Catch Me If You Can (7 page)

Chapter Five

The Lady Finds Direction

Lord Brooks of West Sussex was a stocky, jovial man, and he rose from his seat as Eleanor was ushered into his study by the Brooks’ head butler.

“You’re very welcome, my dear,” he said, straightening his wig, and gestured to a seat.

Eleanor took the chair, her black mourning gown rustling as she did so.

“Thank you for granting me an interview, Lord Brooks.”

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Craven. How are you faring?”

“I cannot say it’s been an easy time.”

The statement reflected only a small amount of the distress she’d suffered. It was only now, after several weeks, that Eleanor felt strong enough to move forward. During that time, her immense sorrow and loss had been amplified in Oaklands. It made her unhappy to be alone in the familiar place.

“Understandably so.” Lord Brooks fiddled with his moustache, his expression reflective. He was, no doubt, trying to determine the reason for her visit. “It must be hard for you now, especially during your time of mourning. Have you been finding the tenants a little much to deal with?”

Eleanor mustered a smile for him. In the first days of her loss, Lord Brooks had assured her he would give any assistance she might need in running the estate. At first she’d bristled. Even in the depths of her loss she coped well with overseeing, it was only her forthcoming absence that made it necessary to avail of his offer.

“Thankfully no. The tenants have been kind and hardworking. Although I do appreciate your offer of assistance.”

He nodded. Curiosity glinted in his eyes. “My lady wife was saying only the other day that you might visit more now that you’re alone in that great house.” 

“It’s barely a social call. It’s a matter of business I wish to discuss.”

He chuckled to himself, apparently pleased by her clarification. “Business, eh. In that case you’ve won me a wager.”

“I have?”

“I speculated a few guineas on the matter. My wife, Lady Lavinia, hopes for reform on your part and anticipates your company in her local philanthropic endeavors. However, I see a headstrong young woman who has greater things in mind that local do-gooding. I hope I don’t embarrass you my dear.”

“Of course not. I’m well aware I am a curiosity.” Eleanor smiled. She’d always found Lord Brooks genial, and it stirred her spirits to think of him wagering against any potential change in her behavior. “A woman of my age who does not seek to marry is likely to be a curiosity. The fact my father has passed will only enliven the debate.”

“God rest his soul.” Lord Brooks bowed his head a moment, genuinely saddened.

Eleanor nodded. Lord Brooks had proved himself a good neighbor at the time of the funeral, assisting in arrangements and passing the word, when she was barely able to function. “I doubt my father would want me to change now, he spent his life preparing me to how to manage alone.”

“Quite so, and you and your father declined invitations to most of the county’s society events for as long as I recall, a scandalous line of behavior,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “and one which I myself often wish I could adopt. Alas, lady Lavinia won’t allow it and drags me to the most tedious of events.”

Eleanor smiled. “I keep busy in other ways.”

“Ah yes, the vicar reported he caught sight of you out in the fields with the workers.” He lifted his brows in mock astonishment. “Apparently you were pitching hay like a man. The vicar does however tend to exaggerate, especially after a glass or two of port.”

“It is quite true, I’m afraid. I took off my mourning habit and did as my father would have done at harvest time.”

“Strange, but honorable. Now, you must take a dish of tea with us. Lavinia will be delighted.” 

“I shall, if you have time for a short discussion first.”

“Your matter of business. Of course.”

“You’ve been a wonderful neighbor to my father in the past, and you have kept a watchful eye on our affairs when we were away from the estate, often for months at a time.”

He acknowledged her appreciation with a slight nod, encouraging her to continue.

“I would like you to grant me the same favor.”

“You intend to leave the estate?”

She did. When she’d begun to feel stronger she’d thought of Frieda and of traveling to the American land that bore the Craven name. What better way to show homage to her beloved father than to follow in his footsteps? As soon as the idea had taken hold, her spirit grew strong again. Focusing on the plan made her feel stronger by the moment. “Indeed, I wish to visit with my Aunt in America. It’s the right thing to do. She’s my only close family. I should be with her.”

“That’s understandable.”

“I may be away from Oaklands for some time. A year, maybe more. My intention is to ask Mr. Wimpole, my father’s solicitor, to employ a reputable company to support the tenants with their needs during my absence. However, I would ask them to report to you on a fortnightly basis, for guidance. You are aware of how things are run in the county and I would appreciate your guidance for them – if you are agreeable.”

“Miss Craven, I’m flattered and of course I’ll gladly act as I have before.” He fiddled with his necktie, his eyes thoughtful. “I would prefer to have my estate manager take on the additional overseeing and report directly to me. I believe he has the time to include it in his current duties and your tenants are familiar with him. If the work becomes too much at harvest time I’ll address that problem then. In the meantime that might be more effective than hiring a stranger who they haven’t met before.”

It was the response she’d hoped for. She couldn’t assume he would offer the same generous facilitation with her as he had with her father, nor could she hope to avail of his favors for what might be a much longer absence than he’d previously supervised. This would be a good arrangement. “My Lord, that would be most satisfactory and I thank you for your kind considerations. Mr. Wimpole will arrange remuneration for your estate manager with immediate effect.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Immediate?”

“I intend to leave as soon as possible. However, I’ve not yet spoken of my intentions to the tenants or servants. If your man could perhaps visit me later in the week it will give me time to inform them of the arrangements.”

“Of course. We’ll look forward to the day when you come back. You are much admired by your tenants – a rare achievement for a woman, and a most admirable one.”  Lord Brooks rose and came to her side. He took her hand as she rose from her seat, bending over it with a respectful bow.

His comments had surprised Eleanor, who was unaware of her reputation or that it would meet with a positive response from a man such as Lord Brooks.

Later, after a genial discussion on county matters with both him and his wife, she took her leave. As she climbed back into the carriage, she reflected on his words. It moved her deeply to think the tenants thought well of her. That put a gem of warmth in her heart. She’d made sure they would be looked after and treated fairly and would nurture the gem while she was away from home. It was going to be hard to leave them, and the household servants. However, she knew she must undertake the journey, not least in homage of her beloved father. To walk in his footsteps and see what he’d seen, in happier days would bring him close to her again.

* * *

When the meeting with Mr. Wimpole was over and everything was in place, Eleanor finally went to speak with Mrs. Bramley in her private sitting room. The housekeeper sat by the fire with some sewing in her hand when her mistress came in. She looked at Eleanor in dismay when she related her plans to travel to America.

“I’ve planned the expedition carefully and I want to go over the final household matters with you now. I intend to be ready to leave within days.” 

Mrs. Bramley sat back in her chair, aghast at the idea of it. “I know this was a planned journey, but your father wouldn’t have wanted you to do it without a chaperone.” 

Eleanor cast her eyes down and pressed her lips together determinedly. “I’ve anticipated your concerns. You needn’t worry yourself unduly. I intend to travel with my school friend who frequently visits her family in Europe. You remember Miette?”

Mrs. Bramley nodded. A quick roll of her eyes toward the heavens indicated she thought Eleanor’s choice of traveling companion would not overly ease her concern. One visit to Oaklands two years earlier had convinced the housekeeper the young French lady was never going to be a stabilizing influence.

“Miette is visiting with her Mama in Paris at the moment. She’s married now, and lives most of the year in New York. I wrote to her and suggested I join her on her next voyage. I received her reply by telegraph today and she’s booking my passage to travel with her. We are leaving on the twentieth.”  She paused. “That gives us a week to organize everything here.”

Eleanor hoped the mention of a friend would allay Mrs. Bramley’s fears, and she wouldn’t think about the journey beyond New York, which she fully intended to manage alone.

Mrs. Bramley frowned. “You won’t be here for Christmas?”

“No, and I think that’s best. Christmas here without my father would be a painful time.”

Mrs. Bramley nodded.

“I want you shut up the house and spend the season with your sister in Dorset.”

Mrs. Bramley nodded again. “Thank you, Miss Eleanor, for your kind thoughts. It’s true, it won’t be a happy house this Christmas…and I’ve not seen my sister and the little ones since the summer” She gave a deep sigh. “I wish I could discourage you, but I know in my heart you will need the family connection your Aunt Frieda can give you, at this difficult time.”

“That’s it exactly,” murmured Eleanor. “Frieda and Mr. Rivers will be on their way back to California by now, and I’ve written to her there, as well as the last address I had for them in Italy, to inform her…” She swallowed, for it was still not easy to say it aloud. “Of my father’s death, and my intentions to visit.”

Mrs. Bramley nodded. “Will you at least take Alice with you? A lady such as yourself cannot travel without a maid.”

Eleanor smiled at her. “Now you know I managed well without the services of a maid when I was traveling abroad with father. However, if it will make you rest easier I’ll take Alice as far as the hotel in Southampton. I’m sure they’ll have maids aboard ship. In any case, Miette is bound to have her maid with her – don’t worry Mrs. Bramley, I shall manage.” 

“You will be gone a long while?” The old woman’s eyes were misting.

“I’m not sure exactly. I’ll write often, Mrs. Bramley, and I’ll return. I promise you that.” She reached out and took hold of the housekeeper’s hand. “I’ve spoken with Lord Brooks and he has agreed to oversee the tenants and the land in my absence. I’ll leave the house in your capable hands. You can contact Lord Brooks or Lady Lavinia Brooks should there be any unexpected problems that you cannot deal with. All the accounts can be sent direct to Mr. Wimpole, at his office in Brighton. He will ensure the servants and workers are paid. Jake will continue take care of the stables.” She stood, and rested her hand on Mrs. Bramley’s shoulder before she left the room, leaving her until the following day, when they would have to be busy with preparations.

* * *

In her study, she picked up her map of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, meaning to study it again before she slept. The routes were engrained on her memory, but she was a devoted student of her chosen subject and she planned to leave nothing to chance. Before she retired, she went to the dining room and poured herself a glass of brandy to warm her bones. Looking up at the portrait of her mother, and beside it that of her father, she gave a deep sigh. She never outgrew the regret that she’d not known her mother, apart from a few fleeting childhood memories. Now she also mourned the loss of the time she’d lost with her father.

“You left me,” she murmured to their likenesses, “and it’s as if you took a part of me with you when you went, but I’ve come to realize you will always be with me for I carry you both in my heart and mind wherever I shall go.”

Even though she thought all her tears had been spent, they welled again.

Chapter Six

The Best Laid Plans

Rivers heard someone call his name.

He stood amidst their luggage and cargo, supervising its loading onto carriages and carts, readying for their departure from Genoa.

It was Frieda’s voice.

When he looked her way, Frieda beckoned from the hotel terrazzo. With one hand she gripped the ornate railing of the terrazzo. The other clutched a sheet of paper to her chest.

“What is it? Are you ill?” 

She shook her head.

He wasn’t convinced.

Her face had blanched, her expression stricken.

“Please, could you come inside for a moment?” Her voice was weak and faltered to a halt.

As he moved to join her, she turned away and walked back inside the building. He ran up the marble steps and followed her into the hotel lounge.

She stood with her back to him and held out the page she held.

When he took it from her, she dropped down into a leather armchair by the fireside. He scanned the sheet and he noticed Eleanor’s name at the bottom. He read quickly, his brow furrowing over the contents.

James Craven was dead.

He couldn’t believe it. As he reached the end of the letter, he walked over to Frieda and put a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes were dry but he knew she couldn’t look at him. Her thoughts were far away.

She gestured to the table. “There is another letter. I haven’t opened that one yet.” 

He picked it up and brought it to her.

“No, you read it,” she said, when he handed it to her. “I cannot.”

He sat opposite her, loosened his coat. The second letter had also been sent on from their hotel in Rome. He read it carefully, absorbing the contents. “My God, she can’t.”

“What, what now?” Frieda asked.

He reached for the first telegram again, comparing the date to that on the second. “Eleanor is traveling to California,” he said, his eyes still on the papers. He looked at her. “She’s traveling to New York in a few days time. She plans to travel across the land, retracing her father’s route.” 

Frieda faltered as she grasped what he was saying, the implication of his words quickly filling her expression.

“Not only that, but judging from this…” He looked again at the dates on the pages. “She may already have left Oaklands.”

Frieda sank back into the chair, clearly trying to take in all the information.

Rivers could only be grateful the correspondence had caught them at all. Their return passage to San Francisco had been delayed. They had detoured and traveled to Sardinia and Corsica, to take the opportunity to visit some ancient vineyards there. By rights, they should have been in California by now. They were due to sail out of Genoa for San Francisco the following morning.

He stood and paced the room, trying to work out where exactly the time-space placed Eleanor on the journey.

“Can we stop her leaving New York?” Frieda murmured.

“We can try.” His thoughts moved beyond that. “She may not want to be stopped,” he added. He was thinking of his conversations with her, how keen she’d been, how fearless. He’d baited her then, amused by her spirit. He never thought it would come to this.

“My God, I practically challenged her to do it,” he said, looking at Frieda in desperation. His stomach tightened. He’d wanted to be with her again, he’d wanted her to come to America.
Not like this.

“You didn’t know what would happen,” she replied, responding to the pained look in his eyes.

“I can’t believe she’s going to do it.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, restless and troubled.

“Alone,” Frieda repeated.

He nodded, reflecting on the long, treacherous journey, the dangers that lurked, waiting for the unwary traveler.

“I must go to her.” He stood up, looking at Frieda for confirmation.

She nodded.

“I’ll wire a message to this friend’s home in New York. If it reaches her there, I’ll insist she wait there for me to collect her. Meanwhile, with your permission, I’ll leave immediately for England.”

“Go, yes, of course,” Frieda replied.

“You will go on by yourself?”

“Yes, my dearest friend, don’t concern yourself with me, I’m able to take care of myself aboard ship. It’s all arranged. Go to Eleanor, she needs you.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I know you formed an attachment with my niece. You are the ideal companion.”

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, let alone anyone else, but he nodded.

“Use whatever funds you need from my account. Go now, get ready to leave.”

He nodded. “She’s booked on the White Star Line departing on the twentieth. I shall book passage on it by telegraph and endeavor to get to Southampton in time. If she has left already, I must try to reach her before she leaves New York…or find her along the route.”

He fell silent as he contemplated the latter, and how impossible it might be if it came to that. He had to do everything in his power to ensure that it didn’t happen.

He put his hand again on Frieda’s shoulder. “I’ll find her, don’t worry.”

“I know you will,” Frieda whispered as he left, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

* * *

Eleanor paced up and down the hotel room. She was eager to get on her way. She’d glimpsed the dockyards as her carriage had drawn into Southampton. There were huge buildings, warehouses of goods either awaiting shipment or having arrived from some exotic place on the other side of the world, and people, people everywhere. It was crowded, chaotic and noisy. Poor Alice would have been quite overwhelmed. The young maid had reluctantly confessed to her mistress that she’d never been beyond Fossett. By the look on the girl’s face, Southampton may as well have been New York itself. Eleanor spared her the distress and left her safely at home, despite Mrs. Bramley’s protestations at the time.

She walked to the window of the hotel room and pulled aside the curtains, but no matter how she stretched and strained, she couldn’t see the docks from this particular viewpoint.

The night before their departure was being spent at The Metropole, a rather grand but dusty hotel in the town, where she would also rendezvous with Miette. She tried to settle herself, sitting in an armchair, one foot resting against her largest trunk. She plucked at the top button of her fitted jacket. Her spirits were slowly lifting. Setting out on the journey gave her something to focus on, something solid, a worthwhile goal. It strengthened her. And she was seeing Miette again.

It had been nearly two years since the two women had been together and there would be much to talk about. Miette had married an American citizen since then, and spent a lot her time traveling between her family in France and her new life in New York City.

“Miette,” she whispered, when the knock at the door distracted her from her thoughts.

“You have a visitor awaiting you in the lobby, Miss,” the porter announced, when she opened the door.

Eleanor stepped past him excitedly and crossed the landing to where a huge, oak balustrade overlooked the main lobby of the hotel. She leaned over it, looking for her friend amongst the few guests within her view. There was no sign of her there.

“Eleanor.” The voice was familiar.

A hand touched her arm.

She turned and gasped in astonishment. It wasn’t Miette at all. Rivers. Peter Rivers was standing by her side. He was right there on the landing, looking at her attentively.

She blinked, but it appeared she wasn’t dreaming.

He quickly withdrew his hand from her arm when he witnessed the shock in her expression. “Forgive me, I startled you.” 

The memory of their previous time together passed between them, and Eleanor reached out her hands to take his in greeting. “Rivers. I’m surprised to find you here, that's all. However did you find me?”

“I called at the White Star Lines office to confirm you were booked for passage.” He gave a smile. “I’m afraid I gained the location of your whereabouts for the night in a rather underhanded manner.”

They stood, looking at one another, their hands still clasped, eyes locked

“I’m glad you did,” she whispered, still quite amazed that he was here. He’d come to her. He did care for her after all. Her heart ticked faster.

She noticed his hair was swept back, as if he’d been riding into the wind, his travel coat dusty across the shoulders. He’d traveled to be with her. His hat had been deposited on the nearby balustrade. It was completely covered in dust.

Eleanor gathered herself, becoming embarrassed by the way he looked at her so intensely. “Please, come, let’s take some refreshment. “You must be tired. Tell me everything.”

Rivers kept hold of one of her hands, drew it quickly to his mouth and kissed it gently, before releasing it. It was a warm, intimate gesture. Eleanor attempted to focus on something else in order to maintain her composure. It was difficult.

Nearby, she spied a servant about to descend the stairs, having slowed his pace to observe their encounter. “We will take tea,” she called out, “in a small salon if one is free.”

The porter nodded and led the way.

After a moment Rivers offered his arm and together they followed in the porter’s footsteps.

They stood by the fireside in the salon, a gaunt room that offered warmth and light only by the burning coals in the hearth and gaslights placed far too high to be of much use. Eleanor was still in a state of confusion at his arrival. That combined with self-consciousness kept her silent, awaiting some explanation.

“Your letters to Frieda took weeks to reach us. We were about to depart from Genoa.” He reached out and clasped her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Of course, she’d sent word of her father’s death to the final address she had for Frieda in Italy, with only a vain hope it would reach them before their departure for San Francisco. A sense of deep sadness swept over her when she thought about Frieda receiving the news.

“Is Frieda…was she very shocked?” 

“I cannot say otherwise, but she’s a strong woman. She traveled on by ship, bound for home.”

Eleanor nodded, her eyes cast down, pain welling up inside her. She’d thought it safely locked away, but thinking about Frieda and her loss, she gulped, unable to hold them back.

Rivers took her into his arms and she rested her head against his shoulder, taking solace in his embrace. Her tears quickly made tracks in the dust on his shoulder. She smoothed the material with her fingers as the tears ebbed away. His hand rested gently against her back, melding her to him, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

For a moment she wished she could stay there, in his arms, forever.

Although she would not admit it to herself, Rivers had been a shadow hovering at the edge of her consciousness during that dark autumn of mourning, his presence asserting itself alongside her thought and will. The fires he’d stoked with every glance still glowed inside Eleanor and helped carry her through the dark autumn days of her grief.

When the tea tray arrived, they drew apart and took chairs either side of the fire. Eleanor focused on the flames and Rivers talked about his journey. He was tired, she could see that. He’d ridden from Dover to Southampton to get there in time. “We were about to depart for home ourselves. Frieda insisted I come back for you.”

“Oh.” Eleanor studied him, frowning at his words.

“Once she knew your plans she was most concerned, as was I. I suggested I take action. She agreed it was quite impossible for you to consider traveling alone and insisted I come to escort you.” He delivered the comments in a practical tone.

Quite impossible
? It took Eleanor a few moments to absorb what he was saying. “Escort?” she queried.

“Yes, I shall escort you, don’t be concerned. You will be safe traveling with me.”

She thought he’d come to her because he cared for her. Her heart had quickly filled with anticipation. It appeared, instead, that duty to his employer had brought him here. He was quite glibly telling her she had to be escorted, like baggage.

Her heart pounded.

She certainly wouldn’t have been bawling onto his shoulder and embarrassing herself had she realized he was there with her as a matter of duty. Embarrassment raced over her. Moreover, he was telling her the carefully made plans of the previous months were impossible. Did he realize what a slight that would be to her?

She stood, her teacup rattling on the table by her side. “Mr. Rivers, I don’t need you or anyone to escort me. I’m insulted by your suggestion that I do. “

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Eleanor, please be reasonable, of course you need an escort. This isn’t some pretty sightseeing trip you are about to embark upon, this is a long, arduous and dangerous journey.”

“I’m well aware of that.”  She frowned at him.

His frown deepened. “You cannot possibly consider doing it now that your father has passed. He was your chaperone on previous travels. You cannot simply carry on as if nothing has changed.”