the outside. She rattled the knob impatiently, then called out, but there was no response. Ah, well. Whatever it was, it most likely did not concern her. If it did, she would find it out eventually. Wishing she had something to read, she went to sit on the bed—but only for a moment.

A piercing shriek from downstairs made her fly to the door again, this time to press her ear to the panels. An excited murmur reached her, but she could distinguish no words.

Again the front door slammed and, hurrying to the window, she saw Charles remount his horse and ride off. A moment later, a carriage came clattering around the corner, stopped, and Mrs. Bradford and her daughters scrambled into it. Then another carriage came up behind to consume Caroline and her mother, and both followed Charles at a brisk pace.

"Something is definitely going on," Della exclaimed aloud to the empty room. Perhaps it was merely a forgotten social event, or a particularly juicy bit of gossip, but their urgency suggested something more important—if anything
was
more important to these people.

Immediately, Della berated herself for such a thought. Most likely, a relative had suddenly fallen ill. But whatever it was, she had no intention of remaining locked in this room indefinitely. A sycamore tree stood some twenty feet away, and one of its broad branches stretched nearly to her window. Retrieving her small satchel, Della hitched up her skirts and opened the window.

The climb was harder than it looked. Tossing down her satchel first, she steeled herself for the jump to the branch four feet away. Telling herself this was nothing compared to what she'd gone through to be rescued from the
Central America
, she leaped and caught the branch across her middle. Scraping her hands and legs, she scooted to the trunk, then had to half climb, half slide to the ground, for the tree had no lower branches. Once down, she picked up her satchel and began walking at a brisk pace, her one goal to put as much distance as possible between the Bradfords and herself before they returned.

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CHAPTER 22

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed

The light-house top I see?

Is this the hill? is this the kirk?

Is this mine own countree?

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Newspaper reporters crowded around Kent, Grant, Dawson and Tice, seated in Castle Garden, where they'd been brought as soon as the
Laura
left customs. Already it seemed as though the whole city knew of their rescue, perhaps due to that enterprising young reporter who had rowed out to the ship early this morning to ask questions of the captain.

"What was it like, adrift upon the sea, facing certain death?" someone asked Kent for what must have been the twentieth time.

"I don't recommend it," he replied, to a general chuckle.

Mr. Dawson took advantage of the crowd's brief distraction to slip between two newspapermen. In a moment, he had limped away, leaving only three to answer the questions. Five minutes later, a squeal announced the arrival of Mr. Tice's wife. Kent watched the tearful reunion with a lump in his throat. Where,
where
was Della?

Since setting foot on land, he had scanned every face, hoping to see her. Where might she be by now? Would she have heard the news yet, or had she given up hope and left New York, perhaps with one of her friends from the ship? Already he'd seen the list of other survivors. Maybe Della had gone with the Eastons, or the Birches. Or—

"Kenton! Oh, oh, Kenton, my dearest boy!" The crowd parted again, to allow his mother through. Before he could say a word, she launched herself at him, hugging and kissing him as she repeated his name over and over.

Kent returned her embrace, but couldn't help glancing over her shoulder. Judy was there, and Barbara, and ... Caroline. And was that, could it be,
Charles?
Of Della, he saw no sign.

"I know, Mother. I thought I was dead too, for awhile there. But I'm fine now." He tried to keep the burning impatience out of his voice.

"But you're so thin, Kenton! Come, I must get you home and start fattening you up at once. You poor, poor, dear! Oh, I still can't believe it!" She released him, but at once his sisters rushed forward to twine themselves about him.

"Careful, careful, I still have a few bruises, not to mention a broken leg," he said teasingly. They exclaimed in concern, loosening their grips slightly. Kent looked over Judy's shoulder at Charles. "This is a surprise," he said warily.

His brother grinned at him, and suddenly it was as though the seven years since they'd last met evaporated. "I only got here this morning," he explained. "Just in time for your memorial service, in fact. You should have been there. Such raptures over what a fine young man you were."

When his sisters finally disengaged themselves, Caroline stepped forward. "I'm so relieved to see you alive, Kenton," she said with a smile that somehow failed to warm her fine blue eyes. "You can't imagine what agonies I've suffered, while we thought you were lost forever."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Cadbury, from behind her. "Especially with that insufferable young woman pretending to be your widow—"

Kent's head snapped up. "Della? Where is she?" Again he scanned the crowd.

"Not here, I can assure you," his mother replied. "I'm sure your gallantry is to be commended, my love, but really, you should have had the girl arrested, rather than shielding her. Who knows what she has done?"

"She's done nothing," he snapped, then again demanded, "Where is she?"

His mother hesitated, but Charles spoke up. "Back at the house." Then, with a wry look at Caroline, whom Kent knew he had never liked, he added, "Under lock and key."

"What?" Kent roared. But the sudden exertion made him cough, marring the effect of his righteous indignation. Charles slapped him on the back to help him recover, while his mother and Caroline both chattered at once.

"You have no idea how she duped us. I introduced her everywhere as your widow!"

"The way people treated me—with pity! The poor, jilted fiancée. I was mortified."

Kent glared, silencing them both. "Della is the woman I love, and my wife. Take me to her at once."

Two sets of eyes widened in disbelief. "But she admitted—"

"She said—"

Both women began to sputter protests, but Kent grabbed his crutch and hobbled toward the waiting carriage, ignoring the pain in his leg. "At once," he repeated.

Suddenly becoming aware of the interested onlookers, most of them reporters, his mother abruptly ceased her protests and motioned for the coachman to help him inside. Charles mounted his horse with a grin. "See you back at the house! This should prove extremely entertaining."

Judy seated herself next to Kent. "No harm has come to her, I promise you," she said softly, with a nervous glance across at their mother and at Barbara, who looked nearly as forbidding. "I liked her from the start, and am very glad to know she is not a criminal after all."

Kent gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. "Thank you, Judy. I'm glad of your support, for I suspect that over the next few days, Della will need every friend she can find."

His mother merely sniffed, clearly hoarding up her words for later. Kent tapped on the roof and shouted for the coachman to hurry. Whether Caroline and her mother followed in their carriage, he neither knew nor cared.

The afternoon was beginning to fade when they reached the house half an hour later. Despite his urgency, Kent gazed fondly at the imposing facade of the place he'd spent most of his life, and had despaired of ever seeing again. He and Della would be happy here, he was determined—no matter what.

It was Charles who helped him from the coach, supporting him until he could orient his crutch properly. "You're pretty good with that thing," his brother commented approvingly.

There were hundreds of questions Kent wanted to ask him, but they would all have to wait. Right now, nothing mattered except Della.

Mounting the stairs with difficulty, he wondered what had prompted her to say that their marriage was a sham. If she intended to repudiate it, why had she gone with his mother at all? Gaining the front door, he stepped into the broad, marbled foyer.

"Della!" he shouted. "Della, I'm home!" He turned to his mother, who had entered just ahead of him. "Which room?" he asked.

She frowned and her chin trembled, either with anger or disappointment. "Joseph, bring our ... guest ... down to the parlor. Kent, I must insist that you rest that leg."

He took a step toward the stairs, but the old butler was already halfway up them. Damn his broken leg, anyway! "Very well," he said sourly, impatient at the delay. He followed Judy into the parlor and allowed her to place a pillow under his foot, propping it up on the divan. His mother and Barbara also fussed about him, but he waved them away, his eyes fixed on the doorway where Della would appear at any moment.

"What's taking her so long?" he muttered after two minutes passed, then three. "Charles, would you—?"

"Of course."

His brother rose, but before he reached the door, Joseph entered. "Madam, the young woman is gone. I took the liberty of searching the room, and it appears she may have climbed out of the window."

"How long?" Kent rapped out, over his mother's outraged exclamation. At the butler's questioning look, he clarified. "How long ago could she have left?"

He looked confused. "I can't really say, sir. I haven't checked on her since showing her to her room, some two hours ago."

"Since locking her in her room, you mean." Kent shot an accusing glance at his mother. "Come, we must—ugh!" The exclamation was forced from him when he tried to rise too quickly, inadvertently putting weight on his right leg. "Charles?" It rankled him to ask for assistance from his scapegrace younger brother, but he saw no choice.

"Of course." Charles leapt to his feet. "I'll help you to the gig, since I assume you can't ride with that leg. Then I'll go ahead on horseback and begin making inquiries around the neighborhood. Surely someone will have seen her."

Kent nodded his agreement—and gratitude. With Charles' help, he was soon seated atop the family's small gig, the reins in his hands. Where would Della have gone? He turned to his mother, who had followed them out of the house.

"Why would Della have left?" he asked her. "With what had you threatened her?"

She twisted her handkerchief between her hands, and stammered. "I ... I sent Charles for the police. I thought—that is, Caroline insisted—"

"That she suffer for embarrassing you both," he finished. "Did you not tell her about my rescue before you left?"

His mother shook her head.

Kent closed his eyes, biting back the words he wanted to say. Poor Della, with no one to turn to, nowhere to go, thinking she was about to be arrested. But it gave him a clue as to where she might have gone. She'd be trying to get as far away from here as possible.

He shook the reins, but just then a carriage pulled up and Caroline jumped out. "Kenton! Please, you must listen to me," she began.

"I think not," he said shortly, and touched the whip to the horse's back, driving past her without another word.

The nearest transportation Della could find would be nearly a mile away, at the hansom station. Or she might have headed for the new railroad depot, a mile and a half in the other direction. At the crossroad, he stopped, considering. Which way had Charles gone?

Just then he spotted his brother, riding toward him from the left. As he drew close, he called out, "Mrs. Milliken believes she saw her, nearly an hour ago, on foot. She was headed west."

Kent frowned. "The railroad, then, I suspect. I'll go that way, but I'd appreciate it if you would go east and check the hansom station, just in case Mrs. Milliken is mistaken."

With a salute, Charles rode off again. Turning to the left, Kent urged the horse to a quick trot. He had no idea what schedule the railroad followed, but prayed he would reach the station before Della could depart. What agonies must she be suffering? With all he had gone through, at least he had been secure in the knowledge that Della was safe. She had no such lifeline to cling to.

Ten minutes later, he pulled the gig to a halt in front of the railroad depot. No train waited on the tracks, and a quick survey of the handful of people sitting on the platform showed that Della was not among them. Kent looked down. The ground seemed far away, and he was not at all certain he could reach it without assistance—nor could he get back into the gig alone, once he left it. Damn.