Chapter 12

New York, autumn 1927

Bridie had been in New York for two years. She was now an established presence in the gossip columns, at the theater, in the elegant uptown restaurants and cafés and, of course, in the smoky underground speakeasies of Harlem. Her sorrow was a silent current beneath the hard shield that she had built around herself for protection against memory and melancholy. Like ice on a river it was beautiful to look at but cold. Her life was lived on the surface where everything was superficial and gay and without a care. Happiness was acquired in the same way that she acquired everything: with money. The moment she felt a tremor of gloom she headed out to the shops to buy more happiness in the form of expensive clothes and hats, shoes and bags, feathers and sequins, diamonds and pearls. The boutiques were full of happiness and she had the means to procure as much of it as she wanted.

There were men; plenty of men. She was never without a suitor and she took her pleasure when she wanted it. In those midnight hours when darkness wrapped its soft hands around her and lovers caressed her with tender fingers the silent current swelled and grew inside her, breaking against her heart in waves of longing. Her soul cried out to be loved and the memory she had of loving shifted into focus. For a blessed moment she could pretend that the arms holding her belonged to a man who cherished her and that the lips kissing her were devoted and true. But it was fool’s gold. Reality shattered the dream every time with dawn’s first light and Bridie was left fighting her desolation in the shops on Fifth Avenue.

Beaumont and Elaine Williams were her allies in her new world of fickle, fair-weather friends. Mr. Williams had known her before she had inherited her fortune, when she was a naïve and humble maid, fresh off the boat from Ireland, and she trusted him. He oversaw her investments personally and his office attended to all her bills. Bridie paid him handsomely for his cunning and wisdom. With the dreary jobs taken care of, Bridie’s only responsibility was to have fun, and Elaine was her constant companion. As frivolous and acquisitive as she was, Bridie didn’t hesitate to fund her lifestyle; after all, Elaine was as vital to her as rope to a drowning man.

Just when she believed she was forgetting her past, her past remembered her.

It was a hot, sticky night in Manhattan. Bridie and Elaine had been to Warners’ Theater to see the movie Don Juan, a new “talkie” with sound effects and orchestral music starring John Barrymore as the irresistible womanizer. They were in such a high state of excitement that going home to bed was not an option. “All that kissing has got me quite shaken up,” said Elaine, linking arms with Bridie as they hurried across Broadway. “What shall we do now? I’m feeling in a party kind of mood.”

“Me too,” Bridie agreed. “Let’s go to the Cotton Club,” she suggested. “There’s always plenty of entertainment there.” She put her hand out to hail a cab.

The Cotton Club was a fashionable nightclub in Harlem where New York’s most stylish went to eat fine food, drink illegal alcohol, dance to live bands and watch shows. It was buzzing, busy and boisterous and Bridie loved it especially because in that heady, loud and crowded place she could forget who she really was.

Except on this night, sitting at a round table with a group of suited men Bridie didn’t recognize and being fawned over by a couple of scantily dressed showgirls, was the only man in New York capable of making her remember: Jack O’Leary.

She stood staring at him in astonishment. He had changed. His hair was cut short, he was clean-shaven and he wore a pristine suit and tie. But he was unmistakably Jack with his deep-set pale blue eyes and crooked smile. People moved and jostled around her, but she remained as still as a rock until Elaine nudged her out of her stupor. “What’s up, Bridget?” Elaine followed the line of her gaze. “Do you know those guys?” she asked, then she added huskily, “They look like they’re up to no good, I’m telling you.”

“I know one of them,” said Bridie slowly, suddenly feeling sick.

“The handsome one?” Elaine asked with a giggle.

“He’s from my past.”

“Oh. Listen, if you’re not happy we can go someplace else.”

“No, we’ll stay. I’m just surprised. He’s the last person I expected to see in New York.” As the two women stared at him Jack lifted his eyes. At first he didn’t recognize her. He stared back, his face blank. Then his features softened and his eyes narrowed as he registered who she was. They remained a moment, gazing at each other through the smoke as if caught in a spell.

At last he pushed out his chair and began to make his way across the room toward her. “I think I’ll leave you to talk about old times,” said Elaine and she melted into the crowd of dancing people. Bridie waited, heart pounding, suddenly feeling small and lost and very far from home.

“Bridie?” he said, incredulous. “Is it really you?”

“Don’t be so shocked. I’ve been back here for two years now. I’m the one who should be surprised to see you—and indeed I am.”

He chuckled. “Fair play to you, Bridie.” He gazed into her face as if searching for the way back to Ballinakelly.

“When did you get here?” she asked, unsettled by the intensity in his eyes.

“February last year—but it feels like ten years ago.”

The sick feeling in Bridie’s stomach grew stronger. “And Kitty?” she asked, suddenly realizing that they must have run off together.

But Jack’s face darkened. “Let’s go and sit down somewhere. Fancy a drink?”

“I’d kill for one!” she exclaimed and they made their way to a small round table in a quieter corner of the club. Jack summoned the waiter, who appeared to know him well, and ordered champagne for Bridie and a beer for himself. “I came on my own, Bridie, to start a new life.”

Bridie’s relief was immense. “Then it’s fair to say that both you and I have run away.”

“Indeed we have,” he agreed, and the twist of his lips told Bridie that he was as tormented as she was. “When the drinks arrive, we’ll raise our glasses to that.”

“Did you find work, Jack?”

“It’s easy for a man to find work here in New York. Half the city is Irish, it seems.”

“So what are you doing?”

“This and that,” he replied shiftily.

“Don’t get into trouble, Jack,” she warned.

“Don’t worry. I’ve had enough trouble in my life. This time I won’t get caught!” He grinned and she saw the old Jack of her childhood in his smile, but there was something different in his eyes—a hard glint, like the flash of a knife, which she didn’t recognize.

“But you’re a vet. You love animals.”

“Not much demand for that in the city, Bridie. Let’s just say I’m bringing a certain product over the Great Lakes. After all, I’m handy with a rifle in case some other fellas try to steal it off us.”

“I would have thought your stint in jail would have taught you a little about breaking the law, Jack,” said Bridie.

“I’m ready to make it in America, Bridie, whatever it takes. There are opportunities here and I’m not going to let them pass me by.” Bridie watched him closely and wondered whether he missed the excitement and drama of the War of Independence, whether he had perhaps lived that life of rebellion for so long that it was the only life he knew. One thing was certain: he was up to no good.

The waiter brought their drinks on a tray and Bridie took a long sip of champagne. Jack put his hands around his beer glass and Bridie was at once taken back to the farmhouse in Ballinakelly where she’d return from working up at the castle to find Jack and her brothers sitting at the table plotting over their pewter mugs of Beamish stout.

“We’re a long way from home, you and I,” said Jack.

“What made you leave?”

“Da died,” he said, but Bridie knew that wasn’t the reason.

“I’m sorry, may he rest in peace,” she said with compassion.

He took a swig of his beer, then stared into the glass. His face hardened and his lip curled. “I left because of Kitty.” Bridie nodded. That came as no revelation. “She promised me she’d come with me, but she lied. She never intended to come.” He heaved a sigh. “I don’t imagine she ever really meant to leave Ballinakelly, or Robert. I was a fool to think so. She said she couldn’t leave because she was expecting Robert’s child.” He took another swig, then grimaced. “She’s as cunning as a fox, that’s for sure.”

Bridie’s heart filled with resentment. Kitty was expecting a child of her own who would grow up alongside Little Jack. It didn’t seem fair that Kitty should be so blessed when she had been so wronged. “Do you think she got pregnant on purpose?” asked Bridie.

“I know she did and I’ll never forgive her. I’ve wasted my life waiting for Kitty Deverill.”

“She stole my son,” said Bridie and the relief of being able to say so caused her eyes to sting with tears. Jack was the only person in this city who would understand.

“Jack Deverill,” he said.

“Named after you,” Bridie reminded him.

He chuckled bitterly. “She’ll be after changing his name now,” he said, grinning crookedly again.

“He’s my son,” she repeated. “I came back for him but he thinks I’m dead. She told him I’d died, Jack. The woman has no heart. I couldn’t very well tell him the truth, could I? I had to leave without him, God help me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s a terrible pain to carry.”

“I try not to think about it. I came here to start again. A new life. A new me. I left the old Bridie behind. I’m Bridget Lockwood here, don’t you know.”

“Indeed and you look well on it. We both left our pasts behind in the Old Country.”

She smiled and Jack thought how pretty she looked when her face was animated. Back in Ballinakelly, when he’d seen her at Mass, she had been hard and defensive, but here, even though she was smartly dressed, there was a softness and a vulnerability about her that reminded him of the grubby-faced, shoeless child who had once been frightened of hairy caterpillars and rats. He smiled too. “What a sorry pair we are,” he said. “Let’s drink to our good health.”

She raised her glass. “And to our futures.”

“Indeed. May I be touched with the hand of Midas too!”

WHEN JACK MADE love to Bridie she didn’t have to pretend anymore. Here was the man she had always loved. Here was the man she had searched for in the embraces of others but never found. The hands that caressed her, the lips that kissed her and the gentle Irish vowels that took her back to a safe and familiar place belonged to the only man who really knew her. Their paths had taken years to cross but now that they had Bridie was sure that they were destined to unite forever. She believed that finally, in this faraway city, she had found home.

Jack tried to lose Kitty in Bridie’s arms. He had drunk so much that every time he closed his eyes it was Kitty he was making love to and in spite of his still burning fury he couldn’t bring himself to open them. His heart ached with longing and homesickness. His heart ached for Kitty. He buried his head in Bridie and willed himself home.

When they lay together, bathed in the golden glow of the city’s lights, they reminisced about the old days when they had both been young and innocent and full of ambition: Bridie for a better future away from Ballinakelly, Jack for a free and independent Ireland. He lit a cigarette and lay against the pillows while Bridie propped herself up on her elbow beside him, her hair falling in dark waves over the white pillows. How Jack wished that those tresses were red.

“Tell me about Lord Deverill,” he asked.

“He was Mr. Deverill then,” she said.

“You told Michael he raped you, didn’t you?”

Bridie was unrepentant. “I had to or he would have killed me.”

“So he burned the castle and killed Hubert Deverill instead.”

Bridie looked horrified. “Don’t say that, Jack. Michael wouldn’t—”

“Oh, he did much worse than that.” But Jack couldn’t bring himself to betray Kitty so he took a long drag of his cigarette and shook his head. “You know what he’s capable of,” he said instead.

“He’s got a good heart, deep down,” Bridie reasoned. “He rescued my son and gave him to Kitty. He brought him home where he belongs. If he hadn’t, who knows where the boy might be now? He might be lost on the other side of the world. At least this way I know where he is and I know he’s safe and well cared for. Michael didn’t have to do that, but he did. So you see, he’s not all bad.”

“No one is all bad, Bridie. But Michael is no saint either. It suited him to bring Little Jack home. Ask yourself why Michael, who is so fervently anti-British, would give his nephew to an Anglo-Irish woman for safekeeping. Why would he do that?”

“Because Little Jack is my son, that’s why,” Bridie repeated emphatically. “But he’s not just a Doyle, he’s a Deverill too. Michael couldn’t very well give him to Mam, could he? She’d die of shock and Nanna too. Kitty was the only person and she’s my boy’s half sister.”

“Indeed Little Jack is a Doyle and Michael is a family-minded man,” Jack conceded ponderously. “But I figure he brought the baby to Kitty’s door to allay his guilty conscience. I suppose you could say that he took the life of a Deverill with one hand, but gave another life with the other. Perhaps the baby was even a peace offering to Kitty, whom he had so wronged.”

Bridie was unconvinced. “He did it for me, Jack. He did it for my family. Maybe he even did it to shame Mr. Deverill into facing up to his crime.”

“A crime which he didn’t commit,” Jack reminded her.

“No, rape it wasn’t,” Bridie agreed, but she didn’t want to accept her part in the burning of the castle and the death of Lord Deverill, so she added, “However, he shouldn’t have taken advantage of me. I was the same age as his daughter and I was in no position to refuse him.”

“Indeed he should not have, Bridie.”

She sighed, taking her mind back to those stolen moments in the Hunting Lodge when Mr. Deverill had brought her gently to womanhood. “But I loved him, you know. He was kind to me. He made me feel special.” She chuckled bitterly. “No one else did.”

Jack looked at her quizzically. “How close were you?”

She smiled wistfully. “I thought we were very close.”

“How much did you share?” he asked.

Bridie was deaf to the subtle change in his tone of voice and blind to his now steady gaze, watching her through the smoke. “I told him everything,” she said carelessly. “He was my friend and confidant, or so I thought. I realized what I was to him when I told him I was carrying his child. He was brutal, Jack. He treated me like I was nothing to him. After all those intimate moments, when he had made me believe that he loved me . . .” But Jack was no longer listening. He was wondering about the brave men who had fought beside him during the War of Independence, and died. How many ambushes and raids had been scuppered due to intelligence leaked on the pillow to Mr. Deverill?

“Did you not think that Mr. Deverill might repeat your idle chat to Colonel Manley?”

“I never told him anything important.”

“You didn’t think you did.”

“I didn’t,” she retorted.

“You were bedding the enemy, Bridie.”

“When we were in bed we were simply a man and a woman who cared for each other.”

“You’re Michael Doyle’s sister, Bridie. You were present during many of our meetings in the farmhouse. You knew what was going on.”

“But I didn’t betray you.”

“You were playing a dangerous game.”

“I’m aware of that now,” she snapped. “Would I be here, thousands of miles from home, if the game I played hadn’t been dangerous? It cost me everything. I can never get my old life back. I tried, but the door has closed forever. Mr. Deverill might have destroyed me had it not been for my resilience and good fortune. As it is I will never get my son back and he will never know his mother. I’m aware of what I did and of what I didn’t do. I slept with Mr. Deverill but I didn’t betray our people. I betrayed no one.”

“Every action has a consequence and yours have had more devastating consequences than most.”

She stared at him with black eyes and Jack suddenly saw Michael Doyle in them. “And what consequences does this have, Jack?” she asked.

He stared back at her and his heart grew cold. “I hope only good ones, Bridie.”

Her eyes softened and when she smiled she looked vulnerable again, like the child she’d once been with bare feet and tangled hair. “We’ve found each other in a city of thousands. What are the chances of that? You’re the only person who really knows me in the whole of America. With you I don’t have to be anyone other than myself—and you can forget about Kitty. It’s not hard if you really want to. Believe me, I know.” She nuzzled into the crook of his arm and ran her fingers over his chest. “I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but this isn’t one of them.”

Jack stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table and sighed heavily. He closed his eyes and let his hand wander over her hair that soon turned from ebony to copper in the deep longing of his imagination. Bridie slept, but Jack lay awake, for his thoughts did not allow him respite from regret. Now he was sober he realized that he wanted nothing from this.

When her breathing grew slow and regular and the tentative presence of the rising sun began to turn the sky from indigo to gold, he edged his way out of Bridie’s limp embrace and quietly dressed. He glanced at her peacefully sleeping and felt a stab of pity. She was lost here in Manhattan, but he was not the right man to find her. They had searched for Ireland in each other and only found a false dawn.

He let himself out, closing the door gently behind him. He knew that if he was to be free of Kitty he had to be free of the past, which meant leaving Bridie too. He was sorry that he was going to cause her pain in leaving her without explanation or farewell, but she had to let go of the past too. How could they possibly find happiness otherwise?

WHEN BRIDIE AWOKE she found the bed empty. She blinked into the space where Jack had lain and smiled at the memory of their lovemaking. She felt as if she had been reborn. As if she had metamorphosed into the person she had always wanted to be. She was wealthy, independent and now she had Jack. Jack whom she had always loved. Jack whom Kitty had stolen. But now he was hers.

She rolled over and strained her ears for the sound of Jack in the bathroom next door. She heard nothing but the distant rumble of cars in the street below. She frowned. “Jack?” she called. Her voice seemed to echo through the empty room. He must be in the kitchen, she thought; men are always hungry. She slipped into her dressing gown and padded across the floor to the sitting room. The morning poured through the windows in misty shafts of light, but it only seemed to emphasize the stillness of the apartment, and the silence. Then she heard the soft scuffling of feet advancing up the corridor and her spirits gave a little leap of happiness. “Jack?” she called again.

“Good morning, madam,” came the voice of Imelda, her maid. The woman walked lightly into the room, clasped her hands against her apron and smiled. Bridie put her hand on her chest and felt her head spin. She knew then that Jack had gone.