Duke of a Gilded Age

by S. G. Rogers

  As the balloon flew over solid land, it gained altitude so quickly that Wesley and Stephen were thrown to the bottom of the basket.

  “What’s happening?” Stephen exclaimed.

  “This can’t be good!” Wesley cried.

  Cavendish appeared out of thin air, completely green and sitting cross-legged. “It’s all part of the tour, Your Grace. We’re after the pot of gold, don’t you know.”

  “Cavendish? When did you become a leprechaun?”

  Wesley and Stephen struggled to stand just as the balloon crossed over the mouth of an open, active volcano. The heat of the lava was so intense that Wesley could feel it on his bare skin. Colors on the balloon began to melt and drip on his face like hot wax. He opened his mouth to speak, but in the next moment the balloon had burst and he was screaming, falling to his death…

  Wesley woke with a startled gasp. When he realized he’d been dreaming, his racing heart slowed. Several moments of confusion followed as he tried to figure out where he was and how he’d gotten there. His memories swirled like the flakes in his mother’s prized French snow globe; he focused on the rosewood-paneled ceiling and allowed his thoughts to settle.

  I’m not dead.

  He sat up just as Cavendish appeared in the doorway of his bedroom. The valet had dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept.

  “Good morning, Your Grace. How are you feeling?”

  Events from last night finally slid into place. Wesley gulped as he formulated a question. “Stephen Van Eyck? Did…did he make it?”

  “Indeed he did, although he’s a bit worse for wear. You were both quite lucky to have survived. I’m going to send for the ship’s surgeon to check you over and then I’ll order you a light breakfast.”

  “I have to see Captain Yarborough as well. There are two refugees onboard who should be arrested and charged with attempted murder.”

  “Yes, sir.” Cavendish averted his eyes a moment, overcome with emotion. “I’m glad you’re alive, lad.”

  Wesley cleared his throat as he fought his own surge of emotion. “Cavendish…I seem to remember you were in the rescue boat last night. Thank you for coming after me.”

  “I couldn’t have faced Miss Oakhurst otherwise. The instant the last lifeboat arrived without you, she raised the alarm.”

  “Somehow, I knew she would.”

  After the valet left, Wesley fell back onto his pillow, realizing far too late he had a painful raised knot on the back of his head the size of Manhattan. Blast! Further sleep was impossible, so he rose and headed for the bathroom. His ankle immediately gave him trouble, and he concluded he had injured it when the mast fell.

  Eager to wash the sticky saltwater from his hair and skin, he drew a bath. The fresh warm water enveloped him in a warm cocoon. This feels heavenly! He lingered longer than was necessary, but when Cavendish returned, he’d emerged and had begun to dress himself.

  “The surgeon is on his way, and Captain Yarborough will be along directly.” He peered at Wesley’s face. “What the devil did you do to yourself?”

  A glance in the mirror revealed Wesley’s eyebrows, eyelashes, and bits of his hair were singed at the ends.

  “I needed to attract your attention last night, so I took my cork vest off and set it ablaze,” Wesley said. “The resulting fireball must have come closer than I thought.”

  Cavendish sighed. “Between almost burning to death and then nearly drowning, you had a very difficult evening.”

  Anxiety was written on Lady Frederic’s face as she watched the ship’s surgeon examine Wesley.

  “How is he, Mr. Vane?”

  “Except for a sprained ankle, milady, he’s fit enough.”

  “Oh, thank goodness!” she exclaimed.

  Mr. Vane gave Wesley a severe look. “Nevertheless, Your Grace, you’ve had a shock to your system, so it’s bed rest today and no visitors. If you feel up to it, you may attend dinner in the saloon tonight…but no gallivanting about afterward.”

  No sooner had Mr. Vane departed than Mr. Finnegan arrived with a breakfast tray. Lady Frederic shooed Cavendish off to his own breakfast while she waited on Wesley. Although Wesley appreciated her ministrations, after a short while her solicitousness became grating. When she tried to salt his scrambled eggs for him, he stayed her hand.

  “Mother, please don’t fuss! You heard Mr. Vane say I’m fine. My ankle is tender and my muscles are stiff, but I can feed myself.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “When I realize how close I came to losing you, I can’t bear it.”

  “Well…” He cast about for some small service she could perform. “Could you spoon some apricot preserves onto my plate for me?”

  She brightened. “Why, of course!”

  Wesley could have handled the jar of preserves perfectly well by himself, but his mother’s piece of mind was worth the sacrifice of a little personal dignity.

  “We seem to have good weather and calm seas today,” he said.

  “It’s beautiful outside. The captain has the engines running at full speed, trying to make up for the delay. Nevertheless, we’ll arrive in Liverpool late Saturday instead of Friday night or Saturday morning.”

  “I wonder how the City of New York plans to feed all the new people?”

  “I was curious about that myself, so I asked Mr. Finnegan. He said due to seasickness, people hadn’t eaten as much as was originally planned. If they curtail the late night meal, the provisions on board should be more than enough to last the voyage. In any case, Captain Howe is putting the refugees off at Queenstown. Representatives from the shipping line will be there to deal with them.”

  “I’m sorry, where is Queenstown?”

  “Really, Wesley, you need to brush up on your European geography! Queenstown is a port city on the southern coast of Ireland, in County Cork.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Captain Yarborough arrived with Captain Howe shortly thereafter, and Wesley described the altercation that had taken place in the saloon of the Apollo.

  “The man who attacked Stephen had a full black mustache. The other one was a tall, well-dressed American with fair hair and a Western accent,” Wesley concluded.

  Captain Yarborough’s eyes narrowed. “The fair-haired one is named Mr. Randolph, and his friend is called Mr. Fife. They’re both Americans. I suspected them of being cardsharps almost the moment they came aboard my ship.”

  “Cardsharps?” Wesley echoed.

  “Professional gamblers who are adept at cheating,” Captain Howe said. “They travel on steamships in teams, pretending not to know one other, whilst duping unsuspecting marks into high-stake card games.”

  “Cardsharps are the scourge of the Atlantic,” Captain Yarborough said. “Now, it seems, these particular cardsharps have branched out into attempted murder.”

  Wesley held up the knuckles of his right hand. “You’ll find bruises on their faces roughly the size of my fist.”

  The two sea captains chuckled appreciatively.

  “Good lad,” Captain Howe said. “We’ll arrest Randolph and Fife without delay. You’ll need to identify them as your assailants, of course, but they’ll be kept under guard until we reach port.”

  “The sooner they’re locked up, the better,” Lady Frederic said.

  “Agreed.” Wesley stood. “In fact, I’ll be happy to identify them right now.”

  “But Mr. Vane ordered you to rest!” Lady Frederic exclaimed.

  Captain Yarborough held up his hand. “Best to follow doctor’s orders, Your Grace. Besides which, I haven’t seen Randolph or Fife since they left the Apollo. By now they’ve probably heard of your rescue and may be hiding.”

  “I’ll have my crew search the ship from stem to stern,” Captain Howe. “If they’re aboard, we’ll find them.”

  Belle awoke just before noon, dressed hurriedly, and rushed to her father’s cabin. He answered her knock, moving a little slower than usual after the night’s exertions.

  “Have you
seen Wesley, Papa?” Belle asked. “Is there any word?”

  “I’ve not seen him, but I did speak with the ship’s surgeon. Wesley is awake and resting quietly, but he’s not to have visitors for the time being.”

  Belle swallowed her disappointment. “And Mr. Van Eyck?”

  “His mother assured me he’s as well as can be expected. He, too, has been ordered to rest in his cabin, although Mrs. Van Eyck has had difficulty keeping him quiet.”

  “I can very well imagine. And are you feeling fit?”

  Mr. Oakhurst stretched out his biceps and shoulder muscles. “I’m afraid I’m not as young as I used to be, but I’ll be fine. By the way, we’ve been invited to dine at the captain’s table tonight.”

  “Whatever for?” Belle asked. “You and I are hardly luminaries.”

  “It’s mere conjecture on my part, but I suspect it has something to do with our having assisted in the rescue last night.”

  “I look forward to it very much. Have you eaten lunch, Papa?”

  “I had a very late breakfast, but I’ll sit with you, if you like. It’s a beautiful day.”

  “That’s not necessary. It’s probably a good thing if you rest, too.”

  She kissed her father on the cheek and headed for the saloon, hoping to find friends with whom to dine. When she entered the dining hall, Louise waved and called out her name. Belle joined her at a table with Carl, Stacy, Eva, and Horatio, who were just ordering their lunch.

  “We were worried you would sleep the whole day away!” Louise exclaimed.

  “I nearly did. May I inquire after your brother?” Belle asked.

  “He’s talking non-stop. Oh, there’s so much to tell you and I don’t know where to begin. There was a reason he and Wesley got left behind on the Apollo!”

  Louise went on to detail everything she’d learned from Stephen, beginning with the moment he’d left the City of New York. She paused for breath only long enough to let Belle order lunch, or to eat a bite of lobster salad every so often. Belle found herself hanging on Louise’s every word, as did everyone else at the table. When Louise described how Stephen and Wesley had been attacked and locked in the closet, Belle was aghast.

  “Who are these criminals? Have they been arrested?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Louise said. “I certainly hope so.” She glanced over her shoulder, as if the men might be standing right behind her.

  “Go on, Louise,” urged Eva. “What happened next?”

  “I can’t stand the suspense!” Stacy exclaimed.

  Louise resumed telling the story with great relish, culminating with the moment Wesley and Stephen were rescued.

  “And so Stephen says if it wasn’t for Wesley he would have given up hope,” Louise concluded in a dramatic fashion. “He owes Wesley his life.”

  “But it sounds like your brother saved Wesley’s life too, at the very end,” Belle said. She felt a rush of gratitude toward Stephen, despite the very public kiss he’d pressed on her last night. He’s not as shallow as I had imagined.

  “I think that’s the most remarkable tale I’ve ever heard,” Carl said.

  Horatio nodded his agreement. “In some cultures, Wesley and Stephen would now be considered blood brothers.”

  “Like in an adventure novel,” Carl said.

  “But in this case, it’s all a true story!” Eva said.

  “I can’t believe we missed the excitement,” Stacy said with a pout. “Grandmama made us go to bed.”

  “Oh, you should have seen Belle after the last lifeboat arrived without Wesley and my brother,” Louise said. “Mama and I were useless, but Belle was a firebrand.”

  “That’s a gross exaggeration, Louise—” Belle began.

  But Louise brushed off her protest. “You’re a heroine, Annabelle. If you hadn’t insisted you could see lights through the fog, no rescue would have been mounted until morning. It would have been too late by then. Stephen said the lifeboat reached him and Wesley just in the nick of time.”

  A shiver shook Belle’s frame. “I can scarcely think about it. In fact, I’m looking forward to dry land more and more.”

  “As am I,” Stacy said. “The last few days of our voyage won’t be nearly as diverting without the dance club.”

  “True. And even if Wesley and Stephen were fit enough to continue, we no longer have a place to meet,” Eva pointed out.

  “That’s right. The steerage deck is now occupied with the refugees and crew from the Apollo,” Horatio said.

  “Did you know one of the first class passengers from the Apollo has a pup?” Carl asked.

  “Oh, yes! She tried to bring the animal to breakfast this morning, but the staff wouldn’t allow it in the saloon,” Stacy said.

  “That woman is odious,” Louise whispered. “Her name is Mrs. Stilton, and she’s attached herself to Mama, probably hoping she’ll give up her deck cabin!”

  “That’s not likely,” Belle said.

  “I read in the Gazette there’s to be a clothing drive this afternoon for the refugees,” Eva said. “They came away from the Apollo with very little.”

  “I have an ugly yellow skirt to donate,” Stacy said.

  “That’s ungenerous of you, sister, I must say,” Eva said.

  “Just because I think it’s ugly doesn’t mean anyone else will,” Stacy retorted.

  “I know the skirt,” Eva said. “You’re right, it’s quite ugly.”

  Stacy sniffed. “If you’re going to be like that, I’ll donate a pair of gloves too. I’ve outgrown them anyway.”

  “Mama and I worked at a clothing drive in Philadelphia once,” Louise said. “Volunteers are always needed to sort things and hand them out in an orderly fashion.”

  “This afternoon we’ll be the volunteer club, then,” Horatio said. “Perhaps it won’t be as much fun as dancing, but a clothing drive will give us something useful to do.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve a few things to donate,” Carl said.

  “Let’s all canvass our wardrobes for donations and meet back here at two o’clock,” Belle suggested. Perhaps keeping busy will help divert my thoughts from Wesley. I can’t wait to see him!

  In her cabin, Belle examined her clothes, gown by gown. Her wardrobe wasn’t so extensive she could easily donate part of it without sacrifice, but she knew the people who’d fled the Apollo had come away with less. With some regret, she selected her peach-pattern dress. I hope its new owner will make good use of it, and enjoy the dress as much as I have.

  She set the dress aside and sat down to write Wesley a note on ship stationery:

  Dear Wesley,

  Louise related a little of your ordeal to me, as recounted by her brother. I understand there was much heroism and bravery on your part, and that in all ways you behaved admirably. I’m so terribly thankful your life was spared and you’ll live to see your dukedom! Although I’m told you can’t have visitors yet, I hope this letter finds you resting comfortably.

  Yours truly,

  Belle

  P.S. My father and I are to dine at the captain’s table this evening! I hope you are able to join us.

  As she left for the clothing drive carrying her dress over one arm, she stopped by Mrs. Bartlett’s cabin and gave her the letter to deliver. For some reason, her small communication with Wesley made her feel more cheerful. Belle hastened to the saloon with a lighter heart.

  Chapter Nineteen

  En Garde

  AS THE MORNING WORE ON, Wesley began to chafe at his confinement. Sunlight shone through the portals, calling him out to soak in its warming rays. Cavendish had at last assumed the role of nanny, unfortunately, and dissuaded him from doing anything more strenuous than reading. When Mr. Finnegan delivered Wesley’s luncheon tray around one o’clock, he also brought with him a stack of letters.

  “What’s all this?” Wesley asked.

  “Well wishes and sentiments of that nature, I imagine,” Mr. Finnegan replied.

  “Really?”

/>   “Your shipmates have not forgotten you, Your Grace.”

  “I’m very touched.”

  The steward left. Wesley glanced through the stack; there was a note from Mr. Ley, an invitation to dine that evening from Captain Howe, and several messages from fellow passengers with whom Wesley had an acquaintance. He was most pleased to discover a letter from Belle, and he read it with a smile on his face. Afterward, he beckoned to Cavendish.

  “I’d like to answer this one right away.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The valet brought stationery and a Waterman fountain pen to the table so Wesley could write his reply:

  Dear Belle,

  Mr. Vane has been cruel to forbid me visitors, but he informs me I may go to dinner tonight despite a sprained ankle. I look forward to seeing you then, but you must promise not to laugh at my singed hair. Along with my supposed bravery and heroism, I engaged in a great deal of poorly conceived idiocy.

  Sincerely,

  Wesley

  P.S. I’m in your father’s debt, as he was among the rescue party. I can’t express how grateful I am.

  He sealed the note in an envelope, wrote Belle’s name on the front, and asked Cavendish to give it to the steward to deliver.

  Before Wesley tucked into his solitary lunch of roast beef, new potatoes, and asparagus, he re-read Belle’s letter to him. Smiling, he slid it into the breast pocket of his jacket for safekeeping. Cavendish had described how Belle kept a vigil for him last night. It pleased him to no end to imagine her doing so, but had she done so out of friendship or something deeper?

  Mr. Duncan had been assigned to spearhead the relief effort, along with the Chief Officer of the Apollo, Mr. Wilmington. Belle was impressed at the generous quantity of clothes and toiletry items donated by City of New York passengers. She and her fellow volunteers sorted the offerings into categories and further divided the clothes as to size. Just as they’d finished sorting the last few things, the ship’s barber entered the saloon carrying a basket filled with combs and shaving supplies.