Читать книгу THE BETTER PART OF VALOR - Morgan Mackinnon - Страница 13

Chapter 6

Cresta knew things were still very wrong when she did not see Myles for breakfast the next morning nor was he waiting for her at lunch. She ate by herself, noting with interest that single young ladies in the casual dining room received far less attention than did young ladies who were dining with a gentleman. Requests for water, wine, and coffee were slow to appear. She was thinking to herself that this was rather like entering a posh restaurant as a single lady, only to be seated near the kitchen or next to the restrooms.

Rather than worry about the Lieutenant Colonel being in a snit, Cresta spent her afternoon in the writing room, making notations in her notebook and reading a little. There were copies of Alcott’s Little Women, newly published in 1868 and 1869, so she contented herself with those and was soon lost in the enchanting world of the March family, surviving the Civil War with Papa gone and the girls growing into young ladies. It had always been a favorite of hers. She leaned back in the comfortable upholstered chair and closed her eyes. She’d always been jealous when Jo found her tender, gentle Professor Bhaer and sometimes wished for a Professor Bhaer of her own. An intelligent, well-read man who could be honest without being insulting.

Cresta started awake, slightly embarrassed she’d fallen asleep in her upholstered chair in the reading and writing room. Whatever would people think? She sincerely hoped she had not been sleeping with her mouth agape, drool dribbling down her chin. She quickly determined, with relief, that had not been the case. Seeing the clock on the mantle, she was startled to find it was late. Already after 7:00 p.m. The informal restaurant was not open beyond 9:30. By the time she got to her cabin, freshened up, and changed, it would be 8:00 p.m. But that would be all right. Besides, if one missed a meal in the restaurant, one could always order a light tray from the steward and eat in one’s cabin.

She reached the informal restaurant slightly after eight o’clock. She didn’t see Keogh anywhere around so concluded his ego was still sticking in his craw. When she asked to be seated, she found herself behind a potted plant. Practically catching a waiter on the fly, she ordered two glasses of white wine. That way, she wouldn’t have to wait an hour to order her second. On this evening, she would just opt for the buffet, whatever it offered, because she would not require a menu or any thought. Feeling lazy, not ready to go to the buffet just yet, Cresta took out a small book of poetry she kept stashed in her handbag and began reading while sipping at her wine. She found a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, one of her favorite poets, entitled “The Lady’s Yes.”

Yes, I answered you last night;

No, this morning sir, I say.

Colours seen by candle-light

Will not look the same by day.

Her attention was caught by a young woman’s giggle. “Oh, fie, sir. You are making that up!”

Cresta’s shock came when she recognized the masculine voice replying.

“I assure you, Miss Haynes, it is perfectly true. Cavalry officers are not allowed to lie to a lady.”

The Irish accent was mellow, which meant he’d been drinking. The table occupied by a young lady of no more than fifteen or sixteen was on the other side of the potted plant. Cresta put down her book of poetry and not so subtly pulled aside a fern leaf. Keogh saw her at the same time she saw him, and his jaw dropped. Cresta let the leaf slap back into place, calmly rose, walked over to the buffet, and put some food onto a plate. She didn’t know what she’d selected, but it did not matter.

As she returned to her table, Myles rose, telling his charming (very young) dinner companion he’d be right back.

“Cresta…”

“Yes, Lieutenant Colonel?” She seated herself and spread her napkin on her lap.

“I…she…it is not what it appears.”

Cresta took a bite of salad. “It appears as though you are having dinner with a young lady. Why is that so strange?”

“Because. I mean, you and I have…”

She cut him off. “You and I have nothing, Colonel. We shared a table a few times and we talked. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“I know that. It is just that… Well, I looked for you this afternoon and you were not around. I have something to explain to you.”

A voice from the vicinity of the opposite side of the potted fern intruded.

“Lieutenant KER-nel? Oh, MY-les?”

Cresta was eating without knowing what she was eating, so it was time for her to put down her fork and rise.

“Your companion seems to be in need of your services. Good evening.”

She turned and exited the restaurant, not caring if he was watching her or not.

*****

Cresta determined the whole situation was her fault. She stepped in where she should have kept quiet, and although her intentions may have been innocent, the resulting consequences had not been anticipated. She should have thought about what she knew of Keogh and realized his honor and valor on the battlefield were one thing but his ego when it came to a woman was fragile. When with a woman, a man like Myles Keogh wanted to be in control, be the strong one, be the brave one. She’d managed to trample all over his self-esteem with tackety boots. Now he was off having dinner with Miss Haynes.

She was not going to approach him until he was ready to listen, but neither was she going to go out of her way to avoid him. She stuck to her regular schedule, but it was two more days until she saw the Lieutenant Colonel.

Since he had not been visible in the informal restaurant nor in the on-deck bar, Cresta concluded Myles was either spending time alone in his cabin (not likely), in the formal dining room (possible) or in the gentleman’s game room, lounge, brothel, and smoking den (probable). She momentarily wondered if he and the Master of Illusion were seeking feminine companionship together. As if someone was reading her thoughts, the Master of Illusion, at that moment, entered the reading and writing room.

“Ah! Missus Leigh, I do believe! Would you mind if an old reprobate like me sat down?”

When she indicated she did not, the rascal promptly produced two small glasses and a flask of liquid from inside his jacket. Cresta thought it was scotch, so she sipped as they talked. He asked where she was from, and Cresta replied she lived in Fairfax County, Virginia.

“Virginia. Lovely place. King’s Dominion is delightful. Do you still have family in the vicinity?”

Cresta frowned and took a slightly bigger sip of scotch. “My mother still lives in the vicinity. I have an aunt and an uncle in the southern part of the state. And some cousins. Where are you from if I may ask?”

“Why, here and there, everywhere and nowhere. I have no family to keep track of or to keep track of me. I am a free spirit. A prestidigitator. A magician. An illusionist. A man of many times and places. Let us drink a small toast to the City of Paris. This is April, and it would be such a shame if this vessel were to strike an iceberg in the North Atlantic and sink. Don’t you think?”

“It would be dreadful, but…”

The Master was pouring more scotch, and Cresta found herself wondering just how much liquid that flask of his could hold.

“Yes, indeed. Shame that in this time, we must endure the endless ocean voyages that get us from place to place. It would be so much quicker if we could simply fly. Eh?”

Get a grip. Cresta felt a trickle of sweat run down between her breasts. He was speaking metaphorically. As in, wouldn’t it be lovely if we could sprout wings and fly like a bird?

The Master leaned forward and refilled her glass once again. “You like poetry.”

“Why yes, I do. How did you know that?”

“I saw you reading Elizabeth Browning in the supper room. She and her husband were so delightful. I remember dining with them when they were in Florence. Lovely people. Did you know Robert made the first known recording of a human voice? He did it on a wax cylinder in an Edison recording device.”

Cresta sipped, thought about what he’d just said, and then uttered, “Wait a minute…”

“I understand, my dear. Your young soldier is of concern?”

Cresta’s thoughts were getting muddled. Was she really drinking ordinary scotch or something a little more mystical than that? She struggled to reply.

“Of course not. We have just had a little misunderstanding, that is all.”

The Master stroked his moustache. “Yes. You have seen him with the young lady.”

“How could you know that?”

“I see many things. The young lady is the daughter of the ship’s captain, and your Lieutenant Colonel was asked to escort her to supper. He would rather have been with you.”

Cresta was flustered. “What? Are you on his payroll? And he is not my Lieutenant Colonel.”

“As I said, I see many things. Sadness, frustration, decisions, desires. Even blood and death.”

“That sounds ominous, Mister Master of Illusion. Do you have a real name?”

“I do but it would be meaningless to you at this time. Perhaps someday I will tell you for I am sure we will meet again. Until then, let me show you a little magic trick I learned long ago.”

He reached up behind her ear and produced a coin.

“There you are, my dear. Don’t be too hard on your soldier as you will need each other before the end.”

Cresta looked down at the coin and then looked again. She began to involuntarily sweat more. What was going on? The coin had the image of George Washington on it and said In God We Trust. It was dated 2002. When Cresta raised her head again, the flask and glasses were gone along with the Master of Illusion.

He had been playing mind games with her, but how could he possess a coin from the future? The easy answer was he couldn’t. Yet there it lay on her palm. For now, she would mention this to no one and see if she could figure out the identity of the mysterious man who had given it to her. Eventually, she rose from her table in the reading and writing room and made her way to her cabin.

Shortly after Cresta had hidden the coin away in her trunk and locked it, she heard a tap at her door. Opening it a tiny crack, she saw Myles Keogh standing there. You will need each other before the end… She couldn’t speak at first, and Myles asked, “May I come in? I wish to speak to you.”

Regaining her wits, she peered out into the hallway. “Do you think that safe? Mister O’drette may be skulking behind a life jacket.”

She let him in and observed to herself he looked pale and drawn. His impeccable style was apparent as he was dressed in a civilian afternoon jacket and vest of light green wool, black trousers, white tab collar shirt, and black cravat. It was his face. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in a couple of days.

“Please sit down. Would you care for a drink?”

Not waiting for an answer, Cresta turned and poured a tiny shot of bourbon from the cut-glass carafe on her bar.

“Here. You look tired, Myles.”

“I am not sleeping.” He took the goblet she offered and drained it.

“No. No more at present. I fear I have been drinking too much lately. I sometimes drink when I am depressed and sad.”

Here was the opening she had been waiting for, and she sat down opposite him with her notebook.

“Can you tell me about it?”

He told her again of how he’d left his home in Leighlinbridge, Carlow County, Ireland, to go fight for Pope Pius IX in Italy. He was assigned as a Captain, but the Papal army lost the fight at Ancona. He had been awarded the Medaille Pro Petri Sede, which was awarded to all Irish volunteers who had fought in the war. He’d received the Chevalier Ordine di St. Gregorio Magno from the Pope for bravery.

Once back in Rome, he served as a guard at the Vatican for a short time and then offered his sword to the Union when the United States was desperate to find experienced officers for the Civil War. Serving on the staffs of four Union Generals, Shields, Buford, McClellan and Stoneman, he’d enjoyed the thrill of leading cavalry charges, of infiltrating Confederate lines to gather information, the responsibilities of a staff officer. The brevets had come and at the end of the war, he’d earned a brevet of Lieutenant Colonel. Still, a reluctance to retire from warfare led him to enlist in the regular US Army and, mostly through his own initiative, collected recommendations from any senior officer he knew and sent them to President Johnson and the War Department for consideration. Out of twelve captaincies available, he’d secured the fourth top spot out of a field of five hundred contenders.

Keogh stopped for thought. Cresta didn’t laugh at the picture they presented but she could see the irony. She was sitting with her notebook, jotting down notes, and by this time, Keogh absently leaned back against the arm of her sofa. Sort of like a shrink and the guy on the couch.

She urged him on. “It sounds as though you have done very well under the circumstances. You could not elicit the help of a state representative since you were not a citizen of the US.”

“No.” He looked at her. “I became a US citizen in eighteen sixty-nine. That is when I got my American passport.”

“Go on.”

He explained as a boy, his favorite book was Charles O’Malley: The Irish Dragoon. It was the story of an orphaned boy who enlisted in the Irish Dragoons and found the thrill of the sabre flash, the glory of the cavalry charge, the burst of adrenaline as soldiers fought on the field of battle.

“I see. What were they fighting for?”

“For valor. For country. Once I took the oath to offer my sword to the Union, then I was as bound by that oath as any native-born man in the corps.”

“It sounds as though you were in your element. Why the depression and sadness?”

Keogh sat up. “The book about Charles O’Malley made it a point to stress that a man who has sold his soul to the military ought not think about having a normal life with marriage, a wife or children. That sort of thing is distracting to the soldier and unfair for the wife and children. Having pledged my life to the cavalry, I forwent any possibility of happiness. I mean…”

She knew he couldn’t explain what he was trying to say, so she led him a bit.

“You were making a distinction between happiness in the military sense of adherence to duty versus satisfaction found in the fulfilment of a home life.”

He nodded. “Yes. A soldier makes a decision as to what is important, and that decision is his life. Many of the senior officers do marry, and some bring their wives to established forts sitting in untamed wastelands such as the Dakota Territory where I am presently assigned. I told you my base is at Fort Lincoln. Even my commanding officer has his wife present. But it is a rough life, even with such comforts as we have, and a wife constantly has the fear when her man rides off on campaign, she will never see him again. Cresta, I miss…something. Someone. Perhaps as I enter middle age, I am beginning to feel a part of my soul is missing. I am not old yet, but I am now thirty-five and my chances of advancement are fading with every year.”

He rose to his feet to pace, and despite this being a first-class apartment, there wasn’t much room. She decided to offer him another goblet of bourbon, and this time, he took it.

“Hair of the dog. I do not need to tell you I have been drinking the past couple of days. I know you can tell just by looking at me. You have this unnatural ability to look into my mind. Unnatural and perhaps refreshing. I know I drink overmuch because it takes my pain and loneliness away for a time. I believe I am digressing. Cresta, I enjoy the ladies. The ladies enjoy me. I once fell in love and vowed to make her my wife.” His voice trailed off.

“What happened?”

He snorted. “She died. Abby Grace Clary died. She left me alone, and I vowed then I would never again look for permanent companionship or love. Never would I marry. I have entertained opportunities to marry for love and for money, and I have eschewed them all. I remain alone.”

“Myles. All this has been your choice. Do you ever believe that choices can be made anew, perhaps more to your satisfaction?”

“Yes. That is why I am depressed.”

“You are depressed because you realize you don’t have to be depressed?”

“Yes. That is what I have been trying to express. Thank you. How can one resolve the one without abandoning one’s honor with the other?”

Cresta put down the notebook. “Myles? I cannot give you an answer to that dilemma. If I could, I would. We go through life, making decisions that sometimes turn out to be right and sometimes, unfortunately, do not turn out well at all. But we must work through those decisions in our minds and in our hearts until we suddenly realize what is right for our own selves. Then honor, valor, obligation will be satisfied with the choice that is right for you. If I may ask you a question, why is this issue coming up right now? Is it Miss Haynes?”

Keogh hadn’t expected that question and turned in shock. “Miss Haynes? That young…daughter of the Captain? Good heavens, no. I am old enough to be her father. Captain Haynes asked me to look out for her at supper that one evening because he was otherwise occupied. I think she…she may have an adolescent attachment for me, but I assure you I have done nothing to encourage the young lady.”

“Sit down, Colonel. Then what? Perhaps it will help.”

Keogh did not sit. He remained standing, gazing moodily out the porthole window. “I am not at liberty to speak about the reasons at present. What is important is that you, as an alienist, agree that choices and decisions once made in the ardor of youth need not constrain us in later life. Choices can be…changed so long as honor and valor are not tarnished. Do I hear you aright?”

She smiled. “Anything can be changed if we yearn for that change in our hearts. Desire for an aspiration is a powerful and potent motivation. You don’t need to destroy your honor in the process.”

He nodded, and she saw his shoulders relax, as though he’d been waiting for that advice.

“Cresta? May I apologize for my prior lecture? Will you meet me for supper? I promise if anyone accuses us of sleeping together, we will handle it together.”

She laughed and nodded in acceptance.