Brambles and Thorns Page 4
Her mother’s room had been thoroughly cleaned by Bella and the bed stripped, but Mrs. Bellwood’s personal possessions had been left untouched. Elena’s heart beat faster as she looked at the carved four-poster bed, the large matching armoire opposite, and the various chests of drawers tucked into every corner of the room. Memories overwhelmed her, but she fought back her incipient tears.
“Come, Willa.” Together, they stepped forward and began gingerly to search the various items of furniture.
In the largest chest, a packet of letters bound by a ribbon caught Elena’s eye, and she tucked the packet into one of her trunks. In the same drawer, she found a small bag of leather with a drawstring tied in a bow. She opened it and discovered a set of jewelry she had never seen before.
“This is odd,” she commented to Willa as she pulled forth a necklace and matching pin. “I have never seen this set before. I wonder why my mother never wore it. Look, Willa, it is quite beautiful.”
The necklace consisted of a long gold filigree chain spaced with bright green stones. The pin contained a larger stone of the same type surrounded by a circlet of filigree.
“It is very pretty,” Willa replied. “Do you think the stones are emeralds? If so, it must be worth a king’s ransom!”
“Oh, no, I am certain it is glass.”
“If it is glass, it will not be on the list of the jewelry that secured your mother’s loans,” replied the practical Willa. “And if it’s not on the list, there can be no harm if you take it with you.”
Elena looked at her in surprise. “You’re quite right,” she replied. “A very good thought, Willa.”
“I will fetch the papers left by Mr. Coakley,” said Willa.
While Willa stood by watching expectantly, Elena scanned the list of jewelry, furniture, and art used by her mother to secure her loans. She saw nothing answering the description of the necklace and pin. Pleased with the outcome, she continued searching the room, hoping to find other items that were unlisted. She found a pair of pearl earrings, and these she gave to the delighted Willa.
“Now,” Elena stated, “we must find something for Bella.”
In the top drawer of a dark chest located in the farthest corner of the room from the four-poster bed, Elena found another small box, this one of carved ivory. Expecting to find jewelry, Elena carefully opened it as Willa peered anxiously over her shoulder.
Inside was a knife. Elena lifted it out and turned it in her hand. It was a gentleman’s penknife, with a thin blade of bluish steel and a carved ivory handle.
“’Twould likely have been your father’s,” Willa commented.
“Yes, no doubt,” Elena replied. “If it is not on the list, I believe I will keep it. I have no memento of my father.”
With the small treasures safely packed, the girls gathered up a few silk scarves and gloves for Bella and prepared to leave the room.
“Oh,” said Willa, “we did not look in that small trunk on the other side of the bed.”
Elena pulled it forth, but the girls found that it contained nothing of interest, just a pile of old periodicals. On top of the pile was an open envelope addressed to Mrs. Clyde Bellwood. Elena opened it and found a brief note written in an unfamiliar hand—a rustic hand, almost like that of a child. Elena perused it while Willa carefully folded the scarves for Bella.
The note said simply:
Missus Bellwood,
I finished the job you set me to. Send rest of money—
TH
Elena threw the note back in the trunk. Willa left the room to take the silk items to Bella, but Elena remained for a few moments longer, trying once again to understand and accept this sudden loss of her mother.
“It still seems impossible,” she whispered. “I can see you, Mother, in my mind’s eye, as if you were sitting there in bed having your tea and smiling at my silly nonsense, as you used to do.”
Exhausted emotionally and physically, she lay down on her mother’s bed and closed her eyes. She drifted immediately into slumber and dreamed of walking in a great green meadow. A white dove flew above her, but when it drew near, she saw that it was not a dove at all, but a gargoyle, which stared at her with its red eyes and hissed as it flew past. She awoke with a cry of fear and hurried to her own room.
Chapter Five
A Wolf in Her Chamber
Willa hoisted her own small carpetbag over her shoulder and used her free hands to drag Elena’s two heavy valises. Trying not to trip, she followed her mistress across the icy mud of the street toward the pier. The cabriolet that had brought them rattled away, leaving them to fend for themselves among the noise and confusion of the busy harbor. Men and boys hurried here and there carrying barrels and boxes, and seemed not to care if they jostled wind-bedraggled ladies trying to find their way.
Elena fought her way through the crowd toward the docks. Several ships were dancing against the creaking wooden piles, but none of them was named Lady Jane. Elena attempted to ask a lad where she might find the ship, but he said, “Don’t know, miss,” and hurried away.
After some time of wandering about in the freezing wind, they found the harbormaster, a thin, hawkish man who looked at them as though he’d never seen a woman before.
“Traveling alone, ladies?” he asked with an unmistakable leer.
Elena stood straight and looked directly at him. “That is not your concern. Please tell us where we can find the Lady Jane.”
“No need to be hoity, m’dear,” he chortled. He pointed out toward the dark sea. “There’s your ship, anchored right off shore. She’ll soon depart, so better hurry.”
Willa and Elena stared out to sea. A tall ship with her bare masts swaying wallowed in the wind. “How does one get to the ship?” asked Elena, too frightened to be “hoity.”
The harbormaster sneeringly directed them to a longboat whose keeper would row them out to the Lady Jane. Elena curtsied coldly to him and screwed up her courage to make her way among the bustling men and piles of freight to the longboat. She reminded herself she had entered many a ballroom with her head held high, knowing that every eye was upon her. She called upon her innate courage now, marching with an air of dignity across the bare, muddy ground toward the longboat. She had almost reached the shore where the craft was pulled up when a gentleman standing nearby called out to her.
“Miss, miss, have a care! Your companion has fallen!” He rushed to Willa’s aid, and Elena, turning back, saw Willa was on the wet ground, struggling to rise. Elena’s valises were lying in an icy puddle, and one had broken open. Elena gasped in horror at the sight of her personal items, including a bundle of lacy undergarments, spread upon the ground.
“Willa!” she cried. “Look what you’ve done!” While the gentleman assisted Willa, Elena gathered her belongings and stuffed them into the valise. The effort caused her to become splattered with mud, and her temper rose in proportion to the abatement of her dignity.
As she attempted to brush off her dress, she became aware that the gentleman was staring at her. She faced him and his angry dark eyes.
“Madam,” he said coldly, “I do not know your city of origin, but if you are an example of its inhabitants, they are a heartless set of beings.”
Elena gave him an icy glare and pulled her eyes away, too shocked to reply. Hoisting her valise, she said, “Come, Willa,” and turned to move away. The gentleman, to her utter amazement, reached out and seized her arm.
“Will you have the goodness, madam, to take notice that this young lady has injured herself?”
Elena jerked her arm away, but she looked at Willa, who was on her feet but leaning heavily on the gentleman.
“Willa, are you indeed injured? I did not realize…”
“It is nothing, Miss Bellwood. If the gentleman could assist me to the boat, I’m sure I will be well in a few minutes.”
“I believe you have sprained your ankle,” said the gentleman. “You must allow me to carry you. Your…friend…can manage the valises.”
With that, he picked Willa up in his arms and bore her effortlessly across the slippery terrain to the longboat. Without ceremony, he deposited her on a forward bench. He made no attempt to assist Elena with the bags, and Elena with a great effort gathered them in her arms and struggled toward the boat.
Good lord, these bags were far too heavy for one person. I’ve been very cruel in not helping Willa with them.
While the gentleman assisted Willa to place her injured ankle in a comfortable position, a young sailor came forward to help with the bags, but just as he had almost reached Elena, her feet hit a patch of wet ice, and she tumbled to the ground. She cried out as she found herself sprawled on the ground with the valises spread about her. She had landed in a cold puddle, and mud, freezing water, and shards of ice were all over her.
The gentleman immediately rushed to her and with the help of the sailor lifted her to her feet. She was not injured, she immediately realized, but her dignity was shattered, and her only thought at that moment was the necessity of sitting down somewhere and crying her eyes out.
Willa stumbled from the boat to assist her mistress and, shrieking from the sudden pain in her leg, staggered against the side of the craft and clung there. The gentleman knew not whether to drop one lady to rescue the other or hold onto the one already in his arms, but the sailor declared, “I’ll get ’er!” and ran to Willa.
In a few moments, both young women were in the boat. They were thoroughly embellished with mud, and Elena’s face was scratched and abraded, while Willa’s ankle was rapidly swelling. The sailor stowed the valises, after the gentleman, to Elena’s mortification, had scooped up her silk chemises and pantalettes, which had once again escaped when she fell, and stuffed them back into her valise.
Elena dragged a wet handkerchief from her reticule and swabbed her face, swiping mud across her forehead. The gentleman smiled and turned away while Willa solicitously applied her own handkerchief to her mistress’s face. Two wet handkerchiefs were insufficient, and the gentleman was in the act of searching for his own in the pockets of his greatcoat, when the sailor solved the problem by producing a soft linen towel.
“This is a horse towel, ma’am, but it be a clean one.”
In ordinary circumstances, Elena would have spoken sharp words to anyone offering her a horse towel to wipe her face, but she eagerly accepted it. Having thoroughly cleaned her hands and face, she felt better and, ashamed of her previous unkindness to Willa, applied the towel gently to the dabs of mud on the maid’s face.
Her temper and self-control restored, Elena turned to the men and attempting a smile said, “I am grateful to both of you for your kind assistance. It would please me to know your names.”
The gentleman deferred to the sailor. “Scott, ma’am. James Scott, at your service.”
The gentleman bowed. “Benjamin Garrick, ladies. Also at your service.”
Elena offered her hand to each in turn. “I am Elena Bellwood, and this is my maid, Willa McCrea.”
“Pleased to meet you,” James declared.
“If not quite a pleasure at first, ’tis a pleasure at present,” stated Ben. “And now, might I inquire as to your travel plans? If you are taking the Lady Jane to New Haven, my sister and I will be your traveling companions. She is already aboard, but I was delayed by the loading of equipment for my farm.”
Elena was surprised, for Mr. Garrick was clearly a gentleman and she did not associate her concept of a farmer with a man who was confident, well-dressed, well-spoken, and (she must admit) handsome. But she replied to his remark with courtesy.
“Yes, we will be aboard the Lady Jane, and I will be most happy to make your sister’s acquaintance. But we will soon be traveling onward to my aunt’s home in Mystic.”
Just then another sailor appeared, and the men began to push off the longboat. Ben assisted while the two girls clung to the side of the vessel to avoid being knocked about. Soon, they were afloat. The oarsmen skillfully turned the craft, and they headed through the choppy waves toward the Lady Jane.
Ben pulled damp wool blankets from the bottom of the boat and assisted the girls to cover themselves. The noise of the harbor receded as the powerful sailors plied their long oars. Elena shivered; if this were the adventure of traveling, she had been much mistaken in longing for it!
When he had leisure for speaking, Ben inquired, “You are going to Mystic? I’m going there myself, Miss Bellwood. What is your aunt’s name? I may perhaps know her.”
“Rosalie Murdoch.”
“Great heavens, you are Miss Murdoch’s niece?”
“Do you know my aunt?”
“I know her very well, indeed! She is one of my dearest friends.”
Willa spoke softly. “Mr. Garrick, you said you have a farm. Once Miss Bellwood has reached her aunt’s house, I’ll be needing a position…and I love a good farm.”
“Miss McCrea, I am sure Miss Murdoch will give you a position. She is very busy with her bookshop and relies on others to tend her own farm. But if she cannot, I will certainly—”
Elena interrupted Ben’s courteous speech. “My aunt owns a bookshop?” Elena demanded, drowning out Willa’s quiet, “Thank you, sir.”
Ben ignored Elena and spoke to Willa. “Between Miss Murdoch and myself, you can be assured that a position will be found for you. But first, your ankle must heal. Miss Murdoch, I warn you, will tie you to a chair if need be until she’s convinced you’re fully recovered.”
Elena did not like being ignored. Her eyes flashed at Ben as she said, “So my aunt is a shopkeeper. Charming. One moment I am a New York debutante, the next the niece of a poor shopkeeper in the Connecticut hinterlands…” To her shock and humiliation, she began to cry.
Ben looked to Willa for an explanation.
“Miss Bellwood’s poor mother died and left her penniless.”
“Willa,” Elena sobbed, “pray do not tell strangers the humiliating tale of my poverty…”
She could say no more. She leaned forward with her head in her hands, but at that moment a wave rammed the boat upward, then down with a jarring crash. Elena found herself thrown across the space between the benches and was suddenly within the strong arms of Benjamin Garrick. She tried to wriggle free, but he held her securely.
“It’s good to have a cry,” he said, holding her head against his shoulder and thumping her back. “Have it out, Miss Bellwood. The loss of one’s mother is a tragedy indeed.”
Elena struggled to gain control of her crying fit and as quickly as possible extricated herself from Ben Garrick’s arms and returned to her own bench next to Willa. By then, the longboat had cleared the harbor mist and suddenly the Lady Jane loomed above them. The ship, which had looked small from shore, now looked huge, and Elena stared at the swaying hulk with one thought: how on earth did one get into it?
Before she could speak, Willa whispered, “Miss Bellwood, I’m sure I don’t know how I will climb the rope ladder with this throbbing ankle.”
Elena turned on her, eyes wide with shock. “Rope ladder! Willa, what do you mean?”
“Have you never boarded an anchored ship, Miss Bellwood? The crew will throw a rope ladder down to us from the stern.”
“What!” Elena cried. “Mr. Garrick, is it true? Does one climb a rope ladder?”
“Indeed, it is very true,” he replied with a smile. “But fear not, Miss Bellwood. I’ll climb behind you so the sailors in the longboat will not see your pantalettes when the wind blows your skirt up.”
Elena was too shocked to speak. She stared at Ben and then glanced at Willa, who was white-faced with pain and trepidation. “But Mr. Garrick, Willa will not be able to climb a rope ladder.”
“That is very true. We will need to tie a stout rope about her, and she will be hoisted that way. It will not be very pleasant for her, I fear.”
James Scott had finished tying up to the stern of the Lady Jane and, hearing their conversation, said, “I’ll tie a foot loop in the rope, and Miss McCrea can
stand her good foot in the loop. We’ll then strap her to the rope so she won’t fall into the sea.”
As outrageous as that seemed to Elena, the plan worked very well. She herself tied Willa’s skirts around her knees so the unruly wind would not expose the girl’s undergarments. James Scott, standing easily in the rocking longboat, strapped Willa to the rope at waist level. At his signal, the crew on board began to pull. Willa gave a little cry as she rose into the air, but she arrived safely on the deck. Elena peered upward, shading her eyes from the winter sun, and sighed with relief when Willa waved to her.
The rope ladder was then thrown down for the others. The older sailor climbed first, and Elena watched in fear as he went steadily up the ladder. At the top, he threw himself aboard and waved to the others.
Ben took Elena’s hands in his and helped her rise. “You are next, Miss Bellwood. Pray do not faint! Put one foot at a time on each cross rope, and for heaven’s sake, hold on tight with both hands. I will be right behind you; do not be afraid.”
If Elena had been less frightened of falling into the dark, frigid sea, she would surely have fainted, but the fear of climbing the ladder was so much less than her terror of being submerged in icy water, she set off up the ladder with a will. Ben stayed close behind her, and she was climbing quite easily when a gust of wind suddenly tore up her skirts and wrapped them about her head. Instinctively, she released the rope from her right hand to pull her dress down and then screamed as her body swung outward.
“Hold on! Don’t let go!” Ben cried. He took one of his hands from the rope and scrabbled at her skirts. Managing to get them down to her waist, he seized a mass of fabric, twisted it, and tucked it under the waist seam of her dress.
“Now climb!” Ben shouted.
Shaking, Elena gathered all her strength and climbed to the stern rail. Male hands reached out and seized her, and she was dragged onto the deck. To her infinite distress, her pantalettes were in full view, to the chortling appreciation of the sailors.
Finally, in the privacy of their tiny cabin, Elena and Willa fell exhausted into their hammocks. They were shortly interrupted, however, by the ship’s mate coming to say that the sails were going up and they would weigh anchor in a few minutes.