To Taste The Wine

by Fern Michaels

  “Wait. The idea of traveling together has given me pause. It would be nice to have a few extra pounds in my pocket. As I told you, I’m not a very good sailor, and it would be nice to have a female companion. But what would you do in New South Wales? Would you continue acting?”

  “I’ve always wanted to open an emporium. My parents were shopkeepers, and I’ve inherited a good business head from them. I’ve made my own way for most of my life, Mrs. Harris, and I intend to continue doing so.”

  The word “emporium” sounded grandiose to her own ears. She did have big ideas—but it was possible. Anything in the world was possible, if a person worked hard enough. Wasn’t she living proof? A few days ago, who would have thought she’d be making plans to go to Australia? Maybe she wouldn’t be able to open an emporium right away. But she could start small and perhaps manage a storefront location. If—and it was a big if—it was her ultimate goal, she would manage. Start with a limited amount of stock until she knew what would sell and what wouldn’t. Her markup would have to be reasonable; perhaps she could even undercut the other merchants and draw on her looks and talent. Men loved a pretty face. A cash business, no credit, that would be her number-one rule.

  Chelsea chewed thoughtfully on her thumbnail. There were times she bent over backward to break every honest rule there was, but now she had to acknowledge to herself that without Honoria’s four hundred pounds she would still be with Cosmo and only half a step ahead of the law. Some way, somehow, she would repay the lady’s unknown generosity. She wasn’t really a thief; she preferred to think of herself as a victim of circumstances. And victims always needed help. She was helping herself, and if this time it was at Honoria’s expense, she would find a way to make it right at some point in time. Now was her chance at a new life, and she had to reach out and take it. She might never get another.

  True, she knew as much about Australia as she did about opening an emporium—exactly nothing. And it bothered her to realize she was starting her new life with ill-gotten gains. But she had no other choice if she wanted to survive. From here on in she would regard the entire experience as exciting and challenging. If she failed—but no, she wouldn’t fail. One way or another, she’d catch her dream.

  A sudden thought struck Chelsea that brought a slow smile to her lips and created a soft gurgle of irony in her throat. If England were still transporting convicts to the colonies in Australia, Cosmo’s rashness and greed might have landed her in New South Wales under much different circumstances. This way, with Honoria’s money, she would make the same trip in a dramatically different style.

  Honoria wasn’t so bad, really. She could even be pleasant. Perhaps by the time their journey was finished they would be friends. And if they weren’t, Chelsea reflected wryly, she somehow knew in her gut that by the end of their voyage she would have earned every penny of the stolen four hundred pounds.

  As Chelsea remained quiet, lost in contemplation of her future, Honoria was struggling with her own unhappy thoughts. She felt almost dizzy with what was going on inside her head—her brother-in-law, the doctor, her terrible experience this evening, and now this young lady offering to sail with her and share a cabin.

  Honoria had never been quick and bright like her sister, Barbara, but she had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Could one really trust an absolute stranger? Honoria shrank back from such unpleasant thoughts. Whatever was eluding her would reveal itself sooner or-later, she knew, and it was just as well, because she was having trouble dealing with the young woman in front of her.

  An actress! Daughter of shopkeepers! Surely Miss Myles was on the lowest rung of the social ladder. Still, the idea of having a little extra in her pocket was alluring. “I must speak to my brother-in-law, you understand,” she said with an artificial smile. “There’s every possibility he will refuse me my passage.” It suddenly occurred to Honoria that one hundred and twenty pounds of the stolen money had been her very own from her husband’s estate. Since Jason knew exactly how much it cost to book passage aboard the Southern Cross, that would be exactly how much he would give her, if he gave at all. Without Miss Myles, she wouldn’t have a pence to spare. Traveling with Chelsea Myles, she could reclaim almost one hundred pounds for herself after paying for a shared cabin. “I must confess,” she added after a moment, “the idea of traveling with another woman is growing more and more appealing. I—well, in short, Miss Myles, I will do everypossible to make passage on the Southern Cross with you.”

  Chelsea stood up abruptly. “I really must be leaving now, Mrs. Harris. It’s very late, and the cab is still waiting. I’m glad you’re feeling better now and I’ll stop by tomorrow. Sleep well.”

  “I’ll try, my dear, although I know I’ll dream all night long about Jason and his inevitable lecture. Thank you again for your assistance.” Again, the smile she offered was falsely bright and condescending.

  Chelsea merely nodded and slipped through the door. Of all the snobbish, self-serving, patronizing … She could have slapped that smile from Honoria Harris’s face! Chelsea reminded herself how often she’d wished she could escape all the Honoria Harrises of this world, who considered an actress as less than nothing socially.

  But at least escape and the chance for a new life were going to be possible at last! In one swift stroke she would rid herself of Cosmo and his band of not so jolly thieves and begin again as a respectable, if not wealthy, woman. Traveling halfway around the world was worth the price, she decided, flushed with excitement at the prospect. Never had she dared to dream of something as grand as this! Her visions of escape and travel had never taken her farther than France, just across the Channel. Australia! New South Wales! And just two hours ago everything had seemed so bleak. Now life was taking an unexpected turn, and although it frightened her more than a little, she was ready for it.

  Chapter 3

  The following morning, Chelsea’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She had impulsively decided to embark on a new future, and the thought thrilled and frightened her. Over and over she’d mulled the idea of going to Australia, constantly amazed at her own impetuosity. She’d tossed and turned the night through, contemplating her voyage to New South Wales, resigning herself to the fact that she didn’t like Honoria Harris and that spending almost three months in a small, confining ship’s cabin would test her patience and her temper, neither of which were strong points in her character.

  But when circumstances and options seemed dimmest, she also remembered the four hundred pounds, more than she could have saved in a lifetime! And she knew that Molly, however much she admired and idolized Chelsea, considered herself very much in Cosmo’s debt. Obviously the simpering little drudge had immediately informed Cosmo how much was contained in the small velvet purse Chelsea had wrested from his person. Little wonder he’d come banging on her door at the first light of day, demanding his cut. Well, he’d never get it—not if she had anything to say about it!

  Chelsea moved about her small, cramped room wishing the time would pass quickly. The moldy wallpaper, cheap broken furniture, and sagging bed would soon be a part of her past. Taking the chipped porcelain pitcher from the washstand, she filled it from the pump just outside the back door of the rooming house. It would be unthinkable to ask her slatternly landlady, Mrs. Sheridan, to heat the water on the stove. The thought of washing her hair in icy water made her shiver, but having no idea what facilities the Southern Cross would offer, she intended to suffer the ordeal. While her hair dried she would inspect her meager wardrobe, stitching and mending where needed. Concentrating on the tasks of preparing for the trip might make her less anxious, she decided; besides, she had to keep busy or she’d start to dwell on her next meeting with Honoria Harris. All kinds of unsettled questions kept creeping into her thoughts. What if Mrs. Harris’s brother-in-law refused to replace the stolen money? It would be impossible for her to make the voyage alone. Her passage would take almost all the money, leaving her barely enough to support herself o
nce in New South Wales. Unlike Mrs. Harris, who was to be remarried and would have a husband to look after her, Chelsea would be entirely on her own, responsible for herself. If living with Cosmo had taught her anything, it was that a pence never stretched as far as one hoped.

  By midafternoon, she was bathed and dressed in her most respectable gown, a modest fashion of tan linsey-woolsey trimmed with blue that brought out the deep auburn highlights in her freshly washed chestnut hair and emphasized the honey tones of her skin. Thank goodness the extreme circular hooped skirts in fashion a few years ago had been abandoned as overly cumbersome and unmanageable. Now the full skirts were pulled to the rear and supported by a light wire cage, sort of a single-winged farthingale. A snowy-white lace jabot accentuated Chelsea’s long slender neck, and the bodice was tight-fitted, as were the long sleeves that puffed near the top. Her hat, a silly confection, was of dark brown straw topped with blue lace and dark veiling and worn at a jaunty angle over her right eye. A short pelisse of the same fabric as her gown completed her costume.

  And a costume it was, for Chelsea felt as though she had never embarked upon a more demanding role. She must present just the right note of respectability, just the proper deference, and she must at all costs repress her anger over the woman’s patronizing attitude. Last evening, once Mrs. Harris was safe and sound in her own apartment and Chelsea’s assistance was no longer required, it had become perfectly clear that Mrs. Harris’s opinion of actresses was less than flattering. Now it was up to Chelsea to alter that opinion—and alter it she would. Her cache of coins and notes pinned securely to her petticoat, Chelsea started out for her interview with Honoria Harris.

  The smile of welcome on Honoria’s face after her quick, sharp eyes had inspected the young woman who had come to her aid the night before was all Chelsea needed to breathe easier. As she sipped tea with the loquacious Honoria, her mind was far away, in the process of purchasing a new dress and a nightgown. She found it impossible to listen to her hostess’s unending monologue without taking an occasional mental vacation. After all, in less than an hour, she’d become well acquainted with just about everything in her companion’s background and future marriage to the man known as Harlow Kane. Honoria had even pressed her to read three short letters written in Mr. Kane’s tight, cramped hand.

  “He’s a vintner.” That is, “he grows grapes and makes wine,” Honoria explained as though not expecting Chelsea to know the meaning of the word. Then she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I can’t say I’m fond of the drink myself, and heaven only knows how I detest a man who imbibes too freely. I certainly hope Mr. Kane thinks first of his profits and then of his thirst.”

  Chelsea suffered Honoria’s further ruminations on the evils of drink and dissipation in general before braving the one question she’d been dying to ask. “Have you spoken with your brother-in-law?”

  Honoria made a pretense of searching for a handkerchief, pretending not to hear Chelsea’s question. The truth was she hadn’t spoken to her brother-in-law because she was afraid. She dreaded confrontations, and in one small, deep part of her heart she wasn’t at all sure Jason would come forth with the money she needed. If Jason refused to help her, she had no idea what she’d do. And what she dreaded even more than asking for the money was the lack of concern she was sure to see on the faces of her sister and brother-in-law when she told them how she’d been accosted. They simply didn’t care about her. Why, she could have been killed. She could almost see her brother-in-law smacking his hands together in a “well, that’s over and done with” attitude. Barbara might squeeze out a tear, but she rather doubted it. Honoria could feel a circle of heat work its way around her neck and up to her cheeks. How could she have gotten to this point in her life and have no one care about her?

  “Mrs. Harris, are you all right? Is there anything I can do?” Chelsea asked gently, noting the woman’s sudden flush.

  Honoria had never been quick in her thoughts, but her weary brain raced now. Perhaps, just perhaps … “I don’t feel all that well, the excitement of everything, I guess,” she replied, replacing her teacup in the saucer with a trembling hand. “Might I impose on you and ask you to accompany me to my brother-in-law’s house?”

  “You might,” Chelsea replied cheerfully. So, it was fear that was causing Mrs. Harris to react the way she was. To Chelsea, who could easily identify fear, that much was obvious. Well, if going along with Honoria Harris to her brother-in-law’s house was the only way to allay the woman’s fears and guarantee the double cabin, she was all for it. But for form’s sake, she pretended to ponder the request. “I suppose I could go along with you now if you feel up to it,” she said after a moment.

  The relief Honoria felt was so great, she was almost lightheaded. This young actress would be perfect to have on hand while dealing with her brother-in-law. Jason would be impressed—not with Chelsea’s profession, for she had no intention of mentioning that, but with her ladylike appearance.

  “My dear, why don’t you see about engaging a coach while I change my dress and powder my nose,” Honoria suggested. “It won’t take but a minute.” She turned in the direction of the small bedroom, then looked over her shoulder. “I am grateful to you, Miss Myles. It seems like you’re making my life a bit easier for me right now.”

  Chelsea waved airily in a “don’t mention it” attitude and closed the front door behind her, wondering who was going to pay for the coach. She was going out of her way and giving up a certain amount of her time. Surely Mrs. Harris would see fit to pay—if she had the money, that is. She had the feeling the timid little woman had very little.

  Several hours later, a sour-faced servant opened the front door after Honoria pulled the bell chain. “I’d like to see my brother-in-law, please,” Honoria said in a quavering voice. Chelsea cupped the woman’s elbow to steady her. She couldn’t wait to meet this ogre who frightened poor defenseless women into fits of trembling.

  The servant was about to close the door and keep them waiting on the stoop when Chelsea stepped forward, Honoria in hand, and said briskly, “We’ll wait inside. Mrs. Harris isn’t feeling all that well.”

  It was a mean-looking, narrow house. There was no furniture in the foyer except a tall coatrack with an attached umbrella stand. There was nothing hanging on the rack and no umbrellas in the stand. The wallpaper was as faded and dusty-looking as the carpet. Chelsea fought the urge to sneeze.

  “Does the rest of the house look like this?” Chelsea whispered. Honoria licked her dry lips and nodded.

  Jason Munsey strode down the hall and came to an abrupt halt in front of Honoria. He was very tall; Chelsea found herself looking up at him. Honoria, she noted, only came to a little above his belt. She hadn’t realized just how delicate the woman was until now.

  “What brings you back here?” Munsey rasped. Chelsea decided the man wasn’t being particularly unkind, it was just the way he spoke.

  “I … Jason, you …”

  Chelsea stepped forward. Honoria would never get the words out, and she looked as though she were going to collapse any moment. “I’m Chelsea Myles,” she said briskly, holding out her hand. “Mrs. Harris met with an unfortunate accident last evening. I knew that you and your family would be concerned about her well-being, so I offered to come over here with her because she isn’t feeling well. As you can see, she is all right physically, but her nerves are upset. I know you’ll want to help. As a matter of fact,” she continued, dragging Honoria by the arm through the foyer, “I think Mrs. Harris should be sitting down. Perhaps a cup of tea. Which way is your parlor?”

  “Young lady …!” Jason Munsey sputtered.

  Chelsea turned, her face the picture of innocence. “Yes? Of course you’ll want to call your wife. Just show us where the parlor is. I feel a bit faint myself.”

  In three long strides Munsey was ahead of Chelsea, a look of anger on his face. “I’ll call my wife.”

  “You shouldn’t be so bold,” Honoria gasped as she sank do
wn into a ratty-looking chair. “Jason doesn’t like that in a woman.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were afraid of him, Mrs. Harris,” Chelsea said gently.

  “I’m not … I mean he is over … he does intimidate … I do hate to ask for charity….”

  When Jason Munsey returned with his wife, Chelsea positively stared. She didn’t think it was possible for a husband and wife to look so much like one another. Barbara Munsey was as tall as her husband and just as sour-looking. She and Honoria, who was tiny and frail, were nothing alike. Introductions were made, and Chelsea’s spine stiffened as she stared haughtily at Honoria’s benefactors.

  Barbara Munsey stared down at her sister with glittering eyes. “What’s this drivel Jason has told me about you being accosted last evening? Speak up, Honoria, tell us what happened.”

  Chelsea watched Honoria struggle for words. “Mrs. Harris is still in shock, I think,” she heard herself say in the woman’s defense. “She was brutally accosted last evening and robbed. I just happened to be on my way home from the theater and offered the use of a carriage. It was just brutal,” Chelsea repeated, and shuddered for effect, rolling her eyes.

  “Robbed? The money I gave you for your trip?” Munsey thundered. Honoria nodded miserably.

  “Every cent she had,” Chelsea confirmed, giving the frightened woman a pitying look. “I made it my business to stop by Mrs. Harris’s lodgings today to see how she was faring. When she told me she had to come here, I could see she wasn’t up to making the trip herself. I was only too glad to accommodate her in my carriage. I thought her family should be made aware of what happened. You are concerned, are you not?” Chelsea demanded, but in a gentle tone. She batted her outrageous eyelashes at Jason Munsey, who was trying to look everywhere but at Chelsea.