Marrying Christopher (5 page)

“Blasted woman is going to delay us,” the captain muttered beneath his breath, but not so quietly that both Christopher and the medical inspector failed to hear it. The latter’s eyes went to a clock on the wall behind the captain.

“Surely you don’t mean to wait for Miss Abbott,” the inspector said, placing his napkin on the table as if making ready to leave.

“I may not have a choice
but
to wait for her.” More than a hint of irritation tinged the captain’s voice.

“Why?” the inspector asked. “It’s not as if one
less
person on this ship is going to make any difference, though she does account for a quarter of your passengers.” He chuckled at his own joke.

Captain Gower attempted a smile, though Christopher caught a glimpse of a desperate sort of bitterness beneath.

“The girl is indentured to Mr. Thomas,” the captain explained. At the inspector’s blank look, he clarified. “Mr. Thomas is the wealthy Virginian who financed over 80 percent of the
Amanda May
. It would seem that the least I can do— seeing how I have failed at attracting passengers— would be to deliver his servant.”

“Ah.” The inspector nodded. “So Miss Abbott is not just
any
passenger.”

“Not at all,” Captain Gower said. “She is to serve as a lady’s maid for Thomas’s daughter. Her current maid’s term of indenture has recently ended, and he was unable to secure a proper replacement. He seems to feel that a young woman from England is the best choice.”

“Does that not strike you as odd, Captain?” Christopher asked. “I should think America would have plenty of young women, both those born there as well as a great many immigrants recently arrived who would be pleased to have such a position.” He thought of the Irish ship docked beside them. “Why should a man have to advertise and send away, as it were, for a maid?”

“I do not pretend to know.” Captain Gower tugged at his cravat as his mouth turned down, exhibiting mild discomfort and causing Christopher to suspect that he was not being entirely truthful.

“I cannot imagine what might have happened to delay her,” the captain said, glancing at his watch yet again.

“Most unfortunate,” the inspector said, pushing back his chair and rising.

An abrupt, forced smile appeared on the captain’s face. “Let us at least enjoy ourselves while we wait, gentlemen.” His gaze moved from the inspector to Christopher, a silent plea in it.

“I’ve a fine bottle of port waiting to be opened in celebration of our departure, and I am most eager to show off some of my latest acquisitions.”

“Well, now…” The inspector brought a hand to his chin as he considered.

Christopher felt somewhat surprised at being included in the invitation, but then he
was
the only male passenger, so it wasn’t as if the captain had many choices if he wished for more company to keep the inspector lingering.

“Fine port, you say? It would be a shame to pass that up.” The inspector patted his rotund belly affectionately, as if promising it yet another treat.

When he has already eaten a double portion of everything. Good that he won’t be joining us on this voyage, or the rest of us might go without.

Christopher stood and followed the two men into the captain’s quarters, two generous-sized rooms, the first of which featured a wide, cushioned seat with a large, paned window behind it. Ornate wood trim framed both the window and the seat and matched the gleam of the polished floors and beams overhead. But the main features of the room were the large tables on the opposite side. These were built in an octagonal shape to fit the space and held an enticing array of objects— none of which Christopher could identify.

“I collect inventions,” Captain Gower said, striding over to the tables, his chest puffed out as if they were his greatest pride and joy. “A few are my own; several belonged to others who never realized their potential; and one I will be showing to American investors for a friend of mine— Joseph Niépce. Perhaps you have heard of him?”

Both Christopher and the inspector shook their heads.

“He has invented a heliograph,” the captain said, as if they ought to know what such a thing was. He moved to the second table and pointed out the box sitting at the end.

The inspector came closer and bent over, examining it. Christopher lingered behind, interested as well but not wanting to interrupt the inspector’s distraction. He had the idea that this was exactly what the captain had intended, bringing them in here to stall for time until Miss Abbott arrived.

If he was unable to detain the medical inspector, if the inspector left without clearing all of the listed passengers, their departure would be delayed— something Christopher wanted as little as the captain. He would do all he could to assist Captain Gower in assuring they sailed tomorrow.

Captain Gower left the inspector to his examination of the objects on the tables and went to a cabinet near the window. He removed three glasses and set them on the sideboard below. From a wine rack built into the sideboard, he withdrew a somewhat dusty bottle.

Christopher watched as the captain removed the cork, sniffed it appreciatively, and with a nearly concealed sigh, began to pour out.

“I say, Gower. You must be the vainest captain I’ve met,” the inspector said. “With your ship that can move without sails and a special stand of mirrors with which to preen.” He moved closer, attempting to peer into one himself.

“Ah, but they are not for preening.” The captain crossed the room and handed a glass of port to the inspector.

“What are they for, then? And what is that box supposed to do?”

“The heliograph was Joseph’s first attempt at making a picture. The mirrors are used to reflect the light of the sun in order to capture the image.”

The inspector’s look turned skeptical. “Since when can a mirror paint?”

“I did not say a portrait, but a picture— an image.” Captain Gower set his drink aside, then carefully picked up two parchments from behind the invention. “A sun drawing, if you will.” He held the parchment out, and Christopher came closer for a better look.

The first was a landscape, or a likeness of one, but nothing like Christopher had ever seen. The second was a grainy image of a man with a horse.

“This one was made with Joseph’s camera obscura, another invention he is still working on,” Captain Gower said.

“I’ve seen much better paintings,” the inspector said, and the captain exchanged a look with Christopher as if to suggest that men in the inspector’s line of business obviously had no imagination.

“A camera obscura produces a likeness,” Captain Gower attempted to explain once more. He held up the landscape. “Joseph took this one out the window of his house, but a sun drawing can be made of anything. One could just as easily capture you as you are right now, standing there.”

Drinking some of my best port
,
Christopher imagined the captain thinking as he watched the man’s eyes narrow at the rate the inspector was downing his drink.

“Most intriguing.” The inspector’s glass was nearly empty. “Any future in it?”

“Mr. Niépce seems to think so.” Captain Gower returned the images to the table. “Joseph and I first became friends several years ago, when he and his brother invented the Pyréolophore. It was a mechanism, a machine, if you will, for powering boats upriver. He and I, we think alike.” Captain Gower tapped a finger against the side of his head. “There are better ways to do things, faster ways to get places. We’ve just got to find them.”

“And this Niépce, have his boats found success?” the inspector asked.

The captain’s face fell. “No.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Joseph and Claude did not give the Pyréolophore the time and attention it needed. Their patent has run out, and now Joseph believes this creating of pictures is the future.” The captain chuckled. “Though, in truth, I cannot see how making an image of a person is more important than the speed with which that person can cross the Atlantic, but we shall see. I am to deliver Joseph’s invention to some American investors in an attempt to procure financing to continue his project.”

The mention of American investors brought to mind their current problem— Mr. Thomas’s missing servant— and Christopher felt relieved when the captain offered to refill the inspector’s glass. If Miss Abbott failed to arrive before the inspector left, and if the captain truly intended to wait for her, who knew when they would be able to start their journey to America.

But the inspector had taken up a second drink and appeared completely untroubled

by the inconvenience of having to linger while waiting for the last passenger to arrive.

Christopher stood behind the two men, only half listening as the captain eagerly expounded on the merits and possibilities of each of the inventions he’d collected. Usually Christopher would have found this sort of thing most interesting, but his thoughts kept returning to the missing passenger and the possibility that something had gone wrong or would go wrong to delay them. If, for some reason, the
Amanda May
did not sail, if he had to return to Yorkshire and begin again to arrange for another passage, he was not at all certain he would be able to part from his sisters a second time.

Leaving them once had felt like tearing a piece of his heart out. He rubbed a hand absently against his chest, as if that might erase the ache— and the loss and the guilt— he felt. It was necessary, he knew, if he was to have this opportunity to start over, to have a fresh slate and a better life.

To make the name Thatcher into something noble and good.

But knowing a thing must be done and doing it were proving to be two entirely different things. He needed to get on with the rest of it now. The hard part had been leaving; he was eager for what came next. He’d been imagining America’s shores for so long now, imagining working the land with his hands, earning his own, fair wage, and saving and purchasing his own property. But none of that could begin until he reached America. And it appeared the captain would not begin their journey until Miss Abbott arrived.

The inspector also appeared to be reminded of her absence, and the late hour as well. He set his empty glass on the table. “I’d best be off now.”

“But if Miss Abbott arrives—”

“I’ve got a ship full of Irishmen to examine tomorrow morning,” the inspector said. “I’ll check in with you briefly just before. With any luck, you can still make your departure time— with Mr. Thomas’s servant aboard.”

“Thank you,” Captain Gower said, the sincerity of his gratitude evident in his voice. Christopher supposed this was a generous offer on the inspector’s part.

“Good eve to you, then.” The inspector tipped the hat he had just placed upon his head.

“Good evening,” Christopher said and followed the captain and the inspector out of the captain’s quarters. Captain Gower saw the inspector safely off of the ship while Christopher waited on deck, all the while busily scanning the wharf for any sign of the missing woman.

Marsali sat on the edge of her trunk and waited nervously inside the foyer of Madame Kelner’s Girls for Hire, both the closest establishment to where the coach had dropped her off and the one with the possibly least-offensive name. Under normal circumstances, or on a different street, “for hire” might mean any number of things. The red-velvet wallpaper, dim chandeliers, and heavy scent of perfume told her that it did not mean any of those other things here, but still, Marsali reasoned, this had to be better than stepping inside the Palace of Pleasure, farther down the street.

“This way, and bring your trunk.” The young woman who’d first answered when Marsali had rung the doorbell a few minutes earlier had returned. She inclined her head toward a side door off the foyer and walked toward it, clearly expecting Marsali to follow. This she did, dragging her trunk behind her with the same terrible scraping noise it had made as she’d lugged it across the street.

The woman opened the door, and Marsali moved awkwardly past her into a cozy sitting room. Decorated in subtle tones of green, the room was considerably less offensive to the eye than the foyer had been, and Marsali left her trunk just inside the room in favor of sitting in one of the chairs before the empty fireplace. She sank into its softness and felt herself relax just slightly. Holding her hands out before her, she realized they were both freezing and shaking, and she wondered that she’d not noticed before now just how cold she’d become.

From fear.
The temperature itself was warm enough this time of year. Whatever the cause, she felt grateful for this temporary shelter. Behind her the door clicked shut, and Marsali removed her gloves and stretched her fingers.

“Used to hard work, are you?”

Marsali started at the voice above her. A woman considerably older than herself and considerably more beautiful stood behind Marsali. She came around in front of her, a purple satin gown swishing about her ankles. A matching necklace lay at the base of her throat, pointing down to the V of her dress, a far more daring décolleté than any Marsali had ever seen. Feeling most uncomfortable, she forced her eyes to the woman’s face and noted the careful application of rouge and powders, which Marsali suspected were intended to conceal the woman’s actual age. White-blonde curls were piled high atop her head, with a few kept down on either side of her face. She reached out, taking one of Marsali’s hands in her own and examining it.