Duke of a Gilded Age (12 page)

“I’ve never actually counted them, Your Grace, but I
am
quite the collector.”

Wesley read Jules Verne until his mother was ready to go, while Cavendish sat nearby reading a pocket-sized copy of
L’Art de la Guerre.
Wesley gave the book’s title a curious glance.

“Is that French?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s
The Art of War
by Chinese military general Sun Tzu.”

“He speaks French?”

“No, he lived thousands of years ago. This is a translation from Chinese.”

“Why don’t you read it in English?”

“Sadly, the English translation does not yet exist.”

Wesley returned to his book, puzzled.
The man is extremely learned for a valet. Could there be more to Cavendish than meets the eye?

Mr. Darling ordered a Concord hotel coach large enough to accommodate the Oakhursts, the Parkers, their servants, and whatever luggage remained. Mr. Darling slipped Wesley his business card while the luggage was being loaded.

“When you return to New York, the Fifth Avenue Hotel will always be at your service,” he said. “
Bon voyage
.”

“I couldn’t imagine staying anywhere else,” Wesley replied. “We’ve enjoyed ourselves immensely.”

Wesley shook Mr. Darling’s hand, entered the coach, and took a seat across from Belle. He immediately noticed dark circles under her eyes. “Didn’t you sleep well, Miss Oakhurst?”

“I confess my love of exercise yesterday exceeded my ability, Your Grace. I was most appreciative of a long hot bath this morning,” she replied. “Even now, I can’t move without remembering those extra one hundred sixty-two steps most fondly.”

Wesley laughed. “I understand. If not for Cavendish, I believe I’d still be languishing in bed.”

The coach headed west toward the river, and then south to Pier 46, where the
City of New York
nestled against the dock in sleek black breathtaking splendor. The ship was five hundred sixty feet long, sixty-three feet across, and its three evenly spaced smokestacks jutted skyward as if the ocean liner were thumbing its nose at the elements. The clipper bow featured a fantastic carved female figurehead reminiscent of those on vessels long ago. The
City of New York
was also equipped with three auxiliary masts and sails, wholly unnecessary to her ability to maneuver, but beautiful nonetheless.

As porters took their luggage aboard, Wesley lingered on the pier to admire the ship from stem to stern. Mr. Oakhurst and Cavendish flanked him on either side.

“Her top speed is twenty knots, Your Grace,” Mr. Oakhurst said. “She was built in the Thomson Shipyard in Scotland, christened by Winston Churchill’s mother, and has a British staff and captain at the helm.”

“I’m looking forward to making the ship’s acquaintance,” Wesley said.

“May she act like a lady all the way to Liverpool,” Cavendish added in his rich, deep voice. “Afterward, she can let down her hair and cavort like a hoyden.”

At that, Wesley and Mr. Oakhurst laughed.

“She can indeed, Cavendish,” Wesley replied.

Boarding the
City of New York
proved challenging due to the throngs of people on deck. The Parkers separated from the Oakhursts at the saloon deck entrance, as each family was shown to their accommodations. A uniformed steward named Finnegan led the Parkers one floor up to the promenade deck, where they were obliged to weave through an exuberant crowd. Wesley was jostled to and fro and nearly lost his hat.

“Pardon me, Mr. Finnegan,” he said. “I thought the ship only held about two thousand passengers and crew? There are far more than that onboard.”

“Most of these people are friends and family who’ve come to see the passengers off,” explained the steward. “They’ll leave when the captain sounds the warning bell.”

A slight tightening of his throat made Wesley swallow hard. No one would be there to wish him or his mother
bon voyage
. He wondered if anyone from the neighborhood would really miss him at all.

Mr. Finnegan first showed Lady Frederic and Mrs. Neal to their deck cabin, and then led Wesley and Cavendish to a nearby deck cabin of their own. Inside were a sitting room and an attached bedroom, with a private lavatory and bath. The suite was richly decorated, not unlike the one at the Fifth Avenue Hotel—but without the hanging chandelier. The windows, covered with fringed drapery, looked out over the ocean.

“Why, it’s a little house!” Wesley exclaimed.

“With a very big view,” Cavendish remarked, glancing out the window.

“This sitting room converts to a sleeping chamber for your valet, Your Grace,” Mr. Finnegan said. “Mr. Oakhurst felt you and Lady Frederic would be more comfortable with your servants close at hand.” He gestured toward a green glass bottle nestled in an ice bucket on the table. “May I open this champagne for you?”

Wesley had never tasted champagne before, but he feigned a sophisticated demeanor. “Absolutely, yes. That would be very helpful.”

While the steward wrestled with the champagne cork, Cavendish began to unpack Wesley’s trunks. Wesley suddenly noticed a second set of very fine luggage in the corner. The chests and trunks were Mediterranean blue leather, with black bumpers and brass locks, braces, and rivets.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Finnegan, but I believe this luggage must belong to someone else,” Wesley said. “I don’t recognize it at all.”

Cavendish paused from his duties. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. Those are mine. I had them forwarded to the ship yesterday.”

“Oh, of course,” Wesley said.

The pop of the cork distracted Wesley from the luggage. Mr. Finnegan poured him a glass of the clear bubbly liquid, and Wesley took a sip. Although the champagne tasted like grapes, the bubbles tickled his nose.

Mr. Finnegan checked his pocket watch. “We’re to set sail at one o’clock sharp, a little over an hour from now. As we’ve no steerage passengers heading east, we’re sailing light. I’ll make the rounds shortly with the passenger list.”

“Passenger list?” Wesley echoed. “Whatever for?”

“It makes a nice souvenir of the voyage.” The steward leaned forward as if to impart a confidence. “And the list helps passengers decide with whom to acquaint themselves and whom to avoid.” He winked.

“Aha.”

“If there’s anything I can help you with, please let me know.”

Wesley slipped the man a gold coin. “Just make sure my mother has whatever she needs.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I’d be delighted.”

Chapter Eight

Pride & Pretense

A
FTER
B
ELLE’S
F
ATHER
W
AS
S
HOWN
to his cabin on the saloon deck, a steward escorted Belle to her cabin on the upper deck. The corridors were crowded with excited passengers, young and old, trying to find their rooms. Belle’s cabin was located in the interior, which meant it had no view, and she would have to share the bathroom at the end of the hall. Nevertheless the cabin was private, considerably larger than the one she’d occupied on her last crossing, and nicely decorated in floral patterns that were soothing to the eye. There was also a small washbasin for her to use that cleverly folded away.

“Whenever you’d like a bath, you’ll need to reserve a time with Mrs. Bartlett, the stewardess for this section,” said the steward. “Dinner is at six o’clock, on saloon deck. Promenade deck is where you’ll find the library and ladies’ drawing room. I do hope you enjoy the voyage.”

Belle gave the man a small tip and he departed. After she checked to make sure her trunks were all there, and tested her bed to see if it was comfortable, there was little else to do but unpack. She opened her largest trunk and hung up her gowns in the closet. That task didn’t take long, so she decided she may as well join the throngs on deck. Although she didn’t know anybody, the festive atmosphere outside was better than the solitude of her cabin.

When she emerged from her room, the sounds of a row reached her ears. Down the hall, a well-dressed American matron was arguing with the harried stewardess.

“I’m telling you, Mrs. Bartlett, my daughter needs a deck cabin or suite with a private bath!”

A pretty young girl was leaning against the wall nearby, with her arms folded across her chest. At the woman’s words, the girl sighed impatiently and trained her gaze on the ceiling. Belle suddenly recognized her from their brief meeting in the Fifth Avenue Hotel lobby.
That’s Louise!

“Madam, all the deck cabins and suites are occupied. I wish I could help, but my hands are tied,” Mrs. Bartlett said.

“Oh, Mama, the room is perfectly
fine
,” Louise interjected. “If you’re so concerned I should have a private bath, I’ll be happy to switch with
you
. Otherwise, I’d like to go outside now!”

“You’re not to go walking by yourself amongst the rabble, Louise! Wait until after the warning bell, when they leave.”

Louise brightened at Belle’s approach.

“Why, hullo! Isn’t this a wonderful coincidence?” Louise laced her arm through Belle’s. “Mama, this is my dear friend, Miss Oakwood! I may have mentioned how she and I met at the hotel? We’ll chaperone one another on deck.”

Before her mother could object, Louise hustled Belle around the corner and up the stairs. “Golly, I hope you didn’t mind me using our acquaintance to get away, but my mother is like a dog with a bone sometimes,” she murmured. “She’ll argue with that stewardess until the ship is mid-ocean.”

“I hope not,” Belle said. “But the name is Oakhurst.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m awfully bad with names. You don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to. I may be able to find my brother, Stephen.”

“No, let’s stay together. It’s nice to have a friend.”

Wesley’s feeling of loneliness that had begun earlier surged after the steward left. He sank into an upholstered chair, drained the rest of his champagne, and stared into the glass. It crossed his mind to seek out Belle, but he didn’t know her cabin number. Even if he did, she would probably consider a visit to her room to be
improper
. A tap on the door startled him from his reverie. He rose to answer it, but Cavendish got there first. Lady Frederic beckoned Wesley from the doorway.

“Come outside, dear. There are people here to see you off.”

“What?”

Puzzled, Wesley emerged from his cabin. He was shocked to see Mrs. Zinna, Gino, Mrs. Lombardi, Mrs. Thackeray, Sergio, and even Officer Hannigan. Elated, Wesley shook hands and exchanged hugs with each of them.

“How on Earth did you come to be here?” he asked finally.

“What letters do you think I’ve been writing these past few days?” Lady Frederic said. “Some were to England, but the rest were to our Brooklyn friends.”

“There are a lot of folks in the neighborhood who couldn’t come to see you off, but they sent their best wishes,” Mrs. Zinna said.