Читать книгу THE BETTER PART OF VALOR - Morgan Mackinnon - Страница 12

Chapter 5

The first invitation to attend a formal dinner at the Captain’s table came two days later. Captain Haynes had been intending to host one on the fourth day out, but that hadn’t gone so well. Now small gold-embossed invitations were delivered to various cabins to please attend the Captain at 8:00 p.m. in the evening. Formal wear. RSVP required.

Lieutenant Colonel Keogh accepted for both of them; he would be happy to attend. and his dining companion would be Missus Cresta Leigh.

Upon hearing the happy news, Missus Cresta Leigh thought, Oh my god. Now I have to put on those damned hoops. Suggesting to the gallant officer she needed some time alone that afternoon, Cresta experimented. Her two best ballgowns had to be worn with the hoops and the corset. She resigned herself to torture for the evening so far as the corset was concerned, but she was not going to submit to the Iron Maiden for the correct placement of the petticoats. Imagine a lampshade on strings tied around your waist with petticoats over the top and then dream about not being able to sit down. What did these women do at balls or parties? Stand up all night?

The gown would be the blue silk. It was subtly striped, lace on the upper bodice and at the sleeves. The neckline was fairly low, and she knew the corset was going to give her more cleavage than she’d like. Well, she was supposed to be a widow, not a virgin. The back of the gown had gathers that literally made her rear look like a whale but that was the fashion. Had she donned the petticoat hoops, she’d have looked like the Queen Mary. Hair? The blue tiara. It looked as though composed of diamonds except they were blue and were not precious. Formal. The tiara would be appropriate. She seemed to remember that gloves would not be appropriate with this look since dinner had to be eaten—but a bracelet and fan would be acceptable. There were so many rules to remember, and she had probably made a mistake on that first informal supper with the Colonel because she’d worn gloves, had to take them off and keep track of them all evening.

When Cresta was finally ready, she walked down the central staircase to the formal vestibule, trying to be calm. She wore the blue silk gown with the fabric gathers in back. On her feet were watered silk dancing shoes, a wide bracelet graced her left wrist, a fan attached to the wrist by a small cord. Red hair was heaped carefully on top of her head, and the blue tiara twinkled. The shoulders of the gown were brief, and décolletage on view revealed a bit of cleavage. She was a little nervous since she had not appeared like this in public before, but gentlemen she passed along the way were giving her discreet glances of approval.

Myles had changed into his formal officer’s uniform, which was comprised of navy-blue jacket with a double row of seven brass buttons each down the front, high collar accented with gold trim. Across the chest of the jacket were draped two gold Aiguillettes with waffle cords. Two medals were pinned to the frock coat on the left side of the chest; around his waist, a yellow silken sash with ends falling to the left trouser leg. He wore a belt over the sash, and his Cavalry sword rode at his left hip. The blue military trousers were adorned with single gold stripes down the legs. Rather than the epaulettes Cresta had previously seen, this evening, he was wearing gold shoulder boards; for insignia, each with one silver oak leaf, the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.

In short, he looked regally magnificent, and his smile of welcome pretty much said the same thing about her. A handsome couple who were then escorted into the elegant Grand Saloon and directly to the Captain’s table. Of course, other seated ladies and gentlemen watched the procession with interest. Once at the table, the Captain rose, and the maître d’ intoned, “Captain Haynes? May I present Lieutenant Colonel Myles Keogh and his companion, Missus Cresta Leigh.”

Everyone nodded congenially, and the other male guests at the table rose for introductions. Mr. Aloysius O’drette, legal representative for the New York firm, Mason and Mason. His companion was the society matron, Missus Antoinette MacRae. The man dressed in the formal uniform of a US Army Second Lieutenant was introduced as Gaylen Jefferson, 154th New York Infantry, with his wife, the lovely Missus Cordelia Jefferson. Finally, a jolly-looking rascal wearing a green frock coat, patterned scarf, sporting a long and expertly oiled handlebar moustache. As he was introduced as an entertainer known as Master of Illusion, the man gave Cresta a wicked glance and twirled one end of his moustache, saying, “How do you do, young lady? Lieutenant Colonel?”

The Master of Illusion lamented he had no lady companion at present but was looking to correct that situation once the games room was opened. It was well-known among the single gentlemen on board that the games room, ostensibly designed for men to drink, smoke, and play cards, welcomed the company of a small cadre of ladies who entertained, sang, danced, offered companionship…all on the up and up, you know (wink wink). These ladies were rarely seen up on decks during the day. Cresta thought the scoundrel was most likely a card shark and probably adept at relieving gentlemen of their wallets without their knowledge.

As everyone smiled and nodded and gentlemen resettled, Cresta and Myles seated, the waiter hurried over with a tray of filled champagne flutes for the ladies and glasses of whiskey for the gentlemen. The Master of Illusion offered the first toast to the Captain; there would be many more as the evening progressed.

After initial toasts to the captain’s health and safe passage, Keogh turned to the man seated next to him, Second Lieutenant Gaylen Jefferson.

“Did I hear correctly that you are attached to the one hundred fifty-fourth Infantry out of New York? Were you at Gettysburg, sir?”

When Jefferson confirmed the fact, Myles grinned and slapped him on the back.

“Were you with the unit trapped in the brickyard by the Rebs?”

Jefferson turned excitedly. “I was! That was old John Kuhn’s brickyard. Those Rebs had us pinned down in there. I heard the mortality rate in our unit was over seventy percent.”

“I was on General John Buford’s staff!”

“So you were the boys in the Cavalry who held the line against the Rebs and gave us time to fall back! You covered us all the way to Seminary Ridge!”

The two soldiers proceeded to forget anyone else was on the ship, let alone at the table. Keogh and Jefferson told a story about how General Buford knew the Confederates managed to get north of Gettysburg and that it wouldn’t long until a battle was joined. Not just Confederates but General Lee and the entire Army of Northern Virginia. Buford knew higher ground was easier to defend, so he ordered his cavalry to hold the Rebs back in hopes reinforcements in the way of Generals Howard and Reynolds’ First Corps would arrive in time. The order was to cover any Union men and make an orderly fall back to Seminary Ridge where they would have a chance. Once on the ridge, Rebs were coming at them from everywhere, but the Yanks dug in. During the night, the Cavalry dismounted and fought side by side with the Infantry all night long, the fighting so intense it was hand-to-hand. On the morning of July 1, Howard and Reynolds did arrive, and Buford was able to take his exhausted, hungry cavalrymen on to Taneytown for some rest.

“You were out of the thick of it after that? Well sir, I cannot tell you how grateful those of us who survived were to see you horse-boys. You did a remarkable job under difficult circumstances.”

Keogh raised his glass. “To those we have lost. May they be remembered.”

Missus MacRae giggled. “All this talk of battles and charges! My goodness, it’s so exciting! I think military men are so gallant and heroic.” Realizing what she’d said, the woman simpered at her escort and corrected, “Next to handsome lawyers, that is!” O’drette did not smile. Replete with whiskey, the lawyer leaned back in his chair and fixed Keogh with a gaze.

“Cavalry officers. Heroic, honorable, noble. Isn’t that right, Lieutenant Colonel?”

Suddenly on edge and alert, Keogh raised his glass of whiskey. “That is what I understand, Mister O’drette.”

“Strange.” O’drette looked around the table. “Strange that such an honorable, upright-ranking senior office would risk the reputation of an…innocent young widow.”

Cresta was suddenly drawn into the conversation and wished very much she were someplace else. As it was, she put a discreet hand on Keogh’s arm and squeezed, warning him to behave. Too late. The Lieutenant Colonel tensed, put down his glass, and demanded O’drette make himself plain.

“All right. I’m surprised you wish your…companion to remain. I believe the other night I saw you, Lieutenant Colonel, making for your own cabin after leaving a certain Apartment A-14 with your boots and uniform jacket in hand. Sir, I believe it was around daybreak?”

As Keogh stood, so did Cresta. She intentionally put just an extra hint of Southern into her voice.

“Now, gentlemen, let us not come to the wrong conclusions, shall we? Please sit down? Why, thank you, Myles. Thank you, Mister O’drette. This is such a silly misunderstanding. You see, that was the night of the really horrid storm. I would appreciate it, Captain Haynes, if you would take care to avoid any more of the same!”

There was some laughter around the table, so Cresta charged on. “All you saw, Mister O’drette, were the remains of a very seasick officer who did not manage his roast beef and whiskey at all well, considering the heaving of the ship at that point. My apartment was closest, so I insisted he come inside, where I gave him a dose of phosphorus drops in water to calm his stomach. I am not a nurse, sir, and I fear I gave him too much. In fact, I thought for a moment I had killed him!”

O’drette was listening, and again, a small trill of laughter went around the table. This woman seemed innocent enough, even though she was a widow, and he wouldn’t blame the Lieutenant Colonel if he had taken advantage of the situation and topped the lady. He would listen to the rest of her story. So far, she sounded credible.

“And that’s all. Myles was out for hours on the floor, and I spent the night sitting on my drawing room sofa!”

Missus MacRae folded her hands together and gave Cresta an I know what you’re pulling here stare, asking about the jacket and boots.

“Is it normal for the Lieutenant Colonel to carry his boots and jacket to his cabin after being seasick?” She looked innocuous as she spoke, but her eyes were shrewd.

Cresta understood the look very well and didn’t back off. “Why, my goodness! I don’t think he would have wanted to wear that old jacket and those boots in public. That is where the roast beef dinner and the whiskey landed!”

This time, real laughter, and O’drette nodded toward Cresta.

“Madam, please do forgive my tasteless and inappropriate question. I believe you have set me straight, and I do sincerely apologize to all at the table for my behavior. Lieutenant Colonel? Will you accept my hand, sir?”

Keogh took his hand but leaned forward. “If you ever try to embarrass my companion or myself again, sir, you will feel the edge of my blade. Do you understand me, sir?”

Missus MacRae tittered again and began chatting with Cordelia Jefferson and where ever did she get that adorable reticule?

Cresta passed a shaky hand over her forehead. That was close. She needed to remember the legendary Irish temper of the man sitting next to her. She didn’t know what else she could have done given the situation at the time but was saved from thinking too much about it when the waiters came and presented menus.

Menu

Hors d’oeuvre varies

Consommé onion
Boiled haddock with lemon sauce
Entrees
Pork cutlets	Peas
Ragout of chicken supreme
Sirloin Steak	Crème potatoes
Duck with plum sauce	Apple sauce
Veal medallions	Baked carrot souffle
Sliced ham	Spinach
Boiled rice	Marinated new potatoes
Plover on toast	Lettuce salad
Dessert
Vanilla pudding	Chocolate cake
Lemon meringue	French ice cream
Fruit	Cheese
Biscuits
Coffee	Brandy

Myles leaned over and whispered to Cresta, “Have you sailed on this line before?”

When she replied she had not, he pointed to the menu. “First class gets French ice cream. Second class gets American ice cream.”

“Does third class get ice cream?” She was trying not to laugh.

“They probably get stale rice pudding.”

In the end, Cresta chose the chicken with peas and crème potatoes, and Myles ordered the duck with carrots and salad. Everyone was served the starters and a dessert unless instructed otherwise by the diner and small dinner rolls with butter were standard. Both Cresta and Myles chose pinot grigio for their wine.

During the meal, Captain Haynes regaled the table with stories of life at sea. It seemed like his only life since his time on land with his wife was minimal. This voyage he’d brought his young daughter with him since she had been begging to accompany him for ages.

He also explained how important lighthouses were to ships and asked Myles if he’d seen the one on Hook Head in Ireland. Myles replied he’d been born approximately thirty-seven miles north of Fethard-on-Sea where the lighthouse was located and that yes, he’d seen it many times.

Captain Haynes went on to describe how the lighthouse in question was one of the oldest in the world and had been built in its present state in 1172. The lighthouse was first manned by the monks in the nearby monastery who labored to haul wood up to the top to fuel a beacon. Ever since 1871, it had been lit by gas light.

“Yes, indeed. That light has been guiding ships for seven hundred and three years. Just think!”

Cresta did not have a chance to really talk to Missus MacRae or to Missus Jefferson; Antoinette MacRae was across the table, and to speak with Cordelia Jefferson, Cresta would have had to lean rudely across Myles and speak across the Second Lieutenant. That left her chatting mostly with Captain Haynes or an occasional comment to the Master of Illusion, who promised to provide a little prestidigitation before the evening was finished.

When the orchestra began playing waltz music and dessert was finished, it signaled the time many couples took to the dancing floor. Cresta had more or less been expecting the Lieutenant Colonel to be her dance partner, but he did not offer, preferring instead to suggest he would like another glass of whiskey. Since he and the Second Lieutenant had apparently not finished their battle stories, the two excused themselves and said they would be in the men’s smoking salon.

This was not the first hint Cresta had Myles was a smoker, and she remembered a photo she’d seen where he’d had a cigar in his hand. She mentally downgraded him to a 6 because she disliked gentlemen who smoked.

That left Cresta to dance with either the Master of Illusion, Mr. O’drette or the Captain. Still, there were three ladies and three gentlemen at the table so that worked out fine. During one dance, she asked Mr. O’drette what his firm in New York did, and he replied it was an exporting and importing firm specializing in French wines and brandies. He was presently en route to Paris, where he would be meeting with the managing board. Missus MacRae? Well, her parents were French, of the Roubilleau family, and she would be doing shopping while in Paris. The two of them had “an arrangement” which did not include their spouses. Since Mister O’drette was rather portly, he begged to be allowed to sit down.

And HE had the nerve to suggest Myles and I were being indelicate? Cresta was so annoyed, she ordered a second brandy.

She did not see Keogh again until nearly midnight when diners and guests in the restaurant were beginning to say their good-nights and seek their own accommodations. Rather than just go to his own apartment, at least the Lieutenant Colonel made an appearance to escort Cresta back to her rooms. It made him look gallant and attentive to the other guests. But something was off, and Cresta knew it immediately. He had an expression on his face she had not seen before, but it smacked of the exasperated face of a father who had forbidden his young son to track mud into his library, only to find the boy has done it anyway.

At the corridor leading to the first-class apartments, Cresa paused and turned. “Myles? Is anything wrong?”

Keogh blew out his breath but didn’t say anything at first.

“Please tell me what is wrong. You have been sulking most of the evening.”

“All right. You have asked, and I will tell you. The affair tonight with Mister O’drette. It was my place to settle the accusation, not yours. By you taking over, as you did, you supplanted me and, in the process, diminished my masculinity.”

“I am sorry. I did not mean to do that. I only wanted to prevent blood in the dining room. You have told me of your temper, sir. I promise the next time someone accuses us of sleeping together, I will let you handle it.”

With that, Cresta walked away, leaving a flabbergasted Lieutenant Colonel staring after her.