by Cheryl Holt
“So it is. The time has passed so quickly.”
“My newspaper would like to print a retrospective about the three of you.”
“What kind of retrospective?”
“We’d like to draft a few articles about how your lives unfolded after you were claimed by your relatives.”
“Who would be interested in that?”
“Everyone?”
“I doubt that very much.”
“I guess I’ve failed to explain how popular you’ve been.”
“Mr . . . Periwinkle, is it? I can’t think that popular is a word I would use to describe my life.”
“How was it then? Was it scary? Was it horrid? Were your relatives cruel? Did they mistreat you? Our readers are eager to know how you’ve fared.”
“Again, sir, I doubt that very much.”
She was about to continue on, so he hastily added, “We’d like to arrange a reunion too. For you, Libby, and Caroline. Would you like that? Would you like to see them?”
It was an electrifying suggestion. She’d constantly yearned to communicate with them, and she was haunted by how they’d been immediately separated upon their arrival in England.
Her Aunt Pru had understood how devastating the split had been, and they’d incessantly worried about Libby and Caro. They’d occasionally checked the cards for both girls, so they’d been aware they were suffering, and they’d wished there had been a way to help them.
Pru had tracked down Caro’s family. She’d written to them, asking if she and Joanna could visit, but she’d received such a nasty reply from Caro’s grandfather that she hadn’t pestered him again.
Libby had traveled with performing troupes, so it had been trickier to locate her. They’d attempted to see her on the stage once when she’d been advertised at an area theater, but when they’d attended the matinee, Libby hadn’t been there. They’d inquired about her after the show and had been apprised that she’d traipsed off to a bigger engagement.
After that, she’d never appeared anywhere near to where they’d resided, so there hadn’t been a second opportunity.
A reunion? What a splendid notion! Perhaps Mr. Periwinkle could organize what Joanna had never managed.
“I would like that,” she said, “and if you could arrange it, I would be happy to participate. I’ve missed them so much.”
“I’ve heard that you were closer than sisters.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“And that you were ripped apart, without having a chance to say goodbye.”
“It was a trying situation. The authorities weren’t sure of what was best for us. They had difficult decisions to make, and I shouldn’t judge them.”
“Would you like to confide in me about those terrible days? How was it difficult?”
She sighed. “That, Mr. Periwinkle, is none of your business at all.”
Deeming the conversation to be over, she circled around him.
She wouldn’t dredge up the past. It left her sad and anxious, and she didn’t want him delving into details about her father or why she and her mother had been on the ship to Jamaica in the first place. Why stir that controversy?
“I’ll write you,” he called to her. “As soon as I’ve conferred with Libby and Caroline, I’ll contact you about the plans for the reunion.”
“I shall be waiting on pins and needles until then,” she called back.
She kept on to her cottage. Once she went inside, she proceeded directly to her workroom, with Libby and Caro front and center in her mind.
They’d had painful lives. She, Joanna, was the only one who’d had a stable existence and a kindly caregiver. With Mr. Periwinkle mentioning them, she was concerned about them again.
She pulled the curtains, then retrieved her cards from their box. She shuffled them, then asked about Libby and Caro, about whether they were about to meet, and it definitely seemed as if they were. It seemed too as if Libby might be about to wed.
“Libby getting married,” Joanna murmured to the quiet room. “What a pretty thought.”
She tucked the cards away and smiled with gladness—and satisfaction too.
Jacob sat with friends at the theater. Miss Libby Carstairs, billed as the famous Mystery Girl of the Caribbean, was performing a monologue, and the audience was riveted on her story. He couldn’t deny that he was riveted too.
It was the twentieth anniversary of her rescue, so people were gossiping about the shipwreck, and his father, Miles, was the main character in any reminiscence. Miss Carstairs had spent the prior decades earning money from the tragedy. She toured the kingdom, and it had made her notorious to the public.
He’d never seen her previously, but evidently, she had dozens of soliloquies and ballads she used to describe what she remembered of the incident. According to his acquaintances, she shared a different tale every evening, so a person could never be certain what narrative would be supplied.
She and her two companions had been the sole survivors, and they’d been dubbed the little Lost Girls. No one could explain why or how they’d survived. They’d been so young when it had happened that it had been hard to glean much information. If their families had pried out subsequent facts, he hadn’t heard about it.
Miss Carstairs was twenty-five and stunningly beautiful, but she was a talented actress too, so it was easy to forget she was an adult. Currently, she was attired in an unadorned white shift, her blond hair tied with a strip of leather, her feet bare, so she looked like an orphaned waif. A single lamp illuminated her.
She was talking about the day Captain Miles Ralston had sailed into the bay to save them. She told the event from the perspective of a child: how large the ship had been, how scary to watch the sailors rowing ashore, how big and gruff Jacob’s father had seemed.
It was a bit like having his father whisper from the grave, and shivers kept racing down his spine. He viewed himself as a very manly man, and he was surprised to find that a theatrical scene could have such an effect on his equilibrium.
He blamed his response on his father, which was an excuse he frequently utilized. He harbored so many conflicting opinions about Miles Ralston. He’d been a brave, brash navy captain, but he’d also had two wives and two families.
Jacob and his half-brother, Caleb, were the same age of thirty, proving Miles had been an immoral dog. Jacob often wondered how his father had dared, how he’d coped with the pressure.
Of course, his wife, Esther, had been in England, and his wife, Pearl, had been in Jamaica, so the distance had helped to hide his mischief. Had Miles possessed nerves of steel? Or had he tossed and turned at night, terrified his bigamy was about to be exposed?
Miles’s rescue of the Lost Girls was his most famous exploit, so for once, Jacob forced himself to ignore his father’s many failings and simply revel in Miss Carstairs’s recitation of the incredible feat.
She waxed on about what a hero Miles Ralston had been, how he’d saved her life. Jacob had considered him a hero too—until Caleb and Blake had knocked on their door. Since then, his memories had been quite a bit darker.
The monologue wound to a close, and Miss Carstairs took her bows. The audience came to its feet, hooting, hollering, and throwing flowers and coins at her. She dashed away from the ruckus, and the play resumed. It was a half-hearted comedy that wasn’t funny, and after it ended, his friends escorted him backstage. They all knew Miss Carstairs and had promised him an introduction.
Every gentleman in the city was hoping to coax her into becoming their mistress, and when he discovered how many dandies had rushed to speak with her, he was embarrassed to be one of them.
He’d missed his chance with her though. By the time he elbowed his way into her dressing room, she’d already departed, and he couldn’t determine if he was relieved or not. For years, he’d pondered tracking her down and havin
g a conversation about his father, but he’d been afraid of what she might confide.
Clearly, she had only a fond recollection, so he’d have to try again in the future, but he wouldn’t lurk backstage. He’d have a clerk investigate her situation, and he’d send her a letter to request an appointment. It’s what he should have done.
His companions were heading off to gamble, and he pleaded fatigue and left them to their merriment. It was an odd decision. In the past, London had never exhausted him. He’d loved the camaraderie and wild escapades, but to his great bewilderment, he was weary and bored.
Earlier in the evening, he’d stopped by Caleb’s gambling club. They’d had a civil chat—the first one they’d ever managed—and Jacob had extended an invitation to his house party in September. He’d conveniently neglected to mention that it was a betrothal party too, and he was struggling to figure out why.
Why hadn’t he been able to confess the truth to Caleb? Had he changed his mind about the engagement to Roxanne?
He stood on the busy street, watching as the theater emptied, as people jumped in their carriages and rolled off to other venues. Everyone was going somewhere except for him, and it dawned on him that he wished he was at Ralston Place.
Actually, he wished he was with Joanna so he could tell her about his discussion with Caleb, as well as his attempt to meet Libby Carstairs. Joanna had quickly wedged herself into his thinking and life, but he shouldn’t have let it happen.
It was so wrong for him to have befriended her. What good could come from it? He was behaving very badly, and he would break her heart in the end. He had no doubt about it. He might even wind up ruining her reputation in the neighborhood.
If word of his infatuation leaked out, no one would believe it had been an innocent romance. She’d be vilified, while he would board his ship and sail away. Yet even knowing all that, even admitting all that, he missed her desperately.
There was no reason to loiter in London. He’d scheduled a week’s visit, but it was merely because he’d assumed he needed to flee the estate for a few days. But he simply wanted to be at Ralston Place instead.
He rippled with astonishment. Imagine that! When he could be with Joanna in the country, why tarry in the city? It made no sense so . . .
Apparently, he was leaving in the morning.
Margaret was sitting in the garden, loafing on a bench. It was a beautiful afternoon, and she hadn’t felt warm since she’d sailed from Alexandria. England’s gloomy grey skies weighed her down. If she wound up with a sunburned nose, it was a tiny price to pay for several minutes of decadence.
One of Sandy’s sons walked by, but he didn’t notice her. He was peeking over his shoulder, as if he was involved in mischief and hoping not to be observed.
“Hello, Tim,” she said. “Or are you Tom?”
At the sound of her voice, he jumped and whipped around. “Oh, Mrs. Howell! I didn’t see you there.”
“I’ve only met you boys once, so I can’t tell you apart. Which one are you?”
“I’m Tom.”
She patted the spot next to her on the bench, and he hesitated, glancing down the path, then he joined her.
“Who are you hiding from?” she asked.
“My brother. I’m supposed to be minding him, but sometimes, I’d rather not.”
“If you’re not watching him, who is?”
“No one, I guess. We have chores, but I told him to finish them on his own. The weather is too nice, so I’m going swimming.”
“You’re a truant.”
“I have to be or I might choke.”
“I’m hiding too,” she said, “and dawdling in the peace and quiet. I lived in Egypt, and it was hot and sunny there. I miss it.”
“Have you seen a pyramid?”
“I saw tons of them.”
“And the Nile river?”
“I had a house that was on the banks of the Nile.”
“You’re so lucky. Pa says it’s not our lot to leave the estate and that we should be happy where we are, but I’d like to travel everywhere.”
“I don’t blame you. Now that I’ve traveled myself, Ralston Place seems very small.”
“Pa wants me to run the stables when I’m an adult, but I can’t imagine it.”
“What would you like to try instead?”
“I’d like to be a pirate or an explorer.”
She chuckled. “I’d encourage you on the idea of being an explorer, but pirates are criminals who usually end up being hanged. It might not be such a good career choice.”
“Probably not.”
His shoulders slumped with dismay, and she said, “What if you enlisted in the navy when you’re a bit older?”
He grinned, a charming, miniature version of Sandy. “I would love that!”
“I think you can sign up when you’re fourteen.”
“Pa says I have to attend school until I’m sixteen.”
“It’s not that many years away, and it will pass quicker than you expect.”
“I’ll likely go mad here, waiting for something to change.”
“I’ll mention your interest in the navy to my brother. He can give you some advice about it.”
“Would you?”
He looked so delighted that she grinned too. “The navy is his favorite topic, and he’ll talk about it until you reach a point where you’ll be begging him to desist.”
He sighed. “My mother thought I should be a sailor. Her brother joined, and he liked it, but Pa claims I should stay at home where I belong.”
“Parents typically pick the right path for their children, but not always.” She was referring to her own mother who’d forced her to marry Mr. Howell. “I can discuss it with your father.”
“Would you, Mrs. Howell? I tell him my plans, but he simply scolds me for being a dreamer. He says I need to come back down to Earth.”
“That definitely sounds like your father.”
They enjoyed a companionable silence, then Margaret couldn’t resist asking, “Do you miss your mother?”
“Every day, ma’am. She was the best person ever.”
“It’s too bad she’s not around to persuade your father.”
“It was easier when she took my side. He can be a stern fellow.”
“I know that about him. He and I have been friends for a very long time.”
“He told us that you were.”
She smiled, liking that Sandy had spoken of her with his sons. It made their furtive affection seem a little less forbidden.
From far off, they heard his brother calling, “Tom! Tom! Where are you? I’m not about to finish this by myself! If you don’t help me, I’ll tell Pa!”
Tom bristled. “There’s Tim. He can be such a tattle.”
Margaret waved him away. “You better go then. You shouldn’t get in trouble because you were loafing with me.”
“Can we chat in the future? I’d like you to describe those pyramids you saw.”
“I would like that. I’ll find you some afternoon when you’re not busy.”
His brother hollered again, and he jumped up and marched off, calling back, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Stop caterwauling or you’re like to wake the dead.”
She watched until he vanished, then she relaxed and pondered the world and her place in it.
She reflected on Sandy and his boys. They were three males who’d lost the female they’d needed to balance them, and it was so unfair that Sandy had been given two sturdy, healthy children, but she hadn’t managed to birth a single one.
Did he realize how fortunate he was? The question answered itself: Of course he realized it. His luck at life left her incredibly jealous.
It seemed as if she’d chosen every wrong road, while he had everything he’d ever wanted. She had nothing really. Not a husband.
Not a home of her own. Not a penny to her name. Not a son or daughter upon whom she could dote. Would she ever have any of those things?
Well, not if she kept moping and never implemented any action to improve her condition. What would it take for her to feel she was moving forward? Where did she hope to end up?
She tarried for hours, debating where she’d like to be in a few years. She refused to stagger around at Ralston Place as Jacob’s unwanted, tedious sister. He’d insisted she was welcome, but she couldn’t bear to be under Roxanne’s thumb and constantly having to remember that she was the poor relative.
That miserable existence wasn’t an option, so what was?
When the afternoon began to wane and she headed inside, she was certain she had it all figured out.
“Hello, Miss Clara.”
Clara glanced up and recognized Miss Ralston who was Captain Ralston’s cousin and fiancée. She had stepped out of the milliner’s shop when Clara was strolling through the village, on her way home from school.
“Hello to you too, Miss Ralston.” She curtsied to her even though she wasn’t certain a curtsy was appropriate.
“Why are you alone?”
“I attend school, but classes are finished for the afternoon.”
“You attend school? Aren’t you lucky? Are you a good student or are your studies boring?”
“I’m a very good student.”
Clara’s cheeks heated. She shouldn’t have offered such a vain comment. Joanna always urged her to be more modest.
Miss Ralston smirked. “You’re not humble, are you?”
“I shouldn’t have bragged. I apologize.”
She wasn’t sorry though. She liked being smart, and she was glad she was. Joanna was very smart, and their Aunt Pru had been smart too. Clara wanted to be like them when she grew up.
Miss Ralston gestured down the block to where her carriage was parked. “I’m heading in your same direction. Shall we walk together?”
“That would be fine.”
They started off, ambling side by side, but it was very awkward. Miss Ralston seemed very stuffy, very posh, and Clara couldn’t think of a single topic that might interest her.
