The Promise (7 page)

Ellis, noticing her distress, was at once all concern. ‘Come, let us get you home with all speed.’ And offering Prudence his other arm, we set off, Maura trailing miserably behind predicting a sorry future for us all.

I could tell at once by the frozen smile on our mother’s face that we were not going to be in for an easy ride. We’d taken a tramcar for part of the way, then Ellis had walked us the last two blocks without a single complaint about the steep hills. I’d watched him closely throughout the journey, completely enchanted by his looks, his good manners, and by his English accent as we chatted about this and that – anything but the trauma we’d all recently endured. By the time we reached our tall house on Geary Boulevard, I felt as if I’d known him for months and not just an hour or so. Naturally wishing to show proper gratitude, I offered him refreshment.

‘That really isn’t necessary,’ he demurred. ‘I have no wish to be a bother.’

‘Oh do come in,’ Prue cried, batting her carefully
blackened eyelashes for all she was worth. ‘It really is no bother at all.’

‘Some iced tea, perhaps?’ I added, by way of enticement, feeling a sudden reluctance to see this young man simply walk away, out of my life, never to be seen or heard of again, even as I told myself that was only because we were now comrades-in-arms following the Great Rescue.

‘Well, it is rather hot still. A cold drink before I make my way back to quarters would not go amiss.’

So it was that when Mama and Papa returned home fifteen minutes later, it was to find their two daughters entertaining a perfect stranger in the front parlour with lemonade and coffee cake.

‘Do please introduce me to your “new friend”, Georgia.’ The smile Mama offered this stranger, who had dared to invade her private sanctuary uninvited, grew ever more chilling as I embarked upon some makeshift tale of how we’d been pestered by the ‘mashers’ and Mr Cowper had rescued us, an approximation of the truth. Prudence fussed around offering our parents cake and lemonade, which they refused.

‘Mr Cowper saved us from a seriously embarrassing encounter.’

‘I was delighted to help, as the gentleman was in his cups, ma’am,’ Ellis politely informed her, adding veracity to the yarn. ‘It seemed proper to see the ladies safely home, and I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.’

‘I doubt you have done that, not quite yet.’ Mama was making it perfectly plain that it took more than a passing introduction to be classed as an acquaintance, let alone a friend.

Papa gruffly cleared his throat and all eyes turned in his direction, breaths held while we awaited his opinion on the situation. ‘Haven’t seen you around – are you new to Frisco, young man?’

Ellis Cowper smiled, looking far more relaxed than seemed possible in the circumstances. ‘I come and go, making regular crossings between Liverpool, Australia and the Americas.’

Mama sat up very straight in her chair. ‘You can afford to travel frequently, and in luxury?’

Now he was laughing. ‘I’m afraid not. I’m currently with the SS
Kronus
. She’s a square-rigger, and when I say I am with the ship, I mean I’m employed as a deckhand. Once she’s taken on her consignment of Californian wheat we’ll sail again for Liverpool, and I with her.’

‘
Deckhand
?
’ The low boom of Papa’s voice seemed to echo in the silence following this surprising remark.

‘That’s right. Sometimes I work as a steward on board passenger ships, but—’

‘A
steward
?’ interrupted my mother, in sepulchral tones.

‘Indeed!’ He acknowledged her interruption with a smile. ‘And a fascinating job it is too. It demands untiring energy and patience, good sea legs, of course, and some simple first-aid skills to care for those less accustomed to life aboard ship. The pay is quite good but the hours long, as the job entails a high level of cleanliness in the passengers’ cabins, even to cleaning their boots, as well as making sure they get the best service at table. I don’t mind as I love meeting new people, don’t you? But, as I say,
at present I’m on the cargo service, handling wheat, and wool from Australia, jute and rice from India.’

‘And are you responsible for loading these
cargoes
?’ Papa asked in freezing tones. I listened in increasing horror to my parent’s reaction to these quiet answers, which I confess I found absolutely fascinating.

‘I am one of that number, yes.’

The young man’s smile was pleasant, his aspect open and friendly. Not so my father’s. I observed with dismay how his dark eyebrows seemed to bristle, the creases between them deepening ominously. Feeling rather nervous, I attempted to lighten the atmosphere. ‘My father is in import and export too, are you not, Papa?’

‘I
own
a company which deals in such matters of business, yes,’ he said, clearly emphasising the difference in their status.

My father, Isaac Briscoe, was a stern Victorian with a strict code of morals as rigid as his spine, an authoritarian quite certain of his position in business and society. He was proud and ambitious, and certainly valued hard work and enterprise, but although willing to assist members of his own family in their endeavours to make a better life for themselves, perhaps because this reflected well upon himself, his standards were high – if these grateful souls should fall short in their efforts, or he should develop doubts about his investment, Papa would not hesitate to withdraw his assistance.

As for those who made no effort to better themselves, they were, in my father’s unswerving opinion, beneath contempt. I saw quite clearly that he regarded this young man as one of that category.

Mama was frantically fanning herself with her lace handkerchief as if the shock that such a low-bred creature should enter her portals, without her permission, had brought her close to collapse.

Being in the right class was, to Cecilia Briscoe, a social necessity. The correct pecking order seemed preordained, the prestige of birth far outweighing any attempt at social climbing or success in business achieved since, however worthy that might be. Mama sprang from an impeccable lineage with a countess for a grandmother. The family had fallen on political hard times, and now names had been anglicised, the past safely buried, and she and Papa were American, true to the flag and all this wonderful country stood for. Neither parent ever referred to their emigration to the US, having wholeheartedly reinvented themselves in the New World.

And they most certainly had no wish to allow either of their daughters to associate with a nobody.

‘What of your family, do they approve of your … your form of employment?’ Mama asked, with the slightest curl to her upper lip.

Ellis smiled at the question. ‘My mother frets constantly, as all mothers do, quite certain I shall end up at the bottom of the ocean, drowned. Father is far more philosophical and pragmatic, and willing to tolerate my passion for adventure.’

Again that moment of silent disapproval.

‘You mentioned Liverpool,’ Isaac reminded him. ‘Is that where you hail from?’

Ellis shook his head. ‘I live in what is known as the
English Lake District, situated in the North West of England. It is a very beautiful mountainous district, with numerous lakes and tarns, charming towns, and friendly people. My home is Rosegill Hall, situated on the shores of Lake Windermere.’

‘Rosegill Hall?’ Mama again perked up. I could see her thinking that this young man was perhaps filling in a few years adventuring before taking up a rich inheritance. ‘Is your father a lord, then, or perhaps an earl?’

Ellis burst out laughing, not noticing how this reaction made her flinch. ‘Not at all, just ordinary country folk.’

Papa thoughtfully tugged on his moustache. His shrewd brown eyes behind the gold-rimmed spectacles did not miss the anxiety that shadowed his elder daughter’s face. Perhaps in a rare moment of kindness his next question seemed to be seeking some way to compensate. ‘Your parents no doubt hold an important status in the town as members of the landed gentry. Isn’t that what you call them in England?’

‘They are very well thought of, yes, although I wouldn’t go so far as to call us “gentry”. The “Hall” isn’t nearly so grand as it sounds. Once a large farm, it has been in our family for a century or more, but is sadly in a ruinous condition.’

‘Ruinous?’ Mama’s gasp of dismay was dreadful to hear.

‘I’m afraid so. My father does what he can to maintain the place, but much of our land has been sold off over the years. He still owns some property in the town, and holds shares in a couple of slate quarries, but the income is no longer there to sustain it properly.’

I knew, without glancing at my mother’s shocked face, that any hope of sustaining this new friendship had just died before my eyes. It made me feel unaccountably sick.

If only I was able to tell them how very brave Ellis had been in supporting my rescue of Prue. I thought of him by his first name already, for surely after such an adventure we were bound together by a friendship forged through adversity. I recalled how he’d courageously stood before me, unarmed, to protect me when the fat man had made his move. However befuddled by the opium, the ruffian had still been acutely dangerous, more so possibly. But on no account dare I even mention what had occurred in that gloomy room to my parents, let alone that I’d voluntarily entered a seedy saloon in order to save my kidnapped sister. The shock would be too much for Mama, and our future freedom seriously curtailed. Prudence, I noted with some sympathy, had sat silent throughout this discussion. For all her bravado, she was no doubt terrified that a single wrong word could ruin her reputation for ever.

Mother was on her feet, moving with all her considerable dignity to the bell pull, which she tugged sharply, twice. ‘We are most grateful for your assistance in this delicate matter of rescuing my foolish daughters from the mashers, Mr Cowper. Maura will show you out.’

Seconds later, to his very great surprise, Ellis Cowper found himself on the wrong side of the Briscoe family’s front door.

‘So there you are, my dear, that is the tale of how I met my dearest beloved. I’m not sure if it deserves the epithet
romantic
, but it was certainly memorable, exciting, and even rather frightening.’

‘Oh, but what of Ellis, did you see him again? You must have done. When? How?’

‘A dutiful daughter I may have been but I was in no way stupid, dear. Even then, on that first afternoon, I knew that I felt something for this young man and had no wish to lose sight of him. I also suspected, in my youthful arrogance, that he felt the same attraction towards me. I hoped he would linger outside for a while, and I was proved right in this. At the first opportunity I sent Maura out to look for him and give him a little note. She found him hiding around the corner, not having stirred more than twenty feet from my door.’

Her eyes were once more alight with pride and love, and Chrissie’s heart went out to her. ‘I think it
wonderfully
romantic, as well as exciting.’

The old lady frowned. ‘If it was, then it gradually deteriorated into a horror story, which I really don’t care to relate, or recall.’ Her grandmother was on her feet, her expression now cool and determined. ‘I’m glad to see you’ve taken my advice and are now relishing Hetty’s excellent repasts. Now, I must attend to my neglected paperwork, which is just as well, as I’ve talked far too much.’ Making it very plain she would say no more.

The morning spent with Ben had unsettled Chrissie somewhat. The following day, needing time to think and
evaluate what she had learnt about her grandmother, she took a long walk out into the countryside. Escaping the town with its ice cream stalls, noisy trippers and crowded streets, she went through a kissing gate and walked up out on to the rocky summit of Brant Fell. It was a steep climb, taking the better part of an hour, but worth the effort. At the top Chrissie sat on a tussock of grass to catch her breath, enchanted by the magnificent view over Lake Windermere to the Coniston fells and Fairfield.

So much to think about, not least Ben’s effect upon her, which had been startling, just when she’d resolved to give up men for good. How fickle she was. She really must not allow herself to be influenced by a winning smile. She really had no intention of falling in love, not ever again.

But the discovery that she actually had rather a large family was even more disturbing. Yet they were all strangers to her, and in that moment Chrissie experienced an odd sense of loneliness. She’d never been given the chance to get to know them, her own family. They hadn’t been a part of her life, or she theirs.

Even more sad than losing a family she never knew existed, her one night with Tom had not produced the child she’d hoped for, and Chrissie realised that by denying herself marriage, she would also lose the opportunity to create a family of her own. It felt like a double blow. No children of her own, that most precious gift, nor a ready-made family to visit and be a part of. She couldn’t help but regret the many delightful summers she might have spent here in the Lakes had it not been for this silly squabble.

But she couldn’t find it in her heart to blame her mother for keeping quiet. If her own brother and sisters wouldn’t even speak to her, then she must have believed it was for the best not to even mention them to her daughter. How could Chrissie judge whether that was right, since she didn’t know the full story?

Vanessa had pretty well said as much yesterday afternoon when Chrissie had telephoned on her return from the boat trip, to challenge her with what she’d discovered.

‘My brother and sisters didn’t support me at the time, so why should I bother to keep in touch? They had ample opportunity to contact
me
, but never did.’

‘Did they know where you lived?’

‘They could have made it their business to find out.’

‘How? We never stayed in one place longer than a few months.’

‘We didn’t leave Chelsea until 1932, and not even my sisters wrote to me after that, not once.’

Chrissie admitted that must have been hard. ‘Why did you stop coming to the Lakes, Mum – was there another quarrel?’

‘I’ve already told you, I don’t remember.’

Chrissie didn’t believe her. ‘You could at least have told me they existed, if nothing else.’