Victorian Dream (4 page)

“Captain Garrison, what an unexpected pleasure.”

The voice jolted him from his reverie and he turned in surprise. Having been enthralled by the young woman, he hadn’t notice the diminutive lady who also occupied the room.

“I’m Abigail Royston, Ophelia’s sister.” The woman stepped forward, taking his coat, indicating his presence was welcome. “And this is Trelayne.

The girl stood and turned in his direction. Of medium height, she appeared somewhat fragile, but her gaze was steady and intelligent, and her hazel eyes seemed to warm at the prospect of seeing her parents.

With a demeanor more bold than retiring, she reflected the strength Ophelia had shown. As if by rote, she reached up and touched the heart pendant hanging from a fine golden chain. Her mother had worn a similar piece. He had a desire to mimic the movement and seek the medallion he wore. Instead, he simply returned her perusal.

****

Trelayne studied the man who had fueled her daydreams over the past months. Captain Garrison was even more handsome than she had envisioned. Broad shouldered and oh so tall, he eclipsed her expectations and transcended all musings, the effect kindling unexpected physical sensations.

“It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you,” he said, with a fleeting smile.

His teeth flashed white in marked contrast to his tanned skin, and the crow’s feet deepened at the corners of his eyes—heavenly blue eyes, tinted with enough gray to save them from childlike innocence.

“Are Phillip and Ophelia with you?” Aunt Abigail asked, glancing around him toward the door to the room.”

“No, I’ve come on ahead without them,” he answered, with seeming reluctance.

When the man remained hesitant to move or speak, a spark of alarm flared inside of Trelayne. Something was amiss. Scenes from her nightmare roared through her mind, blocking out all other thought. Reaching for the arm of the settee, she eased down onto the seat, fighting to remain calm, forcing herself to breath slowly and deeply.

Without seeking permission, Captain Garrison folded himself into a nearby chair.

“Why aren’t they with you?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“There’s been an accident on the wharf in New Bedford,” he began.

Then he told all, and Trelayne was lost to a world of disbelief.

Sympathy and sadness shown in his eyes, but nothing stemmed the heartfelt pain and fear rushing at her from all sides. Her hideous dream had come true after all. As the horror of his words clawed their way through the initial shock, the distinct possibility of fainting dead away seemed imminent. Overpowering darkness engulfed her, and even the sunlight streaming in offered no comfort. Rather than gaining warmth from the light, she felt as if she were melting into oblivion. Aunt Abigail slipped an arm across her shoulders, and they leaned against one another.

She swallowed hard, wanting only to run screaming to her room. But this was no time for panic or female swooning. She recalled the day her brother had fallen off the postern gate. Branwell had broken his leg in the worst way. Mother had paled for a moment, staunched the bleeding, tied pillows around his leg, and rode with him in the back of the supply wagon all the way to the town surgeon. That was the kind of courage needed now.

She gained her feet. “I must go to them,” she announced, hands clenched in determination, “immediately.”

Captain Garrison leapt from his chair, his taller stature especially apparent as he stood before her. “You most certainly will not,” he ordered

“But they are alone in a strange country. They need me. Don’t you see?”

“They are under the care of an extremely worthy physician, one I would trust with my own life. And what they need most, Miss Trelayne, is to know you are safe.”

He grasped her upper arms, and gently urged her back down upon the settee.

“During your father’s one lucid moment, he bade me promise to do whatever it took to keep you safe. I’ll not break that promise, which means I’ll not allow you to go running off to America. I have left instructions to establish ongoing communications. Every seven days, one of my crew will book passage to London carrying written information from the doctor, and hopefully from your parents. Soon we shall have weekly updates regarding their condition and anything discovered regarding the incident. By return ship, we can send them your personal notes and the confirmation of your safety.”

She supposed that sounded logical, but knowing they were suffering and so far away was pure torture. Good Lord, what if they grew worse, what if they died? And how could she take this man at his word, or trust the arrangements he’d made when he’d allow her parents to be in injured in the first place?

“Dr. Robson assures me they will recover,” he prompted, “but it will be a lengthy process. He’s a good man, well educated and forward thinking. I’ve also hired around-the-clock bodyguards to watch over them.”

“Bodyguards.” Her anxiety doubled. Seeking comfort and support, she grabbed the embroidered pillow at her side and crushed it to her chest. “You believe this to be necessary?”

“Until matters are sorted out, I must insist.”

“Thank you, Captain Garrison,” Aunt Abigail put in. “Under the circumstances, you seem to have done all we could hope for.”

She wanted to agree, knew she should agree, should thank him for his efforts, but anger and fear overrode good manners. She was back on her feet, pillow in hand. “How could this have happened?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and to her own astonishment, she threw the embroidered cushion at him.

The Captain dodged the harmless missile then appeared crestfallen, but he held his ground and her gaze. “I shall never forgive myself for not ensuring their safety,” he acknowledged.

“For heaven’s sake, Trelayne.” Surprise was evident in Aunt Abigail’s voice as she rose to stand at her side. “The man is not a clairvoyant. No one could have foreseen such a turn of events.”

Now it was her turn to feel guilty. She had known there would be a catastrophe. Was Captain Garrison any more at fault than she? Anger and fear twisted together in a knot in her chest, threatening to stop her breathing. Perhaps all the resentment was for her own inability to stop what had happened, not for him.

He studied her for a moment, genuine sadness tempering his expression. Then with surprising quickness and determination, he collected his hat and coat. “May I please speak with whoever is in charge of matters during Phillip’s absence?” he requested.

“Yes, of course, Captain Garrison,” Aunt Abigail replied. “That would be Merrick. I’ll notify him at once.”

“Thank you,” he said. “And please, call me Walker. Unless protocol dictates otherwise, I should think using our Christian names might be allowed. I’ve a feeling we shall be spending a great deal of time together.”

His words imparted a feeling of comfort as well as a shiver of anticipation, adding confusion to the list of emotions running rampant through Trelayne’s mind.

****

Leaving the women to their privacy, Walker opted to wait for Merrick in the immaculate white kitchen. Sitting now at the long wooden table, he watched Cook knead bread dough, a previous batch was baking in the oven. It smelled good, it smelled safe—it made it difficult to believe what had transpired back home was real.

Thank goodness, their first meeting was behind them. He thought it had gone fairly well. They had taken the news with minimal hysterics and no fainting. And while Miss Trelayne’s anger and mistrust were not unexpected, nor misplaced, she seemed of a sound mind and disposition. She was also beautiful, even more so than Ophelia, and again he wondered why she wasn’t married.

He smiled, remembering the pillow she chucked his way. She had a bit of pluck and temper. Qualities he appreciated in a woman, not that it should matter. And where were these thoughts coming from anyway? Watching Trelayne as she embroidered, and being near her, had reawakened raw emotions deeply hidden since Katie’s passing. The resurrection of these feelings put him off balance. Not a good position to be in. He needed to get a grip. Clenching one fist, he rested it upon the table. He wasn’t here to make friends or instigate romantic liaisons—especially not with Phillip’s daughter.

“I’m Merrick Hawkins,” the man entering the room announced. “I was told you wished to speak with me.”

Walker rose and offered the older man his hand. “Yes, thank you. I’m Captain Garrison, Walker if you please. They explained to you what happened to Phillip and Ophelia?”

“Aye, they told me.” Although the older man’s face was a map of wrinkles, his eyes were sharp, and his handshake firm. “Dreadful business. What can I do to help?”

“Is there somewhere we might speak more comfortably?” he suggested, lowering his arm to his side.

“Certainly. My quarters are this way.”

Merrick led the way through a door, down a hall, and into a secluded section of the east wing of the house. “This is my wife, Wynona,” he introduced, as they entered a small yet comfortable sitting room.

“Have you eaten, lad?” Merrick asked.

Walker shook his head. He’d come directly from the ship to the estate, the fullness of his concern outweighing the emptiness of his belly.

“Fix Captain Garrison a plate, please, Wynona.”

“Of course, dear. Right away.” The kindly woman smiled, and hurried off toward the kitchen they had just vacated.

“Will they be all right?” Merrick asked. There was true apprehension in the man’s eyes, the kind of concern one held for friends, not just for one’s employers.

“Yes. But only by the grace of God. Have you been with the St.Christopher’s long?”

“Grew up with Master Phillip. My father worked for his father. When we were young, we got into some fine troubles,” he added, with a chuckle.

Walker smiled in understanding. “Regardless of the fact that they are far away, Merrick, you’re the man he needs to watch his back. And you’re the man I need to help keep Trelayne safe as we figure out why this happened. Can you think of anyone who would want to cause harm to them or the company?”

“Not as I could say. Mr. St.Christopher is kind to all his employees. From me at the top,” he said, with pride but not vainglory, “down to the youngest footman and cabin boy. And the Missus is generous to a fault, what with them bazaars for the needy and all those church socials. The only one with his aristocratic nose out of joint lately is Mr. Lucien.”

“Who’s that?”

“Lucien Lanteen. Mr. Phillip’s solicitor. For some reason he was against the partnership. And he’s got designs on Miss Trelayne, if you know what I mean. But overly protected though she is, the lass is also of an independent mind, and nobody’s fool. Leads him a merry chase, but ain’t ready to be caught.”

It should not matter to him who Trelayne favored, or with whom she kept company, but Merrick’s revelation regarding her nature pleased him. The idea this solicitor was interested in her, did not.

“Tell me more about Mr. Lanteen.”

“Ain’t much to tell. He’s a bit of a loner. Been Master Philip’s legal council for some time now, and he oversees the books. He ain’t a bad sort that I know of, just a tad wild like so many young folk now days. Likes the ponies and a bit of elbow shaking. Plays the dice,” he added for clarification. “Joins in anything he thinks might make him look a station or two above his calling.”

“And you don’t believe he would be involved with anything as underhanded as this?”

“Well, he’s a bit of a scoundrel, to be sure. And there ain’t no telling what he gets up to when he’s not here mooning over Miss Trelayne. But I have no evidence he harbors a cruel streak necessary to do what you described. And I seen him around here within the last week, so it hardly seems likely he was over on your shores at the time of the incident.”

Merrick’s wife returned with a tantalizing plate of roast beef and gravy, browned potatoes, and a fresh loaf of Cook’s earlier achievement.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, as they retired to a dining area. “I can’t tell you how much I needed a good home-cooked meal.”

“You’re welcome, Captain,” Wynona sliced the bread, and poured tea for him and her husband. “Don’t make yourself scarce around here,” she added. “We enjoy visitors. Especially handsome ones.” With that, she gave him a wink and busied herself elsewhere.

“We lost our boy in ’47, in South Africa,” Merrick said. “He would have been around your age, had he lived. She likes to see a young face at the table.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Merrick. It’s never right that a man should bury a son.”

“I’m sorry too. I don’t hold with all this foreign fighting. If you ask me there’s plenty rebellion here in this country needin’ our attention. You ever been to war? Is that why you go by Captain?”

“My title is due strictly to the good fortune of commanding a ship,” he revealed, between bites. “But yes, I’ve seen battle. The Mexican war, ’46 to ’48.”

Merrick nodded his head thoughtfully, then both men fell silent. Walker cleaned his plate, and tried not to visualize in too great a detail the bloody memories stirred by their conversation. Other than being a grim training ground for life, war was a brutal useless phenomenon.

Chapter Four

The next morning, ignoring the kidney pie grumbling around in his belly, Walker left the hotel dining room. What he wouldn’t give for three eggs sunny side up, a rasher of bacon, and coffee—dark as sin and strong as Atlas. Anything but this blasted tea. Some of the food here was as disagreeable as the weather.

A dirty mist hovered over the city. They needed a good thunderstorm to wash away all the grit and grime choking the breath out of London Town. At least he’d had the foresight to pack utilitarian clothes. Who cared if they marked him a “Yank” and garnered sideways glances? They were practical, which to his way of thinking counted for much.

After a few blocks, soot-infused moisture beaded on his black canvas duster, and mud spattered his knee-high boots. He gave an amused smile. A few of the English women out and about seemed nonplussed by the elements. They discreetly hiked up their skirts and tiptoed through the worst of it. You had to give them credit for that.