Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) (7 page)

            “Speaking of Mr. Whitfield,” Lucius said, glancing about, “where is your husband?”

            Adele waved a gloved hand through the air.

            “Off exploring the ship, no doubt,” she replied. “He has a fancy for ships, and I told him to be sure to get acquainted, as this one shall be our home for the coming weeks.”

            Lucius nodded and was already making his way out the door.

            “Then if you will excuse me, ladies,” he said, “I think I shall join my male counterpart.”

            Before anyone could protest, Lucius slipped passed Josephine and out the door. Evelyn released a sigh of relief and grabbed Adele’s hand.

            “It is
such
a pleasure to meet you,” she told her. “A few moments ago, I was frightened to think I was the only female aboard this ship.”

            “Quite extraordinary, isn’t it!” Adele agreed. “I have never seen so many men in my life. We are quite a rare breed upon this vessel, I dare say.”

            Evelyn looked about the room. It was rather large, and might have been elegant if not for the Whitfield’s many belongings which were stacked and scattered about. The cabin was furnished with a small desk and chair, a bureau, and accommodations enough for four people, with one large bed and a pair of bunks.

            “Have you devised a plan for our sleeping arrangements?” Evelyn asked, though a plan was already forming in her own mind.

            Adele looked at the berths as if she had only just noticed them.

            “Dear me, I haven’t,” she replied. “This entire adventure is quite peculiar, is it not? I never dreamed I would be forced to share a room with anyone but my relations. But these are strange and exciting times, of course, and I would rather share a room with you than a deck with fifty indecent men, by Jove! What do you think, my dear Miss Brennan? How might we make the most of our situation?”

            Evelyn smiled to herself.

            “Well, if Mr. Flynn was present,” she began, “I am certain he would volunteer to sleep on the floor.”

            “Oh, that is very nice, isn’t it? Your guardian must be quite the gentleman.”

            “On the contrary, he is insufferable. I only bear with him because I must.”

            “You don’t say?”

            Adele looked as though she could not imagine a single soul in the world as anything less than perfectly amiable.

            “I do,” Evelyn said.

            “Well then,” Adele waved a hand through the air, “to the floor with him!”

            The ladies laughed, and it was soon agreed that Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield would sleep in the master bed, with Josephine and Bartie in one bunk, and Evelyn in the other. Lucius, as discussed, would sleep on the floor.

            Evelyn was thoroughly pleased with this arrangement, and while the women proceeded to establish their quarters, they chatted comfortably.

            “Is this your first time sailing?” Evelyn asked.

“Indeed, it is! But it shall be easier with a friend alongside, as you have now become. We shall have fun together, shall we not?”

“Certainly,” Evelyn agreed. She could not help smiling, for she had begun this journey with no hope of making friends.

 “But where, you might ask, do Stephen and I find the capital for such fun?” Adele proceeded. “Not through my blood, I assure you. My father is a parson and my mother is a French winemaker’s daughter. Both of my grandparents, on my mother’s side, are still alive, and it is because of them that I have been cultured in the French arts. Indeed, I
do
love a good French poem. Why, we should read together! At the conclusion of my tale I shall fetch a volume of Philippe Desportes.”

Evelyn offered an encouraging smile. She and Adele were off to a great start, for Evelyn adored Desportes.

“With both vision and finances,” Adele continued, “my husband is the reason we are able to travel. I sometimes wonder how in the world I obtained such a man. His father was a great military general, and one quite glorified, if I may boast on his account. He was also a landowner. When he died, all of his wealth was bequeathed to Stephen. My husband endeavors to see the world, and I am obliged to him for sharing it with me. Our son will reap much of the benefits, I believe, as he is not to be left at home. You may think us careless for bringing him along, you may think we are rebels of society, and perhaps we are. I for one do not want my boy to become a rich, sniveling brat. I desire that he should be reared a worldly, cultured, humble young man of principle, with knowledge and experience no textbook can teach. And I daresay, with dear Josephine as my helper, Bartie shall be raised up to be the finest of children.”

Both women looked at the maid, who had seated herself beside the sleeping boy and was calmly stroking his hair.

            “Where did you find her?” Evelyn asked. “She has the most intriguing eyes I have ever seen.”

            “Indeed!” Adele agreed, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It is not often you see a child with irises of such vibrancy. Stephen and I worked at a home for orphans in London when Josephine came to us. She is a mute, as you might have guessed by her silence. The poor girl has not spoken a single word since she found us. That sometimes happens, you know, when a child loses her parents. But the other children seemed to believe Josephine was, in fact,
born
a mute.

            “We knew she was different from the moment we saw her, for though she was alone and wore naught but rags, she was a very peaceful child. As we prepared to leave England, I just knew I had to have her for my own. She’s my maid, yes, but she is so much more than that. Having her near is like rest for my soul.”

            “I’m curious how you learned her name if she does not speak?”

            “Oh,” Adele smiled, “she did not write, either; at least, not when she came to us. The children named her. One of the girls thought of Josephine, and the others took to it immediately, for they thought it very pretty in comparison to the many Annes, Marys, and Elizabeths we had running about.”

“How fortunate it was for her to be taken in by a loving family such as yours,” Evelyn said musingly. “It is a dreadful course of fate that one should lose her family, as well as her home.”

            Adele tilted her head to one side.

            “You speak as if from experience, my dear Miss Brennan.”

            There was a question in the statement that Evelyn felt no desire to answer. She smiled through the little lump in her throat and dropped her eyes to the floor. From where she sat with Bartholomew, Josephine gazed at her with an expression full of empathy.

            Silence replaced their conversation, and sensing her new friend’s distress, Adele changed the subject.

            “If I may be so bold as to inquire,” she began, “are you an abolitionist, Miss Brennan?”

            Evelyn started.

            “I don’t believe I have given the idea much thought,” she replied. “Slavery was abolished from the British Empire when I was an infant and New York has been a free state for fifty years. I have had little exposure to the system. It is foreign to me, as our servants have always been paid and treated with respect. I wonder at the origin of your curiosity?”

            “It originated from a selfish desire to become your intimate friend, in whom you feel free to confide,” Adele smiled. “I am not blind to the way my people have disdainfully treated yours, and when I mentioned that my husband’s father was a landowner, I was rather afraid of what you might think. The elder Mr. Whitfield, you see, owned properties on English soil only. He had none in Ireland.”

            “You need not worry, Mrs. Whitfield. My father was lord of his own land. The Brennans have no quarrel with England.”

            “I am glad to hear it. The nobility of my country have treated the common people of Ireland as far less than respectable, hard-working tenants. As
slaves
, if I may speak candidly. I believe it is important for those of my people who recognize the injustice done to yours to apologize on behalf of our country, just as it will one day be incumbent upon the American people to apologize for the injustices done to those whom they have enslaved.”

            “Then on behalf of Ireland, I forgive you.”

            Adele placed her hand over her heart.

            “And on behalf of England, Miss Brennan, I thank you.”

            “Please, call me Evelyn.”

            Just then the door opened, and Stephen Whitfield entered the room. He was a tall, fine-looking man, with spectacles and a kind face. The women stood to greet him, and Adele rushed to introduce her new friend.

            “Is Mr. Flynn not with you?” she inquired as her husband bowed to Evelyn. “We thought he had gone to find you.”

            Stephen looked puzzled.

            “No, indeed. I have not seen him.”

            Adele turned to her friend.

            “Shall we compose ourselves into a search party, Evelyn?” she asked.

            Evelyn recalled Lucius’ initial opinion of Mr. Whitfield as Puritanical. She should have known he would have no real interest in keeping company with a minister. There were plenty other ‘male counterparts’ to befriend on this ship, the most amusing of which were most likely located in the drawing room.

            “No,” Evelyn replied. “I have no need of his guardianship when I am here with you.”

* * *

            Lucius had never troubled himself with finding friends. He merely sought the cards and the ale. Friends - as well as enemies - were quick to follow.

            It had been a successful first day. All their papers were in order, their luggage meticulously packed, their passage smooth and under way. The
Steam Rose
had set sail, and this very moment, they were inching towards California. If all went as promised, they would arrive at the next station of their journey, Panama, in two weeks’ time.

            Soon Lucius would be digging, Lucius would be finding gold, and Lucius would be rich. But most importantly, Lucius would be free. And this was something to celebrate.

            He had been quick to find where the drinking, smoking, and gambling took place, and discovered a great many others who wanted to celebrate the beginning of their journey in a similar fashion. Names, origins, and stories were shared, and the night was drawn late with a number of songs. Lucius’ voice was hoarse by the time men began to stumble off to their cabins, and he was seeing double when he decided to do some stumbling of his own.

            He did not have a grasp on time when he left the drawing room, but it seemed late. Earlier, the ship had been teeming with strangers; but somehow, they had all disappeared. He wondered where they had gone.

            He could always tell when he was drunk by how humorous he found things that were not generally humorous. As he searched for his cabin, the fact that he was the only person in the narrow hall was uproariously funny. Then he recalled the look on Evelyn’s face when he had lied that afternoon and told her they would be sleeping on deck, and he downright choked. For an instant, he believed he might actually suffocate.

            That, too, was funny, but only after he had recovered.

            Lucius tried to remember the number of his stateroom, but it was terribly elusive. He stopped at a random door and leaned in close to see the number, but his distance was miscalculated and his forehead crashed against the hard surface.

            “Watch it!” he cried to no one in particular.

He was instantly resentful of the door.

            He stumbled on towards the next, but one of his feet tried to use the other as a stepping stone and he found himself hurling towards the floor. He landed in a heap, and this was so hilarious that when he tried to laugh, his face split into an open grin but no sound came out.

            Not a minute later, Lucius was fast asleep.

            Josephine crept silently to the door and opened it, sticking her face further and further out until she could see into the dark hallway. She looked left then right, where Lucius was crumpled in slumber ten feet away. She could feel his snores reverberating through the floor.

            Leaving a slipper between the door and the jamb, she softly stepped into the hall and went to him.

The air around him was permeated by the smell of cigars and ale. She wrinkled her nose.

            Josephine grabbed him by the arm and assisted him to his feet. Through a heavy fog, he came to and lifted the lids of his eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of his helper. When he saw her face, he experienced a small burst of lucidity. He remembered seeing her before, but did not know exactly who she was. Her name completely eluded him.  She was young - what was she doing alone in this dark place? - and yet she was also strong, for she had lifted him up without any help on his part. He mustered his own strength, and willed his legs to obey as she led him back to the room.

            His eyes refused to stay open, so he allowed her to guide him. Her hands were steady and sure, and when they arrived at the cabin, she lowered him to the floor, where a blanket was laid out for him. He arranged himself, his arms and legs awkward and heavy, then exhaustion overcame him and he fell asleep with a sigh.

Josephine carefully removed his boots and found another blanket to drape over him. She then placed a canteen of water beside him, should he wake with thirst in the night.

Chapter Eight

Havana, Cuba

As the
Steam Rose
sailed south, the weather shifted drastically.  In a matter of days, the harsh winter was quickly transformed into a warm, tropical summer. Presently, the sun made her way through the clouds and, before long, white cheeks and white noses were ruddy with shades of red. Coats were discarded and long sleeves rolled above the elbows. The men came out from the shadows of their cabins to bellow songs into the ocean air and play games on deck.