“My God, I practically challenged her to do it,” he said, looking at Frieda in desperation. His stomach tightened. He’d wanted to be with her again, he’d wanted her to come to America. Not like this.
“You didn’t know what would happen,” she replied, responding to the pained look in his eyes.
“I can’t believe she’s going to do it.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, restless and troubled.
“Alone,” Frieda repeated.
He nodded, reflecting on the long, treacherous journey, the dangers that lurked, waiting for the unwary traveler.
“I must go to her.” He stood up, looking at Frieda for confirmation.
She nodded.
“I’ll wire a message to this friend’s home in New York. If it reaches her there, I’ll insist she wait there for me to collect her. Meanwhile, with your permission, I’ll leave immediately for England.”
“Go, yes, of course,” Frieda replied.
“You will go on by yourself?”
“Yes, my dearest friend, don’t concern yourself with me, I’m able to take care of myself aboard ship. It’s all arranged. Go to Eleanor, she needs you.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I know you formed an attachment with my niece. You are the ideal companion.”
He didn’t want to admit it to himself, let alone anyone else, but he nodded.
“Use whatever funds you need from my account. Go now, get ready to leave.”
He nodded. “She’s booked on the White Star Line departing on the twentieth. I shall book passage on it by telegraph and endeavor to get to Southampton in time. If she has left already, I must try to reach her before she leaves New York…or find her along the route.”
He fell silent as he contemplated the latter, and how impossible it might be if it came to that. He had to do everything in his power to ensure that it didn’t happen.
He put his hand again on Frieda’s shoulder. “I’ll find her, don’t worry.”
“I know you will,” Frieda whispered as he left, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
* * *
Eleanor paced up and down the hotel room. She was eager to get on her way. She’d glimpsed the dockyards as her carriage had drawn into Southampton. There were huge buildings, warehouses of goods either awaiting shipment or having arrived from some exotic place on the other side of the world, and people, people everywhere. It was crowded, chaotic and noisy. Poor Alice would have been quite overwhelmed. The young maid had reluctantly confessed to her mistress that she’d never been beyond Fossett. By the look on the girl’s face, Southampton may as well have been New York itself. Eleanor spared her the distress and left her safely at home, despite Mrs. Bramley’s protestations at the time.
She walked to the window of the hotel room and pulled aside the curtains, but no matter how she stretched and strained, she couldn’t see the docks from this particular viewpoint.
The night before their departure was being spent at The Metropole, a rather grand but dusty hotel in the town, where she would also rendezvous with Miette. She tried to settle herself, sitting in an armchair, one foot resting against her largest trunk. She plucked at the top button of her fitted jacket. Her spirits were slowly lifting. Setting out on the journey gave her something to focus on, something solid, a worthwhile goal. It strengthened her. And she was seeing Miette again.
It had been nearly two years since the two women had been together and there would be much to talk about. Miette had married an American citizen since then, and spent a lot her time traveling between her family in France and her new life in New York City.
“Miette,” she whispered, when the knock at the door distracted her from her thoughts.
“You have a visitor awaiting you in the lobby, Miss,” the porter announced, when she opened the door.
Eleanor stepped past him excitedly and crossed the landing to where a huge, oak balustrade overlooked the main lobby of the hotel. She leaned over it, looking for her friend amongst the few guests within her view. There was no sign of her there.
“Eleanor.” The voice was familiar.
A hand touched her arm.
She turned and gasped in astonishment. It wasn’t Miette at all. Rivers. Peter Rivers was standing by her side. He was right there on the landing, looking at her attentively.
She blinked, but it appeared she wasn’t dreaming.
He quickly withdrew his hand from her arm when he witnessed the shock in her expression. “Forgive me, I startled you.”
The memory of their previous time together passed between them, and Eleanor reached out her hands to take his in greeting. “Rivers. I’m surprised to find you here, that's all. However did you find me?”
“I called at the White Star Lines office to confirm you were booked for passage.” He gave a smile. “I’m afraid I gained the location of your whereabouts for the night in a rather underhanded manner.”
They stood, looking at one another, their hands still clasped, eyes locked
“I’m glad you did,” she whispered, still quite amazed that he was here. He’d come to her. He did care for her after all. Her heart ticked faster.
She noticed his hair was swept back, as if he’d been riding into the wind, his travel coat dusty across the shoulders. He’d traveled to be with her. His hat had been deposited on the nearby balustrade. It was completely covered in dust.
Eleanor gathered herself, becoming embarrassed by the way he looked at her so intensely. “Please, come, let’s take some refreshment. “You must be tired. Tell me everything.”
Rivers kept hold of one of her hands, drew it quickly to his mouth and kissed it gently, before releasing it. It was a warm, intimate gesture. Eleanor attempted to focus on something else in order to maintain her composure. It was difficult.
Nearby, she spied a servant about to descend the stairs, having slowed his pace to observe their encounter. “We will take tea,” she called out, “in a small salon if one is free.”
The porter nodded and led the way.
After a moment Rivers offered his arm and together they followed in the porter’s footsteps.
They stood by the fireside in the salon, a gaunt room that offered warmth and light only by the burning coals in the hearth and gaslights placed far too high to be of much use. Eleanor was still in a state of confusion at his arrival. That combined with self-consciousness kept her silent, awaiting some explanation.
“Your letters to Frieda took weeks to reach us. We were about to depart from Genoa.” He reached out and clasped her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Of course, she’d sent word of her father’s death to the final address she had for Frieda in Italy, with only a vain hope it would reach them before their departure for San Francisco. A sense of deep sadness swept over her when she thought about Frieda receiving the news.
“Is Frieda…was she very shocked?”
“I cannot say otherwise, but she’s a strong woman. She traveled on by ship, bound for home.”
Eleanor nodded, her eyes cast down, pain welling up inside her. She’d thought it safely locked away, but thinking about Frieda and her loss, she gulped, unable to hold them back.
Rivers took her into his arms and she rested her head against his shoulder, taking solace in his embrace. Her tears quickly made tracks in the dust on his shoulder. She smoothed the material with her fingers as the tears ebbed away. His hand rested gently against her back, melding her to him, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
For a moment she wished she could stay there, in his arms, forever.
Although she would not admit it to herself, Rivers had been a shadow hovering at the edge of her consciousness during that dark autumn of mourning, his presence asserting itself alongside her thought and will. The fires he’d stoked with every glance still glowed inside Eleanor and helped carry her through the dark autumn days of her grief.
When the tea tray arrived, they drew apart and took chairs either side of the fire. Eleanor focused on the flames and Rivers talked about his jo
urney. He was tired, she could see that. He’d ridden from Dover to Southampton to get there in time. “We were about to depart for home ourselves. Frieda insisted I come back for you.”
“Oh.” Eleanor studied him, frowning at his words.
“Once she knew your plans she was most concerned, as was I. I suggested I take action. She agreed it was quite impossible for you to consider traveling alone and insisted I come to escort you.” He delivered the comments in a practical tone.
Quite impossible? It took Eleanor a few moments to absorb what he was saying. “Escort?” she queried.
“Yes, I shall escort you, don’t be concerned. You will be safe traveling with me.”
She thought he’d come to her because he cared for her. Her heart had quickly filled with anticipation. It appeared, instead, that duty to his employer had brought him here. He was quite glibly telling her she had to be escorted, like baggage.
Her heart pounded.
She certainly wouldn’t have been bawling onto his shoulder and embarrassing herself had she realized he was there with her as a matter of duty. Embarrassment raced over her. Moreover, he was telling her the carefully made plans of the previous months were impossible. Did he realize what a slight that would be to her?
She stood, her teacup rattling on the table by her side. “Mr. Rivers, I don’t need you or anyone to escort me. I’m insulted by your suggestion that I do. “
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Eleanor, please be reasonable, of course you need an escort. This isn’t some pretty sightseeing trip you are about to embark upon, this is a long, arduous and dangerous journey.”
“I’m well aware of that.” She frowned at him.
His frown deepened. “You cannot possibly consider doing it now that your father has passed. He was your chaperone on previous travels. You cannot simply carry on as if nothing has changed.”
She bristled. Not least because the term “chaperone” was the bane of her life. “My father was not a chaperone. He treated me as an equal, not some helpless female who needs to be herded and led like sheep. I have the wit, will and capacity of any man.”
“I don’t doubt that. However, your father indulged you. Traveling alone would not only be foolhardy it is dangerous. Your father has encouraged you to believe you are safe, which was all well and good while he was alive, but it is wrong to believe that now.”
“How dare you insult my father’s judgment!”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not insulting his judgment.”
“Just mine. Fine.”
“No. Your father raised a capable young woman, all I’m saying is he accompanied you while he was alive, now I shall take up his role as chaperone for your journey to California.”
There was that term again. Chaperone. How she hated it. Fury lit her veins. She was clearly a nuisance to him, nothing else. Her feelings toward him were not reciprocated after all and she found herself reeling after the ensuing clarification. “You’ve had a wasted trip, Mr. Rivers. I embark upon a carefully planned expedition, an expedition that I’m undertaking in memory of my father. I’m perfectly equipped to cope on my own.” She paused. “You are free to go.”
She walked away.
He caught her up by the door. “Eleanor, please.”
He appeared to be mighty vexed.
That irritated her all the more.
His hand was against the door, barring her exit.
She stared at it. “Let me pass.”
“Eleanor…” He shook his head as if in disbelief. “Frieda was concerned for your safety. Is that wrong?”
Frieda, Frieda cared. Not him. Eleanor’s heart plummeted further still. “No, I respect my Aunt’s concern. However, as you are well aware…” She glanced at him, meaningfully. “This journey has been carefully planned for several years. I’ve anticipated any problems I might encounter. I don’t need to be treated like a feeble woman and I would be grateful if you would desist from that line of behavior. Now, allow me to pass.”
Rivers growled in his throat.
The tension between them mounted.
His hands were clenched into fists. “Eleanor, you are not a feeble woman, but you will sure as hell be acting like one if you walk out on a perfectly reasonable conversation about your welfare.”
Oh, that was low. Eleanor folded her arms and glared at him. “There is nothing reasonable about being told your plans are “quite impossible”.”
They glared at each other for several moments, then Rivers shook his head and stepped away, leaving the door unbarred.
“I have to travel to New York anyway,” he said. “I’ve booked passage on the Baltic.”
He’d already booked passage. He would be on the vessel she was traveling on with Miette. Stunned, she stared at him, and found herself strangely torn at the thought of his company aboard the ship. However, she reminded herself, he’d done so out of a need to take charge of her. As far as she was concerned, that was truly unforgivable.
He shrugged at her accusing glance.
“As we are booked on the same voyage,” she said, face averted to conceal her emotions. “It seems there’s nothing I can do about it. However, you don’t need to concern yourself for I already have a shipboard traveling companion. I travel with a friend. Once we get to New York, the situation will be different. We can both make our own way to California, I’m fit to do so, as I’m sure are you.” She glanced back at him.
His brow was furrowed, his eyes narrow chinks of darkness. He was clearly thinking fast and furious, as if this was some deal he could barter over until he got his way. “We can discuss it when we arrive in New York”
“I won’t discuss the matter any further,” she interrupted. “Now, or when we arrive in New York.” Oh, she could see what he was up to. He was playing for time, hoping for her capitulation.
His mouth tightened. “In that case, I’ll bid you good-evening.” He reached for the door handle, wrenching it open and holding it ajar to hasten her exit.
She gave a curt nod without looking at him again, and left the salon, smarting beneath a riot of conflicting emotions.
* * *
Alone in her room, she paced up and down, going back over the scene in her mind. How dare he walk into her life and expect to take charge of it? He’d treated her as if she were helpless. Didn’t he realize how hard she’d worked to make herself strong enough to be alone?
He hadn’t listened to a word she said.
He thought she would buckle at his command. If her father had been there, he would have sent him on his way. She stopped pacing. Or would he? She reflected on her father’s approving words about Frieda’s right-hand man.
Her anger subsided somewhat.
Her father had thought him both decent and loyal. He’d called him a worthy, intelligent man and said he looked forward to enjoying his company again.
She calmed down, rapidly, and to the point where she felt quite miserable.
Throwing herself onto the bed she hid her face in the pillow.
It was ridiculous, to have behaved that way in front of him. Whatever was she thinking of? She buried her head in the pillow, wishing the whole episode away.
That wretched man, he put her into such a state of confusion.
Eventually, she decided that her attraction to him left her in such a muddle he could easily have his way, submit her will and take away her independence.
She resolved to keep her distance from him aboard ship. Once she was in New York she would escape and journey on as before: alone. She didn’t need anyone, and she certainly didn’t need Mr. Peter Rivers.
* * *
Passers-by leapt out of his path at the sight of his thunderous expression,
Rivers barely noticed them.
He paced the streets of Southampton for well over an hour, before stepping into a tavern and imbibing a large quantity of port in order to quell his urge to go back and shake some sense into the woman. He assured himself that there was no reason for him to feel quite s
o concerned about her. She would soon be captive aboard ship.
It was the urge to stifle her ridiculous remonstrations with a kiss that unsettled him most of all. Even when she’d got herself into a blind fury, she caused his ardor to rise. He’d wanted to silence her by grabbing her into his arms and make her complaints much sweeter in nature.
He shook his head in despair. How she’d managed to wheedle her way into his blood so easily was totally beyond him.
She’d had her own way too often in the past, that much was fact.
Before he’d left them in Italy, her father had confided to Rivers that he was concerned about the planned journey across America. He was a much older man than he’d been before, and wiser. Furthermore, he told Rivers when he’d previously traveled abroad with Eleanor, he’d organized adventures that were safe, treks that were well frequented by fellow travelers and much safer than Eleanor realized. He’d led her to believe it was the two of them against the world. Now her imagination ran away with her and she over estimated what she was capable of. Rivers knew it was his task to harness it back and make her see reason.
She looked beautiful though, even in the plainest mourning gown and with dark shadows beneath her eyes. Eleanor Craven bore the kind of beauty great artists would long to immortalize. He lingered on the vision of her, before downing more port.
A plan formed. He would let her calm down and when they reached New York he would explain to her the reasons why a woman simply couldn’t travel alone. Yup, that’s what he would do. He could think of plenty of devious ways to ambush her plans, if necessary.
He smiled to himself at the idea of it.
Once he was calm, he realized how travel-weary he’d been when he’d gone to her. Perhaps he hadn’t worded things well. He’d been trying to think of the correct responses to reassure her, amidst the outburst of varying emotions that had greeted him. Obviously she was upset over her father’s death. She’d grown pale and she’d lost weight since he’d last seen her. That alone had caused something inside him to knot with foreign emotions.
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