The Transatlantic Conspiracy by G. D. Falksen Read Free Book Online

other people in the car—everyone else was probably unpacking. Among these few were some German and Austrian aristocrats, though she spotted one Russian in military uniform. A pair of French businessmen sat at a nearby table, speaking in quiet and serious tones about the train and what it meant for the future of Europe. Rosalind was tempted to eavesdrop. She could almost hear Father’s voice in her head, lecturing these two about the unstoppable march of progress. Led by American machinery. Led by him .
    Perhaps he was right. Perhaps Old Europe had a reason to fear the upstart industrialists, not only in America but also inside their own borders. Entrepreneurs who made their own fortunes did pose a risk to the old order. And this was a good thing, the best thing. The collapse of class barriers, the breakup of empires . . . But Father was so blind in so many ways. Particularly when it came to his own daughter. Women played no part in shaping his version of a new and better future.
    Rosalind tore herself away from the whispering Frenchmen. Cecily was her usual talkative self, prattling on about the drapery and the glassware, plainly making every effort to avoid the topic of Charles. Before Rosalind could ask after him again, Alix smiled at her.
    â€œTell me, Rosalind, what is it like to drive a motorcar?” she asked.
    â€œOh, it is very exciting,” Rosalind answered. “Like riding a horse while sitting in a chair. The wind rushes against your face.”
    Alix nodded and sipped her lemonade. “That sounds wonderful. I should very much like to drive a motorcar one day.”
    â€œWhen we arrive in America, I will take you for a ride in Father’s,” Rosalind said, and she meant it.
    â€œWon’t he mind?” Cecily asked.
    â€œI doubt he’ll even notice,” Rosalind answered. She bit her lip, realizing what she had just said. But it was true, and it spoke to exactly what she’d been thinking a moment ago: Father rarely paid much attention to anything she did, except when it served his own interests.
    Alix set her drink down. “This voyage shall be great fun, I know it. My goodness, Rosalind, it must be very exciting to be the daughter of an American engineer who builds such incredible trains—”
    â€œHe does more than just build trains, silly,” Cecily interrupted. “He builds bridges and tunnels and things, too.” She looked at Rosalind. “He must be very clever with numbers.”
    â€œWith mathematics, yes . . . ” Rosalind answered. “And you know, he always said I took after him in that.” She glanced at Alix. “There was many a summer when Father had me doing the ledgers for the company, to make sure it was all in order. He said I was very good at it.” But of course , she added silently, it was all about helping him, not about my own abilities.
    â€œYour father made you his accountant?” Alix whispered. “That is . . . I suppose I cannot even imagine it. How exciting.”
    Rosalind attempted to smile, not even sure why she’d brought it up. At the time she’d felt that she and Father had something in common, binding them together. But her smile fell as she remembered again what Father always said to her when she’d finished: “If only you had been born my son.” Spoken every time like it was a compliment.
    â€œRosalind, is something the matter?” Alix asked.
    She put the thoughts of her father from her mind and quickly said, “No, no, nothing at all.”
    Cecily threw up her hands. “Alix, darling, you must stop pestering Rose about such silly things. You’re embarrassing her. She loves books and writing and she’s a machinist. She’s even piloted submersibles. There: now we know everything about my American friend’s sordid past. There are much more important things to discuss, like which hat I should wear to dinner. Because truly , if I wear the red