by Bonnie Dee
Jody quietly followed Cyril down the corridor, waiting to learn exactly how upset he might be.
*
Cyril gusted along on a wave of rage that had him shaking. He marveled that he’d had the grit to confront Longbow and threaten him into submission. How proud Father would have been to see his peaceful, amiable son throw his weight around at last, although not for such a sordid reason. Never thought following in your footsteps in any manner would be a good thing. Suppose I’ve learned there’s a time and place for bullying.
But, oh God, why couldn’t he have summoned that power earlier and forestalled the sordid incident? He should not have yielded to Longbow’s threats in the first place; then Jody wouldn’t have been inspired to pay the debt in his own way. Cyril could have protected him sooner. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that he had any power, until he saw…what he’d seen.
Longbow manhandling Jody and savagely using him had spurred Cyril to act as Father had whenever an underling displeased him. As for that punch at the end… Cyril rubbed his stinging knuckles and licked away blood. Primal satisfaction swelled at the remembered feeling of his fist punching Longbow’s face. And the way the fellow had toppled to the ground while covering his streaming nose was savagely delightful.
Cyril listened to Jody’s footsteps behind him. What should he say to him? His emotions were like flotsam after a shipwreck, one piece and then another bobbing to the surface: anger at the sexual bargain Jody had struck with their accuser, pity that he believed an exchange of sex for favors was the only way to solve the problem, and love at Jody’s sacrifice. Clearly, his heart had been in the right place, but at the moment, Cyril could not expunge the image of him prone beneath that horrible man.
Once on deck, Cyril stopped walking and faced Jody. “Why didn’t you talk with me first? Why would you do…that?”
Jody’s expression was guarded. “I didn’t imagine you’d approve, so I did what had to be done. Guess I’ve destroyed your romantic illusions about me.”
Not destroyed, but certainly shaken the foundation. Cyril bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling. “I believed there was something special between us. I’m incurably old-fashioned, I suppose, but I can’t help feeling such intimate acts matter.”
Jody studied the toe of his shoe, tracing a line on the floor. “We both know life don’t work that way, especially not for men like us.”
His harsh tone reminded Cyril of the stranger who’d spoken in precisely that cold manner the night Toby’s mask had been stripped away. The realization struck him that Jody would always possess a calculating hardness beneath his charm. Could Cyril ever truly trust him, when he might lie or shift into some alien person at any time? Perhaps he had once again been fooled by an actor into believing a fantasy.
“You should have come to me. It was our decision to make together, even if you were trying to protect me,” he chided.
Jody still didn’t meet his gaze. “Don’t matter much now anyhow, does it? Tonight’s the end of it. Ship arrives in port tomorrow.”
One last night. Part of Cyril wanted to hold Jody close for the little time that remained. But he didn’t know this chilly stranger and couldn’t stop images of Jody and Longbow from flooding his mind. “I cannot invite you to my cabin tonight. I need a bit of time. We can talk again in the morning.”
Jody shrugged. “Why bother? Best end it now, I suppose.”
Cyril wanted to banish the hurt that filled him, to declare his forgiveness and embrace Jody. But he couldn’t ignore his feelings and the niggling doubts that squirmed like maggots in his brain. He replied almost without conscious thought. “Yes, I imagine that’s for the best.”
“Awright, then.” Jody took a step back as if already fading into the past. His slouching posture and Cockney accent seemed a suit of armor he’d donned. “It’s been a treat knowing ya. I wish you luck in America. Have a nice life.”
“The same to you.” Again, the words weren’t what he wanted to say, but Cyril pushed down the voice inside him screaming to be heard.
He remained silent as Jody walked away and disappeared through a doorway.
It wasn’t too late to run after him. But Jody seemed so tough and assured. Perhaps he meant exactly what he said. After all, shipboard romances were never meant to last. Everything must return to what it had been before, status quo, stars in their proper places, an ocean liner of wealth and privilege sailing on smooth seas. Yet the churning disturbances underneath gave Cyril a restless night. He nursed his bruised knuckles and heart and waited for morning.
Chapter Twenty
For the first time in nearly two weeks, Celtic came to a halt and floated near the mouth of New York Harbor. Transport vessels would soon arrive to ferry the first- and second-class passengers to shore, but not until the passengers were examined by medical staff under the auspices of the United States Immigration Department.
A porter assigned to Cyril’s section stopped by to politely request he prepare to disembark.
Cyril accepted the paperwork the man gave him with which to tag his luggage. He possessed nothing of value except the orchids. He hoped to buy a flower shop and sell common flowers while raising orchids for connoisseurs, but the enthusiasm he’d felt upon first concocting the plan seemed hollow now. There was only one thing essential to his existence. Why had he never discussed the future with Jody, instead of pretending there was no life beyond the voyage? If they had come up with a mutual plan, how differently last night might have gone.
“Could you tell me when the steerage passengers will be transported?” Cyril asked the porter.
“They’re already on their way to Ellis Island. Don’t worry. You won’t have to rub elbows with them in any way, sir.”
The porter closed the door while Cyril’s heart shriveled. Jody was gone. Even if Cyril wanted to seek him out, declare his feelings, and ask if Jody would like to strike out on a future together, it was far too late.
He glumly packed his plants in their protective case. The struggling seedlings no longer inspired any proud thrill. They were only fancy plants. A dandelion contributed more to the world, since people could eat its greens. His once-precious flora could not carry on a conversation or hold him close at night. Now that he’d known true kinship, how could he bear to return to a solitary existence with only flowers for companionship? Every aching part of him craved Jody. Cyril cursed himself for the pride and doubt that had kept him from acting on his true feelings last night.
But there was nothing to be done about it, was there? He would receive a cursory health check, then freely enter the city in a matter of hours, while anything might happen to Jody. A flaw in his falsified papers or his health could deny him entry. Or he might be registered quickly and disappear into one of the busiest cities in the world. If so, how could Cyril ever find him again?
His mind raced in all directions, imagining every scenario that might result in a reunion. But the hard truth was that there was very little chance he would see Jody again. Cyril hated himself for his parting words the previous night. He should have gone down on one knee and told Jody how much he cared. Should have told him their time together—either with Jody playing the part of Toby or revealing his true self—meant everything to him.
Cyril left his cabin and walked to the grand gallery now serving as an examination area. He waited his turn with the medical personnel. At last, a white-coated aide with a sharp center part in his oiled hair and a neat little moustache put a stethoscope to Cyril’s chest and asked him to breathe deeply.
Cyril coughed on demand. “Could you tell me where the steerage passengers come ashore after their inspection at the immigration center?”
The young man regarded him curiously. “Across the harbor at Battery Park. Why do you ask, sir?”
“No reason. Merely curious about the routine.”
He would wait at the landing site for as long as it took for Jody’s processing. Even if it were several days, he’d remain there to make his proposa
l.
But if Jody was sent back to England for some reason, Cyril might wait in vain. What then?
The aide took the stethoscope from his ears. “Your heart rate is quite elevated. I imagine that’s from the excitement of your imminent arrival. At any rate, you’ve passed your exam and may continue on to the next station to complete your paperwork.”
“No!” Cyril blurted, then lowered his voice. “That is to say, I, um, had ‘contact’ with one of the ladies from steerage and seem to have developed a rash. I fear I may have caught something.”
The tidy man’s moustache quivered with distaste. “That is a private matter you may take up with a physician once ashore. It need not impact your immigration status.”
“Surely, such an intimate disease may be communicable.”
The aide glared. “Not if you keep it to yourself. Are you trying to be sent to the hospital on Ellis Island?”
Cyril leaned close, and the aide reared back as though to avoid any taint be it physical or moral. “I can make it worth your while to question my lungs or whatever part of me would require further inspection. There is a person I must speak with there.”
“Good heavens! Have you fallen in love with some diseased doxy? I urge you to come to your senses.”
“I could pay you a token.”
“I do not accept bribes, sir, neither to pass someone who is seriously ill nor to abet a madman’s scheme. I cannot be bought.”
Cyril gritted his teeth. His bad luck to encounter one of the precious few honorable civil servants.
What would Jody do? He’d play a part, as Cyril had portrayed an imperious lord the previous evening. He would do whatever it took to achieve his goal.
With his heart racing, Cyril gave a loud cry to draw attention, and dropped to the floor. There, he twitched as if with epileptic palsy. It was a desperate scheme, but his heart urged him to try something, anything, so Cyril committed fully to his seizure. As the aide bent over him, people began to gather and murmur.
“Come away, dear, you needn’t witness this,” a man soothed a sobbing woman.
“I know someone who has fits like these. He’ll be all right,” another fellow offered. “Put something between his teeth so he doesn’t bite his tongue.”
“Please, back away,” the medic ordered.
An authoritative older voice came from Cyril’s left side. “This patient should be placed in restraints so as not to harm himself. I believe we have a straitjacket available.”
Cyril immediately stopped pretending to spasm and went limp.
“Doctor Renley, restraint is no longer the recommended treatment for epileptics,” the young medic protested. “Give him a moment to rest, and he should recover.”
At any other time, Cyril would have lauded the young man’s progressive thinking. Right now, it was inconvenient.
Luckily, the doctor did not appreciate his methods coming into question. “He must be transferred to the immigration hospital for further study. We haven’t time for the more thorough examination required.”
“I am not certain his condition is real, sir. He expressed a wish to be sent to the hospital.”
“Why would anyone want that? Don’t speak nonsense, Singer. And don’t question my order. For once, do as you’re told.”
“Yes, sir,” Singer grudgingly replied.
Cyril did not move a muscle for several more moments, then he groaned softly and opened his eyes. The medic’s face and the concerned onlookers gaping at him came into focus.
“Did I have one of my attacks, doctor?” He addressed the white-haired man standing over him.
“Yes, your lordship. I’m afraid you must go to the facility at Ellis Island.”
“Oh no! They won’t hold me long, will they?”
“A day or two. Likely no more than that. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must return to my duties.”
Cyril sat up as the physician’s assistant unfolded his arms and beckoned an orderly to assist him to his feet. Cyril waved him off. “I believe I can stand. I usually bounce back quite quickly after one of these episodes.”
“It appears your desire has been met. May you have good luck with it.” As the orderly escorted Cyril away, the medic added, “Madman.”
Mad indeed. What if the medical staff on Ellis Island refused entry to a self-proclaimed epileptic and sent him back to England? But he’d committed to this path, and it was too late to turn back.
He joined a small group of passengers who had failed their tests, and after a time, the group was escorted onto a transport vessel. Cyril clung to the rail and stared at the awe-inspiring sight of Lady Liberty with her torch raised high. The huge statue grew closer, along with the brand-new immigration center located on adjacent Ellis Island. The building’s clean, modern lines replaced the previous facility, which had burned down two years earlier.
It was a beautiful building, yet Cyril couldn’t stop his feeling of trepidation as he disembarked and entered the shadow cast by the facility. He’d forsaken his familial duties and sold his birthright for this fresh start. What if Jody finished his immigration procedures while Cyril was still in quarantine? This insane risk might be for nothing.
The volume of noise and the stench of many unwashed bodies enclosed together overwhelmed the newcomers as they entered the enormous main room. Masses of people waited in queues, and competing languages created a Babel-like clamor. Cyril scanned tweed caps and bowler hats that made all the men look similar, but did not spot the one immigrant he wanted to see. A uniformed attendant was urging him forward so he could search no more.
A very thin, very pale lady clutched a lace handkerchief to her nose. “The odor! If I was not near fainting before, I certainly am now.”
“I’m sorry you had to pass through the main hall, madam,” the attendant said. “Masons are working on the hospital entrance, so we were forced to come this way.”
Perhaps this was Cyril’s chance. “I am feeling much better. I do not require a hospital stay. I merely suffered one of the fits I’ve been prone to my entire life—nothing unusual or communicable. Might I join the group here and continue with my paperwork?”
“Sorry, I haven’t the authority, sir. But if you’re healthy, you’ll be on your way by tomorrow, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Feeling more like a convict than a guest, Cyril shuffled along with the rest of his group through a connecting corridor and into the clean white interior of the infirmary. A sharp tang of antiseptic stung his nose. The structure was so new that one could almost smell the paint drying.
“You’ll each be assigned to a ward and a bed before supper is served. The food is of excellent quality,” their guide assured them.
Cyril had not intended to be here long. Perhaps a few pounds pressed into the right palm could hurry the process. He had gone from plotting a way in to scheming to get out, and without a clue as to whether Jody was even on the island. He heaved an impatient breath as a trapped feeling bound him like a mummy’s bandages. While he was wasting time, what was Jody doing at the same moment?
Chapter Twenty-one
Shuffle forward and wait. Shuffle forward and wait.
Jody’s stomach gave a loud grumble as the afternoon wore on and the steerage passengers were offered nothing to eat. He stood in one of several long lines in a crowded room, which felt airless despite tall windows letting in a slight breeze.
Jody sighed and loosened his collar. He would button it again before speaking to an official. It was important he appear respectable in every detail lest they examine his forged papers too closely. He was now Richard Mayhew of Battersea, a former factory worker with a job awaiting him on a relative’s farm in Pennsylvania. Jody had more details ready if he were questioned, but hopefully a civil servant’s impatience at this late hour would earn him a rubber stamp and a spot on the last transport of the day.
Once he reached New York, he’d find an inn for the night and the following day see the city before buying a train ticket west—or any direc
tion, really, so long as he could settle in a quiet country town. Shouldn’t be too hard to hire on as a farmhand. Hopefully, days of manual labor would leave him too exhausted to dwell on the man he would never see again.
Stop! he ordered as his thoughts drifted yet again to Cyril. It was pointless to replay the awful moment when Cyril had gazed at him in horror, and their final exchange of words. He must stop daydreaming about what might have been, some unlikely future in which he and Cyril had charted a course together. Even if Cyril hadn’t caught him literally with his pants down, that would never have happened. Jody was no fit partner for a man like Cyril Belmont. Whatever he might say about leaving behind his pedigree in England, it simply wasn’t true. He was bred to be a lord and would find his proper social standing, while Jody was bred to be…nothing at all.
Another immigrant received his precious government seal, and Jody moved forward. Only two more people before him. A drawn-out wail drew his attention from the back of the fellow’s head in front of him to another part of the room.
“Nein! Nein. Bitte!”
Jody recognized Mrs. Mueller’s brightly patterned head scarf from a distance. A medic was attempting to calm her after delivering bad news, probably quarantine until passage home could be arranged. Dieter kicked the medic in the shin and pulled at his arm to make him let go of his mother. A massive attendant rushed over to gain control of the situation.
Jody looked at the two people ahead of him and the dozen or so behind him. If he missed his opportunity, he’d certainly be stuck on this island until tomorrow. The Jody from London would’ve said so what? and carried on with his business unperturbed. What would Cyril do? a voice in his head scolded.
Jody sighed and went to lend his aid to Mrs. Mueller and son. “Hold up, there. I know this woman. Let me talk to her,” he said to the mountain who restrained Mrs. Mueller and the clawing, shouting Dieter.
