Duke of a Gilded Age (29 page)

“I think that’s the most remarkable tale I’ve ever heard,” Carl said.

Horatio nodded his agreement. “In some cultures, Wesley and Stephen would now be considered blood brothers.”

“Like in an adventure novel,” Carl said.

“But in this case, it’s all a true story!” Eva said.

“I can’t believe we missed the excitement,” Stacy said with a pout. “Grandmama made us go to bed.”

“Oh, you should have seen Belle after the last lifeboat arrived without Wesley and my brother,” Louise said. “Mama and I were useless, but Belle was a firebrand.”

“That’s a gross exaggeration, Louise—” Belle began.

But Louise brushed off her protest. “You’re a heroine, Annabelle. If you hadn’t insisted you could see lights through the fog, no rescue would have been mounted until morning. It would have been too late by then. Stephen said the lifeboat reached him and Wesley just in the nick of time.”

A shiver shook Belle’s frame. “I can scarcely think about it. In fact, I’m looking forward to dry land more and more.”

“As am I,” Stacy said. “The last few days of our voyage won’t be nearly as diverting without the dance club.”

“True. And even if Wesley and Stephen were fit enough to continue, we no longer have a place to meet,” Eva pointed out.

“That’s right. The steerage deck is now occupied with the refugees and crew from the
Apollo
,” Horatio said.

“Did you know one of the first class passengers from the
Apollo
has a pup?” Carl asked.

“Oh, yes! She tried to bring the animal to breakfast this morning, but the staff wouldn’t allow it in the saloon,” Stacy said.

“That woman is odious,” Louise whispered. “Her name is Mrs. Stilton, and she’s attached herself to Mama, probably hoping she’ll give up her deck cabin!”

“That’s not likely,” Belle said.

“I read in the
Gazette
there’s to be a clothing drive this afternoon for the refugees,” Eva said. “They came away from the
Apollo
with very little.”

“I have an ugly yellow skirt to donate,” Stacy said.

“That’s ungenerous of you, sister, I must say,” Eva said.

“Just because
I
think it’s ugly doesn’t mean anyone else will,” Stacy retorted.

“I know the skirt,” Eva said. “You’re right, it’s quite ugly.”

Stacy sniffed. “If you’re going to be like
that
, I’ll donate a pair of gloves too. I’ve outgrown them anyway.”

“Mama and I worked at a clothing drive in Philadelphia once,” Louise said. “Volunteers are always needed to sort things and hand them out in an orderly fashion.”

“This afternoon we’ll be the volunteer club, then,” Horatio said. “Perhaps it won’t be as much fun as dancing, but a clothing drive will give us something useful to do.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve a few things to donate,” Carl said.

“Let’s all canvass our wardrobes for donations and meet back here at two o’clock,” Belle suggested.
Perhaps keeping busy will help divert my thoughts from Wesley. I can’t wait to see him!

In her cabin, Belle examined her clothes, gown by gown. Her wardrobe wasn’t so extensive she could easily donate part of it without sacrifice, but she knew the people who’d fled the
Apollo
had come away with less. With some regret, she selected her peach-pattern dress.
I hope its new owner will make good use of it, and enjoy the dress as much as I have.

She set the dress aside and sat down to write Wesley a note on ship stationery:

Dear Wesley,

Louise related a little of your ordeal to me, as recounted by her brother. I understand there was much heroism and bravery on your part, and that in all ways you behaved admirably. I’m so terribly thankful your life was spared and you’ll live to see your dukedom! Although I’m told you can’t have visitors yet, I hope this letter finds you resting comfortably.

Yours truly,

Belle

P.S. My father and I are to dine at the captain’s table this evening! I hope you are able to join us.

As she left for the clothing drive carrying her dress over one arm, she stopped by Mrs. Bartlett’s cabin and gave her the letter to deliver. For some reason, her small communication with Wesley made her feel more cheerful. Belle hastened to the saloon with a lighter heart.

Chapter Nineteen

En Garde

A
S
T
HE
M
ORNING
W
ORE
O
N
, Wesley began to chafe at his confinement. Sunlight shone through the portals, calling him out to soak in its warming rays. Cavendish had at last assumed the role of nanny, unfortunately, and dissuaded him from doing anything more strenuous than reading. When Mr. Finnegan delivered Wesley’s luncheon tray around one o’clock, he also brought with him a stack of letters.

“What’s all this?” Wesley asked.

“Well wishes and sentiments of that nature, I imagine,” Mr. Finnegan replied.

“Really?”

“Your shipmates have not forgotten you, Your Grace.”

“I’m very touched.”

The steward left. Wesley glanced through the stack; there was a note from Mr. Ley, an invitation to dine that evening from Captain Howe, and several messages from fellow passengers with whom Wesley had an acquaintance. He was most pleased to discover a letter from Belle, and he read it with a smile on his face. Afterward, he beckoned to Cavendish.

“I’d like to answer this one right away.”

“Very good, sir.”

The valet brought stationery and a Waterman fountain pen to the table so Wesley could write his reply:

Dear Belle,

Mr. Vane has been cruel to forbid me visitors, but he informs me I may go to dinner tonight despite a sprained ankle. I look forward to seeing you then, but you must promise not to laugh at my singed hair. Along with my supposed bravery and heroism, I engaged in a great deal of poorly conceived idiocy.

Sincerely,

Wesley

P.S. I’m in your father’s debt, as he was among the rescue party. I can’t express how grateful I am.

He sealed the note in an envelope, wrote Belle’s name on the front, and asked Cavendish to give it to the steward to deliver.

Before Wesley tucked into his solitary lunch of roast beef, new potatoes, and asparagus, he re-read Belle’s letter to him. Smiling, he slid it into the breast pocket of his jacket for safekeeping. Cavendish had described how Belle kept a vigil for him last night. It pleased him to no end to imagine her doing so, but had she done so out of friendship or something deeper?

Mr. Duncan had been assigned to spearhead the relief effort, along with the Chief Officer of the
Apollo
, Mr. Wilmington. Belle was impressed at the generous quantity of clothes and toiletry items donated by
City of New York
passengers. She and her fellow volunteers sorted the offerings into categories and further divided the clothes as to size. Just as they’d finished sorting the last few things, the ship’s barber entered the saloon carrying a basket filled with combs and shaving supplies.

“Mr. Duncan, you should know that whilst I was assembling these relief supplies, some things were stolen from the lot,” he said.

“Are you certain you didn’t miscount?” Mr. Duncan asked.

“I laid out shaving soap, brushes, and razors, ten sets in all. Only nine remained when I returned with the combs.”

Mr. Duncan scratched his head. “How unfortunate. Thank you, Mr. Harrington. I’ll tell the captain.”

As the barber left, Mr. Wilmington gathered the volunteers together. “Well, everyone…are we ready for distribution?”

“I think so,” Louise said. “We’ve put gentlemen’s clothes on the right hand table. Ladies’ and children’s things are on the left.”

“How are we to proceed?” Belle asked.

“Mr. Duncan and I’ll go to the steerage deck and send passengers up alphabetically, in groups.” He brandished an Italian phrase book retrieved from the ship’s library. “I just hope I can make myself understood.”

When the first group of refugees appeared several minutes later, Mrs. Stilton was amongst them. Belle was taken aback. “There must have been some sort of revolt below deck,” she whispered to Louise. “I’m pretty sure ‘Stilton’ does not belong in A through F.”

“How right you are,” Louise replied, low. “And she looks as if she’s been sucking on a lemon.”

Mrs. Stilton’s expression was indeed rather sour as she glanced over the clothes laid out on the table. “Insupportable,” she muttered. “Cast-offs and rags.”

Nevertheless, she moved quickly alongside the table to have first pick of everything available. To Belle’s dismay, Mrs. Stilton selected the peach-pattern dress she’d donated. The woman also snatched up a very pretty petticoat of the highest quality, and Stacy’s gloves. With her nose in the air, Mrs. Stilton departed, sweeping past a trio of Italian ladies staring at the table of donated finery in awe. Despite her irritation, Belle ignored Mrs. Stilton and helped the ladies as best she could by encouraging them to pick up the dresses or to feel the fabrics. Finally they chose some things and left, well pleased.

“
Grazie. Grazie mille
,” they repeated.

Carl and Horatio were on hand to assist the men, and Belle, Stacy, Eva, and Louise worked with the women and children.

“You know, this is rather fun,” she whispered to Louise. “Most everyone is thankful just to have a change of clothes.”

“I agree. It makes me feel a little humble, really,” Louise replied.

Shortly after the distribution began, she caught sight of the tall swarthy man who’d helped rescue Wesley and Stephen the night before.

“Mr. Matteo?”

He glanced over and a smile of recognition lit his face. “
Buon pomeriggio, signorina
.”

Although Belle hadn’t a clue what Matteo had just said, she desperately wanted to convey her gratitude for his help.

“Um…
mille grazie
,” she said. “Or is it
grazie mille?
Wait.”

Belle called over Mr. Wilmington, who was roaming about with his phrasebook in hand.

“Mr. Wilmington, I want to thank Mr. Matteo here for rescuing Wesley Parker last night. Can you help me?”

“Er…” The Chief Officer began to leaf through his phrase book.

“Wesley?” repeated Matteo.

“Yes, Wesley,” Belle said.

“
Come è Wesley?”
Matteo glanced around, as if looking for Wesley.

Belle glanced at Mr. Wilmington, but he was still leafing through his phrasebook with a befuddled expression.