Rescued By The Viscount's Ring. Carol Arens
Chapter Twelve
New York Harbour—December 1889
Madeline Macooish was not one to use ugly language, even under her breath. Which did not mean she did not think of colourful words on occasion—on this occasion, to be precise.
No matter how she tried to outwit Bertrand Fenster, she could not. He trailed her like a pesky fly or a bad odour. Like a bout of hiccups that returned time after time.
Like a suitor intent on acquiring her grandfather’s fortune, which, of course, was exactly what he was. She ought to have known better than to be led astray—far astray—by the deceitful smile of a scoundrel.
Feeling his greedy gaze on her back, she spun about, glare at the ready.
All she saw were masts bobbing at anchor, along with red funnels spewing smoke and steam towards the mass of grey clouds stretching from the mouth of the Hudson to the eastern horizon.
Oh, but he was here. She’d felt his lurking presence on and off ever since she parted company with him in Chicago a few months ago.
She ought to be used to it by now, to not feel threatened by his secretive pursuit, but she would feel more at ease with an ocean between them.
Truly, what sort of false-hearted cad continued to trail his prey even when she had informed him, from the very beginning, no less, that she was no longer entitled to a fortune? Indeed, she had made it clear that in running off with him she had forfeited any money Grandfather would have given her.
And not because he would cut her off. No—he would never do that—but because she had betrayed him by running away and did not deserve one cent from that dear man.
Sadly, for all that she considered herself to be an excellent judge of character, she had fallen under the spell of the hoodwinker’s charm, had believed him to be sincere when he vowed his eternal devotion.
It was her own fault that she was in this situation. Had she been more level-headed she would not have run off, but married the man Grandfather had intended her to. That union would not have been the love match she had always dreamed of, but neither would she have been missing her family as desperately as she did now.
She had to conclude that love was blind, as the saying went. However, looking back on things, she now realised it had not been love she had felt, but rather infatuation.
Luckily she had come to learn that Bertrand was a bit dim in spite of his winning facade and handsome face.
The deep bellow of a ship’s horn thrummed over the harbour. Another answered.
Straightening her shoulders, Madeline gathered her smile and approached the ticket office. It was time to sail for Liverpool.
She had worked hard at odd jobs to earn the fare and had exactly enough money for a steerage ticket, but no more.
‘Good day,’ she said to the ticket master standing behind the window. ‘I’d like to book passage on the first ship going to Liverpool.’
‘That would be the Edwina, at dock right there across the road.’ He nodded towards the large, modern-looking vessel. ‘She’s sailing on the hour.’
Truly, that was rather perfect. It was unlikely that Bertrand would have time to follow her even if he did have the funds to do so.
‘Oh, that will do nicely.’
‘Will that be steerage, miss?’
Her plain but clean gown should have made that obvious. In the past when she had travelled with Grandfather her frilly gowns made it clear that she travelled first class, no matter the mode of transportation. This was bound to be a far different trip than any she had taken before.
She nodded, smiling. She was going to find Grandfather, to beg his forgiveness for what she had done to him. If need be, she would cross the ocean, sleeping on the deck. She missed him more than she could ever have imagined.
‘That will be thirty dollars.’
That much? Madeline gulped past the tight button on her collar. She withdrew the money from her purse, counted it out to the ticket master, knowing it would be two dollars short.
‘Oh, dear.’ She blinked at him, pressed her lips into a tight circle. ‘I must have lost... Oh, I was certain I had the full fare only an hour ago.’
‘There’s the Sea Minnow sailing next week. She’s a smaller vessel, but seaworthy. Her fare is only twenty-five.’
‘Oh, but my situation is urgent.’ She glanced over her shoulder, spotted Bertrand emerging from behind a stack of crates. ‘Is there perhaps something cheaper than steerage on the Edwina?’
‘I’m sorry, miss.’ He shook his head. She believed he did regret having to turn her away. He had a kind face and rather reminded her of Grandfather.
‘Sir, I can’t look back, but is there a tall, slim gentleman approaching?’
‘A dashing-looking fellow with a bit of a swagger to his walk?’
‘He’s not a bit dashing, but, yes, that is him. His attentions towards me are not welcome.’ Oh, good. The ticket master was frowning past her shoulder. ‘I must get to my grandfather.’
‘I don’t know how I can help you other than to summon a police officer.’
‘I can work off the two dollars once I’m on the ship.’ How close was Bertrand now? Any moment she expected to feel his skinny-fingered hand clamp about her elbow. ‘And my only luggage is this valise. I won’t need anything stored.’
‘Now that I see him closer, the fellow does look like a charlatan.’
‘Oh, he is—and how much closer?’
Swiftly, he wrote out a ticket and slid it towards her. ‘I’ve got a couple of dollars in my pocket.’
‘You are too kind, sir.’ She would have kissed his cheek, but there were bars across the window. Instead, she pressed her lips to her fingertips, then reached past the barrier and touched them to his cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘Hurry now,’ he urged. ‘I’ll tell him you are taking the Sea Minnow.’
In spinning about she noticed that his name was Fenwick Stewart. She tucked the name in her memory because, somehow, she would repay the kind gentleman ten times over.
Now, she need only board the ship without having her rejected suitor know it.
All of a sudden, a gust of cold wind hit her back. It blew her skirts about and propelled her forward. She tucked her small valise securely into the crook of her arm. It would not do to lose the few possessions she had left in this world.
She dared a glance over her shoulder. Bertrand was at the ticket window. With his eyes off her for an instant, she ducked behind a stack of wood crates and crouched into a shadow. From here it would be a quick dash up the gangplank.
Footsteps tapped rapidly on the dock, coming in her direction. All at once, a young girl rounded the corner of her hiding place and crouched down. The poor child was crying, her face buried in her knees.
‘Hello,’ Madeline said because she could hardly ignore her presence. ‘Are you hiding, too? This is a rather nice spot for it.’