Grace blinked, unsure how to respond. His clothes and demeanour certainly bore out the impression of wealth, but one could often be deceived by appearances. Perhaps it was a very small share. “But you said you were leaving today. Won’t you be required to stay in Halifax to supervise?” her last small hope she was not to be abandoned disappeared with the shake of his head.
“Not necessary. There isn't much I can do. The company representative will take care of salvage operations.”
“I hope you don't lose your ship - the part that belongs to you at least.” Grace forked scrambled eggs into her mouth, delighting in their creamy taste. “Why did the Albano collide with us? It was as if their captain didn't know we were there.”
“I've no idea. It will take a public enquiry to discern that.” He cut into a thick slab of bacon as large as his hand.
They ate in comfortable silence, exchanging an occasional smile or a request to pass the salt amongst the low murmur of voices from other residents and the click of cutlery.
“Mrs Mackinnon?” His softened tone brought her gaze to his face. “I admit to a degree of curiosity. If the man on the quay wasn’t a customs officer, why were you so determined for him not see you?” At her start of alarm, he added, “Not that it concerns me either way, but a spicy story might lighten my day no end.”
She hesitated, knowing the question was bound to arise at some time. To leave him wondering seemed unfair, but how would he react to the truth? Would he agree with her father-in-law and march her to the nearest authority? Or sympathize and assist her to escape? A half-truth would be unlikely to satisfy him and perhaps she did owe him honesty.
“My guardian made plans for my future to which I objected. So I left. It’s as simple as that.” She stirred milk into her second cup of coffee. “That man you saw at the harbour was his agent, sent to escort me back to England.”
“Does your guardian regard you as a bad influence? Because I have to say I find that hard to believe.”
“Oh, I'm quite beyond help, Mr Jardine.” She smothered a hysterical laugh. “I’ve scandalized that poor man on so many occasions, I really don't know how he put up with me for so long.”
“Now I know you're teasing. Was he too harsh a disciplinarian?”
“Positively medieval.” Not only with her either. As a boy, Frederick had been beaten for minor faults, a cruelty she had been spared.
“Then I'm glad to have rescued you from his clutches. Though I can still not imagine you being wicked.”
“Talking of wicked.” She pointed her knife at the quarter inch thick pancake on the side of her plate. “Pancakes for breakfast?”
He chuckled. “We Canadians have a liking for sweets in our harsh winters. Have you tried the maple syrup?” He pushed a small white jug closer to her plate. “I advise you not to skimp.”
“You eat this with bacon?”
“Of course. Incidentally, aren’t you too advanced in age to have a guardian?”
“He’s no longer my guardian.” She reached for the jug. “I'm simply accustomed to referring to him that way. He's also my father-in-law.”
“Ah, the plot thickens. And is there a rejected husband in the background?”
“No. No husband.” Grace concentrated on pouring a thick stream of amber syrup onto the pancake, taking care none ventured anywhere near the slice of bacon. “He died a few months ago.”
“I’m sorry. Please accept my condolences.” Sympathy darkened his eyes but was gone again in an instant. “You were about to tell me something you did which could be considered as reprehensible.”
“Was I?” She paused to take a bite of pancake, and almost groaned at the soft texture combined with the sweetness of the syrup on her tongue. “Once, I brought a Women’s Suffrage Movement pamphlet into the house which found its way onto the hall table.”
“Found?” His eyes sparkled.
“All right. I put it there. I intended to deny all knowledge of the thing, but when a maid was singled out as the perpetrator, I owned up to save the poor girl’s position.”
“Is that all?” He cut a piece of bacon.
Grace shot him a look, unsure what to think of this man who seemed incapable of shock.
“I suspect you’re deciding whether or not you can trust me.” He peered into her coffee cup and seeing it empty, held up the pot again.
“Something like that.” She held out her cup, regretting the fact everything which crossed her mind always showed instantly on her face.
“Are you still afraid of being discovered?”
“Er no, I don't think so, but I cannot stay here. Nor can I return to England.” She nodded to her plate. “This pancake is truly delicious. It could become a habit.” Though combining syrup and bacon still felt a step too far.
“Even if this agent does find you, is it a problem? Your father-in-law is thousands of miles away, he cannot compel you to return.”
“That’s what Aoife said, but MacKinnon doesn’t like to be thwarted. He might accuse me of some crime, or say I was mentally unstable and had escaped an asylum. Anything to get his way.”
“Goodness. Then we must make sure he doesn’t find you, which will be easier than you imagine in a vast place like Canada.”
“What about this island where you live?” Warmth crept up her spine at his use of the word. “Are there opportunities for widows with some resources there?” Grace mopped up the last drop of syrup with the remaining pancake and popped it into her mouth. Had she really eaten the entire thing including the bacon and sausages?
“Considerable ones I should think. Does Prince Edward Island interest you?”
“It does have a certain attraction, although I know nothing about it.”
Grace wished she had spent more time studying her atlas. “I don’t suppose we can we get there today?”
“Canada is not England. Distances between civilization here are greater and harder to traverse.” He considered for a moment. “However, I feel Charlottetown is as good as anywhere to begin a new life. It has everything. Climate, beautiful countryside, a largely Celtic people.”
“I'm English.”
“Although your name is Scottish. In common with at least a quarter of the Island’s population.”
“My maiden name was Aitken, which is also Scottish. My parents died when I was young, and I know little about my real family.”
“Then you cannot be sure none of them came here sometime in the past.”
“I admit, the thought never occurred to me.” The notion she might find a distant relative seemed remote. “Tell me more about the Island?”
“Let me see,” he stared off for a moment. “We have one city, Charlottetown and one large town, Summerside, with smaller villages like Tignish, Montague and Souris, none of which hold more than a thousand people. Mostly the island is rural, with no part of it more than ten miles from the sea. Our seasons are not as extreme as on the mainland, although we have just come through one of the worst winters for years. The quality of the light is like nowhere else on earth, which as a traveller I can attest to. In fact, if you would allow me to escort you there, you could decide for yourself.”
“You make it sound perfect.” The main attraction being Angus MacKinnon wouldn’t think of looking for her there. “I accept your invitation, Mr Jardine, provided you'll allow me to pay for my own ticket.”
“Agreed. However, you won’t need one.”
“You said yesterday it was two hundred miles away?”
“It is, and as a rule I would take a train north to Pictou, then a ferry across the Strait of Northumberland to Charlottetown.”
“But not today?”
He shook his head. “I have a friend who has been in Halifax for the last week or so on business. His steamboat is scheduled to leave from the harbour later this morning. He and his wife have invited me to join them on the last leg of their journey home. It will take us a little over a day to reach Charlottetown.”
“But your friends haven'
t invited me, so perhaps I should take the train and the ferry instead?”
“Indeed, you could,” he drew out the words slowly as if they gave his pause for thought. “Although I can promise you a far more entertaining trip. You’ll also get to meet one of Charlottetown’s most prominent and amiable citizens.”
“In that case, how could I refuse?”
“I hoped you would say that.”
Chapter 6
Halifax Harbour, Nova Scotia - SS Elizabeth
Chattering pedestrians and gigs loaded with people, all of whom appeared to be on their way to the quay, filled the road around them and, some ten minutes after the cab halted, Grace continued to peer through its window.
On the opposite seat, Jardine sat upright, one ankle crossed over the other, passing the time by reading a newspaper. He apparently felt no compunction to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, but from time to time he looked up from his newspaper and smiled as if acknowledging her presence. “I apologize for the delay, but according to a porter at the hotel, the morbid and the curious have been gathering here since daybreak. Somehow a rumour started that the SS Parisian sank with all lives.”
“It’s not your fault. Does the ferry to Charlottetown go from here?” she asked, suddenly nervous about her unexplained appearance on his friend’s boat. “I’m quite happy to travel on public transport.”
“Are you nervous, Mrs MacKinnon? Because the SS Elizabeth is a most seaworthy vessel and more than large enough to accommodate another passenger.”
“Not nervous exactly, though I fear I shall be an imposition on your friend.”
“I assure you he would be distraught if he discovered I did not invite you aboard and sent you off on a ferry. Ah, here we are at last.”
As he handed her down from the hackney, two squabbling youths dashed past them, almost colliding with Grace. At the last second, Jardine pulled her to one side as the boys ran on, their voices raised in excitement in a bid to get a view of the half-submerged ship.
“Are you all right?” His eyes filled with concern as he steadied her, his arm closing around her waist.
“Yes, thank you.” She pulled reluctantly away from his hold, righting herself. While she waited for him to instruct their driver as to disposition of their luggage, she strolled to where the stern of the Parisian sat lower in the water than the previous day, her hull and masts tilted towards the pier.
“She looks quite sad keeled over like that,” Grace observed when he joined her.
“I don't like to see her like this either.” He frowned and shook his head sadly.
“When I first boarded at Liverpool, I was so excited. I had never been on a steamship before. I remember thinking how noble she looked. Magnificent almost.”
“And she will again.” He turned away as if unable to look anymore and gestured to where a steamboat with a double smokestack nestled against the jetty; a gleaming red funnel and cream painted lifeboat attached to the upper deck.
“The SS Elizabeth.” He nodded towards the boat. “Built in England by Earles Shipyard in Hull. One-hundred-and-sixty-five feet long with a twenty-one foot beam. Isn't she splendid?”
“She certainly is, yes.” Bemused by the fact he imagined such details would mean something to her, Grace smiled. “And your friend owns her, you say?”
A wide promenade deck formed an enclosed passenger shelter forwards with a row of close set rectangular windows. What looked like a saloon was located forwards giving a panoramic view from a wide, curved window.
“He does.” Jardine glanced past her as a steward halted a few feet away. “Good morning Mr Soames, is Mr Cahill on board yet?”
“His carriage has just pulled onto the harbour, Mr Jardine.” He touched his peaked cap. “He'll be here directly, sir.”
“Good timing then. Would you arrange for an extra cabin to be prepared for Mrs Mackinnon, who will be joining us for the trip?”
Grace licked her lips, half expecting a stern look and a refusal, but the steward simply smiled. “Of course, sir. Welcome aboard madam.”
“Uh, thank you.” She released a relieved breath.
A member of the crew approached them from behind a heavily loaded trolley that contained several expensive looking trunks, one of which she recognized as Mr Jardine’s. Strapped to the top were her two bags, looking decidedly battered and forlorn.
Grace swallowed, as a rush of panic flooded through her at the sight of her worldly goods being trundled down the sloping gangplank onto the deck of the SS Elizabeth. “Is something wrong?” Jardine had stepped onto the gangplank but turned back and returned to her side, his eyes softening with concern. “I admit, it’s still unnerving going on board another boat after yesterday, but it isn’t that. The truth is, I don’t know your friends, Mr Jardine. More to the point they don’t know me.” The prospect of climbing aboard another boat filled her with inexplicable dread. And with a man she had known less than a day.
“I’m sorry, I should have considered that it must have been a frightening experience for you.”
“Wasn’t it for you? Or have you almost been shipwrecked before?”
“No, but I do have more experience of being at sea.” His rich, attractive laugh made her insides tighten.
“Why did you help me yesterday, Mr Jardine?” Grace planted her feet firmly, resisting the pull of his arm. “It's been worrying me all night. Gentlemen don't jump in and rescue young women from situations they know nothing about. And please don’t say you needed something to brighten your dreary day.”
“I disagree. Gentlemen do exactly that. Your compassion for the steerage passengers yesterday touched me. You disregarded your own need to get off a sinking ship and went to their aid.”
“That was more Aoife than me. She had friends in steerage.”
“But you did not. What struck me the most, was the terror on your face when you encountered that man sent by your father-in-law. I regarded it as a gentleman’s duty to offer my protection. If I misunderstood, I apologize, but your relief at the time appeared quite genuine.”
“It was. I-” Mortified by her own rudeness, tears pricked the back of Grace’s throat. “You must think I’m stupid and flighty to have run away from home and travelled thousands of miles to a strange country?”
“Why on earth would I think that? I admire your sense of adventure. You may also be surprised to find Canada is not quite as strange as you imagined.”
“I anticipated that. Which is why I read a lot of history books in my father-in-law’s library about Canada.”
“Though not my Island?”
“No, not that. I was surprised to find so many familiar names here, Halifax for one of course. Then there is Richmond, Truro, Dorchester, Yarmouth and even Liverpool.”
“Also Bedford, Weymouth, Windsor, Dartford and Berwick. The Island was originally called Isle Saint Jean, but it was changed to honor Queen Victoria’s father, Prince Edward, who was then commanding British troops in Halifax.” His mouth twitched in response to her surprised stare. “You aren't the only one who likes to read history.”
“Apparently not.” Grace smiled into his eyes, surprised at how comfortable she felt in his company, as if she had known him for years.
“The islanders are friendly,” he went on, “maybe too friendly perhaps, as everyone knows your business, but it’s comforting that you are never truly alone.”
“You obviously love it there.”
“I do. It’s my home and I cannot imagine living anywhere else.”
“I-I apologize for being rude before. It was unworthy of me.” Heat flooded her cheeks, making her feel silly for her sudden bout of panic. “Everything is all quite new to me, I don’t know how to behave.”
“A case of last minute nerves, I suspect.” His voice softened, his smile sympathetic not mocking. “I understand if you wish to change your mind, but then what would you do? If your father-in-law is as determined as you say, his agent will keep looking for you. Evading him in an un
familiar town won't be easy. However, if that's what you prefer, I'm quite-”
“No! That isn't what I want.” Fresh horror rose at the idea of his leaving her. “And I'm sure your friend is everything you said. Please accept my apology and if your offer is still open, I would be delighted to meet him.”
To return to Hampstead under a cloud would be tortuous, but her actions would be put down to her weak character and life would continue as before. The alternative was to step into the unknown, a prospect which terrified her in its enormity, and yet was exhilarating.
“You’ll find John Cahill both charming and generous.” Taking her hand in his, he slid it beneath his arm. “Association with him could only be beneficial. He’s very influential in Charlottetown.”
He nodded to where a hatless man strolled casually along the deck toward them.. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, possessed of the sort of manly good looks which only improve with time. Of a similar height to Jardine, his neatly trimmed moustache and beard was the same color as his full head of silver hair he wore brushed straight back to the base of his collar. His ankle length fur coat with wide lapels flapped open, against his broad chest. His leisurely stride and the jaunty swing of his cane declared him a man content with his world. He reminded her so much of an amiable bear, her fingers itched to stroke the white tipped pelt of his coat as he paused beside them.
“Good morning, John. Have you had a good trip?” Jardine asked as the pair shook hands with the vigour of long-term friends.
The newcomer raised his cane in salute. “I don’t regard the semi-annual assault on my bank account as good, Jardine,” he replied in a laughter tinged baritone voice that matched his bear-like appearance. “However, it had a number of agreeable moments.” His gaze switched to Grace with a look of expectant enquiry. Jardine took his cue. “John Cahill, I would like you to meet Grace MacKinnon.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear.” Cahill shifted his cane to his other hand and grasped hers firmly, regarding her with bright blue, all knowing eyes that held her in a steady stare.
“I’m very pleased to meet you too, Mr Cahill.” She imagined his moustache would have felt soft and pleasant on her skin, and experienced mild disappointment because she wore gloves.
Envy the Wind Page 6
