Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  When the carriage arrived at the wharf, the ship Maria was wreathed in fog. All was quiet. A seaman with a lantern greeted them, and they marched up a gangway to the vessel. They were greeted on deck by First Officer Bellini. He spoke with a heavy Italian accent but seemed glad to have them as passengers and promised them they would have choice cabins.

  Betsy found herself in a small cabin adjoining a larger one shared by Eric and Kingston. She did not know how this had been arranged, but it was agreeable to her.

  She could hear the sound of the waves lapping against the vessel and the occasional movement of its ancient hull scraping against the wharf pilings. It was quiet, and she quickly undressed and got into her bunk and went to sleep. She had only occasional dreams and adjusted well to her new surroundings.

  She was awakened by the slight roll of the ship and the sight of daylight coming in through the porthole in her forward cabin. She quickly got up and looked out and saw they were already well down the Thames on their way to the open sea. She then dressed as quickly as she could and went out on deck.

  George Frederick Kingston was already on deck standing by the railing and looking rather pale. He tipped his gray top hat to her and clutching the rail asked, “Do you not find the motion disturbing?”

  She smiled. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “I fear I do,” the old actor said, looking distressed. “In fact I know I shall not eat this morning.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse, dear lady,” Kingston said. “My only previous experience on the water has been in a rowboat on a river. I do not seem to have a seagoing stomach.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine as soon as you’ve gotten used to it,” she encouraged him.

  He looked more upset than before. “I daren’t hope for that, I fear.” And he tottered off down to the bow of the ship. It was not a promising beginning for the jolly little man.

  She was standing alone by the railing when Eric Walters came up to her. He looked jaunty in a gray jacket and brown trousers. And he wore a kind of nautical cap with a peak. He eyed her with admiration.

  “You look very well this morning,” he said. “Your yellow dress and bonnet brightens the day.”

  Betsy smiled. “I’m afraid they didn’t have much effect on poor Kingston.”

  “I know,” Eric said, glancing down the deck where the actor was bent over the railing. “I think Kingston has still to find his sea legs.”

  “I didn’t dare confess it to him. But I’m hungry!”

  “We shall have breakfast together,” Eric promised her, offering her his arm. “I shall take great pleasure entering the dining salon with the loveliest lady on board.”

  “There must be others!” she protested, taking his arm.

  “A mixed lot,” he said. “It has all the promise of being a dull voyage. At least I took the precaution of bringing along plenty of reading material.”

  “I have two of Scott’s novels,” she said.

  “We can exchange volumes,” he told her.

  They entered the dining salon and found it filled and rather noisy as the various passengers talked loudly and the serving stewards clattered dishes, silverware, and pans about. The tables were set out in boardinghouse style, three long tables which filled the length of the salon. They were fortunate to find one of them with two empty seats at the end.

  Betsy and Eric sat across from each other and waited to be served. She saw that he had an ominous-looking Indian in turban and robe seated next to him. The brown-skinned man took no notice of Eric’s presence or indeed of anyone else at the table. He ate and drank silently, keeping his eyes on his plate.

  Next to her was seated a sour-faced old man with a slightly askew gray wig. He wore a drab brown jacket, light brown breeches, and a brown plaid waistcoat. His jacket and waistcoat were liberally decorated with ancient food stains, and he was greedily diving into a large dish of oatmeal and staining himself anew.

  He paused in lifting a spoon from dish to mouth to announce to her, “Good morning, I’m Samuel Jessup, Esquire. I’m delighted to be your fellow passenger.”

  “How do you do,” she said politely, knowing that Eric was watching her with some amusement. “My fiancé, his father, and I are bound for Marseilles.”

  “Hah!” Samuel Jessup said. “I’m disembarking at Gibraltar. I have business interests there.” A splash from his spoon of oatmeal made a new mark on his vest.

  She said, “You have made this journey before?”

  “Many times,” he said in his loud, harsh voice. “And I may say the company doesn’t get any better, yourself excluded. I’m accustomed to more genteel companions.”

  Betsy said, “Did you travel during the war years?”

  “Regularly,” the strange old man said. “It took more than old Boney to frighten me off the ocean.”

  “Those must have been stirring times,” she ventured.

  “They were,” he agreed. “But the company was better then.” And he put down his spoon and began taking pill cases from his various jacket pockets. He busied himself at this until he had a half-dozen pill cases set out before him. He then began to take pills from each of the cases and swallow them with a gulp from his water glass.

  Betsy could not hide her amazement. She stared at him and said, “Are you ill, sir?”

  He shook his head, “I’m much attached to physic! My apothecary has gathered a series of the most helpful pills known to man for me. I take them to ward off illness, not to cure it.”

  She stared at him as he continued to select various sizes and colors of pills and gulp them down. “You must take a great many of them!” she gasped.

  He nodded brusquely, pausing between medications. “I take fifty-one pills a day!”

  “Fifty-one!” she said, incredulous. “That’s more than fifteen thousand pills a year.”

  “Keeps me vigorous,” the old man assured her, a satisfied look on his bronzed, lined face. “Also keeps me strapped for money.”

  “I should imagine,” she said, awed.

  “Not to mention what it costs me for mixtures, juleps, and electuaries. I take a great deal of them as well.”

  She could not restrain a smile. “Then you must have a cure for seasickness.”

  “I do,” he said promptly. “Are you suffering from it?”

  “No,” she said. “But I have my fiancé’s father who is. I’m sure he’d be most grateful if you could bring him some relief.”

  “I have a special elixir in my cabin,” the old man told her as he began closing his pillboxes and returning them to his different pockets. “I shall be pleased to minister to your friend.”

  The old man left shortly, and she and Eric continued with their breakfasts. She noticed a stout, benevolent-looking curé who passed by and offered both herself and Eric a warm smile.

  She told Eric across the table, “You are right. It is a mixed group.”

  “Many of them are getting off at Gibraltar,” he said.

  “At least I think I’ve located someone to help Kingston with his seasickness,” she said.

  Eric laughed. “Your friend with the pills!”

  “Samuel Jessup, Esquire,” she told him.

  “He must make his apothecary rich!”

  “I don’t doubt it,” she said. “That was a sinister-looking East Indian who was seated by you.”

  The young man glanced at the empty spot where the Indian had sat and nodded. “Yes. Strange. It seems to me I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

  “He has a face one would not soon forget,” she said.

  “Perhaps I’ll remember after a bit,” Eric said, still busy with his breakfast.

  After the first three days on the Maria the ocean became more tranquil and the weather warmer and with more sun. Betsy settled down to the routine of shipboard like a veteran, and Major Eric Walters proved very popular — especially with the middle-aged women returning to their husbands at colonial outposts and having marriageable daughters al
ong. Even George Frederick Kingston began to enjoy the voyage.

  Meeting Betsy amidships, he glanced nervously to left and right and confided in her, “That man, Samuel Jessup!”

  She smiled. “What about him?”

  “I swear he’s daft!” the actor complained. “Never an hour passes but he is trying to force some pill or elixir onto me!”

  “He wants to be sure you aren’t seasick again!”

  “I shall certainly be seasick if he keeps at this nonsense,” Eric’s pseudo father protested. “You shouldn’t have set him on me!”

  “I’m sorry. I only hoped some of his medicine would help.”

  “I’m perfectly fine now,” Kingston said. “As long as his pills don’t make me ill again. I try to drop them over the side, but he watches me like a hawk until I swallow them.”

  Betsy laughed. “Well, bear up. He’ll be leaving us at Gibraltar.”

  “I may never last that long,” Kingston mourned. “And I’ve been asked to organize a ship’s concert and star in it. I plan to do scenes from Hamlet! I have always excelled as the melancholy Dane.”

  Eric had his own cause for laments. He confided in Betsy as they sat out on the deck that afternoon. “I ought to have spread the word we were married rather than saying we are engaged.”

  She sat up in the boat chair and asked, “Why?”

  “Because I’ve two or three of those women with marriageable daughters after me, that’s why!” he said gloomily.

  “Surely you can defend yourself.”

  “It’s not all that easy,” he warned her. “That Mrs. Gaylin and her daughter, Patricia, trail me all over the boat. It is downright embarrassing.”

  There was a twinkle in her eyes. “You should be flattered.”

  “I’m anything but. That Gaylin girl has a face like a colt! You must have noticed.”

  Betsy nodded. “She seems to resent me.”

  “That’s all part of it,” Eric groaned. “And now she’s asked me to turn the pages of her music when she plays the pianoforte at the concert Kingston is organizing.”

  “Surely that wouldn’t compromise you.”

  “You never can be sure,” he worried. “That mother of hers watches me all the time.”

  “Another week should see us in Marseilles.”

  “And the start of our work,” he said. “I’m heartily sick of this voyage.”

  “I think Kingston is enjoying it.”

  “Because he’s doing the ship’s concert. He’s putting as much effort into it as he would in a Drury Lane epic!”

  She said, “At least it keeps him busy.”

  Eric scowled at the horizon of endless ocean and said, “Also I’m beginning to feel a little uneasy.”

  “Uneasy?”

  “Yes.”

  “About what?”

  He glanced at her with a worried look on his handsome face. “It’s a kind of instinctive feeling with me. I can smell danger before it develops.”

  “You think we may be in danger here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Some of Valmy’s people?”

  “Very likely. If they discovered we were traveling on this ship, it would be an ideal opportunity to deal with us. On a ship you are contained. Easy targets!”

  She asked, “Whom do you suspect?”

  “That Indian for one,” he said, “I’m still sure I’ve seen him before.”

  “He moves about the ship like a wraith,” she said. “He neither speaks to anyone or even looks at them.”

  “A strange individual,” Eric agreed.

  “What can we do?”

  “Nothing, but wait. I may be wrong. I could be having a bad case of imagination. Let’s hope so. Along the way I’m writing my impressions in a long letter which I’ll mail to Black when we dock at Gibraltar.”

  The concert was held the night before the ship was to dock at Gibraltar, the reason being that a number of the passengers would be leaving at this port. A proud George Frederick Kingston had rounded up a dozen or so passengers with talents as varied as imitating bird whistles, singing sad ballads, and playing the pianoforte — plus he was contributing his readings from Shakespeare.

  Because both men were involved with the concert, Betsy had to sit by herself. She had no sooner found a chair with a good view than a familiar figure slumped down in the chair next to her. It was none other than Samuel Jessup!

  The sour-faced man told her, “I don’t like concerts. They give me indigestion.”

  She suggested, “Then perhaps you shouldn’t remain.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he told her. And he took a silver box out of his jacket pocket. “I have two kinds of indigestion pills here. Would you like one?”

  “I think not,” she said.

  “Better consider,” he warned. “That Patricia Gaylin is going to play the pianoforte and sing. I heard her this afternoon practicing. She not only looks like a colt, she sounds like one.”

  “Mr. Jessup!” she reproved him.

  “Your friend is a good actor,” Samuel Jessup said.

  “Yes. He is.”

  The old man stared at her. “Somehow he don’t seem right to be your future father-in-law. Just not the type. You even have a different way of talking.”

  Hastily she said, “I can explain that. I was brought up by my mother. She was most particular about correct speech.”

  “I’ll venture she was a regular lady?”

  “Oh, yes! From a very good family!”

  “That explains it,” Samuel Jessup said, popping a pill into his mouth. “Your friend talks like an actor, but you can tell he isn’t a real gent.”

  The dining salon filled quickly. The elderly curé in his white collar and black clerical habit came to sit on her other side. The only passenger not present was probably the sinister East Indian.

  George Frederick Kingston in a blue jacket and checked trousers and boasting a huge crimson cravat came forward brightly and bowed to the audience. The murmuring among them ceased as the actor addressed them.

  “Tonight we have a truly wonderful lot of talent, drawn from passengers and crew, for our ship’s concert. We shall begin the evening with a hornpipe danced by Midshipman Murray to the accordion music of Midshipman Trent.” He ushered the two young sailors on and stepped back as the performers were greeted with a loud applause.

  The dance went well, and the music induced the right mood in the audience. Then an elderly man came on and did his bird imitations. Samuel Jessup groaned aloud during this and brought himself a number of reproachful glances from many seated near him. After that another sailor sang sea chanteys, followed by George Frederick Kingston doing his scenes from Hamlet. He was excellent, and when he ended he received a great ovation.

  By this time the old curé on Betsy’s right had begun to nod off. His chin had drooped and his eyes had closed and he was oblivious to what was going on. Samuel Jessup popped a large pill in his mouth and chewed it with crackling sounds. Then a nervous-looking Eric came out and placed some sheet music on the pianoforte and stood by it. The coltish Patricia Gaylin, looking angular and awkward in a gray evening gown, appeared uneasy before the audience. Her mother clapped loudly in the front row and offered encouraging bravos!

  Patricia sat gingerly at the pianoforte and gazed fondly up at Eric with her wide-spaced colt’s eyes and then set herself to the task of singing a doleful ballad and playing her own accompaniment. Not only did she seem to go on endlessly, but Eric apparently was having a hard time following her with the music. He made frantic turns and then turned the sheet back again as she came out with a strident, sour note.

  Betsy could not watch. She felt dreadfully sorry for him. Finally it came to an end, and there was the usual applause. George Frederick Kingston came forward and thanked everyone and told them refreshments were to be served, so they were not to leave their seats.

  Samuel Jessup at once stood up. “I never eat at this time of night,” he announced firmly. “And it’s time for m
y late medicine so I must go to my cabin.”

  Meanwhile the coltish Patricia had linked her arm about Eric’s and was braying to him of the wonderful work he’d done in turning her music sheets.

  Looking distraught, Eric told the girl, “Excuse me, I must attend to my fiancée.”

  He then came hastily to her and taking her by the arm, told her, “I need air more than I do food. Let us go outside.”

  She smiled. “If you like.”

  In a moment they were out on the deserted deck under a starlit sky. He led her far from the doors of the dining salon to a spot in the bow where they would not be apt to be bothered when the crowd came out from the concert.

  He gave a sigh of relief. “I feel safe at last.”

  She smiled up at him. “You did very well.”

  “I was a bumbling fool! I turned the pages at all the wrong moments.”

  “No. I think it was Patricia who lost her place.”

  “Thanks,” he said gratefully. “Her mother seemed to blame me.”

  “She and her mother will be leaving the ship tomorrow,” Betsy said. “That ought to make you breathe easier.”

  “It will,” he promised.

  “There are some very pleasant other girls on board if you are interested,” she said.

  “You know better than that!”

  She pointed out, “It would be perfectly natural for you to find one of them worth your time.”

  “This is not a pleasure trip,” he said grimly. “Or don’t you remember?”

  “Your time is your own on board ship.”

  “I’m not even all that sure,” he replied. “I still have a feeling of danger.”

  “Nothing has happened yet,” she said, gazing up at his handsome face in the shadows.

  “We can be thankful for that,” he said. “Where is your pistol?”

  “I have it locked in my bag.”

  He frowned. “That’s not an ideal place for it should you be attacked.”

  Her eyebrows raised. “You don’t expect me to carry it around with me on shipboard?”

  “What if you were suddenly attacked?”

  “I don’t expect to be.”

  “That’s no answer,” he replied unhappily. “I can’t seem to make you understand that danger can turn up anywhere — even on shipboard.”