Maiden Voyage Page 5

  Perhaps I could ask a crewmember who he is, Isabella thought, then immediately dismissed the idea. Drawing further attention to herself would be unwise, and dangerous.

  But the hopelessness of the search threatened to overwhelm her. The task that Ruth and Francis had set for her was impossible! Had they considered how she would actually find her birth parents, or had they just shoved her aboard the massive ship and hoped for the best?

  Exhausted and disheartened, she sank onto a deck chair near the back of the boat.

  Her eyes began to water from a combination of frustration and the acrid cigar smoke blowing out of the lounge windows.

  I can’t give up now, Isabella told herself. She heard her father’s voice in her mind—the way he chuckled as he gave her advice. You’ve got pluck, my Bella. Pluck and sense, and those two combined with hard work is all a person needs to make it in this world. Only she was no longer in a world that she knew.

  Closing her eyes for a moment and trying to locate the resolve she knew was inside her, Isabella heard another voice in her head. No, wait—this one was not in her head. Bits of conversation were wafting out of the first-class smoking room window above her, along with the clouds of smoke.

  “That’s quite a scheme you have going, Miles.”

  Isabella’s ears pricked at the name. Miles! She sat upright and turned, feigning adjusting the buttons on her coat. She waited, but the man’s voice she’d heard was now silent. Had she imagined those words? Had they come to her out of sheer desperation?

  Rising slightly, Isabella stole a look through the glass. The room was empty save for a steward wiping tables at the far end and two men playing a game of cards at a table. Isabella recognized gambling when she saw it. Though Francis James did not partake, she knew that many men did.

  The gentlemen’s faces were hidden in shadow, but Isabella could see that one man had silver hair, the other dark curls. The heavy oak table where they played was covered with empty glasses and cards. It was barely past lunchtime, and yet Isabella suspected that both men were a bit drunk given the volume of their voices.

  The dark-haired man’s slurred speech confirmed her suspicions. “Why, that’s just the beginning,” he said boastfully. “I will be leaving the unsuspecting Lady Elisabeth with her brother in America—preferably locked in a sanatorium, and paid for by said American brother. The poor man won’t know what’s hit him by the time I am sailing back to London, free as a bird. A wealthy bird, I might add …” He trailed off, staring at the cards in his hand. Isabella’s mind reeled. The dark-haired man was Phillip Miles … her father!

  “And what of your daughter?” the silver-haired man asked, sounding a bit incredulous. Whether he was disgusted by or disbelieving of Miles’s plan, Isabella could not be sure. She herself was aghast. Daughter? Does he know I’m on board?

  “Why, she will stay in America, too. Haven’t you ever heard of boarding school?”

  Isabella’s jaw dropped as a fresh cloud of smoke and alcohol fumes wafted out of the window and into her nostrils. She felt undeniably ill and covered her mouth with her hand. How could this awful man possibly be her father?

  She thought of Francis James, who had loved her and cared for her for as long as she could remember … a kind, gentle, hardworking man. She could hear his voice in her ear as if he were sitting next to her, see his warm smile. “They won’t know what’s struck them, I tell you,” Phillip Miles bragged to his companion as they stood to leave.

  “That’s quite a scheme, Old Man,” the silver-haired gentleman said. He shook his head as if he hadn’t believed a word. “If only I had thought if it myself before I footed the bill for my daughter’s wedding!”

  Both men laughed, but only one was joking.

  Isabella started when she realized that they were exiting the smoking room and coming her way. A moment later they passed directly by her chair! She froze, trying not to draw their attention, but could not stop herself from staring. She looked Phillip Miles right in the face, hoping she would see some proof that the fiend was not her father. But what she saw confirmed her fears. They shared the same dark curls, the same wide-set hazel eyes. Only his eyes were cruel.

  “If I were a caring man, I might actually feel sorry for them. They are just women, after all,” Phillip Miles said as he passed. He laughed alone.

  A strong and sudden urge to flee overtook Isabella. She struggled upward, tripping over her own feet and the chair.

  “Do you need assistance, young lady?” the gray-haired man asked, reaching out a hand.

  “N-no thank you,” Isabella replied while her newfound father smirked unkindly. She ducked her head and hurried away, Phillip Miles’s snickers echoing in her ears.

  “What’s gotten into her? You’d think she’d seen a ghost,” he said, still chortling at her distress.

  Isabella held herself upright, walking quickly and blinking back horrified tears as she fled. That man cannot be my father! she told herself over and over. If this was the person she needed to depend on, she wouldn’t! She’d rather beg in the streets or work in the poorhouse than accept anything from someone so awful.

  It wasn’t until she was down on D deck that she halted, remembering one of the things Phillip Miles had said. He had spoken of a daughter, but did not know that she, Isabella, existed. That could only mean one thing.

  Isabella had a sister.

  “I’ll get you a tray at once!” Abby blurted, already turning to leave. She was not sure if Miss Lucy and Mistress Elisabeth would recognize Felix, but she was sure that she couldn’t take the chance.

  Glancing back to ensure her employers weren’t watching her, and silently thanking the other passengers between them and the rail for blocking their view, she strode up to the steward who stood laughing with her brother.

  “What do you think you are doing?” she hissed, wondering which of them she was addressing.

  “Abby!” Felix lit up at the sight of his sister. He turned and reached his arms out for a hug.

  Abby deflected the embrace and put her finger to her lips to shush him.

  “Oh, it’s Abby, is it? I was wondering what your name might be …” The steward smiled his devastating smile, which, thanks to her anger, Abby was able to ignore out of hand.

  Taking in her stern expression, the steward quickly reshaped his smile into an expression of dutiful obedience. He set Felix firmly on the deck. “We were just watching them load the mail on and off the tenders,” he said sheepishly. “No harm done.”

  “That’s not all! We’ve been all over the ship!” Felix prattled excitedly to his sister. “Jasper even showed me the boiler—”

  Abby wasn’t listening. Ignoring Jasper altogether, she yanked Felix by the arm and dragged him toward the second-class staircase. But she neglected to look where she was going, and collided with a young girl headed in the same direction.

  “Oh!” the girl exclaimed, startled. Both girls stumbled back. Jasper caught Abby easily, and she jerked away from him, glaring.

  “Pardon me—I’m so sorry!” the girl stumbled over her apology. Abby looked the girl up and down and her surprise turned to utter shock. The girl was wearing Miss Lucy’s coat … the one she herself had set down just a few moments before!

  “Wh-where did you get that coat?” Abby demanded, unable to keep the accusation out of her voice.

  Jasper raised an eyebrow, and Abby knew what he was thinking. A maid accusing someone in first class of stealing, even a younger girl, was unheard of.

  The girl stepped back, wrapping the coat more tightly around her thin frame. “I … I …” she mumbled. Then she straightened and looked Abby in the eye. Abby gazed back at the girl, feeling as if she had seen her somewhere before. But how was that possible?

  “In London, of course,” the girl finally replied. Turning on her heel, she strode quickly back the way she’d come.

  Abby watched the girl go, a queasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. Why did she seem so familiar? Had Abby s
een her when they were boarding?

  Never mind, she told herself, returning her attention to Felix and the steward, who had located his handsome smile and was wearing it boldly. She threw a furtive glance back toward Miss Lucy and Mistress Elisabeth, who were resting on deck with their eyes closed, oblivious to the scene being played out before them. Thank goodness.

  Abby reached for her brother’s hand. She had to get him out of here right away! “You’re coming with me,” she said through clenched teeth. “Right this minute!” She hustled him down the stairs and back toward their cabin in silence. Inside, she was shouting at the top of her lungs.

  When they finally reached D deck, Abby pulled Felix around a corner and, unable to contain her anger a moment longer, stopped and drew up close to the boy’s face.

  “What on earth were you thinking, Felix O’Rourke?” she cried, balling her hands into fists and beginning to pace. Pacing wasn’t ladylike, she knew, nor was raging, or making fists, but she didn’t have the time or the patience to be dainty!

  “Do you even understand the danger we are in? Master Miles is not a nice man! He wanted to send you to a workhouse! If the family sees you … I …”

  Felix blinked several times before his eyes filled with tears. “He wanted to send me to a workhouse?” His voice came out like the tiny mew of a newborn kitten, and Abby instantly felt awful. Her mother did not lose her temper like this. She didn’t yell like this. She didn’t frighten her children … ever.

  Overflowing with guilt, she tugged his hand. “Oh, come on,” she said. “Let’s just get you to our cabin.” She tried to pull him forward, but he tugged back.

  “It’s this way,” Felix said.

  Abby stopped. Was it possible that after just a few hours of freedom her little brother knew his way around the ship better than she?

  “He’s right,” came a familiar voice. Jasper! Was he following them? “It’s faster to go this way,” the steward said gently.

  Abby’s eyes went round. Jasper had been spying. He’d probably heard every word she’d said and could turn them in at any moment! Their terrible secret was out.

  The panic must have shown on her face, because Jasper stepped closer and quietly said, “If you don’t mind my saying, Miss Abby, you don’t need to worry about me.”

  “That’s right!” Felix agreed. “Jasper promised he won’t tell anyone I’m a row-away.”

  Abby’s breakfast started to rise in her stomach. He knows everything. Surely the steward would have to turn them in to the proper on-ship authorities.

  “Stowaway,” Jasper corrected Felix gently, turning his large brown eyes on Abby. “And it’s true, your secret is safe with me,” he said earnestly. “On my parents’ graves. There is plenty of room on this ship for everyone.”

  Abby’s heart gave a little leap. Not only was he on their side, he was also an orphan! A pair of passengers passed by and she realized that they were still in a public corridor. She so wanted to believe she could trust this steward. But even if she decided she could, it only solved one of her problems.

  “Felix, lead us to our cabin,” she instructed. Felix grinned and turned on his heel. A few minutes later they were standing outside D22.

  “Wait right here,” she said sternly to both of them, pressing a finger to her lips. She suspected that Constance was at lunch—the girl loved to eat almost as much as she loved to talk—but entered the cabin by herself to investigate properly. Satisfied that the cabin was empty, Abby yanked Felix and Jasper inside and latched the door.

  There were a few things they needed to get straight … immediately.

  I wonder what’s taking Abigail so long … Lucy thought. The maid had practically run from the deck, but she’d promised to bring a tray of lunch, and Lucy didn’t see her anywhere. She gazed at the calm waters, grateful for her mother’s repose. Elisabeth Miles was stretched out on the chaise beside her, covered with a blanket, looking serene. It was almost laughable—for once her frazzled mother was relaxed, and their usually unflappable maid seemed rattled and out of sorts! Lucy’s stomach gurgled and she looked down the deck hoping to see Abigail. But there were only other first-class passengers enjoying the mild weather.

  As she watched a pair of young girls her age linger by the rail, she felt a pang of sadness. How she wished she could introduce herself and perhaps befriend them! She’d love nothing better than to spend time with other young women, but was inexorably tied to her ailing mother.

  Enough pity! Lucy scolded herself. You have nothing to complain about! Still, she let out a small sigh as the girls shared a laugh and moved on.

  The Titanic had just left Queenstown. The real passage was under way and they would not stop again until they reached New York. Lucy wanted to build on her mother’s mood and newfound strength, but found herself worrying about her untouched breakfast and current lack of lunch, as it was getting late.

  Lucy stood and raised a hand to her eyes, looking up and down the deck.

  As she searched, she noticed a man who looked out of place walking quickly along the promenade. Dressed in work pants, boots, and a wrinkled button-down shirt, he didn’t appear to be a first-class passenger, and when he turned and Lucy saw the scar running down his cheek she knew for certain that he wasn’t. She felt the tingle of alarm and wondered what he was doing.

  Lucy watched as the man searched the faces of the passengers he passed, her heartbeat quickening in her chest. She started to look around for a steward and was relieved to see one of the ship’s officers approach the stranger. There was a brief exchange, and the officer took the man’s arm. The scar-faced man shook him off angrily, then seemed to yield, allowing himself to be escorted away.

  “What is it Lucy?” her mother asked, opening her eyes.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Lucy fibbed. “I was just thinking I should have told Abigail to bring your tonic as well.”

  “Now, now, don’t fuss.” Elisabeth reached out to pat her daughter’s hand and smiled. It was a smile Lucy loved and didn’t see nearly often enough. She sat back down. She decided she was being silly and should simply enjoy her mother’s good humor. Abby would be along soon enough.

  “Besides, I stopped taking that tonic. It smells awful, and tastes even worse. It isn’t working in any case—even your father has said so,” Elisabeth added, still smiling.

  “Oh, but—” Lucy stopped herself from saying that it was Father who insisted she drink the dreadful cure day after day. Her mother didn’t need to be reminded of that fact, and Lucy liked it when her mother was defiant—particularly when it put her in such high spirits.

  How many years had it been since Elisabeth was involved in London’s Women’s Social and Political Union? It seemed like ages ago and just last week all at once. Back then, when her mother was stronger, Lucy had loved accompanying her to the rallies to demand the vote for women. She found it exhilarating, especially when Elisabeth would lean down to whisper, “We’re making history, Lucy. Always remember this.”

  Deeds not words. That was the rallying cry of the WSPU. When the arrests were made and the front pages of the paper were plastered with images of suffragettes, Lucy had felt proud. But her father claimed that what the women had done was foolhardy and dangerous. He had forbidden his wife from participating any longer. Her mother had argued, and her parents had both yelled, their angry voices echoing through the Miles home. But it hadn’t stopped her mother from sneaking out the very next day with her pamphlets, pressing a finger to her lips and giving Lucy a wink behind her nurse’s back. Lucy had loved the twinkle in her mother’s eyes, even if she rarely saw it now.

  It wasn’t very long after that, around the time that a few of the suffragette leaders were imprisoned, that Elisabeth had started feeling poorly. Her energy slowly drained away. Some days she stayed in bed until the afternoon, and some days she didn’t get out of bed at all. There were doctor visits and fewer and fewer outings. Now and again, Elisabeth Miles would appear to be regaining her strength, but it n
ever lasted for long.

  Lucy’s nurse, Potter, left the family, and her mother’s maid, O’Rourke, became Lucy’s maid, too. O’Rourke did what she could to entertain Lucy, but she had her hands full with her mother’s flagging health. Soon both mother and daughter had become housebound, and Lucy rather restless. She missed the park. She missed lunches with friends. She missed the rallies—and most of all she missed her mother’s spirit.

  “Oh, Miss! I’m so sorry that took me so long. I get so turned around on this ship I hardly know which way is the sky!” Abigail set the tray down between Lucy and her mother and fanned her face for a moment, looking harried. She was every bit O’Rourke’s daughter, but unlike her mother, the younger O’Rourke was not skilled at hiding her emotions.

  “We’ve been fine,” Lucy said to reassure her. “Haven’t we, Mother?” She was glad Abigail had returned to pull her out of her memories, and bring some food at last.

  “Here we are!”

  A steward stepped up behind Abigail with another tray laden with tea and sandwiches. At the sound of his voice the maid nearly jumped out of her apron, coming close to upsetting both trays.

  Lucy looked on, amused. She wasn’t certain of what to make of Abigail’s strange behavior.

  “Oh!” Abigail gasped, putting a hand to her chest. “You gave me a start. Here. Set it here.”

  Lucy stole a look at her mother and saw she was watching the two servants with equal bemusement as they stepped around each other to fill the cups and plates. The always-smiling steward seemed quite familiar with their maid, and Lucy couldn’t help but wonder if they hadn’t met somewhere else on the ship, or if placing the lunch order had been something a little bit … more.

  A sudden and surprising flash of emotion made Lucy look away. The feeling was sharp, and she blinked as she tried to understand it. Am I envious of my mother’s lady’s maid? It seemed preposterous. Abigail was under their employ. She was an orphan, poor as a church mouse, and had to care for her little brother in addition to her employment as a lady’s maid. And yet … well, in many ways she had much more freedom than Lucy did—enough to have caught the fancy of a handsome boy! Lucy tried to squelch her feelings of self-pity. Though it was true, she wasn’t likely to meet any beaus trapped in her house or bound to her mother’s side, she could hardly complain about her lot in life. She shook her head and smiled at her own foolishness. It reminded her of the song about the girl in the gilded cage.