by Rhys Bowen
“Lunch would be a grand idea,” I said. “You can stay and have some with me, if you’d like.”
She looked horrified. “Oh no, miss. That would never do. I know my place. I’ll have your steward deliver your lunch then, shall I?”
She curtseyed and was gone. I arranged myself on the daybed in what I hoped was an elegant pose, pretending to be reading a magazine, and waited. Soon thereafter the steward arrived with a lunch tray.
“I understand you’re feeling poorly, Miss Sheehan,” he said, looking down at me with concern. “That will never do. I’ve brought some things that might build you up—a good bowl of oxtail soup, some poached sole, some grapes, and a glass of ice cream. They should slip down easily enough, shouldn’t they?”
“Thank you, you’re very kind,” I whispered as he put the tray on the table.
“That throat sounds terrible,” he said. “Should I summon the ship's doctor to take a look at it?”
“No, please don’t worry,” I said. “I just need to be left alone and rest. I’m sure I’ll be up and feeling bright again by the time we dock.”
“There will be a lot of disappointed young men when they hear that news,” he said, giving me a knowing smile. “I’ve had to direct several of them firmly from your door when the news got out that you were aboard. But don’t you worry. I’ll make sure you’re kept in peace for the whole voyage.”
“Thank you. You’re most kind,” I said, in what I hoped was a gracious and theatrical way. “What is your name again?” “Frederick, miss,” he said.
“Thank you, Frederick.” I tried to give the sort of smile Oona Sheehan might have flashed at an adoring male.
The moment he went, I tucked into the tray. Everything was beyond delicious. For a person who grew up eating stew and potatoes, I had certainly learned quickly to appreciate fine food and fine wine. With great daring I went over to the silver ice bucket and poured myself a glass of that champagne.
Rose appeared again after lunch, wanting to know what she could do for me, but I couldn’t think of anything and sent her away. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting a personal maid hovering over me, and certainly not dressing me, brushing my hair, and fussing around me, even if I became very rich some day—which wasn’t likely to happen. At least Rose could enjoy some freedom and have fun with her own kind during the voyage.
By midafternoon I was bored with sitting alone and decided to risk a sortie. I put on Oona's black velvet cape, trimmed with white fur, and raised the hood cautiously over the wig. Then I found a lace handkerchief to hold over my mouth and ventured out. My faithful Frederick was standing guard at the entrance to my hallway. He sprang to attention when he saw me.
“Feeling better, Miss Sheehan? Oh, that is good news.”
“I’m afraid not, Frederick,” I whispered through the handkerchief, “but I hoped that a turn on deck and a good dose of sea air might be beneficial.”
“It certainly might, Miss Sheehan. And you’re not likely to run into trouble, if you get my meaning. Most of the first class passengers take a rest after lunch so that they can stay up late for the dancing.”
I felt a pang of regret that I would have to forego the dancing. For asecond I pictured myself in one of those silk evening gowns being whisked across the floor under glittering chandeliers. Then, of course, I reminded myself that I didn’t know how to dance any of the latest dances anyway and certainly not as elegantly as Oona Sheehan would have done.
“If you like to find yourself a deck chair, miss,” Frederick said, “I’ll arrange for a rug to be sent out to you and a cup of beef broth.”
“I think I’ll just take a little walk this time,” I said. I pulled the hood even farther forward and stepped out on deck. I was unprepared for the force of the wind, as it nearly lifted hood and wig in one go. I clung onto both, turned my back on the wind and walked in an anticlockwise direction around the promenade deck until I was out of the gale.
It was a bright, sparkling day with enough of a swell to let you know you were at sea, but not enough to make you seasick. I stood at the rail and stared out at the horizon. There was no land, no birds, no sign of other ships, just myself alone on a vast ocean. It was a sobering thought. Exciting too—after the crowds of New York City.
The sound of wind and waves must have masked other noises because I didn’t hear the man coming until he spoke, close to my ear.
“Miss Sheehan?” he asked.
I whipped the handkerchief up to my mouth and drew the hood half across my face as I looked up at him. He was young, good looking, with the dark, windswept hair and blue eyes of the Black Irish—not unlike Daniel or Ryan—and he was dressed in fitting shipboard style in blue blazer and striped ascot.
“It is Miss Oona Sheehan, isn’t it?” he asked again.
“It is,” I whispered, “but you must excuse me. I am suffering from a throat complaint and my doctor has forbidden me to talk.”
“I see,” he said. “I hope it's nothing serious?”
“It should clear up in a few days if I rest and don’t use my voice. Please excuse me, Mr—”
“Fitzpatrick,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear you are not yourself. I too am heading home to Ireland. Maybe we shall run into each other again.”
“I’m afraid that's unlikely. I have been ordered to rest.” “Ireland is a small country,” he said. “You never know.”
With that he bowed and was gone.
I’d handled that one well enough, I told myself. I continued my stroll around the deck, holding the hood in place with one hand. I hadn’t progressed far when I heard a voice behind me shouting,
“Miss Sheehan, Miss Sheehan!”
I stopped and waited as another young man came running up to me.
“Oh, Miss Sheehan, it is you,” he said breathlessly. “I couldn’t believe my luck when I heard that you were on board. Do you not remember me? It's Artie. Artie Fortwrangler. I came to every one of your performances when you were in Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines. I was there at the stage door every night. Remember the white orchids?”
“Of course, Artie,” I breathed through the lace handkerchief. “You must excuse me. I am sick and the doctor has forbidden me to talk. It might be catching,” I added, as he was getting too close in his eagerness.
“I do hope you recover quickly enough to dance with me while we’re on board, Miss Sheehan,” he said, gazing at me with hopeful eyes. “They have ripping dances, you know. It would be a lifetime's dream fulfilled to whisk you around the floor in my arms.”
“We’ll just have to see,” I said. “Now I’m afraid I must go and rest again.”
“Here, let me get you a deck chair,” he said. “Don’t take another step.”
“No, really. I must go back to my cabin.”
“Then lean on me. Let me carry you. Let me get you some beef broth, or some tea, or maybe a brandy?”
I could see the door leading to the interior of the ship looming ahead of me.
“I’m afraid I just want to be left alone,” I said, and fled for that door.
“Don’t go, Oona, I love you, I adore you, I worship you,” he called after me. “You know how I feel about you. Don’t leave me in misery.”
I ignored his wails as I pushed my way in through the heavy door. I arrived back at my cabin to find Rose there, straightening the toiletries on the dressing table.
“Poor Miss Sheehan,” I said. “I understand now why she wanted to change places with me, and why it's so hard for her to go anywhere. Ihave just been pestered by a most annoying young man. He hung around me like a puppy dog.”
“They do all the time, miss,” Rose said. “Every time she opens her front door, at least one of them is standing there with a bunch of flowers for her, and when she leaves the theater, she positively has to fight them off.”
“She should get married and have a big fierce husband to drive them away,” I said. “Does she have no constant escort?”
“There is always some kind
of man wooing her,” Rose said, “but not a one she takes seriously.”
“Has she never been in love?”
“There has only been one man for her, and he's not available,” Rose said.
“Married?”
“Oh no, nothing like that.” Rose sounded indignant on her mistress's behalf. “He was one of those Freedom Fighters, the Brotherhood, you know, trying to drive the English out of Ireland. He led some sort of attack on an English barracks, and he's been jailed for life.”
“Oh, that's terrible,” I said. “How sad for her.”
“That was years ago,” Rose said. “Since then she's devoted her whole life to the theater and now, of course, she's risen to become a big star. She's a wonderful woman. And the best of mistresses too.”
“I wonder how she’ll fare in that tiny second-class cabin of mine,” I said, with a smile. “Sleeping in that narrow bunk bed?”
“Oh, I think she’ll be just fine.” Rose looked away, not meeting my eyes.
That evening I could hear music floating out from the ballroom across the smooth dark waters. I was tempted to go out on deck again to take a look for myself, but I didn’t want to risk meeting Archie Fortwrangler and his fellow admirers. So I sat at my porthole, gazing wistfully at the moon and wondering about life and happiness in general and Oona Sheehan and my own happiness in particular.
The next few days passed smoothly enough. I soon learned that young men about town like to sleep in late, and I was fairly safe if I took an early stroll around the deck, which was most pleasant if a little chilly. On a couple of occasions I was conscious of an older man in a tweedjacket following me at a distance, but he must have been one of Oona's less brazen admirers, as he never dared approach and speak to me.
Rose brought me a selection of books from the ship's library, and a pack of playing cards, to keep myself amused. Meals were brought to me. There was always champagne to drink, chocolate, and bowls of fruit to eat. Frederick reported that he was constantly intercepting young men trying to find a way to my door, each time he brought me another note, love letter, or more flowers or chocolates or champagne. Sometimes I heard them protesting in the corridor. “But I must see her. I know she’ll see me! Did you give her my flowers? Tell her that Artie adores her.” Or Teddy, or Bertie, or a never ending stream of admirers. Teddy certainly sent lovely flowers—huge displays of them, while Bertie sent a dozen red roses and a box of chocolates every day. I wondered what they looked like and was tempted to invite them in as boredom overtook me. I began to feel like a prisoner in a very exclusive jail. I soon grew weary of wearing a wig all the time. It was devilishly hot and itched horribly, but I couldn’t risk not wearing it and being surprised by Frederick as he delivered the latest offering of sweets or flowers.
This was quickly turning into another case of “be careful what you wish for.” Growing up in Ballykillin I’d have given anything to be a lady, living the life of ease and not having to work from morning until night. Now I was living in the lap of luxury, had absolutely nothing to do but enjoy myself, and I was going mad with boredom.
After a couple of days, I was sorely tempted to go against our bargain, wash off the makeup, take off the wig, and go out as myself for a while. What would be the harm in it, I reasoned with myself. But of course I had promised. We’d made a bargain, and I was in possession of that check for a hundred dollars. So I stuck it out for six long days. Often during those days my thoughts turned to Daniel. I realized now, with a pang of guilt, that I had been treating him badly when he needed my support. Of course he was bad tempered because he was scared. His whole future hung in the balance. I suppose if I analyzed it, I hadn’t forgiven him for what he had put me through, even though he didn’t know the half of it and would never know. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it must be true because I found myself missing him and remembering only the good things. I wrote him a cheerful littlenote, to be posted as soon as we set foot ashore, assuring him that all would soon be well and promising to return home to him as quickly as possible.
“There's to be a fancy dress party tonight, Miss Sheehan,” Frederick reported to me on our last day at sea. “And you seem so much better, I was thinking, if you’d a mind to go, nobody need know it was you.”
I looked up from my latest hand of Patience. “A fancy dress party?”
“A costume ball, as they say in America, I believe.”
“But I have no costume.”
“That's no problem. It's easy enough to hire one. They keep a big selection on board for those passengers who haven’t brought their own costumes with them. Your maid could bring some up to your cabin for you to try on.”
“That's a splendid idea, Frederick,” I said. “To tell you the truth, I have been feeling too cooped up, stuck in here all the time. I’ll send for my maid and see if there are any costumes that would disguise me completely.”
Rose appeared a little later, red faced with exertion at having carried so many costume boxes up to my cabin. What fun it was to open each of those boxes and to be in turn Maid Marion, Columbine, a Spanish senorita...I finally settled on Marie Antoinette and added a stylish black mask for good measure. With that big powdered wig and the mask, I could be anybody.
For once I did need help getting dressed and Rose fussed around me, lacing me into the costume, adjusting the wig, even putting on a fake beauty spot for good measure. “You look lovely, miss,” she said wistfully.
“You could come too, if you wanted to,” I suggested. “Slip into one of these costumes. Nobody would know who you were.”
She looked horrified. “Me, miss? Go to a grand party? Holy Mother of God, I could never do something like that.”
“I’m just a plain Irish peasant like you, and I’m planning to go,” I said.
“But you don’t act like one of us, miss,” she said. “You’ve got—well, more of an air to you. Like you were used to fine things.”
I tried not to grin at the compliment. “One thing you learn in NewYork is that you are as good as the next person, Rose. So will you come with me? It would be a lark, wouldn’t it—them not knowing they were dancing with a couple of peasant girls from the Old Sod?”
She shook her head vehemently. “Oh no, miss. Not me. You go and have a good time and good luck to you.”
At last I sallied forth, a little nervously. In truth, the air Rose said I had about me was mostly bravado. Inside I still felt like an interloper. Being a prisoner in my cabin all week, I had had little chance to explore the first-class section of the ship. Now I walked into the gracious public rooms and tried not to stare like a peasant girl. I had been to fancy restaurants and even inside the mansions of New York's high society, but this matched any luxury I had seen so far. Lovely Greek statues, carved pillars, huge potted plants, mirrored walls. On a center table there was even a sculpture of a graceful swan carved out of ice. What would they think of next!
Music was spilling out through a doorway, and I followed the strangest-looking crowd you’ve ever seen into the grand ballroom— priests and nuns, gorillas and cats, cavemen and courtesans all made their way through that door, laughing with anticipation. The dance-floor was already full of costumed couples. It didn’t take me long to realize that everyone else was there as part of a group or at least a couple. I suddenly felt like an awful wallflower and almost turned right around to go out again. What on earth had made me think I’d have a good time gate-crashing a party at which I knew nobody?
I was close to the door when a male figure blocked my path. He was dressed head to toe in black, with a frightening black-hooded mask.
“And where might you be trying to escape to, my lady?” he asked in smooth, upper-class English tones. “Her royal majesty Queen Marie Antoinette, if I’m not wrong. We have a confirmed assignation, you and I?”
“We do?” I asked cautiously. “I’ve no idea who you are, and I made no assignation.”
“But can’t you see who I am?” he demanded. “I’m your exe
cutioner.” Then he revealed the axe he had been carrying behind his back.
“Wrong executioner,” I said, in what I hoped was a confident voice. “I’m waiting for the guillotine. If you don’t have one of those behind your back, then I’m afraid I’m not interested.”
I left him standing there and hurried forward as if to join a loud and merry party on the other side of the room. I was relieved to find a seat at a table around the perimeter, where I could observe from behind my black mask. People nodded as they passed me. Some commented on the excellence of my costume, but nobody claimed to recognize me.
After a while I was asked to dance and managed a waltz without disgracing myself too much. Luckily the dance floor was so crowded that a shuffle was all that was required. I danced again and again, made small talk, drank punch, and had a good time. Several young bucks tried to find out who I was, and why they hadn’t encountered me before, but I remained mysteriously enigmatic. All I would say was that I was a young Irishwoman going home on family matters. A couple of my partners even tried to extract an address from me so that they could visit me once we were in Ireland, but I declined tactfully.
When the dance ended at midnight, I felt like Cinderella, rushing back before my carriage changed back into a pumpkin. I made my way to my cabin, past happy revelers who had been at the punch bowl more frequently than I. Frederick was off duty by this time. I expected to see Henry, the night steward, sitting in his little cubby, but the small room was empty as I passed. I presumed he was attending to another passenger's needs. I let myself into my cabin, closed the door behind me and gave a sigh of relief. Tomorrow we’d dock in Queenstown. I could stop pretending to be Oona Sheehan and get on with my own work. I was looking forward to being anonymous again. I took off the wig, even warmer and more scratchy than the one I’d been suffering with all week, and went over to the daybed where the costume boxes awaited it.come to think of it, the whole darned costume had been hugely uncomfortable. I couldn’t wait to get out of it. That was when it struck me that I probably couldn’t get out of the costume alone. It had taken a lot of lacing to strap me into it in the first place. I wondered whether it would be fair to summon Rose at this late hour.