by Lori Bond
The mission. Jerry tried to focus again on the mission. Never before had the duke tasked Jerry with something this important. Whenever Jerry had volunteered he was always “too young” or “needed to be focusing on his studies.” Finding the bayonet drawings was important to more than just the war effort. Jerry wanted this chance to prove to his father that he was truly an adult, ready to start taking his place at his father’s side.
A discreet tap at the door was all the warning Jerry had before Wellburn slipped into the room. His man frowned at the trunks stacked haphazardly to one side, clearly unimpressed with the ship’s stewards.
“Are they all right?” Jerry asked.
Wellburn focused his attention back on his employer. He nodded, but the frown didn’t leave his face. “I have seen both girls settled in Mrs. Wickingham’s stateroom. The room is a double berth, and the little Olive will be staying in there with her mistress.”
Jerry’s eyebrows rose at that. It was more than a little unconventional for a maid to share her mistress’s room. Wellburn would be sleeping in Second-Class for the journey. “Is it necessary?” Jerry asked. “We are, or at least we were, trying to avoid drawing attention to ourselves.”
In one of his unguarded moments, Wellburn let out a small snort and a frank response. “That ship has well and truly sailed, my lord.”
Jerry grunted at the intended pun. The thrumming of the ship’s steam engines through every surface of the boat served as a constant reminder that the journey was underway.
“Your cousin,” Wellburn added with a subtle emphasis on the last word, “is creating for herself an impression of vapid eccentricity. She is young and from the comments of the other servants, her harmless antics are going to be tolerated by their employers.”
That was a relief. Jerry had worried that elopement rumors would cause Caroline to be shunned by the other passengers and thus unable to glean information about their mission. Fortunately, Caroline had been correct in assuming that a widow would be given far greater leeway.
“It will also probably be safer for both young women, considering.”
Jerry froze and then turned so that Wellburn had his undivided attention. “Considering what? What could possibly threaten those two girls on a steamship in the middle of the ocean?”
Wellburn’s expression became dour. “It seems Mr. Bickle was able to book one of the last remaining berths just before we sailed.”
“That couldn’t have been prevented?” A jittery feeling coursed through Jerry’s veins while a variety of emotions, fear, anger, and plain irritation jostled for position in his mind.
Wellburn made a sour face. “Mr. Bickle’s bribe overruled the rather sizeable one paid earlier.” Wellburn dug in his pocket and handed back the small purse of coins Jerry had entrusted in his keeping back at the inn. It was noticeably lighter. Between Caroline’s new wardrobe and bribes for the crew, Jerry would need to draw on his father’s line of credit when they got to New York.
Jerry considered tossing the purse against the wall, but he wasn’t prone to violent piques of temper. Having Caroline and her harmless little maid threatened brought out the savage in him though.
“I feel it may be time to introduce myself to the captain.”
Chapter 9
After his introduction to the captain, Jerry found his “cousin” making new friends in the ship’s General Parlor. He felt a bit better. The captain had been very accommodating and had promised that the girls would come to no harm from anyone, especially not from an unbalanced passenger. The captain had seemed properly appalled that Bickle had fixated on a stranger as his missing fiancée although as an American, the man had lacked the proper deference for a peer. Jerry had let it slide.
“And can you imagine that poor man thinking I was Lady Caroline Stravers?” Caroline was saying as Jerry walked up behind her. “Me? I’ve never met the lady, of course,” Caroline said in that confiding way to the older matron sitting across from her. It was the woman that had been standing directly behind Mr. Bickle during boarding. Clearly, Caroline had headed straight to the source to make sure her version of events was spread about. “But, of course, no one has, have they? The poor thing is just absolutely wasting away from what my cousin tells me.”
“That is the common understanding,” Jerry interjected from behind, amused at her cheerful prattle. He could see now what Wellburn had meant about the other passengers humoring Caroline’s mild eccentricities. The woman across from Caroline had been giving the girl an indulgent smile, the kind reserved for enthusiastic children prone to showcasing their latest discovery.
Caroline swiveled in her chair to smile up at him. Jerry’s heart seemed to stop for a moment at the sight of that smile. He missed something she said to him while trying to regain his balance. Perhaps the ship had hit a particularly rough patch of sea, throwing him off. Yes, that had to be the explanation. A girl’s smile would never knock a Danvers off his feet.
“Have you met Mrs. Turnton?” Caroline gestured at the woman across from her, and Jerry realized that he was expected to make a response. Mrs. Turnton deigned to acknowledge his presence with a regal nod followed by a long, rather knowing, look. “Mrs. Turnton, this is my cousin Viscount St. David,” Caroline said, finishing the introductions.
Jerry took the older woman’s hand, and they murmured the required pleasantries while Jerry claimed the empty seat between them.
“My lord,” said Caroline with a brief touch of his arm. A small electric bolt ran through Jerry, and he barely managed to school his face before betraying his shock. Caroline either didn’t feel it or was as good as him at hiding her true thoughts. She continued on without even the hint of a pause. “Mrs. Turnton has been kind enough to allow me to sit with her even though we had no one to perform the introductions. Did you know that Wellburn told me that not a single person aboard this entire ship comes from my little corner of England?”
That was clever of Wellburn. It could have been a serious blow to their masquerade had someone been able to definitively say that the Wickinghams didn’t exist. Jerry made a mental note to ask Wellburn in what obscure corner of the country his “cousin” resided.
In the meantime, Jerry couldn’t resist patting the hand Caroline had sitting on the tea table in front of them. “I wouldn’t worry too much, cousin. I’m sure you’ll be able to make plenty of friends on this ship.” Jerry wanted to wince. He sounded like one of his more irritating avuncular uncles he had detested in his childhood. To hear him talk, the woman opposite them would think he was forty years older than Caroline instead of four.
The woman didn’t seem to be thinking anything of the sort. She seemed more interested in Jerry’s hand sitting on Caroline’s. Jerry resisted the urge to snatch it back into his lap like a small child caught filching treats off Cook’s trays. He leisurely sat his hand back on his knee instead in his best imitation of a man of the world.
“I have been explaining to Mrs. Wickingham that aboard ship some of the stricter rules of Society find themselves relaxed,” Mrs. Turnton commented. “However, there are certain dictates that are never dispensed with.” Mrs. Turnton gave Jerry a very pointed look, and his face began to burn. He refused to look away though. Beside him, Caroline looked from Mrs. Turnton to him in confusion.
“My cousin,” he said with an emphasis on the second word, “is safe with me. You needn’t worry about me.”
“Of course not,” Caroline gallantly rose to his defense. “Is there someone we should be worried about?”
“Well,” Jerry paused unsure if he should publicly tell her about the despicable Bickle. He stared at the matron sitting across from her and decided she looked like the kind of gossipy ally Caroline might need. “I don’t wish to alarm you, but I have learned that the man who accosted us earlier secured passage on this boat.”
“He’s on board?” Caroline’s dismay was not feigned.
As Jerry hoped, the matron at once rose in the girl’s defense. “It’s criminal that
such a man would be allowed to board after harassing a passenger. I shall have my husband complain to the management when we reach New York.”
“Does he still think me to be poor Lady Caroline?” Caroline asked. It was a silly question and all of them knew it. Why else would the man have taken the whim to cross the Atlantic?
“We must assume so.” Jerry resisted the urge to take her hand in his. He needed Mrs. Turnton focused on the immediate problem, not on a possible elopement.
“I just do not understand. Do I really bear such a resemblance to the poor girl?” Caroline looked down at her dress and hands in their cotton gloves as if she could discern a similarity between herself and the absent lady. “I don’t see how I could. Lady Caroline is ravaged by illness, and I am in the pink of health. ‘Healthy as a newborn sow,’ that’s what Mr. Wickingham used to say about me whenever we had company. Well, he only said it once. We were only able to entertain once before his passing,” she confided. “Three months is too short for a proper marriage, don’t you think, Mrs. Turnton?” Caroline sighed and looked off into the distance, playing her part to perfection. She topped off the moment by adding. “Of course, Mother said that when your husband is eighty-five you really shouldn’t be surprised if he just doesn’t wake up one morning.” Caroline sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a small handkerchief she pulled out of her reticule.
Fortunately, Jerry had known that Caroline’s imaginary husband had been in his dotage otherwise he might have appeared as horrified as poor Mrs. Turnton. To the woman’s credit, she had managed to return her features to a look of sympathy by the time Caroline finished her artistic woolgathering.
“You poor dear,” said Mrs. Turnton. She reached across to take Caroline’s hand offering the sympathy that Jerry couldn’t. “So much tragedy for one so young.” Jerry couldn’t tell if she referenced Caroline’s marriage or her release.
“I only came out of half-mourning last month,” said Caroline fingering the pretty emerald of her dress. “It seems like only yesterday we were standing before the vicar.”
A faint look of repulsion crossed Mrs. Turnton’s features. She must have just done the math for the first time. Like Jerry, Mrs. Turnton did not appear to approve of child brides. “After all you’ve been through, we must not let that terrible man harass you further,” Mrs. Turnton said, turning into the staunch ally Jerry had hoped for. “The other ladies and I will see to it. You leave it to me.”
After a few more desultory comments, Jerry left Caroline spilling her “new” maid’s gossip about the abominable Bickle to her new friend. With every woman on the boat on the guard against the man, his little “cousin” ought to be safe.
Chapter 10
Caroline spent a fruitful afternoon making new acquaintances in both the General Parlor and the Women’s Parlor. Besides the commanding Mrs. Turnton, Caroline was able to finagle introductions to Mrs. Philip Kimbley and Miss Lucy Hayes. The first was the wife of one of the men on the viscount’s lists. The other was a famous London actress, best known for her tortured turn as Ophelia. Caroline didn’t know if the actress had any kind of relationship with the men on the list, but her absence from London was unexpected. According to Mrs. Turnton, she had been scheduled next week to take the title role in a new play based on a George Sands novel. Why she was now travelling across the Atlantic with no hope of being back in time for the role was a mystery both Mrs. Turnton and Caroline were determined to ferret out—although they each had very different motives for their curiosity.
Caroline reached her stateroom without being accosted by Mr. Bickle. In fact, she had yet to see the man onboard. She said a prayer of thanks for minor miracles. She entered her room to find Olive tutting over one of the new dresses. Caroline sighed when she saw it. Wellburn had done his best, and most of the dresses needed only minor alterations to make them stunning. The emerald one she wore now had only needed to be tightened in the waist and bust, something Caroline had managed on her own last night with the needle and thread Wellburn had provided her.
This dress though was the only one of the two that would be appropriate for dinners. It was close to the current style although the wide skirt, which would require at least two crinolines underneath, wasn’t quite as large as the ones worn by Mrs. Kimbley or Miss Hayes. The dress was made of a lovely purple silk of such a rich color that it would bring out the reddish tints in Caroline’s hair. Unfortunately, the entire bottom half of the dress had been marred with flounces. No less than a half dozen rows had been sewn on the bottom making the dress look exactly like a layered feather duster.
“I know,” Caroline agreed. She dropped her reticule on the only chair in the room and went to stand next to her dearest friend. “Flounces.”
The two shared a look of deep understanding. Flounces were the bane of Caroline’s existence. When she was a famous American modiste, the very first thing she would do was make sure no one ever suffered through another flounce again.
While the two girls went to work making over the dress, Caroline explained in greater detail their mission for St. David.
Olive listened wide-eyed, her fingers never missing a stitch as Caroline told her about the bayonet drawings and the possible Russian agents aboard the ship. She agreed with Caroline that the men on the duke’s list were the most promising but that the women, especially Mrs. Kimbley and Miss Hayes should not be overlooked. Olive did not agree with St. David’s assessment that the servants could be discounted.
“Isn’t that just like a baby duke?” Olive said, not bothering to hide her disdain. “He sounds just like your father, pretending none of the staff exists because it makes it more convenient.”
“Gerald is nothing like Father,” said Caroline with a sharp edge to her voice. “I don’t see Gerald losing his entire fortune to an embezzling estate manager.”
Olive gave her a long considering look. “Gerald, is it?”
“Jerry, actually,” said the viscount from the doorway.
Both girls screeched and scrambled to their feet, brandishing their needles like miniature swords.
Jerry leaned against the doorjamb, grinning at their surprise. Wellburn stood disapproving in the background, but Caroline couldn’t tell if he was irritated at his employer or what the girls were doing to the dress he had purchased.
“How long have you been there?” Caroline demanded. Her stays made it difficult for her to catch her breath enough to slow down her racing heart.
“Long enough.” Jerry pushed himself off the doorway and headed into the room. Olive went to clear the single chair for him, but Jerry waved her away. “Don’t stop on my account. That poor dress has a greater need for your attention than I do.”
“You are removing the flounces,” Wellburn confirmed.
Caroline nodded, worried she had offended him. His face showed no emotion at all. A blank slate conveyed more information.
Wellburn gave a slow approving nod. “A wise decision,” Wellburn proclaimed. Caroline felt an odd flush of relief.
Jerry watched this exchange, a curious and amused expression on his face. “Wellburn?”
His man turned and locked the stateroom door.
Jerry’s face turned serious. Caroline missed the lighthearted look of before.
“You realize I could have been anyone standing there listening to your conversation,” said Jerry. “I could have been one of the agents or worse.”
“What’s worse than a foreign agent willing to murder for state secrets?” asked Olive, looking bewildered.
Jerry’s eyebrows rose. “You haven’t told her.”
Caroline chewed on her lower lip and shook her head.
Jerry clenched his fists for a moment and then made what appeared to be a conscious effort to relax them against his thighs. Caroline had to drag her eyes from his well-muscled thighs back up to his face. Now was not the time to be distracted by the sort of thoughts that would have gotten her locked in her room for a week.
“Mr. Bickle is worse, at least
as far as you two are concerned,” Jerry said. “Mr. Bickle is on this ship.”
Chapter 11
Olive did not take the news well.
To Jerry’s relief she did not collapse upon the floor or curl into a quivering ball of pudding, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t upset.
“How could you not tell me?” she all but yelled at Caroline. She kept her voice low enough that no one in the corridor would hear, but her displeasure still managed to fill the room.
Caroline fidgeted with the needle in her hands. “I wanted to, and I was going to, but I didn’t want you to worry, at least not yet.”
Olive sighed and sat down on the ground. “You have to stop trying to take care of me, to protect me. It’s not your job.”
Caroline sank down next to her and pulled the younger girl into a tight hug. “Of course, it is. You’re all I have.”
The two girls’ relationship continued to surprise Jerry. He had noticed earlier that Olive lacked the usual deference shown to an employer, but he now realized that Caroline, at least, viewed the girl as nothing less than a sister. He mentally promised her that when he purchased an apprenticeship for Caroline with the finest American modiste, he would make sure Olive apprenticed there too.
“What are you doing in here?” Caroline snapped at him, pulling Jerry out of his thoughts. “Even I know a gentleman shouldn’t visit a lady’s room. I thought we were avoiding gossip.”
Jerry refrained from pointing out how pointless that effort had been. “We need to have a council of war,” he said. “None of the public spaces are private enough for what we need to discuss.” Jerry debated not telling Caroline the rest but decided that she would be better off knowing. “Besides, I’m fairly certain that Mrs. Turnton is convinced you and I are eloping to America.”