Nan Ryan (16 page)

Johnny’s collar suddenly felt too snug. He said, “She thinks she does. A childish whim, nothing more.”

“Still, you must stop calling her sweetheart, Cap’n,” Miss Annabelle gently scolded. “Or any other endearment that could be misconstrued. She’s young and impressionable and you must not allow her to think that you feel anything for her other than proper adult concern for her welfare.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the chastened Johnny.

“Exactly what are your plans for Nevada, Cap’n?”

Johnny shrugged wide shoulders. “To provide her with advantages, to see her educated and transformed into a lady like yourself, Miss Annabelle. To make it possible for her to meet a respectable young gentleman and make a good marriage for herself.” He smiled engagingly. “To help her realize her girlish dreams.”

Miss Annabelle smiled back at the dark man whose own dreams, if indeed he had any, he had never shared with her. Or with anyone else, she suspected.

She said, “You’ve a good heart, Cap’n Roulette. As soon as we’re settled in London I shall begin Nevada’s lessons. She’s quite intelligent, so I’m sure she’ll learn rapidly.”

He nodded his agreement.

“One more thing”—she paused, nervously touched the cameo pinned to her high lace collar—“you must stop taking Nevada to those gambling dens.” Her hand dropped away and she looked him squarely in the eye.

“That I can’t do, Miss Annabelle,” said Johnny, without apology. “Nevada brings me luck.”

The trio arrived in New York City on a sticky, hot day in late June. Miss Annabelle, once again a product of her pampered upbringing, felt weak and faint after the long carriage ride across Manhattan, as any grand lady would, and so went straight to her bed upon reaching the St. Nicholas Hotel.

Nevada, on the other hand, felt fine. Curious. Wonderful. Excited. The carriage ride itself had been a thrilling adventure as it rolled along broad avenues lined with the tallest buildings she had ever seen. She had turned and twisted and craned her neck and pointed and grabbed Johnny’s arm and asked a million questions.

They stayed a full week in the teeming city and Johnny, who had enjoyed New York’s varied delights numerous times, was surprised to learn he found new pleasure in the familiar as he squired the two awed women around town.

Morning strolls through the New York Gallery of Fine Arts, ferry trips to Staten Island, lunches at a vine-covered sidewalk café in front the Thalia Theater, afternoon shopping at Lord & Taylor’s with its steam elevators and Tiffany chandeliers. Twilight rides through Central Park, dinner at Delmonico’s, and evenings at Broadway’s glittering theaters.

And of course, late-night visits to Morrissey’s, the Twenty-fourth Street casino famous the world over for its magnificently furnished gaming rooms and splendid buffet suppers.

“Please, Johnny, can’t we stay just one more week?” Nevada begged on their last evening in New York, knowing that the country’s continuing Centennial celebration would climax on Independence Day. “Hellfire, don’t you realize that in just four days it will be July 4, 1876, the one hundredth anniversary of our nation’s independence!”

Johnny, seated in an easy chair by the spacious suite’s tall front windows, leisurely lowered his newspaper. “I am aware, Nevada, but I’ve booked passage for tomorrow.”

“Well, unbook it! Miss Annabelle says there’ll be parades and picnics and bands playing and fireworks and dances and crowds, and I want to be here.”

But Johnny would not be swayed or bullied. He had business in the United Kingdom. “We leave tomorrow,” he said, and turned his attention back to the
New York Herald
.

Nevada sat sulkily between Miss Annabelle and Johnny in the roomy hired carriage headed toward the Hudson River on that warm Saturday rooming, July 1st. Annoyed with Johnny for being so selfish, longing to remain in the city for the glorious July 4th celebrations, she ignored his attempts at polite conversation and resented his long arm stretched out behind her on the leather seat.

Refusing to even glance at landmarks he was pointing out, Nevada looked only at her gloved hands folded in her lap.

But as the carriage neared Pier 51 and she caught the scent of the water and heard the shrill cry of circling gulls, she couldn’t keep from lifting her eyes. She saw it at once: the towering SS
Starlight
anchored in the harbor, its sixty-foot white hull gleaming in the hazy New York sunshine. And she forgot her disappointment.

Excitement filled the air as barouches and victorias crowded the wooden docks and drivers in full livery assisted rich, well-dressed ladies and gentlemen from the fancy conveyances. Dollies stacked high with steamer trunks dotted the wooden wharf and flower and fruit vendors pushed their carts through the crowds.

Nevada couldn’t keep from smiling at Johnny when, after first assisting Miss Annabelle, he put his hands to her waist and, lifting her from the carriage, said, “If I buy you some violets for your dress, will you forgive me?”

Suddenly happy and optimistic, she wanted to hug his handsome neck and shout, Of course, you fool! I love you to distraction, I’d forgive you anything, but she did not. Although she certainly did love him to distraction and meant to make him her own, come hell or high water, she was clever enough to know she must start keeping her desires to herself. For now.

She said coyly, “Buy the violets, then I’ll decide.”

Grinning, he bought the flowers, tipping the happy vendor handsomely. Miss Annabelle preferred to carry her corsage, but Nevada wanted to wear hers and enlisted Johnny’s help. He obliged and when he deftly pinned the fragrant purple blossoms to the bodice of her pale blue traveling suit, Nevada’s heart skipped a beat beneath his dark fingers.

He said, “What’s the verdict, Miss Hamilton? Have the violets put me back in your good graces?”

Before she could answer, a quartet of eager travelers unintentionally jostled her so that she felt herself losing her balance but was powerless to do anything about it. Only Johnny’s quick reflexive action saved her from a fall and she found herself encircled in his arms, her cheek pressed to the linen lapel of his cream-colored suit jacket.

“Thunderation!” she said into his chest. “They almost knocked me flat on my—”

“Let’s go aboard where it’s less crowded,” said Johnny hastily, and keeping a protective arm around her, guided her and Miss Annabelle up the long gangway and onto the polished deck of the Cunard Line’s most modern and luxurious ocean-going vessel.

First-class passengers milled about the twenty-thousand-ton luxury liner, locating their regal staterooms, calling to friends, drifting in and out of the main salon now crowded with children, valets, maids, trunks. Others leaned over the promenade railing, waving wildly to those on the levee while champagne corks popped and laughter filled the air.

Nevada quickly realized that they were traveling top cabin and gloried in the revelation. While a mannerly uniformed steward of slender build and carefully combed brown hair beneath his billed cap ushered them to their staterooms, he spoke proudly of the SS
Starlight’s
accommodations.

“She boasts a half dozen saloons, all of them aglitter with gold and crystal and mirrors. There’s more than eight hundred cabins. The staterooms you’ve engaged are the largest available on the
Starlight
and have bathtubs and hot and cold running water, so you should be quite comfortable during your crossing.” His eyes twinkled as he said, “No finer vessel can be found than this pride of the Atlantic, the SS
Starlight.
” Then he added, “Naturally you’ll find the finest cuisine prepared by a small army of French chefs and a menu so extravagant it will be unnecessary to dine on the same food twice during the entire nine days of your crossing.”

He continued with his studied monologue, informing his interested passengers that everything was readily available for their comfort and convenience. That the full SS
Starlight’s
capable staff was on call twenty-four hours a day.

Leading them down a wide paneled hallway, he unlocked a door, extended his arm, and allowed them to pass before him into a large airy stateroom where a huge bouquet of cut flowers and a basket of fresh fruit and a magnum of chilled champagne awaited.

“This is the ladies’ suite,” said the steward, crossing the deeply carpeted stateroom to throw open the curtains over the portholes. “The gentleman”—he glanced up at Johnny—“will be right next door.”

After assuring them that all their luggage would be brought up shortly and a maid would be sent up to help with the unpacking, the steward showed Johnny to his stateroom. After Johnny had given him a generous gratuity, he left, saying, “We should be departing in half an hour, sir.”

Johnny, relaxing, watted exactly twenty-eight minutes, then knocked on the door of Nevada and Miss Annabelle’s stateroom. Nevada answered it to see Johnny, a muscular shoulder leaning against the doorframe, grinning down at her.

“I thought I’d go out on deck for the departure. Anyone care to join me?”

Her eyes grew as large as saucers. “Is it time already?” Not waiting for an answer, she spun around. “Dear Lord in heaven, where did I put my blasted suit jacket? Miss Annabelle, I can’t find—”

“Forget your jacket, child, and go along with him,” said Miss Annabelle.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Johnny asked.

Preoccupied with overseeing the unpacking, Miss Annabelle declined. She smiled and shook her head when Nevada, beside herself with excitement, tugged on Johnny’s hand, saying, “Come on! If we miss the launching I’ll never forgive myself!”

Out on deck the pair stood at the crowded railing, waving and laughing, and Nevada’s heart began to pound when the huge steamship began backing away from the Hudson River landing. The captain and two expert steam tugs smartly maneuvered the huge liner out of its berth through the tideway, and toward the open sea. Cheers and whistles went up from the gay passengers and Nevada cheered and whistled loudest of all.

And as the merry mayhem continued around them she tugged on Johnny’s lapel. Smiling, he lowered his dark head. Nevada stood on tiptoe, put her hand to his tanned jaw and her lips against his ear. She said, “To hell with New York. This is a damn sight more fun than any old Centennial celebration!”

16

First aboard the
Moonlight Gambler
. Then down in New Orleans. Up in New York City. And now here, out on the high seas. It was the same wherever they were.

Women looking at, flirting with, throwing themselves at Johnny Roulette! Nevada was sick of it. She wanted to run at them, to scream and shout and flap her arms; to drive them away as if they were a revolting pack of hovering vultures, intent on swooping down to strip the juicy flesh from Johnny’s bones. Which, in Nevada’s eyes, they were.

Simmering, Nevada returned with Miss Annabelle to their stateroom on the first full morning at sea. Breakfast in the main dining hall had been disastrous, despite the fact the food had been delicious. She had hardly tasted the fluffy buckwheat cakes, the sugar-cured ham, the poached eggs, or the fig preserves.

Seated at a table nearby a pair of attractive, expensively gowned ladies had spent the entire meal smiling and looking at Johnny as though he were far more appetizing than the berries and rich cream before them. Worse, Johnny smiled back at the simpering pair, and when the meal was ended he excused himself, deserting Nevada and Miss Annabelle, and joined the enemy.

Signing miserably, Nevada followed Miss Annabelle into their sunny stateroom and flung herself facedown on the bed. Her jaw aching from gritting her teeth, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and pounded her fists on the mattress.

“My dear child, what is it?” said Miss Annabelle, laying aside the long-stemmed rose that had graced their breakfast table.

“Damn them both to burning hell!” sputtered Nevada, flopping over onto her back and bolting upright. “And Johnny Roulette with them.”

“Nevada! You mustn’t say such—”

“Yes, I must!” Her face was red with emotion, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears. “Johnny’s out there right this minute promenading around the decks with those two brazen hussies on his arms after flatly turning me down when I suggested a stroll earlier this morning.”

“You suggested …”—Miss Annabelle’s slender fingers went to the cameo at her throat—“earlier? I don’t understand. I was with you when we met Cap’n Roulette for—”

Waving a dismissive hand before her angry face, Nevada said, “Not then. I woke up early, before the sun. You were still sleeping when I went next door to Johnny’s and asked him to go for a walk with me.”

Her intelligent forehead wrinkled, thin eyebrows drawn together, Miss Annabelle said, “Johnny was up and dressed before dawn?”

Nevada shot her a look that said Don’t be ridiculous, then told her, “No, of course not. You know Johnny—he’s the soundest of sleepers and never rises before eight in the morning.” Her face softened a little. “He was asleep, all right.” A foolish grin began to play at her lips. “God, he’s so beautiful when he’s asleep. His hair was all mussed and he doesn’t wear pajamas and his bare chest was—”