Moonlight Over Paris(84)
“Are you ready? Are your bags packed? We need to get you on your way.”
“I’m ready, but I must speak to Mama and Papa before I go. I wanted to earlier, but there wasn’t time.”
Helena found her parents in the sitting room that connected their respective bedchambers. “May I come in?”
“Yes, do,” her mother answered. “Come and sit next to me. I thought you looked very well today. Didn’t she, John?”
“Yes, dear. Very well.”
“Thank you. I have something to tell you,” Helena began. “It’s actually several things.” Her parents exchanged apprehensive glances, but didn’t interrupt.
“First of all, I’m not certain when I will return to London, or even if I will return at all. I love you dearly, and I will miss you, but I have been very happy in Paris and I wish to return there.
“Before that, however, I am going to America. I’ve, well, I’ve fallen in love with an American man, a friend of mine from Paris, but I made a mistake, and I let him leave without telling him, and—”
“Is this the American that Amalia met? The steel baron’s heir?”
“It is, although that has nothing to do with—”
“Are you going alone? Without any sort of chaperone?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Her mother swallowed, pressed her lips together, and then nodded. “If that is what you wish.”
“Papa?”
“Is he a decent sort of man?”
“He is the very best sort of man, Papa. I promise.”
“Then I suppose you must go.”
“Thank you. Agnes knows Mr. Howard very well, and she can certainly put your minds at ease. I’ll cable as soon as I arrive. Farewell for now.”
Helena rushed upstairs and in the space of fifteen minutes changed out of her lovely frock and coat and packed away the last of her things. Agnes returned just as she was finishing, and with the help of Farrow the footman they carried her two suitcases downstairs, where Vincent was waiting with the same car that had brought them back from the reception.
“To Trafalgar Square,” Agnes commanded as soon as they were settled in the car.
“Shouldn’t we be going to Waterloo Station? That’s where the trains for Southampton depart.”
“Your ship isn’t sailing from Southampton. It’s at the docks here in London. We’re going to the steamship line’s offices first, to collect your ticket, and then to the ship.”
When they arrived at the office Helena was appalled to learn that Agnes had already reserved and paid for the best available cabin, which cost the astonishing sum of ￡85 for a one-way fare. According to the ticketing clerk, it was a new ship, less than two years old, and offered only first-class cabins. “Your ladyship will be very comfortable on the voyage over,” he promised.
“When does the ship arrive in New York?”
“First thing next Friday morning, ma’am.”
She turned to Agnes, aghast. “Eight days? As long as that?”
“The express ships say they’ll get you there in six,” the clerk ventured, “but often as not they run into mechanical problems along the way. Our ships aren’t as fast, but they’re steady.”
From Cockspur Street they set off at some speed for the docks in the east end, Vincent weaving through the late afternoon traffic at speeds that left her feeling rather ill. To Helena’s great relief, her ship was still at the docks when they drew close, and looked to be nowhere near ready for departure.
“Good-bye, Auntie—”
“Not so fast, my dear. Here is some money for the voyage. It’s pounds, I’m afraid, but you can buy some dollars from the ship’s purser.”
“Two hundred pounds? I can’t, Auntie A. It’s too much.”
“Nonsense. I should be very anxious if you left home with a penny less.”
It suddenly occurred to her that she had no notion of how to find Sam once she got to New York. “I don’t know Sam’s address. What shall I do?”
But nothing could faze her aunt, it seemed. “I’ll cable Sara and ask her to find out. The ship is sure to have a telegraph office on board—we’ll get his direction to you, never fear. Now off you go, and bon voyage!”
Chapter 30
The SS Minnewaska slipped her berth and headed down the Thames and out to sea at five o’clock that evening, and though many of her passengers gathered on the promenade deck to wave farewell to England and any well-wishers remaining onshore, Helena lingered in her cabin. She would venture out when the bell rang for supper, but until then she was content to be alone.
Her ￡85 worth of cabin was very pleasant, though far less luxurious than the first-class compartment she’d occupied on the Blue Train to Antibes the year before. It was about eight feet deep and about the same across, with good-sized windows on its exterior wall that ensured it would be bright as long as the weather held fine. It felt more like a sitting room than a ship’s cabin, with parquet floors, chintz curtains, and a Sheraton-style desk and chair. There were two bunks, although only one had been made up, and a shallow wardrobe with hooks rather than a rail. Best of all, her cabin had its own bathroom, with a tub, sink, and WC.
No sooner had she unpacked her bags and settled in than the bell rang for the first seating at supper. She made her way to the dining room two decks below, a little hesitantly as she was still finding her sea legs, and was dismayed when one of the stewards led her to the captain’s table. It would have been far nicer to dine with a smaller and less toplofty group, but her name and title had been noted, and her place would be at the captain’s right hand for the remainder of the voyage.