Conway followed, taking the seat opposite. Drew leaned against the plush interior, wanting only to close his eyes and thank the good Lord for granting him another breath of air not fraught by danger.
“Yes, yes, it was a lucky break that brought us together, Dawson. You’re quite the lad. No Blondin of course, but people are tired of Blondin the Invincible. Too much of a sure thing. And since he isn’t performing here anymore, yesterday’s news.”
Conway lit a cigarette and blew out a wisp of smoke. “What Niagara needs is a new line of daring. Something along the lines of ‘The Gentleman Daredevil.’ Now, there would be an act to interest the crowds. Not to mention, fatten the pocketbook.” Conway drew out a large leather billfold from a pocket within the waistcoat of his three-piece black suit. Licking the tip of his finger, he riffled through the bills before handing a stack to Drew.
Before they’d scarcely warmed his fingers, Drew pocketed them. It was for the bills, after all, that he’d just battled gravity. The first thing he’d do, after portioning out enough to pay the rent and stock the larder, would be adding the remainder to the jar. The one marked “Hope’s Future.” It currently held five measly dollars. Not enough for the doctors and proper care. The jar had never held enough.
Yet now…
“An act.” Drew couldn’t tell whether Conway was muttering to himself or addressing him. “One that could bring in a good deal more money than what we’ve made today.”
In a rush almost as heavy as the falls of Niagara, the sensations crashed over him. The sense of dangling high above solid ground on ropes that could twist and snap at any moment. The fear, stark and painful, that could make a man shake like a newborn colt. The risk of sacrificing one’s very breath and life on the altar of cheap thrills for an insatiable crowd.
“No.” Drew held up a hand, body aching with fatigue. “Not interested.”
Conway emitted another low chuckle, smoke curling around his face. “Just think, Dawson. Think of the money, of the partnership. We’d be partners, you know.”
Something in the air Conway was polluting must’ve done something to Drew’s brain. He could hardly believe his own ears as his voice answered, “You’d go fifty-fifty?”
The look in Conway’s eyes was shrewd and much too calculating for Drew’s peace of mind. “You’d get your share, Dawson. Don’t you worry none about that.”
Stick a man atop a rope over a hundred feet in the air, and getting his share was all Conway thought he’d have cause to worry about?
But something in the exhilaration of having conquered and survived emboldened him as Drew straightened his shoulders and matched Conway’s gaze with a hard stare. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. A man would have to be an idiot to do something like that again without it being a sure thing.”
It only took a few minutes, more bills coming from Conway’s pocketbook and ending up in Drew’s hands, some preliminary conversation, for Drew to become exactly that.
An idiot.
Meeting one’s relations for the first time wasn’t exactly a recipe for calm nerves and a steady stomach.
Adele twisted her skirt in her hands, rolling and unrolling the voluminous fabric. The carriage hurtled onward, jostling and jarring along the crowded streets. It seemed she’d done nothing but be jostled and jarred over the past two weeks. First the rough sea voyage, followed by train travel from New York City to Buffalo. Would there come a time when the world would simply stand still, instead of speeding forward at such a rapid rate?
Dry facts and her mother’s stories did not comfort her heart, especially when it came to the people she was to be a houseguest of for an indefinite period of time. Their name was Osbourne, the father a prosperous lawyer, and they had two daughters—Mildred and Dorothea, both Adele’s junior by a handful of years. Her mother and Uncle Osbourne had quarreled in youth and not seen each other since. From what Adele gathered, it had been due to her mother’s disapproval of Uncle Osbourne’s choice of wife. In his letters to Adele as she arranged her trip, he had been warm and considerate. Would his family, his American wife, be the same? Or would past grudges play the starring role on the stage of becoming acquainted?
Would the family be kind, despite the past? She squeezed her eyes shut.
Please, let it be so.
She could do with a helping of kindness right about now.
The carriage halted. Adele started and gripped the velvet seat. Her fingers fluttered to her bonnet, and she pushed aside a few stray tendrils that had escaped. She smoothed a hand down the front of her light gray traveling dress, adjusting the lilac silk trimming.
A footman—probably a member of the Osbourne’s staff—opened the door and held out his palm. She placed her hand in it, letting him help her to the ground.
The surrounding area wasn’t all that different from London. Imposing houses built of either stone or brick stood at stately intervals along the well-kept street. Here, each seemed to be allotted a bit more yard space, evidenced by the manicured grass and strategically placed shrubs and trees. The Osbourne residence matched its neighbors in brick exterior and neat grounds, though it wasn’t as large as some of the others. A family home, but a mansion regardless.
Adele sucked in a breath of air—warmer than that in London but laden with the same mix of chimney smoke, masked by a veneer of cleanliness, as if the upper classes thought themselves too good for ordinary city pungencies.
“See that over there?” The footman, driver, or whoever he was, pointed to a house down the road. “That’s the new William G. Fargo mansion.” He puffed out his chest, as if proud to be in the vicinity of such an establishment. “Built only this year and just a stone’s swing away from the Osbourne’s.”
She gave the mansion a brief perusal. It wasn’t anything special, compared against Devonshire House or Buckingham Palace, but she gave a smile and nod to show the servant she was properly impressed.
Nora approached, a piece of luggage hefted under each arm. “I’ll be going inside now, miss,” her maid said quietly.
“Yes. Thank you, Nora.” The fist around her stomach tightened. Inside. Where she must go as well.
Nora was the fortunate one. She had only to contend with a few American servants. Whereas Adele…
Adele crossed the sidewalk, heels clicking on the pavement, and ascended the brief flight of steps leading to the mahogany double doors. Forcing her hands to stop their infernal shaking, she gave a brief pull on the bell cord and stepped back.
In a space of seconds that passed all too quickly, the door opened. The butler, marked so by an immaculate black suit and starched white bow tie, stood just inside. “Good afternoon, miss.”
Gracious, he sounded stranger than most of the Americans she’d met so far. Rather than saying the words, he fairly drawled them.
And here she’d been worried people would notice her accent.
“Good afternoon to you as well. I’m here to see the Osbournes. Miss Adele Linley.”
“Come right this way, miss.” Younger than most butlers, this man, with his nearly white-blond hair and tanned complexion, looked as if he’d be more at home in work pants and a straw hat than the uniform of a household superior.
They passed through an expansive foyer. In England, all the finest estates and townhouses looked the part of an untouched monument to centuries before. By contrast, everything in the Osbourne mansion had sparkling, eye-catching new written all over it. From the checkerboard marble floors to the mahogany, green-carpeted staircase sweeping upward, to the high ceiling bedecked by a heavy looking gilt chandelier, it was as if the Osbournes had plastered a gilt-encrusted advertisement over every inch of the space.
This place didn’t build itself. It took thousands and thousands of dollars, a mere drop in the bucket compared to all we possess.
Adele straightened her shoulders, wanting to find reassurance in the fact. That sort of capital was what she’d come for, after all.
The butler stopped before a door that matched
the staircase in paneling.
A dozen thoughts bounded through Adele’s mind in the span of time it took for the door to fully open, revealing the room within. She should have requested to be shown to her room, so she might have better adjusted her attire. She should have donned a different outfit that morning, perhaps brought a gift of some sort to present to her relatives. Maybe she should have stayed in England, looked among the gentry there for a husband with capital.
Probably all of it, this scheme of hers, was a rip-roaring mistake, and she should turn around and run far and fast in the opposite direction.
But it was too late for any of that now. So she gathered every scrap of English pride she possessed and entered the room.
“Miss Adele Linley is here, madam.”
“Thank you, Delany. You may leave us.” The words issued from a woman of middling years, who, alongside a man of comparable age, occupied a maroon upholstered settee near the massive unlit fireplace.
Delany bowed, before beating a hasty retreat.
“Adele, my dear. You’ve arrived at last.” Aunt Osbourne stood and glided across the room. She clasped Adele in a lavender-scented embrace, her amethyst silk gown rustling. The woman stepped back, lips forming a smile without showing a single tooth.
Adele returned the smile. “Aunt Osbourne, thank you so much for your kindness in allowing me to visit.”
“Think nothing of it, my dear.” Her uncle joined them, reaching across and giving Adele’s hand a hearty squeeze. “You’re not very like your mother though. Nor your father either, come to think of it.”
Adele didn’t bother to point out that she possessed her mother’s willowy build, her father’s green eyes, and her grandfather’s dark hair. It wouldn’t do to offend her uncle, especially since he said it all with such a kindly smile.
With a gracious sweep of her slim hand, Aunt Osbourne motioned to a duo of young women seated on the opposite settee. Though the difference in age between her daughters and herself was noticeable, Aunt Osbourne still managed to look no older than five and thirty. Whether it was her immaculate golden coiffure, the slenderness of her waist, or the porcelain shade of her complexion, the woman’s good looks were born to be accentuated by fine clothes and expensive jewelry.
Looks unfortunately not shared by either of the two young ladies who approached their parents and stared at Adele with politely concealed interest. “Allow me to introduce our daughters,” Aunt Osbourne said. “This is Millie, our eldest.”
Millie gave a simple nod, hands folded in front of a dress that looked far too fine for mere afternoon wear. Her china-blue eyes assessed Adele with an unblinking stare.
“And Dorothea, our second born.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Cousin Adele.” Was she hearing things or was Dorothea affecting a British accent?
“Likewise.” Adele smiled at the young woman, who looked to be sixteen, or thereabouts.
Uncle Osbourne seemed poised to ring the bell. “Would you like some tea? You must be awfully thirsty after your journey.”
“She’d undoubtedly prefer to rest in her room, after such an arduous trip, Arnold. Delany can have tea sent up there.”
Adele was about to say that she wasn’t all that tired and would enjoy making their further acquaintance, when a look from her aunt stopped her openmouthed. Such a look, wielded by those ice-blue eyes, could have effectively halted an entire battalion of England’s most revered grande dames.
“Of course, my dear. You are right. Adele would be much more comfortable that way.” Uncle Osbourne’s tone toward his wife was almost subservient.
Aunt Osbourne flicked a glance at her spouse before focusing again on Adele. “One of the footmen will show you to your room.”
The servant arrived a minute later and with as few words as possible led Adele up the stairs into an apartment on the second floor. Already, Nora busied herself inside, putting away Adele’s wardrobe in the adjoining dressing room. Leaning against the door, Adele drew in a long breath.
She had arrived, really and truly. Like a soldier preparing for combat, she’d made it to the fort, and even now her weapons were being prepared for use. She picked up a lace-trimmed parasol and gave it an absent spin. What futile weapons these would be, when pitted against an actual enemy.
She smiled. What a foolish thought. There were no masked enemies, galloping through New York with swords drawn, like in the adventure novels she and Tony once pored over whilst neglecting their studies of French grammar.
But there were men. Potential husbands. Her smile vanished.
Like a garishly attired woman, natural loveliness hidden beneath layers of glittering commercialism, the Falls nonetheless possessed moments of breathtaking beauty.
Drew leaned both arms atop the railing of the Maid of the Mist steamer, letting the gentle rock and sway lull him into a moment of uninterrupted peace. After weeks of Conway’s drilling and grooming, transforming a ragged former street kid into a suave and polished man of class, this interlude was blissful, albeit brief. Why he’d chosen to spend his day off at the very tourist attraction his life currently revolved around, he couldn’t say. He’d been drawn there, pulled as if by persistent yet unseen hands. So he’d paid the boat fare…one couldn’t do anything at Niagara for nothing, after all.
Sunlight turned the mighty Horseshoe Falls into a swirl of sparkling mist, the sea green precipice melding into foam and water and force. A picture of grandeur if ever one existed. If only it had remained untouched, pure, instead of being sullied by salesmen squeezing every last dime out of the experience, tourists flocking to see not just the Falls but the museums and shops nearby.
Do-or-die men like himself, working the crowd by defying the elements.
But he wouldn’t think of his current employment, not when the sky was so blue, the air so sweet, the billowing mist spraying his cheeks with refreshing coolness. He thought of it more than enough these days. A break was needful, helpful.
If only Hope could’ve joined him, how she would marvel at it all. But her wheelchair prevented her from such an excursion. Sometimes the cards handed to one seemed dealt by careless hands. Oh, he knew God loved him, loved Hope, had a plan and purpose in every moment lived. But what Drew would’ve given for Hope to be…like that lady on the other side of the railing.
To be sure, she wasn’t the most animated passenger, but there was an air about her. Something in the tilt of her head, the stance of her shoulders that suggested she too reveled in the experience, drinking in every sight, unlike most of the well-to-do tourists who milled about, chatting with each other and keeping as far back from the spray of the Falls as could be managed. A middle-aged couple and two young women, all engaged in animated conversation, seemed her principal companions, though the girls stayed a distance away, and the couple spoke between themselves. Whatever their relationship to her, the slight didn’t seem to perturb the lady. She seemed content to lean against the rail, gazing on the Falls and only the Falls.
Despite the warning bells clanging in his mind, telling him to keep to his side of the boat and let the woman continue her trip undisturbed, he couldn’t help himself. Her utter indifference to the other passengers intrigued him. And what was the harm in being intrigued for the remainder of the voyage? He had to go back to the grindstone soon enough.
So he crossed to the other side of the deck. Though it was an easy enough task, especially compared to his recent tightrope maneuvers, something simmered deep inside his mind. Something that told him, however subconsciously, that though walking toward this woman was almost mundane, the shift in his world after he had done so, would prove a thing to be reckoned with.
He positioned himself as near as he could, before proceeding to study the Falls. Only not quite. One eye he kept trained on Niagara, the radiant curls and waves of white. Out of the corner of the other, he watched her.
Whoever she was, she looked rich. Beneath the protective oilskin worn to keep somewhat dry, her dress look
ed cream-colored and lacy, and she had on a bonnet straight out of one of the Harper’s Bazaar fashion magazines Hope occasionally skimmed through. Taller than most women of his acquaintance, she carried herself like a princess. Not that he’d ever seen a princess of course, but the set of her delicate chin and straightness in her slim shoulders reminded him of one.
Yet why was he standing here, staring at her, albeit secretly? He wasn’t a schoolboy, who could be excused for such doings.
He should turn away.
Their gazes met. Without warning. And Drew found himself staring into eyes the color of emeralds.
She gave an inquisitive sort of half smile, as if she’d caught him watching her and wondered why. If she’d point-blank asked him, Drew wasn’t sure he could’ve answered. He didn’t even know himself. All he knew was that it did something to him when he looked at her, paralyzing him from turning away.
“Are you all right?” The words issued from her lips, the accent soft, lilting, and different. Wasn’t American. Nor Irish. British, maybe? Though this cultured wisp of a woman beside him didn’t sound at all like the Cockney dockhand chap he’d done a circus number with once.
“Why would you ask that?” He fingered the wood on the railing.
“I don’t know.” The wind whipped a strand of hair the color of coffee from within her elaborate bonnet and swirled it around her face. “You just seemed a bit…” She bit her lip, her words trailing away.
Sensing her train of thought, he offered the sort of smile a person in possession of all their mental faculties would provide. “I’m all right. Really. I’ve been to the Falls lots of times and haven’t once felt the urge to fling myself into them.”
She paled. “I didn’t mean… I wasn’t accusing you…”
“Believe me, it happens. One of the things about growing up around these parts is all the stories you hear. I don’t know why this place does that to people. Makes them think and do irrational things.”
My Heart Belongs in Niagara Falls, New York Page 2