Ship of Dreams (35 page)

"Mrs. Cadbury, Mr. Francis Cadbury, and Miss Caroline Cadbury," the starched-up butler, Joseph, intoned.

Della sat very still as the three entered the room. Francis looked just as she remembered him, only better dressed. Mrs. Cadbury was shorter and plumper than Mrs. Bradford, but had the same fashionable air and the same proud tilt of her head. Della's attention, however, was focused on the last member of the party—Kent's erstwhile fiancée.

Caroline Cadbury was exquisite: blonde, statuesque, cultured, and dressed in the absolute pinnacle of fashion and taste. Her chin echoed her mother's in haughty aspect, but she was still the most beautiful woman Della had ever seen. No wonder Kent had been attracted to her. When she spoke, her voice was low and well-modulated, as lovely as her face.

"Mrs. Bradford, is it true?" she asked, stepping forward to clasp both of her hostess' hands in hers. "Is there really no hope?"

Freeing a hand, Kent's mother again plied her handkerchief. "I fear not, dear Caroline. It has been so long since the ship went down ... I trust Francis has acquainted you with the details?"

Caroline and her mother both nodded. "Such a miracle that my dear boy was saved," Mrs. Cadbury exclaimed. "And such a pity that, for all his heroism in rescuing others, he could not save poor Kenton." She sat on the sofa next to her longtime friend, and in a moment they were weeping in each other's arms.

Della couldn't resist arching an eyebrow at Francis. Heroism? He intercepted her glance, and looked vaguely uncomfortable for a moment, but then his sister followed the direction of his gaze.

"And this would be the, er, widow you told me of, Francis? I must say, ma'am, I am most eager to hear
your
story." Her voice, warm and sympathetic when she spoke to Mrs. Bradford, now dripped ice. Della would find no sympathy here—not that she had expected any.

For a moment she wished she had never come here—that she had slipped away into the crowds of New York before ever meeting Kent's mother. But then she drew herself up. She would not allow these people to browbeat her. Just because they had been born to wealth did not make them better people than she was. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"I suspect my story may differ in some particulars from your brother's," she said. "But if you'd care to hear it, please have a seat."

Looking both startled and a bit wary, Caroline joined her on the other side of the spacious room, just out of earshot of the others.

"I'm sorry not to have happier news to share," Della began. "Believe me, I wish as much as anyone that Kent had escaped the sinking of the
Central America
. He was—very dear to me."

The woman across from her stiffened. "How dare you? Kenton Bradford was my fiancé."

"And my husband," said Della calmly. "Did your brother not tell you that?"

"He did, but I could not believe it. Kenton would never have ignored our engagement, not the Kenton I knew. You must have ... bewitched him somehow." Her glance clearly indicated that she couldn't imagine how. "In which case, I must hold you responsible for his death, as well as his betrayal."

Another murder charge? Next, they might claim she had used her potions to bend Kent to her will! "That is absurd, of course. Kent would have been on that ship whether I was with him or not. In fact, he had arranged his passage before we even met." Belatedly, she realized she probably should not have offered that bit of information.

Caroline pounce on it at once. "Ah. So this
was
a hurried, patched-up business, as I thought, and not something Kenton had a chance to think through logically."

Della could scarcely deny that, but the smug satisfaction on Caroline Cadbury's face nettled her. "When was love ever logical?" she asked. "His engagement to you may have been impeccably practical, as I hear it would have been a financially advantageous match for you both. But love, I assure you, trumps all such reasoning."

Miss Cadbury's face flamed scarlet. "I have heard enough!" Rising, she said loudly, "Mother, Francis, I wish to go." She then turned back to Della, her eyes glittering dangerously. "You won't be accepted anywhere, you know," she whispered. "I'll expose you as the gold-digging little harlot you are."

"Thank you so much for your sympathy, Miss Cadbury," Della said aloud, showing no trace of emotion in her face or voice. "It is just what I expected of you, from everything Kent told me."

Mrs. Bradford looked confused, but rose to bid her guests farewell. "I had thought you would be staying with us," she said, "but if you had rather not, I won't insist."

Mrs. Cadbury looked uncertainly at her daughter. "I'll, er, let you know where we are staying, Willa, and will certainly see you again before we return to Philadelphia. I fear right now dear Caroline is rather overwrought, poor dear."

Dear Caroline's face was dark with fury. "Come
on
, mother!" she exclaimed, then remembered her manners long enough to take a more cordial leave of her hostess.

Once they were gone, Mrs. Bradford turned to Della, her lips tight. "What did you say to upset poor Caroline so? She is like a daughter to me, and is understandably grief-stricken by this news."

"Why, nothing," said Della innocently. "Nothing at all." Grief, she realized, had not been among the emotions displayed by the exquisite Miss Cadbury.

*
           
*
           
*

It soon became clear that Caroline had lost no time in carrying out her threat. When Della accompanied Mrs. Bradford to Kent's memorial service the next day, appropriately attired in black dress and veil, she was greeted by cold stares. Whispered comments followed her down the aisle of the church as she moved to her place at the front.

Across the aisle, also attired in black, sat Caroline Cadbury, graciously accepting the sympathetic murmurs directed her way. Della tried to tell herself she cared nothing for the opinions of these people. Still, because of them, she forced herself to hold back her tears during Kent's eulogy, even though she knew that would only reinforce their impression of her.

A reception at the Bradford house followed the service, and again Della was ostracized, while Caroline was petted and coddled for her loss. Even Kent's sister Judy, normally kindhearted, spent most of her time with her older sister, Barbara, who appeared to be one of Caroline's intimates. As soon as she could reasonably do so, Della slipped upstairs to her room.

Finally alone, she let the tears she had suppressed all day flow at last, as the depth of her loss washed over her anew. The private outpouring of emotion was a welcome release, but unfortunately it did nothing to solve her larger problem. All too soon, she dried her eyes and went to stare out the window onto the civilized street below while she considered her options.

New York society was not for her. She'd known it from the start, had told Kent she would never fit in. Now the verdict was clear. She could not stay here—it was not her world. Nor did she want it to be.

In California, she'd seen drunkenness, debauchery, cheating and stealing, but never such cold heartlessness under a veneer of etiquette. Even the most lawless prospectors in the far-flung mining camps had more humanity than these people, and more honesty. Della knew instinctively that she could never grow to mimic or even tolerate the hypocrisy she'd seen displayed today. No, she would have to leave. The only question was how.

She looked about her, considering. As Kent's wife, a measure of his wealth was presumably hers by right. But she had no way of knowing how much, and she would not risk taking anything that might belong to his mother or sisters. No, she'd done enough damage by coming here at all, oversetting everyone's memories of Kent by her very presence.

At least she could partially undo what she had done. She could tell them what they wanted to hear—that Kent had never really married her, that she had forced him to pretend aboard the ship. She would tell the truth, all except for their wedding aboard the
Central America
. There was no proof now of their marriage, anyway.

She would even embellish the story, painting herself blacker and Kent more shining. What did it matter to her? These people were determined to hate her anyway. This would give her an excuse to separate herself from them at once. And while she was at it, she could give his mother and sisters an untarnished memory of him to keep.

Quickly, she packed the few things she felt she could rightfully keep: the two dresses given her by charitable folk at the hotel, a few toiletries, and a few pennies she had found in the bottom of a drawer. Setting the worn leather satchel, also a gift of charity, just inside the door of her room, she headed back downstairs.

The hum of voices had muted by now, and when she opened the door to the large parlor, she saw that only Caroline and her mother remained, along with Kent's sisters, the husband of the elder and the fiancé of the younger, and one other young man she did not recognize. They all turned toward her as she entered, with various expressions of coldness, disinterest, or curiosity.

"Ma'am, I need to speak with you," she said to Mrs. Bradford before she could lose her nerve. "It's a matter of some importance."

The matron raised one patrician eyebrow. "Indeed? Out with it, then."

For a moment she hesitated, then decided she may as well make her confession to all of them, as they'd know it soon enough anyway. "I fear I have perpetrated a falsehood upon you. Kent and I were never married."

Every eye in the room was now fastened upon her as a stunned silence greeted her words. Without prompting, she continued, twisting a handkerchief between her hands as her only support.

"I ... I played a trick upon him, pretending we were husband and wife, to escape some trouble with the law in California. Only his innate chivalry kept him from denouncing me. We had never met before boarding the ship from San Francisco."

"I knew it!" crowed Caroline triumphantly. "You little—"

But Della ignored her, focusing only on Kent's mother, who regarded her with mingled horror and dawning relief. "I came to care a great deal for Kent, but I knew his sense of honor would prevent him from breaking his existing engagement. He never behaved toward me as anything other than a gentleman. Your son was a remarkable man, Mrs. Bradford."

The older woman's face began to crumple in upon itself, as though the truth of Kent's death had only now been brought fully home to her. But only for a moment. Recollecting herself, she straightened. "Why—why do you wait until now to tell me this?"

Della sighed. "At first I was still too stunned to know what I should do, and then I was afraid. But I can't allow Kent's memory to be tarnished by my actions. He meant too much to me." She put a hand on the doorknob. "I won't trouble you again."

"Wait!" Caroline's voice arrested her as she began to turn the handle. "You're not going to just let her walk out of here like this, are you? She has deceived all of us, and is no doubt a common criminal, wanted by the law in California. She should pay for what she has done!"

Mrs. Bradford, now recovering from her shock, nodded. "Indeed she should. Why, I have introduced her to everyone as my daughter-in-law, much as it mortified me to do so. The social embarrassment, once this comes out, will be devastating. Charles—" she turned toward the young man Della hadn't met— "pray go fetch an officer of the law, so that we can determine what should be done with her."

"Do you think that's really necessary, mother?" he asked. "It doesn't sound as though she's harmed anyone." He regarded Della with interest, and a tinge of admiration.

She studied him with equal interest, nearly forgetting her own precarious situation. So this was the black sheep brother Kent had told her about. He didn't look like a wastrel. In fact, now that she looked closely, he showed a startling resemblance to Kent, though he was shorter and lighter in coloring.

"You have no idea what she's done, Charles," his mother retorted then. "You haven't even met her. She's played us all skillfully, like the brazen actress she no doubt is. She faced Della again, "Yes, I discovered who your 'friend' at the hotel really was. A common San Francisco showgirl!"

Della opened her mouth to defend Virginia, then closed it. Nothing she could say to these people would make any difference. She had made her confession, and she was glad of it, but now she would have to take whatever consequences came. "I'll wait in my room until you decide whether to allow me to leave or not," she finally said.

"Indeed you will," agreed Mrs. Bradford. "Joseph, escort her upstairs and see that she remains there," she added to the butler.

Her heart strangely lightened, despite her uncertain future, Della preceded the servant up the stairs. Whatever happened, she'd be away from these hateful people soon, no longer pretending to be a part of their superficial, petty world. Even the sound of a key turning in the lock once she was in her room did not dampen her relief at that thought.

She went back to the window, and a few moments later saw Charles ride away, presumably to fetch the police. A slow hour passed, which she spent devising and rejecting plan after plan to make her living once she was on her own again. Nothing she might do—alone—seemed to hold any appeal. Even the thought of world travel had somehow lost its charm.