Whirlwind (3 page)

“My question,” he enunciated, “wasn’t an invitation for you to vent your opinion regarding my decision. You appeared distressed about something else.”

“The picture.” She swallowed. “I ordered three copies of that pose so the girls and I could each have a remembrance.”

“Which leaves the third.” His hand pressed over his coat pocket for a moment—an almost reverent gesture that was at complete odds with his cold, detached demeanor.

“Academies often separate children according to age.”

“How would you know?”

Millicent met his intense gaze. He needed to know just how cruel it was to relegate his daughters to a boarding school. “Personal experience.”

Something flashed in his eyes. “My daughters will be kept together.”

“They’re very sweet girls. Good and clever and—”

“I’ve read your monthly reports.”

He had? He’d never responded to her letters.

“Fiona’s lost several teeth since last month.” He lifted another picture and stared at it.

“Yes.” Millicent fought the urge to go scoop up the photographs. She’d paid dearly for them—a whole month’s salary.

“Did you indulge in that fanciful American practice of having a fairy come collect her teeth?”

“Yes.”

He hummed a noncommittal sound, then continued to study the photographs, shifting them into different places. Silence reigned. He’d not given her permission to leave. As long as her boss concentrated on the photographs, though, she fumbled with the impossibly huge knot in the rope around her waist. Her nerves stretched more taut with every passing minute. Why didn’t he just fire her, rescind his recommendation, and be done with it?

Rustling sounded, and Mr. Eberhardt wheeled around.

Oh no.
The girls knew about the doorway from the servants’ hallway into the study.

“We put them in water, Father.” Audrey carried the flowers with all the solemnity the queen would use to place a wreath on the grave of a fallen warrior.

Unable to ascertain whether anger or awkwardness caused his silence, Millicent filled in the uncomfortable silence. “Audrey, let’s place those on the far end of the table. You did a lovely job with the arrangement.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Eberhardt pushed the photographs to the side.

Fiona tugged on her father’s pant leg. “I helped!”

Audrey dared to whisper, “May I please see the photographs?”

Mr. Eberhardt pulled out the chair and sat down. To Millicent’s utter astonishment, he popped his daughters into his lap. Fiona curled her fingers around his lapel. “Are we frontward again?”

“Frontward?”

Audrey nodded. “Luncheon was backward.” Emboldened, she tacked on, “Fiona and I sat backward. Miss Fairweather turned her chair sideways.”

As if that revelation weren’t enough, Fiona tacked on, “We ate our cookies first.”

So now he won’t just rescind the letter of recommendation and send me packing, he’ll keep the salary he promised.

“What else have you done?”

Millicent wasn’t sure whether he’d asked her or the children. Regardless of who answered, he would learn they’d shed their shoes and waded in the garden pond—and she’d dried their tiny feet with her own petticoat.
Well, once he knows that, I’m going to have to walk to town, dragging my trunk behind me.

“We cut flowers.” Fiona basked in his attention, completely unaware of the strained undercurrents. “We cut all, all, all the flowers in the whole garden!”

“But we gave them away.” Audrey gazed up at him, before looking pensively at the closest picture. “That’s Mrs. Witherspoon. She cried when I gave her posies.”

A governess ought not speak unless given leave, but Millicent figured she’d already destroyed any possibility of convincing Mr. Eberhardt that she’d been the quintessential governess these past four years. “They were happy tears, Audrey. Your gift pleased her. I’m sure when you give her that picture, she’ll be happy.”

Fiona tugged on her father’s lapel. “May I please give someone a picture?”

In a matter of a few minutes, the girls decided to whom each picture should go. Their father kept looking at the clock.

Audrey let out a huge sigh. “We don’t have enough photographs.”

A knock sounded, and Alastair opened the door. “A Mrs. Brown is here, sir.”

As if this situation wasn’t already embarrassing enough! Millicent determined she’d gather the girls and exit through the servants’ door.

“Yes. Show her in.”

Mrs. Brown didn’t wait to be summoned. She entered before Mr. Eberhardt finished his sentence. Dressed in a black bombazine traveling suit, she looked immanently respectable, but instead of dipping her head and murmuring a pleasant greeting, she gave Mr. Eberhardt a strained look. “The girls’ trunks are already being loaded onto the carriage. We must be off at once.”

The clock struck four; he’d said the girls would leave at five.

“Father, we don’t have enough photographs,” Audrey repeated. “Miss Fairweather won’t get one.”

Millicent knew full well Audrey wasn’t just troubled by the missing photograph. She wanted to delay leaving the only home and security she’d known.

“Your father has a special present for you to give to her.” Mrs. Brown grabbed a bracelet from beside the flower arrangement and boldly locked eyes with Mr. Eberhardt in a manner completely unbecoming a lady. “Isn’t that right, Ernst?”

“Yes.” He took the silver bangle and thrust it at Millicent. “Wear it always as a reminder of the girls’ affection, Miss Fairweather.”

Millicent hadn’t seen the silver bangle before that moment, and she knew full well the jewelry wasn’t intended for her. She couldn’t accept it.

“Oh yes!” A beaming smile erased the lines in Audrey’s worried little face.

“Is it from me, too, Father?”

He nodded curtly. “Yes, it’s from both of you. Miss Fairweather won’t ever take it off.” He stared at her, his eyes every bit as hard as his voice. “Will you?”

“Put it on, put it on,” Mrs. Brown urged Millicent.

At the same time, Mr. Eberhardt stood, lifting his daughters with him. “Miss Fairweather, please grab the pictures for the girls. You’re right—they’ll each want their own. You can write down your address, and I’ll instruct the photographer to make another and send it to you.”

Fiona wrapped her legs around her father. Audrey dangled awkwardly. Millicent jammed on the bracelet and reached for her. Audrey dove into her arms. “I don’t want to go!”

Blinking back tears, Millicent bowed her head and kissed Audrey. Emotions choked her and kept her silent.

“Flora is in the carriage,” Alastair declared.

“We gotta go.” Fiona hugged her father.

“Alastair, carry Fiona. I’ll take Audrey.” Mr. Eberhardt transferred his younger daughter and tugged Audrey away from Millicent. Audrey didn’t want to turn loose. “Come, now.”

Millicent pressed a kiss on the crying child’s cheek. “I love you. Be sure to write to me.”

Fiona accepted a kiss, too. “I’ll draw you pretty pictures.”

Out in the foyer, Mrs. Brown put a restraining hand on Millicent. “It would be best for you to remain inside.” She pried the photographs from Millicent’s hand and left.

Standing at the window beside the front door, Millicent felt the cold of the marble floor creep up through her stockinged foot and match the chilly emptiness of her breaking heart. Mrs. Brown got into the carriage and immediately pulled the curtain shut, taking away her last glimpse of the girls.

Mr. Eberhardt didn’t even bother to wait to wave them off. He strode back into the house and spared her an impatient glance. “Alastair will see to it you’re taken to town. There’s no reason for you to remain here.”

Hands shaking in hurt and anger, Millicent pulled off the bracelet. “This—”

“Was a gift, and you told my daughters you’d wear it. Does your word mean so little to you, Miss Fairweather?”

“I didn’t give my word, Mr. Eberhardt.”

He turned his back and headed back to the study. “I have no time for nonsense. Cut off that ridiculous rope and be gone.”

“Boat, Dadda! Boat!”

“Yes, son. This is our ship.” Daniel Clark looked away from his little son’s glistening brown eyes and braced the nanny’s arm to coax her across the gangway.

She hesitated. Eyes wider than his son’s, she stammered, “This boat doesn’t look big enough to cross the Thames.”

“Nonsense, Miss Jenkin. The
Opportunity
’s proven she’s seaworthy. She’s crossed the Atlantic several times.” He made sure the nervous nanny gained stable footing before passing Arthur to her.

“Probably used up all her luck by now,” she muttered.

A white-coated man greeted them, then escorted them down a mahogany-paneled corridor. Open doorways to a ladies’ parlor, a ballroom, and an elegant dining room showed a plethora of lavish appointments. The sailor gestured toward a book-lined room. “Tradition is for the gentlemen to enjoy their own bon voyage in the library, sir.” Though the
Opportunity
had once depended on the wind to push her across the ocean, she’d been converted to a screw engine vessel; nonetheless, the luxurious echoes of her past lent an aura of cozy welcome sadly lacking on many of the newer cruise line ships. Daniel was well pleased with the vessel.

“Here we are. Suite six.” The glinting brass numeral secured to the door confirmed the sailor’s announcement. He opened the door.

Daniel stepped into a compact parlor occupying the center of the suite. Doors winged in opposite directions from the parlor—one to his bedchamber, the other to the nursery. He nodded approvingly. “This will do nicely.”

Warily eyeing their surroundings, Miss Jenkin shifted Arthur to her other ample hip. “How long before our belongings get here? I might need something.”

A pock-faced man appeared. “Sir, I’m Tibbs, your room steward. Should you need anything—anything whatsoever—I’m at your disposal. Your luggage was right behind me. I’ll be happy to help unpack it straightaway.”

Putting down Arthur, Miss Jenkin breathed a sigh of relief. “There’s my portmanteau. And my sewing bag. And Arthur’s nappies. Especially those!” She started indicating different pieces that belonged in the nursery. “I’ll see to those. Tibbs, you just tend to Mr. Clark’s belongings. How long before we leave?”

Daniel glanced at his pocket watch, but before he answered, Mr. Tibbs stated, “The first mate’s started processing steerage. We’ll set sail with the tide in an hour and a half.”

Miss Jenkin dropped her bag. “That soon?” She grabbed Arthur as he scrambled past.

“Time and tide wait for no man.” Tibbs straightened the sleeves on his uniform. “Sir, would you prefer to have your son join you for meals in the dining salon or have him take meals here in your suite?”

“Here in the suite.”

Miss Jenkin pulled Arthur upward and cradled him. “As soon as Mr. Tibbs unpacks your belongings, Mr. Clark, I’ll have him bring tea and crumpets for Arthur and me. That way, I can put him down for a nice long nap. He’s spinning about worse than a top.”

“Very well.” Daniel Clark appreciated order and schedules. Children and businesses thrived when kept in the confines of regimented expectations and predictable patterns. It had to do with efficiency, too. That was key. When the essentials were accomplished, that permitted spare time for leisure pursuits. In the past, he hadn’t understood that part of the formula, but now that he did, he’d do better.

Daniel pressed a kiss on Arthur’s brow. “You have a nice tea.” Satisfied that the details had all been ironed out, he headed for the library. Two gentlemen sat to the side, arguing politics while ensconced in leather wingback chairs; another perused a newspaper. Four played cards at the table by the window. Taking a whiff of the cigar he’d removed from a tabletop humidor, a bald man hummed appreciatively. “Cuban tobacco. None finer.” His companion carefully snipped the tip of his own cigar and nodded agreement.

“Bah! Tobacco. Port while in port, I say.” A red-nosed man lifted his crystal glass in a solo cheer before downing the contents.

After lighting the one man’s cigar, the steward turned to Daniel. “Shall I get a drink for you, sir? We have a vast selection of libations—port, whiskey, wines . . .”

“Coffee. Black.” Daniel settled into another wingback chair and made himself comfortable.

A moment later, the steward appeared with a gold-rimmed cup and saucer bearing the ship’s name. “Your coffee, sir. I took the liberty of bringing you a few finger sandwiches. Proper tea will be served after we set sail.”

“Excellent.”

The gentleman reading
The Times
set it aside. “Bivney. George Bivney. I’m on a buying trip. My specialty is guttapercha.” “Daniel Clark. Sold my import business and I’m heading for Texas.”

“Texas.” Bivney’s brows rose.

“I have family there.” Daniel didn’t go into particulars. The import business had required extensive travel. His wife, Henrietta, had cared for their son and filled the weeks of Daniel’s absence by participating in a gardening club, visiting museums, and volunteering at a few charities. The minute he returned home, though, she always dropped everything just to be with him. Life was sweet indeed—until eight months ago. While he was away, Henrietta fell down the stairs. He’d received the telegram and rushed home at once—but not soon enough to be at her bedside as she and the child she carried slipped away. Though Arthur had Miss Jenkin, Daniel couldn’t justify being gone so much of the time and leaving his son to the care of others. A child deserved a parent’s time, attention, and affection.

So after a decade of building a thriving import-export empire, Daniel made a huge sacrifice. He sold it all. Remaining in England would pose temptations to reengage in grandiose deals, so he had removed himself and bought a thriving mercantile in a bustling Texan town. There, he’d guide his son to manhood while still earning a satisfactory living.

The
Opportunity
set sail. Understanding his son needed rest, Daniel stayed away from the suite for a few hours until the smaller waves characteristic of being close to shore changed to the large, gentle swells of the ocean.

Remembering Arthur’s excitement over spying the “boat” earlier made Daniel smile. He decided to direct Nanny to pop his son into a coat so he could take little Arthur out for a toddle.