An Embarrassment of Riches

by Margaret Pemberton

  Reverting to English Father Mulcahy proclaimed, ‘I join you together in marriage, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.’

  A pulse throbbed at the corner of Alexander’s jaw. It wasn’t Genevre. Genevre was dead. All that he could do for Genevre now was to make his father pay for his cruelty towards her. Not for the first time he wondered how she could have believed the lies that his father had spread. He clenched his hands at his side, his nails digging deep into his palms. She had believed them because they were the talk of New York. According to Charlie, Leonard Jerome had heard of his supposed forthcoming marriage at the Union Club. She had believed them because she had never received a word from him to the contrary.

  Father Mulcahy began to sprinkle them with water.

  He wondered if his father had opened and read the letters he had so obviously purloined. He wondered if he had kept them. If he had then it was still possible that he, Alexander, might yet read them. At the thought of reading words that Genevre had written to him when he first left New York – and the words she no doubt had written when she first had heard the rumours that he was to marry, the blood pounded in his ears. How would he be able to bear it? How was he ever going to be able to bear living without her?

  The priest was holding a prayer-book and Captain Neills placed a ring and silver shilling on it.

  He didn’t trust himself to look at the girl at his side. In the instant that she had entered the room all his niggling doubts had roared back at him, magnified to such an extent that it had taken him all his will-power not to call the whole thing off then and there. She had borne very little resemblance to her fellows in steerage even before her change of dress, which is why he had been initially attracted to her. Now, however, in her obviously borrowed silk gown, she looked no more an Irish peasant than Genevre had looked. Which was not what he had had in mind at all.

  Following Father Mulcahy’s instructions he offered her the gold and silver, saying tautly: ‘With this ring I thee wed, this gold and silver I give thee, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.’

  Why hadn’t he called it off? He wasn’t sure. Probably because the prospect of going through the whole rigmarole with another steerage passenger was too wearisome to contemplate. He remembered the stench of the emigrants’ crowded quarters and suppressed a shudder. The real reason was that he couldn’t face the horror of consummating his marriage with a woman smelling of stale sweat and peat and bog. The girl at his side was at least clean. And personable.

  Awkwardly he placed the ring on her left thumb, moving it from finger to finger at Father Mulcahy’s bidding. She had well-shaped hands, long and narrow with beautiful almond-shaped nails. For the first time since the ceremony had begun he looked across at her. She was more than personable. Although caught up in a devastatingly fashionable chignon, her shining black hair was obviously long and heavy and lustrous. He wondered how long. He wondered how she would look with it unpinned. In profile her features were a perfectly carved cameo, her lashes a thick sweep against her pale skin, the corner of her mouth soft and full. Although he knew that he would never again respond physically to another woman as he had done to Genevre, he had to admit grudgingly that she was a beauty.

  ‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,’ he repeated after the priest. With a final ‘Amen’he placed the ring on the girl’s wedding finger.

  Her own responses had been uttered in a pleasing, low voice. For the first time he wondered about her speech. None of Powerscourt’s household staff had been Irish. All had been engaged in England and consequently he was not familiar with the accent that so many of Powerscourt’s guests, at one time or another, had mocked. Certainly there didn’t seem to be anything about his new bride’s speech that could be easily mocked. There was a slight lilt to it, but it was an attractive lilt, not coarse or raucous. He remembered the catcalls he had received when he had shinned down the stanchion on to the steerage deck. Those voices had been thick with an accent that had rendered their speech almost incomprehensible. He wondered why she spoke so differently. Perhaps there were vast differences in accents from one part of Ireland to another, just as in America there were differences of accent between North and South, between the educated and the uneducated …

  ‘You may now kiss the bride.’

  With his thoughts rudely interrupted Alexander stared at Father Mulcahy.

  ‘You may now kiss the bride,’ Father Mulcahy repeated, wondering how much of the marriage service Alexander had heard; wondering if he was quite right in the head.

  Alexander had no intention of doing any such thing. ‘Thank you,’ he said stiffly to the priest, shaking him by the hand, avoiding all eye contact with the girl at his side. He tried to remember what her name was. Moira? Maura?

  Captain Neills was now congratulating them both. Alexander shook hands with him, eager to be away and back in his stateroom where he had every intention of celebrating alone with a bottle of brandy.

  ‘Many congratulations,’ the second-lieutenant was saying. ‘Champagne and flowers have been sent to your stateroom, Mr Karolyis. If there is anything else that you and Mrs Karolyis should desire …’

  The captain had already opened a bottle of champagne and was pouring it jovially into four waiting glasses.

  Alexander accepted the second-lieutenant’s outstretched hand and realized with a stab of shock what was now expected of him. His stateroom had been prepared for double occupancy. The girl now accepting a glass of champagne from the captain was expecting to return there with him. His privacy would be at an end. As would be his long months of celibacy.

  As he took his own glass of champagne he was aware that his bride was desperately trying to make eye contact with him. He gritted his teeth. The marriage had to be consummated and the sooner the deed was accomplished, the sooner he would be able to have nothing further to do with her.

  He turned towards her as the captain raised his glass and said jovially, ‘May you both enjoy a long and happy marriage.’

  ‘And a fruitful one,’ Father Mulcahy added dutifully.

  Alexander saw the colour rise in his new wife’s cheeks. Her eyes were deeply anxious and it was obvious there was something she wished to say to him, something which could not be said in front of their well-wishers. He assumed that it was to do with the money she had been promised and while he was trying to think what adjective would most accurately sum up the quite startling blue of her eyes, he said to the captain: ‘Would you open the safe deposit box you are holding in my wife’s name, please?’

  ‘Certainly, Mr Karolyis.’ The captain took a key from his inside breast pocket and walked across to a sturdy safe.

  Alexander was still thinking about his wife’s eyes. Would hyacinth best describe them, or perhaps gentian? He looked across at her again. Her face was now scarlet with what he assumed was excitement. Gentian was perhaps the better adjective, though when the light fell on them a certain way, as it was now doing, they looked to be almost the colour of smoked quartz.

  The captain placed a safe deposit box on to his desk and with an expansive smile proffered the key to her.

  ‘No … I …’

  ‘Don’t be shy, Mrs Karolyis,’ Captain Neills said kindly. ‘Wedding gifts are no cause for shyness.’

  To Alexander’s irritation the girl made no attempt to move forward and to fit the small key into the safe deposit box lock. With a slight gesture of impatience he took the key from her and performed the action himself.

  The second-lieutenant and Father Mulcahy had both expected a piece, or perhaps several pieces, of jewellery to be revealed. As they saw the fat wad of notes their eyes widened. Why on earth would the heir to one of the richest men in America present his bride with a gift of money? Especially a gift of money that, although extraordinary to the average person, would be a mere drop in the ocean for a Karolyis.

  ‘Would you like to count it?’ Alexander was asking
her.

  Father Mulcahy raised his eyes to heaven, certain now that Alexander was not as he should be. Captain Neills tightened his lips. He had been convinced there was something odd about the marriage right from the beginning. Now he was sure. The marriage was nothing more than a marriage of convenience. Alexander Karolyis had paid his bride to marry him. But why? He was one of the richest young men in the world. Why had be been reduced to such a stratagem? The mystery beggared belief.

  The second-lieutenant frowned. He, too, was now convinced that the marriage he had just witnessed was even stranger than he had first supposed it. The original mystery had been why a young lady of obvious education and quality had been travelling possessionless in steerage in the first place. The second had been when and how she and Alexander Karolyis had first met. For the first time the suspicion that they had only met days ago, while aboard the Scotia, entered his mind. But even supposing they had fallen in love instantly, why had there been such a hurry for them to marry? Why this tasteless present of money when he could have showered her with far more suitable gifts?

  With a start he realized that Captain Neills was staring at him expectantly. Recollecting his duties he gathered his scattered wits and said smoothly: ‘Would you allow me to escort you back to your stateroom, Mrs Karolyis? Mr Karolyis?’

  ‘No!’

  As the word erupted from the girl he had just married, Alexander stared at her. Although she had not touched the money or gone anywhere near it, her colour was still high. Captain Neills and the second-lieutenant also stared at her, their interest rising.

  Her eyes went from one to another. ‘I’ve … I’ve arranged for a little party in steerage … to celebrate my marriage. My friends will be expecting me.’

  Captain Neills’bushy eyebrows rose slightly. A party in steerage was news to him and he would be interested to know what her fellow emigrants intended celebrating with.

  Seeing salvation Alexander said quickly, ‘Yes. Of course. I’d forgotten.’ He stepped towards her, taking her arm in a proprietary way. ‘Thank you very much for your good wishes, Captain Neills.’

  He walked her swiftly to the door which the second-lieutenant opened for them. Alexander turned, wished Captain Neills and Father Mulcahy good-day, and stepped with relief over the threshold.

  As the door closed behind them he heaved a deep sigh of thankfulness. It was over. He was married to an ill-bred pauper and all his father’s dreams and ambitions had been ground into the dust.

  The girl said awkwardly, ‘I hope you don’t mind … I would much rather remain in steerage until the voyage is over and …’

  Alexander didn’t mind. He was so bloody grateful that he felt a genuine surge of affection for her.

  ‘That’s probably for the best,’ he said with relieved acquiescence. With a rare flash of imagination he wondered just how the emigrants would celebrate his nuptials. The least he could do was to make some provision for the party she was so keen to hold.

  ‘I’ll have some drink and food sent down for you to make a spread with,’ he said generously, wondering what on earth would be suitable. Beer and ham? Cider and pasties? A slight grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. To hell with it! He’d send down crates of champagne and they could have a real party.

  She was still looking troubled and his hand tightened in momentary comfort on her arm as, for once, he read her thoughts correctly. ‘There will be plenty of time for us to get to know each other better once we land in New York.’

  Immediately the words were out of his mouth he was mildly surprised by them. All that was necessary in New York was that the marriage be consummated and that she understand the financial arrangements he would be making for her. A talk together on any other level had never previously entered his head.

  She smiled and at the answering relief in her eyes, and at the warmth in them, he began to wonder whether they shouldn’t at least have a celebratory drink together.

  ‘That would be grand,’ she said in the soft, slightly lilting, smoky tones he was beginning to find so attractive. ‘I’m sure everyone will appreciate it.’

  Not for the first time he found himself staring at her. She wasn’t supposed to be likeable. She was supposed to be inarticulate and uncouth and acutely embarrassed when encountering any social situation she was not familiar with, which he had expected to be each and every situation. He said with, an edge of doubt in his voice: ‘You are Irish, aren’t you?’

  She gave a gurgle of laughter and it was as if some unseen bond had been suddenly forged between them. ‘Yes. I told you. I was born in County Wicklow.’

  ‘Where in County Wicklow?’

  The door behind them opened and Captain Neills, the second-lieutenant and Father Mulcahy emerged. All three tried not to look surprised at finding the newly weds tête-à-tête in the companion-way. Maura and Alexander barely noticed them.

  ‘Killaree. It’s a clachan on the Clanmar estate.’

  ‘Would that be Lord Clanmar?’

  She nodded, her eyes brightening with pleasure at his knowing the name. ‘Yes, did you know him?’

  ‘He’s dead?’

  She nodded and for a moment it almost looked as if she had tears in her eyes.

  ‘I never knew him but I’ve heard of him.’ He tried to remember back to his college lessons on European government. ‘He was a big-wig in Peel’s government, wasn’t he?’

  She nodded again and he said with genuine interest, ‘And Lord Clanmar was your landlord?’

  ‘Yes, he was also …’ She hesitated as if unsure of how to continue.

  He could well imagine what she was going to say next. Although he, Alexander, might sound admiring of Clanmar he could well imagine that Clanmar’s tenants would feel far differently. Powerscourt had told him quite graphically of the unreasoning hatred that most of the Irish tenantry entertained towards those whose land they lived on.

  He said, wanting to get back to the subject and the circumstances of her birth: ‘Were your parents tenant farmers? Were you born in a farmhouse?’

  If she had been it might go some way to explaining why her speech and manner were radically different from her fellows, farmers presumably being a class higher than mere labourers. There was an impish smile at the corner of her mouth; a smile that reminded him of Genevre.

  ‘No.’ As pain so vicious he could hardly bear it coursed through him, she tilted her head fractionally, her eyes meeting his. ‘I was born in a one-roomed, mud-walled-cabin. And I was born illegitimate.’

  With all the strength he possessed he tried not to think of Genevre. If he did so he would lose his self-control. He wondered if Charlie had ever cried; if any man had ever cried as much as he had since he had read the news of Genevre’s death. Her eyes were still on his as she waited almost defiantly for his reaction.

  ‘Illegitimate?’ He struggled to focus his attention once more upon her. ‘Illegitimate?’ It was even better than he had hoped. When his father was appraised of the fact he would have a heart attack. He grinned suddenly in happy anticipation.

  ‘That doesn’t matter. People aren’t responsible for the circumstances of their birth.’

  It was a phrase he had heard God knew where and its effect on his new bride was transforming. All the doubt and anxiety that had been in her eyes vanished. Her smile was radiant.

  ‘I’m so glad that is the way you feel. Because someone else felt like that I had the most wonderful upbringing …’

  He wasn’t remotely interested. He was already planning on the stir he intended creating when he disembarked with his new wife. The instant he set foot on dry land he would inform the news agencies of his arrival and supply them with biographical details of his bride. He wanted news of their wedding splashed across every front page. With luck journalists would be on the dockside even before they, themselves, left it. And so they would have to disembark together.

  ‘I understand you feeling more comfortable among your friends and your wishing to remain in steerage for the
remainder of the voyage, but we will have to leave the ship together,’ he said, interrupting her. ‘Otherwise you may very well find yourself on Ellis Island with all the other emigrants.’

  She nodded, seeing the sense of what he was saying.

  ‘On the morning we arrive, ask a member of the crew to direct you to the Karolyis stateroom. And be prepared for a little fuss when we have disembarked as I shall be sending news of our marriage to certain people and they will most likely hurry to the docks to greet us.’

  A steward was approaching down the companion-way and Alexander made a slight movement of his hand, summoning the man towards him.

  ‘Would you please escort …’ He had forgotten her name again. ‘Would you please escort Mrs Karolyis to her quarters in steerage, please.’

  The steward stared at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. ‘Mrs Karolyis, sir? To steerage?’

  There was a small choking sound from the girl at his side. He flashed her a glance of concern and saw that she was desperately trying not to laugh. His own sense of humour reasserted itself.

  ‘Yes, please. Steerage,’ he reiterated, grinning broadly at the ridiculousness of the situation. It suddenly occurred to him that Genevre would have been in peals of laughter over the horrified and disbelieving expression on the steward’s face.

  ‘Goodbye,’ his bride was saying to him. ‘Until the day we land.’

  ‘Goodbye.’ He was still grinning, filled with an amazing sense of well-being.

  As he watched the steward accompany her down the companion-way he was seized by another thought. A thought so startling that it rooted him to the spot. Genevre would have liked the girl he had just married; the girl who was innocently to act as her avenger. It was an intriguing realization. Genevre had been carefully brought up, cosseted and cherished and scrupulously educated. The girl he had married had been born into abject poverty with no such advantages. Yet the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that the two of them would, if the opportunity had arisen, have become friends.