An Embarrassment of Riches (22 page)

He let himself into his stateroom and flung himself exhaustedly down on his bunk. He had had an exceedingly busy and fruitful morning. Today was Tuesday and he had no doubts whatsoever that by the end of the week he would be a married man.

Maura hurried quickly down the companion-way, certain that at any moment she would be seized hold of again. No swift, aggressive strides followed in her wake. With relief she stepped through the companion-hatch leading into the steerage quarters and was immediately met by a wall of curious stares.

‘Offer to take you away from all this, did he, dear?' someone called out saucily. It was so near to the truth that Maura flushed scarlet.

‘Take no notice of her, she's only jealous,' another woman said as Maura began to make her way to the girl who was caring for her young charge.

Jamesie O'Hara was crying. He had liked being with Maura. She had a soft voice and she smelled nice. His other temporary nanny had already clipped him over the ear once and smelled anything but nice.

Maura took hold of him, soothing him, wishing there was a quiet corner where she could sit and reflect.

‘I'm thinking yon gentleman was a mite above himself,' an old lady at her elbow said knowledgeably. ‘If I were you, I wouldn't have anything more to do with him. No good will come of it, and that's for sure.'

Maura smiled and moved away. She needed to be able to think about what had happened. She needed a semblance of solitude in which to sort out her chaotic emotions.

Jamesie's young mother approached her a trifle unsteadily. ‘Thank you for having him,' Rosie O'Hara said gratefully. ‘I'm feeling a bitty stronger now.'

She held out her arms to take her child and Maura said, trying not to let her relief show, ‘Are you sure? It's no trouble …'

‘No, it's fine that I am.'

She didn't look it, but Maura didn't argue with her. Caring for the little boy would perhaps take her mind off her nausea. She handed him over and then squeezed through the still curious crush to the rungs leading up on to deck. She had to be able to think. For the past four days that man had been so much in the forefront of her thoughts and now he had approached her and made his unbelievable request and she didn't know what to make of it, or of him.

With great difficulty she threaded her way through to the deck-rails and secured enough space to be able to clasp hold of them tightly and stare out at the heaving, grey-green ocean.

Was he mad? He didn't look mad but it was the only feasible explanation for his extraordinary behaviour.

As she stood by herself deep in thought several heads turned in her direction. She was oblivious of them and of the murmur of gossip centring around her, remembering the moment she had first become aware of him.

It had been as the
Scotia
had moved out of the harbour and into St George's Channel. As the mountains of Ireland had begun to recede she had turned her head, fumbling in her dress pocket for a handkerchief to dry her tears. Above her and to her left, where the first-class passenger deck terminated, a tall, taut figure stood, gazing back at the land through narrowed eyes.

Vaguely registering that he was a criminally handsome young man she had turned once more seawards, her thoughts full of Isabel and Ballacharmish and all she was leaving behind.

After only one night spent in the communal sleeping quarters she had emerged on deck the next morning literally gasping for fresh air. He had been there again, gazing broodingly out at sea. He looked as unhappy as she felt and she wondered if he, too, was leaving a dearly loved home and dearly loved friends.

By the second day she had begun to establish a pattern to his appearances on the section of the first-class deck that overlooked steerage. He would be there early in the morning, after obviously having taken a lonely stroll. Then he would reappear again in the afternoon, sometimes standing at the rails overlooking the sea, sometimes looking down with unseeing eyes at the hustle and bustle taking place below him.

Her first fleeting opinion of him was by now fiercely affirmed. He was extraordinarily handsome. His hair was dark, easily as dark as her own, and he had high Slavic cheekbones, a slightly aquiline nose and a finely chiselled mouth. Although he was too far away for her to see, she was sure that his eyes were as dark as his hair. He was tall and leanly built and he possessed a carefully casual elegance she found immensely attractive.

By the third day she realized that she was waiting for him to appear and mentally chided herself. What on earth was she doing spending time thinking about a young man she had not met and in all likelihood never would meet? There were other things to think about. New York, and what she would do when she arrived there. Isabel and Kieron and her mother and Lord Clanmar.

She hoped fiercely that Isabel would not be lonely for long in London, that she would soon begin to enjoy art galleries and concerts and all the diversions that London could offer. Kieron, she knew, would be just fine. Kieron would always be able to look after himself and as soon as she had an address in New York for him to write back to, she would write to him. He was her friend and always would be, and she knew that he would not allow contact between them to be lost.

Instinctively she had turned her head, looking upwards. He was there again, the collar of his expensively cut jacket turned up against the ocean breeze, his shoulders tense, the set of his face broodingly grim.

She didn't know why, but right from the first she had known that he was American. He was too flamboyant to be English, too hard-edged and noticeable. And though his dark good looks possessed the damn-your-eyes quality of a certain type of Irishman, she had known immediately that he wasn't Irish. His origins were from farther east, from Hungary or Poland, or perhaps even Russia.

The days at sea were long and empty and she had too much time for day-dreaming and reflection. Time and again she went over her parting from Kieron in her mind. Would he have taken her with him if he had heard her calling his name? Had his sudden goodbye kiss been anything more than fraternally affectionate?

She found herself wondering what her reaction would be if the young and handsome mystery man kissed her on the lips and as warm colour flushed her cheeks she realized that she was behaving like a heroine in a penny romance and that it wasn't in the least edifying. There were plenty more practical things for her to be thinking about, plenty of problems that still needed resolving. How was she going to earn her living for instance? Governessing was the most obvious option, but she knew that without any references from previous employers, prospective employers might not be too enthusiastic about engaging her. Her age, too, would be a drawback. There was needlework. She could always become a seamstress like her mother.

At the thought of what her mother's reaction to such a solution would have been, she discarded it immediately. She had been rigorously well-educated and she would
not
settle for a position where her education would be wasted. Surely there would be employment agencies in New York where a suitable, challenging position could be found for her?

She pondered the problem of where she would live until such a position was found. The money she had gleaned from selling her clothes and personal possessions had been used to pay for her passage. There had been very little left over and although she had put a brave face on it to Isabel, not wanting to distress her, the truth of it was that she was as destitute as her worn and weary travelling companions.

When Lord Clanmar had discussed the American Civil War with her he had often made passing references to New York and she knew of the Bowery and the infamous Five Points, the poorest areas of the city where Irish emigrants crowded. She gave a shiver of apprehension, knowing that conditions there would be even worse than the conditions the poor endured in Queenstown or in Killaree. How would she stand it? Despite all her brave words to Isabel as to her ability to live cheek by jowl with fellow countrywomen who had never had a hot bath in their lives and who, in many cases, had never even seen a bar of toilet soap, the reality had been almost more than she had been able to bear.

She had lived in luxury for too long. Worse than the squalor had been the lack of privacy. She couldn't accustom herself to having her every movement observed and she knew that life in the Bowery or Five Points would be exactly the same. Wherever she went she would not be able to afford a room to herself and the impressions she had gained of the Bowery and Five Points was that several families shared each and every room, taking turns to sleep on whatever beds were available.

She tilted her chin determinedly. If she had to endure it for a little while, then she would. But she would not accept it as her lot. She would find a way of putting all her years of education to good use and one day she would have a home of her own and it would be as comfortable, and as warm and as welcoming, as Ballacharmish had been.

The next morning, as she tried to find space again on deck, the seaman who had escorted her out into the companion-way in order that Alexander Karolyis could speak to her in private, approached.

‘Excuse me, miss,' he said, deferentially, ‘Mr Karolyis would like another word if he may.'

To her intense annoyance embarrassed colour touched her cheeks.

‘Tell Mr Karolyis that I am unavailable,' she said crisply with a coolness she was far from feeling.

The seaman stared at her. She was a cracker and no mistake. And a lady. What she was doing travelling steerage he couldn't even begin to imagine. The sovereigns that Alexander had given him clinked in his pocket. ‘It will only take a minute of your time, miss,' he said encouragingly.

‘I'm sorry,' she said firmly. ‘No.'

The seaman stood his ground. It was a crying shame she was taking this attitude because it had become apparent that by acting as go-between he could earn himself a nice little packet before New York was reached. As he wondered how best to coerce her, a young girl pushed her way violently through the throng towards them and leaned far out over the deck-rails, vomiting wretchedly. Almost at the same moment a bare-bottomed toddler playing near their feet defecated on the deck.

He saw Maura's face tighten in an expression of stoic endurance and seized his chance. ‘There's a nice quiet part of the second-class deck that you could talk in. It even has chairs.'

A chair! Maura hadn't set eyes on one since leaving Ballacharmish. She said a little less curtly, ‘Steerage passengers are absolutely forbidden access to any other part of the ship, as I'm sure you know.'

He did know, and ordinarily he wouldn't even have suggested it. None of the other steerage passengers would have passed muster for a moment in second-class, but she was different. Her serviceable blackberry-coloured dress was made of good quality material. She had shoes on her feet. Her hands were soft and smooth. If he could have contrived it he would have been quite happy for her to have moved into a second-class accommodation there and then.

‘I know what the ruling is, miss. But rules can be broken, by the proper people.'

‘And is Mr Karolyis a proper person?' she asked curiously.

‘Mr Karolyis is an extremely wealthy young man.' He cleared his throat and added coaxingly, ‘I think I could manage to bring the two of you a pot of fresh coffee while you have your little talk.'

She lifted the hem of her skirt out of the way as the soiled toddler crawled past her feet. The girl hanging over the rails groaned and heaved once more. On their left-hand side a baby had begun to scream in frustration and temper.

‘And will you escort me back to steerage?' she queried, her will weakening despite all her intentions to the contrary.

He nodded, happily fingering the coins in his pocket. ‘Of course I will, miss. This way then, if you please.' He began to lead the way towards the companion-hatch. ‘Mr Karolyis is waiting at the barrier as he was yesterday.'

With a violently beating heart she followed him down the rungs and through the cramped confines of steerage. What she was doing was crazy. Mr Karolyis was a young man obviously not of sound mind and instead of giving him the widest possible berth, she was voluntarily going to meet him again. As they stepped out of steerage quarters into the companion-way beyond, she wondered what it was he wanted to speak to her about. Was he wanting to apologize to her for his bizarre behaviour of yesterday? Or was he going to make another, equally bizarre, request? Or was he going to request again that she marry him in order to satisfy his father's instruction that he return to America a married man?

She wondered if his story about his father were true. Why should his father be so desperate for him to marry? And if he were, and even if his son was anxious to oblige him, why should such a handsome and obviously wealthy young man propose to a girl he did not even know?

They stepped out of steerage quarters into the companion-way beyond. He was leaning against the wall on the far side of the steerage/third-class barrier, his hands deep in his trouser pockets, his shoulders hunched. For a brief second he was unaware of their approach and in that second, as she saw the naked misery etched on his face, her heart went out to him.

‘I thought perhaps the young lady might be more comfortable talking in second-class, sir,' the seaman said, hoping he wasn't going to look a fool by having Mr Karolyis veto his suggestion. ‘I could bring some hot coffee as well, sir.'

Alexander tore his thoughts away from Genevre. ‘Yes,' he said, pushing himself away from the wall.

The seaman breathed a sigh of relief and led the way through the third-class companion-ways to the companion-ladder leading up on to the second-class deck.

Walking alongside her broodingly silent companion Maura no longer felt embarrassed or uncomfortable. Sane or insane, he was deeply unhappy and in need of a friend. And she wanted to be his friend. In her heart of hearts, she had wanted to be his friend ever since the moment she had first set eyes on him.