Beside the unwelcome sight of Lucius, Evelyn had only seen the shadow of a man. She was irritated and somewhat bemused that Adele should have taken the time to notice the stranger first.
“What do you mean?” Evelyn asked impatiently. “Who is it?”
“I do not know! I have never seen him in my life! I would certainly remember if I had. He makes your guardian look so small. Perhaps you should hire him to protect you instead!”
Evelyn’s curiosity was overwhelming and she could no longer resist the urge to look. She peaked around once more, and there was Lucius, closer than before. Indeed, he did look smaller beside the other man. His friend was tall, broad, and possessed strong, chiseled features.
“By Jove,” Adele whispered, “his arms are the size of the masts!”
“Adele!”
Evelyn was astounded that her married friend should make such a study.
“It’s just an observation,” Adele said in her own defense. “They are too large to overlook.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Whitfield,” Lucius interrupted as he approached. “Miss Brennan.”
Both women turned around somewhat theatrically to insinuate their surprise.
“Oh, Mr. Flynn!” Adele exclaimed. “Where did you come from?”
“I have just been in the drawing room,” he replied. He looked at Evelyn directly and felt her stiffen. She disapproved of his gambling, especially when it was her father’s money at stake. “Do not worry, Miss Brennan,” Lucius added. “I have only winnings to show for it, as well as a new acquaintance. This is Brock Donnigan, and he is to join us for dinner.”
Brock offered a brief nod to acknowledge the introduction. Evelyn waited for his eyes to take her in, to reflect sudden interest and desire, which were common expressions among the men who saw her. However, Brock did nothing of the sort, and she was at once offended and intrigued.
“I came to remind you in time to make your female preparations,” Lucius added.
Adele glanced at Evelyn, waiting for some sort of reply. But her friend remained silent, busily sizing up this new portrait of male perfection.
Sensing Evelyn’s overt distractedness, Adele spoke. “Thank you, Mr. Flynn, we shall return to the room to dress immediately.”
She did not wait for further introductions, but instead looped her arm through Evelyn’s and led her away.
“You were staring!” she accused.
Evelyn waved her off.
“How could I not?” she asked. “He was made for staring.”
Indeed, with a jaw line strong and carelessly unshaven, and dark hair matured by strands of silver, Brock Donnigan was a specimen of masculine beauty.
“Did you see his eyes?” Adele indulged her friend. “So piercing!”
“Of course I saw his eyes,” Evelyn replied. She was perturbed, for she had certainly noticed this about Brock Donnigan, but she was not entirely certain he had noticed anything about her.
“Perhaps we have found him, my dear Evelyn!” Adele continued, harmlessly imagining a voyage wedding. Adele, of course, would be the one to prepare the bride, and Stephen could perform the ceremony, while an audience of disappointed men bore witness. “Perhaps you have met your match!”
Yes, Evelyn thought. Perhaps she had.
Chapter Nine
The saloon, or common dining area, was a central room; long, narrow, and bordered by the ship’s first class staterooms, which had vented doors that opened into it directly. When Evelyn was satisfied with her appearance in front of the bureau mirror, she told Adele she would see her presently, opened the vented door, and disappeared into the dining room.
Still in the middle of arranging her own hair, Adele stared after her friend, aghast, for the younger woman wore a gown that flaunted her bosom and caressed her body in scarlet satin and black Venetian lace. Under ordinary circumstances, a single woman such as Evelyn Brennan would not own anything of the sort. Her wardrobe would consist of light fabrics and high collars, adorned with little but an heirloom brooch or locket. Anything more or less suggested womanhood and, even more scandalous, intimacy with a man. Adele understood the laws, written and unwritten, of fashion and propriety, and her friend was breaking all of them.
Evelyn, however, was counting on a certain newcomer of the dinner party to be ignorant.
It was her first time wearing an evening gown fit for a married woman in public. On previous nights, she had condescended to sport daytime attire, as these dresses would help her pass as a single woman. But tonight, she did not want to play down her maturity. She wanted to be noticed, and noticed she was.
At mealtimes, the saloon was commonly a raucous den full of smoke and whiskers; yet when Evelyn’s heel crossed the threshold, the scene altered quite unexpectedly. A noticeable hush claimed the room. The smoke continued to ascend quietly while the whiskers turned in her direction, some more slack in their bewilderment than others. The attention, though somewhat anticipated, was overwhelming even for Evelyn, who was usually quick to deflect moments of embarrassment. She had the slightest notion to flee, but was swift in reclaiming a sense of nobility. After all, this was what she had wanted. Why shouldn’t the men stare?
Lucius stood abruptly. He did not realize he was staring, not really. Even if he did, he could not stop himself. That woman across the room was not Evelyn Brennan. Surely not. Evelyn Brennan was far too young to dress like that. Perhaps she was celebrating? But what in heaven’s name was there to celebrate? Was it a holiday? Easter? Damn, he could never keep track of Easter, what with it changing every year and all.
Sitting beside Lucius was a decidedly less attractive man, whose eyes and lips were hidden behind thick, round spectacles and a silver bush of a mustache. He was an older man, rotund, and hairless on the top of his pink, shining head.
“My good fellow,” the man leaned towards Lucius, “is that your charge?”
Lucius tried to speak but found his mouth had gone completely dry.
The other man persisted. “She is a most remarkable creature. Where, in God’s name, did you find her?”
Lucius searched through the thick miasma of his mind to locate an answer.
“In Ireland,” he finally replied.
“By Jove,” the older man sighed. “I daresay Ireland is not a waste of land after all.”
Brock, who was also keenly aware of the female presence in the room, leaned forward against the table. “There’s more that comes from Ireland than tracks of land and rotten potatoes, Mr. Billings. I’ve got family that’s Irish. Friends, too.”
“Criminals, the lot of ‘em,” Mr. Billings, whose first name was Charles, chuckled. “Your country is populated with the refuse of others.”
Brock sneered.
“And a jolly lot of refuse I find ‘em,” he replied.
Evelyn found her way to the gentlemen’s portion of the table, a long and sturdy set of wooden planks that ran the full length of the room. Every man rose to receive her, so she blushed despite herself and sat down. The others followed her lead.
“How ‘de do this evening, ma’am?” Charles asked.
Brock peered intently at the ravishing display before him. Evelyn caught his eye, then nervously shifted her gaze.
He had seen her. Thank God.
“I am well, thank you,” she responded. “I’m afraid I do not know you, Mr….”
“Charles Billings,” the man slurred. He had been drinking since his loss with Lucius that afternoon, though he hoped to regain his losses through another game after dinner. “But don’t worry, my dear. Every one of us that’s a man here knows you, so there’s no need to introduce yourself.”
Evelyn did not know what to say, so she smiled awkwardly and turned her attention to Lucius.
“Well, if I am not to introduce myself, how is Mr. Donnigan to learn my name?” she asked, her voice bold but her chest tight with anxiety. “I’m afraid you forgot to acquaint him with it when we met on deck, Mr. Flynn.”
Lucius stuttered somethi
ng of a response, for he had not quite recovered from the sight of this unexpected woman, who was his estranged friend and charge and secret wife- oh dear God, she was his wife!- while Brock Donnigan smiled amusedly.
“Forgive me for not asking myself,” he said smoothly. “It would seem you are a great favorite aboard this ship, as your name was one of the first I learned. Evelyn Brennan, is it, then?”
“Indeed it is. Was it offered to you, or did you ask for it?” she wondered.
Oh, she was perfect for him, Brock thought. Simply perfect.
“I’m afraid you caught me,” he admitted, not the least bit ashamed.
Evelyn was thoroughly pleased.
“How dreadful that you should learn it from neither myself nor my guardian,” she said. “I should hope it was not accompanied with any unsavory commentary.”
“Quite the opposite, I assure you,” he told her. She was asking for praise, and he indulged her. “It is rumored you are a duchess.”
She smiled, adequately indulged.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Donnigan,” she said, “though we all believe to some degree that we ought to have been born of noble blood, I am naught but a tradesman’s daughter.”
“There is nothing wrong with rising from hard work, Miss Brennan.”
“Indeed,” she agreed, “though if this race for gold has proven anything, both striving and toiling for one’s pay seem to have gone out of style.”
She looked hard at Lucius, who recovered from her spell with the antidote that this was the same Evelyn Brennan he had been forced to marry.
“When it presents itself, it is only prudent to snatch up the golden egg of opportunity,” Mr. Billings declared.
“Oh, but Mr. Billings,” Evelyn argued, “my father- who was very successful, I might add- taught me differently. Prudence sees to the welfare of the goose, but it is greed alone that sees only the egg.”
Mr. Billings mumbled a reply, which he did not see fit to speak aloud.
Evelyn smiled smugly to herself, while every male eye turned once again towards the stateroom door from which she had first emerged. Another woman had entered the room, capturing the attention of all.
The Whitfields had arrived.
“I am terribly sorry we are late!” Adele announced upon sitting. Her husband took the place beside her. “You know how it is when you have children. Oh, rather, I don’t think you do! Ha ha! We had to leave poor Bartie in the room with Josephine. I do believe all this noise and smoke would be too much for him, and I daresay his exaggerated crying would be nothing but disturbing. By leaving him behind we have spared you all! Have we not, Mr. Whitfield?”
Mr. Whitfield nodded once.
“Indeed.”
Adele sighed. “Well, I should hope we did not miss too much.”
“Not at all,” Evelyn smiled. “They have not even brought the food.”
“Wonderful. As you are not in the middle of a conversation, I should like to start my own. Mr. Donnigan,” Adele began, “I am ever so curious about you.” She subtly kicked Evelyn under the table. “We have been on this ship some time and I thought I knew every face on board. Tell me, why have we not seen you before?”
“I only just arrived, ma’am.”
“You were in Cuba? How fascinating. Whatever for? Forgive my assumptions, but you do not look like a native.”
“Indeed, my natal home is on the underside of the world. But I have been away from Australia for some time.”
“Aha! By your speech, I had you pegged. Australia! I hear there are things that exist on that continent that can be found nowhere else in the world. With such a fascinating place to call home, may I inquire as to why you left?”
For the first time that evening, Evelyn noticed that Brock seemed uncomfortable, though the expression was quickly masked.
“My family had a ranch outside Sydney. The year I left, the wet came with such force that our home flooded. We lost everything, and I’ve not returned.”
“I am ever so sorry, Mr. Donnigan,” Adele said with sincerity. “When you mentioned family, did you mean a wife and children?”
For an instant, Evelyn held her breath.
“My parents and baby sister, Mrs. Whitfield,” Brock replied. “I have no family of my own.”
At this, Evelyn sighed with relief, while something about the way Brock spoke of his family caused an uncomfortable silence to descend upon the table.
Lucius shifted in his seat and decided to change the subject, for he was already bored with Brock Donnigan’s weepy tale.
“This very morning,” Lucius began, “I heard of a man who washed his face in a stream outside Sacramento, only to find sixteen dollars worth of gold dust stuck in his beard.”
Adele raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
“Surely you didn’t give credence to such nonsense,” she said. “Excitement is causing everyone to distort the facts, for I heard it was twenty dollars!”
Everyone laughed.
“They say that when the breeze blows, the gold catches in your curtains,” Mr. Billings announced, proud of his contribution to the conversation.
“This delirium of prosperity is stirring up the wildest fantasies,” Evelyn argued. “I have been listening to the way these men speak of California. They believe that the moment we lay anchor in San Francisco, they can just gallivant off the ship and start shoving gold in their pockets. They seem to think it grows up out of the ground!”
“Not far from it, Duchess,” Brock said. “The papers have reported tales of miners taking thousands of dollars from under rocks in creek beds after barely lifting a shovel.”
“The tales are valid, I’m sure,” Evelyn responded. “But look at all the men on this ship, and all the men that have sailed previously and shall sail hereafter. How many stories are to remain unwritten, unrecognized, and unpublished? Stories of disappointment and disillusionment? How many of us are to arrive in California to discover that some chap went before us and took every bit of shine to be had?”
“Please, Miss Brennan, suppress your optimism,” Lucius commanded sarcastically. “If the reports are true, this country is made of gold. There is enough to go around.”
“And what if there is not enough?” Evelyn challenged him. “What shall become of the poor souls who find nothing but dust without shimmer?”
“Then perhaps God did not wish to bestow his blessing.”
“And what if he should not wish to bestow his blessing upon you?”
Lucius looked hard at Evelyn.
“Then I shall seek comfort from the Whitfields,” he said, his features softening, “whose wealth is encouragement.”
“Indeed, we do not go to California to seek treasures on earth, but to add to our treasures in heaven,” Adele said with a smile. “We will help where we are needed, and if that is among the disillusioned, then perhaps we may offer hope.”
“I am curious what you think of our lot, Mr. Whitfield,” Lucius added, turning to Stephen. “As a man of the cloth, are you among those who lambast the adventurer in search of a better, richer way of life? Do you, like so many others, use your pulpit and biblically educated tongue to degrade and condemn us?”
“Indeed, I do not,” Stephen Whitfield replied. “I do not have a parish to call my own, nor do I have any intention to seek a pulpit. I like to think of my charge as the downtrodden soul before me, be it one man or a hundred; and contrary to popular belief, I see no evil in money, nor in its pursuit. Good and evil rest in the heart and intentions of the seeker. There are many who seek wealth as a means to deliver their families from ruin and poverty; and then there are others who possess less respectable intentions. If gold can be properly wielded as a tool, instead of elevated as an idol, then I believe much good can come of it. The question we all must ask ourselves is how we are to steward what has already been given us. If faithful with a little, we may be confident in our ability to wield much for the greater good of all.”
Everyone accepted this speech with a n
od of approval, while Lucius ordered a drink and asked the other men if they would like one.
“I’ve got this, gents,” he told them. “I spend in faith that in just a few short hours, I shall see my recompense. Brock, Stephen, Charles: would you gentlemen care to join me in my next game of cards? Prove me a liar?”
Stephen emitted a pious, “no, thank you,” to which Lucius rolled his eyes, while Charles Billings slurred an eager, “yessir!” while already stumbling from his seat.
Brock sat back and crossed his arms.
“I play with high stakes, mate,” he told Lucius. “Perhaps I should not go all-in just yet. I have a feeling the opportunity will come around again.”
Lucius was about to retort when Adele spoke suddenly.
“And why should the women not be invited?”
All eyes turned on her in surprise.
Stephen grabbed her hand and gave it a little squeeze.
“I do not think it is proper, my darling,” he said softly.
But his wife was adamant.
“Did not even Christ’s disciples cast lots to decide who would replace Judas?” she wondered. “If a disciple is allowed to gamble, I daresay a minister’s wife is no exception, or any woman for that matter. And Mr. Flynn, why should you order a drink for the gentlemen and not for the ladies? Can we not uphold our gentility and enjoy a glass of wine? There are only two of us grown women upon this vessel and I for one am feeling a little left out. This is a man’s world, and I want a piece of the fun.”
Mr. Billings guffawed, his face red from the exertion.
“A minister’s wife, indeed!” Lucius laughed. “Mr. Whitfield, if all Christians are allowed to be this amusing, please write my name in St. Peter’s book!”
Stephen smiled.
“My wife certainly puts a fresh face on things,” he agreed. “But if St. Peter has a book, I imagine he should be the one to write your name in it.”
“My dear Miss Brennan, you must agree with me,” Adele persisted. “Command your guardian to include us in the order of the drinks, as well as the dealing of the cards.”
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