Marrying Christopher (9 page)

“I had not considered it in that light— or that great of detail,” Captain Gower admitted. “But what is to be done to change public opinion? To change a people’s perspective or belief?”

“Time?” Mr. Thatcher suggested. “That, and evidence of your ship’s success. This
SS Savannah—
is she still running? I’ve not heard of her, but I should think that her continued success would only aid your cause.”

Gower leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “She would not. The
Savannah
had her moment of glory in 1819. But her luck turned after that. She wasn’t kept as a steamship, and she wrecked off of Long Island in the New York Harbor in 1821.”

“Wrecked! Goodness. How positively dreadful.” Somehow even Miss Cosgrove’s clear dismay came off sounding somewhat upbeat.

Mr. Thatcher pursed his lips, and his gaze turned thoughtful. “Most unfortunate.”

“Yes. Well, we will not have the same misfortune, even modestly begun as we are with but a few
fortunate
”
—
he paused to beam at Miss Cosgrove
—
“passengers.”

Breakfast was finished and the dishes cleared away— by someone other than her— before Marsali had the opportunity to catch Mr. Thatcher alone to thank him. Miss Cosgrove had monopolized both the conversation and Mr. Thatcher throughout the remainder of the meal, though in such a way that Marsali had a difficult time feeling bothered by her. Rather like a new, excitable puppy, Miss Cosgrove seemed to love everything and everyone.
That she only took my hands and did not lick me is perhaps a miracle
, Marsali reflected after having spent an hour in the young woman’s presence. But such a genuine interest in everything and a love of life was something to be admired— if not envied. Marsali wondered if she had ever been that innocent or happy. She believed she must have been once, but so many years had passed since then that she could not recall.

She came to stand beside Mr. Thatcher at the rail in the spot Miss Cosgrove had only just vacated when her mother had summoned her.

“I wanted to properly thank you,” she said, not meeting his gaze but staring out to the churning waters of the bay, where another ship was being towed out to sea. “I hadn’t anything at all to eat yesterday, and—”

“Nothing?”
Mr. Thatcher’s gaze shifted from the water to her face, the concern evident in his deep blue eyes.

Unused to anyone caring at all about her or for her, Marsali felt a peculiar catch in her chest, the same she’d felt last night when she’d opened her door and found his offering at her feet and heard his kind words. “There wasn’t time before my journey started, and I could not afford to purchase anything when the coach stopped at an inn for lunch.”

“Then I am doubly glad to have shared my meager offering last night,” he said. “I hope that is the last time you will go hungry. I know from experience, it is not pleasant.”

“No,” she agreed. “It is not.” Curiosity prompted her to ask under what circumstances he had experienced the same, his fine suit and manners indicating that he came from a better station than she. “I hope a very long time has passed since you have suffered thus. It is difficult to believe that a man of your stature— status,” she quickly amended, but not before she felt her face grow warm, “has ever gone hungry.”

If Mr. Thatcher caught her blunder he was kind enough to pretend not to notice. “It has been many years, but hunger is not something one forgets. As to my social status…” He pulled at the lapel of his jacket. “My sisters gave me this suit as a farewell gift. They did not wish me to arrive in America looking quite the pauper I am.”

The news that he was also poor further buoyed her spirits, though she felt badly for it. But the thought that she had met someone who might understand misfortune as she did was comforting. “Your sisters are talented seamstresses, and they must have saved long to purchase such fine cloth. It seems they care for you very much.”

Her declaration coaxed a smile, albeit a somewhat wistful one. “I’ve no doubt they love me— my coat has barely dried from their outpouring of tears when I left them three days ago.” Mr. Thatcher glanced toward his shoulder. “And they are both talented with a needle and thread, but this suit was purchased. My sisters are married, you see. To fine men who can provide well for them. Grace married an earl and lives on a grand estate. My younger sister, Helen, married his neighbor, Mr. Preston, who is in possession of great wealth and has a fine home of his own.”

Mr. Thatcher’s comments sounded anything but resentful, yet Marsali sensed sadness in his words. She wanted to ask him about this, if he was displeased with his sisters’ choices in their husbands, but did not think it her place. Instead, she directed her attentions to the harbor once more, though still very much aware of his presence beside her. He politely turned his gaze outward as well.

So long have I been out of society that it is likely I have forgotten how to control my tongue. How am I to ever get used to polite conversation again?
The topics covered among the servants downstairs at her aunt’s home had been any and every, and conversations were often gossipy and crude— two traits she did not wish to carry with her into her new life.

Instead, she wished desperately to return to the manners and ways she’d possessed up until her fifteenth year, when life had taken a tragic turn. But already she could see that resuming the ways of a lady was not to be as simple as she had supposed. She hoped her new post would help with that, and watching the young lady she was to serve might be the way to relearn those manners and delicate behaviors she had lost.

She’d been grateful for the captain’s mandate of simplicity at breakfast. It had brought a measure of relief, as she would not be required to remember who served what and from which side and with which utensil each course was eaten and when it was appropriate to begin eating.

Her aunt had never allowed her in the dining room— even to serve. That was too good a task for anyone as low as she; instead, Marsali had been assigned the daily emptying and scrubbing of the chamber pots, the clearing of the table scraps into the slop buckets, the cleaning of ashes from the fireplaces, and every other undesirable chore her aunt could heap upon her.

Marsali worried— and rightly so— that she might have trouble as a lady’s maid. She wasn’t at all aware of fashion, and she was only familiar with a few basic hairstyles— her own hair having been kept short the last few years— but she could sew. It was perhaps the thing that might save her. She would be able to care for a lady’s clothing, to sew and mend anything. To alter or let out or even design a gown. It was the only way she’d managed to keep herself in clothes during her time at her aunt’s house. And it was the skill that had allowed her to secretly put aside the ten shillings for the coach to take her to Liverpool.

“I’m afraid I am poor company,” Mr. Thatcher said quite suddenly. Marsali turned to him, uncertain as to his meaning.

“Here I have told you of my family but asked nothing of yours. Are you the first in your family to make this voyage— the brave one to travel to America?”

“You are not poor company at all,” Marsali said. “I was lost in thought, as I believe you were as well.” She smiled at him, realizing how perfectly comfortable it had felt, standing at his side, neither of them speaking. Their silence had not been awkward but companionable. “And just because you fed me, do not feel obligated to entertain as well. I daresay Miss Cosgrove will take care of that for both of us— for the entire ship.”

Mr. Thatcher laughed, easing her worry that she’d spoken rudely already.

“I did not mean to sound unkind,” Marsali hurried to say. “Miss Cosgrove is lovely and vivacious.”

He leaned closer. “And a person in her company can hardly get a word in edgewise. If one is to have a conversation on this ship, I fear it will have to be when she is busy attending to her mother. So you had best hurry and answer my question, or I shall be left curious in the event Miss Cosgrove returns.
Do
you leave family behind?”

“No one,” Marsali said, letting out a happy breath. Her aunt and uncle didn’t qualify. She held her arms open wide. “This ship is my passage to freedom.”

“I thought… are you not making the voyage under indenture?” The concern in Mr. Thatcher’s voice touched her.

As if I might have already forgotten I will owe four years for these four weeks of freedom.
“I am,” Marsali said. “My sister, Charlotte, arranged the indenture for me. She and her husband traveled to America four years ago. I have been waiting to join them ever since, and finally I am going. A Mr. Joshua Thomas has paid for my voyage, and in return I am to be his daughter’s lady’s maid for a period of four years.”

“That seems a rather hefty price for one crossing.”

Marsali shrugged. “It was the best Charlotte could find. Oft it is five to seven years that are required. Do not feel pity for me,” she said, noting Mr. Thatcher’s solemn look. “I am quite happy with the arrangement. Being a lady’s maid will be far better than serving at my aunt and uncle’s home.”

“Your own relatives treated you as a servant?” His brows drew together, and his lips turned down even more.

“
Servant
is perhaps a generosity when describing how they treated me, but let’s not speak of that.” She forced a smile. “It is behind me, and my sister will be waiting at the end of my journey. The plantation I am to serve at in Virginia is not so very far from her, and I have hope that we shall be able to visit fairly often. As Miss Cosgrove so perfectly expressed at breakfast, I
am
very fortunate.”

“As am I,” Mr. Thatcher agreed, and Marsali felt relief that the subject of her background was— hopefully— safely behind them.

“But you are leaving your sisters behind, not going to them,” she said, feeling far more concern over his situation than her own. She finally dared ask what she’d wished to earlier, hoping that if he did not wish to speak of it he would simply tell her. “Were you displeased with their choices, with the men they married?”

“Heavens, no,” Mr. Thatcher exclaimed. “I spent a great deal of the previous year working to see them wed to such fine men. It was a love match for both, and I couldn’t be more pleased.”

“Yet you are leaving them,” Marsali said. “And feeling sad for it.”

He turned back to the rail, leaning his elbows upon it, and glanced at her sideways. “You are too astute, I see. I shall have to be wary of you.”

“I am sorry,” Marsali rushed to apologize. “I did not mean to pry.”

“And I did not mean to sound so harsh.” He placed a hand over hers on the rail for a brief second, then pulled away. “No harm done,” he assured. “I have been rather surprised by my own melancholy. I have wanted to go to America for so many years now, have dreamed of it and planned for this day. But it seems I did not consider how difficult it would be to part with my family.”

“Your parents remain in England as well?” Marsali asked, then bit her lip as she realized she’d pried yet again.

“My parents are both dead,” Mr. Thatcher said. “My mother died when I was quite young— I do not remember her, truth be told. And my father died last year— at no loss to my sisters and myself. He was not a good man. It is perhaps because of him that I feel compelled to leave England. I want to begin anew in a place where
Thatcher
is not a name that precedes itself in a poor light.”

“You have begun well, then,” Marsali said, glancing at the hand he had touched. “For when I think of the name Thatcher, forevermore it will bring to mind a kind, generous man.”

After her pleasant visit with Mr. Thatcher, Marsali strolled about the deck, careful to stay out of the way of the men readying the ship to leave port. Captain Gower seemed to be everywhere, barking instructions about checking the mooring lines and the sails and asking repeatedly for a final measuring of coal. More than once Marsali heard a bit of murmuring from his men, wishing the captain would trust them to see to their tasks themselves.

But he cannot
, Marsali surmised. This ship was his life, and its future and Captain Gower’s largely depended upon the next twenty-five days.