To Taste The Wine

by Fern Michaels

  Hastily choosing a luncheon of cold sliced meat, bread and butter, and several pickled eggs, Chelsea poured herself a brimming cup of hot coffee and took the meal out on deck, where she could enjoy the sea breezes and avoid Mr. Tanner at the same time.

  “A pity you didn’t awaken earlier,” a woman’s voice said behind her, interrupting her solitude. “You’ve just missed seeing us round out of Portsmouth into the English Channel. You really should make it a practice to rise early; otherwise you’ll not be sleepy at bedtime, and aboard ship everyone turns in early.” This advice came from a portly woman tucked into a heavy velvet cape that covered her from neck to toe. “Forgive me for not introducing myself. I’m Mrs. Porter Crain. I’ve made this voyage several times before, and I surely hope this will be the last. And you’re Mrs. Honoria Harris. Porter calls me a busybody, but I got your name from the purser.”

  The woman’s vigor was overwhelming. She talked knowledgeably and enthusiastically about everything, giving advice for life at sea, instructing Chelsea to walk twenty times around the deck morning and night, and urging her to partake lightly of the galley’s fare before sleeping. “My father was a doctor of unsullied reputation as well as an experienced traveler, and his advice has always been excellent.”

  Chelsea’s ears pricked up at that. “Then perhaps you can tell me a remedy for seasickness?” she asked.

  “There’s little one can do,” Mrs. Crain replied. “A terrible affliction to be sure. You’re not suffering, are you, my dear?” The woman’s eyes flicked over Chelsea’s generously laden plate. “If you are, I would suggest a plain diet and cool tea and not forcing yourself to eat so heartily.”

  “Oh, no, I’m fine. It’s my companion who’s ill. She suffered the night through, and the purser, Mr. Rollins, said he would give me some laudanum for her after I’ve had my lunch.”

  “Good! You looked to me like a young woman of healthy constitution. I’m glad to hear you’re not in any discomfort. Laudanum is fine, given sparingly. At least it will allow the poor woman to regain her strength, somewhat. I fear you’re in for a dreadful voyage if your companion is already ill at this stage of the voyage. Why, we haven’t even hit open sea yet. Perhaps you should see about other accommodations, Mrs. Harris, else you’ll be as enervated as your companion before the voyage is over. There’s an empty first-class cabin next to ours. I should speak to the purser if I were you.”

  Chelsea thought of the additional money a first-class cabin would require. “No, I couldn’t possibly leave her,” she declared firmly. “It would hardly be Christian, considering the circumstances.”

  “Religion has little to do with one’s health, Mrs. Harris.” Mrs. Crain chastised. “You don’t want to arrive in New South Wales depleted of your strength and energy. Australia is a hard country, especially for women.”

  “You’ve lived there, then?”

  “Yes, for more than twenty years. I remember when Sydney was a refuge for the convicts who landed in Botany Bay. Freed men, of course,” she explained. “Those still in penalty were used in work crews, cutting roads and working farms. There’s little I don’t know about Australia, Mrs. Harris, and I speak with the voice of experience. Are you traveling to family?”

  Chelsea was momentarily at a loss for words. Was everyone aboard this ship so blatantly curious? Living in London among strangers, for the most part, had not prepared her for this kind of interested scrutiny. First Quaid Tanner and now the prying and authoritative Mrs. Crain. “In a manner of speaking,” Chelsea said at last, not wanting to reveal more than was necessary.

  Mrs. Crain seemed not to notice her evasive answer. “It’s wise for a young woman to have family or contacts in Australia. It’s not a place for a woman on her own, no indeed. I know you’re traveling with your maid. I hope you plan to keep her in your employ. Labor is so available and so inexpensive in New South Wales, doubtless she’ll find herself on the streets otherwise.”

  The taste of the cold beef turned sour in Chelsea’s mouth, and it was almost impossible to swallow. After sipping some coffee, she managed to say, “Surely you exaggerate, Mrs. Crain. I should think there would be many opportunities for women in a burgeoning new city.”

  “Not unless that woman is firmly attached to a man,” Mrs. Crain declared vehemently, her ash-gray curls bobbing with each shake of her head. “I confess, it’s a situation I deplore, but one that exists nevertheless. It’s far worse than London even when it comes to seeking employment, and almost impossible for a decent woman. It’s the population, you know. Too many hands for the same job. Although perhaps a well-trained English lady’s maid would find an easier time of it. I could understand how those talents might be in demand. However, she would be competing for wages, and believe me, the cheaper bid would win out.”

  Again the food seemed to lodge in Chelsea’s throat. And she had thought making her fortune and bettering herself would be easy in a new colony. A new beginning! Yes, if she was willing to hire herself out as a servant, a blow her pride would never withstand.

  “So, if you’ve any fondness for your maid, you’ll keep her in your employ.”

  “Yes, yes, I intend to do so. You’ll have to excuse me, Mrs. Crain; I must meet Mr. Rollins for the laudanum.”

  “You might try giving her a few drops of peppermint to settle her stomach. And I believe I’ll be seeing you again at dinner. Good day, Mrs. Harris.” And as abruptly as she’d come upon her, Mrs. Crain dismissed her.

  When Chelsea returned to the cabin with the laudanum and specific instructions for its use, she found Honoria still sleeping, finding at last some escape from her misery. Chelsea almost envied her the oblivion; her own recent interview with Mrs. Crain had left her depleted of energy and filled with worry. If what the woman said was true, then Chelsea had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. Lying down on her narrow trundle, she forced herself to close her eyes and clear her mind. What was done was done; there was nothing to do about it now. She was on her way to Australia, and she would find something, some way to make a better life for herself.

  Later, she was awakened by the sound of Honoria retching into the slop pail. She was glad she had closed the curtain surrounding Honoria’s bed. It was bad enough to hear the choking and gagging, worse still to observe at firsthand what the woman was going through.

  When the episode was over, Chelsea softly lifted back the curtain. “You aren’t feeling any better, are you, Honoria? I’ve brought you something to help you rest, but the purser said it shouldn’t be taken on an empty stomach. Would you like me to bring you something from the galley? Tea, a light bread roll?”

  Honoria shook her head, her pale hand going to her damp brow, standing out in stark relief against her greenish complexion. “No, nothing just now. I’m feeling better, really I am,” she reassured Chelsea, but she didn’t sound convincing.

  “Then at least let me put a cool cloth on your head.” She moved to the washstand to drench a cloth and wring it out. It occurred to her that she was acting the part of Honoria’s maid as though in fulfillment of the way she had been registered on the passenger list.

  Leaving Honoria with the cooling cloth, Chelsea picked up the slop pail and left the room. She hadn’t even closed the door to their cabin when she bumped into Quaid Tanner in the companionway.

  “Mrs. Harris, where are you going? Is something wrong? The stewards carry the slop pails; you shouldn’t be doing that.”

  “Yes, I should, the stench is unbearable. My companion is ill.”

  “How kind you are, to care for a servant with such diligence.” That slow, knowing smile was back, irritating Chelsea to distraction. “Even to the degree of emptying her slop pail.”

  “Mr. Tanner,” Chelsea said through clenched teeth, “I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re a busybody, and I don’t like the way you constantly refer to my relationship with my maid. I’d hate to think you’re one of those men who enjoy vexing unprotected women. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must dispose
of this.”

  But much to her annoyance, he followed her up on deck, watching as she hoisted the pail with a single effort. “You did that very well. Almost as if you were quite practiced in housework.” His voice made her clatter the pail against the rail, and she almost lost it into the salty waters of the Channel.

  “Out of necessity one learns to do many things, Mr. Tanner. Now, do you know where I can rinse this, and where I can get a few drops of peppermint? Mrs. Crain tells me it will sweeten the stomach.”

  “Leave it, I’ll see to it. I’ll find you your peppermint and bring them both back to your cabin.”

  “I appreciate it, Mr. Tanner,” Chelsea acquiesced reluctantly. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. I always like to help a lady in distress. I suppose it makes me feel more manly.”

  Chelsea stopped for a moment and looked up into his face. This was really the first opportunity she’d had to get a really good daylight look at this man who seemed to take such pleasure in annoying her. Her initial impression of broad shoulders and powerful chest had been correct, but she hadn’t noticed his flashing dark eyes and strong jaw. Dark hair, almost jet, cut into soft, waving ruffles, blew gently in the sea breezes, falling over his ears and drifting onto his sun-polished brow. But that knowing amusement was there, in the crinkle of his black-lashed eyes and the tilt of his lip, which drew a shallow cleft in his chin. It was as though he knew a secret, a very amusing secret, and Chelsea’s stomach tightened with dread as she imagined it was her secret he knew. In rebuttal to his patronizing attitude, she spoke more sharply than she intended.

  “Mr. Tanner this may surprise you, but I was not in distress, and I care nothing for your opinion of your manhood. I would be grateful for the peppermint; just leave it and the slop pail outside my cabin.” Stiffening her shoulders and lifting her chin regally, she passed by him with an air of distant coolness.

  As Chelsea prepared to dress for dinner that evening, she considered her choice of gowns. In her wardrobe there was really little choice; she’d have to wear the same tan gown trimmed with blue that she’d used to impress Honoria at her apartment. All the others were common street dresses, barely fashionable and shamingly drab compared to Honoria’s wardrobe. Chelsea looked longingly at Honoria’s trousseau gowns. It wasn’t as though her companion would mind; in fact, she’d given her permission. Hungrily her eyes perused the hanging gowns, already choosing a deep wine-colored silk banded with a deeper shade of velvet around the hem and sleeves and delineating the neckline of the bodice. Tiny rhinestone buttons marched from the bodice down to the waistline, and from beneath the open, elbow-length sleeves peeked a close-fitting inner sleeve of écru lavalier lace. The dress would be perfect against her fair skin and deep chestnut hair.

  “Honoria, did you bring any jewelry aboard?” She asked as she held the gown against her body and looked at herself in the mirror.

  “Just … just my mother’s diamond ear studs. They’re pinned to my petticoat. Yes, you take them, Chelsea, for safekeeping.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Chelsea said happily, moving behind the curtain to retrieve the ear studs from Honoria’s petticoat. They would provide just the right touch, complementing the rhinestone buttons on the gown. “Are you certain you don’t want me to bring you some tea and biscuits? You should have something in your stomach, Honoria. You can’t keep retching this way.”

  “No, nothing now,” Honoria replied weakly. The very thought of eating anything made her stomach churn. “I promise you, this is only temporary; in a few days I’ll be myself.”

  Chelsea thought of Mrs. Crain’s warning that the Southern Cross hadn’t even broached open sea yet. “Honoria, perhaps this trip is too much for you. Perhaps we should ask the captain to drop you off before we leave the coast altogether.”

  “No! Oh, no.” Honoria’s eyes widened in horror. “I couldn’t, I simply couldn’t. I must go to Australia. I must, there’s nothing for me here any longer.”

  “Shhh!” Chelsea soothed. “It was just a notion; I was only thinking of your health. Look, I’ll be leaving in a few minutes, and I’ve sent for something that might help you.”

  The small bottle of peppermint was sitting in a cup outside the cabin door just as Quaid Tanner had promised. Chelsea added a few drops to the slop pail near Honoria’s bed, grateful for the way it sweetened the air. Unstoppering the vial of laudanum, she added a few drops to a cup of water. “Here, drink this, Honoria, it will help you rest.” When Honoria’s nose wrinkled at the bitter taste, Chelsea encouraged her to take a few drops of peppermint on her tongue. “Open up, dear, this will hide the taste and help your stomach. Wider, Honoria, you aren’t a bird. There now, you’ll begin to feel better soon.”

  “You’re so kind to me,” Honoria said hoarsely. “I’m sorry to be such trouble.”

  Thirty minutes later, Honoria was asleep again and Chelsea was ready to go up for dinner. The wine-colored silk fit her like a glove; if anything, it was a tiny bit tight in the waist. Her looking glass told her the ear bobs were perfect in her tiny lobes and the tendrils of hair she’d curled with a heated iron wisped against her cheeks. She frowned as she peered into the mirror. Would the damp sea air frizz the curls, making her look like Honoria? Assuming Honoria’s identity for a short while was one thing; looking like her was quite another.

  Guilty feelings washed over Chelsea. How could she be so uncharitable? True, it rankled that Honoria had put her in a subservient position, but even so … Her confused feelings stayed with her as she wended her way down the narrow companionway to the dining room at the ship’s stern. Before entering, she reminded herself that she was Chelsea Myles, actress, and she could carry off any role. Taking a deep breath and holding it for an instant, she opened the door and stepped into the candlelit room, pleased to note that every head turned in her direction as the steward led her to the captain’s table. Resentment and guilt were left behind in the companionway.

  A tall, silver-haired man in a striking blue-and-gold braid uniform rose from the chair when he noticed her approach, as did Mr. Tanner and a stout, pleasant-faced man whom she assumed to be Mr. Porter Crain. “Mrs. Harris, I am Captain Evan Winfield, and I’m delighted to have you at my table,” declared the distinguished-looking officer. “Have you met our other dinner companions? Mr. and Mrs. Porter Crain, Mr. Quaid Tanner.”

  Chelsea smiled in greeting and allowed the captain to hold her chair for her. Gracefully she arranged her skirts and sat down, pleased to have been placed at the captain’s right elbow and somewhat annoyed to find the impertinent Mr. Tanner on her other side.

  The meal was simple fare but expertly served. Obviously Captain Winfield was a stickler for propriety. Several wines were served with the various courses, and Chelsea noticed Quaid Tanner roll the liquid on his tongue, savoring its flavor. So, the man had a weakness for spirits. That would account for his easy familiarity and his lack of manners.

  “You seem to be quite familiar with wines, Mr. Tanner,” she remarked, arching a critical eyebrow.

  “Yes, I am,” he replied easily. “I’ve worked the vineyards in New South Wales since I was a boy.” Then, turning to the captain, “May I compliment you, sir, on your choice of a fine claret. French, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I find the French wines more subtle than the Spanish, do you agree?”

  “I quite agree,” Mrs. Crain interjected. “Although I am prejudiced against the Spanish. Such earthy people, far too emotional for my liking. Don’t you agree, Porter?” She turned to her husband, who appeared far more interested in his plate than in his wife’s opinion.

  “Are you familiar with Australian wines, Captain Winfield?” Tanner was asking. “There’s a port we produce in the Hunter Valley that is remarkably close to the color of Mrs. Harris’s gown. Rich and full-bodied.”

  Chelsea’s eyes flew to Quaid. What had he meant by that remark? The grin he bestowed upon her made her want to tug at the bodice of her gown to cover her white skin and generous boso
m. “Full-bodied” indeed! Who was this man, anyway? No gentleman would admit to working in farm fields; that was left to hired help. Yet here he was sitting at the captain’s table as though he were an honored guest. Suddenly the memory of her own duplicity, the maintenance of which had secured her a seat at the captain’s table, brought a blush to her cheeks. If as much could be said for Quaid Tanner, his first-class cabin and fancy accouterments notwithstanding, then he was a charlatan.

  As if he could read her thoughts, he glanced at her, his dark, impenetrable gaze sending her mixed signals: interest, speculation, knowledge. Finding him impossible to tolerate, Chelsea turned to Mrs. Crain, reassured that one simple question would set the woman off on a dissertation of any subject she chose.

  After dinner, when everyone had left the dining room, Mrs. Crain suggested a sociable game of whist. Although it was a drawing-room pastime of which Chelsea had no knowledge, she realized with a surge of panic that almost every gentlebred lady in England would have played the game at some point. So she demurred politely, turning to Mrs. Crain, “I’m so sorry, it will have to be another time. My companion is really quite ill, and I must get back to her. Captain, do you suppose I might bother your cook for a pot of tea and some biscuits?”

  “I’ll see to it myself and have a steward place it in the cabin,” he offered generously.

  Issuing her good nights to her dinner companions, Chelsea stepped out on deck rather than go below to the stuffy cabin and Honoria’s retching. She was leaning against the rail and looking up at the stars when she heard a movement behind her. Without even turning, she knew who it was.

  “These are not the same stars that shine in the Australian sky. You’ll find that Orion and the Great Dipper are upside down, and there will be some constellations you’ve never seen.”