Victoria wondered what she could offer the town. She didn’t have many skills of any importance. Sure, she could darn a sock and hem pant legs, but not with any satisfying ease. She could write tales and stories, but didn’t see any need for that in a burgeoning western town. She could ride horses but didn’t see how that would help with any type of work. Perhaps Sarah could offer a suggestion to make herself useful. What she did know was that she wanted to make something of herself, not just take advantage of Sarah’s generous spirit.
Later that evening Victoria checked in on the Gambles, who seemed marginally improved as they were able to manage a couple of weak smiles for her and protested that yes, they were feeling much better. Victoria attempted to coax them to eat and drink something, but their stomachs were still violently disagreeing with that advice, continuing to roll despite the fact the sea had somewhat quieted. Victoria saw to their needs and told them of a day filled with reading, napping, and wave watching, for once in her life leaving out the more entertaining points of the story.
Victoria took her own tea and bread to her room to read in the quiet. She had moved onto Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, and Elizabeth had just arrived at the Bingleys to care for her sister, who had caught a cold. She had read it before, and hadn’t loved it. Now it was all the rage, and she thought perhaps she was missing something. It was entertaining, but she thought Elizabeth and Jane should set their aspirations higher than finding the perfect husband.
As she read into the late evening hours, she became aware of the far-off hint of music intermingled with the engine thrum. While Victoria had never been much for playing music — her fingers always seemed to slip to the wrong notes — she appreciated all of the qualities of the music and the emotion that accompanied it.
Once again she left her cabin after appropriate hours, this time not seeking solitude but instead drawn towards the noise, which was coming from below. Tonight she was still properly dressed, at least, in a navy blue skirt and high-necked white blouse. She found the winding staircase, and slowly tiptoed down the steps. Reaching the bottom, she made her way towards the end of the hall.
The corridor was tighter on this level of the ship. She peeked through the door into the huge room. It was full of bunks and people, all having a good time despite the cramped conditions. Unlike upstairs, the walls were bare and the lightbulbs uncovered. The music came from instruments, voices of the dancers, and the stamping of feet in accompaniment.
In the corner was the man, the tall, dark Scotsman, playing the fiddle with two other musicians while people danced, dresses and the odd kilt swirling, women clapping, and children squealing in delight. Red cheeks, perspiration, and laughter rang out through the room. Others who didn’t join in the dancing simply sat and listened, swaying in time to the music, rocking their babies, or singing along. It was comfortable, warm, and fun. It wasn’t the dancing she was used to, and Victoria longed to join in. The Highlander looked at ease, quite a contrast to any of her previous encounters with him. He was comfortable playing and smiled at others nearby.
Then his mouth opened and song poured out. His voice was rich and warm, and sent shivers down her spine. The two other men joined in harmony, and pretty soon the room was full of a meld of lilting Scottish voices.
An older woman noticed Victoria watching near the door, and waved her in. Victoria shook her head, but the woman kept insisting, so Victoria slowly made her way into the room, hugging the wall and then skirting around the beds, joining the woman, who grabbed her hand, smiled, and pulled her down onto the bunk beside her. Victoria understood the camaraderie within the group and appreciated the opportunity to be invited to join.
Victoria sat with the women, swaying in time with the music. It wasn’t long before a young men began approaching her, begging for her to come dance. She turned down the first couple of invitations, not wanting to draw attention, but when the third man, a boy really, came up, she couldn’t resist his youthful impish grin. She took his hand, watched for a moment, then followed his lead. They joined the sway of dancers and soon he was swinging her around as their footsteps quickened. It was the kind of dance she enjoyed -- few steps but plenty of impromptu twirls and dips.
She was extremely grateful she had neglected to wear her corset since arriving on the ship. Her natural curves diminished the need for it, but back in England the maids had always insisted on lacing her up until she couldn’t breathe. Without a lady’s maid she found it too difficult to do herself, and frankly, didn't see the need for it. It did cause her dresses to fit a tad snug, but there was nothing she could do about that now. More than anything now, she could breathe. And eat. It was glorious.
Four dances and two partners later, her cheeks glowed red, her hair had escaped its knot to trail down the side of her face, and she was having much more fun than she ever had at a ball in London.
When the song finished, the music abruptly came to a halt instead of launching into another song. Everyone turned to look at the fiddlers. He — still nameless to her — stood up, the instrument looking tiny in his large hands. He began walking, pushing through the dancers as all in the room followed him with their eyes. He stopped directly in front of Victoria. Eyes wide, she pushed her hair off her face and gazed up at him.
“What are ye doing down here, lass?” he asked.
“Dancing,” she replied. “Just like everyone else.”
“Well, there’s a difference between you and everyone else. Look around. You don’t belong here. You paid to be separate from us. Remember?”
“I have never said anything like that!” She sputtered. “It was Lady Smithson who said those things to you. I was just there!”
“Yes, but you said nothing,” he replied. “You’re an English lady as you continue to remind me. You keep finding yourself where you don’t belong, lass— or, pardon me, milady. Time to go.”
Victoria turned and looked around the room. Everyone was staring, some in sympathy, others in anger, others in confusion. She had ruined the party. Well technically, he had. She had just danced. Until now she had just been one of them, a fellow passenger. Branded a “first-class” passenger, she ducked her head, and blinking back tears she made her way through the silent, staring crowd, out the door and up the stairs, feeling humiliation follow in her wake.
Callum pushed the hair back from his sweaty forehead. He was upset with himself. He realized there was no reason to react so coldly to the British woman. It really wasn’t like him. He was the friendly, amiable, easygoing one in the family. He was acting more like his brother Finlay, distant and calculating. But something about her caused a reaction in him. He didn’t want to want an English lady. She had sat in the dining hall, so prim and proper, eyes wide, yet doing nothing. He really should apologize, but what was the point?
Seeing her with her English gentleman in first class twice now, then dancing with another young man in steerage, she looked content and beautiful, captivating the men in her presence. He was embarrassed that he seemed to be following suit, as seeing her with them took him to the point of snapping, losing his temper in a childish manner.
He had barely spoken with Jack since the incident in first class. When Jack had climbed the staircase the day before in a drunken stupor, they had thought he would just wander the deck. But when some of the children came down to report Jack’s antics he felt compelled to go rescue him as the closest thing to a friend Jack had on the ship.
He sighed as some of the other passengers looked at him with resentment for making the beautiful woman leave. He turned his fiddle in his hands, realizing he’d ruined the evening. And it had been fun while it lasted, a reprieve for everyone and a taste of home. His father had taught him how to play the fiddle. Music was always abundant in the McDougall household. Together with his siblings they made quite the racket, though one that was praised by many. Thinking of it, he smiled to himself. He missed his family, but knew they would be fine. No matter where in the world they were, McDougalls were always t
here for one another. Which was why he was traveling across the world for his cousin Gregor.
Thinking of his family, he realized they would likely be ashamed of the way he’d been behaving towards the young woman. His mother would make him apologize. Sighing, he resolutely decided next time he saw the lady, apologizing is what he would do.
Victoria stared out the porthole of her room, watching the sun glint off the rolling waves. It had been two days since the night she went down to steerage, and she was determined to remain cheerful throughout the ship, pleasant to all of her new acquaintances, from the Gambles in their first class cabin to the people she’d met that night in steerage. To him, though, all she felt now was anger. How could he humiliate her like that? She was not a woman easily embarrassed, but that had crossed the line.
Victoria was also aware that she must try to keep a low profile to avoid gossip and rumors. The last thing she needed was someone writing a letter home to England about a certain Englishwoman on the Parisian. The less information that reached England and potentially the ears of the Duke and her stepfather about her, the better.
Coming out of her daydreams, Victoria checked the time and instantly snapped back to reality. She was late, again. Promptness was not exactly one of her strengths, and she had received more than a few cold stares as she rushed in late to take her place in the dining halls. Stares in first class, stares in steerage. Would she ever stop making a spectacle of herself?
Victoria shut her cabin door, whirled around and, skirts flying, took off at a run down the hallway, hoping to make dinner on time today to avoid any notice. She turned the corner and ran into a wall — again. The same arm reached down to catch her before she hit the floor.
“Ye’ve got to slow down lass,” he said.
“Excuse you!” Victoria snapped back, the flame rising through her cheeks at the shock of the impact, the anger that rose to the surface, and the mysterious feeling she was trying so hard to ignore as it ran through her body while the massive Highlander so effortlessly held her close.
“Are you doing this on purpose? Please let me go,” she said. “In fact, I must be going or I will be late for dinner.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” he said gruffly. “And say, lassie, steal away a roll or two, will ye? My stomach’s been rumbling something fierce since we came aboard this ship, and it isn’t from the rolling of the sea. A grown man must have more to eat than a buttered piece of bread to help him sleep through the night.”
She raised her eyebrows and stepped back, wondering where his levity was coming from.
“Look…” he sighed. For the first time she noticed the laugh lines around his eyes, and the dimple that appeared when his lips curled upward. “I’d like to apologize to ye for the other night. I… I overreacted.”
“Oh,” she looked up, unsure of how to respond to an apology from him. “Well… thank you. I don’t agree with Lady Smith...”
“Does not matter, lass,” he said, cutting her off. “‘Tis what it is. Stay up here in first class and all will be fine.”
“You think you know me,” she said in an even tone. “But keep your apologies, I don’t need them. In truth, you know nothing about me, who I am, where I come from, where I’m going, or what I think. So do not assume, and do not treat me like a British snob unless you know what you are talking about.”
Pleased with her speech, she whirled away back in the direction she came from, then realizing her mistake, turned back towards the dining room, brushing past him and his now amused grin.
“Arrogant Scot,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear as she made her way down the hall.
Callum smiled at the back of the spirited Englishwoman before making his way down to steerage. His smile broadened later that evening when after a game of cards he pulled back his bedclothes to find a handkerchief wrapped around a side of beef and a bun. No one confessed to seeing her sneak it in, but he wouldn’t forget that she had.
7
The Parisian docked in Quebec City nearly a week later. Victoria hadn’t ventured much further than the dining saloon and music rooms, occupying herself by finishing Pride and Prejudice and moving on to Mansfield Park. While the women left much to be desired, the men in Jane Austen’s stories were so dashing and debonair. Where were they in the real world? The only men she knew were prissy Englishmen and a certain Highlander who seemed to have a chip on his shoulder, at least where she was concerned.
She continued to make every effort to push him from her thoughts. She would most likely never see him again, so she might as well forget him. And, she reminded herself, the only feelings she should have towards him were anger. Never mind the fact that he was likely the most handsome and appealing man she had ever seen. She vowed to remain true to her pact to herself. She must find her own destiny, and not let a man dictate her future.
Victoria had her luggage packed and prepared when the call came to disembark, first class passengers first. She hugged Martha goodbye. Once the Gambles had recovered from their seasickness after the first couple of days, they really were excellent traveling companions. Their son, Andrew, would be meeting them as he lived not far from the dock. Sarah had decided that Victoria should be able to make her way on her own once she left the ship and boarded the train. It only went one direction so there was little chance she would get lost, and Sarah could not afford to travel all that way to meet her after spending the additional cost for Victoria’s first class cabin.
The porters transferred Victoria’s luggage to the train, which boarded its passengers just across from the docks. Victoria yearned to take some time to explore, but instead made her way through the immigration line and boarded the train quickly, still anxious about anyone recognizing her. Which was silly, she told herself. No one could be following her. There weren’t any ships that would carry passengers faster that the Parisian had. She made her way to the front of the train, past many passengers who had arrived shortly before the Parisian docked. She chose a seat by the window so she could see out at the countryside flashing by. She left her book on her lap as she watched the people outside of the window. She was fascinated by the action, the variety of clothing, styles and ages. Some wore the latest fashions; others wore clothing from decades past. When boarding, she had also found the mix of languages and accents intriguing. She had never in her life encountered such a diverse assembly of people.
Many of them had been traveling across the Atlantic with her, yet she met so few of them. She recognized a few passengers from the night she had ventured down to steerage, but she lowered her eyes as the waves of embarrassment she had felt came back to her.
She saw him coming towards the train. The smug Highlander who seemed to haunt her thoughts and drove her to insanity. Please, she prayed, take him into another car. But God had other plans in store for her, as here he was, in the same car, on the same train. She sunk lower in her seat and tried to stare straight ahead.
“Is this seat taken?”
There he was, asking to sit next to her of all things.
“No,” she said, staring at the seat back in front of her. “Please tell me whyever would you want to sit next to someone like me?”
“Err… the train is full,” he replied. “And I apologized.”
“I really don’t think it’s proper for an unattached man and woman to sit next to one another.”
“How do ye ken I’m unattached?”
“Fair enough,” she said, as he sat, and turned her head to once more look out the window, determined to ignore him as best she could.
Callum told himself he only sat by her because there were no other seats available. But he hadn’t checked any other cars. This woman continually drew him in, as mightily as he had attempted to keep his distance. Now that they had reached the Americas, however, he figured she would disembark before he reached his destination and that would be the last he’d ever see of her. She was not the type who would be headed far west. If he could not keep himself away from her, he
might as well enjoy her company for a time. It would be a long ride to the end of the line.
“Well, lass,” he said, breaking the silence. “I never did get your name. I’m Callum. Callum McDougall.”
“Nice to meet you Callum,” she said mechanically, eyes unwavering from the seat ahead of her. “I’m Victoria.”
“Victoria…do you have a family name?” Callum asked.
“Victoria Marshall,” she said, sharing the name she had assumed for herself on the voyage over, in case her stepfather or the Duke were checking passenger lists.
“No Lady Victoria or anything like that?”
“No,” she said. “You see? You’ve assumed too much.”
“Where are you headed?”
“West,” she replied. The fewer people who knew where she was going, the better.
“All right then, lass,” he said. “Keep your secrets. You know the west isn’t for the faint of heart. From what my cousin told me it’s fairly rugged and there are few women. Hopefully you aren’t going too far. I suppose I will see where you disembark.”
“Perhaps,” she said, but knew he wouldn’t as she was headed to the end of the line. “And you?”
“I’ll keep my secrets as well,” he said with a grin and a wink, toying with her. Her stomach did flip-flops when he smiled. It made her frown.
“Fair enough, lassie.”
“Fair enough.”
They settled into silence, as the conductor came through to collect their tickets. Soon they were off and rolling, and Victoria gazed out the window, taking in all the sights this new place had to offer.
Callum watched Victoria’s fascination with the rolling scenery. She may hide secrets, but not her thoughts or feelings as her face danced watching the rolling landscapes. The brilliant greens and blues of the tree-shaded streams were bordered by a kaleidoscope of wildflower shades. Whether Victoria was looking forward to something or leaving something behind her he wasn’t quite sure — perhaps it was a bit of both, and the trepidation of the unknown. Whatever and whoever she was, she certainly was beautiful. Her violet eyes pierced right through him every time she turned to look his way.
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