The Orphan's Dream (35 page)

‘But you said she had second sight.'

‘I was joking, of course. Anyway, it's time to change for dinner.'

Mirabel hesitated. ‘I'm afraid I haven't anything suitable to wear. We lost most of our luggage in the storm.'

‘I'm sure I have something that will fit you. Let's go see.' She led the way to her room where Zenobia was setting out the dress Jerusha had chosen to wear that evening. It lay on the four-poster bed a shimmering mass of silk and lace, the gown cut à la polonaise with a cutaway basque, and a draped and swagged overskirt revealing a frilled petticoat. Mirabel had seen such fashionable garments in London but had never aspired to owning one herself. ‘It's beautiful,' she said, fingering the material. ‘You'll look wonderful in this, Jerusha.'

‘I surely will.' Jerusha's dimples deepened and her eyes sparkled. ‘Now, my lady, we have to find a gown for you. Zenobia, what do you think?'

‘I'd suggest the magenta satin, Miss Jerusha.' Zenobia opened a large cedar chest and took out another equally fashionable gown. Its rich colour caught the last rays of the setting sun as she held it up against her.

‘I love it,' Jerusha said, clapping her hands. ‘I had it made especially for my engagement ball but Papa took against it, and Mama shook her head, so it's never been worn. Try it on, Belle, and if you like it you may keep it, because I doubt if I'll ever wear it myself.'

Gertie was in raptures as she helped Mirabel dress. ‘It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It could have been made for you, Mabel.'

Mirabel gazed at her reflection in the tall cheval mirror. ‘It is lovely. I feel very grand, but I didn't realise how much the sun had tanned my skin. I make Jerusha look as pale as the ghost orchid itself.' She came back to earth with a jolt. ‘I'd quite forgotten poor Hubert. How awful of me. I must see him before I go down to dinner.'

‘He's well cared for. I never met such kindly toffs. They've even made Bodger and me feel like part of the family. I think I could live here forever.'

Mirabel smiled as she pulled on her long white gloves. ‘I doubt if Bodger feels the same. I think he wants to get another ship, despite the dangers and discomforts of living and working on board a merchantman.'

‘You're right. He's got the sea in his blood and there ain't nothing no one can do about that.' Gertie sighed as she fastened the last of the tiny buttons down the back of the bodice. ‘There you are, Mabel. You look a treat. A proper lady, you are.'

‘I don't know what I'd do without you, Gertie.' Mirabel picked up the fan that Jerusha had loaned her and made for the door. ‘We mustn't get too used to this way of living, lovely and leisured though it might be. We have to leave as soon as Hubert is well enough.'

Gertie shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘I love it here, but I do miss London. If Bodger has salt water in his veins then I've got the muddy old Thames in mine.'

Mirabel was still chuckling as she made her way to the room on the ground floor where Hubert had been made comfortable. She opened the door and went inside. ‘Hubert, look at me . . .' Her voice tailed away and she uttered a cry of alarm. He was prostrate on the floor in front of his chair, as if he had attempted to stand but had collapsed. Her first thought was to summon help and she tugged at the bell pull before hurrying to his side. She threw herself down on her knees, lifting his head so that it rested on her lap. ‘Hubert, speak to me.' She patted his sunken cheek, willing him to open his eyes. For a terrible moment she thought that he was dead, but then she realised that he was still breathing. ‘Hubert, I'm here. You'll be all right.' She looked round frantically, hoping that someone would answer the urgent jangling of the bell, and after what seemed like an age the door opened and Amos entered, followed by Bodger. ‘Help me, please,' Mirabel cried. ‘We must get my husband into bed and send for the doctor.'

In a combined effort Amos and Bodger managed to lift him onto the bed. Mirabel perched on the edge, chafing his hands. ‘Hubert, can you hear me?'

‘You heard the missis, Amos mate,' Bodger said gruffly. ‘Fetch the doctor.'

Amos retreated, muttering beneath his breath, but Mirabel was too anxious to take any notice of his mumbling. She looked up at Bodger, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I shouldn't have left him. Someone ought to have been with him.'

‘I was having me supper,' Bodger said apologetically. ‘Sorry, missis.'

She relented, shaking her head. ‘It wasn't your fault, Bodger. I should have been at his side, but I was dressing for dinner and thinking only of myself.'

Bodger laid his large hand on her shoulder. ‘These things happen, missis, but he'll be all right. The guv is tougher than he looks.'

Mirabel brushed a lock of snow white hair back from Hubert's forehead. ‘I do hope so.'

Almost as if her touch had vitalised him, Hubert opened his eyes. He focused them on Mirabel's face. ‘Anjuli,' he whispered. ‘Anjuli.' His eyelids fluttered and closed on a sigh and his hand went limp in Mirabel's grasp. She stared at him in disbelief.

‘He's gone, missis,' Bodger said gently. ‘He ain't breathing.'

‘No, he can't be dead. He just spoke.' Mirabel raised Hubert's hand to her cheek, but even in her denial she knew that Bodger was right. Hubert had died with the name of the Indian lady who had given her life in her attempt to save him on his lips. He had loved her to the last. Tears fell from Mirabel's eyes as she released his lifeless hand and laid it on his chest. ‘You're with her now,' she whispered. ‘You've found her again, Hubert, my dear.'

Bodger helped her to her feet. ‘You can't do nothing for him, missis. Leave it to the doctor when he comes. I'll take you to your room, shall I?'

Mirabel shook her head. ‘I must stay with Hubert. I don't want to leave him on his own.' She was about to sit down again when the door opened and Vincent strode into the room.

‘I came as soon as Amos told me.' He grasped Mirabel's hands in his. ‘I am so sorry. Everything will be taken care of, I promise you.'

Hubert's remains, together with what little was left of his precious ghost orchids, were interred in the D'Angelo family plot in a simple ceremony attended by master and servants alike. Mirabel had at first insisted that she wanted to take her husband's body back to London for burial, but the logistics of such a journey outweighed everything and Vincent urged her to think again. Bodger, surprisingly, was on his side, as was Gertie, and Mirabel had to admit that they were right. After all, she could not think of a more beautiful place for him to find eternal rest than the neatly kept graveyard shaded by tall trees. Vincent promised that the grave would be honoured and tended as if Hubert had been a relative, and there was little that Mirabel could do other than allow the interment to take place. Despite the illness that had struck him down so suddenly Hubert's passing had come as a shock. She could not pretend to be a grief stricken widow, but she grieved for the loss of a dear friend. Their relationship might have seemed strange to the outside world, but she had been genuinely fond of Hubert and she knew she would miss his unfailing kindness and understanding.

Jerusha and her father were sympathetic, although Mirabel suspected that they had not really understood the relationship between her and her elderly husband. The only person who seemed to know instinctively what was in Mirabel's heart was Betsy. She said little, but Mirabel felt comfortable and at ease in her company. In the days that followed, while she planned her journey home, she spent more time with Betsy than before. In the late afternoon, when they waited for Jerusha and Ethan to return from visiting his family, Mirabel and Betsy sat in the shade of the magnolias, sipping iced tea in companionable silence. The rustle of the breeze in the stiff green leaves above their heads was as hypnotic as the lapping of waves on the shore. Mirabel tried hard to keep her thoughts from straying to the white sands of Florida and the man she loved with all her heart and would never see again, but she could feel Jack's presence as if he was sitting beside her. If she closed her eyes she could feel the pressure of his lips on hers and the hardness of his body when he held her in his arms. No matter the distance between them, he would always have a place in her heart.

‘What will be, will be, honey.'

The touch of a hand on hers was like the flutter of a moth's wing and Mirabel opened her eyes to find Betsy leaning over her with a gentle smile. ‘Thank you,' she said in a whisper. ‘You understand.'

Betsy clutched her hands to her heart, nodding. ‘I do indeed.'

Despite Jerusha's pleas for her to stay until the wedding, Mirabel felt that she could not impose much longer on the D'Angelos' hospitality. She chose a quiet moment one afternoon and was seated in the parlour, going through the papers that her husband had kept with him on their travels, when she discovered the true extent of their finances. Hubert had always said that money was no object, but she discovered to her horror that there was very little left of the funds he had allocated for their travels. They might, she thought, have enough left for the train journey to New York, but there was no question of travelling first class on the S
ervia
; they would have to cross the Atlantic steerage. She was mulling this over when Bodger erupted into the room. ‘I got to tell you something, missis. I couldn't leave it no longer.'

‘What is it, Bodger? Has something awful happened?'

‘Mr Munroe has bought a ship.'

Mirabel stared at him, frowning. ‘Has he? That's good news but I don't see how it affects us.'

Bodger shifted from one foot to the other, eyeing her warily. ‘I know it's my duty to see you and Gertie safely back to England, but he's offered me a job and it's something I can't pass over.'

‘But why is it so urgent? Surely you could find a vessel in London?'

‘Mr Munroe has plans to run a fleet of ships carrying cargoes of tobacco from Newport News to London and Bristol. If I'm in at the beginning who knows where I might end up in a few years' time? I might even make captain one day.'

‘Yes, I understand that, but why now? Couldn't it wait for a while?'

‘It's a one-off voyage, but the ship sails tomorrow bound for Havana, stopping off with supplies for the new hotel at Coconut Grove.'

Mirabel's heart did a funny little flip inside her chest. ‘Why do you want to go back there?'

‘I got loyalties, missis. Jack Starke is a mate and I don't want him to end up a drunken rummy. He's worth more than that.'

‘He didn't want to leave Florida. He chose to stay.'

‘Begging your pardon, missis, but I know different.' Bodger hesitated, fixing her with a straight look. ‘If you say you can't manage without me then I'll forget it and I'll see that you get home, but if you're the woman I think you are you'll let me go. If I don't do something the cap'n will likely drink his self to death or die of fever, or be killed by an alligator or a poisonous serpent. You got the final say.'

AFTER THE GOLDEN
sunshine of Virginia and the vivid colours of Florida, London seemed uniformly grey and drab. It was raining when the hackney carriage drew to a halt outside the house in Savage Gardens, and a thick blanket of impenetrable cloud hung over the rooftops. Mirabel paid the cabby with the last few coppers in her purse before helping Gertie to heft their luggage onto the pavement. It had been a long and tortuous journey from New York. Travelling steerage was an experience she would not wish to repeat and would rather forget. Vincent had offered to pay for a second class cabin but Mirabel had her pride and she could not impose on his generosity any further. The D'Angelo family had been more than kind and her parting from them had been accompanied by tears and promises to keep in touch, but Mirabel knew that from now on her life was about to change, and not for the better. As the wife of a rich and respected man she had enjoyed the protection of her husband's name, but as a young widow things would be different. Her financial situation seemed to be precarious and she would not know how she stood until she returned to London.

She hesitated, looking up at the house which seemed small and shabby when compared to the mansion at Loblolly Grove. Raindrops coursed down the windowpanes like tears, as if the house itself was in mourning for its dead master. She had still to break the news to Mrs Flitton.

‘Come on, Mabel. What d'you think you're doing standing in the pouring rain?'

Gertie's brisk tone broke through the confused thoughts that were flitting like bad dreams through Mirabel's brain. She took a deep breath, picked up her valise and climbed the steps to the front door. Having rapped on the knocker she waited, listening for the sound of footsteps. The door opened and she was enveloped in a wild embrace with Tilda clinging to her like a burr.

‘Let us in, you silly goose,' Gertie said impatiently. ‘It's raining cats and dogs.'

Mirabel wriggled free from Tilda's clinging arms. ‘It's good to be home.' As she stepped over the threshold she realised that she meant what she said. The smell of lavender and beeswax mingled with the aroma of cooking emanating from the kitchen below stairs. She dropped her valise on the floor, noting with a wry smile the puddle of water seeping onto the polished boards. Mrs Flitton would have something to say about that.

Gertie bustled in behind her, slamming the door with a sigh of relief. ‘Home at last. I never want to do that journey again. I could do with a cup of split pea. Where's Ma Flitton?'

‘Is that you, Gertie Tinker?' Mrs Flitton's mobcap appeared first as she negotiated the steep stairs, followed by the rest of her plump body. She waddled along the hallway holding out her hands. ‘Mrs Kettle, you're home.' There was a note of disapproval in her voice. ‘Why didn't you let us know you were coming, ma'am? We're quite unprepared.'