Duke of a Gilded Age

by S. G. Rogers

  For some strange reason, Wesley grinned back. “That’s the spirit. You never know, perhaps an iceberg will happen by. We could jump on and ride it all the way to South America.”

  “Could be. Or a pod of whales might offer to give us a lift to Greenland.”

  Wesley and Stephen dissolved into hysterical laughter.

  “Let’s…let’s go find those cork jackets and put them on,” Wesley said finally.

  Stephen looked at him, askance. “More optimism?”

  “No.” Wesley swallowed hard. “It’s just that should anyone come searching for us, they’ll have a better chance of finding our bodies if they’re afloat. I’m thinking of my mother.”

  Stephen averted his eyes. “Yes. Agreed.”

  “And while we’re in the saloon, perhaps we can find an unbroken bottle of scotch to keep us warm.”

  Stephen slapped Wesley on the back. “Now that’s a reason to be optimistic.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Going Away Party

  FROM THE MOMENT WESLEY AND STEPHEN departed the City of New York, Belle kept a vigil. Similarly, Cavendish paced up and down the promenade like a caged badger. Mr. Oakhurst pleaded with his daughter to go inside to get warm or to turn in for the night, but she refused.

  “No, Papa. I need to make certain Wesley is safe,” she said. “Mr. Van Eyck too. I can sleep all day tomorrow.”

  Defeated, her father brought up a heavy coat from her cabin and made her put it on. Louise helped with refugees as long as she could, but finally wilted with the lateness of the hour. She took a nap in a deck chair near the staging area.

  “Annabelle, you must promise to wake me as soon as Stephen and Wesley return,” she said before closing her eyes.

  “Of course,” Belle said.

  The increasingly choppy waves fomented a general resurgence of mal de mer. Many stalwart passengers helping to receive the Apollo refugees were obliged to retire in misery. Carl, Horatio, Stacy, and Eva lent their assistance until Mrs. Stenger sent them to bed. Mrs. Van Eyck and Lady Frederic sat in deck chairs, wrapped in coats and blankets. They stole catnaps here and there, waking up with each new batch of refugees. After midnight, however, neither woman could keep her eyes open.

  The fourth longboat disgorged its passengers, and Belle noted a few men among the mix. They’ve evacuated all the women and children now, so Wesley and Stephen should be on the next boat, she thought with some excitement. But the next three boats arrived without them, and she began to be impatient. Why hasn’t the captain of the Apollo sent them on? Surely he doesn’t need their help any longer, does he?

  Belle caught the arm of a newly arrived Apollo crewman as he crossed toward a rolling cart laden with fresh coffee, hot cider, and chocolate.

  “Excuse me, sir, with how many lifeboats is your ship equipped?” she asked.

  “Eight, miss, and each one full to bursting.”

  “Thank you.”

  Moments later, Mr. Oakhurst draped a blanket around Belle’s shoulders. She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Papa.”

  “The saloon is serving light refreshments until the last soul has been rescued,” he said. “Go downstairs and get something to eat.”

  She shook her head. “There’s only one more lifeboat remaining, Papa. I can wait until then.”

  Mr. Oakhurst stared out over the water. “I understand how you feel. I can’t rest until they are safe either.”

  Belle glanced toward Cavendish, who was slumped on a deck chair with his head in his hands. The man’s ordinarily pristine attire was rumpled and his hair awry.

  “We’re not the only worried ones, it seems,” she said.

  “I think His Grace will be touched when he hears of his valet’s loyalty.”

  A sudden surge of moisture blurred Belle’s vision. “Wesley Parker has the uncanny ability to make people care about him, Papa, whether they want to or not.”

  “Are you speaking of your personal feelings?”

  She was glad her blush could be explained by the blustery wind.

  “I-I only meant he’ll make a good duke. His servants and tenants will find him a vast deal more amiable than his predecessor.”

  “Hmm. True.” Mr. Oakhurst paused. “I’ve developed a high regard for the lad myself.”

  Just then the last longboat appeared, emerging from the increasingly heavy fog that had formed after the storm passed. Belle roused Louise, and then returned to the railing to watch for Wesley and Stephen. Louise, bleary, crossed over to her mother and Lady Frederic to shake them awake.

  As the longboat came alongside the City of New York, Belle peered down at the passengers. Despite the darkness and distance, she picked out the captain of the Apollo by his hat and uniform. She saw neither Wesley nor Stephen at first, so she moved closer for a better view and scanned each man one by one. This can’t be right. As a tall swarthy Italian was hauled up from the lifeboat, Belle checked the faces again…and then a third time. Her heart stopped and she clutched her father’s sleeve.

  “Papa, he’s not there! I’ve looked, and Wesley’s not there! Mr. Van Eyck isn’t there either. What has happened?”

  Belle’s knees buckled, but her father caught her around the waist and led her to a deckchair.

  “Are you sure, Annabelle? Perhaps he came aboard before and you didn’t notice with all the confusion?”

  Tears streamed down her face, but Belle didn’t bother to wipe them away.

  “Ask Cavendish! Do you think he would be out here if Wesley had returned?”

  The valet had nodded off, but he came awake at the sound of his name. He blinked and looked around. “What?”

  “He’s not here, Cavendish,” Belle cried in anguish. “The last lifeboat has come and Wesley isn’t on it!”

  Lady Frederic, Mrs. Van Eyck, and Louise overheard and stared at Belle in utter shock. White-faced, Cavendish rushed to the railing to see for himself. At that moment, the captain of the Apollo stepped from the winch onto the deck. His waiting crew gave him a salute, but Belle didn’t bother with formalities. She sprang from the deckchair and launched herself into his path.

  “Where are Wesley Parker and Stephen Van Eyck, the boys who came to help you?” she demanded.

  The captain was bewildered. “I sent them back after the fourth boat, miss. They must be here. Have you checked in their cabins?”

  “You left them behind!” Belle’s voice rose in volume until it was almost a scream. “They helped you and you left them to die.”

  Wesley held up a kerosene lamp to illuminate the wreckage in the bar. “Aha.” He wrapped his fingers around a bottle of amber liquid and held it up for Stephen to see. “This scotch is older than we are.”

  “Bring it.”

  Stephen slipped a bottle of champagne in one pocket of his Mackintosh jacket and a couple of drinking glasses in the other. “I hate to drink on an empty stomach, even one covered with cork,” he said, patting the vest tied around his middle. “Let’s find the galley. There has to be something to eat on this boat.”

  “I hope the galley is on this deck because the one below is probably flooded,” Wesley said.

  Fortunately, the galley was adjacent to the saloon and accessible through a sliding door. Broken crockery crunched under Wesley’s feet as he surveyed the contents of the icebox. “Mutton, cold chicken, or sliced roast beef?” he called out over his shoulder.

  “Roast beef,” Stephen replied from the pantry. “I’ve got bread for sandwiches, and cake too.”

  They piled their provisions onto a rolling cart.

  “Where shall we have our going away party?” Stephen asked.

  “The bridge,” Wesley said. “Except for the masts, it’s the highest point on the ship.”

  The Apollo creaked and groaned as Stephen pushed the cart from the galley and through the saloon. He held the lamps while Wesley balanced the food on a large serving tray and carried it up to the deck. The sea was calm by then, but a thick eerie fog was stealing across the
water like steam.

  “It looks like we’ve sailed into a tea kettle,” Stephen said.

  Wesley shivered. “If only it were that warm.”

  Inside the bridge, Stephen hung the kerosene lamps from hooks on the ceiling and emptied the coal scuttle into the pot-bellied stove. Wesley arranged the feast on a map table and pulled up a pair of tall stools. Stephen produced the glasses and champagne from his pockets. As he set the bottle on the table, he frowned. “Oh, blast, I forgot a corkscrew.”

  Wesley held up the required instrument. “I brought one from the galley.”

  Stephen grinned. “We make a good team, Wesley.”

  “I was just thinking that myself.” Wesley poured a quantity of scotch in the glasses and handed one to Stephen for a toast. “Here’s to going away.”

  “And away we go.” Stephen drained the scotch and shuddered. “Ugh! I suppose it’s an acquired taste.”

  They devoured a sandwich apiece, ate half the cake, and then settled down to drink. After a while, Wesley wasn’t sure if the swaying on the bridge was from the ship, or the strong spirits.

  “I should apologize to you, Stephen. It’s my fault you’re in this mess,” he said. “In hindsight, giving away my Saint Christopher’s medal was ill considered.”

  Stephen shook his head. “No, I invited myself along, don’t you remember? Serves me right for trying to impress a girl. Guess I’ll never do that again.”

  They shared a laugh, but the merriment was cut short when the ship rolled to its starboard side. Wesley steadied the bottles to keep them from tipping over, and Stephen picked up the glasses. Wesley held his breath as he waited to see if the Apollo would straighten. To his relief, the ship came upright once more, albeit listing slightly. He let out his breath slowly and glanced at Stephen, whose face had gone chalk white.

  “I admit, I’m not quite ready to die.” Stephen’s voice cracked slightly. The silence that followed his remark was filled with unspoken emotion. His hands shook uncontrollably as he set down the glasses and reached for the scotch. “At least not until I’ve finished this bottle.”

  Belle’s face flashed into Wesley’s mind, like a beacon. I’m not going to leave her like this! He stood, abruptly.

  “We’re not going to die. I won’t have it.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “I’m going to climb the masts and hang lit kerosene lanterns as high as I can. If anyone is out there, maybe they’ll see the light and come to our aid.”

  “You’ll slip and fall, Wesley!”

  “Perhaps that will be a mercy.”

  Stephen stood and brushed cake crumbs from his clothes. “All right, I’ll help. If we’re going to die, we may as well go down swinging.”

  At the base of the mainmast, Wesley tied the end of a rope around his waist.

  “When I reach the uppermost yardarm, tie the lamp handle to the rope and I’ll haul it up,” he said.

  Stephen squinted at the mast. “It’s awfully far.”

  “I don’t want to think about it.”

  Before he changed his mind, Wesley began to climb the rigging. If it had been broad daylight, he might not have been brave enough to make a climb thirty feet high. As it was, the nighttime fog gave him the sensation of being wrapped in a silken cocoon. When he reached the yardarm, he gave the rope a tug. Stephen tugged back; Wesley pulled up the kerosene lamp and used a shorter length of rope to tie the lamp in place. He climbed down and then repeated the process with the foremast and the mizzenmast. The three lamps hanging high overhead sent a distinct glow that pierced the misty fog.

  When he reached the deck for the third and final time, Stephen gave him a look of admiration. “You’ve nerves of steel, Wesley.”

  “Not really. It’s just that I couldn’t see past ten feet due to the fog.”

  “While you were up there, I thought of something else. We could take turns ringing the ship’s big brass bell hanging next to the bridge.”

  Wesley stared at him, dumbfounded. “That’s brilliant.”

  “It was the fog that made me think of it.”

  Stephen took the first turn, ringing the bell vigorously, as if he were on his way to a fire. When his arm grew tired, Wesley took over. Then they switched off again, all the while pretending not to notice the water lapping over the deck. Stephen had just begun to use his left arm on the clapper rope when Wesley flinched. “Stop! I hear something!”

  Stephen quieted the bell with his hands. “All I hear is ringing in my head.”

  “Shh!”

  Wesley ran to the railing and listened. A very faint “Ahoy there!” reached his ears. He turned toward Stephen, chortling with glee.

  “Did you hear that? Someone’s out there! Keep ringing!”

  As Stephen rang the bell for all he was worth, Wesley cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “Hullo! We’re here! Hullo!”

  The fog prevented him from seeing any boats on the water. If I can’t see them, maybe they can’t see us! Wesley tore into the bridge, grabbed the empty coal scuttle and bottle of scotch, and brought them both onto the open deck. After he shrugged off his Mackintosh coat, he untied his cork jacket, threw it in the tall metal scuttle, and doused it with scotch.

  “What are you doing?” Stephen yelled. “Have you gone mad?”

  “No, I’m desperate.”

  He tossed a burning kerosene lamp into the scuttle and stepped back. A whooshing sound accompanied a surging gust of flame, which shot over eight feet into the air. Wesley was forced to drop to the deck and crawl away to escape the billowing conflagration. Stephen gaped but did not stop ringing the bell. Wesley snatched his Mackintosh jacket from the wet deck and sloshed through water toward Stephen. They watched in dismay as burning embers rose into the air toward the sails hanging from the foremast.

  “Damn,” Wesley said. “I just set the Apollo on fire.”

  Seawater lapped at their feet and Stephen stopped ringing the bell. “Doesn’t matter. The ship is sinking anyway.”

  “Climb the rigging,” Wesley said. “I’ll keep the bell going as long as I can before I join you.”

  “I’m staying, not you. You don’t have your cork jacket anymore.”

  “That was my decision and you shouldn’t have to pay for it. Get going.”

  “Don’t be stupid!”

  “I’m not stupid, I’m practical.”

  “I’m not going without you!”

  Just then, the lower foremast sail caught fire. The intense heat drove Wesley and Stephen back from the bridge.

  “Have it your way, Stephen,” Wesley said. “We’ll both go.”

  He led the way toward the stern of the ship, where rigging spread out on either side of the mizzenmast. Stephen took one side and Wesley took the other. Halfway up, however, the Apollo rolled for the last time. With a splintering crack, the mizzenmast broke at its base and fell with a slow arc into the frigid Atlantic.

  His ankle became entangled in the rope rigging, and Wesley was submerged. The shock of the cold water nearly stopped his heart, but something inside wouldn’t let him give up. He managed to free himself from the rigging and swim to the surface. His breathing was fast and deep, as if he could not get enough oxygen, and the strength was ebbing from his limbs. I’m so sorry, Belle, but I’m not going to make it after all. I wish we could’ve had more time together. Suddenly he felt something tugging on his coat, and an arm went around his chest.

  “I’ll hold onto you as long as I can,” Stephen rasped.

  “Thanks,” Wesley managed.

  In the water nearby, the Apollo was ablaze and sinking fast. A fuzzy, sleepy sensation began to dull Wesley’s senses. The next thing he knew, a wooden wall was sliding past his face. Confused, he reached out a hand to push it away. Something grabbed his elbow and he panicked. His feeble struggles came to nothing, but he kept fighting—with whom or against what he could not say.

  “Stop struggling, Wesley!” Stephen said.

  “Dannazione!” a dee
p voice cursed. “Smettere di lottare ragazzo!”

  “Wesley, let us help you,” Cavendish said.

  Unable to respond, Wesley felt his body being pulled out of the water. He rolled into the boat, barely conscious. In the next moment, a rough blanket covered him.

  “Stephen,” he muttered.

  “We’ve got him, lad,” Mr. Oakhurst said. “We’ve got you both.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Aftermath

  BELLE BURST INTO TEARS of relief when the Apollo longboat pulled alongside the City of New York, carrying its rescue crew of Mr. Oakhurst, Matteo, Cavendish, and Captain Yarborough, plus two additional passengers—Wesley and Stephen. Lady Frederic, Mrs. Van Eyck, and Louise also began to cry with deep shuddering sobs. None of them would rest until the ship’s surgeon confirmed Wesley and Stephen would survive their ordeal. They’d both been brought aboard unconscious, with blue-tinged skin and bloodless fingernails that had made Belle gasp with dismay.

  Finally, Mr. Oakhurst sent Belle to her cabin. She gave him a hug before she left.

  “Thank you for saving him, Papa,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Exhausted, Belle could barely manage to remove her clothes before collapsing into her berth. Although her mind would not truly be at ease until she’d spoken with Wesley, her body had its own agenda and she fell asleep immediately.

  The hot air balloon soared over the Atlantic, its red, white, and blue colors reminiscent of the American flag. Wesley grinned as he leaned over the edge of the basket to admire the pod of purple whales keeping pace in the waves below.

  “I told you we’d be rescued, Stephen!” he called out.

  “You were right, Wesley. I promise to be much more optimistic next time!” Stephen replied.

  A land mass became visible on the horizon.

  “Land, ho!” Wesley shouted.

  “Do you suppose it’s South America?” Stephen asked.

  “I couldn’t say, but I hope it’s someplace warm.”