Ruby stared into Victoria’s eyes, her heart beating with the deep-seated desire she felt for her and had kept so carefully buried for months, but suspected others had guessed. It could only be Ruby’s lack of discretion if her suspicions were proven true. There could be no doubt she behaved differently when she was around Victoria compared with anyone else. Slowly, patiently, Ruby had waited for Victoria to notice her and now, she could safely consider them friends. Good friends.
But, by God, she wanted so much more.
‘Ruby?’
‘My mother.’
Victoria’s gaze turned incredulous. ‘Your mother did that to you? Well, I hope you gave as good back. You are a grown woman, Ruby. No one, including your mother, has a right to put their hands on you.’
‘I dealt with it.’
‘Which means what exactly?’
‘It will be awhile before she hits me again.’ She looked past Victoria to the two colleagues working at sewing machines on the other side of the room. She lowered her voice. ‘My mother is a drunk, Victoria. A vicious, bitter woman who prefers the company of strange men to the company of her children.’
Victoria’s jaw tightened. ‘Then you must move out.’
Ruby laughed and uncrossed her arms, turning to the dresses on the rack behind her. ‘Of course I should. I have no idea why I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Ruby…’ Victoria’s hand curled around Ruby’s arm, forcing her to turn. ‘I’m serious.’
Tears burned behind Ruby’s eyes, her skin sensitive under Victoria’s fingers. ‘So am I. I can’t leave. At least not yet. How can I keep Tommy safe without sufficient money? For the time being, I’m stuck. Stuck under Ma’s roof for God’s knows how long, but it won’t be forever. I can promise you that.’
‘No, Ruby, it won’t be long and I’ll tell you why.’ Determination shone in Victoria’s gaze. ‘Because you and your brother are coming to live with me.’
Twenty
Amelia closed her notebook and sat back in the desk chair inside her cabin.
It was her fifth day at sea and ideas for potential new merchandise and window displays for Pennington’s were beginning to stack up. She couldn’t wait to get to New York and discover more. Bumping into Harriet Culford had been a godsend, giving Amelia the opportunity to learn more about the upper-class way of life.
Speaking with moneyed people, spending social time with them, had provided a deeper insight into their wants and wishes. It had also helped that Miss Culford was incredibly fond of talking about herself and her possessions.
Amelia smiled as she walked to her bed and picked up her purse. Now, she and Mr Weir would be joining Harriet and some friends for lunch.
There was a rap on her door, and she hurried to answer it. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Weir.’
‘Good afternoon. Are you ready for our lunch date?’ He inspected her dress. ‘You look most presentable.’
Hardly an overwhelming compliment, but after the unwanted attention she’d received thus far, Mr Weir’s words were sufficient. ‘Thank you. Shall we go?’
He stepped back and Amelia pulled her cabin door closed.
Mr Weir cleared his throat as they walked. ‘I still don’t quite understand how you came to be speaking to Miss Culford when she is in first class and we are in second, but she must have enjoyed your company the other evening to invite us to lunch.’
‘We got on very well,’ Amelia said, scrambling to avoid an explanation of how she came to meet Harriet. ‘Although, she couldn’t be more different than Cornelia. In fact, it’s barely comprehensible they are sisters when Cornelia is so humble and keen to help others. I’m not sure I can say the same of Harriet. At least, not yet.’
‘Did she mention her sister’s upcoming wedding during your conversations? I believe Cornelia and Mr Gower are to be married in the summer.’
Amelia frowned. ‘No, she didn’t mention it at all. Which seems strange now I think of it. No matter. I’m thrilled that Cornelia and Stephen have fallen so deeply in love. I’m sure their wedding will be beautiful.’
‘Hmm.’
Amelia smiled at Mr Weir’s clear dismissal of further wedding conversation. Stephen Gower had come to work at Pennington’s the previous Christmas and it soon became public knowledge that he had once worked for Scotland Yard. Together with Cornelia Culford, Stephen had managed to track the killer of Mr Carter’s first wife. A haunting event that had tormented him for years.
Even though such heinous events had initially prevented Cornelia and Stephen from a path of easy romance, they had prevailed. It gave Amelia hope that maybe all was not lost for her to one day find love, too.
They ascended onto D-deck and into the enormous first-class dining saloon.
Intimidation threatened as Amelia stared about the space, fighting to calm her instinct to stare at everything and everyone.
The white-painted walls and leaded glass windows gave the feeling that they were not at sea at all but in a fancy restaurant in the middle of Bath. Decorative pilasters interspersed the windows and fluted urns stood in spaces throughout the room adding a regal atmosphere, perfect against the myriad of expensive clothes, hats, feathers and pearls. Expensive perfume and hair cream scented the air as Amelia passed the tables, smells of richly flavoured foods merging to tease her nostrils.
‘Do you see Miss Culford?’ Mr Weir peered left and right over the diners. ‘I’m not sure I’d recognise her.’
Amelia surveyed the room and spotted Harriet seated around a table with four other people. Three additional chairs stood empty. Nerves clenched her stomach. She had not expected to dine with anyone else other than Harriet and her travelling companion, Susannah Varson. What if she couldn’t keep up with the group conversation? Or someone asked her questions she wouldn’t welcome being put to her in front of Mr Weir?
Harriet was beautifully dressed in a pale pink tea dress, her dark brown hair curled and pinned so that soft tendrils fell at her temples. Although a little on the slender side, she was no less beautiful than Cornelia.
Amelia smoothed her hand over the side of her dress, grateful once again for Elizabeth’s generosity.
Whatever happened during luncheon, she was convinced Harriet would do her utmost to maintain a purposeful distance between them that would never occur to Cornelia to enforce. Well, that was fine. She was here to work, not make friends. Fingers crossed, that distance would also steer conversation clear of anything personal.
She straightened her shoulders. ‘There she is. Just over there near the window.’
Mr Weir followed her gaze. ‘Ah, yes. I assumed it would just be Miss Culford and her friend joining us, but I see our company has multiplied.’ He glanced at Amelia, interest and more than a little pleasure lighting his brown eyes. ‘This luncheon will undoubtedly expand on all you learned during your previous time in Miss Culford’s company. Let us use this opportunity to our advantage, Miss Wakefield.’
Until now, Mr Weir had shown little enthusiasm for their information-gathering, behaving as though being aboard the grandest ship in the world was of little consequence. However, his eagerness for this lunch was palpable and Amelia had no doubt rubbing shoulders with the elite had altered his mindset. She bit back her smile. The more time she spent with Mr Weir, the more she liked him.
They reached Harriet’s table and Amelia smiled. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Culford. Miss Varson.’
‘Oh, Amelia.’ Harriet immediately stood and extended her hand. ‘Everyone, this is Miss Amelia Wakefield and Mr Weir, isn’t it?’
Mr Weir dipped his head. ‘It is.’
‘Please join us.’ She looked around the table, her pretty blue eyes bright with happiness. ‘Miss Wakefield and Mr Weir work alongside my sister and sister-in-law at Pennington’s department store in Bath. It is such a coincidence to have them aboard. Miss Wakefield found herself in first class quite by accident when we met. Did you not, Miss Wakefield?’
Amelia opened her mouth to respond with an excuse, but Harriet had re
sumed her chatter.
‘Take a seat, Miss Wakefield, Mr Weir, and I’ll introduce everyone.’
Amelia sat and smiled at their dinner companions.
‘You’ve met Miss Varson and this is Mr Benjamin Edwards. A profoundly astute and successful New York banker of the almost unforgivably modest character.’ Harriet giggled, her eyes alight with blatant flirtation. ‘And lastly, might I introduce the newly married David and Sophie Parker who are on their honeymoon?’ Harriet’s eyes visibly dimmed at she stared at the pair. ‘It may come as a bit of shock for you both to meet Mr Parker under such romantic circumstances… considering he was previously married to my sister.’
The atmosphere turned icy and Amelia’s cheeks heated even as she tried her best to offer Mr and Mrs Parker a smile. She had recognised David Parker the moment she’d been seated, having seen the man enraged and behaving in an unnervingly threatening manner towards Cornelia on the courthouse steps after their divorce hearing.
He was certainly a man to be wary of.
She quickly looked to Harriet before the part of her that no longer wanted to be seated at the table outweighed her determination to glean some New York shopping insight. It was highly probable most people present had visited America before this voyage. ‘It was very kind of you to invite myself and Mr Weir to lunch, Miss Culford.’
‘Not at all, and Harriet, please. We are all friends here. Whether first class or second.’
Amelia stared at Harriet’s turned cheek. If the woman had spoken sincerely, then Amelia was a millionaire. She could only surmise that Harriet’s act of extending her hand across the class divide was a device to make herself appear tolerant and more forward-thinking in Mr Edward’s eyes. It was obvious she had set her sights on the wealthy American banker.
Waiters approached the table carrying the first courses as others came forward to fill their water glasses.
Amelia glanced at Mr Weir and he raised his eyebrows, his eyes kind.
She smiled and relaxed her shoulders. If Mr Weir was happy to play a part in this undeniable charade, so was she. What did it matter if she failed to impress or inspire these people? They would be of use to her, not the other way around.
She turned to Susannah Varson. ‘So, tell me, Miss Varson, where did you purchase your wonderful hat? Do you hope to find something new and exciting to take home from America?’
‘I do. I bought this hat at Selfridges in London. Have you been?’ The young woman beamed, pride showing in her pink cheeks. ‘Papa is so generous with my allowance whenever I take a trip to the capital.’
And so the conversation began, and Amelia avidly listened, ears pricked for any and all information. Throughout the meal, she asked questions of Mr Edwards, his descriptions and knowledge of New York further fuelling her impatience to arrive. America seemed such an exciting place where societal and political changes took place at a much more rapid pace than they did in England.
Anticipation and expectation rose inside her.
Just a few more days and they would sail into New York harbour and then her adventure would truly begin.
Twenty-One
As dessert was being finished in the second-class dining room, Samuel made a sharp exit, his cheeks aching from his continual and enforced smiling. The brief, duty-bound conversations he’d shared with twenty or thirty passengers throughout lunch had been nice enough, but claustrophobia throughout his ‘entertainment’ shifts was beginning to grow.
He entered the corridor, intent on taking some air.
The guests’ chatter had often turned to the weather and how the temperatures were dropping at an unexpected rate. This evening, people proclaimed to smell ice or snow in the air. Coincidentally, the captain had voiced the possibility of icebergs, or even the emergence of an ice-field, as they sailed farther across the great ocean. Yet, no undue alarm had been raised and Samuel had reassured a few overly cautious passengers as best he could.
Whether freezing cold or not, he welcomed the chill if it meant ridding himself of the stuffiness in the dining room. For all the guests’ amiable conversation, their haughty gazes and upturned chins were indication enough of their assumed superiority over him and the other staff.
He strolled along C-deck to the promenade and spotted Amelia Wakefield talking with Mr Weir as they walked in Samuel’s direction. He hadn’t seen her since he’d knocked on her cabin door, the night before.
She looked animated as she spoke with Weir, his mouth curved into a smile that took Samuel by surprise. Maybe the man wasn’t quite as grave as he’d first appeared.
Instead of addressing them, Samuel feigned interest in the view through one of the promenade’s large glass windows. Did he speak with Amelia as he wanted? Or leave her alone to talk with Weir? Clearly, she was enjoying their conversation.
He regretfully chose the latter, albeit entirely convinced by forgoing the chance to speak to her, he was doing the decent thing for both of them. He liked her more than he should, but the apprehension in her eyes after her threatening encounter last night made it clear she was understandably averse to male attention.
And he would respect her wishes completely.
Whenever he thought of her being molested, his blood boiled. The last thing he wanted was to give Amelia further reason to distance herself from him.
‘Officer Murphy? How are you?’
Her sweet voice carried across the promenade and straight into Samuel’s chest. God damn it, he was caught like a fish on a hook. Plastering on a smile, he faced her and Weir, a pang of jealousy assaulting him to see Amelia’s hand curved so easily around the older man’s arm.
Samuel dipped his head. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Wakefield. Mr Weir.’
Her dark eyes grazed over his face, a teasing smile playing at her lips. She looked exceedingly happy and a yearning to know why wound tight in his gut.
‘I didn’t see you at lunch,’ Samuel said, as he shook hands with Mr Weir. ‘Did you enjoy your meal?’
‘That’s because we didn’t eat in the second-class dining room.’ Amelia smiled sheepishly. ‘I managed to get an invitation to take lunch in first class.’
Samuel grinned, taking an infinite amount of pleasure in her satisfaction. ‘I see.’
‘Didn’t I tell you I wanted to see how everyone on the ship behaves?’ Her brown eyes shone with happiness. ‘Learn of their dreams and wishes once they reach America?’
‘You did.’ He winked at her and two spots of colour leapt into her cheeks before she glanced down at her feet.
Weir’s smile vanished as he assessed Samuel through narrowed eyes.
Samuel held his gaze, heedless of the disgruntled way Weir now studied him. Why shouldn’t he engage in conversation – a little flirtation – with a beautiful woman? This was an adventure, a surreal moment in time. Not just for him, but for so many on this ship. He guessed the same could be said for the two people standing in front of him… despite Weir’s loftiness.
Samuel raised his eyebrows. ‘And you, sir. Did you enjoy your lunch?’
‘I did, Officer Murphy. The first-class food is excellent, of course, but I have to admit no more impressive than what we’ve been served in second class. White Star has most certainly assured a luxurious journey for all.’
Was the man serious? Did he think only the comfortably or exceedingly well off were on this ship?
‘Well, for some passengers, anyway.’ Samuel glanced away, irked that Weir wouldn’t consider the journey of third-class passengers, or worse, the poor sods packed into steerage. ‘I wouldn’t say everyone aboard is having the grandest of times.’
‘You mean the third-class passengers?’ Amelia studied him, her gaze sombre with interest. ‘Are the conditions really that much worse?’
‘It’s hard to say if they are better or worse than the people travelling down there are used to, but the cabins and facilities are definitely more crowded and confined than second and third class.’
She frowned and faced Weir. ‘Maybe
I should venture to the lower decks, too.’
‘I hardly think the lower decks are a suitable place for you to be venturing, Miss Wakefield.’
‘But didn’t I say I want to see everything? Miss Pennington did not send us on this trip to only view the wealthy. Pennington’s welcomes everyone. She will expect me to know as much about the dreams of those passengers who couldn’t afford the higher-class tickets as she will of the wealthy. If you have no wish to accompany me, then maybe…’ She looked to Samuel, her dark eyes pleading with him. ‘Officer Murphy wouldn’t mind?’
Weir flinched. ‘Miss Wakefield, Miss Pennington asked that I ensure your safety. You have wandered off before for such a time that I had to enlist Officer Murphy’s help in finding you. No, I think it best we keep to the second- and first-class areas.’
Amelia’s gaze turned steely as she glared at Weir’s turned cheek and Samuel looked away, his admiration for her mounting. She really was quite a woman, and his wish to know her, spend time with her, deepened.
‘Mr Weir, I am determined to see the whole of this ship, with or without you,’ she said firmly. ‘Now, you either grant me consent to do just that, or I will have no choice but to ask Officer Murphy for his help in sending a wire to Miss Pennington asking for her permission to carry out my investigations in any way I see fit.’
‘Miss Wakefield, I will not stand here and allow you to speak to me—’
‘The only other alternative is that you trust Officer Murphy to ensure I come to no undue harm.’
A vein rose in Weir’s temple as he looked at them both, before facing Amelia. ‘Miss Wakefield—’
‘Do we bother Miss Pennington with this or not? That is the only thing up for dispute.’ She snapped her gaze to Samuel. ‘Will you ensure my safety this afternoon, Officer Murphy? Be so kind as to escort me back to my cabin once I have seen everything I wish to see?’
Samuel fought to contain a sombre expression. ‘Of course.’
She turned to Weir, one eyebrow raised.
Weir looked as though he might burst a blood vessel but, slowly, he stepped back. ‘As you wish. Officer Murphy, I expect you to knock on my cabin and let me know when Miss Wakefield is safely returned. Do you understand?’
A Shop Girl at Sea Page 10
