by A. G. Howard
Engleberta skipped around Willow and Newton as they took the last step. “Christoad is abed still. Wants me to play cards with him all day to pass the time. So boring! Newt, can you come visit?”
Willow gave the boy’s hand a squeeze. “Go on then. The judge will accompany me. We’ll come find you on our way back up.”
Judge Arlington nearly stumbled trying to manipulate his round body down the final drop while holding the railing. Willow reached out to support his elbow and he nodded his gratitude, though his white moustache wiggled in a nervous manner. His voice raised to be heard over the engines’ roars. “We shouldn’t stay long.”
Willow nodded. “Engleberta, I wish to look at the trunk again. Is it still in the same place?”
“It’s moved to the portmanteau maze.” The girl offered the information over her shoulder as she tugged Newton toward her family’s bunks.
Willow turned the opposite direction and grabbed a lamp from a hook on one of the walls. She followed the dangling light, shortening her steps to keep pace with the judge. As some of the other immigrants watched from the bunk-lined walls, she repositioned the hat on her head. She had forgotten how loud and claustrophobic steerage was. The stench was worse than she remembered, humid and weighted with the smell of stale vomit. These poor people hadn’t the added benefit of scullery maids and ammonia; she doubted if any of them had had ginger either, to ease their nausea.
“I’m appalled that you stayed down here alone.” The judge glanced sideways at her. His jolly face folded to lines and puckers where shadows raked across him as they ventured out of the reach of the lamps.
Willow tempered her unease of the darkening surroundings. “I could never have talked Julian into letting me accompany him on this ship. Not until I was already on board and we’d set out to sea.”
“He said you had to beg, steal, and borrow. Must have been difficult, to lower yourself to such a level.”
Willow shrugged. “I rather didn’t mind the stealing—” She bit her lip, annoyed that she’d let that slip. The judge was so friendly and magnanimous, she found herself speaking her mind much more often than she meant to. “I mean, I didn’t mind as much as I should have.” Her shoulders tensed. “Perhaps it’s better you don’t tell Julian that?”
The judge assured her he wouldn’t with a kind smile. They walked alongside one another in companionable silence for a moment. “So, you stowed away just to go to St. Louis. You want that badly to see the World’s Fair?”
Willow clenched her jaw, not answering. She tried to concentrate on the whisk of the tweed trousers rubbing between her thighs, though it was muted beneath the engines.
“Ah.” The judge’s long moustache curled around his smile. “It was never about the fair. It was about the company. The man that designs the rides.”
Willow felt her face heat as if the sun were beaming down on her, even though they were entrenched in darkness. “You can’t appreciate his brilliance until you’ve seen the park.”
“Oh, I’m already convinced, just by his drawings.” The judge’s labored respirations had finally returned to normal. “I understand you’re brilliant as well. That you had a hand in the mechanics. An impressive talent for a lady.”
Willow shrugged. “I’m good with motors and such; but Julian has the gift of vision. He can see a ride in his mind and draw it out on paper then map out the measurements and materials required to complete it. His ability with math is inspiring. In any case, I appreciate your discretion in the matter of my gender. I can’t even imagine the scandal it would cause. It could destroy the manor.”
“Well, we can’t have that. I’ve vested interest in it now.”
The mountainous maze of luggage came into view, its black silhouette towering over them like a great yawning mouth. Willow stepped across a tattered portmanteaux. The toe of her heavy boot caught on the bag and she nearly tottered over.
This time, the judge grabbed her elbow. “You know, if you’re still concerned for appearances, I could amend the matter of your being unmarried. Though I have no lawful jurisdiction until we get to St. Louis, it could suffice for a good faith gesture. I’ve no doubt Julian reciprocates your affections. I’ve never seen a man care for a sick woman yet still hold the look of desire in his eyes.”
Desire. Willow struggled to silence her erratic heartbeat as they picked out a path through the luggage. At the mere memory of how Julian had cared for her so tenderly during her illness, she could have flitted to the top of the luggage pile on wings.
Yet the man still couldn’t admit his feelings aloud.
No. There would be no impromptu nuptials in her future. Though she was ready to make her vows today, Julian’s premeditated mentality would stretch their blossoming romance into months or years of lengthy consideration. “I believe your taciturnity will be enough, Judge Arlington. We can uphold the masquerade for the duration … from here to the train to St. Louis and back again, even.”
The judge cleared his throat, as though bothered by all the secrecy.
Willow eyed him suspiciously. “You don’t disapprove, do you? Surely otherwise you would have already had me taken before the captain. Or had me imprisoned in the ladies’ quarters.”
He waved his plump hand to ease her anxiety. “No. No. I’m not one to judge.”
Willow met his gaze and they shared a smile over his pun.
Together, they ducked into a passage where the tall stacks of luggage, crates, and trunks tangled up to resemble winding walls on either side of them. Willow would have to weave her way through the labyrinth to find the trunk, and the entrance whittled to such a tight space that the portly judge would have to wait at the entrance. “I’ll return shortly.”
He tugged his palm from his moustache to his chin, a gesture Willow now recognized as a nervous tick. “I’ll hold watch here.”
Nodding, she twisted sideways and easily skimmed through while holding up the lantern to suppress her unease of being alone. She wouldn’t let her nightmare dissuade her from this mission.
After winding through three different mazes, Willow spotted the trunk in a dark corner, wedged in by stacks of luggage on either side. It felt warm and cramped within the aperture, and smelled faintly of perfume and moth balls. Someone had obviously meant to hide the trunk.
Willow wondered if the owner was missing Tildey … if they were worried who might have taken the doll and seen their things. A bubble of emotion rose within her chest—almost ticklish. Her dearest hope would be that she’d imagined all the circus paraphernalia due to being ill. That instead, the trunk belonged to her friend of years gone by, and they would soon be reunited.
She had just set aside the lantern and crouched down to open the lid when a hand clenched her shoulder from behind. The grip wasn’t tight, but insistent. She knew his touch without even looking.
“I should have known you’d beat me to it.” Julian’s baritone washed over her, prompting every nerve in her body to stand at attention with learned anticipation of the pleasure he could bring them.
She cast an upward glance over her shoulder to take in his expression in the soft light, studying him for signs of anger, yet finding only concern. “I had to see inside the trunk with my own eyes and a clear mind. I’m looking for something specific.” Before she could elaborate, someone rustled behind them in the shadows.
Newton’s head appeared in the dome of light.
Willow sighed in relief. “I thought you were with Berta,” she scolded.
Newton ignored her and looked up at Julian, pointing wildly to his shoes.
Julian patted the child’s hat. “Sorry, mouse. I haven’t found the shoes yet. Looks as if we’ll have to find some way to raid the women’s quarters.”
The disappointment on Newton’s face pinched Willow’s heart. She had wanted so much to get the shoes back for him before they left this ship. How would he react, should he never see his ghostly sister again?
Her hands stalled on the trunk’s lid, rememberi
ng the old man in her dream, and how he was holding Nadia’s shoes. Was it possible? Could they have found their way back to steerage and ended up in here? Maybe Nadia’s spirit had tried to reach her through the dreams, and all the answers were just at her fingertips…
“Well, hurry up then,” Julian prompted, “before we’re caught. The judge is standing guard.”
Biting her lip, Willow threw open the lid with a creaking snap. They all leaned over to look within. Emptiness stared back from the satin-lined depths. Everything was gone. The harnesses, the ballet shoes, the ropes and cylinders of maps. Everything. As if the items had drifted out of reality and secured themselves firmly into Willow’s feverish, sea-sickened dreamscape, never to be corporeal again.
“What exactly were you hoping to find?” Julian asked, gently sculpting her wrist to help her stand.
“Tools of a sort,” she mumbled, handing the lantern off to Newton.
“Tools? You saw tools in here when you found your doll?”
Willow sighed and shut the lid. Julian’s arm went around her waist as he ushered Newton through the passage in front of them to light the way.
“I dreamt about them earlier … remembering what I saw when I lifted out Tildey.” Her throat felt itchy. “Spin ropes and anchor shoes. The sorts of things used in a circus. The sorts of things I used as a child when I trained. It’s been so many years; it just took me a while to remember what they were used for.”
“Could you describe these anchor shoes?” Julian guided her toward the entrance where the children and Judge Arlington waited.
“Well, they look rather like ballet slippers, with tiny metal spikes on the sole. Good for gripping.”
Julian turned away, but even in the darkness she could see tension stiffening his shoulders. “Perhaps you were dreaming of your childhood, and imprinted it onto your experience with the trunk while you slept. Tildey could have evoked the nightmare and caused the association. Could it be that your imaginings misconstrued what you saw?”
Willow didn’t answer, her throat burning and thick. She knew she hadn’t imagined those things. For what she hadn’t yet told Julian was that a distinctive smell had hit her nostrils when she opened the trunk this time. Chocolate and brandy, a foreign tobacco. The same tobacco she’d smelled in her dream—as indelible to her as her mother’s perfume.
Even without seeing the contents again, she knew what they had been, and that the person who owned them was the man from her past. For she could never forget the scent tied to her mama and papa’s murders.
Eighteen
“Are you absolutely sure it was the right trunk?” Julian raised his voice so the query reached Willow from the opposite side of the closed door.
“Oh, it was the right one,” she answered loud enough to be heard from inside the bedchamber. “No doubting it.” She slipped into the beautiful dress Julian had bought for her. He’d finally given her the package he’d brought back from the tailor three days ago. While she was sick, he kept it tucked away. Now after seeing it, knowing how much thought he’d put into the gift, she couldn’t help but smile, in spite of how uneasy she felt discussing the trunk.
Willow flattened her ear to the door’s frame in an effort to visualize what he might be doing in the parlor. There was a muffled thump and scraping, a rattle of paper, then a sweet, tinkling song which only played a few chords before screeching to a stop.
“You know, the fact that it had no manifest number”—she resumed the discussion—“only proves whoever owns it is hiding something.”
“Well, we’ll find out tomorrow who it belongs to.” Julian’s response drifted back, riding the screech of chairs being scooted along the floor. “For now, it’s pointless to conjecture.”
“Agreed.” Willow propped her left side against the door. Julian had conferred with Captain Everett after lunch. The captain gave Julian permission to wait in steerage beside the trunk once they reached port in the morning, so he might solve the mystery when its owner came to pick it up.
Willow repositioned her shoulder seams and held the dress’s back seam with clamped fingers. She had no corset with her and her pantalets bunched beneath the dress’ supple fabric in an awkward manner. She wanted to look like a courtly maiden, not a frumpy toffer from the rookery. So she’d left everything off underneath to allow the gown to hang as it should. The fabric slid—slick and cool—against places vulnerable and overtly responsive to the foreign sensations.
“So, does it fit?” Julian asked from amid his racket.
She cleared her throat. “Hard to tell, without buttoning it. But I believe it will. Julian?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. It is above lovely. Your taste is impeccable.”
“In ladies as well as dresses.” Willow could hear a smile in his masculine voice.
Grinning, she pressed her cheek against the chilled door. Her fingers curled around the knob. “Might I come out and thank you properly?”
A loud shuffle then the clanging of metal erupted. Julian muttered an oath, followed by a swift apology for her benefit. After she heard the rearranging of silver, he spoke again. “I will be very disappointed if you come out and haven’t the mitts on.”
Willow rolled her eyes. How had he known she’d forgotten those? She borrowed Julian’s oath, but kept it under her breath, determined to be a proper lady tonight.
Newton was off to eat with Judge Arlington in the first-class dining room and they intended to stay for the orchestra program. Mr. Sala was still closed up in his room, so there was no chance of him seeing the child. Otherwise Willow would never have allowed it, despite that it would buy her and Julian two hours of uninterrupted solitude.
This evening could be all she’d ever dreamed of, if she could just get past this morning’s experience. To think that the devil who was responsible for all of the misery in her childhood shared this seafaring vessel with her—it left her soul ravaged and clamoring for revenge. He was old now. She intended to use that to her full advantage. She meant to see him suffer the way her parents had … the way she had.
Julian wouldn’t approve—at least of her plans for revenge. If for no other reason than he would worry for her safety. That’s why she had yet to tell him about the tobacco smell or the significance of the training tools which had been in that trunk. Although she had confessed most of her past to Julian, she had yet to tell him of her strange daily routines at the orphan workhouse. Even now, she couldn’t understand why she had been encouraged to continue her acrobatic training all those years. But apparently, it was under her abductor’s advisement.
Over the last few days, it had been easy enough to avoid discussing her past due to her seasickness. This afternoon had flown by with the judge and Julian mostly gone, seeking the shoes and the owner of the trunk. But tonight she would have to keep him distracted enough not to ask any more questions. Keep his thoughts in the present. Darts of guilt pricked at her chest, but she hardened her heart against them. She had every right to seek vengeance.
Willow strolled over to the bed where she’d laid the mitts and eased into them, smoothing the gossamer ruffles up to her wrists. She wriggled her fingers so they would plunge through the holes. The gloves covered the back of her hands and her palms by catching at the bends of her third knuckles while leaving her fingertips exposed.
Turning to the cheval mirror—her back facing the door—she studied her image, almost giddy with delight at the reflection. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought she’d be pleased to be wearing such elegant attire.
The last residue of sunset flashed in pink ripples along the walls, reflecting off of the waves outside. In less than a half hour, it would be necessary to burn the lamps. But for now, Willow rather liked the dimming glow … the way the rosy tones graced her olive skin with a shimmering affect.
She reached up and stroked a glossy curl at her temple, admiring how her hair had taken the pin curls she’d earlier coaxed into place to feminize the cropped hair
style. And the jeweled hair pins Julian had bought added just the right amount of sparkle to the finished coif.
She posed, moving her arms like a dancer, to watch the black elbow length sleeves wind and twist. The gown boasted a coppery color as deep and lustrous as the pheasant feathers Mistress Juliet used on her millinery masterpieces at home. The satin bodice clung to her curves, wrinkles spreading like eager fingers across her breasts as the hem fanned out at her ankles. Her toes peeked from underneath the hem. She grinned, thinking upon what Aunt Enya’s reaction would be to see her feet and ankles bared in such a way.
When Julian’s reflection appeared behind her, her breath hitched. She hadn’t even heard the door open.
A savory scent wafted in from the parlor. “Dinner?” she asked, unable to think of anything more appropriate.
“Roast duck in mushroom sauce. And a special dessert.” He had taken off his spectacles so they hung hapless in his hand, baring the direction of his gaze to her naked back. A pink flash from the window danced over his face, lighting it to brilliant bewilderment. The same look he wore days ago, when he helped her out of the union suit.
Julian dropped his spectacles to the chair beside the door.
“You forgot,” he mumbled. “I forgot. Under things.”
The observation reminded her that her dress gaped all the way past the bend of her lower back, leaving her tattoo on full display. Feeling the hummingbird’s fluttering echo beneath her skin, she reached behind to pull the panels together, unable to look away from Julian’s lovely, entranced face—acutely aware that he had closed the door, cutting off the parlor’s lamplight.
He came up behind her and caught her hands. Breaking their hold on the dress, he coaxed the fabric to separate. “No more hiding from me.” The demand ended on a growl that sent shivers of submission up her spine. Her hands fell to her sides, immobile. Julian’s rough fingertips and velvet palms eased between the panels of fabric to follow the curve of the tattoo, memorizing every line. The hummingbird busted loose, buzzing up her spine where its feathers fanned every nerve ending within her, making each one ache for want of his touch.