Tess, now as feverish as the best of them, listened to the news with fascination for those two days as a select trickle of Aaron's male friends came aboard, downed drinks, and offered educated (and sometimes wild) opinions about whether Dunraven's behavior was a bit of psychological cunning or the actions of a disturbed and distrustful man.
It was all very relaxed and oddly pleasant, nothing like the rigidly formal exchange of calling cards and empty phrases in the drawing rooms of Newport. Here the spirit of easy camaraderie prevailed; there, of mean-spirited competitiveness. It made Tess think that the men in Newport society who did not own boats were prisoners in their own castles.
When Tess told Aaron of her theory later that day, he smiled in melancholy agreement. "The men you saw today would cut me dead if they'd been with their wives; the poor bastards would have no choice."
"Because of me?"
He said offhandedly, "We're not married. And if we were, their reaction would probably be the same. I accept that, Tess. Why is it so hard for you?"
She turned away with a sigh. "I suppose, because the code seems so ... inflexible."
"It isn't, really. A son of old money can marry an actress and hope for the best. But if there are two strikes against one—if one's wealth is only second generation, and if one happens also to be Jewish—well, then one tries very hard not to strike out."
"—especially when one has hopes for a home run for one's daughter?" she asked, matching his tone.
"Especially then," he said softly. "I'm sorry, Tess. I never tried to mislead you."
Her back was still to him. She shut her eyes tightly, blotting out hopelessness, and then opened them and turned around. With a dangerous smile and a head held high, she said, "I don't care. I'll hit my own home run."
On the morning of the second race they were awakened by a brass band making the rounds of the harbor in a steam launch: it was eight o'clock. Tess knew, without looking through the porthole, that yacht club burgees and private signal flags would be flying from every masthead and American ensigns snapping from every stern rail: it was eight o'clock. The dew would have been wiped dry from every varnished hatch and rail, and smartly dressed crews would be finishing the scrubbing of yesterday's spills from silvery teak decks: it was, after all, eight o'clock.
The world of yachting was a comfortable blend of tradition and freedom, and it had appeal for Tess Moran. She would miss it when she returned ashore, even if it was to her own hat shop and a brand-new life.
She opened her eyes to see Aaron nearly dressed.
"What energy," she said with a sleepy smile. "You handle your champagne much better than I."
He bent over her and kissed her on her brow. "Is that what turned you so insatiable last night? In that case I'll have to lay in a supply before our cruise back to Newport."
"No-o, have mercy, Aaron!"
He sat down next to her. "Seriously, Tess. Something has come over you these past few days. You've used me up as a goddess does a mortal. I begin to feel you shall be my death," he complained with an ironic smile.
Tess chose to ignore his self-mocking tone. "I guess I must be competing—against all those women on the Matador."
He looked amazed. "Tess, those women are ... nothing ! They're part of the scene, no more significant than—than the vendors who bring us the papers each morning."
She folded her hands across the blanket. "Have you made love to those women?"
"Does it make a difference?"
"It does."
"Then: no. To be honest, I no longer have the desire—or the strength."
"What do they offer that I don't?" she persisted. "We've done everything, tried everything..."
He smiled, then rubbed his lower lip, considering. He laughed again, to himself. "Would you let one of them join us some night?"
Wide-eyed, she pulled the covers up to her neck. "I would not!"
"Ah." He chucked her under her chin. "Then that, dear Tess, is the difference between you and them. Come, get dressed. Our guests will be here soon."
Tess and Aaron were finishing breakfast when the launch returned with Clyde Jarvis and the others. Jarvis put his arms round her and kissed her cheek; the others were content to take her hand. Malcolm Landis handed over a large packet of mail to Aaron and a single envelope addressed to Tess aboard the yacht Enchanta, in care of the New York Yacht Club.
Maggie.
Tess excused herself and hurried below, where she tore open the letter to read:
Dear Tess,
The races must be on now and I hope this finds you happy. There is much news. Birdget is marrying a butcher, a fine match which is where the mony is coming from. I told her I did not want the job. She is gone from the house and I am too of corse. Miss C. was not too bad. She is engaged to marry a Baron Levanaski—I cannot spell it or even say it. They say he is without a cent but why should she care? I had no need to take a room as Father has left. A friend told him there was a job as hand on the "Mary D" which is a fishing boat from here. Father says he can own a 1/4 share if he is good at it. He says after all he is from Cork. He sailed Friday which they say is bad luck and I do hope it is not. So I am here with Will who is well but dizzy once when he played so hard. Your new shop does sound grand and you will be so good at it. I have all but 4 dollars that you sent so dont fear for us. We put the rest under a broken bord where it will be safe. When do you think you will be coming home? I think of you all the time. Your aff. sis. Maggie.
The letter was meant in every way to reassure, but in every way it left Tess disturbed.
The Enchanta was steaming with the rest of the fleet toward the starting line for the second in the best-of-five series when Tess reappeared on deck and asked Aaron to see him alone.
"Maggie again, I take it?" he asked unenthusiastically. Tess showed him the letter. "I can't leave her alone on the waterfront like that. In that shack! The silly girl won't spend the money I sent. What can I do?"
"Nothing until after this race, certainly. Then I suggest—oh, bloody hell, Tess! You can't make someone do something she doesn't want to."
"You were able to," she shot back. "Why can't I?"
"We'll discuss this later," he said, irritated by her response. They rejoined Aaron's male friends—Miss Appleton, apparently, had found better sport ashore—and Tess did her best to keep her distress to herself. As before, the Enchanta milled around the starting line with hundreds of other steamers and sailboats, waiting for something dramatic to occur. This time, they were not disappointed: a big excursion steamer filled with tourists positioned itself blithely between the two yachts and the starting line. The British challenger was able to clear the steamer's bow. Defender, less lucky, was forced to duck under its stern.
"Damned if Dunraven doesn't have a point about the spectator fleet," shouted Jarvis. "That tomfool steamer blundered right in the way!"
"And now Valkyrie and Defender are on a collision course," said Aaron matter-of-factly as he watched the action through binoculars.
"Who must give way?" cried Tess, forgetting all else in the drama at hand.
"Defender has the right of way; Valkyrie is the burdened yacht."
"Now look what Syccy's up to," Landis cried, as the helmsman on Dunraven's yacht bore off and then luffed up sharply. "Too close, man, too close!"
Tess covered her eyes, then peeked through her hands to see the aft end of Valkyrie's boom caught in the rigging of the American boat. Defender's topmast, suddenly unsupported, bent over at a wild angle, threatening to crash down to the deck.
"Well God damn—excuse me, Miss Moran—well God damn it all!" cried Jarvis.
"There goes Defender's protest flag up the halyard!"
"Chalk up another victory; the race will have to be given to us after this," said Landis.
"Valkyrie doesn't seem to think so," said Aaron through his binoculars. "She's decided to keep right on going."
"What!"
Aaron shook his head, giving Tess a puzzled smil
e. "I can't explain it."
"And look! Defender has decided to go after her!" cried Jarvis. "She's got a man up her mast already, making repairs. Ah, she's a feisty little Yankee! Never give up! That's what Americans are all about, Miss Moran. We never give up!"
In his excitement Jarvis grabbed Tess's arm with a strength that amazed her; he simply would not let go. He held on through most of the first leg of the race, convinced that the American yacht would somehow pull it off and fly past her British opponent. Defender did not, but she came dose, forty- seven seconds on corrected time.
Not that it mattered: Defender's protest was sustained and the race was awarded to her. Two down, one to go. Everyone was happy.
Except Tess. Late on the night of the second race, after their guests had gone, Tess slipped into the small stateroom that functioned as Aaron's library and office away from Wall Street and confronted him.
"I've decided to leave tomorrow morning, Aaron," she said with brisk resolve. "I've thought about it all day. You must let me go."
For a long time he was silent. "You're not a prisoner, Tess," he said at last.
"Of course I'm a prisoner!" she cried. "Of my love for you; of your feeling for me; of all of this," she added, with a sweeping gesture at the elegant cabin in which she stood. "You can't know how seductive it all is, how hard it is to let it all go."
"You reassure me, Tess. I thought you'd come to scratch out my eyes for having been the cause of your ruin." It was said lightly, but his eyes were clouded with panic.
"I don't blame you for anything," she said quietly. "It was my decision."
He tried another tack. "Why tomorrow morning? Why not wait until the Races are over? We can return to Newport with all due speed."
"No. You told me never to look back. It's time to get on with my life. Besides, my family needs me."
"I need you, damn it!" he suddenly shouted, slamming his hand on the desk top.
He jumped up and rushed to her, locking her in his arms, taking her breath, her soul, in a wildly passionate kiss. He covered her face with kisses, returning again and again to her mouth, pounding her resolve to rubble. It was an assault of the most devastating kind, and it left her reeling.
"Leave me and I die, Tess," he said in a voice breaking with passion. "I can't let you go. What will it take? What do you want? Take my money, take what you want, but stay, stay, stay."
"I can't," she choked out between kisses. "It isn't a real life—it's somewhere ... on the edge. I can't."
"Then marry me, damn you. Marry me and bring your whole damn family!" He was pulling her dressing gown away from her shoulder, searing the soft white flesh with his lips, moaning, incoherent with love. "Bring in all of Ireland, I don't care. Marry me; stay; marry me; oh God ..."
They made love after that, and again, and then a third time, and when Aaron, in a calmer and somewhat more rational mood, told Tess again to marry him, she said yes.
Chapter 15
Some people awake from a dream convinced that it is real; Tess awoke from the night before convinced that she had dreamt it all. Nothing in her life so far had prepared her for this fairy-tale turn. Her impulse was to pinch herself, pinch Aaron, get something in writing: it couldn't be true. She dressed quickly and went to look for him, but he'd taken the launch ashore. As always when he wasn't aboard, she felt uncomfortable among the crew—they seemed even more courteous then, which she took as a form of sarcasm—and so she waited in Aaron's stateroom, impatient and unbelieving.
It could never work. Or it might work. But she would never be accepted. Then again, she would still have her family. But what about Vanessa? And Aaron's family? Anything for love, she told herself over and over. Anything.
Aaron returned with Jarvis and the others an hour later. She met him at the top of the gangway and the two exchanged looks; Aaron's was dazed but tender. Obviously he hadn't told anyone. All talk was of the third race, and the scuttlebutt collected from around the harbor since the second.
As usual, Jarvis, who was a New York Yacht Club member, held the floor. As the Enchanta steamed out with the rest of the spectators, Jarvis filled everyone in on the latest twist: Lord Dunraven had sent the Cup Committee a letter refusing to sail unless the course were kept clear.
"Can't blame him," put in Landis. "His last challenger sank like a stone over in England when she got hit trying to get around some fool boat before the start of a race there. Like a damn stone. A man died, you know, from injuries. It's a serious business, by God."
"I have not finished," said Jarvis. "This morning the Committee got another letter saying he would race, on condition that the race be declared invalid if a spectator boat happens to interfere."
"That's a new one," muttered Aaron, hearing it for the first time. "What did they say?"
"What could they say? There's no provision for that."
"Well, why the hell are we all headed out for the starting line? Will there be a race today or not?" demanded Landis, disgusted.
As it happened, the race was delayed for some time while several aggressive steamers were moved well away from the starting line. It was a slow, boring business, and Aaron gave the order to have a light meal served on the afterdeck for his friends who—like most of the fleet—were becoming fed up with Dunraven's antics.
Aaron and Tess stood away from the guests at the starboard rail, alone for the first time that day.
"See that single-stacker with the clipper bow? A nice bit of work, that," Aaron said to her in a pleasant, formal voice for everyone to hear. Then, in a whisper he added, "I meant what I said last night, darling."
"It's a beautiful yacht," agreed Tess in equally clear tones. Then, more softly: "I don't hold you to promises spoken in passion." She wanted him to insist.
"It won't be easy," he murmured, which she did not want to hear. "I have a quiet place on the South Shore of Long Island. We'll live there. It won't be easy," he repeated.
To Tess it sounded faint-hearted. She moved a little farther forward, away from the guests. "I've told you, Aaron: I don't take your offer seriously." There was injury in her tone.
"Tess, don't start," he pleaded. "I meant, it won't be easy for you. You will be isolated. As for me, I'll have all I want," he added with a burning look.
Tess, feeling manipulative, shifted her gaze to the fleet around them. The Enchanta had been shepherded out of the way with a cluster of other yachts, both sail and steam. Their captain had throttled back to allow a poky gaff cutter to creep to windward across the Enchanta's bow. A steam yacht alongside them was doing the same. Idly Tess surveyed the elegantly dressed group of young men and women lolling on the port deck of the larger yacht. Women in white, men in blazers—a small handful of Society, indistinguishable from other handfuls on other yachts.
But there was one, taller than the rest, with a soldier's carriage, who caught and held her attention. He was laughing at someone's remark and he looked far, far handsomer than she had dared to remember.
She turned abruptly away, her blood draining from her face. Aaron, of course, had turned to see the reason for her paleness. "Well, well—Hillyard. You overreact, Tess; he isn't a demon from hell," she heard Aaron say behind her.
"To me he is," she said faintly. "Can we rejoin your guests?"
"Not until you compose yourself. Turn around, Tess. Look more natural." When she hesitated he added, "I must insist."
She did turn then, slowly, but her eyes were downcast, her cheeks now flushed. "This is very hard," she said in a choking voice.
"Tess, upon my word I do not like to see this," murmured Aaron. "You were bound to run into him sooner or later. How can your feelings run so deep?"
"I ... they run wide more than they run deep ... so many different emotions ..." She stared at her white shoes so that he wouldn't see her eyes glazed over with tears.
"Look up, Tess," Aaron commanded, "and watch me." He let go with a jaunty wave to Hillyard. "I could kill him now, but you see I am still capable of the smal
l civilized gesture. That is what lets this world go round, Tess—the small gesture. You cannot hope to survive in the world of Society without mastering it, Tess. A mistress is permitted melodramatic behavior; a wife is not. It will be bad enough for you. Don't make it worse. Look at him, Tess."
Tess lifted her gaze to the port deck of the elegant steamer alongside. Hillyard had seen them. He was gripping the rail with both hands, a stricken look on his face. His curt nod in their direction was less an acknowledgment than a threat.
Tess sucked in her breath, then let it out slowly. It cost her everything, but she managed a cool, offhand look in Hillyard's direction.
His face flushed a deep red, and he turned on his heel and left the small group of which he was part. One or two stared after him curiously.
"Will that be all, sir?" Tess said under her breath to Aaron.
"There's the gun for the ten-minute warning!" cried Landis behind her. "At last we'll see a contest!" He sounded relieved. Landis, and everyone else, was ready to be diverted by a well-fought race.
The contest of September 12, 1895, was not fated to be that race.
There was, in fact, no contest at all. Valkyrie dutifully sailed over the starting line, but then Dunraven brought the yacht back immediately and dropped its racing flag. It was over; the Americans had won by default. Dunraven's bizarre behavior had cost him the Cup.
History would show that the bad taste of the 1895 defense got more bitter still in the months afterward: charges of fraud were published and refuted in papers and magazines, and a committee of inquiry set out to investigate Dunraven's claims. It took the New York Yacht Club five hundred and fifty-odd pages of testimony to set the record straight. It would be almost ninety years before the cry of "Foul play!" went up again quite so loudly, and then it would be hurled by Americans—at the Australians.
By The Sea, Book One: Tess Page 14