Whirlwind (11 page)

It didn’t take long for Arthur to calm. Millicent went into the nursery and brought out a fresh nappy. “Arthur feels safe with you. I thought—”

Something between panic and resolve mingled in Mr. Clark’s eyes. “I’ll try.”

Millicent smothered a smile. “I’ll change him. I simply didn’t think he’d tolerate my taking him away from your presence at the moment.”

Mr. Clark handed him over. Millicent changed Arthur, then set him on his feet. “All done!”

“Dah done.” Arthur bobbed his head.

Her boss lifted his son. “Clearly, the engine repair didn’t hold. I rather doubt they’ll get it fixed tonight. Just to be on the safe side, I’ll go make inquiries.”

Millicent sat down and patted her lap. “Come here, Arthur.

I’m going to tell you a story.”

The little boy gave her a wary look.

“My story is about a man and his boat.”

“Boat!” Arthur dove toward her.

“Yes. Once upon a time, there was a man named Noah . . .”

A short while later, Mr. Clark returned. He studied how Millicent cradled his son on her lap. “He fell asleep right after Noah put horses on the ark.”

“At least he made sure of the important things.” Mr. Clark stuffed his hands into his pockets. “The damage is significant. It looks as if we’ll finish the voyage under old-fashioned sails. It’ll take another week. I will, of course, pay you for the additional time.”

Millicent bit her lip, then shook her head. “That’s not right. I agreed to mind Arthur for the entire voyage for seven dollars.”

“I appreciate your trying to be honorable, but I must be just as scrupulous. This has become more involved than we suspected.”

Yes, it has . . .

“So I insist. I’ll pay you for two weeks. You can safely put Arthur down—the engines won’t start up again.”

Millicent nodded and left the parlor. As she bent to put the toddler into his cot, Millicent’s heart caught.
It’s okay to like the child. I just don’t need to love him.

Her heart, however, whispered back . . .
liar.

“Mr. Tibbs,” Mr. Clark said as he helped himself to a piece of his son’s toast, “Miss Fairweather is to have the day off.”

“You aren’t going to try to watch the lad all on your own, are you?” Mr. Tibbs looked horrified. “Not change him and all . . .”

“Which is precisely why I brought up the matter. Do you think you can find another woman in steerage who’s equal to the task?”

Mr. Tibbs cleared his throat. “Yes, sir, I might.”

Was he thinking of Isabelle? Millicent couldn’t leave it to chance. “My sister is available.”

“You have a sister?” Mr. Clark gave her an odd look.

Millicent busied herself with spreading raspberry jam on the remaining wedge of Arthur’s toast. “Yes. Isabelle Quinsby.”

“I can vouch for her, sir. She’s been engaged to do the laundry for your little boy and the Haxton child.”

Millicent flashed Mr. Tibbs a smile of gratitude.

Mr. Clark stared at the crust of bread he held. “Well, then, bring up Mrs. Quinsby.” He waited until the steward left. “Somehow, I deduced incorrectly that as a single woman, you were traveling alone.”

“My sister, her husband, and I are all together.” She gave the food to Arthur and added a dollop of cream to his tiny bowl of oatmeal.

Mr. Clark thoughtfully chewed and swallowed that last bite of toast. “When you asked if the position as my son’s nanny was strictly for the voyage, it wasn’t because you’re meeting a swain in America?”

“No, sir. Adventure lies ahead for me. I plan to own a dress shop and be a woman of independent means.”

“Quite a tall order, that. Opening a business requires significant start-up capital.”

“That’s undoubtedly true. Frank, Isabelle, and I are committed to the venture.”

“I’ve no doubt you’ll work hard.”

“Thank you, sir.” She wiped a dab of jam from Arthur’s chin. “America is the land of opportunity, and we anticipate even a humble beginning can flourish with time and effort.”

Mr. Clark reached for a rasher of his son’s bacon.

“Mine!” Arthur grabbed it and scowled at him.

Mr. Clark chortled. “You’re a good eater, aren’t you?”

Arthur nodded. He didn’t put down the bacon and curled the stubby fingers of his other hand around his spoon. Half of the oatmeal plopped off before he got it to his mouth, but a gloating smile lifted Arthur’s mouth.

The sound of a tap on the door accompanied its swinging open. “Mrs. Quinsby, sir.”

Isabelle stepped into the suite.

Millicent fought the urge to dash over and embrace her. Instead, she held out her hand. Isabelle came over and clasped it. “Mr. Clark, this is my sister, Mrs. Isabelle Quinsby.”

He dipped his head. “Mrs. Quinsby.”

“Sir.” Isabelle bobbed a curtsy.

Millicent caught the cup of juice before Arthur knocked it over. “This is Arthur.”

Isabelle stooped a bit and smiled. “Gracious, aren’t you a big boy!”

Arthur grinned and thrust the bacon at her.

“Why, thank you.” Isabelle tore the bacon in half and gave a piece back to the boy. “We can share.”

“Tibbs, my son has invited Mrs. Quinsby to breakfast. See to it she has a tray.”

“Yes, sir. At once.”

Mr. Clark started toward the door. “It seems my son has an interesting method of conducting an interview.” He paused at the edge of the carpeting. “Miss Fairweather, feel free to pass the day as you will, but be sure to explain about my son’s visit to me. I’ll expect him at nine-thirty sharp as per usual.”

Once the men left and shut the door, Millicent threw her arms around her sister. “It’s so good to see you!”

“And you. It’s so good to see for myself that you’re okay.”

“You’ve no worries over me. Arthur and I get along famously.”

Isabelle scanned the parlor. “This is a grand arrangement.”

“I feel guilty that you and Frank—”

“I won’t listen to a word of that.” Isabelle frowned. “Because you’re up here, you’ve sent us good food each day. And with my doing the babies’ laundry, I earn twenty-five cents, wash up, and even do a bit of my own laundry. Truly, Millie, your landing this position was a boon for us all.”

Millicent urged her sister to sit down and start eating. “I worry about your being alone, doing the wash. Are you safe?”

Isabelle laughed. “Do you think any man is eager to be around dirty nappies?”

“Now that you put it that way . . .” Millicent’s laughter stopped abruptly as Mr. Tibbs arrived with the other breakfast tray. “Mr. Tibbs, I’m thankful to you for your kindness and help.”

“If the shoe was on the other foot, so to speak, you would’ve done the same for me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tibbs. It’s all just a matter of the Golden Rule, don’t you think?”

“Some folks don’t abide by that. They got the gold, so they think they rule everything. Puttin’ on airs. Not you, though.”

Slathering jam onto her toast, Isabelle tattled, “Mr. Tibbs didn’t accept my offer to launder his shirts, Millie.”

Millicent gave him a you-naughty-boy look. “Mr. Tibbs, you’ll be sure to allow us to do that as a token of our gratitude won’t you?”

“Suppose I oughtta. This voyage is taking a lot longer than any of us planned.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll be doing some of my own laundry today. When you come fetch the breakfast trays, why don’t you bring along your wash?”

“Millie, I’ll—”

“Be watching Arthur.” Millicent sprinkled brown sugar on her oatmeal. “Arthur, do you want Nanny to put some of this yummy on your cereal?”

“Yummy! Ummy ummy ummy!” He beat the table with his spoon.

“So what is this about nine-thirty?” Isabelle sipped her coffee.

Millicent cupped her sister’s cheek. “We’ll have about an hour alone, and you’re going to have a bath and I’ll help you wash your hair.”

Hope flared in Isabelle’s eyes, then dimmed. “How is that possible?”

“At nine-thirty sharp Mr. Clark will be sitting on the port side deck. I take Arthur for a stroll and leave him there so they can have a pleasant visit. It’s a set routine. Mr. Clark returns him to the suite here about an hour later, just in time for Arthur to take his morning nap.”

“Isn’t that a bit unusual?”

Millicent nodded. “Yes, but Mr. Clark is a man unto himself. It’s a refreshing difference.”

“He’s quite handsome.” Isabelle shot her a sideways glance.

“You’re right; Arthur is a very handsome boy.”

“Mr. Quinsby.” Daniel reached out and shook hands with Miss Fairweather’s brother-in-law. The man had a direct gaze and firm grip. And even though he was traveling in steerage, he’d made the effort to wash up. Good. So far, things looked promising.

“Mr. Clark.”

“Have a seat.” Daniel sat down on one of the chairs near the bow. “With the vessel under sail, I’ve discovered this area doesn’t get a huge draft. Another yard ahead, and the salt spray grows problematic; but this spot is surprisingly pleasant.”

“Very pleasant.” Mr. Quinsby took the proffered chair. His stiff carriage made it clear he felt out of place.

Daniel pretended not to notice. If things turned out well, he’d hire this man; if things didn’t pan out, at least Miss Fairweather’s brother-in-law would eat a decent meal and be assured she was being treated respectfully.

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering lunch to be served here.” The minute he spoke, Daniel spied the slightest twitch in Quinsby’s jaw. Business dealings honed his awareness of those minor cues, and he immediately clarified, “A business luncheon for us, so to speak. I thought we might discuss your plans. Your sister-in-law mentioned a shop.”

“Isabelle and Millie are very skilled seamstresses.”

“I’ve seen a few of Miss Fairweather’s sketches. She’s also been embroidering something quite ornate.”

Mr. Quinsby nodded. “They’re both embellishing collars and cuffs so we can trim gowns as soon as we open the business.”

“Wise use of time. Have you settled upon a location? Any family already in the States?”

“No, no family. We’ve discussed various cities. I’ve yet to make a final decision.”

Frank Quinsby’s direct gaze and diction would make him an asset to any business. He managed to be forthright, yet discreet at the same time.

While a waiter delivered twin plates that held generous slabs of roast beef, mashed potatoes covered in gravy, and green beans, Daniel casually mentioned, “I’ve bought an emporium in Texas. My cousin currently operates it; once I take over, he’ll run the feedstore.”

“Congratulations.” Mr. Quinsby bowed his head for a minute. When he looked up again, he smiled. “It’ll be nice for your son to be surrounded by family.”

So Miss Fairweather’s brother-in-law prayed. That boded well. Frank Quinsby struck Daniel as a man of innate nobility who was unafraid of work. Certainly, with him willing to ignore a possible business opportunity while he took time to pray, the man had his priorities well ordered, too.

“Actually, Arthur won’t be surrounded at all. My cousin is a bachelor.” Daniel started cutting his beef. “So you’re a tailor?”

“Not exactly.” Mr. Quinsby lifted a bite of roast to his mouth as if it were pure gold. “I was a caretaker and jack-of-all-trades on a modest holding. Did repairs and what have you. The owner recently sold the place, and the new master decided to replace me with an old family retainer.”

“Thus, you’re free to pursue other interests and possibilities. I presume you’re looking toward building a more stable future for your family.”

Mr. Quinsby nodded curtly.

They ate and conversed. Daniel eventually leaned back in his chair. “I’d like to make a proposition. . . .”

“Miss Fairweather? Mr. Clark wishes you to return to the suite at once.”

Millicent looked up at the steward in surprise. “Is something wrong, Mr. Tibbs?”

“Dunno, miss. He sent me after you.”

Quickly gathering up the catalogues and the sheets filled with her notes, Millicent strained to imagine why her boss summoned her. It had to be an important matter, or he wouldn’t be interrupting her day off. She hurried along the companionway and into suite six.

“Frank?!” She blinked in surprise. What was he doing there? Clutching her husband’s hand and sitting beside him on the settee, Isabelle looked . . . emotional. “Is something wrong?”

“Please be seated, Miss Fairweather.” Mr. Clark gestured toward a chair.

Millicent lowered herself and held the catalogues tightly just so she’d have something to do with her hands.

Mr. Clark strode to one side of the parlor, then turned back and measured the same distance in reverse—his long-legged stride making short work of the action.

Isabelle lifted a hanky and dabbed at her eyes.

Unable to bear the suspense, Millie repeated herself. “Is something wrong?”

“How do you feel about going to Texas?” Isabelle blurted out.

“Texas?” Taken completely off balance, Millicent looked from Isabelle to Frank.

“Mr. Clark came up with a plan.” Frank patted Isabelle’s hand. “We’d like to discuss it.”

Mr. Clark nodded at her. “In short, Miss Fairweather, I suggested a mutually beneficial arrangement. You and your relatives will immigrate to Gooding, Texas, along with me. Frank will assist me in the mercantile. As for Mrs. Quinsby, she could have a segment of the mercantile’s floor in order to have a flourishing modiste’s shop right there where patrons can select from the fabrics on hand.”

“We wouldn’t have to invest in fabric, so Frank says we could buy a treadle sewing machine!”

“You, Miss Fairweather, would continue on as my son’s nanny. Is this arrangement agreeable?”

“I don’t know a thing about Texas.” The words leapt from her mouth.

“It’s big. Very big.” Isabelle beamed.

“Compared to England, the United States is huge.”

“And there are cowboys.” Isabelle chattered on—a rarity that underscored her excitement. “But we had dairy farms in England, so that’s nothing different.”

“I’ll step out and give you a chance to speak freely.” Mr.

Clark’s tone sounded clipped and businesslike.

Oh mercy. I’ve insulted him. Frank and Isabelle want to do this, and he was merely being polite to present it as a choice. He considered the deal all but closed.