The Runaway Girl

by Jina Bacarr

  Ava kept her chin up, her shoulders straight, but the sheer scale of what she had to overcome to go from being a lady’s maid to a lady seemed too much.

  She reached into her coat pocket to warm her hand and found the countess’s letter. Her wavy handwriting looping like a perfect curtsy urged her to carry on. Could she copy her signature? She could hear the countess telling her nothing was beyond her.

  What if she failed in her deception? The way she spoke, her manners, her education were nothing like that of a lady. She was doomed before she began. She had been prepared to risk everything when it came to running from the law for something she didn’t do, but taking on the life of another woman? That was different somehow.

  Ava didn’t feel so brave now.

  What choice did she have? If she admitted to the port authorities she was a poor Irish girl and not the countess, her dreams would be shattered. Her word that she was innocent not believed. She’d be locked up and forgotten as surely as if she’d gone to the bottom of the sea.

  Ava set about putting that behind her. She had one thing in her favor. From what Fiona told her, the countess rarely left Scotland and knew no one in America. That gave her a fighting chance. She was determined to make both Buck and the countess proud of her. Mr Brady, too. For their sakes, she’d carry on.

  She took to her oar with spirit, determined to give it a go rather than let the devil have his way with her. Praying they wouldn’t sink before help came, all the while thinking, Why not pretend to be the countess to get me started in a new life, then be on my way?

  Is it possible?

  It was then she saw the distress rocket light up the sky. Glory to God, could it be—

  Yes. Her soul soared when later she saw the faint lights of a steamer headed their way, then heard a ship’s whistle blasting through the dense fog.

  The Carpathia.

  She’d have her answer soon enough.

  ‘Your name, miss?’

  ‘Fiona.’

  ‘Surname?’

  ‘Winston-Hale,’ Ava said, drumming her fingers nervously against her thigh, her black coat and red shawl brushed with sea spray. She removed her lifebelt and handed it to a steward. More than two hours had passed since she sighted the lights of the ship, then she was taken aboard the steamer through the open hatch, hoisted up in a boatswain’s chair slung over the side.

  Quiet and orderly. Everyone acting subdued and reverent, not quite believing what they’d been through.

  ‘My good man,’ bellowed the woman behind her, her patience wearing thin. ‘Can’t you see the countess is on the verge of mental collapse?’

  ‘Countess?’ asked the purser, impressed. He turned back to Ava, his curious eye taking note of the initials and crest embroidered on her shawl. ‘Is that true?’

  Ava’s throat tightened. She wanted to answer, praying she had the audacity to go through with this charade. Knowing what she said would change her life forever.

  Anything could happen if she answered. Anything at all.

  Tell him, will you? Or you’ll spend your days in the darkest pits of hell with not even a holy thought to comfort you.

  ‘Yes, I’m the Countess of Marbury,’ Ava said in a clear voice, surprising herself. Inexplicably, a sense of pride expanded in her chest, filling her up with a courage she didn’t know she possessed.

  Who was this prickly lass proclaiming without a flutter of her eyelids she was a titled lady?

  ‘I’ll speak to the captain about securing you a private cabin, your ladyship.’

  He turned his tired eyes in her direction, expecting her to demand more. She didn’t.

  A steward brought her a warm blanket, hot coffee and brandy to fight the chill. She wasn’t sure if the purser believed her. His gaze unnerved her because it brimmed with questions, yet his respect for her station demanded he refrain from continuing the conversation.

  Can you believe it? The purser wanted to give her a private cabin? So fine it was, them treating her like a lady. Like filling her pockets from her mum’s sugar basin to sweeten her toast.

  It don’t seem right, Ava thought, swallowing deeply. Offering her a cabin when so many others were sick with cold and bleeding, their fingers and toes numb to the warmest human touch.

  She wandered off alone, knowing the man was still watching her. She was happy the first cabin ladies she shared a lifeboat with had never laid eyes on her before she got into the boat. ‘Twas a blessing she kept mostly to the countess’s cabin and whenever she wandered about the ship, she was careful to keep her head down. No second class ladies knew her either. She sent praises to up above the crewmen on the lifeboat had paid her no mind.

  Though her heart was heavy, she couldn’t help but smile under her veil. She could imagine his lifted brows when he saw her helping distribute blankets, then holding a baby in her arms while the child’s mother tended to her little daughter. Next, she brought hot coffee to the young wireless operator who couldn’t stand up because of his injured feet.

  And why not? Blessed Virgin, she had to do something, anything, to make up for her being here and not the countess.

  Thoughts of those last moments with her ladyship crept along the edges of her mind, taunting her. Why didn’t she stop the countess from going back to her stateroom? Why didn’t she move faster down those stairs after her? Why, why?

  Ava couldn’t shake off these questions, knowing she’d be spending long nights awake, wishing she had the power to make things different. It didn’t matter her heart was crushed. It didn’t matter she had no idea how she was going to keep pretending she was genteel and grand. She was bound to slip up.

  What then?

  She had to keep moving… keep her hands busy… Ava O’Reilly wasn’t a lazy lass—

  There you go, thinking of yourself as Ava. Your name is Fiona… your name is Fiona, she kept repeating to herself, though not one bone in her shivering body believed a bloody word of it.

  She pulled the blanket closer around her. Somewhat warmed by the hot liquids, she paced up and down the deck. It didn’t take away the grief now settling in her. A shiver traveled across her shoulders, then down to her toes scrunched in her wet boots. Her life took shape in the daylight. As the morning mist mingled with the remnants of that horrible night, she existed in a world of dull gray. No color. Just gray. As if the sorrow in her heart had sucked out the fire and passion that colored her world with his lordship and left it empty.

  Painfully so.

  For the next few minutes, Ava stood at the rail, looking out to sea. She couldn’t move. Didn’t really want to.

  What if someone recognized her?

  Don’t go there. You made your choice. If you’re caught, you can’t fly off like an angel with the hand of God on their shoulder. You’ll take what comes to you.

  Ava forced her concentration on the sea again. She stayed at the rail with the rest of the women and watched each lifeboat pull up, praying she’d see Buck or Mr Brady. It was as if she wanted one more look. Wanted to say one more prayer.

  ‘Your cabin is ready, Countess.’

  Ava turned and saw the purser, waiting for her to answer him. How long had she been standing there? Long enough for another lifeboat to pull up alongside the ship, its passengers climbing up the rope ladders. Shaking and cold.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she muttered, then turned away, embarrassed. Too late she realized her mistake. She pursed her lips together. No titled lady addressed a member of the crew as ‘sir.’

  The sooner she disappeared down below, the better off she’d be.

  The purser cleared his throat. ‘A steward will show you the way, milady.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him tip his cap, then he was off, bustling about with the swagger she’d seen him give the first cabin ladies. Chin up, chest out, making them and himself feel important.

  Not so with the steerage women.

  She watched him send them down to the open deck below to wait in the windy cold for b
lankets and coffee.

  Dear God, Ava couldn’t tear her gaze away, her eyes not believing what she was seeing. A sight so bloody wonderful it pierced her like a blessed arrow. There she saw the two Irish girls huddled together, their eyes ringed and tired, their faces pale.

  Peggy and her sister Hannah.

  Her heart swelled. Buck had saved them. God bless him, what a fine gentleman he was and a hero.

  Then another thought hit her. One that enflamed her soul with a passionate longing she couldn’t deny. Where was he? Had he climbed into the lifeboat with them?

  Was he here on the Carpathia, looking for her?

  She started down the small stairway to the deck below to ask them what happened to his lordship, then stopped, her heart catching in her throat.

  Dear Lord, the girls knew her as Ava O’Reilly. If they discovered she was masquerading as the countess, her whole plan would dissipate faster than a puff of holy smoke.

  Her excitement faded and all of a sudden she felt tired and very much alone. Not knowing what had happened to Buck haunted her.

  So this was to be her unholy fate.

  ‘Countess!’

  She turned, her pulse racing. Had she been found out? She saw a steward moving quickly toward her, his mood excited.

  ‘There’s a gentleman come aboard asking for you,’ he said.

  ‘A gentleman… oh, no, can it be?’ she cried out, not waiting to hear more but running along the open deck where the passengers had come up the ladders. She bit down on her lip, catching the veil in her teeth. She paid it no mind. A sudden smile spread over her face. The thought of seeing his lordship soothed her and sank into her heart, hugging her with a warmth she’d never thought to feel again.

  ‘Buck… Buck!’

  It wasn’t Captain Lord Blackthorn she saw taking long strides toward her.

  Instead a tall gentleman still wearing his lifebelt moved at a fast pace. A welcoming smile beaming on his face.

  Her hand flew to her mouth. If all the saints themselves had whispered his name into her ear, she’d have not believed it.

  Treyton Brady.

  For a moment, she didn’t know what to do.

  Run, stay?

  She had to face him, and her wearing the countess’s coat and acting all fine and mighty. She pulled the blanket closer around her so it hid her face. He’d be angry with her and had every right to be. A lady’s maid she was, and he knew it.

  Her smile faded. Her game was over.

  Jesus Mary, what was going to happen to her now?

  A bitter disappointment overtook her, but it wasn’t for herself. It was for him. He’d have to know what happened to the countess. And she had to tell him.

  She died because she couldn’t stop loving Buck, her heart broken. Her poetic soul searching for him in a deep pool of water until finally she let go. I’m telling you, Mr Brady, she loved him more than life itself.

  But she wouldn’t say that to him. Not now or ever. She’d never betray her ladyship’s darkest secrets.

  Secrets now her own.

  Ava made the sign of the cross. What did it matter if someone saw her? She needed all the help she could get to bear up and do her duty.

  ‘Fiona!’ Trey called out, his arms extended to her. He looked so happy to see her she didn’t pull away when he embraced her. He didn’t know it was her with her red hair hidden under the countess’s black cloche hat. She squeezed her eyes shut. She hated deceiving him. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

  ‘Glory be, Mr Brady,’ she said, keeping her head down, ‘you’re a beautiful sight to my poor eyes.’

  ‘Fiona?’ Trey asked, taken aback. He bent over her, his face puzzled.

  ‘Don’t be angry with me, sir. I’ve been praying that you and his lordship were saved.’ Up until now Ava had kept her face covered by the blanket. When she let it drop, his eyes widened and he stared at her.

  ‘Ava… oh, my God… I don’t believe it.’

  He grabbed her and looked hard into her face. She stared back at him, her lips quivering, her cheeks coloring.

  ‘It’s me, Mr Brady,’ she whispered. ‘Ava O’Reilly.’

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’ he whispered hotly in her ear. He looked around, then back to her. ‘Where is Fiona?’

  ‘She’s… she’s dead, Mr Brady.’

  ‘Jesus Christ… it can’t be true.’

  ‘But it is. Don’t give me away… please… I can’t go back to Ireland… I won’t!’

  ‘Give you away?’ He held her close to him, breathing hard, his whole body shaking with such emotion she swore he’d crush her. ‘Oh, you poor, sweet girl, you’re all I have left.’

  ‘What unhappy words are you saying to me, Mr Brady?’ Ava asked, shaking her head, struggling to come to terms with what he was telling her.

  ‘Buck went down with the ship.’

  Pacing her breathing, Ava tried hard to keep calm, holding onto Mr Brady’s arm so tight she felt him flinch. She’d heard so many screams when the ship went down, so many dying souls, knowing Buck was among them was more agony than she could bear.

  She started trembling all over, tears burning her eyes. She didn’t try to wipe them away, but let them flow down her cheeks.

  She couldn’t lose control, not here. God wouldn’t help her. He was too busy with all them other ladies sobbing and weeping. They had a better right than she did to receive Divine help. The ship of widows, they were calling the Carpathia. In the eyes of the Church she wasn’t his wife, but Buck had called her his lady and that did her heart proud.

  ‘No, no, it’s not right, taking a fine man like his lordship,’ she said, her mind working furiously to keep going, not to snap, the voices inside her crying and howling.

  She inhaled sharply.

  ‘You mean while I’m still here, Ava?’ Trey dared to venture forth. In a fit of frustration, he took off his lifebelt and tossed it on the deck. He ignored her shocked expression and went on. ‘We both know it should have been me down there and not Buck.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mr Brady,’ Ava said honestly. ‘You and I are both sinners, but you’re a good man. I cannot say the same about myself. I can never be as fine and grand as the countess.’

  ‘You’ve got more than a pretty face, Ava. You’ve got a pure heart.’ He gazed at her in concern. ‘God help the man who doesn’t see that in you.’

  As cold as it was on deck, Ava made no move to go below. Neither did Trey. They’d both said what was on their minds and made their peace with each other. Now it was time to heal. They stood close together for several long minutes, wrapped up in their own thoughts.

  Finally, Trey said, ‘Tell me what happened to Fiona, Ava. I want to know.’

  It was a morning of peculiar cold and it seemed right somehow to talk about Fiona here on deck where Ava could cast her eye out on the sea. Wreckage from the ship floated by. Deckchairs, pieces of wood. Cork. She drew in a deep, cleansing breath. She wanted to take her time, for what else did they have but time? Four days to reach New York.

  Then what? It both scared her and excited her.

  The words didn’t come easy to her. They’d stood in silence for a while, each to their own thoughts, as if paying silent homage to the countess they’d sailed with for four days before coming to grips with her passing. The wind came up as it did on this cloudless morning, the salty air heavy with the smell of death and despair. Ava turned her face into the chilly breeze and let her eyes close shut. She thought hard about what she was going to say, overcome as she was by wounds that would take a long time to heal, if they ever did.

  She could hear Mr Brady’s quiet breathing next to her. He didn’t press her. When she was ready, she opened her eyes.

  And the words spilled out.

  She recounted to him how the countess insisted on going back for her mother’s earrings, how Ava begged her not to, then they were caught on the Grand Staircase with the water swirling up from several decks below. Mr Brady said nothing, leaning over the rail,
his face slick with sweat, his eyes downcast.

  ‘Before I could grab her,’ Ava said, ‘her ladyship slipped on the stair and fell to her death.’

  She finished by explaining how the stewardess helped her carry the countess into an empty stateroom, and then locked the door, leaving her to her eternal rest.

  She thought about that heartfelt moment but a few hours ago. Part of her still felt the guilt. The other part of her knew she’d done her best.

  ‘I know it was wrong to pretend to be her, Mr Brady,’ Ava admitted, ‘but when the ship’s officer thought I was her, I couldn’t deny it or I’d be found out.’

  ‘You did what you had to do, Ava. I can’t blame you for that.’ He smiled at her, his hand tipping her chin up so their eyes met. ‘Strange, isn’t it? We both lost someone important to us. Now we’re alone. You no longer have a protector and I no longer have a countess to appease my mother.’

  Ava nodded. ‘We’re two lost souls. The Almighty saved us for a reason, Mr Brady. We have to find out what that reason is.’ Bold words, but what else could a lass do?

  She waited for him to offer her a sign, a show of understanding that didn’t need to be voiced between the two of them. He did. He acknowledged the look of longing in her eyes with a glance that told her he was hurting as much as she was.

  Then he squeezed her hand and turned back to the sea.

  ‘We’ll push you through customs, Ava. The captain told me the usual regulations won’t apply to the survivors.’

  Ava let out a sigh of relief. ‘A grand idea that is, Mr Brady, but what will happen when you don’t come back with the countess?’

  His eyes scrutinized her as if he were trying to figure out something. Then he smiled at her. ‘I’ll tell my mother Fiona changed her mind after her terrifying experience at sea and went back to Scotland. You’ll never have to lay eyes on the woman. At least I can spare you that.’