by Val Wood
‘Is that what we do?’ Clara whispered. ‘I wondered what the oil was for.’
‘Yes,’ Jewel said. ‘I think so. I don’t know; if I ever did, I’ve forgotten!’
Lorenzo came back to them and sat down close to Jewel. He smiled at them both. ‘The bread is good, isn’t it?’ He broke off a piece and rubbed it with a garlic clove and then dipped it into the olive oil before popping it into his mouth. He grinned at Clara. ‘Now if you do the same, you will only be kissed by an Italian, or maybe a Frenchman who has been eating garlic too. Not an Englishman!’
Jewel gazed at him, and followed his example, but she drew in her breath as the pungent flavour hit her taste buds.
Clara looked at them both and laughed. ‘Well, I don’t expect to be kissed by anyone, especially not an Englishman, so . . .’ She tore off a corner of bread and ceremoniously did the same, with gasping consequences.
Lorenzo laughed and called out to some people at another table. Neither Jewel nor Clara understood what he said as he spoke in rapid Italian, but the men laughed back and one got up from his seat and came across to them.
He gave a courtly bow and, bending low over Clara, lifted her hand, murmuring ‘Buon giorno, signorina’ and pressing his lips to it before bowing to Jewel.
Clara put her hand to her throat. She was astonished. How informal everyone was in this country! She had been kissed by James Crawford and now, even though only on her hand, by an unknown man. She swallowed hard and turned to Lorenzo for an explanation.
‘I told my friends that the English lady did not expect to be kissed at all today, so Federico volunteered.’ He frowned. ‘You’re not offended? It was meant only as a joke.’
Clara flushed and Lorenzo gave her a gentle smile and lifted his eyebrows. She was indeed a pink and white Englishwoman.
‘No,’ she said softly. ‘Not offended at all. Please tell your friend that I am charmed.’
Lorenzo translated and the men at the table roared and teased Federico. He put his hand to his chest and bowed again before returning to the table, where he was subjected to much banter by his compatriots. As they mimed hands on hearts and handkerchiefs mopping brows he glanced over his shoulder at Clara.
Lorenzo’s mother came to sit with them when lunch was nearly over and Lorenzo went to speak to his friends. Jewel saw that he was telling some of them about her for they were nodding their heads or raising their eyebrows. Then she saw a Chinese man come out of the kitchen and begin to clear away the dirty dishes from the tables.
Maria saw her glance at him. ‘That is Pinyin.’ She shrugged. ‘He works for us for a long time.’ She leaned towards Jewel. ‘Do you know that it ees because of your father that we are here?’
Jewel was puzzled. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Weren’t you always here? But with a bakery, not a restaurant?’
‘Si, we were,’ she said. ‘We rented the store from your father. He owned this building and the one next door and the saloon.’
‘Oh,’ Jewel said. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Then,’ Maria went on, ‘after you had left, your papa, he send for us one day and said he was leaving the store to us in his will.’ She wiped her eye. ‘And the one next door. He was a good man. He saw how we struggled.’
So many things Jewel didn’t know about her father. How generous he had been!
‘We rented out the other one,’ Maria said, ‘and when the tenants left about ten years later we expanded.’
‘And started this restaurant!’Jewel exclaimed.
‘Si. But we were halfway through the building of it when Lorenzo’s papa died. You remember him, yes?’
Jewel shook her head. She didn’t. She couldn’t ever recall seeing a man about.
‘Lorenzo was sixteen, very young to ’ave responsibility, but he is clever boy,’ Maria said proudly. ‘He got all his friends to give us help.’ She pointed to the table of young men, some of whom were preparing to leave. ‘Some of these here today. They help us with their own hands.’
As Maria was telling her story, Clara rose from her seat, murmuring ‘Excuse me’, and sauntered across to where Federico was standing with his hat in his hands, saying, she thought, goodbye to his friends. All the young men rose as she approached.
‘Miss Clara,’ Federico greeted her. ‘Federico Cavalli.’ He looked at her intently and gave a small bow. ‘I hope I didn’t embarrass you?’
She laughed. ‘No. Not at all.’ She had been slightly self-conscious, but she wasn’t going to admit it. ‘So you speak good English after all?’ she teased him.
‘No ma’am.’ He shook his head. ‘I speak American.’
‘I beg your pardon.’ She smiled. ‘Forgive me.’
‘Anything, Miss Clara,’ he said solemnly. ‘I could forgive you anything!’
She blushed as she saw the grins on his friends’ faces. ‘I thought you were Italian!’
He took her by the arm and led her away from the table where the young men couldn’t hear them. ‘I’m American,’ he said. ‘Born here in San Francisco. I have never been to Italy where my forebears hail from.’
‘I see,’ she said. ‘And your friends?’
‘Italian extraction, just like me.’
He was tall and rather thin for an Italian, with intense dark eyes, she thought, unlike Lorenzo, who was of average height but very broad across the shoulders and had very merry, smiling eyes.
‘Are you staying with Lorenzo and his mother?’ he asked.
‘Oh no! We only met them today. Jewel is retracing the steps of her childhood. We’re staying in a hotel near California Street.’
‘Ah!’ He appeared to be considering, and then said, ‘I don’t know how you go about things in England, but is it permissible for a man to ask a young lady out for a cup of coffee?’
Clara bit her lip. Well, no, it wasn’t, not without consulting her mother first. But then her mother wasn’t here.
He saw her hesitation. ‘I guess it isn’t? But perhaps two young ladies would be all right?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really. Not with someone we have just met.’
‘But we could meet here? With Mrs Galli? Sort of accidentally?’
She smiled. ‘Yes. I think that would be all right.’
‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘About eleven o’clock tomorrow?’
It was agreed, with the proviso that Jewel hadn’t made any other arrangements. She felt a prickle of excitement as she said goodbye and turned back to where Jewel and Maria Galli were still talking. Federico was a very engaging man; very civil but with a compelling persona. He would be an agreeable companion with a laconic sense of humour, she thought, excusing herself for her lapse of propriety. Dangerous? She dismissed the idea as preposterous. No harm in it, she mused. Mama would not object at all, though Papa might.
Jewel’s normally calm countenance was animated. ‘Clara! Mrs Galli says that I can go and look inside Papa’s house!’ She took a breath. ‘I didn’t know, and I don’t know if Mama is aware of it either, but apparently the house is mine! Mrs Galli has looked after it for all these years, but Papa left it to me!’ She stood up, and Clara saw that she was trembling. ‘I’d like to go now, please. If I may!’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hull
Wilhelm had boarded the first available London train. He had kissed Georgiana goodbye and although they had previously discussed the option of travelling together she realized that this was something he needed to do alone.
She was not a woman under her husband’s thumb, ready to defer to his every demand or wish. Theirs was a complete partnership; she followed her own personal aspirations, unlike many married women of her acquaintance, but in this instance knew that she should comply with his instincts. He was a seasoned traveller and with his quiet decisive charm was able to board a boat, ship or carriage at a moment’s notice.
The following morning was long but her mind was active; she thought over the possibilities regarding the calamitous fire in Yeller and the
potential dangers that might fall or have already fallen on Jewel and Clara. Through her own experience in travelling to America with the innocent Kitty as her only companion, she realized full well that there were dangers for women travelling alone; and yet why should we be denied the adventure of travel, she thought, or the privilege of knowing other lands and the way in which people of other countries conduct themselves and live their lives? It is this comprehension that will help us grow.
And as for Jewel herself, she needs to find out about her parentage. I cannot tell her anything more about her father, for I knew him for only a short time. And in the years since his departure from England, under a terrible cloud, he had become someone else entirely, someone that even his brother Martin did not know.
During the afternoon, tired of her own company, she put on a silk-trimmed mantle and matching hat and set off across town to see Grace. She walked slowly, for she felt vaguely out of sorts, and paused to look in shop windows in Whitefriargate, though not actually seeing anything, so absorbed was she in her thoughts. She crossed over into Silver Street and glanced towards the Land of Green Ginger, the oddly named street where Ruby had her toyshop, and wondered how Dan and Thomas were coping without their childhood friends, Jewel and Clara.
Thomas was an even-tempered, level-headed, pleasant young man, and she knew that Grace hoped for a match for Clara with the younger son of her best friend. But Dan was different entirely, and although it was obvious to everyone that he was besotted with Jewel, Georgiana hoped with all her heart that he wouldn’t ask for her hand, since neither she nor Wilhelm would approve of her marriage to such a volatile and impetuous individual, however charming he might be at times.
Georgiana crossed over Lowgate and cut down narrow Scale Lane into High Street, turning left towards the house where Grace and Martin lived. She hadn’t sent a calling card but was sure of a welcome without one.
Grace opened the door herself, having seen her from a window. She looked pale and anxious. ‘Is there any news?’ she asked, ushering Georgiana inside.
‘No.’ Georgiana felt relieved to be there and able to share her anxieties. ‘It’s too soon. Wilhelm will telegraph as soon as he knows anything. He’s as worried as we are.’
Grace nodded. ‘I hardly slept a wink last night and Martin was pacing about until after midnight. But, as I said to Ruby – she called in this morning – I can’t help but think that whatever is done is done. We’re so far away we can’t possibly help if anything’s gone wrong.’
‘We can only hope that they were well clear of the area before the fire broke out,’ Georgiana said quietly. ‘It is out of our hands.’
They sat together, finding solace in each other’s company, until they heard the front door open and close.
‘Martin,’ Grace murmured. ‘He’s been to ’Exchange again. The second time today, even though he was told that we’d be informed immediately if a message came.’
‘Nothing!’ Martin exclaimed as he came into the sitting room. ‘Hello, Georgiana. Presumably you haven’t heard anything either?’
Georgiana shook her head. ‘We’re worrying unnecessarily, I’m sure. If there had been bad news we would have heard it before the newspaper was told. We must be patient.’
They were brought tea and cake and continued a spasmodic conversation, assuring each other that all was well. Martin got up again.
‘Don’t go out again, dearest,’ Grace pleaded. ‘You’ll wear yourself out. A message will come.’
Martin ran his hand over his forehead. ‘Yes, of course it will, but I hate just sitting doing nothing. The waiting is awful.’
‘It is,’ Georgiana agreed, and then they all started as the doorbell rang. Martin rushed to the door.
‘Telegram for you, sir.’ A boy in uniform stood on the step. ‘This came just after you’d left.’
‘Is this the only one?’ Martin asked. ‘Are you taking one to Mrs Dreumel?’
The boy hesitated and shifted uneasily.
‘It’s just that she’s here,’ Martin explained. ‘If you are, it would save you a journey.’
Still the messenger dithered. ‘Not sure if I can say,’ he finally said. ‘It’s private, you know. I’m supposed to deliver it to ’house.’
‘Then wait here a moment,’ Martin said, ‘and I’ll fetch Mrs Dreumel.’
Georgiana came to the door. ‘I am Georgiana Dreumel,’ she said, and gave her address. ‘I’m expecting a telegram from my husband Wilhelm Dreumel.’
‘I know you, Mrs Dreumel.’ The boy’s face cleared. ‘I’m not sure this is officially allowed but I’ll take a chance.’ He fished in his bag and brought out the telegram. ‘I’ll need a signature, please.’
Georgiana signed his book. ‘No one need know that I was not at home,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’ll take the blame if necessary.’ She smiled at him. ‘This is extremely urgent, and you have done me a great service in allowing me to have it now.’
He tipped his cap and left. Georgiana closed the door behind him and went back into the hall. She felt nauseous as she opened the message from Wilhelm.
All safe, she read. Both gone to California. Yeller devastated. Catching the next ship out. Will write from New York. Wilhelm.
Georgiana staggered to the nearest chair against the wall and sat down, heaving a great breath. She had been holding herself together ever since they had read the news and now the release of tension revealed itself in a flow of tears.
‘Georgiana!’ Martin came through from the sitting room and patted her shoulder. ‘All’s well, thank the Lord.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Indeed.’
They sat for a while in the sitting room, each saying that they had known all along that their daughters were safe. Martin poured Grace and Georgiana a small glass of brandy and water each and they sipped them slowly, savouring the comforting warmth which gradually eased their nervous strain.
‘I’d have known if anything had happened to Clara,’ Grace said softly. ‘And so would Elizabeth, but yesterday I received a letter from her asking if I’d heard from Clara, and saying she was cross because Clara hadn’t written since arriving in Dreumel’s Creek.’ She lifted her eyes to Martin. ‘She’d have known,’ she said simply. ‘They’re twins, after all.’
Martin gave her a gentle smile and nodded. ‘You’re right, of course, my dear,’ he said, and Georgiana felt a small pang of envy at the bond between this couple. She wished that Wilhelm had been here to share with her this moment of ease.
‘Did Wilhelm say anything more in your message?’ Martin asked. ‘He only said that the girls were safe in ours. Did he mention your friends?’
‘All safe,’ Georgiana told him, ‘but Yeller is devastated. Those are the words he used. And,’ she added slowly, ‘he’s catching the first ship out to be with them.’
After a moment, Grace said, ‘Will you stay with us tonight, Georgiana? You know that you’re very welcome.’
Georgiana shook her head. ‘Thank you. I know I am.’ She took another deep breath. She felt that she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. ‘But forgive me if I go home. I shall go to bed and rest now that I know they are safe; and then – and then tomorrow I shall make arrangements.’ She smiled a little tearfully. ‘And after that I shall pack a trunk and follow Wilhelm to Yeller.’
‘Alone?’ Grace asked anxiously.
Georgiana nodded. ‘I’ve done it before.’
‘With respect, Georgiana,’ Martin spoke like an older, wiser uncle, ‘that was over twenty-five years ago.’
Georgiana laughed, her tension easing. ‘On my first voyage to America I met a woman from Beverley who was travelling alone. She was nearly sixty and had, as she described it, upped sticks for the last time. I am nowhere near that age, and I am used to travelling.’
Martin was silenced for a moment and then said with a smile in his voice, ‘You were always formidable, Georgiana. Even when you were young. You always knew what you wanted and set out to get it. Will you come
back?’
‘Oh, I do hope so,’ Grace interjected. Martin had known Georgiana long before she had met her. They were from the same social background, unlike her, a mill girl from the back streets of Hull. ‘We’d miss you, Georgiana, if you stayed out there.’
‘Why would you think that I won’t come back?’ Georgiana parried. She knew in her heart that she might not. Wilhelm was restless; aching, she knew, to go home. The disastrous fire in Yeller had given him the impetus, a valid reason for going back, but she also realized, with the security of knowing that she was loved, that he wouldn’t stay there without her. And she, for him, would stay.
‘I don’t know,’ Martin answered. ‘It’s just a feeling. Wilhelm is a born traveller. This town is too small for him.’
‘Dreumel’s Creek is smaller,’ Georgiana told him. ‘And can’t ever grow much bigger because of the mountains. You should come sometime. It’s beautiful.’
Grace glanced hesitantly at her husband. She had never been out of Yorkshire. ‘Maybe one day,’ she murmured. ‘When Clara is married.’
‘Of course,’ Georgiana agreed. ‘But what if she has fallen in love with someone in America?’ she teased them. ‘People there are much freer in their friendships.’
Grace shook her head. ‘She’d still come home,’ she said quietly. ‘That much I know about her.’
At Georgiana’s request Martin ordered her a cab; she didn’t feel that she had the energy to walk. ‘You won’t leave without telling us?’ he said as he came down the steps with her to the waiting hansom. ‘I’d like to help you with your travelling arrangements. I’ll come with you to Liverpool, if I may?’
‘Martin! Of course I will tell you. I wouldn’t dream of going without discussing my plans with you.’ She put her cheek up to receive his kiss and turned to wave to Grace watching through the window. ‘Besides, I have things to do first: the servants and so on. It will be a week – ten days perhaps – before I set off, and I’ll wait to hear from Wilhelm first.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t worry about me, Martin.’