"He was with Mummery on Nanga Parbat, wasn't he?" Albie said.
"Yes, he was."
Seamie and Albie and everyone who knew anything about mountains knew that five years ago Collie, Albert Mummery, and another British mountaineer, Geoffrey Hastings, had made the first attempt at the Hima-layan peak. Mummery and two of his Sherpas were buried in an avalanche and never seen again. Collie and Hastings survived.
"Do you think we could talk to him?" Seamie said.
"I bet he only talks to the other mountain gods," Albie said. "Crikey, Seamie, look! There's Nansen!"
Seamie spun around. He saw the man walking across the street. A tall Norwegian, with white-blond hair and a walrus mustache, he was hard to miss. "Fridtjof Nansen," he whispered, awestruck. He took off his cap.
Albie laughed. "You're not going to genuflect, are you?"
"I might."
Nansen had been the first to cross the Arctic Ocean in an attempt to reach the North Pole. When his ship, the Fram, had become hopelessly icebound, he'd continued the journey on foot. He hadn't made the Pole, but he had succeeded in pushing north to 86� 14N--the highest latitude ever attained.
"I wonder who else is here?" Albie said.
"I don't know, but let's go in before all the good seats are taken," Seamie said.
The two men were fishing in their pockets for their membership cards when a voice behind them called out, "Albie! Albie Alden, wait for me!"
Albie grimaced. "Oh, no," he groaned. "It's Willa."
"Where?" Seamie asked. He looked around. There was a wiry boy in plus fours with a rucksack over his shoulder running toward them, but no Willa.
"Hi, Albs!" the boy said, then he noticed Seamie. "Seamie? Seamie Finnegan! Is that you?" He kissed him on the cheek.
"Steady on, mate," Seamie warned, taking a step back.
The boy burst into laughter. "Seamie, you great bloody fool, it's me! Willa!"
"Willa? What happened to your hair?" The last time he'd seen her, at a garden party at the Aldens' house more than a year ago, her long brown curls had been neatly plaited and pinned. Now they barely grazed her chin.
"I cut it off. It was always getting in my way. Mum had fits. Took to her bed for a week. How are you, Seamie? It's been an age. What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in school?"
Seamie explained that he'd left school--and why--and how his sister had reacted to the news. Then he told her that he was staying at hers and Albie's house until Fiona cooled down. Or until he got himself on the Dis-covery Expedition. Whichever happened first.
Willa's eyes sparkled with excitement as he talked and Seamie noticed that she had changed since he'd last seen her. She had only ever been Albie's pesty sister, but now she'd become something more--beautiful. When had that happened? Even her cropped hair and her brother's old tweed jacket couldn't diminish her beauty.
"Do you think you can do it? Do you think you can get a place on the expedition?" she asked, when he'd finished talking.
"I mean to try. I've got a strategy. I've decided not to approach Captain Scott. He won't give me the time of day. That's why I'm here tonight. I'm going to approach Ernest Shackleton. He's a third lieutenant in charge of holds, stores, and provisions. I know the best I can hope for is a dogsbody job and he'll be the one handing them out. If he turns me down, I'll keep trying. I won't take no for an answer. I've got to go. I've got no choice. It's either that or move crates of kumquats around my brother-in-law's warehouse."
Willa laughed. "I wish I were you, Seamie. How lucky you are. Imagine if you do get to go. You'll go places no human being has ever gone before. See things no one's ever seen."
Her large moss-green eyes held his and for a few seconds he could not look away. Embarrassed, he finally broke her gaze and said, "What about you, Willa? What have you been up to? Albie told me you were in Scotland. On holiday with some friends."
Willa grinned. "I was. Sort of. I was in Scotland and my friends were there, too. But they stayed in the hotel. I went to Ben Nevis. Cracker of a mountain." Seamie raised an eyebrow. Ben Nevis, in the Scottish High-lands, was the highest peak in Britain. Those who climbed it had to be good navigators as well as good climbers for its weather was rough and un-predictable and the routes were often obscured.
"Take the Ben Path, did you?" he asked.
Willa smirked. "The granny climb? No. I climbed the Carn Mor Dearg Ar�."
"Really?" Seamie said, trying his best not to sound too impressed. He'd tried that route twice, and both times he'd had to give up because of sheeting rain. "You must have had good weather."
Willa shook her head. "Sleet and rain and the wind blew a gale."
"Turn back, did you?"
"No. Took a bit of doing, but I got up." She laughed. "And got down again. It's the getting down part that counts, isn't it?"
"Look, you two, you can stay out here talking about climbs all night if you like, but I'm going inside. I want a seat. See you later, Wills," Albie said.
"Wait, Albie!" she said. "I want to go with you. I rushed back just so I wouldn't miss Shackleton's talk, but the train was late and I don't have my card and I couldn't get home in time to get it. Let me come in with you, will you? As your guest."
"Looking like that?" Albie said.
Men greatly outnumbered women at the RGS lectures but a few women were in attendance this evening--all properly attired in dresses or suits, overcoats and hats.
"Come on, Albie, be a brick!"
"You can't come in like that, Willa! What will people say? You're a girl, not a boy. It's not proper. You'll get us all thrown out, and I don't want to miss this."
Willa gave him a dirty look. She snatched Seamie's cap and put it on her head, tucking her curly brown hair up under it. "Now I'm a boy, all right?"
"Go home, Wills," Albie said through gritted teeth. "If Mum finds out you were out and about in London dressed up like a bloke, she'll gut us both."
"She won't find out. How will she?"
"She always finds out and I'm always the one who catches it."
"I won't go home," Willa said. "I'll wait outside. Right here on these steps. In the dark. Prey to every robber and murderer in London. Alone and defenseless."
Albie snorted. "Defenseless? You?"
"It's not fair! I want to hear Shackleton. I know more about Antarctica than the two of you put together!" Willa said. She didn't stomp her foot or cry or use any feminine tricks to get her way. She just looked from her brother to Seamie and back again, pinning them like frogs to a dissecting tray with her intense gaze. "Just let me come in with you. Please? I'll sit in the back. No one will ever know. If you don't, I'll just sneak in. You know I will. Please, Albie?"
Albert sighed, defeated. "All right. Fine," he said, pulling the cap down over her ears.
"I can come?" she asked hopefully.
"On one condition."
"Anything."
"If Mum catches wind, I knew nothing about it."
"You're a peach!" Willa said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Stop that, Wills. You're supposed to be a bloke."
"Sorry."
Albie buttoned his sister's tweed jacket and straightened her shirt collar. Not satisfied, he took off his spectacles and put them on her. She was a slender, angular girl, and the disguise succeeded; to the casual eye she looked like Albie's younger brother. Seamie was glad Albie had relented. He wanted Willa to come with them. He wanted to sit beside her. To talk to her.
The three teenagers loped up a flight of steps and through the doorway of a shabby, tumbledown lecture theater in Burlington Gardens. It belonged to the Civil Service Commission, which allowed the Royal Geo-graphical Society to use it for talks. Shackleton's lecture had been announced a week ago, and Seamie had barely been able to sleep or eat ever since.
Albert Alden was Seamie's best friend. They were both seventeen, and had met several years ago at the RGS and, bound by their common enthu-siasm for mountaineering, had taken an im
mediate shine to each other. Willa was Albert's twin sister. Seamie had learned early on in his and Al-bert's friendship that you didn't get one Alden without the other. He didn't mind, though. Most of the time he quite forgot that Willa was a girl. She rarely behaved like one. She knew more about climbing than most men did. More than he did, in fact, though he'd never admit it.
She often told them--in a hushed voice so that her mother couldn't hear--that she was going to be the first to climb Everest. When they told her she couldn't--that even men hadn't done that--she would smile and say, "Watch me."
Seamie had holidayed with the Aldens in the Lake District. Willa would tell her mother that she was just going to watch the lads climb, and then, as soon as she was out of her parents' sight, she would change into a pair of Albie's old trousers and beat them both up a rock face.
"One member," Albie said now, showing his RGS membership card to the man in the ticket booth. "And one guest." The clerk barely glanced at Willa, he simply pushed two tickets at him. Seamie showed his own card next, thinking that most people were too preoccupied to see past their own noses. The three of them went into the hall, then Seamie led the way to the front. He was taking no chances.
He wanted to be near the podium so that he could get to Shackleton af-terward, talk to him, and hopefully convince him that he was expedition material. He spotted four empty seats in the middle of the third row. As they settled into three of them, a young man who looked about their age came in from the other end of the row and sat down in the fourth. He looked familiar. Seamie was certain he'd seen him at other lectures.
"Supposed to be a ripping good speaker," the lad said.
Willa was about to reply when Albie talked over her. "One of the best," he said.
"They say he strong-armed his way onto Scott's expedition," Seamie said.
Within seconds all four were buzzing excitedly about the expedition. They all knew its background, and Shackleton's, too. He was a hero to them. He'd defied his father's wishes to enter medicine and had left school for the sea when he was sixteen--a year younger than they were. His first ship was the Hoghton Tower out of Liverpool, bound for Valparaiso via Cape Horn. The ship made the cape in the dead of winter and battled blizzards for two months before rounding it. Shackleton spent the next five years sailing to and from the Far East and America before making first mate and then mas-ter. He'd worked on merchant ships until just last summer, when he'd wan-gled himself an introduction to Llewellyn Longstaff, the principal financier of the Antarctic expedition. He'd persuaded Longstaff to put him forth as a member of the expedition and the man had done so, together with Sir Clements Markham, the RGS's president. With their influence, he'd been accepted. Shackleton had basically talked his way onto the expedition and Seamie was convinced that he could do the same.
While the four were talking, the lights suddenly dimmed, signaling everyone to quiet down.
"Here we go!" Willa said. "Antarctica!"
"I'd give anything to be on board that ship," the newcomer said, his eyes lingering on her.
Seamie was curiously quiet.
"I'm Albert Alden, by the way," Albie said, reaching across to shake the newcomer's hand. "And this is my ...uh...my..."
"Twin," said Willa, her color suddenly high, her eyes sparking mischief.
"George Mallory," the lad said, shaking hands all around. "Pleased to meet you."
Seamie wondered if George Mallory knew that Willa was a girl. It bothered him to think he might. To think that might be why she was suddenly full of smiles. He sat back in his seat, irritated and perplexed, as George and Willa made plans for all of them to visit a pub afterward. What was any of that to him? So Willa was pretty. So what? He didn't give a monkey's bum who she smiled at. Or who smiled back. He was here to see Shackleton.
The lights went down. An austere figure took the stage--the society's president.
"It's Barkers," Albie groaned. "He can't half drone."
Willa snorted. George smiled. Seamie glowered. After an interminable introduction by Sir Clements Markham, Ernest Shackleton took the stage.
Ten seconds into his speech, Seamie had forgotten all about Willa Alden and George Mallory and everything and everyone in the entire world except for Ernest Shackleton. The man was mesmerizing. He strode about the stage, a compact, manic bundle of energy, talking about the call of un-charted lands, of endless seas and stalwart ships and the brave brotherhood of sailor scientists, of the honor that would accrue to the society, to all of Britain, should Scott and the crew of the Discovery be the first to claim the South Pole. He warned all present that their rivals for the glory and con-quest of the Pole were relentless--hadn't Nansen almost taken the North Pole? Hadn't another Norwegian, Carsten Borchgrevink, just returned from Antarctica, having trekked farther south than any man had before? Wasn't it a question not of if, but when?
Seamie sat on the edge of his seat, listening and watching, barely breathing--and felt every fiber of his being strain toward the man, toward his boldness and courage and vision. Ernest Shackleton was doing every-thing Seamie wanted to do, he was being everything he wanted to be. And he had started out, as Seamie felt he must, by leaving school and taking to the seas. An hour later, Shackleton finished his lecture to a roar of ap-plause, then stepped back from the podium to down a glass of water. He bowed, held up his hands, then took the podium again to answer questions.
Seamie watched the questioners stand one after another, some older, some younger, and knew as he listened to them that questioning the likes of Shackleton was the closest most of them would ever come to explo-ration. To adventure. And he knew, too, that he would rather die than remain one of them.
He was going to collar Shackleton. Tonight. Even if he had to follow him home and sleep on his steps. Shackleton would hear him; he would understand. They were the same inside. All he needed was a minute, maybe two, to convince him. Let Albie and Willa and George bloody Mal-lory go to the pub. Ernest Shackleton was going to Antarctica. And Seamie Finnegan was going with him.
Chapter 54
"Damned shame about the election, Lytton," Dougie Mawkins said. "Labour victory, was it?"
"Yes, it was," Freddie said.
"Thin end of the wedge, old man. Next thing you know, there'll be barrow boys in the Lords and a docker in Downing Street."
Freddie smiled tightly. He wanted to break Dougie's nose. If the man offered any more condolences, spouted any more inanities, he would. He'd come here tonight to forget about his disastrous loss, not to be reminded of it.
"Ripping good party, though, don't you think?" Dougie asked.
"Just got here," Freddie replied. He'd heard about the party as he was leaving his club. It was in a Chelsea atelier, all done up in the Moorish style, and it was being thrown by a duke's son for his mistress, a painter, to celebrate the first exhibition of her work.
"Have you seen Gemma Dean?" Dougie asked.
"No. Is she here?"
"Over by the windows. Looks a bit drawn, if you ask me. Or maybe it's just that I haven't seen her in a while. Out of circulation for a bit, I understand. Back now, though. Guess the rent's due." Dougie recognized an-other friend and chased off after him.
Freddie watched him go. Had he wanted to break his nose? Now he wanted to break his skull for the crack about Gemma's bill. Dougie didn't have to worry about bills. His family owned ten thousand acres in Cornwall and scores of buildings in London. That an idiot such as Mawkins had fallen into a life of such ease and splendor, while he had to worry about every pound--well, just thinking about it made him sick with envy.
He craned his neck, looking for Gemma. He finally spotted her, or rather her diamonds. She was wearing only the earrings, but they sparkled like stars in the gaslight. He remembered her saying that Sid Malone had given them to her, and that they were worth a fortune.
He could use a fortune now himself. Just last week Bingham had paid his bill at the Reform Club--just as they were going to post his name. His tailor had cut him o
ff completely. Things were getting rather desperate. He took a sip of his whisky and tried not to think about it.
He would prefer to think about the lovely Gemma Dean instead, but, eyeing her, Freddie noticed that she seemed a bit less lovely. Dougie was right. She looked drawn. Her dress was ill-fitting, loose in places. He wondered if she'd gone in for the new look--all willowy and fey. It suited some girls--pale, dreary girls who liked to spout poetry and mope--but it didn't suit her. She was a woman with curves and she looked best as her luscious self, round and ripe and ready to burst out of her corset. He pic-tured himself unlacing that same corset and caressing her warm, heavy breasts. A late-night romp with her would be just the thing to snap him out of his funk.
"Hullo, old girl. How's things?" he said, walking up to her.
Winter Rose, The Page 51