Dawn of the Golden Promise (27 page)

She turned her back on the younger woman and crossed the room, sinking down onto the sofa near the fireplace.

Incredibly, Alice felt no sense of outrage. Somehow she knew that the woman across from her was not the first with whom Patrick had betrayed their marriage vows, not the first to become involved in an illicit affair with him…and probably not the first to be so carelessly discarded when he tired of her.

Strange, that she could summon no real anger for the way he had lied to her, humiliated her. For the first time she realized that she had been
lying to herself
all along, had indeed been deceiving
herself
for years.

“Perhaps,” she said, barely able to force the words out, “you should tell me…everything.”

All the way across to the island, Patrick Walsh's insides churned in rhythm with the storm-driven waves. His head pounded with the thunder, and every furious heave of the boat brought an answering slam from his heart.

Hunched inside the rough, makeshift cabin, he watched the lightning swoop down and skate over the water. He shouldn't have started across in such a storm; even the ferry wasn't running. But he wasn't willing to risk the chance that Ruth might be foolhardy enough to go to his wife.

Not that Alice would believe her
, he reassured himself. Not Alice. Not in a lifetime. She trusted him implicitly, always had. Of course, he had been discreet with his affairs over the years, never taking up with local women but instead favoring those assignations convenient to his out-of-town “business trips.” He suspected that for the most part his caution had been unnecessary; Alice, he was sure, would never have thought to question his fidelity.

Alice didn't think much about anything at all, so far as he could tell. Certainly she would pay no heed to someone like Ruth Marriott. No, his wife would never be susceptible to a strange woman making wild-eyed accusations.

But it was better to be sure. He had worked too hard, had had too much incredible luck, to risk losing even the smallest part of what he had attained over the years.

One little doxy couldn't do him all that much damage, of course. The worst that might come from her foolishness would be that Jacob Braun, Alice's father, could turn on him and take back control of one of the hotels and some of the real estate. If it came to that, he had more than enough on the books in legitimate businesses to cover himself, not to mention the taverns and tenements in Five Points.

But it wasn't money that worried him. Money had never been his primary aim, but the means to attain the power that
was
his ultimate objective. He already had more money than he could ever spend in a lifetime, certainly enough to ensure a future political position and its accompanying power—with the proper backing and brokerage, of course. Over the past few months he had pulled all the strings, taken all the steps that would be required to play the game of politics from a winning position.

But if old man Braun lost his temper and went against him, even managed to turn Alice against him—unlikely as that seemed—there could be a messy scandal. His political aspirations would end up dust.

Everyone knew that most of the politicians in the state—at least the successful ones—were as rotten as bad meat. No one paid much heed to their crooked schemes, so long as they came through with what their constituents demanded. But just let one of them get caught being unfaithful to his wife, and all of a sudden everyone had a conscience. A man who cheated on his wife—and got found out—made some of the big bosses squirm. And a
divorced
man was dead in the water. There were too many Irish Catholics and straitlaced Protestants to appease. The voters wouldn't make their mark for a man who had openly shamed his wife, and the politicos knew it. They would dump a known philanderer without blinking.

Clinging to the rail to keep from sliding against the wall, Patrick reminded himself that Alice would never turn on him, much less seek a divorce. She was totally devoted to him.

Still, it was best not to take chances. He'd feel better once he got home. That way, if Ruth
did
happen to show up, he'd be there to toss her out before she could get to Alice.

Silently he cursed the little fool for complicating things. Thunder crashed, and the boat gave a violent lurch. He tightened his grip on the rail, for a moment imagining the iron bar under his hands to be Ruth Marriott's throat.

19

Day of the damned, descend,
And bring man's deceit to an end.
Day of dread, now reveal
What darkness would strive to conceal.

ANONYMOUS

U
tterly drenched from the storm and ridden by a growing anxiety, Patrick Walsh flung the heavy front door open so hard it banged against the wall. Inside, he shook himself like a dog to shed some of the water.

When the housemaid came rushing to see about the noise, he shouted at her. “I could do with a towel! You should have had one ready!”

The maid—Nancy—gaped, wringing her hands at her waist. Her fearful expression only irritated him more. “I'm sorry, sir,” she stammered, “we weren't expecting you so early! The children aren't even home from school yet, and they're usually in long before you arrive.”

He ignored her blather, ordered her to fetch a towel, then stopped her before she could obey. “Where's my wife?” he snapped, shaking the water from his hair and clothes with no regard for the polished floor under his feet.

The maid turned back, blinking furiously as if she couldn't quite take in his question. “Why…Mrs. Walsh is upstairs in the sitting room, sir. She has a caller.”

Patrick straightened, staring at her. “A caller?” His stomach knotted. “Who?” Shrugging out of his suit coat, he removed the pistol from the shoulder holster and pocketed it in his trousers.

The woman squinted at the gun for an instant, then pulled her moon face into the exaggerated scowl of disapproval that never failed to annoy him.

“The lady—the caller—didn't give her name, sir. Invited herself in as if she was royalty, with no calling card at all. But Mrs. Walsh, she said to show her up anyway. They've been up there, in the sitting room, for well over an hour now,” she added, darting a glance upstairs.

Then, as if she'd forgotten, she brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh, your towel, sir! I'll be getting it right away!”

“Never mind.” Patrick stood for a moment looking up at the second floor landing. “Go to your quarters,” he said shortly.

“But, sir, you'll catch your death—”

“And stay there until you're sent for!”

He waited until the maid had disappeared down the hall that led to her room behind the kitchen. Then he started up the stairs two at a time.

Alice heard the front door bang open, followed by voices—Patrick's voice scolding Nancy, and the maid's shrill return.

With dread settling over her, she got to her feet. “He's come home early.”

Ruth Marriott also stood, her expression fearful. “He'll be furious! I must leave at once.”

Alice shook her head. “No, it's time he faced the two of us. Together.”

“But he
threatened
me. He—I thought he was going to strangle me right there in his office!”

Alice had listened to the younger woman's detailed account of her plight for the better part of an hour. She had sat silently, her pulse pounding, her heart breaking, as she heard what she recognized to be a truthful rendering of her husband's betrayal. As the narrative progressed, she had moved past disbelief and anger, even beyond humiliation, to an unexpected, unexplainable kind of sympathy for the other woman's dilemma.

But at the moment she felt only impatience. “Patrick may be an…adulterer,” she said, her tone sharp, “but he would never put a hand to a woman. I insist that you stay. There can be no thought of assistance to you until he admits the truth. To both of us.”

Alice was surprised by her own calm. Had she ever once envisioned the agonizing scene of this afternoon, she might have expected that she would collapse with shock and grief, at the least give in to hysterical weeping. Instead, she felt only a gaping emptiness within, as if her very self had been stripped away, leaving nothing but a dry husk, devoid of all feeling, all emotion.

She didn't even feel anything when she looked up to find Patrick in the doorway. He stood there unmoving, his eyes darting from Ruth Marriott to Alice. “I can't believe you opened the door to this woman! Surely you realize that she's utterly mad!”

He was dripping wet, his hair slicked to his head, his face beaded with water. His shirt and trousers looked to be soaked.

Ordinarily, Alice would have run to him and begun to fuss. Now she merely stood watching him as he turned a murderous look on Ruth Marriott.

“What exactly is going on here?” he demanded. As always his tone was authoritative, imperious. But it seemed to Alice that his manner lacked some of its usual confidence.

“You haven't listened to her preposterous stories, I hope,” he said, turning back to Alice. “I told you, the woman is deranged.”

Alice met his gaze straight on. Her throat felt as if it were lined with gravel, her mouth dry as dust. But she surprised herself by answering him in a quiet, even tone. “How I wish that were the case, Patrick. But Miss Marriott doesn't strike me as deranged. Not in the least.”

His jaw tightened. “You can disregard whatever she's told you. She's quite mad, and I can't believe you didn't see as much right away.”

“Please don't do this,” Alice said. She felt heavy, her arms and legs weighted and cumbersome. “Don't try to lie. You're only making it harder on all of us. There's already been entirely too much lying.”

Incredibly, his look was one of reproach. “You can't be serious! For the love of heaven, Alice, this woman is a lunatic! You'd listen to the ravings of a madwoman rather than believe your own husband?”

Alice looked at him. A dark, bitter sorrow rose up in her as she recognized what a consummate actor Patrick had always been. Even now, when he had been found out, when he stood in the very presence of the two women he had betrayed—even now, he was frighteningly convincing. She could almost believe his indignation, his outrage, could almost accept his protests of innocence.

Almost…