by Pamela Pope
‘Ellie, you’re expecting too much. You’re living in a dreamworld.’
‘No, I’m not. Mama wouldn’t have sent us all this way if she hadn’t known that it will be absolutely marvellous.’
As her plans became more far-fetched so Max’s dread of arriving in England increased. It wasn’t that he was entirely opposed to the good life she envisaged, but was sure he was going to feel like an interloper. He could imagine the reception he would get from Sir Robert when he knew he was merely the son of Russian immigrants.
He’d talked a lot to his father before leaving Chicago, and Jacob had tried to persuade him not to accept Sibylla Harvey’s help.
‘It’s good to make money, my son,’ Jacob had said, ‘but you will have no pride in it if you haven’t made it yourself. You will lose your self-respect if you live on your wife’s dowry. Stay here, my son. Work on your furniture designs. I’ve great faith in them.’
‘Then I’ll leave them with you,’ Max had answered. ‘I must go to England, for Ellie’s sake. She’s been through a lot and now she’s set her heart on seeing her grandfather. But I shall insist we only live with him until I can support us independently.’
Grand resolutions he had made, but Ellie’s ambitions were grander and she was becoming impossible. The thought of setting foot on English soil filled him with morbid dread.
On the final day he stood on deck with William in his arms as the ship took on a pilot to navigate the last stretch of seaway which he was told was Southampton Water. Like those around him he ought to have been thrilled at arriving in a new country, but as he looked from side to side at the grey view blurred by misty rain he was filled with a great hatred for this land. It gnawed at his spirits.
He thought back to New York Harbour which they had left in perfect weather. How right he had been to have regrets as they sailed from the dock on North River. The impressive landmarks they had passed, like the Bowling Green Building, the spire of Trinity Church and the square Florentine tower of the Produce Exchange were engraved on his memory. The sun glinting on the gilded dome of the World Building had been as bright as a jewel, and he had marvelled over the statue of Liberty Enlightening the World on Bedloe’s Island, which hadn’t been there when he’d arrived from Russia. There was simply nothing to compare on the Southampton skyline; only dock buildings and shed-like constructions beckoned as the New York’s graceful bows nosed towards the quayside between a conglomeration of steam and sailing vessels.
He had left Ellie in the cabin arranging her hair so that the new hat she had been saving for the occasion would sit on it at exactly the right angle. When she joined him on deck she was splendidly arrayed in a matching silk coat of royal blue her mother had chosen and which was quite unsuitable for the cold, miserable weather. She clasped his arm and cooed to William.
‘Isn’t this the most exciting day of our lives? Why didn’t you wait for me? I’m just longing to be on our way to London,’ she babbled on with childlike enthusiasm. ‘I’ve checked I’ve got Grandfather Cromer’s address safely in my handbag. Are you sure you’ve the letters of credit and the money?’
‘Ellie, calm down.’
‘Why should I? We’re making a new beginning and I’ll never again have to live in a dreadful tenement apartment like the one in Pullman.’
These days she was careless with words, not stopping to think how cruel they could seem when she was so disparaging about the life they had left behind. She no longer hid her dislike of all things low-class and this latest effrontery wounded him like a knife-thrust. They were surrounded by other passengers, otherwise there would have been another row. It was willpower which stopped him from making a caustic reply.
‘I’m going to get the boxes out of the cabin and up on deck,’ he said coldly, handing her the baby.
‘The cabin boy does that.’ She shuffled William into a more comfortable position, then went on imperiously, ‘I’ve already tipped him more than he deserves, considering the service he’s given us — though I suppose you are partly to blame. You really must get used to leaving menial jobs to those who are paid to do them.’
He gritted his teeth. ‘Thank God I was never drawn into your background before this. The inequality makes me sick.’
‘Stop thinking like a peasant, Max.’
‘I am a peasant!’ He was livid.
His nerves were still raw when they were at last in the disembarkation hall along with the portmanteau, boxes and the rest of their luggage. Ellie, who had been flitting amongst the friends she had made on the voyage to say her last farewells, had to be made to stay in one place with William.
‘I have to go to the immigration office,’ Max told her. ‘Don’t move from here until I get back.’
‘Hurry, Max,’ she urged. ‘The London train leaves quite soon.’
He turned up the collar of his green coat and strode out into the drizzling rain towards the office which had been pointed out to him, head down and emotions simmering.
It was then, without warning, that the most extraordinary coincidence occurred. Had he not been so exasperated with Ellie and her new airs and graces, and so frustrated with the way he no longer seemed to be in charge of his own life, Max would never have been tempted by this opportunity, so suddenly presented. Given time to reflect, he would have realised that such an extreme step was wicked and cowardly, but he was required to make an instant decision — and the one he made was destined to affect the lives of everyone close to him.
As he opened the door of the immigration office and was about to step inside, he collided with a man who was just coming out. Both steadied themselves and launched into apologies. Then they gaped at each other in amazement.
‘Oliver!’ gasped Max.
‘Max, you wonderful boyo!’ cried Oliver Devlin, throwing his arms round him. ‘By the saints, what’re you doing here?’
‘It’s the last place I want to be.’
‘And here’s me wishin’ I could stay.’
The two men laughed and went outside, Oliver firing questions at his brother-in-law faster than peas from a pea-shooter. There was so little time. In the few minutes available, Max tried to fill him in with what had been happening in Chicago, and how Ellie’s connection with George Pullman had led to violence and suspicion of his own loyalties.
‘I ought never to have married her,’ he said. ‘Ellie and I were wrong for each other from the start. And now I’m stuck with being the poor relation of a British peer. All I can do is take what job he offers me and pretend to be grateful.’
‘And so you should be, you old devil. Haven’t you just landed in clover!’
‘I’d rather be in Chicago making my own fortune.’
‘Then you’re a fool,’ Oliver told him. ‘I’d change places with you any day, so I would.’ Suddenly there was a glint in his eye and he felt in his pocket. ‘Tell you what, you can have my steerage ticket for the Paris which sails on the tide, and I’ll take your beautiful wife to the comfort of her grandfather. How does that sound?’
They both laughed at the absurdity, but suddenly fell silent as the suggestion took root.
It was impossible. Max clenched his fists and controlled his erratic breathing with difficulty. He couldn’t desert Ellie. He couldn’t deposit her on the other side of the world and return alone to Chicago. Besides, there was William …
With a flash of insight he saw himself trying to adapt to the rich, well-bred society with which Ellie was so familiar and he knew he would be only a hindrance to her. He had no breeding — hadn’t she just called him a peasant? All he knew about was upholstering furniture for railcars, and he would be made to feel inferior. In America he could try again to market his furniture, and without family responsibilities he could use every dime he made to start up in business on his own. He’d be able to hold his head up and be proud of his achievements, like Poppa had said.
It wasn’t as if he would be leaving Ellie stranded. In another hour or t
wo Oliver would have seen to it that she was safely with her grandfather, and she would be able to do all the things she had daydreamed about on the voyage. He would write to her as soon as he landed back in the States and beg her forgiveness. Somehow he would have to make her understand that she would be so much better off without him.
The rain was settling in droplets on Oliver’s sandy-red hair. Never had Max been so pleased to see anyone.
‘It’ll work,’ he said. ‘I know it will.’
‘Here’s my ticket,’ said Oliver.
Max took a packet from the inner pocket of his coat. ‘And this is Ellie’s money that her mother gave us. Give it to her and tell her to let her grandfather handle it. She’ll never want for anything.’
‘You’re a fool to leave her, boyo, but you know your own mind.’ Oliver stowed the packet away carefully.
‘Sir Robert Cromer’ll pay for a first-class ticket for you to replace this one and I’ll see you back home in a few weeks.’
‘That’ll suit me fine.’
They embraced once more and parted in haste, Max seeing by the steam coming from the black and white smokestack of the Paris berthed opposite that he had little time to lose. His heart was hammering as he crossed the quayside and he closed his mind to rational thought. He would have seven days and nights alone on the return crossing to agonise over what he had done.
In another five minutes he was striding alongside the New York’s sister ship with a single roll of luggage which had been Oliver’s. It could be stowed beneath his steerage bunk. His tall, handsome figure attracted the attention of some American girls leaning over the rails, and they waved to him daringly, giggling behind their hands the moment they had done so. But Max was not interested. He was the last passenger to board and there was a lightness to his step as he climbed the gangway.
He was free.
Part Two
Oliver
Ten
The shock of Max’s desertion was worse than anything Ellie had ever experienced. Even her beating by the Pullman women couldn’t be compared with this. She rocked back and forth with her face hidden in William’s shawls as he cried again in dismal sympathy.
The porter was still standing in front of her. She saw his booted feet shuffling uncomfortably. If only he would do something … With a great effort, Ellie found her voice.
‘What am I going to do?’
‘Don’t rightly know, ma’am.’ What a mercy she was in a country where English was spoken. ‘You can’t stay here, that’s a fact. Reckon we’ll have to tell the coppers so they can find you somewhere to doss down with the kid.’
‘A place to stay, you mean?’
‘That’s what I said.’
She was shivering in the blue silk coat, and the ribbons on her new hat were limp and bedraggled in the damp. Her clothes felt wet, but she hadn’t been out in the rain and she realised that though she was cold, she was sweating heavily. Her mind felt numb and she couldn’t seem to think coherently. Every nerve was jangling, every mental effort fearful.
In a little while she would have to think about Max, but at the moment she dare not. It required all her strength and sanity to cope with what was happening now, and she forced herself to stay calm.
What did one do without a cent in the world? Everything cost money. She stood up and straightened her shoulders, taking a deep breath as Drew had taught her to do when things went wrong, though the effort pained her ribs.
‘My grandfather is Sir Robert Cromer. Here’s where he lives,’ she said, producing Mama’s letter from her handbag. ‘If there’s some way I can let him know what’s happened, I am sure he will send transport to collect me.’
The porter glanced at the address. ‘London — hm, it’ll take time.’
‘Could I perhaps leave my jewellery as a collateral at some hotel while I wait?’
‘The South Western, maybe …’
‘If you can please take me there I know my grandfather will pay you well when he comes.’
It was then that another man appeared at the far end of the building and came hurrying towards them, his hair plastered down by the rain and his shoes squelching. There was something familiar about him and Ellie took a tentative step in his direction. When he was close enough for her to recognise she stopped in astonishment. It was Oliver Devlin.
‘It’s all right,’ Oliver said in a rush to the porter. ‘I’ve come to look after her.’ He felt in his pocket and gave the man a bright coin which was gratefully accepted. ‘Ellie, my dear girl, what can I say?’
Ellie was beyond speech. She was cold and tired and miserable, and she had got to the pitch where nothing was surprising any more. Soon, no doubt, she would be able to ask questions, but all she could do just then was stare bleakly at Oliver over the top of William’s head.
‘Where do you want the luggage then, sir?’ the porter asked deferentially.
‘I’ve a cab waiting. We’ll be taking the next train to London from the West Station. If you’ll be so kind as to move the cases, I’ll look after the lady.’
‘Is that all right, ma’am?’ The porter turned to Ellie for confirmation. ‘You do know this gentleman?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know him.’
The man driving the hansom cab got down and helped her into the vehicle while Oliver held the baby. Ellie moved mechanically, straightening her skirt as if it mattered, while the rain, beating down on the cab roof, had a mesmerising effect. The horse snorted and clopped across the wet cobbles, bearing Ellie Berman towards the next stage of her life.
As they turned the corner into the street the steamship Paris was still visible in the far distance, taking Max back home to America. She closed her eyes tightly and wished the ship would sink.
*
They were well on their way to London before Ellie had recovered sufficiently to question Oliver.
The countryside she had looked forward so greatly to seeing slipped by unnoticed. Somewhere over to the left she vaguely saw the cathedral at Winchester, but it didn’t register. The jolting of the train was making her feel sick and she longed to get off, but there was still a considerable journey ahead of her with this Irishman in the seat where Max should have been.
Oliver had paid for two first-class tickets and now they sat alone in a compartment which boasted sepia photographs of British seaside resorts above the comfortably upholstered seats. Buttoned leather padding covered the lower half of the door to the outside, and the strap to open the window hung over it. Once, when they had picked up speed, Ellie had been tempted to pull on the strap, open the door and throw herself on the track. Life without Max was inconceivable. But then William had stirred on the seat opposite and opened his dark eyes at the very moment when the thought flashed through her mind and she abandoned it immediately, ashamed of having entertained it for a second. For her son’s sake she had to come through this nightmare. He went to sleep again as though reassured.
‘I want to know what part you played in my husband’s absconding,’ she said, surprised that her voice sounded so firm.
‘None whatsoever,’ said Oliver smoothly. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him. There we were in the immigration office, both with tickets for home in our pockets, and I said how grand it was we’d be travelling together.’
‘What did he say about me?’
‘He said he’d brought you over here to stay with your grandfather and I thought he must have seen you safely into his care, but no. There wasn’t time because the boat we were sailing on was due to leave sooner than he’d expected. “Thank God,” says he when he sees me. “I’ve not been knowing what to do. It’s urgent I get back to America and I’ve left Ellie sitting on her luggage.” I was appalled. “If you’ll do me a favour I’ll be indebted to you for the rest of my life,” says he. “Look after Ellie. Tell her I’m sorry.”’ Oliver rubbed his nose and scratched it. The window was open a fraction and soot had landed on his freckled skin. ‘No
w I could never leave a lady to cope on her own, especially in a strange country, so I told him. I said: “If your business is so important, I’ll do it. What’s another few days to me?” He fell on me with gratitude so he did, and the next minute he was gone.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ It was so incredible Ellie couldn’t take it in.
‘I swear on my mother’s name, God rest her soul, it’s the truth.’
‘He had a return ticket, you say?’
‘In his pocket.’
It corresponded with what the porter had said: she had to believe it. Yet Max had said nothing about important business, and if the porter hadn’t told her that a man by the name of Berman had boarded the Paris, she would have gone on contradicting Oliver’s story. As it was, she had to accept it until she could prove otherwise.
‘And what about our money?’
‘Money? Now he never mentioned that.’
‘Surely he must have given you a package for me — he knew I have nothing.’
‘It must have slipped his mind,’ said Oliver. ‘He was so concerned with asking me to see that you got to your grandfather’s safely …’
‘Oh, was he!’ She had recovered enough from the shock for there to be a shift in her emotions as anger took over. Where she had been numb there was new pain, like the thawing-out of frosted fingers in hot water, and her blood which had been ice-cold now began to boil. ‘So Max Berman is on the high seas with my dowry, heading back to America where he can spend it any way he likes.’
How much worse could things get? She was livid. On the voyage over Max had been tense and uncooperative, unwilling to fall in with any of her plans for the future. She had complained at his lack of interest, his unwillingness to put aside his pride, and all the while he had been scheming to rob her and desert her. She would never, never understand what she had done to deserve it.