Page 67 of The Irish Gypsy
"I think you will have, but I suggest we havethe doctor come and have a look at you just to be on the safeside."
"But, Kitty, he'll know," she protested.
"Very likely he'll have his suspicions, butthere isn't a damned thing he can do about it, is there?"
"But what if he goes to Jeffrey with thestory?"
"The best thing is for me to send Jeffrey anote telling him you've miscarried and we've sent for the doctor.He'll come dashing home from his club or wherever he's gotten to atthis time of night, filled with guilt and showering you withsympathy."
"You know a lot about men, don't you, Kitty?"asked Julia with admiration.
"Do I?" wondered Kitty, surprised.
"Please see baby Jeffrey gets to bed withoutme tonight and send that note off to his father right away.Terrance probably can run him to earth."
While Barbara and Kitty bathed the baby,Kitty observed him closely. He was all O'Reilly, exactly as Patrickmust have been. He had a head full of black, silky curls, a veryred mouth that was either chortling with laughter or screaming hisdispleasure with those about him. He was a robust, sturdy baby withall-knowing Irish eyes, and not one speck of his father's blueblood showed in his physical appearance. She prayed that her ownbaby would be half as lovely.
The next morning Kitty took a hansom cab toThe Swan with Two Necks in Lud Lane. They owned sixty coaches andover a thousand horses. To sit up on top cost three pence per mile,while a seat inside cost five pence. The weather was too miserablefor Kitty even to consider an outside seat. The trip from London toBolton would take twenty-eight hours, with a stop for the night atLeicester. The coachman would expect a tip of at least a shilling,and the guard would want half a crown. Doing mental arithmetic,Kitty allowed five pounds for the trip. The generous amount Patrickhad given her had shrunk to such miniscule proportions that shefelt guilty.
What had seemed like an adventure soondeteriorated into a wearying trial of endurance. The seats were sohard you could get relief only by shifting about, but thepassengers were packed so tightly you had to sit still to avoidencroaching on your neighbors. The roads were so bad with theconstant downpour that all the passengers had to disembark everytime the coach came to a steep hill because the horses couldn'tclimb and pull in the mud. Although her cloak was sodden and hershoes and stockings wet through, Kitty pitied the horses and feltannoyed at the complaints of the other passengers, most of whichcame from the men, she noted with contempt.
The next morning her clothes were still dampwhen she embarked at Leicester. The sky was leaden but at least ithad stopped raining. When the coach finally unloaded at thePackhorse Hotel in Bolton, Kitty stumbled and could hardly walk.Resolutely she picked up her bag and made her way through thedirty, narrow streets that led to Spake Hazy. It was after dark,but the lamp-lighters had done their rounds and the gas lightsshone their brave yellow along each cobbled street.
After Kitty had been sitting in front of thefire, laughing and chattering for an hour, it was almost as if shehad never been away. Everything was the same, except Ada hadproduced another child and by the looks of her, she was off again.When the household retired, Kitty and Swaddy were able to beprivate at last.
"Well, my beauty, you're off to America, areyou?"
"Patrick promised to marry me, and I don'tsee the need to wait months and months until he sails home. Doyou?"
His eyes twinkled. "Well, lass, if he's beenat you, it would be a good idea to get that ring on yourfinger."
"Grandada, don't reproach me. I've beenwildly in love with him since I was a child."
"Couldn't you have satisfied yourself withthat young husband you wed?"
"No, I'm afraid not. He married me onlybecause he lusted for Terry."
"Then he likely deserved what he got.Remember, beauty, no guilt."
Kitty pressed ten pounds into his hand beforeshe curled up for the night.
"Thanks,acushla.Make an effort tobehave yourself in the future, lass. You have an uncanny knack forgetting into scrapes."
She laughed. "Patrick will look afterme."
He shook his head and thought:A man wouldneed to wear his jackboots to control you, lass.
It was teatime the next day when Kitty walkedpast the posh Adelphi Hotel in Liverpool. Inside, waiters in whitegloves and frock coats served wafer-thin cucumber and watercresssandwiches to the elite who politely listened to atwenty-five-piece orchestra hidden behind a jungle of foliage.Kitty hurried past and bought a pie from a pieman hawking hiswares. Liverpool was peopled with seamen from all over the world,lascars, black men and at least half the population seemed to beOriental. A large directory on the wall of the Lyver Building toldKitty where Isaac Bolt had his offices. She knocked and walked in.A clerk asked her business and she told him she wished to speak toIsaac Bolt
"I'm afraid he's occupied at the moment,ma'am." He hesitated. "His daughters are with him."
"Well, I'm sure if you told him that thesister of his partner, Mr. O'Reilly, was in his waiting room, hewould see me," she ventured.
"Oh, I'm pleased to meet you, madame. Mr.O'Reilly is a great favorite around here. I'll tell Mr. Bolt rightaway that you are here."
She was shown into an office with large, uglyfurniture.
Isaac Bolt was in his sixties with grayingmutton chop whiskers. The elder daughter was quite pretty, but theyounger one had slightly protuberant eyes with hooded lids. Kittyknew immediately that she was very shrewd. Kitty held out her handto Isaac Bolt and smiled. "I'm Patrick's sister, Barbara. How doyou do, Mr. Bolt?"
