"We can't wait that long." Katie sighed, aware that her knowledge would now be extremely useful. "Trust me, I know what I'm talking about, and I know how to survive. I will help you. I'll live with you as your wife, I'll cook and clean and keep house for you. But you've got to listen to me about this."

Christopher nodded. "Sure. Whatever you think."

"Good." Taking a deep breath, Katie accepted his hand and looked him right in the eye. "Christopher, starting today, we've got to find another source of income."

"Like what?"

"Jobs." She smiled at his shocked expression. "You and I must become gainfully employed."

SEVENTEEN.

Christopher stared at her in stunned silence, then broke into a light laughter.

"No, no, you don't understand." He spoke quietly, as if explaining the most rudimentary facts to a child. "We are society people. We don't work."

"You do now." Katie smiled, undaunted. "You might still be society, but you aren't rich. And without a plan, that will soon be evident to everyone. We have to get through the next year, Christopher. After that, if we're still together, we get the money."

Eunice joined them, quietly taking a seat and hearing the end of the conversation. Pouring herself some tea, she frowned thoughtfully, then turned to her nephew.

"I'm afraid she's right. Christopher, I've been thinking about the same thing. Ella's money will only last a few months. We need a more permanent solution."

The condescending smile died on Christopher's face as he realized the truth in her words. Worse, he couldn't find a single flaw in their reasoning.

"So what are you two saying?" His eyes lifted to Katie's and he frowned. "You want me to dig ditches or something? If I take a job, people will know I'm poor. We might as well give up now."

"Not necessarily." Katie procured a sheet of paper from the top of a crate and reached for a pencil. Putting his name on top, she gazed at him contemplatively. "Now what are you good at? Gambling, billiards, parlor games. You are a great host, know how to make people comfortable. You are conservative in appearance and have many contacts in the business world."

"Money." Christopher laughed at the irony. "I am good with money. Charles used to say it was the gambler's instinct, but I can usually pick winning investments. If I could get my hands on some d.a.m.ned capital..."

"Use someone else's," Katie said, ignoring his look of confusion. "That's perfect! Don't you see? You could be one of those men in banks, who make money for other people!"

"An investment banker." Eunice nodded thoughtfully. "You could manage trusts and estates, like the Wellingtons or the Chesters."

"And produce an income for yourself." Flushed with excitement, Katie put down her pencil and grinned.

Eunice's brow wrinkled thoughtfully. "You know, that could work. Charles Pepper's family owns one of the largest banks in the city. I'm sure he'd help you get started. And it would look natural. Lots of your contemporaries do this kind of work as a hobby. They really don't need the money, but they want to carve their own niche. Stop scowling, dear," Eunice said, seeing his expression. "So if you were to take this kind of position, it wouldn't look like you're dest.i.tute."

Katie nodded enthusiastically, ignoring Christopher's thunderous expression. "Now let's do the same for me." She turned over the paper.

"Kate, you can't mean-" Eunice protested.

"Oh, no," Christopher said sharply. "I'm not having a wife that works. Besides, you can't go on cleaning the houses of my friends. Eunice, you can try to cover up with Florence Eldridge, but Kate can't continue that."

"I wasn't thinking of working as a maid," Katie said firmly. "But we do need a second income, and it would be foolish to pretend otherwise. There has to be a way."

Kate ignored their disapproving glances and scribbled on the paper. Christopher leaned over her shoulder, reading. "Katie, this is ridiculous. You can cook and clean, write in a neat hand, take care of others...they're all jobs that would fall into one or two categories, and none of them practical for our purposes. What do you propose, to become a cook or a governess? How could we explain that?" His voice was incredulous.

"I can sing." Katie looked up at him, her blue eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with inspiration. "I can teach others, either women or children."

"Are you suggesting that you...tutor?" Eunice asked, though her voice wasn't as disapproving as a moment ago.

Katie nodded. "It's perfect. I can teach for a few hours in the afternoon. This is respectable, and will provide additional money. And other society women spend their time in such pursuits. It's considered fashionable."

Christopher looked at her as if she'd gone mad. "Do you really mean to spend hours with some ill-tempered brat who couldn't carry a note to save her life, just to earn a few extra dollars? I won't hear of it!"

"You haven't a choice," Katie said firmly. "I gave notice to Florence Eldridge, and I've got to get something." At his continued frown, Katie persisted. "Christopher, it's the only way. At this point, pride is a luxury we can't afford."

"I think she's right." Eunice sighed. "Katie, I hate to see you take on so much responsibility, but I think your plan has merit. And if you two don't mind, I'd like to help. I can run the household, keep in touch with the right people, and make sure the gossip mongers don't get hold of any of this. I can keep our place in society until you two are ready to resume yours."

Christopher scowled. Somehow he hadn't planned on his reunion with Katie taking this form. Yet even he could see that her plan was necessary. Shrugging in resignation, he spoke. "All right, I can't fight the both of you. We'll try it. But if it doesn't work-"

"We'll think of something else." Katie reached out and shook his hand. "This is a business arrangement, you know."

Christopher's eyes met hers and noticed that she quickly looked away. Business arrangement. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.

Even if it was his idea.

"Paddy, will you come to the door? There's a strange man here."

Moira turned back inside the dark row house and indicated the porch. Patrick rose wearily from his seat, his leg stiff from pulling weeds. He had arthritis, but he hid it well and never complained, and had found that a cup of the gin and a pipe worked just as well as reciting his woes.

Outside, someone lounged just beneath the street lamp. Patrick stared at him, a vague remembrance stirring within him at the sight of the handsome young man with the gold hair and a smile that could charm the pennies from the eyes of a corpse.

Yet the memory wasn't a pleasant one. Patrick hated the way his mind seemed clouded these days, and that the worries over the next meal obliterated all else. He knew this man and didn't like him. But he couldn't quite remember....

"Patrick O'Connor." The young man spoke, his grin insolent. "I don't suppose you recall me."

"Can't say that I do." Patrick's heart pounded faster as a premonition came to him. G.o.d, it couldn't be, it was so long ago....

"I'm not surprised," the young man continued, stepping closer, and placing a booted foot on the porch steps. "Katie only brought me home once to meet the family. Can't say that I blame her. I wasn't exactly welcome."

"John Sweeney." The words tumbled forth with hatred from Patrick's lips. How could he have forgotten? John still had the devil-may-care att.i.tude, the c.o.c.ksure grin, the lack of respect that he'd always had. The man was handsome and possessed charm, that was undeniable. Still, there was something about him that had warned Patrick years ago, when Katie had first introduced him. It was the same sensation he'd experienced when he'd seen a snake, long before it struck.

"What the h.e.l.l do you want?"

John broke into laughter. "Now, Paddy, is that any way to greet an old friend? I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. It seemed a kind and friendly thing to do, seeing as we're both from the old sod."

Patrick's fists tightened and he wished he had a shillelagh with him. "It's been six years," he said slowly. "You broke my poor Katie's heart. In all this time you never thought to come by until now. I don't suppose you wanted to see what you'd done to her and her life." He spat into the gutter, barely missing John. "So I ask you again. Now that Katie is happy and is making a life for herself, what do you want?"

"Is she happy?" John's grin didn't vanish, but his eyes lost some of their sparkle. "Bring her on out then so I can congratulate her on her good fortune."

"I'd kill you first," Patrick said softly. He rubbed his blistered palms together, as if aching to make good his threat. "Stay away from her. I'm warning you."

"All right" John laughed, but this time without mirth. "Calm down, old man. Don't get that Irish temper up." When Patrick didn't respond, he continued quickly: "I don't have to see Katie. My intention wasn't to upset her or your family. I just want to see my son."

For a moment Patrick thought he would pa.s.s out, so intense were his emotions. He stared blankly at the young man before him, aware of his light coloring that on Sean was beautiful, his smile that on Sean was dazzling, and his strong build, which his son showed every sign of inheriting. Yet there was a blackness in him that Sean did not possess, an evil that blighted him the way a bruise blighted the most perfect peach.

"No," Patrick said calmly.

John's grin died and he met the old man's stare. "He is my son. I have the right."

Patrick shook his head. "You have no right. You gave that up when you abandoned my granddaughter. Your son is doing fine. We've raised him well without any help from you, and we'll go on raising him well."

"I'd like to see for myself."

Patrick stared at the young man, his eyes searching. He saw John Sweeney's poorly cut coat, his frayed elbows, his ragged trousers. He saw the places where his boots had worn through, and he saw the cloths stuffed inside to keep his feet dry. He saw the dried mortar on his heels, the sc.r.a.ps on his hands from carrying endless bricks. Suddenly he knew this man as if he'd known him all of his life.

"How much?" Patrick saw that John didn't look surprised, and that he'd guessed correctly. "How much do you want to leave my family alone?"

His grin broadening, John slouched against the porch pole. "I would be insulted, except-"

"Except that I am right." Patrick stepped closer, his rugged face expressionless. "I've known dozens of young spaulpeens like you. Worthless, all of them. They use their looks and their charm to get what they want." He spat again, this time not caring that he hit one of John's boots. "You no more want to see your son than a wh.o.r.e wants to see a constable. I want to know how much money you want from us. Then get the h.e.l.l out."

"Easy now. There's no need to get angry." John shrugged and took a step back. "I could use the money, and Katie's doing so well. If you really don't want me visiting-"

"How much?" Patrick nearly shouted.

"I think fifty dollars will do for a start."

Patrick's face didn't change, but his skin paled. Fifty dollars was all the money he'd saved for the rent, to pay for the next few months. If he gave him that money, they would be forced to leave, to find cheaper housing, maybe in a worse place.

Yet he didn't have a choice. John Sweeney would crush Katie's newfound happiness. If this man showed up on the Scotts' doorstep, making a claim on his son, he could easily destroy their marriage. The Scotts couldn't risk another scandal, and he had no doubt that John Sweeney would create one.

And Sean. John Sweeney would corrupt the lad, turn him into a street urchin with no morals or conscience. That would kill poor Katie and would crush Moira. They'd fought so hard to give the boy a good life. They'd insisted he go to Sunday Ma.s.s, made him wash, helped him as much as they could with his schooling. He was a good boy, a kind boy. And it would all be for nothing if his father ever got hold of him.

"I will get the money." Patrick turned to go inside the house, then paused at the door. "And if I ever see you near the boy-"

"Don't worry." John Sweeney grinned. "I don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Returning, Patrick shoved the money in John's hands. "Now get out"

John Sweeney pocketed the bills, then doffed his hat and grinned as he turned down the street. Patrick watched him with a sinking heart.

It wasn't the last they'd hear of John Sweeney. Everything Irish in him told him so.

"La, la, la, la...la."

Katie winced when Sara Witherspoon's voice cracked as she reached the upper range of the scale. Patiently Katie smiled encouragingly, then hid her reaction as Sara screeched through another octave.

She was beginning to think it wasn't possible to teach some people music. Katie herself had never questioned her own gift; it was something she took for granted and thought everyone else possessed the same talent. She was quickly learning that what came so easily to her was excruciatingly difficult for others.

Yet it provided a job, and everything was working as planned. Christopher was employed at the Peppers' bank, with only Charles knowing the full extent of their need. And Eunice was circulating the story that as well-to-do newly-weds, Katie and Christopher felt so fortunate that they wanted to return some of their new happiness to others. It was all coming together, except...

"La, la, la...lala."

Except she and Christopher were not living as husband and wife. Katie wondered whether he had really intended to get her back just for the Pembertons' money. It had worked; Ella had been as good as her word. As soon as it was confirmed that Katie had come back to Christopher, Ella had forwarded a one-year portion of Fan's dowry. Eunice had quickly applied the money to pay off outstanding debts, but it was even more obvious that Katie had been right. When the worst of the bills were paid, there was very little left.

So they were living together, but they weren't sleeping together. Katie blushed even to think of it. The Scotts' house was so large that it seemed foolish to suggest sleeping anywhere other than the feminine bedroom that Eunice had indicated was reserved for her. Stripped of most of the furniture, it looked overly big and empty, as if waiting for its real occupant. Katie sat in the huge bed alone at night, wondering if she should speak to Christopher, but she was afraid to bring up the subject. Her own emotions wouldn't stand the light of day, and she had no desire to begin a conversation that might prove painful. She'd been hurt too much in the past to take that risk.

And if she had to be truthful, she hadn't confessed everything the way she'd intended. She'd been so shocked when she first returned to Christopher at the way he lived that she couldn't bring up the subject of Sean. She attempted to at other times, but without a real intimacy between them, it was just too difficult and risky. She was forced to keep her son a secret, and as time went by it was harder and harder even to attempt telling Christopher the truth.

So they lived as polite friends, Christopher going off to his job every day, Katie to hers. She went every morning to her family to see to her son. She hadn't been paid yet, so she couldn't give them much money, but she was worried. Paddy didn't seem himself, and even Moira was distant. Only Sean was the same.

"La, la, la, la...lalala."

"Maybe we should try something less difficult." Katie turned the sheet music on the polished piano and indicated a new piece. "This one should be nice."

"I'm bored," Sara said petulantly, banging the keys with her fingers.

Katie forced a smile. "You're doing fine. Your voice gets prettier every day. And you wouldn't want Melissa Eldridge to outperform you, would you?"

Sara shook her head, her blue bow flapping behind her. Melissa Eldridge had the reputation of being the neighborhood songbird, and like everyone else, Sara couldn't stand her. Newly motivated, the young girl studied the music, then began again while Katie directed. Katie tried not to think of cats howling, but when Sara attempted the new piece, she swallowed hard, in pain.

"There you two are." Jane Witherspoon entered the room, her smile beatific as Sara sang. "My compliments, Fan. I never knew you were so talented. My Sara gives a whole new meaning to the song, don't you agree?"

Katie nodded, straight-faced. It wasn't nearly as difficult to a.s.sume Fan's role again as she'd thought it would be. This world was so different from her own that she could easily keep the two separate. Jane patted her daughter's head, then indicated the French doors.

"You can run outside now, Sara. That's enough for today." She continued to smile as her daughter raced off, then she turned to Katie. "I don't know how to thank you for all you've done. Even in a few short weeks, the difference in Sara's range is remarkable."

"Remarkable," Katie agreed, feeling something like a hypocrite.

"I think it's given her new confidence among her friends. Girls are so compet.i.tive when it comes to womanly skills, you know. Whereas before Sara refused to sing at church, she now contributes, and quite loudly."

Katie smiled, feeling sorry for the church members. "I'm so glad you're happy. I know we haven't discussed any permanent arrangements, but I think we should-"

"You are right," Jane said eagerly, placing a fond hand on Katie's shoulder. "Fan, I know you have other obligations. But I really want you to continue Sara's lessons. It's done so much for her, you really have no idea."

"That's fine." Katie breathed a sigh of relief. It had taken Eunice some time to find this position, and it was perfect. Jane Witherspoon was something of a recluse; she didn't attend the lunches, or the gatherings, or the charity groups that other women frequented. Instead she spent her time among her books, studying and dreaming, and with her daughter, whom she adored. As a result, very few people were even aware that Fan Pemberton was tutoring Sara, and those who were didn't question it further.

"As for compensation, I know you don't need the money. My word, as Mrs. Scott, you have enough for ten families!" Jane giggled while Katie felt a dread creeping over her. "So to give you money would be the height of bad taste and would no doubt insult all of you. Yet I can't see you coming here so often without receiving some kind of benefit."

She extended a wrapped package. Katie smiled uncertainly, then opened the gift. Inside were six white linen handkerchiefs, all carefully embroidered and trimmed with crocheted silk.

"Sara made them herself." Jane grinned proudly. "She's even embroidered your initials on the corners. See? F.S. for Fan Scott."

Katie smoothed the cloths, then smiled at Jane Witherspoon. "They are just lovely."