The Betrothed (Cutter's Creek Book 7)

by Vivi Holt

  It was not the first time since she boarded the Queenship that Charlotte found herself peering longingly at the steerage quarters, wondering where Harry and Camilla were and what they were doing at that moment. Her brush with Mr. Bentley the previous evening had left her shaken, and she wished she could talk to Camilla about it, and rest her head on Harry’s shoulder again as she had on that long wagon ride from Greyburn to Birkenhead.

  She shook her head and made her way to the dining room, hoping Mr. Bentley had already finished breakfast and moved on to the lounge. She’d avoid the lounge today and stay in her cabin instead. The more she thought about the incident with him, the more it angered and scared her. He had presented himself to her as a happily married man, a moral man who could be trusted. And yet he’d tried to force himself on her and stormed off in anger when she turned him down. What she had done to make him think she would be open to that kind of offer was beyond her.

  Charlotte pushed the dining room door opened and stepped inside. She scanned the room quickly, hoping to find a place to sit that would be out of the way. She saw an empty table against the far wall and hurried to it to sit with her back to the room. She’d brought a book with her from the cabin and now pulled it from her skirt pocket and opened it to read. Perhaps no one would bother her if she looked busy with her book.

  A waiter brought her meal from the kitchen and Charlotte requested a pot of coffee to go with the ham and eggs. He strode off to fetch her order and she returned to her reading.

  “Good morning,” said a voice behind her.

  Charlotte spun around in surprise to see a nun standing with her hands linked behind her back. She grinned at Charlotte, who couldn’t help smiling back. “Good morning, sister.”

  “Sister Bertram,” she said. Her large brown eyes were set in a plump white face, and she immediately set Charlotte at ease with a wide smile that made her nose crinkle.

  “Good morning, Sister Bertram. I’m Eloise Smythe.”

  “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance. Is this seat taken?” The nun gestured to the empty chair beside Charlotte.

  She shook her head. “It’s not taken and you are most welcome to it.”

  “Thank you. It’s rather loud on the other side of the room and I prefer a little bit of peace.”

  “I can certainly understand that.”

  “Where is Mr. Bentley this morning? I thought the two of you were friends?”

  Charlotte felt her cheeks flush red and dropped her head to stare at her plate. “We’re not friends,” she whispered and felt a sob form in the depths of her throat.

  “Oh well, I’m glad to hear it. He’s not the sort of man a single young woman should be befriending, if you know what I mean.” The nun sat beside her and rearranged her habit around her legs before pulling the chair in and placing her elbows on the table in front of her. She linked her dainty hands together and stared over them at Charlotte.

  “Yes, so it would seem.”

  “Did something happen?” asked Sister Bertram, her eyebrows arching in concern.

  “Yes, it did.” Charlotte couldn’t help the tears that fell – they wouldn’t be stopped, nor the sob that escaped her throat.

  “Are you well, Miss Smythe?” Sister Bertram placed her hand on Charlotte’s arm.

  “I’m fine, thank you. He tried to … force himself on me. I slapped him and he yelled at me. It’s really the most horrible thing. I don’t know what to do about it. I suppose I only have two more days to endure with him on board the ship, but even then … when we get to New York, what will become of me? I’m all alone in the world. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wanted a grand adventure and freedom, but I didn’t think about safety or security. I was so foolish, and now it’s too late.”

  “It’s never too late, Miss Smythe. You can always return home – surely your parents would have you back.”

  Charlotte drew a deep breath and calmed herself. “You’re right, Sister. They would have me back. Perhaps when I get to New York I should simply book a return berth to England. I thought I was so brave taking on this journey, but maybe I’m not as brave as I thought I was.”

  “You know, even the brave get scared. What did you feel after the incident? Did you want to go home?”

  “No, I wanted to punch him in the nose.” Charlotte frowned and felt her face flush with heat as she remembered.

  Sister Bertram chuckled. “Well, I’d say that’s pretty brave. There will be times in life when you’re afraid, but how you respond to those situations will tell your mettle – what you are made of. And don’t forget, God is with you, He’ll never forsake you.” She handed Charlotte a simple white handkerchief.

  Charlotte wiped her eyes and nose with it. “Thank you, Sister. Grand-mama used to say the same thing.”

  “You’re most welcome. Your grand-mama sounds like a wise woman. Now, what do you think of the eggs – do you recommend them?” She eyed Charlotte’s plate with a laugh.

  Charlotte laughed with her. “I do recommend them – will you have some?”

  “I think I will.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The SS Queenship powered into New York harbor, and Charlotte leaned out over the prow of the ship, the railing cutting in beneath her arms. The sunshine danced on the tips of small waves, roiled up by the wind, and the bow cut sharply through the calmer waters. She squinted her eyes to look at the approaching island of Manhattan. “Mmmm … we’re really here. We made it.” She grinned at Sister Bertram.

  “Get ready to disembark!” cried one of the crew on the lower deck, his hands cupped around his mouth, “Castle Garden, New York City! Get your things together and queue at the bow! Get ready to disembark!”

  “I guess we should pack,” said Charlotte.

  “Will I see you in New York?” asked the nun, her hand on Charlotte’s arm.

  “I certainly hope so, Sister. You’ve been such a friend to me these last days, I don’t know what I would have done without you. Do you know how to find Saint Anthony’s Church?”

  “Yes, I have walking directions.”

  “Well, perhaps I’ll come and visit you once I’m settled.”

  “That would be lovely. I do hope you will.”

  Charlotte embraced the sister quickly, then hurried back to her cabin to finish packing. She’d already put most of her things away, but the porter would be there to collect everything soon and she wanted to make sure it was neat and ready to go. Back in her room, she picked up her reticule and glanced around the room. It had been a cozy home for her over the past ten days, but she wasn’t sorry to be leaving it behind. Now the real adventure would begin and she couldn’t wait to see New York. She patted the drop-pendant, hidden beneath her bodice and sighed.

  A knock at the door pulled her out of her reverie. “Porter, Miss.”

  “Thank you – here are my things.”

  The man nodded and tipped his hat. Charlotte left him to gather her trunk and bags together and headed back outside to the exit ramp at the bow of the ship. She stood in line, waiting for her turn. Glancing down, she noticed that the lower deck was full of steerage passengers also waiting to disembark. Past the gangplanks, she could see the crowd milling about in a large square, waiting to be processed by immigration officials at the top of a long, narrow staircase. She scanned the group and her eyes landed on Harry and Camilla close to the front of the queue. Harry looked pale and gaunt, and he held onto Camilla’s arm as if to steady himself. Charlotte frowned – what in the world had happened to him on the journey over? He didn’t look like himself at all. Camilla looked the same as she had, only more disheveled.

  “Ticket, Miss?” asked a voice, and Charlotte turned her attention to the man at the gate.

  Eventually, she was standing on solid ground, waiting for her luggage. She’d taken hours to get through the line into Castle Gardens, up the neverending staircase where she’d then undergone a series of questions and an examination by a nurse before finally being allowed to
set foot on the New York pavement.

  Sister Bertram had left for Saint Anthony’s and she was all alone on the sidewalk beside a busy street. Children bustled amongst the group, clutching at trunks and bags in an attempt to lure passengers away to various lodgings around the city or simply find a coin for their next meal. Cabs trotted past, pedestrians scurried by, and Charlotte stood in the midst of it all, watching and waiting, her heart pounding in her chest.

  What would she do when her luggage was delivered? Catch a cab? But to where? She wished she could find Harry and Camilla. The crowd milled around her and she strained on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of Harry’s green bowler hat or Camilla’s lace-trimmed bonnet.

  “This your luggage, Miss?” a porter asked as he wheeled her trunk and bag over to her on a trolley.

  “Yes, thank you.” Charlotte handed him a shilling.

  He shook his head as he pushed it into his pocket. “Pommies,” he said in a thick American accent.

  Charlotte checked her luggage and then scanned the street for a cab to hail. Just then, she saw Harry and Camilla on the other side of the road. “Harry! Camilla!” she cried. She ran toward them, causing a cab driver to curse at her as he yanked on the reins of his horse to avoid hitting her.

  “Lady Charlotte, there you are!” said Camilla, hurrying to embrace her. “We were wondering if we’d find you.”

  “It’s so good to see you,” Charlotte blushed and glanced at Harry.

  His brown eyes sparkled at her beneath the brim of his hat. “Lady Charlotte,” he said, tipping his hat in her direction.

  “You don’t look well, Harry. Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’ve been a bit sick – nothing to worry about now, though. Just have to get my land legs back.” He chuckled, and lifted a hand toward the man standing beside him. “This is Ben MacIntosh. He’s from Edinburgh. He’s been taking care of me on that blasted ship. Ben, this is Lady Charlotte Beaufort.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Charlotte lifted her gloved hand to shake his.

  “Is that yer luggage, Lady Charlotte?” Ben asked, pointing back across the road to where Charlotte had abandoned her trunk and bags.

  “Yes it is. Oh my – he’s stealing my silver. Stop him, oh no!” Charlotte ran back across the road, to see Davis Bentley’s back disappearing through the crowd and into the city center, her silver firmly ensconced in his coat pockets.

  Harry and Ben ran after him, but returned after a few minutes, their breathing labored, with nothing to show for their exertion. “I’m sorry, Lady Charlotte,” said Ben between puffs. “He must have turned into one of the buildings along this street – we couldn’t find hide nor hair of him.”

  Charlotte sat on her trunk and sobbed, tears winding their way in rivulets down her rosy cheeks. “He took it, all of it. Thankfully I kept some jewelry in my reticule and carried it with me, but the rest of my valuables are gone. What will I do?”

  Camilla and Harry exchanged a concerned glance and Camilla bent down to comfort Charlotte. “Don’t worry, it’ll all work out somehow. Why don’t you come with us? Ben says his aunt has a boarding house where we can stay a while. You could come too – maybe she’ll have a room for you as well. Would you like that?”

  Charlotte nodded silently and hunted around in her skirt pocket for a handkerchief. She pulled out a pale blue one with lace trim and blew her nose loudly on it.

  Harry patted her arm and Charlotte caught his gaze. His eyes were full of compassion and ringed with dark circles. “No doubt your parents could send you some money. In the meantime, we’ll do what we can to help, Lady Charlotte.”

  She smiled at him through her tears. “First things first – let’s get settled. I do believe you need a hearty meal, Harry.”

  “I won’t say no to that,” he said with a grin.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The boarding house was simple but functional. Charlotte found herself eying the dusty trim and the cracked paint with concern. Harry quickly pointed out that beggars can’t be choosers and a simple room was better than nothing at all, a sentiment with which she heartily concurred given the utter exhaustion she felt after their long journey and day spent traipsing through the immigration line.

  She packed her things away in her new room with Harry and Ben’s help. Then they left her with a wave and she was alone in a strange boarding house. The foreign noises of the street below carried up to her second-floor window, and she wandered over to peer through it. Children played on the sidewalk. A girl pushed a hoop with a stick, running along behind it, giggling and shouting to another child who ran beside her. Women hurried about their errands, carrying bags of groceries and pulling their coat collars up high against the chill of the approaching evening.

  Charlotte tugged the window closed and set about investigating her new lodgings. She wondered how to turn on the heat, given that the night promised to be a cold one and she’d never had to light a fire or a furnace before in her life.

  The apartment was really only a single small room. On one end was a narrow bed with a hard sleeping mat on top. In the center of the room, there was a frayed rug with two chairs, and at the other end a small kitchen with a potbellied cast-iron stove. She could see no other way to heat the room, so she assumed that the stove must also be her only source of heat. Hunting around the stove, she found cold ash inside a small doorway with a thimble-sized knob that pulled it open, but nothing for building or lighting a fire within.

  She poked her head out the door and peered down the hallway. Harry and Camilla had settled in the room directly across the hallway from hers, and she stared at their door now. She didn’t want to run to them with every question she had – it was time she started taking care of herself. Instead she strode down the hall to find Mrs. Clements.

  Nancy Clements was Ben’s aunt on his mother’s side, and Charlotte could already see, after their brief introduction earlier, that she was a hard woman who’d experienced a few things in her life. She found her in the backyard, pulling dry clothing from a line and folding it into a wicker basket. “Mrs. Clements, I was wondering what I should use to build a fire in my stove?” asked Charlotte, twisting her hands behind her back.

  “There’s kindlin’ by the back door there, and the flint is in yer kitchen cabinet.”

  Charlotte nodded her thanks and turned to fill her skirt with pieces of split wood that were stacked neatly by the back door.

  “Ye know what ye’re doin’, aye? Don’t ye go burnin’ me place down, ye hear.”

  “Of course – don’t worry about me, Mrs. Clements. I’ll be just fine.” Charlotte drew a deep breath and sucked in her cheeks. She was certain she’d be able to figure it out, and she didn’t want everyone thinking she was a simpleton who couldn’t take care of herself. Really, how hard could it be to build a fire?

  ***

  Harry lay back on the thin sleeping mat and closed his eyes. It still felt as though his world was spinning. He jerked them open again and sat up. Now that the nausea had mostly passed, his stomach was growling for food. There was nothing in their apartment to eat yet since they hadn’t had a chance to go shopping, so they’d have to go out.

  Camilla was fussing around the kitchen, putting things away and discovering her way around their new lodgings. “Here’s the flint,” she announced proudly, brushing it against the apron she’d donned when they arrived.

  “Good – we’ll start a fire as soon as we get back. I’m starvin’ – let’s go get somethin’ to eat and pick up a few groceries for tomorrow as well. I’m glad we thought to exchange our pounds for dollars at the docks before we left; otherwise we’d starve to death before open of business tomorrow.”

  “That was a good idea. All right, I believe I’ve put everything away. Let’s go.”

  “Do you smell that?” asked Harry, his nose wrinkling.

  “What?”

  “I think it’s smoke?”

  Harry rushed to the front door and flung it open. He saw smoke creepin
g out from beneath Charlotte’s doorway. He ran to it and banged loudly against it. Within a few moments, the door swung open and Charlotte stood there. Her hair was a mess and her face smudged with soot. Her dress was blackened down the front as well and she coughed out smoke as it billowed around the room around her and out the door, hovering around Harry. Camilla hurried to his side.

  “What the Devil?” he demanded. He strode past her to the stove and quickly opened the flue. The smoke began to dissipate, and he opened Charlotte’s window, waving as much smoke through the open panes as he could. “What are you trying to do, kill yourself?” he asked, his face red with anger.

  “No, of course not. I just wanted to light a fire. And I did it too, all on my own. It’s just that the smoke wouldn’t leave.” Her voice sounded choked and she coughed again.

  “You had the flue closed. Haven’t you ever lit a fire before?”

  “Well … no, I haven’t.”

  Harry stopped and stared at her with raised eyebrows. “Truly?”

  “Truly. Mary always did it for me in my room, and the other maids did it downstairs. I’ve watched her do it, I suppose, but I didn’t realize there was a flue or anything like that. I’m sorry.”

  “Never mind,” Camilla shot him a look and hurried to Charlotte’s side. “You did your best and what’s important is that you’re fine and we were here to help. We’re goin’ out now, though, so perhaps it would be best if you came with us. We don’t want you burnin’ the boarding house down with you in it while we’re gone.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Charlotte strode forward, craning her neck to see the full height of the church steeple above her. Saint Anthony’s, where Sister Bertram was supposed to have settled, was an imposing building with a spire that reached skyward and stood out above the surrounding buildings. She lay one hand on top of her hat, and tipped her head backward, taking in the entire prospect.