The Transatlantic Conspiracy Read Online Free Page A

hadn’t expected him to . . . advertise it. ” The last words were spoken through clenched teeth, despite her best efforts.
    With a quick, angry motion she passed the newspaper to Cecily, who arched her eyebrows in an appropriately disapproving manner. Charles took notice and leaned over his sister’s shoulder to read the article. He looked at Rosalind and then back at the picture a few times.
    â€œIt’s rather a good likeness, actually,” he murmured.
    Rosalind sighed.
    Cecily’s eyes were on the newsprint. “We’re mentioned as well! ‘Miss Wallace is expected to be traveling in the company of Viscount Charles and Lady Cecily de Vere, children of the Earl of Exham . . . ’ ”
    â€œWell, fancy that,” Charles said.
    The third reporter pushed his way forward with a large camera and tripod. “Mademoiselle,” he said, “if you would be so kind, perhaps a photograph of you? Of you and the lady and the gentleman?”
    â€œUm, well, I . . . ” Rosalind began. She felt rather dubious about the whole idea of having her name in some newspaper, let alone being photographed then and there. And how could she ask poor Cecily and Charles to join in when her father had been so uncouth as to have their names printed along with hers? Had Lord and Lady Exham been warned? Rosalind very much doubted it. But before she could protest, Cecily seized her arm in excitement.
    â€œMarvelous!” her friend exclaimed. Cecily quickly tilted her chin and struck a pose at Rosalind’s side.
    A torrent of bright flashes exploded in front of Rosalind’s eyes, followed by the smell of burning powder. It suddenly seemed that every news photographer in Europe had descended upon them through supernatural means. She blinked, purple dots swimming before her eyes. It was all she could do to manage a smile.
    â€œAny words on your father’s venture?” asked the German reporter, producing a notepad and pencil. “Do you find it exciting? Frightening? Thrilling?”
    â€œWell, I—” Rosalind began.
    â€œDo you believe that the Transatlantic Railway will replace the ocean liner?” the Englishman from The Times interrupted.
    â€œI hardly think—”
    â€œDoes your family dislike sea travel?”
    â€œNo, of course not—”
    â€œIs your father declaring war on steamships?”
    â€œNow, look here,” Rosalind grumbled, “that is absolutely absurd—”
    â€œSo you doubt your father’s latest creation?” someone else asked.
    â€œOf course not!” Rosalind snapped. She felt cornered, as if surrounded by predators. “I have every confidence—”
    â€œWhy has your father sent you alone?” asked yet another reporter. “Why isn’t he here to accompany you?”
    The question gave Rosalind pause, for it had been troubling her as well, though she reminded herself this wasn’t the first time he hadn’t joined her. She reflexively knew not to frown; she heard her mother’s voice in her head telling her never to do such a thing in public. And good Lord, there were a lot of reporters. Too many. How could the photographers refill their flash powder so quickly? And what must the Kaiser think? For all she knew, she was interrupting his very important, very German speech, right?
    â€œThat is a silly question,” she said, holding her head high in the manner that Mother would have wanted her to. “My father is in America, overseeing every preparation for our safe arrival. In order to leave from Germany on his underwater train’s maiden voyage, he would have had to travel to Europe by ship. And how could he possibly have taken a ship when he is pioneering suboceanic rail travel?”
    It was a contrived answer that likely had no basis in fact, but at least it sounded decent. She’d had lots of practice making similar pronouncements.
    And now Cecily had them all smiling