The Keys of Love (6 page)

“I will help her,” suggested Kitty, sliding her legs over the side of the bunk, cigar in her mouth.

After Eddie and Trescot withdrew Henrietta slipped out of her dress and stepped into the scarlet gown.

“You're an unlikely find,” remarked Kitty. “Purty little thing that you are. You got no protector on board?”

“Protector? Well, I have my Nan a companion, Mrs. Poody.”

“You're gonna need more than any Mrs. Poody to protect you in that!” chuckled Kitty.

“I can protect myself well enough,” said Henrietta somewhat stiffly.

Kitty took the cigar from her mouth.

“Honey, don't get mad at me. I do know the boys. They've quite an eye for a purty gal.”

“E-even Eddie?” she enquired, as she was thinking of Eddie as someone she could turn to in a crisis.

“
Especially
Eddie!” giggled Kitty.

Her gaze softened as she took in Henrietta's alarm.

“Uh-oh! You haven't fallen for Eddie, have you?”

“No, I haven't!” exclaimed Henrietta truthfully.

“That's healthy of you. The only real passion in his life is music anyway.”

With that she threw open the cabin door and called out down the corridor.

Eddie and Trescot whistled as they entered.

“My, oh my!” exclaimed Eddie, shaking his head. “What do you think, Trescot?”

“An eyeful, all right,” chortled Trescot.

Henrietta blushed.

“I-I'm not sure. I d-don't feel like
me
in it.”

“You're a
new
you, that's all. You'll need some make-up, of course.”

“Make-up?” Henrietta echoed.

“I'll sort that before the performance tomorrow,” offered Kitty.

“Right,” declared Eddie, rubbing his hands. “Well, let's go show the others the dress, shall we?”

As the two men opened the door to usher her out, Henrietta threw a hapless look over her shoulder at Kitty.

Kitty threw herself back on the bunk and lay there, drawing on her cigar.

“Lamb to the slaughter,” she murmured as the door closed behind the two men and Henrietta.

*

The following day Henrietta spent most of her time rehearsing with the orchestra. Eddie was a perfectionist and wanted to be sure there would be no mishaps.

It was late afternoon by the time Eddie consulted his watch and laid down his baton.

“Okay, we'll call it a day,” he suggested. “I wonder if we should meet tomorrow to run through it all again ”

The whole orchestra including Henrietta let out a groan in unison.

Eddie threw up his hands.

“If you're happy, fellas, I'm happy too.”

Henrietta was too exhausted to join them for dinner. She ordered food to be brought to her cabin.

Nanny stayed with her although Henrietta could see the old lady was chafing to be Mrs. Poody again.

The next evening Henrietta was feeling too nervous to attend dinner, although she and Mrs. Poody had once again been invited to dine with the Captain. She insisted that Nanny go without her, but she was reluctant.

“Oh, you should go, Nanny. The Captain will be disappointed if neither of us appears. Besides I will have to wear the dress I'm performing in at the table and I don't want to spoil the surprise!”

She felt that she could as well have said ‘shock' instead of ‘surprise'.

She had a feeling Nanny was not going to approve of the scarlet gown. If she appeared in it at dinner Nanny

might make a fuss, but once she was at the piano her outfit was a
fait accompli
!

She remembered that Lady Butterclere and Romany Foss were likely to be guests of the Captain tonight and she shrank from revealing herself to their disapproving gaze.

Luckily Nanny was persuaded in the end to go to dinner without her.

Henrietta waited for a moment after Nanny had left before opening the door and peering along the corridor.

It had been decided that she should make her own way to Kitty's cabin, where Kitty would help her dress.

The corridor was now empty, so she slipped out and hurriedly made her way to Second Class.

“You're late,” scolded Kitty as she opened the door to Henrietta. “The dinner gong rang a while ago.”

“I'm not going in to dinner,” she replied, stepping quickly out of her dress. “I'm not hungry.”

Kitty shrugged and handed Henrietta a peignoir.

“Here, put that on while I make you up. We don't want to get lipstick on your costume, do we?”

“L-lipstick?”

Henrietta had never worn lipstick before nor any cosmetics for that matter.

“And rouge, too,” elaborated Kitty. “We are going to make you the absolute belle of the ball!”

Henrietta sat patiently as Kitty worked, whistling as she applied the powder and paint.

“You stepping out with anyone, honey?” she asked as she pressed the puff to Henrietta's cheeks.

“No, I'm not.”

“And no one in mind?”

She hesitated as, for some strange reason, the image of a gentleman with his aquiline features and dark brooding eyes rose in her mind. It was the same gentleman she had envisaged when she was playing the French air.

She was beginning to feel haunted by him.

She somehow associated him with her return home as if he was waiting ahead for her in her future.

She gave herself a shake before she replied.

“No one really.”

“I'm sure there'll be someone real soon, you're just too purty ” added Kitty breezily, when there came the noise of a sudden brouhaha from the corridor outside.

Running footsteps and shouts and the sound of a scuffle. Henrietta shrank in her chair, but Kitty threw open the door to see what was happening.

“What's going on?” she asked a Steward.

He gestured towards the end of the corridor.

“That fellow over there they are restraining. He is from Steerage. He stabbed a fellow during a poker game. Tried to escape this way, but we've got him now.”

“Did the other fellow die?” asked Kitty baldly.

“No, thank God, but our assailant here will have to be locked up till we sail into Liverpool. Step back, lady, they're bringing him this way.”

A man, wrapped up in a cape and held on two sides by Stewards, was bundled protesting past the door.

“How dare you take hold of me I am a
Prince
!” he cried angrily, struggling to free himself.

Henrietta froze.

That voice was it familiar?

“D-did that man say he was a Prince?” she asked Kitty falteringly.

“Sure, but them Princes are ten a penny these days, Steerage is full of 'em. I sometimes go down there to dance or play cards and believe me, every second fellow is Prince of Timbuktu or something.”

Her down-to-earth appraisal reassured Henrietta.

‘I'm too jumpy,' she thought.

She was imagining Prince Vasily under every rug!

He
could
have found out that she was travelling on
The Boston Queen
tongues wagged, she knew that, but what reason on earth had he to follow her?

She had made her view clear and there were plenty of other hapless heiresses to pursue in America.

Whistling, Kitty took Henrietta's chin in her hand and turned her face this way and that under the lamplight.

“That'll do,” she announced with a final flourish of the powder puff.

She held up a mirror and Henrietta gave a start.

Who
was
that young lady staring back at her? The kohl around the eyes, the vivid red lips and the high pink of the cheeks, gave her a sophisticated and knowing air.

It was not Henrietta Radford, but somebody else entirely different.

‘
Harrietta Reed
', she felt suddenly with a sense of mounting hysteria and began to giggle uncontrollably.

“Hey, just what's so funny? I think you look like a woman of the world!” said Kitty, stung that her handiwork was not admired.

“B-but what would my f-father say?”

“I don't know, but he's not here to say it!” rejoined Kitty. “So why worry?”

“I suppose you're right,” she murmured.

She also wondered what Nanny would say, but she could hardly reveal that fear to Kitty.

When Henrietta first stepped onto the dais with the Eddie Bragg Orchestra, she did not dare look towards the Captain's table, where she knew Nanny was sitting as well as Lady Butterclere and Romany Foss.

Eyes low, she sat down at the piano and listened as Eddie began to introduce himself and his orchestra. He left his most recent member to last.

When she heard him mention “
our new pianist Miss
Harrietta Reed
,” she was forced to turn round and nod.

In that one moment, she became aware of Nanny's thunderstruck gaze.

Eddie lifted his baton and the music began. After a few bars it was evident that the evening was

going to be a success. Henrietta could sense the tapping feet, the smiles and the muttered approval.

After the final number, the applause was prolonged and enthusiastic.

Eddie insisted on leading Henrietta to the front of the dais. Her shy curtsy was in puzzling contrast to her gaudy make-up and plunging
décolletage
.

The audience, mainly the men, responded heartily. Many stood up to extend their congratulations as Eddie led her over to the Captain's table.

Lady Butterclere looked around in alarm as Eddie drew out a seat and Henrietta sat down.

“I don't think it appropriate for us to be seated here with a with a
performer
,” she hissed at the Captain.

“No?” responded Captain Hanket jovially. “Then pray do not let me detain you, Lady Butterclere. You are welcome to find a seat elsewhere!”

She half rose and then, noting that everyone present looked relieved at the thought of her imminent departure, sank down again. She was not one to accommodate other people's desires in any way.

“My companion, Miss Foss, has a yen to see how the other half lives,” she explained. “Since this is the only chance she is ever going to have of indulging her curiosity, it would be wrong to deprive her of the opportunity.”

Nanny, who had been looking at Henrietta with a mixture of astonishment and dismay, now turned her stare on Lady Butterclere.

“Just who are you referring to as the
other
half?” she demanded grimly.

“Why, a certain class of character such as that of Miss Reed and yourself, not to mention Mr. Bragg that is alien to our own,” she replied haughtily.

“Now see here ” began Mrs. Poody angrily when she was silenced by a quick look from Henrietta.

“I am sure I had no idea I was so interested in such things,” murmured Miss Foss wonderingly.

“Well, you are,” declared Lady Butterclere firmly.

Miss Foss's beady eyes half closed for a moment. When they reopened she seemed to have grasped what was now expected of her.

“Yes, I'd love to know what your life is like,” she now addressed Henrietta. “I suppose you stay up all night in bars and smoke and drink and I daresay you've had lots of affairs with unsuitable men?”

Henrietta was dumbstruck by her question and it was Eddie who mischievously answered for her.

“She's broke many a heart twixt here and Dixie!”

Henrietta rounded on him.

“Eddie!”

Mrs. Poody rapped him on the knuckles with the sugar spoon.

“You could make trouble with remarks like that!”

Romany Foss, however, was intrigued, as her eyes roved over Henrietta's costume.

“I've broken a heart or two myself, “she admitted finally, “but I'm not going to break any more, because I'm going to be married soon in England.”

“Congratulations,” mumbled Henrietta.

“Who to?” asked Mrs. Poody doubtfully.

“Oh, a Duke,” preened Miss Foss.

“My stepbrother, the Duke of Merebury,” enlarged Lady Butterclere.

“Stepbrother?” wondered Mrs. Poody with an air of innocence. “You are not Merebury blood yourself, then?”

Lady Butterclere bridled at the implication that she herself might not be of aristocratic lineage.

“The present Duke's father died young. His mother then married Sir Archibald Gwyneth, who was a widower with one child myself. The Gwyneths are an ancient well established family in Monmouthsire.”

“Oh, I'm sure, I'm sure,” nodded Mrs. Poody with a wicked smile.

“Unfortunately,” carried on Lady Butterclere, “the Duke's grandfather did not approve of his daughter-in-law remarrying at all and so he cut her out of his will. Which is just why
I
never inherited anything from the Merebury fortune through my stepmother.

“And which is why I became somewhat estranged from the present Duke. He didn't live with his mother and my father, but remained with his grandfather at Merebury.

“It was only when he inherited the title three years ago that he contacted me, feeling that his late mother and I, his stepsister, had been unfairly treated. Which is certainly the case and I am delighted that he is now so well aware of his obligations towards me.”

“He's awfully good-looking,” simpered Miss Foss with a yearning sigh. “I've seen his photograph. He has raven-black hair and dark eyes and he's six foot tall.”

As Henrietta listened intently, the
élan
induced by her success that evening drained from her, drop by drop.

A curious feeling rose in her breast a kind of pain, insidious and unpleasant. It was a moment or two before she realised that it was
jealousy
, pure and simple.

Jealousy of Miss Foss and her raven-haired Duke.

She raised her fan and held it to her face, moving it to and fro as if to cool her burning cheeks.

She wished Miss Foss would stop her eulogy about the Duke.

“He's very rich and generous and he could have had anyone he chose but he chose me,” she continued.