The Transatlantic Conspiracy Read Online Free Page B

and laughing with her poses. With any luck, the papers would print Cecily’s picture alone and leave Rosalind out of it.
    The only one who wasn’t smiling was Charles’s man, Harris. He stood to one side, watching the crowd. Rubbing her eyes, Rosalind noticed his ever-dour face forming a distinct grimace. He looked in Charles’s direction and jerked his head toward something or someone in the crowd. Rosalind followed with her eyes but could make out only a mass of more or less identical bowlers and top hats.
    One stood out from the crowd, however, because below it a pair of eyes locked with hers. A man with a mustache, in a brown suit and matching bowler, was staring at her. He quickly turned away and disappeared.
    Now Charles was frowning, too. When he noticed Rosalind, he smiled again. But it was forced. Strange. He was troubled by whatever he had seen; Rosalind was certain of it. Had he been troubled by that strange man with the mustache? Charles leaned over and whispered something in Cecily’s ear, but the newspapermen and photographers were still making far too much noise for Rosalind to hear any of it.
    â€œDoes your father advocate an alliance between Germany and America?” asked one, raising his voice at Rosalind.
    What a silly question , she thought.
    â€œI would imagine that my father, being a man of science, would also be a tremendous advocate of progress, industry, and commerce,” she replied, somewhat tersely. “The German government had terribly good sense in partnering with him in this venture. If the French had taken him up on the offer, I’ve no doubt we would be departing from somewhere in Brittany. And I also have no doubt that my father’s business is his and not mine, and I have no further answers to give you.”
    She smiled, and the smile wasn’t phony. No, she considered it to be a rather good answer, good enough at least to placate this idiotic rabble. Father had often remarked that she made a fine public speaker. Had she been born a boy, he’d told her, he would send her to study law or stand for political office. The compliment was comical, in a way—at least from his point of view. He never understood why she became so incensed at such comments. Progress, as far as he was concerned, was to be determined by men.
    â€œCome on,” Rosalind muttered to Cecily, “let’s get aboard before they depart without us and we’re left here with this mob of reporters.”
    â€œA splendid idea,” Cecily agreed.
    â€¢â€¢â€¢
    At the platform, Rosalind glanced over her shoulder. Doris was right behind them, though a few people back in the crowd. Rosalind smiled and motioned for the girl to join them properly, for surely there was no harm in it. As she did so, Rosalind realized that she’d lost track of Charles and Harris.
    â€œCecily,” she said, stopping short. She shook free of Cecily’s arm, looped within hers, and whirled around on her tiptoes. “Can you see Charles?”
    â€œOh, don’t worry,” she said, patting Rosalind’s back. “He’s gone off to telegraph Daddy about some business. Nothing important, of course. Something dull, dull, dull, no doubt. I expect he’ll meet us on the train.”
    â€œAh,” Rosalind said. That made sense. Charles wouldn’t have left without a word. And besides, he was their chaperone: where they went, he had to go as well. “Well, good. So long as he’s not going to abandon us . . . ”
    â€œI cannot imagine Charles abandoning you anywhere,” Cecily murmured.
    Rosalind’s cheeks flushed. She kept her head down. The reaction was neither ladylike nor proper. She reminded herself again that she was here as her father’s representative, and that this was the only reason Cecily and Charles were able to join her on her journey home in the first place. “I’m certain I don’t know what you mean,” she