by Jina Bacarr
‘I’m pleased you’ve agreed to assist me during the crossing,’ said the countess, her eyes glimmering with obvious suspicion as she looked her up and down. Ava expected little respect from this young woman wearing a silk dress the color of a tart persimmon. In all her time as a housemaid, she’d never seen a titled lady treat her maid well.
God help her ladyship if she knew what Ava was thinking. It was shameful, even for the likes of her. She was thinking that the countess wasn’t pretty enough to win the heart of his lordship with her square face and small mouth.
But she had an advantage Ava didn’t have.
She was a lady.
‘Thank you, your ladyship,’ Ava said, lowering her eyes and making a curtsy, though it wasn’t perfect. If she was going to be a lady’s maid to keep herself out of prison, she’d do it proper. She had her pride and right now it was still stinging from the rebuff she’d received from the gentleman the countess addressed as ‘Buck.’
The countess did have a lovely smile, Ava had to admit, but that didn’t do much to warm her heart toward her. She was still the enemy, a rival for the attention of a man so far above her, Ava might as well be asking for a place in heaven next to St Michael himself.
Still, Ava was frustrated, fighting against the turmoil within her roiling about like avenging angels. She was filled with an urge to run and forget this nonsense, but a voice deep in her head warned her not to break the promise she made. If she had nothing else, she had given her word and that counted for something.
She’d promised his lordship she’d behave, and she would.
For now.
‘I shall leave you two ladies alone to have a chat and get better acquainted,’ Captain Lord Blackthorn said, smiling at them, the twinkle in his eye telling her he’d rather stay and watch the sparks fly.
Then off he went. Why did the room have a chill after he’d gone?
Ava lingered by the door for some time before she met the countess’s gaze. She found herself embarrassed, unable to move. This woman don’t want me here. Why? Because his lordship brought me?
The countess continued to glare at her, her clear gray eyes shining like polished glass, yet it wasn’t hate she saw in them, but sadness. She’d seen that look before. On Lady Olivia’s face when her beau had flirted with her. As if, in spite of her grand title and his lordship making nice with her, she was a lonely soul.
Ava began to tremble. Had she been wrong about the woman?
She made a sincere effort to regain her composure when the countess asked her to serve tea from the lovely service on a silver tray brought to her cabin by the stewardess. Porcelain cups and sugar sticks, lemon dainties and small cakes topped with gingerbread spices that made her nose wrinkle.
Or was it the awkward stares from the stewardess that made her uneasy?
Titanic’s whistles gave a long blast, the signal for the tenders and small craft to stand clear. Ava’s heart raced. They’d be dropping the gangways and casting off the lines and the ship would be underway again.
She was so happy about going to America, she began humming an old Irish melody. And in first class, too. She took in the beautiful décor of the stateroom. Carved wooden moldings edged the ceiling and doorway, there was a brass bed with fancy embroidered coverlets and chairs covered with red velvet upholstery.
‘I’m curious,’ said the countess, her upper lip twitching as she put the delicate demitasse cup to her mouth, ‘how did Buck find you on this big ship?’
‘I lost my way when I came on board.’ Ava’s mouth watered, her stomach growling.
‘His lordship rescued you?’ The countess smiled, a warm memory lighting up her eyes.
‘Yes, milady.’
‘I’m not surprised. Buck has a habit of rescuing damsels in distress.’
‘From the look in your eye, your ladyship,’ Ava said, watching everything the countess did with the interest of someone curious as well as envious, ‘I’d say you’re also in distress.’
‘You are an impertinent girl,’ the woman said, though not with anger, surprising Ava.
‘I saw how you looked at Captain Lord Blackthorn…’ Ava stopped. She knew herself well enough to know her outspokenness could get the better of her.
‘Interesting. He never notices, but you did.’ She sighed. ‘I shall put that into a poem.’
‘You write poetry?’ Ava asked, again surprised.
‘Yes, I draw comfort and peace from expressing my view of what I see and hear.’ She put down her cup and pushed it away from her. ‘It allows me to pour out my soul.’
What was she really saying? Ava wondered, this woman who seemed to have everything a girl like her yearned for and had no hope of ever having.
That she was lonely?
The countess lifted her eyes upward as if asking God for help, a move that touched Ava deeply.
‘Recite to me a poem you’ve written,’ Ava asked, interested in what a countess would write about.
‘If you insist.’ The countess cleared her throat. ‘She walks with the grace of a butterfly… her feet ne’er touching the ground… each step as smooth as silk… her skin as polished as porcelain… she is surrounded by a perpetual mist… she is not a woman… but a ghost with wings.’
‘That was beautiful, Countess,’ Ava said, impressed with how the countess held her head and hands in delicate poses as she spoke. Like the ladies in the classic paintings she’d seen at Cameron Bally Manor House. ‘You are the ghost, am I right?’
‘Is it so obvious?’ the countess asked, disturbed.
‘Only to me, your ladyship,’ Ava said honestly. ‘I feel that way too, as if I’m floating through life without experiencing it. That’s why I’m on my way to America, to make a new life for myself.’
‘Then we have something in common, Ava.’
‘We do, your ladyship?’
‘Yes, I’m going to America for a new life as well.’ She stood up and looked out the porthole. Ava couldn’t see the expression on her face, but she could hear the catch in her voice when she said, ‘My fiancé is traveling with me aboard ship. I’m going to be married in New York.’
Ava didn’t hold back her tongue quick enough before she blurted out, ‘To his lordship?’
‘No, not to Buck,’ the countess said, turning, her face lighting up when she spoke his name. ‘Don’t think I haven’t tried. But I don’t have what you have.’
‘Me, your ladyship?’
‘Yes, Ava. You have that certain something that attracts a man even more than a pretty face.’
‘I don’t understand, your ladyship.’
‘Don’t try to understand it, just accept it.’ The countess looked carefully at her, her brows narrowing. ‘Be aware, it can also bring you heartache.’
‘You sound like my mum,’ Ava said, her eyes misting at the memory. ‘She said I was trouble as soon as I could walk when I tipped over the bowl holding the holy water. I spilled it all over myself and the village priest.’
The countess laughed. ‘Oh, Ava, you have a way about you that’s hard for anyone to resist.’
‘It does my heart good to see you laugh, your ladyship,’ Ava said, meaning it. She was beginning to like her, then she caught herself.
Hold back, Ava, my girl. Don’t like her too much.
She still didn’t trust her. True, she wasn’t like Lady Olivia with her snotty airs, but she was one of them. An aristocrat, and in her mind, they couldn’t be trusted. That put her in a dilemma. Did that include his lordship, too? He did keep his word, and for that she might forgive him his noble birth.
She assumed her position as a servant and said in a respectful manner, ‘What dress will you wear to dinner, milady?’
‘I’m dining in my stateroom tonight.’
‘With your fiancé?’ Ava asked, knowing better than to meddle, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘I’m dining alone,’ the countess said, then went on to explain her fiancé was Treyton Brady, a wealthy industrialist and w
hat they called ‘new money’ in America.
Why was she marrying him instead of his lordship? Ava wondered.
‘I’m certain Trey will find suitable female companionship for the evening.’
Ava was taken aback. So he was like most gentlemen of his class. No wonder the countess was in a dither.
‘Why don’t you get rid of him, your ladyship, and find yourself a good man?’ Ava said, forgetting her place and not apologizing for it.
‘If only it were that simple.’ The countess waited for her to refill her cup, and when she didn’t, she set it down. ‘I have obligations that involve things you don’t understand.’
‘What about your wants, your ladyship?’ Ava tapped her fingers on her apron, wondering why the countess didn’t pour herself more tea.
Are you daft, girl?
The Lord save her, she’d already forgotten her duties. Without missing a beat, she refilled the countess’s cup.
‘Don’t you have the right to be happy?’ Ava continued.
‘I gave up that right when I was born a countess.’
Ava shook her head in dismay. ‘I thought being poor was the worst thing that could happen to a girl.’
‘No, Ava,’ the countess said in a clear voice. ‘The worst thing is to be in love with one man and have to marry another.’
Tidying up the cabin, the countess’s words reverberated in her head, telling her this fine lady was in love with a man who didn’t love her.
Captain Lord Blackthorn. Buck.
A happy tingling ran up and down her spine. Ava couldn’t stop thinking about him and that, she realized, was her sin.
And her just knowing him these few hours, why, that kind of interest in a man was unheard of for a lass like her. Upstanding and kind. He wasn’t hard to look at either. Tall with black hair and eyes that radiated even darker against his white silk shirt so impeccably tailored with a perfect collar. Dark suit coat that fit snugly and emphasized his broad shoulders, charcoal flannel trousers.
Even at sea, he had the air of a gentleman at home in a country house. Captivating and magically appealing to her youthful fantasy. Ava paid no mind to the rigid rules of society. She forged ahead with the curiosity of a schoolgirl, believing the fairy tale could come true if she wished hard enough.
Stop your dreaming, girl, he’s not for the likes of you. This Captain Lord Blackthorn has a mysterious way about him that speaks of high living and getting his own way.
A man who lives for the thrill of the chase. Didn’t he track you down and find you hiding in first class?
Have you no shame, Ava O’Reilly?
Counting Hail Marys in her head, Ava admitted she didn’t.
She went about her duties, hanging up the silk dress the countess had worn earlier, noting the ivory lace collar needed repair and a tea stain marked the sleeve. If only she had essence of lemon to remove it. She dared not ask the countess. She was resting in her bedroom and requested not to be disturbed.
Ava arranged her ladyship’s toiletries, noting the countess had packed the necessities, including hairpins, a toothbrush, tooth powder, cold cream, face powder, safety pins, collar buttons and needles and thread.
Even a hot water bag.
She was setting out her ladyship’s dressing gown and hairbrush with a pearl inlayed handle when a knock on the door startled her.
Her heart stopped. Captain Lord Blackthorn?
Ava opened the door, straining to appear composed and matter of fact when in reality she was eager to see him again.
The saints were in a playful mood and instead of his lordship, a beguiling young man dressed in a black dinner jacket, white shirt and tie stood smiling back at her.
The countess’s fiancé, she guessed.
Treyton Brady.
‘What happened to the stewardess I requested to take care of the countess?’ Trey asked, leaning against the doorway. Grinning, he looked her up and down with a traveling eye she found most uncomfortable and which made her mouth go dry. ‘Though I must say you are an improvement.’
An American by his arrogance and his accent.
He folded his arms across his chest, waiting. Ava studied him. Treyton Brady was good-looking in a boyish way, but his smiling eyes looked older than his years. Sad, somehow. As if he shielded his thoughts from anyone who got too close.
He must have sensed her perceptive skills, for he gave her a big wink to put her off.
‘I’m not leaving,’ he continued, ‘until you tell me who you are.’
‘Since you ask,’ Ava said hotly, ‘and I’m in the mood for telling, I’m the countess’s new lady’s maid.’
‘Really?’ Trey said. ‘Who hired you for the position?’
‘Captain Lord Blackthorn, sir.’
He laughed. ‘So Buck’s not the only one slumming.’
‘Sir?’
‘Never mind. I’m here to escort the countess to the dining saloon.’
‘She’s dining in her cabin tonight, sir.’
He breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘Tell her I came by and I’ll look in on her later.’ He started to leave, then turned around and said in a flirty manner, ‘Before I go, what is your name?’
‘Ava, sir.’
‘We’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few days, Ava.’ He paused but Ava remained silent. He was baiting her. ‘Quite a lot.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, gritting her teeth and doing her best to smile at him.
‘By the way, Ava, if you’re free later, I’m in need of a shine on my boots,’ he said, tongue-in-cheek.
‘Is that so, Mr Brady?’ she shot back. ‘Isn’t it a shame I’m too busy tending to her ladyship to shine your boots.’
‘Did you tell that to Captain Lord Blackthorn also?’ he asked smugly.
Her mouth dropped open and she found herself unable to say a word. An unnerving occurrence for Ava. She was always ready with the fancy talk.
Not this time.
Before she could sputter a syllable, Mr Brady was off, whistling a tune. She peeked around the door and watched him walk down the hallway in a jaunty manner. He must have sensed her watching him. He turned around and smiled at her.
Trying to charm her he was. The gall of the man. Polish his boots. What boldness. Acting as if he was an aristocrat and spoiled by nature when she knew he was new money, lacking in pedigree and manners.
Another thought gripped her, setting off a devil of a chill in her that made her shiver. Would he tell her ladyship about her outspokenness?
What’s got into you, girl?
Ava shook her head, knowing there were times to keep her mouth shut.
She grabbed a needle and thread from the countess’s toiletries and began repairing the fragile lace collar on her ladyship’s silk dress with tiny, neat stitches as the good sisters had taught her. A sudden need to do something with her hands filled her, while her mind went off in so many different directions she didn’t know what to think.
Everything had changed with the arrival of Treyton Brady. Did the man have no feelings at all for the countess? A fine lady she was and yet he was acting like that.
A man of his wealth had great responsibilities and social duties, but he seemed more interested in flirting with her. Needing attention and wanting to be liked for himself and not his fortune. Pampered, spoiled, yet lost somehow, as if a great emptiness lay behind his questioning eyes. As if he didn’t know where he belonged.
Like her.
A fine lot they were.
The countess, Captain Lord Blackthorn and Mr Brady.
A ship of lost souls.
Why did she get the feeling her life was now intertwined with theirs? As if she didn’t have enough of her own problems.
She was wise enough to recognize she’d best mind her own business and not meddle with things she didn’t understand.
Like why the countess was marrying Mr Brady.
She couldn’t forget that with one wrong move she’d be back in third class, locked
up like a drunken sailor, and then handed over to the authorities in New York.
Whatever happened, she wasn’t going to serve time for a crime she didn’t commit. This she swore on her sainted mother’s rosary, even if she had to jump overboard and swim to America, as foolish a thought as that may be.
Be careful, Ava, my girl, she could hear her da’s words ringing in her ears. The sea is a cold, unforgiving grave for them she claims.
All this talk of unsinkable and folks in first class acting as if they were sainted martyrs with everything owed to them because they wore lacy French drawers instead of cotton ones.
They weren’t her betters on this ship.
They were all travelers on the Almighty’s ocean, steerage and first class alike, and God help anyone who didn’t know that.
She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had come over her.
9
‘You’re on a lucky streak tonight, Captain Lord Blackthorn,’ said the man sitting across from him, his mood glum.
‘It’s the sea air,’ Buck said, leaning over and gathering up his winnings. His four of a kind had taken the pot. ‘It sets a man’s blood on fire.’
‘I know a lady who achieves that same goal,’ said the man on his left. Mr Guggenheim.
The men around the table laughed.
Except Buck. His mood had changed. All he could think about was the Irish girl.
Ava. A wildcat. Fighting him every step of the way until she realized it was for her own good.
It took all his mental capabilities to keep his mind on the card game. It worked. Over five thousand pounds tonight to line his pockets. He grinned. The girl might turn out to be his lucky charm after all.
‘Speaking of fiery females, sirs,’ added Mr Guggenheim, ‘did you hear about the beautiful thief who sneaked aboard at Queenstown?’
A second gentleman gulped down his highball, then asked, ‘What did she steal? Gold? Jewels?’
‘I heard she poisoned a man when he wouldn’t marry her,’ added the third gent, lighting up a cigar.
‘If she’s as good-looking as they say,’ said Mr Guggenheim, ‘I’ll take my chances.’
