She waved off his suggestion as though it posed no problem.
“Then I shall wait in San Francisco also.”
“Tut, tut, Evelyn. Don’t you remember our agreement? If you do not stay with me until my gold lust is satisfied, you get nothing. You’ll be penniless, and God knows- excuse me- you must know what kind of situation poverty presents to a woman.”
Lucius raised an eyebrow.
“Of course, you only need to wear that dress to ensure your illustrious success,” he added.
“Lucius Flynn! You lewd, filthy, vile, treacherous-”
“Now, now. There’s no need for name-calling. I am ever so glad the cat finally released your tongue, Miss Brennan, for you have such a sweet way with words. This has been a very pleasant chat, but if you will be so kind as to excuse me, I shall be on my way.”
Lucius finally managed to slip away, leaving a furious Evelyn staring after him.
Chapter Eleven
The days at sea were dreadfully hot, and the food at mealtimes was decidedly worse than at the outset of their journey, which was nearly two weeks ago now. The Steam Rose was overbooked with men whose stomachs were apparently bottomless, and even those in first class were beginning to see the consequences of this poorly stocked voyage. Tiny critters had begun to burrow and eat their way through the provisions, and the drinking water tasted old and stagnant.
The passengers complained that their bodies ached from a constant plague of fatigue. Their thoughts were slower and bent on accomplishing as little as possible during the day, and their joints were riddled with lethargy. They passed the days sleeping or succumbing to distant stares, their attention too short to read or write. The feelings were akin to a constant state of dizziness. They could not quite get their bearings as they longed for the comforts of home.
At the close of one particularly warm afternoon, Evelyn was in the stateroom with Adele and Josephine.
“First they cram us into this little room together,” she spat, “forcing us to sleep two to a berth with people we have never met in our lives. How were you to know that Lucius and I were not criminals? How were we to know you were not going to murder us in our sleep? And then they fail to restrain their passengers from overeating, depleting the food supply faster than you can say ‘ridiculous’. I am telling you, I will not eat another crust with weevils dodging to and fro. How preposterous! Then they litter the deck, a common area, with scalawags and outlaws, men who are the lowest of the low of society! But forgive me, I do not include Mr. Donnigan in this generalization. Adele, do you not think all this a capital offense?”
Josephine was pacing the floor with little Bartie, who was red-faced and crying, and Adele was having trouble lacing her corset for supper. Evelyn’s tirade was lost in the din as the older woman gave up on the evening’s wardrobe and raised her voice at Josephine.
“Please, Josephine! That child’s nonsense is enough to make my head split in two! Can you do nothing to quiet him? I need your assistance with these laces, and you are taking so painfully long to console the baby that I shall be late for supper yet again, as I am late for supper every blasted evening!”
Everyone in the room grew silent, even the child. It was not like Adele Whitfield to lose her temper.
Bartie resumed his tears, now inspired by his mother’s foul mood rather than whatever had ailed him in the first place. Josephine looked torn between bouncing him on her hip and attending to her mistress, who now sighed and pushed a couple of pallid fingers against her aching forehead.
At the sight of her friend’s distress, Evelyn forgot herself for one moment and placed a reassuring hand upon Adele’s waist.
“Forgive me for not realizing your need,” she told her kindly. “Let me help you.”
Evelyn took up the laces and Adele sighed once more.
“I am sorry,” she murmured. “I am in a dreadful humor.”
The scene was disturbed by a bang on the door, which suddenly flew open to reveal Lucius, Brock, and Stephen Whitfield. They proceeded to flood the room, their expressions fierce with anxiety.
“Gentlemen!” Adele exclaimed, unnerved by the sudden intrusion. “Whatever is the matter?”
Stephen quickly closed the door as the other men leaned heavily against the berths, their chests heaving. The women awaited an explanation with growing unease.
Stephen turned to his wife.
“How are you feeling, my darling?” he asked. “And the child? How is he?”
Confused and frightened, Adele searched for an answer. She stole a look at her son, who had been startled into silence, but whose face still bore evidence of tears.
“We are quite all right,” she stammered. “I believe we are all suffering from a dreadful case of cabin fever, but that is all.”
Stephen nodded once and took his wife in his arms, relief flooding through him.
On the other side of the room, Lucius was running his fingers through his hair in a nervous sort of motion.
“It is madness!” he interjected, seeming half mad himself.
All eyes turned to him, and all ears waited for him to say more, but he had said his piece, and continued to stare off into oblivion.
Brock shoved off the berth and came close to Evelyn, his eyes searching hers.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
The concern in his voice brought fear to her heart.
“Yes, of course,” she replied. “What is it, Mr. Donnigan? What has happened?”
“There has been an outbreak.”
“Dear heavens,” Adele breathed, breaking free of her husband’s embrace. “What kind of outbreak?”
Lucius emerged from his crazed stupor.
“Cholera,” he replied. His breathing had quickened noticeably, and he looked about with wild eyes, for Lucius Flynn had three great fears: losing his freedom (which had already happened once), losing his fortune (which had never happened), and losing his life (which could happen, and probably would happen, if he became ill). “The devil’s found us at sea,” he added excitedly, “and he means to drag us all to hell!”
Stephen frowned at this morbid exclamation.
“And yet you empower him because you do not pray to God for deliverance,” he chastised.
Lucius stopped ranting long enough to think about this.
“Don’t be so dramatic, mate,” Brock told him, a hint of disgust in his tone. “We may have been warned in time. Word is the sickness originated in steerage, and many have fallen ill in the last couple of hours. Now, to our knowledge, we have not encountered anyone who was infected. If these ladies can claim the same, we may well be safe to remain in this room until the pestilence has passed.”
At this, Lucius was doubtful.
“And how long do you expect all of us to be holed up in here, boyo?” he asked.
Brock shrugged.
“As long as it takes.”
Lucius scoffed. Who put this guy in charge? People could be sick and dying for days. And what was Lucius supposed to do in the meantime? Twiddle his thumbs? Besides, the idea of being stuck with the same people for that amount of time made him feel claustrophobic, not to mention wary, for hostility emanated from his lovely wife like body heat. If the cholera did not kill Lucius, Evelyn probably would.
He decided to dispute Brock’s idea.
“That’s ridiculous! We have no food, no water…”
But Brock tipped his head and pulled something from his pocket. It was a flask.
“I don’t know about you, mate, but I’ve got all the grog I need,” he replied, unscrewing the cap.
He proceeded to take a swig.
Stephen Whitfield watched him with raised eyebrows, and one might have thought he disapproved if he did not reach out a hand.
“If a chap could spare a sip,” he requested.
Brock recovered from his initial surprise and shrugged. Who could deny a preacher? He swallowed and passed the flask to the Englishman, while Adele went to her son and lifted him from
Josephine’s arms.
“Do you think he is all right?” she asked the nurse. “The poor dear has been crying all afternoon. Is he feverish?”
Josephine shook her head and placed a hand upon her mistress’s arm, smiling reassuringly, for the only thing that tormented little Bartholomew was the absence of an afternoon nap.
Adele kissed the child, suddenly feeling a small burst of confidence.
“I believe we shall be spared,” she told the room. “I do! Here in my very breast, I feel nothing but peace. Take heart, everyone. We have nothing to worry about. We have only to pray for the other souls on board, that their lives may be spared. Cholera is a dreadful disease, and it takes friends in its wake of misery. How unfortunate for those poor men in steerage! Sweet Spirit, protect their bodies!”
At this, an expression of urgency came over Josephine, and before anyone could stop her, she fled from the room.
Shocked and alarmed, Brock, Lucius, and a terrified Evelyn called after her.
“Where are you going?!”
“Come back!”
“Josephine!”
In pursuit, Evelyn ran to the door and reached out to open it, but Lucius grabbed her by the waist and carried her, kicking and screaming, to the opposite end of the room.
“What are you doing?” she cried. “Put me down, Mr. Flynn! I must go to her! Adele! Tell him! We must not let her be infected!”
Lucius set her down but did not release his grip.
“If you go after her, the both of you will be contaminated,” he told her. “Don’t be a fool, lass!”
Evelyn wriggled violently in an attempt to be free, but to no avail. Lucius’ arms were locked around her.
“Josephine is quite all right to leave,” Adele almost whispered, her eyes bearing into the door.
At first, no one could comprehend what she had just said.
“Quite all right?” Evelyn repeated, mouth agape.
“Are you mad?” Brock asked. “That slight little girl doesn’t stand a chance out there.”
Adele remained unaffected.
“I must disagree with you, Mr. Donnigan. Because I believe she does.”
Everyone waited for an explanation.
“Josephine came to us during a cholera epidemic in London,” Adele began. “At the orphanage, we were surrounded by entire neighborhoods that the disease had positively annihilated. It seemed as though at any moment, it would come for us. And it did come. Some of our children had begun to fall ill when Josephine arrived, and of all things, she was carrying a pitcher of water. We did not know where she came from, but when she saw that some of our children were sick, she encouraged them to drink. The water was pure, and it nourished their poor bodies back to health.
“Though she was entirely exposed, Josephine did not contract the illness. We believe she is impervious, so there is really no need to fret over her sudden disappearance. She is confident in her immunity, and I am certain that if anyone is to be delivered of this curse, it shall come from her hand.”
“She has a gift,” Stephen Whitfield murmured in agreement.
The others remained silent as they digested the tale.
“Well, it all sounds a bit preternatural for my taste,” Lucius concluded.
“Lucius doesn’t believe in God,” Evelyn added with a smirk.
Lucius straightened a little and pointed a finger at Evelyn.
“Now don’t you start that again, lassie!”
Evelyn shrugged innocently.
“I’ll tell you what I believe,” Brock said. “I’ve just forfeited my supper, and I’ll be damned if my precautions are for nothing. We don’t take any chances. That’s very noble of the little girl to heal the sick, but if those hands are touching lepers, I think it’s safe to say they can stay away from me. She is not to return to this room until she’s been cleansed, isn’t that right, Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield?”
Adele looked stricken.
“Why, of course, Mr. Donnigan. We wouldn’t conceive of subjecting anyone to contamination. You must remember, however, that Josephine has done this before. Those hands have spread only good, never evil.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Mrs. Whitfield, I would rather we not take the risk.”
Once more, Bartholomew began to cry.
“When you heard the news, Mr. Donnigan,” Evelyn spoke, raising her voice above the child’s cries, “did you hear of any…” She gulped. “Deaths?”
Brock’s jaw tensed, but before he could respond, Lucius waved an arm in the air.
“Four men have died!” he exclaimed indignantly. There was a corporate intake of breath. “Can you believe it? There had to be four bloody deaths before we received the slightest bit of warning!”
Evelyn sank against her seat in fearful resignation.
“Dear God,” she breathed.
Suddenly, Adele clapped her hands together.
“Shall we have a diversion?” she asked. “We can sit here all night and succumb to our fears or we can strike up a song and remember that we are alive and well. Might I cast my vote? Evelyn, give us an Irish ditty, won’t you please?”
The men stared at Adele as if she was crazy, an expression that did not bother her a bit, for she was quite accustomed to it.
“My boy is inconsolable, as you well know,” she continued. “But I daresay he shall perk up the moment he hears a bit of music. Come now, dearest! Give us a song.”
At such a pointed request, Evelyn forgot every song she had ever learned. She shook her head slightly and stared blankly at her friend.
Adele did not take the hint, but continued to gaze expectantly at Evelyn.
Someone shifted his weight, and Evelyn noticed Lucius had crossed the room and was reaching beneath one of the berths.
“Come, Miss Brennan,” he said. “I am surprised at you. Have you forgotten the repertoire of songs from our youth?”
He pulled out his violin, tightened the strings of the bow, and positioned the instrument beneath his chin.
Evelyn was so shocked to see this that she could not speak. She did not even know that Lucius still knew how to play, much less that he still owned his instrument. As he had grown older, his interests had been diverted to less savory things, and she believed he had given up on music entirely.
“Mr. Flynn, I had no idea you were a musician!” Adele exclaimed. “How delightful!”
Stephen Whitfield, a great lover of music, happily settled down into a chair.
“Yes, delightful,” he agreed.
All eyes were on Lucius as he caressed the first string, bringing forth a lovely and haunting note. Bartholomew lifted his face from his mother’s neck and searched for the origin of sound, the tears drying on his cheeks.
Adele was thoroughly pleased.
“You see,” she said, nuzzling her little boy’s ear, “he adores music. Just like his father.”
Lucius noted Evelyn’s silence and turned his gaze towards her.
“You cannot have forgotten this,” he told her.
Indeed, as she listened to the melody, the words to the song began to return.
“It’s coming back to me now,” she said. “It’s been so many years, Lucius.”
“Aye. It has been a lifetime.”
Evelyn closed her eyes, listening for her cue.
“Now you sing, Miss Brennan,” Lucius instructed.
So she did, and the song brought with it a host of memories.
She saw herself as a child in Brennan House, wearing her best dress during a recital with Lucius, the two of them standing in the parlor before a window with a vista of the sea. Her father was watching her, his eyes glistening and spilling over with tears of pride.
“This song always reminds me of the foremost moment I saw you, Evie,” he would tell her. “I keep that moment close to my heart always.”
Recalling his voice made her chest ache.
I miss you so much, Da, she told his memory.
But his memory gave no reply. Instead, a
t the thought of him, the lyrics faded away. Lucius continued to play, but Evelyn stood in silent reverie.
“Don’t try to conjure up the words, lass,” he told her. “Just let ‘em roll off your tongue.”
Evelyn’s eyes remained shut as she shook her head.
“I cannot remember them.”
“Don’t say that, Miss Brennan. This song’s as much a part of your heritage-”
“I said I cannot sing it,” Evelyn snapped, her eyes peeling open to reveal the sorrow that had pooled within them.
Lucius started at the sight of a tear spilling over her cheek. He knew this tune had been a favorite of Emmett Brennan’s, and in a moment of thoughtless kindness he believed it might actually please her. He had not known the depth of sadness she still suffered on account of her father’s death. Or perhaps he had blinded himself to it. Evelyn’s cold disposition made it easy for Lucius to forget that beneath that icy surface, she possessed a very broken heart. Lucius wanted to forget this, because Lucius could not deny that when he actually acknowledged Evelyn’s pain, he felt it nearly as acutely as she. He understood that pretense and forgetfulness were sometimes very useful in making it through one moment to the next. He had tried to suppress one particular memory for years. It was so strong, so bitter, and it frightened him with the way it made him feel. His heart would begin to race, and he had to remind himself to breathe.
Nobody should ever cry the way he heard her cry that night.
* * *
It had been three days since her father’s murder, and Evelyn had haunted the Flynn’s home like a silent apparition. Lucius had tried to stay away from her, to give her the space he thought she needed, but something kept drawing him back. He had to listen, had to see how she was. Perhaps he selfishly sought his own comfort in the knowledge that Evelyn would be okay. Or perhaps beneath all the frustration she had caused him all these years, he actually cared for her. Not as a lover, by any means, but as the boy who had once known her better than any other. As a friend.
Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) Page 9