To Taste The Wine

by Fern Michaels

  Chapter 2

  Unaware that her little scenario with Cosmo had been witnessed by anyone else, Chelsea hurried out onto the street in the direction of her rooming house. She had meant every word she’d said. It was impossible for her to continue living this way, without a spare coin in her purse and earning a poor living upon the stage. And it wasn’t as though she were without scruples. Cheating and stealing were wrong, and she knew it. True, it was never her hand that reached into someone else’s pocket, but living from the proceeds amounted to the same thing. And there was always the threat of being caught, like tonight. Cosmo was getting sloppy, and in his profession that was dangerous. This was the last time, absolutely the last time. There must be a way to free herself—somehow, some way, there had to be more to life than this!

  Halfway down the street, Chelsea saw Molly’s scrawny little form under a lamppost and her own broken trunk tipped awkwardly on its side. A low moan escaped her as she hurried forward. Now what? Had that silly Molly allowed the contents of the trunk to scatter about London’s streets? Practically everything she owned was in that dilapidated container! As she approached, her mind working on the scolding she would give Molly, she noticed another figure beneath the light, until now obscured from view by the awkwardly tilted trunk. It was a woman.

  “Oh, miss, I’m so glad you’ve come along!” Molly gasped gratefully.

  “What are you doing here, Molly? You should have been home by this time, with my trunk!”

  “It’s this poor woman,” Molly hastened to explain. “She’s the one what got her purse stole at your performance tonight. She’s real upset and crying and everything, and she just fell down here, right at my feet.”

  Chelsea dropped to her knees beside the woman and, picking up the limp wrist, patted the back of her hand. “She’s fainted, that’s all. You say it was her purse that was stolen?” Chelsea felt the weight of the purse she’d taken from Cosmo and stuffed it into her bodice.

  “Yes, miss. At least that’s what she said before she fainted. She’s dressed real nice, and her hat must’ve cost a bob or two. She said she didn’t want to get involved with the police.”

  Chelsea lightly slapped the woman’s deathly pale cheeks. “Molly, see if you can hire a cab to take the lady home. What was she doing in this part of town, anyway?”

  “No, no, no,” the woman whispered hoarsely. “Please, you must help me. My money, it’s all gone. All of it.” With surprising strength, she grasped Chelsea’s arm, imploring her help between gulping sobs. “It was everything I had in this world. It was to pay my passage to the captain of the Southern Cross.”

  That at least explained what she’d been doing in this part of London. The docks were only blocks away.

  “Four hundred pounds. Gone. All of it gone! I never should have gone into that theater, but Captain Winfield wasn’t in his quarters on the Southern Cross and it was beginning to rain….” She ended in a shuddering sob. “I thought I’d be safe in there. Safe!” She covered her face with her lace-gloved hands and wept piteously.

  Chelsea was truly moved. Twice her hand went to her breast to remove the small purse from her bodice. Twice it fell back into her lap. “Was it your life savings, then?” she asked, her voice tremorous with sympathy.

  “No. It was given to me by my sister’s husband. For my passage and a bit more besides. Oh, now what am I to do?”

  “First of all, I will take you home. Molly, would you call a carriage? Everything will look better once you’ve had a cup of tea, Miss. Where do you live?”

  “In Yorkshire. I’ve only been in London since the beginning of this week. I’ve taken a small suite until the ship sails. On Duke’s Place, just this side of Bishop’s Gate.”

  Chelsea was impressed with the address. “Molly, haven’t you hired that carriage yet? Why are you lagging about? Can’t you see that Miss … Miss …”

  “Harris. Mrs. Honoria Harris.”

  “That Mrs. Harris is in a dreadful state? Now hurry up with it!”

  She thought of the probable fare to Duke’s Place and decided she could afford it. After all, Mrs. Honoria Harris’s four hundred pounds rested snugly between her breasts, and the least she could do was see to it the lady arrived home without further mishap. Molly wanted to turn in early to be fresh for her next performance. Chelsea wasn’t pleased at the prospect of traipsing around the city after-hours alone, but she felt responsible for the shaken woman.

  Although scarcely ten o’clock, the streets of London seemed deserted as Chelsea and Honoria Harris rumbled along in their hired hack after dropping Molly off at home. From somewhere in the city came the faint peal of church bells marking the hour. Shopfronts and businesses, tightly shuttered for the night, faced the streets with lonely abandonment. Before sunrise, however, those same shops would be thrown open to the public for another day of profit.

  As they left the harbor area and drove inward to the city, Chelsea took time to inspect this woman who had been foolish enough to travel the city streets alone and venture onto the docks with four hundred pounds in her purse. Honoria Harris was not as young as she appeared to be at first glance. Her garments and foolish hat were designed for a woman at least ten years her junior. But with her narrow shoulders, full bosom, and trim waist, she gave an illusion of youth—an illusion ultimately belied by her pointy-nosed, long-chinned face.

  “You’re terribly kind to look after me this way,” Mrs. Harris said, but something in her voice hinted that she was accustomed to being looked after and considered it to be her due. Obviously, Mrs. Harris had been carefully sheltered for most of her life, and having her purse snatched right out of her hands was therefore doubly shocking.

  When their cab finally came to a halt outside a three-storied, white stone townhouse on Duke’s Place, Chelsea scrambled out and turned to assist her charge. “Please, won’t you come up?” Mrs. Harris asked. “I could offer you a cup of tea. You’ve been so kind.”

  “I’d like to, really,” Chelsea replied, “only I’m afraid hiring another cab in this part of town at this hour would be impossible.”

  “Oh, please, you can ask the driver to wait for you. I’d be so grateful.”

  Chelsea thought immediately of the expense, then of the small velvet purse nestled between her breasts. Mrs. Harris was obviously overwrought and afraid to be left alone just now. She hesitated another moment and finally succumbed to Honoria’s pleading eyes. “Driver, wait for me, I won’t be long.”

  At first the driver seemed reluctant. His eyes slid over Chelsea’s costume, and he thought of the less-than-respectable part of town where he’d found his fare. Then he glanced at Honoria, noting her fine clothes and ladylike manner and the impressive house on Duke’s Place. “I won’t keep her long,” Honoria pleaded, her voice thin, almost nasal. “Just for a cup of tea.”

  Silently the driver agreed, already having considered that it was most unlikely to find another fare at such a late hour in this part of the city. At least if he waited, he would have another paying fare for the return trip.

  Honoria seemed unsteady on her feet, and her shoulders were still shaking as Chelsea helped her climb the wide front steps to the door. She had to take the key and turn the lock herself, Honoria’s fingers were trembling so. The apartment was at the back of the first floor, and once inside, Chelsea settled the woman into a comfortable chair and propped up her feet on a small stool. “I’ll make you some tea if you show me where it is, Mrs. Harris.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t even know your name.”

  “Chelsea Myles. The tea?”

  “Over there, behind the screen. I’m sorry to be such a bother, but no one save that child came to my aid. I thought I could see myself home, but I was too overcome with fright. It was terrible, terrible!”

  “Now, don’t upset yourself again. It won’t bring your purse back.”

  Behind the woven blind was a small stove and a kettle already filled with water. Although Mrs. Harris’s lodgings were poor accordin
g to some standards, it was a palace compared to the hovels Cosmo rented for the troupe. Everything here was sparkling and tidy, respectable, some might call it. A small, colorful tray was already fixed with sugar and lemon and two china cups that were almost transparent. Someday, Chelsea told herself, she, too, would have something just as exquisite. While she waited for the water to boil, she watched Honoria remove her hat and gloves. There was no wedding band on the woman’s finger, she noticed immediately, which puzzled her, although it seemed in keeping with the surroundings: the sparsely furnished flat described a woman who lived alone.

  “You say you’ve only been here since the beginning of the week?”

  The woman nodded. “I’ve been living with my sister and her family in Maidenhair, just outside London. It was my brother-in-law, Jason, who gave me the money for my passage to New South Wales. He’ll be terribly angry when I tell him what happened in the theater. He warned me about London and cautioned me continually to be careful. If my sister, Barbara, were not about to have another child, and if it were not harvesttime on the estate, I never would have had to come to this wicked city alone!”

  “Passage to New South Wales, you say?” Chelsea’s interest was aroused; she’d never known anyone to make so long a journey. The kettle whistled a warning, and she was distracted from her thoughts to pour the tea as Honoria continued her woeful tale.

  “Yes. A terrible, hard journey for a woman like myself, but I suppose there’s no help for it, not if I’m ever to find a place for myself in this world.” Honoria’s tone and expression dripped self-pity, an emotion Chelsea now believed second nature to the woman.

  As they sipped their tea, Honoria explained that she was a widow of a naval officer, left with meager means of support. “If it were not for my sister, Barbara, and her husband, Jason,” she went on, “I would have had to hire myself out as a governess or nursemaid. As it was, their charity was shortlived. I was hardly more than an unpaid servant in their home, tending their children and overtaking duties in the kitchen.”

  “Your sister and her husband, they’re wealthy, then?”

  “Wealthier than I!” Honoria exclaimed resentfully. “Jason is not landed or titled, if that is what you mean. Hardly more than a gentleman farmer, I suppose.”

  Chelsea watched Honoria over the rim of her teacup as the woman sniffed indignantly and touched her lacy handkerchief to the tip of her nose. She had come across women like this before—bitter, resentful, spoiled women, believing themselves to be so delicate that even the simplest of chores could be accomplished only with whining and complaints. Most likely Honoria’s sister, Barbara, was overworked and hard-pressed, and her brother-in-law, Jason, although comfortably fixed, had little money left over to employ servants. Gratitude for being saved from a life in service never occurred to women like Mrs. Harris. “You’ve never said why you’re going to New South Wales,” Chelsea prompted.

  “To marry, although I must admit I don’t care for the prospect. The man is an acquaintance of my brother-in-law, and it was through his solicitations that the arrangement was conducted. It was made quite clear that I was no longer welcome in his house.” Once more Honoria brought her handkerchief to her nose and wiped at dry eyes. “The gentleman in question is older than myself and has two children. Or is it three? I can’t quite seem to remember. However, they are grown, thank heavens. I imagine it’s quite trying to raise one’s own children, never mind the Herculean task of attempting to raise someone else’s. I can tell you, Miss Myles, those children of my sister’s are hardly more than ruffians and spoiled brats! Oh! The things they did to me, the insults and sufferings I’ve had to bear!” Again the handkerchief found its way to her nose. “I’m not very strong, you know, and I was dreading the sea voyage because of my health. Jason and Barbara never understood, and Jason said that Harlow Kane—that’s the man I’m to marry—would send me to the finest doctors. I never looked forward to this marriage, but it would have been a godsend to have someone care for me and look after me. Now, it’s all ruined.”

  “What will you do?” Chelsea asked, pretending sympathy. She was feeling less and less guilty over the small purse in her bodice. In her opinion Honoria Harris was selfish and prideful, qualities that did not make for an admirable woman.

  “What can I do?” Honoria replied tearfully. “I’ll have to tell Jason what happened. If he wants to be rid of me badly enough, he’ll give me more money. I’ll be forced to endure his endless lecturing, but in the end he’ll abandon his miserly ways and give it to me. As I said, neither he nor Barbara seems content with the services I extend to them.”

  Chelsea breathed a sigh of relief. Until this moment she’d been undecided what to do with the four hundred pounds. To Honoria Harris, it seemed an important but easily replaceable sum of money; to herself, it meant a chance for a new life.

  “I’ve often thought of traveling to America or to New South Wales,” she mused aloud. And it was true, although it had always seemed like an impossible dream. “How much was your passage for the ship?”

  “I confess it was only two hundred and eighty pounds. The rest of the fare came out of what was owed me from my husband’s estate. Such a shame, to die so young in the service of England.”

  “He died in a war?”

  “No, no, typhoid swept his ship. Still,” Honoria argued defensively, “it was in the service of his country that he was there in the first place.”

  “Of course. Where exactly were you to go in Australia? Melbourne?” Somewhere in Chelsea’s travels she had heard that city’s name.

  “Actually, my destination was Sydney, the heart of New South Wales, and from what Jason’s told me, it is quite a city, complete with its own society and culture. I could never abide the rougher aspects of the new colony, and I understand much of it is still quite primitive. Jason tells me a man could very easily lose himself in the territory. Imagine that!” Honoria made it clear that she could never imagine anyone having reason to lose himself anywhere.

  What about a woman? Chelsea mused to herself. Is it possible for a woman to lose herself, to begin a new life? A life without Cosmo Perragutt, a life of respectability, chosen through experience and wisdom instead of the panicked ignorance of immaturity. The idea was hypnotizing, intoxicating, and Chelsea suddenly wished she were going to Australia instead of Honoria Harris.

  “Have you ever traveled, Miss Myles?” Honoria was asking.

  “Hardly. Not out of England, at any rate. My own pocket would never allow it.”

  “Travel is quite expensive,” Honoria agreed complacently. “Of course, I’ve seen a bit of the world because of my husband’s military career. I’ve been to Ireland and Scotland both, so you see I’ve some experience with sea travel, and I am definitely not looking forward to almost three months’ sailing. I become dreadfully ill, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Oblivious to the gentle jibe, Honoria continued a dialogue concerning her experiences aboard ship, making the prospect of a sea voyage seem close to a sojourn through hell.

  “And the food is abominable!” she went on, unaware that as Chelsea bit her lower lip in contemplation, she was considering the idea of starting over in a new life, with new opportunities.

  Two hundred and eighty pounds. That would leave only one hundred and twenty pounds from the four hundred. Hardly enough.

  “You weren’t thinking of traveling there yourself, were you?” Honoria asked pointedly, interrupting Chelsea’s train of thought.

  “I didn’t know I was until just now,” Chelsea replied honestly. “What if we were to travel together, share a cabin? Would the fare be less?”

  “Why, er, yes, as a matter of fact it would. Slightly less than two hundred pounds. Miss Myles, are you or are you not considering making this voyage?”

  Chelsea bit her lip again, thinking of how narrowly they had all escaped the law this evening. Cosmo was getting sloppy and impulsive. How long would it be before they were all imprisoned, guilty
or not? And what chance would she have for making a new life here in London? One needed connections, introductions. No, it was all too impossible. But then, so was traveling halfway across the world to a new country, new people.

  “Yes,” Chelsea heard herself say adamantly. “I most definitely am considering making the voyage. I wonder, Mrs. Harris, if we might not share a cabin and reduce the cost for both of us. You wouldn’t have to say anything about it to your brother-in-law, and the extra money could serve as a neat bit of pin money for yourself. After all, I’ve heard it said a wise woman always has a bit put by for herself, regardless of the generosity of her husband. And you really have no idea just how generous your intended husband really is, do you?”

  Honoria seemed thunderstruck. Travel to New South Wales and share a cabin with a common theater actress. And that was all Miss Myles really was, despite her kindness. She was a common actress.

  “I never considered … what I mean is, a ship’s cabin can be quite close quarters for two strangers. Not that you haven’t been extremely kind, Miss Myles, it’s just that … that I could never deceive Jason this way.”

  Honoria averted her eyes, unable to face her guest. True, Chelsea Myles had been good enough to help in a moment of need, good enough to escort her home and even come up and make a cup of tea, but after all, the woman was only an actress and therefore socially unacceptable.

  “It was only a suggestion,” Chelsea said quietly, quickly reading Honoria’s reasons for declining her offer. The purse nestled between her breasts was feeling more comfortable all the time. “There will be other ships and another time.” Chelsea rose and smoothed the burgundy velvet skirt of her costume. “I’ll be going now. I wish you godspeed on your voyage, Mrs. Harris.”