Quest of Honor
Page 18
He sighed, realizing that any hope he previously had of sleep was now surely gone. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was her face as it had been for those few seconds, innocent in its openness before closing itself off.
5
Victoria spent the next day exploring the ship. She had dressed in another simple gown, this one a pale blue with a high necked, tight bodice and sleeves, and a narrow skirt adored with simple pleats. She typically avoided pastels, but now she realized it was actually quite pretty. When the fabric swished around her ankles, she was reminded of the day sky stretching above her head towards the new world. As she prepared for breakfast she told herself she was taking the extra care because she had additional time, not because she was wanted to look her best for anyone on the ship. Certainly not the handsome, ornery man from the night before.
She kept an eye out for him through the day, but he was nowhere to be found. This time, she planned her words out in advance. She wasn’t quite so angry as she had been at the time, but she meant to tell him in the most crisp, polite way possible her thoughts on his assumptions. That anyone would think her an elitist made her cringe.
Breakfast in the morning had been a small affair. Victoria sat, smiling, as Martha rambled on. Between breakfast and dinner Victoria had done a self-guided tour of the upper decks of the ship. Martha had accompanied her for a time, strolling along the rail, before her face began turning a bit green.
“Martha?” Victoria asked, as Martha had dispensed with any formalities from almost the moment they met. “Are you quite all right?”
“I am not so sure,” Martha replied. “Perhaps if I just sat down…” Before she could finish her sentence, Martha threw the ample top half of her body over the rail, losing the breakfast she had just consumed.
“Perhaps you should lie down,” Victoria suggested as she gave her a few pats on the back in an attempt at soothing her. “You may have a touch of seasickness.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Martha. “But I mustn’t leave you unaccompanied…”
As she wobbled Victoria consoled her. “It will be fine, Martha. I shall stay within the public rooms or my own cabin. I’ll not wander far.”
Once Victoria had Martha settled in her room, she continued her search of the ship, telling herself that her objective was exploration and nothing more. She met Harry for dinner and they were seated at a round table of eight with a family of four and a young couple, the woman heavy with child. The dining room, adorned with portraits of British royalty and magnificent paintings, was filled with Englishmen and women from cities and towns throughout the country. Everyone Victoria met seemed to have a title, or a relation with a title, of which they expected her to be impressed.
She had heard of a few through the odd social event she had attended in London, but she tried to avoid those at all costs. Partially because dancing was not exactly what she would call a strength of hers. She loved it immensely, but most of her dancing was in the privacy of her own rooms as she had more enthusiasm than she did grace. In fact, she lacked most of the ladylike decorum expected of her. It was most likely due to the fact that her mother kept her distance and the governesses came and went so frequently that they didn’t put much effort into teaching her the ways of society. She was fortunate she got an education at all — most of it was self-taught.
Harry barely touched his food at dinner and began to look a little queasy himself. Ironically, it was now Victoria taking care of the Gambles. She accompanied Harry to his room to join Martha, then, giving up on her search for the Scotsman, retreated to the ship’s small library to finish off her novel in silence.
It was comfortable here, with the oak bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling, filled with volumes of mismatched shapes and sizes. She chose a plush sofa in the corner, and sunk into it, crossing one leg over the other. She tossed her bonnet beside her and soon lost herself in 16th century England.
She was turning the last few pages when she felt a presence hovering over her. She looked up to see a young Englishman. He looked to be in his early thirties, well-dressed with dark hair that shone near black with the oil holding it in place. Victoria hid her smile at his moustache, which looked as if it had been painted on.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, grabbing her hand with a slight bow. “William McKenzie. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Victoria Brighton,” she said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice when she had been quite eager to finish the novel. “How do you do?”
“Very well. I saw you in the dining room this afternoon and I said to myself, ‘William, you must meet that beautiful young woman.’ And here we are.”
“Here we are,” she replied. “And lovely to have met you.”
She turned her head down to the book — honestly, did he not see how close she was to finishing? She hoped he would take the hint.
He did not.
He sat down next to her, and began chattering away. He rambled on about himself — his background, his family connections. He had fought in South Africa and from the way he told it, was responsible for saving the entire British army. Splendid. She tried to listen to him talk, she really did, as he seemed the decent sort, but he was so boastful that he bored her. He babbled on and on, as her eyes glazed over and her mind wandered.
Suddenly movement at the door captured her attention. There he was, the man she tried so hard to find. He looked in and caught her eye, then took in the scene. As she read earlier, she had curled her legs up underneath under herself, and had her elbow resting on a cushion. Her position of comfort had been taken up long before this William McKenzie arrived, but she now realized how it must look, as William had pulled up a chair close to hers and was talking so animatedly. Shockingly, he didn’t even notice the man in the door. How one could miss a presence like this Scot, Victoria was unsure.
Victoria’s cheeks turned red, and as she swung her legs down and started to rise, the man turned and walked away.
“Is everything all right?” William asked.
“Yes, it’s fine, but I…I must go.”
Leaving her book and bonnet behind, she took off down the hall, chasing after the broad-shouldered man.
“Excuse me! Sir!”
His shoulders stiffened and he turned.
“Aye?”
“I must speak with you.”
“I didn't realize we had anything to discuss, as you made clear last night.”
“You misunderstood. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with you — that is, standing with you,” she shook her head, clearing the cobwebs. “It’s simply, I felt that, holding each other so closely when we don’t actually even know one another was slightly…inappropriate? Not proper? I am unsure of what I’m trying to say, however I did not want you to think…”
“I do not think anything, milady. It does not matter. Did you say anything of the incident to your gentleman friend?”
“My friend? Oh, him? I do not actually know him, he just sat down. And I’m actually not a lady. That is, to say, I’m a lady, but not a real Lady. A titled lady. You do understand me, do you not?”
She paused to take a breath. This was not going as she had planned but she forged on anyway.
“What I wanted to say to you was that I thought you were very rude last night. You know nothing at all about me, yet you assumed…”
“I assumed you would not want to be found in a passionate embrace with a steerage passenger in the middle of the night on an empty deck. Was I wrong?”
“Yes! Well no, you weren’t wrong. But it was not… you’re in steerage? You do not look like you’re in steerage.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And what, may I ask, is a steerage passenger supposed to look like?”
“Well, no, that is not quite what I meant, however from your clothing, you look… I mean I would assume…”
“That I’m better that steerage?”
“No, I just mean…ack!”
Callum watched Victoria stalk down the hall. Her shoulders were set back, her hands clenched in little fists. He never set out to make a woman angry, but this one turned into fire when she was mad. The blush rose in her cheeks and her eyes sparked at him.
The way her anger flustered her made him smile. She had good intentions of staying angry but she seemed the type who would much prefer to remain joyful and at peace.
He actually had sought her out to apologize for their run-in the night before. He normally wouldn’t come so near to taking liberties with any woman, let alone an Englishwoman. There was something about her though, that magnetized him. When he had seen her with the dandy Englishman, jealousy had flared inside his chest and he had to leave before he did anything he would later regret.
When he reached steerage below, children were playing a game of knucklebones at the bottom of the steps. One of the older boys was arguing with one of the smaller lads.
“You did not pick up the seventh one!”
“I did too! Right before the ball hit!”
“You did not!”
“Lads!” Callum interrupted. “Now whatever is the matter? One at a time. You first.” He pointed to the small boy.
They each gave their argument and eventually he told them to replay the hand and he would be the judge. Sure enough, the boy picked up his knuckles in time, and so the game continued.
The children had an abundance of energy from spending their days in the cramped quarters. Callum laughed with them, and soon had them occupied in a variety of games he had learned back in Scotland. He even snuck them up on deck for some fresh air. Their mothers were more than pleased to find them sufficiently tired for the afternoon.
Re-energized, Callum went to find Jack to see if the big man wanted to play a card game of their own.
Determined to put Callum out of her mind, Victoria spent the next day continuing her exploration of the ship, while intermittently checking on the Gambles. They were both still shut in their cabin, violently affected with seasickness. Martha was bemoaning the fact that Sarah had put so much trust in her, and here she was, allowing Victoria to travel the ship alone. However it seemed that many of the passengers were in a similar condition, ailing from the rocking ship, as the dining room was sparsely populated that afternoon. The ocean swells were larger than usual, according to the sailors.
Dinner was beef and potatoes. Victoria was sitting with Lady Smithson on her left and Mr. McKenzie, who had made himself comfortable to her right. She had met Lady Smithson the previous day with the Gambles, and despite her best efforts could not shake the determined Mr. McKenzie, who seemed to appear everywhere Victoria turned. He was pompous, but harmless. Many of the rounded tables of eight were empty, and the chandeliers, while glamorous, looked out of place amongst the eclectic group that made up the ship’s first class travellers.
Victoria didn’t much care for the conversation at her table. It was the typical gossip of British society, with each dinner companion trying to outdo the other in terms of who they knew and how well they knew them and where they fell on the social ladder. She pushed her food around her plate. She’d had more breakfast than usual and wasn’t very hungry. Or perhaps the conversation was making her lose her appetite.
Lady Smithson was dressed quite elegantly. She may have been seventy years old, but she certainly kept up with the latest fashions. She sat near the edge of her chair, her skirt and bodice swelling with pleats and braids. Victoria was captivated by the feather on her hat, which bobbed every time she opened her mouth to eat or speak, which happened quite frequently as a matter of fact. It looked like it was ready to take off into flight. Lady Smithson certainly had her opinions, and felt her husband, the late Duke of Atwater, was currently sitting next to God Himself. Unfortunately they had not been blessed with any children, and she could not bear to watch her estate fall into the hands of a remote cousin. She was going to visit her sister in Boston, with the thought that perhaps she would move to the Americas permanently. Victoria had her doubts that Lady Smithson would fit well with the Americans but one never knew.
Lady Smithson and Mr. McKenzie trying to outdo one another in terms of their societal connections. Mr. McKenzie was joining his brother in his prospering banking business. He began talking interest and percentages as Victoria’s attention wandered. She hid her musings with a smile and nod she had perfected while her mind was otherwise occupied. She was suddenly startled by a commotion near the front of the room that caught everyone’s attention.
The door to the dining hall slammed open. A big, unruly man stood at the entrance. His dark hair, speckled with gray, stood out in strange angles from the side of his head, as if he had just woken up after sleeping on only one side. His pants, too tight at the waist, were ill fitting all the way down, as they sagged in strange places. His vest was an attempt at appropriateness, but it was unfortunately just one button off. Quite obviously drunk, he stumbled into the room as a couple of giggling children followed him through, ducking under his arm and into the dining hall.
“So, this is where they’ve been hiding all the food,” he slurred. “With the upper class. Must be nice. Care to share? I could use a little extra to fill me stomach.”
He grabbed a piece of beef from the sideboard and held onto it with his teeth as he began stuffing buns and a variety of food from the buffet into his pockets. Most of the first class passengers looked on, horrified, as the ship’s staff tried desperately but in vain to remove him from the hall. Victoria was captivated by the performance, but was distracted when she felt a hand on her knee. She looked down into wide, deep brown eyes set into the chubby cheeks of the little boy.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said, “are you going to eat that?”
He was adorable, about four years old, covered in the dirt that comes from poking into places one might only find in a game of hide-and-seek. Victoria picked the bun off her plate and handed it to him.
“Here,” she said with a smile at his politeness in the strange circumstances. “Keep it to yourself.”
She looked up to see Lady Smithson’s eyes wide in disapproval. Lady Smithson sniffed and scoffed, “Well, I never. This is most unseemly.”
The head steward was pleading feverishly with the big man to leave the dining hall, but the disheveled passenger carried on as if he had not heard a word.
Just then another figure filled the doorway. Victoria took a quick intake of breath. It was him again. Of course.
He had his jacket on today, which fitted tight and narrow from his broad shoulders to his slim hips. His pants stretched over the muscular thighs that filled them. She wasn’t sure if she preferred him in dark close quarters or in the faraway light. Either way, she was frozen in place as she stared.
He surveyed the room, his eyes landing and lingering on her. He registered Mr. McKenzie again at her side, the sideboard of food, her full plate in front of her, and the astonished looks of the first class passengers. He raised his eyebrows at her, then walked over to the big man.
“Jack,” he said, “time to go.”
“Young man,” said Lady Smithson, “we have paid a great deal for this space, where we do not have to endure such disruptions. You understand that, do you not? Please stay in your quarters and keep your friend with you.”
“Aye, milady,” Callum answered, with an exaggerated bow, inwardly cursing the propriety of the upper class English, who seemed to formulate the total of the first class dining room. It was a type of segregation in itself. And of course she — the girl haunting his thoughts — was here to witness this as one of them.
“Come on, Jack.”
Callum hauled Jack, his pockets and his mouth satisfactorily filled, out of the room, their boots echoing on the floorboards and resounding through the dining hall, now silent but for the slight drone of the powerful engines far below.
6
Victoria could feel her cheeks burning from the brief encounter. Everything about the man lit a fire in her. His eyes, which seemed to look right into her soul, were framed by chiseled cheekbones, and his prominent nose fit his face just perfectly. He was handsome, yet he had a soft look to him, as if he laughed easily and often. Although certainly not around her. He didn’t seem to be intimidated by much. She didn’t know why he was with the drunken man, but she wanted to know more. As the conversation began to buzz around her, she was once again lost in her thoughts, but this time didn’t bother to put up a front. Soon she was simply ignored by her table companions.
When appropriate to do so, she excused herself from the dining room and took to the deck. The afternoon brought sunshine, and she spent much of it leaning at the rail, overlooking the large expanse of blue sea. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to see stretches of ocean with no land in sight. She tried not to think of the worst that could happen but focused on the best, smooth sailing to a land of freedom from all that had held her down. Sarah had told her of the town. Fort Qu'Appelle, it was called. Funny name for a town, but Sarah had explained it was based on a legend from the Cree people of the nearby lakes. While land-locked, the town just beyond the end of the train line was surrounded by lakes, which were bordered by greenery the likes of which Sarah said she had never seen before. The town itself was small, but growing. It was a hub for fur traders, and provided nearly every service one could need.