The Ice Captain's Daughter (8 page)

“Why are we stayin’ here, Sam?” Betsy asked. “I want ter stay in a nice place and be treated like a lady.”

“Aye, Sam, this is a bit rough, don’t ye think?” George added. “This must be the worst Nethersken in Liverpool.”

“Shut it. I asked the cabbie ter find us lodgings what is reasonable,” Sam replied. “Here on Scottie Road, we blend in, as it were.”

“I don’t blend in! Not dressed like this, anyhow,” Betsy said.

Without warning, Sam leaned over and snatched off one of her gold earbobs. She gasped in pain. “That hurt!” When he reached for the other earbob, Betsy knocked his hand away. “Leave off!”

Sam drew his arm back, as if to slap her. George shot to his feet, his fists clenched. “Oi, what do ye think yer doing ter my sister?”

“I’m taking these luggers to a dollyshop ter sell. I thought we all agreed.”

“Only if we ran out of money,” Betsy wailed, tears spilling down her face. “And ye could have asked me. That earbob was screwed on tight.”

Her fingers touched her injured earlobe and came away bloody.

George’s voice was low. “Ye manhandle my sister like that again mate, and you’ll be the one bleedin’.”

Sam bristled a moment before glancing away.

“The devil take the both of ye. Gimme the other one, quick like.”

Distraught, Betsy unscrewed the other earbob and practically threw it at Sam. Unperturbed, he pocketed the earbobs and headed for the door.

“I’m thirsty. I’m going out ter find a lush.”

Betsy shot to her feet. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

She rushed over to give him a hug. “Don’t be mad at me, Sam. I love ye.”

“Yeah, all right.”

He slammed out of the room. After a moment, Betsy sighed and wiped her tears away. “All he cares about is drinkin’.”

George patted her on the back. “Are ye beginnin’ to think maybe Sam don’t really love ye?”

With a bitter laugh, Betsy opened her hand to reveal the gold earbobs. “Sam can go to blazes. Let’s go find ourselves a ship.”

The tavern was dark, dirty, and anonymous. Sam peered at his hand of cards, knocked back another tot of Irish whisky, and pushed his money into the pot. He laid down his cards, faces up. “I got ten. Ha!”

“I gots me eleven, mate,” said the swarthy man on his right.

“Bloody hell. Ye’ve got the luck o’ the devil himself!” Sam exclaimed.

The man peered at Sam with narrowed eyes. “Ye wouldn’t be accusin’ me of cheatin’, would ye?”

Sam combed back his greasy hair with fingers numb from drink. “’Course not.”

The burly man to his left folded his massive arms across his muscular chest.

“Yer outta money, friend. Time fer ye ter get home ter the missus with yer tail between yer legs.”

“And best pray she don’t slit yer throat,” said the third player.

Everyone but Sam burst into raucous, mocking laughter.

“I got me some luggers worth a bit o’ money,” he said, patting his pocket. “Let’s play.”

“Show ’em or get out.”

A bewildered expression came over Sam’s face when he realized the earbobs were missing. With increasing panic, he checked his other pockets.

“I-I musta left ’em in the room.”

The bartender stood over Sam, arms akimbo. “Did ye say yer out of money? How’re ye goin’ ter settle yer tab?”

Sam lurched to his feet. “I’m good fer it, I tell ye!”

Moments later, he found himself flying through the door of the tavern by the seat of his pants. He landed in the cobblestone street, onto a pile of horse droppings left from earlier in the day. Cursing and railing, he picked himself up and staggered down the street toward the boarding house.

The glimmer of dawn was creeping through the dirty window when he opened the door to his room. To his dismay, Betsy and George were missing. Worse, the steamer trunk was gone and the bed had not been slept in. Sam kicked a hole through the wall. In the next room, the baby woke up from the noise and began to scream.

Clad in her new finery, Jillian settled herself in the Victoria carriage next to her aunt. A pastel blue afternoon dress hugged her body around the hips and then flared out where the stitched-down pleats ended. The fluted collar of a bolero-style jacket framed her face. On her carefully arranged hair rested a halo hat with a curving white plume.

“Phelps, we are calling on Lady Fanny Adams, on Park Lane,” Aunt Letty called out to the coachman.

“Yes, madam.”

“This beautiful spring weather is absolutely perfect for a carriage ride. Let’s do take the long way ’round, Aunt,” Jillian urged. “I want to see absolutely everything in London!”

“We haven’t time to canvas all of London today, but a little detour can’t do any harm,” Aunt Letty said. “Phelps, drive past Buckingham Palace before you circle around to Park Lane.”

“As you like, madam.”

A beatific smile lit Jillian’s face. As the carriage moved along Eaton Square, she marveled at the long line of townhouses. Aunt Letty kept up a running narrative, pointing out landmarks and houses where her friends lived. To Jillian’s delight, she also related a few ongoing scandals involving prominent members of society.

Buckingham Palace was little over a half mile from her aunt’s home. As the gig drove past the edifice, Jillian leaned forward to drink in the view.

“It’s like a great big wonderful present, isn’t it?” Jillian exclaimed.

“Buckingham Palace is a lovely sight, I’ll grant you.”

After they passed the palace, they drove along Constitution Hill. Jillian enjoyed the tree-lined street, with its view toward Wellington Arch. Many fashionable matrons were out for a stroll, parasols in hand. A little further on, the carriage turned onto Park Lane. Aunt Letty pointed out the Grosvenor House.

“That home was one of the first buildings in London to have electricity,” she said. “The wide-spread use of electricity is short-sighted, in my opinion. Ladies are always far more attractive under gaslight.”

Jillian giggled as she laced her arm through her aunt’s. “Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For all this. Mama would be so grateful to you for sponsoring me this Season. When it’s over, I can go back home to Gloucester quite contented.”

“You shall not leave London without being married. I simply forbid it.”

“Do you think I can induce someone to fall in love with me in a few short months?”

“You will take the gentlemen of London society by storm.”

“From what I’ve heard, they are already smitten with Miss Sophia Watkins.”

“Although I don’t know the whole of the affair between her and Mr. Logan, I believe his humiliation was quite complete. It was quite a downfall, since he was much pursued himself.”

“So
that
is why he refuses to come to London. I cannot think why she broke the engagement, unless it was to prolong her time in the limelight.”

“Do not be so quick to judge Miss Watkins, Jillian. Neither of us is privy to the particulars.”

“You are quite right, Aunt Letty.”

But I am already inclined to despise her.

The home of Lady Fanny Adams, while not as magnificent as the Grosvenor House, was luxurious nevertheless. The three-story mansion was of Grecian design. Fluted columns supported a balcony overlooking Hyde Park. A butler showed Jillian and her aunt into an elegant drawing room where his mistress was receiving visitors. Lady Adams greeted Aunt Letty warmly and bestowed a kiss on her cheek. The woman’s bright eyes fell upon Jillian next.

“And this must be the niece you’ve been telling me about?”

“Yes, indeed. Fanny, this is Miss Jillian Roring. Jillian, let me introduce you to Lady Adams.”

Jillian and Lady Adams curtsied to one another. Jillian was pleased to discover her wound no longer pained her overmuch.

“Please do sit down, Letty and Miss Roring,” Lady Adams said.

Lady Adams chose a floral pattern armchair upon which to perch, while Aunt Letty and Jillian sank down onto a Rococo sofa with damask upholstery. At the last moment, Jillian remembered to slide her feet back under her skirt until not even the pointed tips were showing.

“Tell me, Miss Roring, how do you find London?”

The next few minutes were filled with seemingly idle chatter. Jillian had the distinct feeling, however, Lady Adams was subtly extracting bits of useful information. Within a short period of time, Lady Adams discovered Jillian spoke French, played the piano, sang a little, had learned how to shoot with Uncle William, and rode for pleasure but had never ridden to hounds.

“And your father, my dear? Will I have the pleasure of seeing him?”

“Yes, ma’am. His ship should be arriving in a fortnight.”

“You should have received an invitation to my ball by now. Please bring Captain Roring with you, if he’s not otherwise engaged.”

“That’s very kind of you, Lady Adams,” Jillian said.

Aunt Letty kept uncharacteristically quiet during the visit, but when the butler entered the drawing room carrying another calling card on a silver salver, she stood.

“You have another visitor, Fanny. We really must be going.”

Lady Adams read the name on the calling card and smiled. “Oh, stay just a little while longer, Letty. I’d like to introduce you and Miss Roring to my friends.”

The butler thereafter ushered in a handsome older woman and well-dressed girl about Jillian’s age. The young lady was an absolutely stunning brunette, with dazzling hazel eyes framed by well-defined eyebrows.

“I don’t mean to intrude, Lady Adams,” the woman said. “I see you already have callers.”

“Letty and Miss Roring, before you leave, allow me to introduce my friends Mrs. Watkins and her daughter, Miss Watkins. Mrs. Watkins and Miss Watkins, this is my good friend Mrs. Marsh and her niece, Miss Roring.”

Mrs. Watkins nodded at Aunt Letty, but her gaze cooled considerably when her eyes locked onto Jillian. “Miss Roring.”

Jillian was taken aback. The older woman’s words seemed less a greeting and more a statement of fact. She forced herself to smile.

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Watkins.”

“I believe Miss Roring and Miss Watkins just may be the belles of the Season,” Lady Adams said.

Miss Watkins studied Jillian for a long moment before a smile graced her perfect lips. Her next words confirmed Jillian’s worst suspicions.