The Captain's Daughter

by Jennifer Delamere

  “I’m just about to leave, actually.” This was basically true, but for some reason Nate didn’t want to admit he’d been waiting for her. “Where are you going? Can I escort you there?”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “The thing is . . .” She paused, and the blush already tinging her cheeks grew deeper. “I’d like to go to that charity house, if you think they’ll have me.”

  Nate stared at her in surprise. “You mean you haven’t been there yet?”

  “No. I never heard the information you called out to me at the station. I didn’t know what to do, or where to go. They stole everything from me.”

  She spoke simply, but a constriction in her voice and a flash of pain in her eyes signaled a deeper horror behind her matter-of-fact description. It brought back all the emotions he’d felt after the events at the station—his guilt only barely lessened by the evidence that no real harm had come to her.

  “I was still wandering the streets when, through a miracle, I was offered a chance to work here,” Rosalyn continued. “Naturally, I accepted. But now . . . well . . . do you think it’s too late for me to go to that charity house you spoke of?”

  “I don’t think they’d be prepared to accept a new arrival at such a late hour,” Nate said truthfully. He ran a hand through his hair, considering what to do. There was really only one alternative. It would mean pulling his mother and sisters out of bed, but Nate had no doubt they would agree with his decision. “Would you like to come home with me?”

  Rosalyn’s eyes grew wide.

  Nate realized how forward his offer must have sounded. “My mother and two sisters live there, too, so you have nothing to fear.” He made a wry face. “Granted, my sisters can be frighteningly overbearing at times. But at heart they are good souls.” He was encouraged to see her smile at this feeble attempt at humor.

  “I see now why you were trying so hard to get me to go with you at the station. You knew what that woman was. And yet I was abominable to you.”

  “No. I blame myself for not having the presence of mind to explain things more clearly. And also, from your words, I thought . . .”

  The way she looked at him caused his words to falter.

  “I thought you knew what you were doing. But I should have known better, because anyone can see that you are not the type of woman who would fall in with people like that. I sincerely apologize to you for thinking, even for a moment, that you were.”

  She straightened, as though some burden had eased off her shoulders. “Thank you for that.”

  “So will you allow me . . . ?”

  He let the question hang, unfinished.

  After a few moments, she seemed to make up her mind. “Thank you,” she said with a nod. “I honestly thought I might have to sleep behind the scenery tonight.”

  Nate’s breath caught in disbelief. She tried to make it sound like a lark, but that only revealed even more what an intrepid woman she was. He cleared his throat. “Let’s go, then.”

  As they walked down the corridor that led to the stage door, Nate was surprised to hear Jessie calling out from behind them. They paused, waiting for her to catch up.

  “Where are you going?” Jessie threw a suspicious glance at Nate, which he didn’t appreciate. Did she think he was planning to abduct Rosalyn?

  “Nate has kindly invited me to stay with his family tonight,” Rosalyn answered.

  Jessie’s brows drew together as she regarded Rosalyn. Nate saw the realization dawn on her, as it had for him, that Rosalyn was adrift in London. It would appear she hadn’t told anyone the particulars of her situation.

  Recovering from her apparent surprise, Jessie said smoothly, “Oh, but you’re coming home with me. Don’t you remember?”

  “I am?” Rosalyn said in astonishment.

  “Yes, it’s all settled.”

  She smiled sweetly at Nate as she spoke. It was a smile calculated to win over any male. Time and again he’d seen how it worked on other men, although Nate found it was powerless on him. He could easily guess why Jessie had suddenly made up this tale. Aside from Grossmith and a few others, she seemed to have a deep distrust of men.

  “I asked a cabman to come ’round for us at two,” Jessie said. She opened the stage door. “There he is now.”

  A hansom cab was indeed waiting at the curb.

  Rosalyn’s gaze shifted from Jessie to Nate and then back again. It was easy to read the bewilderment on her face. Suddenly she had two offers of a place to stay. Given that one of those invitations came from a woman whom Rosalyn had been watching all evening with undisguised admiration, Nate was pretty sure which way she would go.

  Sure enough, she turned to Nate and said, “I don’t want to seem ungrateful to you, but . . .”

  “I understand.”

  Nate was surprised that his words came out harshly, as though he were disappointed. He ought to be relieved, really. It was probably the easiest solution for tonight, and he could offer no real objection. By all accounts, Jessie lived respectably. She seemed determined to avoid the scandalous behavior that most people expected from actresses. Rosalyn would be safe—and hadn’t that been his goal?

  Jessie bounded up into the carriage and looked back at Rosalyn expectantly. Rosalyn moved to follow her but paused, seemingly uncertain about where to place her foot.

  “Hansom cabs can be odd to navigate at first,” Nate said. He offered his hand and helped her into the carriage.

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile. Unlike with Jessie, Nate could see no guile. Her smile was appealing precisely because it tried not to be. He reluctantly stepped back to make room for the cabman to close the little half-doors that shielded the women from the waist down.

  Jessie took the blanket proffered by the cabman and put it over both their laps. “Yes, many thanks,” she said breezily. “A bientôt!”

  Nate knew the phrase loosely meant “see you soon.” But as he watched the carriage drive away, he remembered that tomorrow was Sunday. There were no performances on Sundays. And where would Rosalyn be by Monday? He could not imagine Jessie meant to house her indefinitely.

  He told himself it was not a question he was responsible to answer. The fact that he felt compelled to help her was undoubtedly just a lingering consequence of their first meeting, when she was so clearly in trouble. But she had shown herself adept at surmounting her problems, and now she had Jessie and others in the theater to help her. If she did not require Nate’s assistance, that was a good thing, right? There were enough women complicating his life already—his mother and sisters among them. And Ada. Surely the last thing he needed was one more woman added to his list of concerns.

  Unfortunately, taking this rational view did nothing to assuage his curiosity about the woman who had entered his life in such a remarkable way. As he walked home, he found himself reviewing each of the brief interactions he’d had with her, like repeatedly watching the same scenes from a play. Every detail was vivid in his mind, but none provided real clues as to what had brought her to London or how she had wound up at the theater.

  And why was it so important to him to know the story of a virtual stranger whom he might not even see again? That was one question he wasn’t so willing to ponder.

  CHAPTER

  7

  ROSALYN DREW the blanket around her to ward off the chilly night air as the carriage moved briskly down the near-empty streets. “Jessie, I can’t thank you enough for this. You don’t even know me, and yet you take me into your home.”

  “You must think me completely dense,” Jessie answered apologetically. “I could see you were facing severe hardship, of course—so many people in the city are in desperate need of work and food. But I didn’t realize . . .” She turned to scrutinize Rosalyn. “Are you completely alone in London? With not even a place to live?”

  “I’m afraid so. I only arrived yesterday, and I don’t know anyone—outside of the theater, I mean.”

  “And yet you went straight to work and did such a
good job.” Jessie shook her head in astonishment. “What a good thing I stayed late at the theater tonight. I would hate to think you were compelled to go home with one of the stagehands.”

  “I truly believe he was only trying to help,” Rosalyn insisted.

  Jessie looked doubtful but did not contradict her. “I generally go home straightaway, but tonight I was trying to avoid a certain gentleman who has been lurking at the stage door.”

  “The man who threw flowers to you?”

  “Exactly. I’ve done everything I can to discourage him, but so far to no avail. Tonight I not only stayed late, I asked Sarah to tell him I’d already gone home by another door.”

  “It’s a shame the gentleman won’t take you at your word.”

  “People think all actresses are loose women, but I assure you it isn’t so. I guard my reputation very carefully. Of course, I have more reason to do so than most. . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she sighed.

  Rosalyn wanted to ask why but thought it might be pressing for more information than Jessie was willing to divulge. So she stayed silent and watched the city as it rolled past.

  The air was thick with frosty mist. Street lamps glowed on every corner, illuminating damp sidewalks and buildings that were largely dark. Only the pubs seemed open at this hour; periodically they passed glowing windows showing plenty of people within. Over the pub doors, painted signs displayed their unique and sometimes curious names, such as The Queen’s Head or The Three Horseshoes.

  “Ah, well, water under the bridge, as they say,” murmured Jessie, apparently still thinking of her previous statement. “Of course, my parents were horrified when I accepted Mr. Sullivan’s offer to perform in this opera. I’m a trained concert singer, which is far more respectable. But I told my parents they needn’t be concerned. Pinafore has nothing risqué or objectionable in it, and Mr. Gilbert sets up so many rules of conduct for the cast that you’d think we were at a convent school.”

  Rosalyn could hear the smile return to Jessie’s voice as she said this.

  The cab drew to a halt in front of a tall townhouse. Once the cabman had been paid, Jessie led the way up half a dozen steps to the front door. She produced a key and swiftly unlocked the door. Inside it was pitch black, but Jessie must have known exactly where everything was. Within seconds she’d lit a match and touched it to a waiting candle. Rosalyn could see they stood near the foot of a flight of stairs. A hallway stretched beyond the stairs, shrouded in darkness.

  Touching a finger to her lips, Jessie whispered, “We must be very quiet. My landlady knows I come home late because of my work, but she’s not particularly happy about it. And she doesn’t like even the slightest disturbance at this hour.”

  They tread softly up the stairs to the third landing. Jessie took another key and unlocked the door to her lodgings, motioning Rosalyn inside.

  Once she had secured the door behind them, Jessie lit a small oil lamp and extinguished the candle. The lamp sent a warm, comforting glow over the living area, which consisted of little more than a small sofa, a low table, and two chairs. Off to the right was another door, presumably to Jessie’s bedchamber.

  “Please sit,” Jessie said, motioning to the sofa.

  Rosalyn eased gratefully onto the well-worn but comfortable cushions.

  Jessie knelt by the fireplace and quickly brought the banked fire to a cheerful little blaze. It was a cozy place, small and simple, but Jessie had given it many wonderful feminine touches.

  “This is marvelous,” Rosalyn said warmly, if somewhat wistfully.

  “A poor player’s lodgings. There’s no kitchen, but at least I can make tea.” Jessie set a kettle on a hook over the fire. “I do hope to have a proper flat someday.”

  “Will you continue in the theater, do you think?”

  Jessie settled into a chair. “I expect so. After fourteen months in Pinafore, I am much more confident in my acting. My part in the new production will be much larger, and I’ll have speaking lines in addition to the singing. Plus, they are giving me a pay rise for going with them to America.”

  “America!” Rosalyn exclaimed.

  “Yes, isn’t it exciting? The new opera will premiere in New York at the end of December, and I’ll be in the cast. It seems almost unbelievable. I’ve always wanted to be a singer, but I never thought I’d be able to travel the world.”

  “I think you are very brave to leave England. And to face the dangers of ocean travel.”

  Jessie waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, there’s nothing to it nowadays. The steamships take you right across. A few days of lounging around—and, I hear, eating far too much elegant food—and you’re there.”

  The teakettle began to whistle. As Jessie set about making the tea, she said, “Now, tell me about you. What has brought you to London, alone and in such dire straits?”

  Rosalyn took a deep breath. How could she explain the terrible circumstances that had brought her here? And what would Jessie think of her? Perhaps she would regret having brought Rosalyn into her home.

  Jessie handed a cup of tea to Rosalyn before serving herself and taking the chair next to the sofa. “I don’t mean to be a busybody, but you are in my home, after all. And I confess I am genuinely curious.”

  She studied Rosalyn with a friendly expression, and Rosalyn felt her wariness relax a little. She wanted to tell her story. But how could she do that and still make Jessie understand that she was innocent in the whole affair?

  “Where are you from?” Jessie prompted. “Do I hear a trace of Bristol in your accent?”

  “I was actually born in Plymouth, but I grew up in Bristol. My sisters and I lost our parents when I was nine years old, and we were taken to an orphanage there.”

  “An orphanage!” Jessie looked horrified. “I suppose you were treated abominably.”

  “Like Oliver Twist?” Rosalyn answered with a smile. “I assure you it was not like that at all. The children were treated with kindness. We always had food to eat and adequate, if plain, clothes to wear. It was truly the best thing for me and my sisters, considering the circumstances.”

  “A pleasant orphanage? That sounds like a miracle.”

  “I think the real miracle is how it keeps going. There are hundreds of children to care for, and yet the founder, Mr. Müller, has never asked for donations or solicited financial help of any kind. Instead, he prays his petitions directly to God. And God has always answered. People have sent money, or clothes, or food, or other items as they have been moved to do so.”

  “How astonishing,” Jessie murmured. Rosalyn could see she was genuinely intrigued.

  “Of course, the young children don’t realize this. We discovered it as we grew older. We were taught to rely on God to meet our needs.”

  Jessie leaned forward, her face lighting up. “That’s rather like what happened today, isn’t it? You didn’t tell us you needed food or a place to stay. We offered it to you! I suppose you must have been praying?”

  Rosalyn tried to recall exactly what she’d been thinking prior to the moment Mr. Gilbert had stuck his head out the window and begun yelling at her. “At that point, I don’t know if I even had the presence of mind to pray,” Rosalyn admitted. “And yet Mr. Müller is fond of quoting the Scripture that says, ‘For your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him.’”

  Jessie set down her teacup and focused intently on Rosalyn. “I still don’t understand exactly how you came to be in our little back alley today.”

  Rosalyn sighed. She almost didn’t want to speak of the situation, and yet she felt a need to unburden herself to someone. For whatever reason, Jessie was proving a willing and sympathetic listener. “At the orphanage, the girls stay until they are seventeen years old. At that time, suitable work is found for them. Most go into service, or they are trained as teachers or nurses. I was sent to work as a parlormaid for a wealthy widow who lived in the Wiltshire countryside. But we got on so well that within a year or so, I was serving as her com
panion rather than a maid.”

  Rosalyn went on to describe how things were going well, how she’d even learned to play the piano and taken a few voice lessons so that she and Mrs. Williams could entertain one another. “But Mrs. Williams was still fairly young, and she had a variety of suitors. Finally, last spring, she married.”

  “I see.” Jessie nodded. “They tossed you out on your ear because you were no longer needed.”

  “No, Mrs. Williams—Mrs. Huffman, she is now—is too kind for that. She kept me on. But I was placed in rather an awkward position.” Finding her hand was shaking, Rosalyn set down her teacup. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Huffman was so in love with her new husband that she couldn’t see he was not an honorable man. More than once I came upon him with one of the servant girls backed into a corner. Finally, he tried for me, as well.”

  “I knew it!” Jessie said with feeling. “Didn’t I ask you, when we met, if a man had caused your dilemma? So what did you do?”

  “I resisted quite vigorously, of course. I slapped him so hard it left a red welt on his cheek. When he threatened to dismiss me, I boldly told him to go ahead, that I would be very glad to tell Mrs. Huffman exactly why I was being let go.”

  “Bravo!” Jessie cheered. “But I don’t suppose that was the end of it.”

  “You’re right. He found a way to blackmail me. Somehow, his gold watch went missing, and somehow two maids could attest to the fact that I’d been seen in his room.”

  “I can’t believe your fellow servants would be so heartless. I should think you’d all want to stick together.”

  “It’s possible he had blackmailed them, as well. Or perhaps they thought he would grant them something in return.”

  “Men always think that women are pliable, that they can be made to give in to their demands. But you did not.”