Liberty Hill (The Liberty Hill Series, #1)

Sonja Heisinger
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LIBERTY HILL
A NOVEL
SONJA HEISINGER
 Liberty Hill
By Sonja Heisinger
www.LibertyHillBook.com
www.SonjaHeisinger.com
Copyright © 2013 by Sonja Heisinger
Revised Edition Copyright © 2019 by Sonja Heisinger
All rights reserved.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form by any means-electronic, mechanical,
photocopy, recording or otherwise-without prior written permission of the
publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
Published by Windswept Publishing Group
info@windsweptpub.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the paperback edition as follows:
Heisinger, Sonja / Liberty Hill
p. cm.
International Standard Book Number: 978-0-9893667-0-0 (pbk.)
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, May 2013
Second Printing, April 2019
Original cover design by Aubrey Cavazos
Revised by Amy Willis
Author photo by Leah Thomason Photography
Also by Sonja Heisinger

The Liberty Hill Series

Liberty Hill
Poverty Creek
Devil's Grotto
Table of Contents
Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Sonja Heisinger

For my father.

CHAPTER ONE | New York City, 1846

CHAPTER TWO | New York City, 1849

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE | Havana, Cuba

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The adventure continues in | POVERTY CREEK.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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Also By Sonja Heisinger

For my father.
 CHAPTER ONE
New York City, 1846
Lucius Flynn’s hands were covered in blood.
The room had gone still. Chairs were tossed aside, splintered and
broken, and shards of glass glittered along the rough wooden
floorboards. The glass crunched as men shifted awkwardly from one
foot to another. There must have been forty of them crammed into
that small pub, radiating perspiration that filled the air with a
malodorous fog.
It was late, and the light inside was dim. The sweaty haze made
Lucius’ eyes sting. He had been commenting on it to his father just
before it happened. Just before everything went to hell.
How many minutes had gone by since then? One? Two? Had he
been holding his breath that long?
It had begun as a perfect night. They were celebrating. What,
Lucius couldn’t remember, but there had been a lot of laughing and
drinking involved.
Then some bawdy American had antagonized Lucius, and Lucius
had retaliated with a right hook to the jaw.
He remembered that right hook, the sensation of flesh yielding
into bone.
It was impossible to throw a punch in that place without
upsetting more than one person. There were too many bodies
around. A man couldn’t scratch his head without elbowing someone
else in the face, which was exactly what Lucius had done when he
wound up to hit the American.
Suddenly everyone seemed to be angry about something. With
all the shouting, cursing, and smacking of flesh against flesh, the din
was so loud it could be heard two streets over. Lucius was certain
the police would be there soon, even though the pub had since
fallen silent.
 The commotion had ceased when the first man was stabbed. The
man now lying at Lucius’ feet.
Emmett Brennan. His future father-in-law.
Lucius’ cheek throbbed. He figured this could be attributed to
someone else’s fist. He didn’t know whose. Probably that bloody
American. It didn’t matter now, for the American had gone, slipping
away amidst the fray.
All eyes—seventy-nine, for one of the men was missing one—
were now trained upon Lucius Flynn. Upon the hands he held
stretched before him. Never had he seen his own hands look like
this. Never had he felt the warmth of someone else’s blood blanket
his fingers, trickling down his wrists and along his arms.
They were incriminating, these hands.
The sight repulsed him. He shuddered and said, “Oh my god.”
His mind raced. He felt as though every sound in the room was
amplified. Someone coughed. Someone murmured.
“Clear out,” the bartender said, his voice so deep and resonant it
hurt Lucius’ ears. It was a deceptive voice: big, strong, belonging to
a little man. Bernie, was it? He had poured Lucius many drinks
before this night. Had been sharp, witty, inviting. Now he just looked
scared. “I don’t want to see your kind in here again.”
Your kind.
They no longer had names. They were just Irishmen now.
Foreign, unwelcome, unwanted.
Lucius struggled to understand.
“This man is wounded,” he told Bernie, the room, himself.
He dropped to his knees.
Emmett Brennan peered up at him with watery eyes. He
moaned, and reached out with trembling fingers. Lucius took them
and pressed them to his heart.
Something slammed against the bar.
“I said clear out!” the bartender cried, clutching a club.
“He’s dying!” another replied. Lucius looked up to see his father,
Banning Flynn. Banning stood over him, a sentinel in a room of
swaying drunks.
 Dying? Could a man like Emmett Brennan really meet such an
end? Could a life as great, as good, as respected, become something
that wasn’t?
“Then he can die in the street!” Bernie declared. “I’ll have no
more of you Irish swine disturbing my customers. Now get a move
on before I put a bullet through the rest of you.”
Lucius’ father took a deep breath as if to argue, but the
bartender’s hand disappeared beneath the counter.
“You looking for proof?” he asked.
Banning’s face burned crimson as he turned to his son with a
clenched jaw. “Take his arms, boyo.”
“Father—”
“Take his bloody arms!”
Lucius rose, gingerly stepping around Emmett Brennan and
taking him firmly by the wrists.
Still the others watched in silence.
Banning grabbed Emmett’s ankles. “Lift him up.”
Emmett Brennan groaned.
“We’re hurting him,” Lucius said. “Please, Da...”
“Silence,” Banning growled.
They exited the pub into the biting night air. Street lamps burned
a dull yellow, radiating empty promises of warmth. Ships floated
beyond the docks, their naked masts cutting shadows into the starry
sky. There was no moon. The port that bustled by day had fallen
silent and still.
As the door slammed shut behind them, a coughing fit seized
Emmett Brennan. Blood spurt from his lips, blotching Lucius’ face.
“For God’s sake, put him down!” Lucius exclaimed. There was
nowhere to lay him but the ground, so they gingerly released him
onto a bank of snow, where flecks of hot scarlet stained the cold
whiteness.
“What do we do?” Lucius asked. “I don’t know what to do!”
Banning did not respond.
Father and son watched as life ebbed from Emmett Brennan’s
body.
“Da...”
 “We must prepare ourselves, boyo.”
Lucius shook his head, and his voice broke. “I didn’t mean for
this to happen.”
His father looked at him pointedly. “Yet here we are."
“It was an accident. I didn’t know... I had no idea...”
“You are impulsive and foolish. A careless drunk. A disgrace.”
Lucius choked back a sob.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry...”
They heard hooves clopping in the distance.
“The police are coming,” Banning said. “If you flee, they will think
you murdered him. This could ruin you. It could ruin us.”
“But I didn’t!”
“You must tell them what really happened.”
“Who’s to say they will even believe me?”
“There were plenty of witnesses.”
“If we don’t get him to a physician straight away—”
“He will die,” Banning said. “And then we will have to tell her.”
Lucius grabbed a fistful of his own hair. Oh, blessed saints in
heaven. Tell her! She would murder him.
“No!”
“She must know.”
Lucius felt his panic rising. “I can’t do it.”
“Then the police can do it for you. But they need to know the
truth. They need to know you didn’t kill him. Do you understand me,
boyo? If they believe you’re guilty, our name will be destroyed. They
will tell his daughter, and she will tell the world, and everything you
and I have worked for, everything we have sacrificed will be for
nothing. We will lose it. We will lose it all.”
“What if he survives? What if—”
Banning shook his head and sighed. The form in the snow had
grown still.
“Look at him.”
Lucius stared, mouth agape. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move.
There before him was no longer a man, but a corpse.
“Our apologies, Miss Brennan.”
 Evelyn’s large hazel eyes searched the two officers’ faces in
confusion.
They hesitated to say more, as if waiting for permission to go on.
“What is it?” she pressed. “What has happened?”
One of the men elbowed the other.
Go on then. You say it.
The taller of the two was still recovering from the sight of the
girl. The freckles along the top of her lip and the bridge of her nose
contrasted with her milky white skin, while complementing the
auburn color of her hair. She smelled divine, and held herself with
the grace and poise of a dancer. He’d been struck dumb the moment
she opened the door, and was not prepared to give such news to
someone he might have asked to dinner.
He didn’t think he would stand a chance after this.
He cleared his throat.
“He’s dead.”
She stared at him. There was a second’s pause.
Dead?
The word was suddenly foreign. Meaningless.
The officers shifted their weight. Ice was forming on the steps at
their feet. Steam billowed from their nostrils, swirling in gray clouds
and vanishing into the night.
Evelyn shook her head, her pale fingers forming a steeple and
sealing around her lips.
“No,” was the only word she could manage.
Refuse the truth. Block it out. Wake up.
Anything to bring him back to life.
He had been a good man. A hard-working man. Over-indulgent
maybe, but he had loved her with everything he had and everything
he was.
“There was nothing we could do,” the tall officer said. He was
young and new to this line of work. Confidence was a skill he had
yet to develop. “When we arrived, the state of things was...” He
drifted off, searching for the right words. “It was out of our hands.
The deed was done. He could not be saved.”
 He wanted to add something comforting, but came up blank.
Men died every day. And in these particular instances, they were
often Irish. Just like this girl’s father.
The older officer looked longingly over his shoulder at the
deserted street, where the cobblestones glistened with frost. He
wanted hot coffee. He wanted to leave. The news was delivered,
and this young woman had no more need of their empty
condolences.
She’s no older than fifteen, he thought. Poor girl.
They departed just as Banning and Lucius Flynn arrived. Banning
leapt from the carriage while Lucius lagged behind, a hangdog
expression on his face.
Evelyn vacantly watched them approach. Her pallor suggested
she was well aware of what they had come to say.
“Dear girl,” Banning said, hands extended to take her gently by
the arms. “So you’ve heard.”
She clutched the sleeves of his waistcoat and strained against the
panic building within her chest. She reminded herself to breathe.
“How did it happen?” she asked.
Banning’s eyes flashed with the recent memory.
“There was an altercation,” he replied.
Evelyn blinked and a tear fell to the floor. Behind her the door
was ajar, leaving the house exposed to the bitter cold. If she had
been in a proper state of mind, she might have invited her guests
inside. As it was, they remained shivering in the darkness of the late
January hour.
“An altercation,” she repeated, her voice pinched. “With whom?”
Lucius dragged his feet up the steps behind his father.
“A nameless scoundrel,” Banning replied. “The man provoked
Lucius, and your father stepped between them.”
Hearing his name, Lucius’ eyes flicked toward Evelyn. He could
not bring himself to speak, to convey his regret over what had
transpired. Emmett Brennan was a better father than his own, and
Lucius had loved him.
Lucius knew the dead man should be himself. He knew this all
too well.
 Evelyn met his gaze, and felt the flicker of panic in her chest
blaze into anger. She tore her eyes away, gritting her teeth against
the overwhelming urge to scream.
Her father was dead. He’d laid down his life for this foolish,
temperamental boy.
“So,” she said, “Lucius is to blame?”
Banning’s grip on her arm tightened.
“No, lass. You mustn’t believe that. There is no one to blame but
the bastard who provoked him, the fiend who wielded the knife.”
Evelyn teetered backwards and sputtered, “Stabbed?”
Her father. A tender bear of a man, with ruddy cheeks so high
and full they eclipsed his eyes when he smiled. So soft, so kind, so
upright.
A slow death. A painful death. Blood and agony and fear. All
without his daughter to soothe any of it away. All without his girl to
fare him well.
Her father was gone. And she was still here, orphaned and alone.
Her resolve disintegrated, and she collapsed into tears.
 CHAPTER TWO
New York City, 1849
Penelope stroked the back of Lucius’ neck, smoothing his hair
beneath her long, deft fingers.
“I want you to tell me everything,” she purred.
Lucius chuckled and repeated, “Everything?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I despise men with secrets.”
“Well,” he started, lingering over the word, “I suppose I do have
a secret.”
“I’m breathless to hear it.”
Lucius cast a look about the room. He was huddled in a dark
corner with the Madrid-born beauty, a haze of smoke engulfing
them. Penelope had a thing for cigars.
He spied an appetizing blonde sitting alone at the bar, and knew
if he didn’t get to her soon, some other bastard would snatch her
up.
“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked, his attention still
divided. Penelope, however, didn’t seem to notice. “After all, we’ve
only just met. Why not maintain a little mystery?”
Penelope swung her head and released a drunken squeal.
“Tell me, Lucius Flynn!”
Had he given her his last name? He must have, though he could
not remember when. They had danced, and they had drunk. A lot.
But conversation was more than a little fuzzy.
“All right,” he said. “Come a little closer. I’m not about to shout it
back to you.”
Penelope pouted, then leaned forward abruptly.
Lucius took a sip of brandy and cleared his throat.
“I’m getting married.”
The date was set for Evelyn’s eighteenth birthday. And that date
was tomorrow.
Penelope stared at him blankly.
 Lucius arched his eyebrows and waited.
He wondered if she was normally dense or if it was just the
brandy. Perhaps he should repeat it in Spanish?
“I expected a little more of a reaction after so much persuasion,”
he said.
Penelope burst into laughter, spittle flying from her lips. “You’re
not getting married! Men like you don’t settle down. Don’t toy with
me, love.”
Lucius wiped his face, then patted her hand.
“No, darling,” he replied, and sighed for effect. “I’m afraid it’s
only too true. Tonight, I am celebrating my own fall from this
beloved world of debauchery. Now give me a kiss. I have some more
flirting to do before tomorrow, when I sign my neck over to the
noose of matrimony.”
She laughed once more, then her mood darkened as Lucius’
meaning sunk in.
She slapped him and departed with a huff.
Lucius watched after her, rubbing his cheek and straightening his
jacket.
He had underestimated her. Perhaps she possessed a shred of
dignity after all.
“Trouble with women?” someone asked.
Lucius spun around to see the blonde woman from the bar.
“Ah, yes,” he replied, taking her hand in his own. “I’m afraid
Spaniards are a bit too spicy for me.”
She cocked her head, humoring him. God, she was gorgeous.
“Then perhaps a German might do?” she asked.
He smirked and kissed her knuckles. “My mouth is watering
already.”
Night receded as Lucius picked his way along the streets. He had
decided to walk home. He needed the time to think, to get his head
on straight.
He was dying, suffocating in this kind of life. Had been since he
was a boy. Work all day, play all night to forget about working all
day. He took pleasure in the things that came easily to him, but he
and God knew those things were certainly not the best. They were
tonics against the great evil of diminishing dreams, and Lucius had
all but succumbed to this aimless existence until last summer, when
a gleam of hope stretched forth from behind his veil of despair.
Gold.
Gold was discovered in the West.
A tide of dreamers, adventurers, inventors, and entrepreneurs
was rising. They were flooding into California from across the sea,
across the continent, across the world, and with every one of their
exhilarating accounts, Lucius felt the yearning within him grow. The
cold embers within him rekindled. He did not have to be a slave to
his father––or to this life––anymore.
In the beginning, he had begged his father to send him west to
start a new division of the company. Running ships out of San
Francisco would take Flynn & Flynn—aptly renamed after Emmett
Brennan’s death—to an entirely new level. Why not profit from the
gold that was already pulled from the ground?
His father, however, refused.
“Flynn & Flynn does not gamble,” he’d said. “Silk, opium, and tea
are the only dependable treasures of the trade industry. Soon
naught will remain in California but abandoned towns, whiskey
bottles, and ghosts. We Flynns stick to where the trade winds are
always certain to blow— across the Atlantic and over the Indian
Ocean.”
But Lucius had realized his destiny, and it was not to become a
bored, fat tradesman. California was his chance for adventure, the
pursuit of happiness under his own conditions.
He was acquiring the Brennan Inheritance. Indeed, it was
enough money to double his father’s trade, which was exactly what
Banning had intended when he’d arranged the marriage. But it was
also enough to purchase Lucius Flynn’s independence.
He would go west, lest he regret it for the rest of his life.
Someone rapped on the door.
Evelyn was shocked from sleep. She thought the sound had
come from within a dream, but she waited, and presently heard it
once more.
“Yes?” she asked. “Who is it?”
 She expected her servant, Beatrice, to enter, for rarely anyone
but Beatrice came to call. But it was not her servant who opened the
door. It was Lucius, dressed in yesterday’s clothes.
Evelyn started. She had not been alone with him since they were
children. Candleless, his features were vaguely apparent in the dim
light of dawn. She could not imagine why he would come to her
now, in this early hour.
Banning Flynn had taken her in as his ward, and she spent most
of her time alone or with Beatrice, reading, playing piano, and taking
walks, while Lucius spent his days at the docks. His evenings were
passed at various pubs and clubs, playing cards and flirting with
women. Their routines did not allow for one another, which was
strictly intentional.
They awkwardly appraised each other, the imminence of their
wedding all too uncomfortable.
Evelyn drew her blankets to her chin and corrected her nightcap.
“My God,” she gasped. “Did you just get in?”
Lucius cleared his throat. “I had some business to attend to in
town.”
Evelyn rolled her eyes. She was well aware of what sort of
business Lucius conducted in the darkness of night.
She took a deep breath and caught scent of his recent activities.
She crinkled her nose. “Lord, you reek of brandy and perfume.”
Lucius lifted the collar of his jacket and sniffed.
“My apologies,” he shrugged.
Evelyn grunted in disgust.
Lucius approached. She tilted her chin and peered at him
dubiously.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” he whispered, one hand outstretched
peaceably. “Forgive me if I have caused a disturbance.”
Despite the tangible tension between them, he thought he
sounded rather debonair. Speaking with Evelyn always required an
extra measure of charm. If he wanted a listening ear—much less two
—he needed to thaw her out a little.
He shifted his weight, waiting stupidly for some kind of response.
She regarded him unblinkingly in the fading dark.
 “I know it isn’t proper for the groom to see his bride before the
wedding,” Lucius continued, “but I wanted to speak with you before
the ceremony. I imagine you are quite frightened by this whole
ordeal, and I assure you I am not at all at ease, myself. The truth is
I have dreaded this day. Not by any fault of yours, of course. But I
never aimed to marry. Yet you can understand the great
responsibility I bear as the only son of my most ambitious father.”
He said this with a sliver of sarcasm, but Evelyn was not
amused.
Her appearance was distracting. He had never seen her like this:
hair braided and slightly askew, cheeks flushed, eyes bright from
waking. For once she did not seem like a mannequin. She looked like
a real woman, capable of emotion and soft to the touch.
His eyes dropped to the floor.
“It is true you and I haven’t known much of each other these
past few years,” he said. “But we were like brother and sister once,
growing up together the way we did. And to be promised to one
another just before your da passed away... well, that was a terrible
thing that happened. To him, I mean. Well, to the both of you. I
truly respected him, you know. He was a good man, and I want to
do right by him. He would have wanted the best for you and as
much as I have fought it, that responsibility has fallen to me. It
means that today, of course, we must marry. He wished it, and he
must have had a good reason.”
He set his jaw firmly, as if this was the closing verdict of an
ongoing argument he had with himself.
Evelyn’s face flushed at the mention of her father, and she drew
her mouth into a tight line. She recalled the day he had come to her
with the news of the betrothal. She had struggled to remain
composed, waiting to come undone until after they parted. She gave
no argument; only quiet acquiescence, though she trembled with
fear and disappointment.
She was a dutiful daughter. Obedient. She had never once lied to
her father, dishonored him, or refused him. In consequence, she was
now required to surrender her independence to a reckless, wild, and
frivolous prat.
 She squeezed her eyes shut. Her father must have had a good
reason, but she could not see it then, and she could not see it now.
“There is no other option for you,” Lucius said. “This is the way of
the world, and we all must accept it. We’re fortunate, I suppose.
There are young people married off every day. Much younger than
us, too. Admittedly, I did try to fight it. In the beginning. My father
would hear none of it, of course. He has big plans for us, you know.
For the company. And he’ll be damned if I screw them up.”
The room brightened as the sun rose. Lucius’ face was washed in
pale blue, his eyes luminescent in the slowly growing light.
“But I have a plan as well,” he said then, his voice quieting to a
whisper. Evelyn watched his lips as they formed the words. “No
doubt you’ve heard talk of gold discovered in California?”
Her eyes shifted slightly, telling him she had. The servants could
be heard whispering about it from time to time, and every week the
papers carried stories of young aristocrats heading west to seek
adventure.
He stepped closer in the pending light. “Today you will be my
wife.”
The word caused Evelyn’s breath to catch.
“And as such,” Lucius continued, “all your earthly possessions
become mine.”
So. That was it. Lucius had come to her for money. She flushed,
her temper rising. His brazenness rendered her speechless.
Her nostrils flared as she sat up a little straighter.
“We will have a fortune together,” Lucius went on, “and with
fortune comes responsibility. I want adventure, and I won’t find it
here in New York or across the sea in Ireland. California has what I
want, and I mean to take it for my own.”
“You would have my father’s blood pay for a ridiculous
excursion?” she spat. “You stupid greenhorn!”
She should have known the moment he crossed the threshold
that Lucius Flynn was motivated by some moronic idea or another.
She suspected he had found some cunning way out of their
engagement, but she had given him far too much credit. Lucius
Flynn was not that smart. Lucius Flynn just wanted to have a good
time, even if it cost her inheritance.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what’s going on here,” he
countered. “Today Brennan money becomes Flynn money. All the
coins go into one big pot, and my father wants everything that
belonged to your da, Evelyn. Everything. If we don’t take it for
ourselves, he will invest every last dollar into a fleet of new ships.
You and I will not see a penny, and we will live the rest of our lives
answering to him. Is that what you want?”
“You just want to run away, and that’s the truth of it! I will have
nothing to do with this. Your father has never done anything wrong
by me.”
“He would have had you on the streets the night your father
died!”
Evelyn’s mouth dropped open.
“You are nothing but a piece of property to him, Evelyn. He has
waited all these long years to hold the deed. If not for your fortune,
he would have found another way to turn a profit off you. Everything
my father owns is an asset to him. Even me.”
Evelyn recalled the morning Lucius went to the docks with his
father for the first time, the way she had missed him all that day.
The way his shoulders slumped with exhaustion that night, as they
shared supper at her father’s table.
She and Lucius were pawns; a fate Lucius could change, a fate
Evelyn could not.
“I see,” she replied, resigned.
They were silent a moment. Lucius sensed the disenchantment
settling upon her, and grew somber.
“This is for the best,” he said, softening. “I understand you want
to go back to Ireland. It is my home as well. But we can’t go back.
Not now. If word spreads that I’ve returned, our lives will be in
danger. I still have my mother’s English blood in my veins, and the
English are still despised.” He shook his head. "You and I will go to
California, make a fortune of gold, wait out the potato blight, and
return to Ireland when all has been put to right.”
 “Who’s to say I cannot return of my own accord?” Evelyn asked.
“Send me home. Go on to California without me. No one needs to
know we aren’t together.”
“What, and leave you in a nation engulfed in turmoil to starve? I
know we’ve had our differences, Evelyn, but I’m not that heartless.”
Evelyn was incredulous. “You think the journey to California will
be any less dangerous than going home? Haven’t you read the
papers?”
Lucius smirked and pulled two crumpled notes from his pocket.
He smoothed them out and handed them to Evelyn.
The name Steam Rose was decoratively printed. For Panama, it
read. Sails 20 March 1849.
Evelyn’s eyes darted to Lucius. The twentieth of March was
tomorrow.
“You cannot be serious,” she whispered.
“Oh, I’m entirely serious,” he whispered back.
“There must be months of preparation needed for this kind of
journey!”
“I’ve taken care of everything. We’ll make berth in Central
America, then board a ship bound for San Francisco. The Panama
route is the quickest to California. I’ve informed my father that I’m
taking you to New Orleans to look into trading slaves. A Flynn’s idea
for a honeymoon, I daresay. He hasn’t a clue that tomorrow
morning, we’ll be sailing towards a whole new world of possibility.
Stupid man, to have wasted his time in this drab city while other
merchants are snatching up gold left and right in Coloma and
Centerville! Men of my father’s caliber are making triple his profits.”
He lost himself for a moment, caught up in his thoughts. He
regarded Evelyn with a mischievous grin. “I should thank you, Miss
Brennan. I’ve waited long enough to find my own way in this world.
You are my ticket out of here.”
He tapped the edge of Evelyn’s nose. She flinched and slapped
him.
Lucius rubbed his cheek for the second time in twenty-four
hours.
 “We’ll be richer than we ever dreamed,” he said, rising in
preparation to leave. “Just imagine. No more sitting in the parlor
gazing out the window. I’m your ticket too, lass. This will be a grand
adventure for the both of us.”
Furious, Evelyn whipped her head towards the window.
It had begun to rain.
Evelyn listened as Lucius’ footsteps descended the hall towards
his rooms, then rang the bell for Beatrice to bring up her breakfast.
Presently, the servant joined her with a toothy smile and a tray of
coffee and croissants. Evelyn raised the coffee to her lips and
breathed it in, arrested by the earthy aroma.
“Today is the day,” Beatrice whispered.
Evelyn stared into the deep blackness of her cup and nodded,
the conversation with Lucius replaying in her mind.
Yes, today was the day.
Beatrice lowered herself onto the mattress beside her. They sat in
silence for a long moment, before Beatrice tentatively touched her
arm.
Evelyn met her gaze.
“Are you frightened?” Beatrice asked.
Evelyn did not eagerly dwell upon her emotions, nor was she apt
to divulge them. Even now, on the dawn of her wedding, she could
barely correlate the shaking of her hands to the beginning of her
loveless marriage.
She felt angry, but that was nothing new. Perhaps she was
frightened, but not in the way most virgin brides might be. After all,
Evelyn was not about to let Lucius touch her. A ring and vows could
not give him that privilege.
“I’m cross,” Evelyn said. “I wish this day had never come.”
Beatrice clucked her tongue. The servants were well acquainted
with Lucius’ habits: sneaking in and out through the kitchen door at
all hours of the night, debt-collectors on the front steps, empty
liquor bottles strewn about the house.
“I shouldn’t blame you, ma’am. Marryin’ the young Master Flynn
would put me in a fair temper, myself.”
Evelyn inhaled deeply.
 “I daresay I may console myself.” She smiled ruefully. “All those
hussies who ran about with my fiancé shall now weep with broken
hearts.”
“God help us, ma’am!” Beatrice cried. “Their tears shall flood the
streets of this city.”
They chuckled.
“Tell me I am not to lose everything today, Beatrice,” Evelyn said,
after their brief mirth had subsided. “Tell me you’ll remain with me.
That you’ll follow me into this strange new world of wifedom. I
might lose my mind if forced to be alone with Lucius for more than a
quarter hour.”
Beatrice looked pityingly upon her mistress, and Evelyn knew she
possessed no such happy news.
“My apologies, ma’am,” Beatrice said. “This evening I shall be
relieved of my services to you.”
New waves of anger flushed Evelyn’s cheeks. “By whose orders?”
“Master Lucius’, ma’am.”
Evelyn thrust her coffee at Beatrice and flung herself from the
bed.
“Of course! That contemptible—”
She was already out the door and marching towards Lucius’
quarters. Beatrice was quick on her heels, and Evelyn had nearly
reached Lucius’ door when her servant grabbed her by the hand.
“Release me, Beatrice! I shall have a word—”
“You mustn’t, ma’am! He has not slept! He will be vengeful!”
“I am vengeful! He has no right to rob me of you!”
Lucius’ door opened, and he regarded the women with
annoyance, for he had only just fallen into bed. He was meant to
wake in an hour.
“You blackguard!” Evelyn cried. “You shall not release my servant
from her duty to me. You have absolutely no right!”
“Lower your voice,” Lucius growled, grabbing her by the arm.
“Unhand me!” she shrieked.
“Leave us, Beatrice. I will have a word with Miss Brennan alone.”
“Stay, Beatrice!”
Beatrice looked from Lucius to Evelyn and wrung her hands.
 “If you do not depart,” Lucius said, “you shall forfeit your station
entirely.”
With a worried glance at Evelyn, Beatrice reluctantly obeyed.
“How dare you?” Evelyn sneered. “You would take me from my
home, and rob me of my inheritance. Do you intend to strip me of
everything? Are you so heartless? She is my only friend!”
“I have my reasons,” Lucius whispered furiously. “I have spent
weeks—nay, months—preparing for the journey ahead of us—”
“For which I shall have need of a servant! It would be improper
for me to travel without her!”
“The expense is unnecessary. You are perfectly capable of
looking after yourself.”
“I shall be the only woman in the whole of California! Who is to
protect me from all the men who have left their wives at home, hm?
They will be ravenous for female company, and God knows you
won’t look after me. I shall be devoured!”
Lucius laughed. “And you believe Beatrice would come to your
rescue, do you?”
“A lady does not travel without her maid.”
“There are many things you will have to learn to do without, Miss
Brennan.”
“Let me stay in New York. Please. I beg you.”
“And suffer unnecessarily? Who knows,” Lucius’ eyes swept over
her body, “your pretty face may be useful to me.”
Evelyn wrenched herself away. “You’re a pig! Your lack of
propriety disgusts me.”
“Once I establish my claim, I intend to spend every waking hour
plucking gold from the ground. Why would I throw my fortune away
on cooks and seamstresses when I have a perfectly good wife?”
Evelyn scowled. “I see. I shall be your servant. How silly of me
not to realize it sooner.”
“Indeed,” Lucius said. “Tis a woman’s place, of course. The other
lads shall be green with envy when they see you on my arm.”
She scoffed. “Under your heel, rather.”
“Whichever your prefer, m’lady.”
 Evelyn spun round with a huff, her braid slicing the air like a
whip.
Lucius watched as she stormed back to her room and raked a
hand through his unruly curls.
He exhaled with a whistle. It was never his intention to make
Evelyn like him. He knew he hardly stood a chance of that. But if
their marriage was to be composed of senseless squalls, Lucius
might as well have a bit of fun now and again. He had nearly
forgotten how delightful it was to tease Evelyn Brennan, a fact he
would do well to remember from now on.
 CHAPTER THREE
Beatrice helped Evelyn into her wedding gown by fastening the
corset, slipping the buttons into their corresponding holes, and
frilling the countless folds of silk and lace.
When the young bride was fully dressed, Beatrice worked her
hair into a perfect arrangement of curls, applied a little rouge to her
cheeks and lips, and lined a stitch of black paint along the tips of her
eyelids.
Despite the weight of the gown, Evelyn’s back straightened, her
shoulders rolled back, her chin lifted, and her arms hung regally at
her sides. Her fingertips tingled. Her belly tightened.
She forced every visible part of her body into an adaptation of
grace, while each hidden nerve remained tight as a wire.
As she peered into the looking glass, she searched for traces of
her father, but saw only the likeness of a mother she had never
known.
She steeled herself against a surge of tears and turned away
from the reflection.
Evelyn heard someone playing a piano concerto in the downstairs
parlor, and wished that someone were her. She would have played
the piece better, and furthermore, if she were the one performing,
she would not be the one getting married.
White rose petals were strewn along the hall and stairs, and a
pungent garland of lilies spiraled the railing. Evelyn inhaled deeply
and was briefly overwhelmed by the scent.
She had always loved lilies.
From the second-floor landing, she peered over the banister and
saw a small collection of witnesses below. Mostly servants. An
associate of Banning’s, a friend of Lucius’. A priest smiled near the
piano. He rocked back on his heels, eager to perform the charade.
Evelyn wanted to slap that holy grin off his face.
As if from a great distance, she heard Beatrice say, “It’s time.”
 Her feet felt detached as they glided beneath her, and she caught
a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror.
She was white and perfect and lovely, yet inside she felt utterly
empty.
The world seemed veiled in shadow and mist, as if she were
tucked inside a dream. Only the music of the piano reached her,
somehow piercing through the haze of her thoughts. She followed
the stream of notes until she had descended the staircase into the
parlor, where Banning Flynn waited to take her arm.
She felt her father’s absence more acutely than ever.
Banning smiled as he leaned in and whispered into the folds of
her veil, “It would honor me greatly to stand in for your da, lass.”
Evelyn offered him her arm, and as he led her towards Lucius,
her clutch tightened.
The music played on, and she was certain the mirthless melody
was a dirge.
Could she not protest? Somewhere deep inside, a cry struggled
to break free. She looked longingly at her future father-in-law, but
through the veil he could not read the resistance in her eyes.
The requiem ceased. Banning squeezed Evelyn’s hand and let it
go.
The mist thickened, and all Evelyn could hear was the quickening
of her own breath. She dropped her eyes to the floor, gazing beyond
it into the deep, emerald hills of her home in Ireland. She imagined
standing with her face to the wind, the sound of the ocean beating
against black rocks in the distance, and her father’s voice carried to
her, saying Evie, my Evie...
How I love my bonny Evie.
Hot tears burned at the remembrance.
Her father had loved to sing. She used to accompany him on the
piano while Lucius played the violin.
Forced to share the same tutors, stumbling through lessons in
Latin and French, laughing at the gulls down at the shore, she and
Lucius were practically family once. Until the day Lucius went to the
docks with his father, the day the boy was forced to become a man.
 The fog cleared ever so slightly, enough for Evelyn to hear
herself saying the two words she had never wanted to say, to a man
she swore she would never love.
“I do.”
The parson made a pretty speech. Poetic, religious, superfluous.
Union was pronounced between herself and the long-lost boy of her
memories.
She recalled his eyes as they had been back then, reflecting the
green of the grass and the gray of the clouds, and realized she was
gazing directly into them as they were now. Round—perhaps a little
uncertain—and staring back at her.
He extended his hand.
“Evelyn?”
She peered down at his suspended fingers. Were they trembling?
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew what she was
meant to do, but felt perfectly incapable of doing it.
The witnesses watched breathlessly.
Banning spoke in a low voice. “Take his hand, Mrs. Flynn.”
Evelyn hardly recognized her new name. It was so unfamiliar. So
unwanted.
The night her father died, Evelyn knew she could never return to
the home she’d always known. That state of being. Her identity as a
daughter.
From this moment forward, she belonged to another man.
Her heart thundered as she shut her eyes and pressed her hand
into Lucius’, fulfilling her final duty to her father.
Night fell along with the rain, and Lucius felt a pang of remorse
as he watched Evelyn cling to Beatrice for the last time.
He was cruel to separate them. He realized that now. Expense
wasn’t the issue. When he purchased his and Evelyn’s fare to
Panama, he simply hadn’t thought of Beatrice.
“You will be sure to report to me,” Banning said suddenly,
clapping Lucius on the shoulder. “Inform me honestly whether or not
this will be a profitable venture.”
Lucius felt a shock of confusion, and wondered if his father knew
about California.
 But no, no, of course not. Lucius’ head was muddled from the
preparations, the wedding, the goodbyes. Banning was referring to
New Orleans. Slaves. A whole new division of Flynn & Flynn.
It was pathetic, really. Lucius almost pitied his father for the
blindness he suffered on account of his ambition.
Almost.
“Sir,” he replied dutifully.
Banning took his hand. “Congratulations on your marriage, lad.
She’s a fine woman.”
Lucius cocked his head and said wryly, “We both know this
marriage had nothing to do with me.”
“You’d do well to be grateful, boyo. I’ve secured your prosperous
future.” Banning lowered his voice and leaned into Lucius’ ear. “That
girl was meant to belong to the Flynns since birth, a merger
eighteen years in the making. She’s the winning card for our
company.”
It was uncanny how this reference to his wife of one hour could
have such an effect on Lucius. He clenched his fists and regarded his
father coldly.
“Then I congratulate you, Father, on your great acquisition.”
Banning smirked and nodded curtly. “I welcome it.”
When Lucius bid his father farewell, he was determined it should
be for the last time. He turned to collect his bride, offering her an
arm as she planted one last tearful kiss on Beatrice’s cheek.
They ducked through the rain and into the waiting carriage.
The inn was a small, dark place, covered in splintering shingles
and damp from the moisture of the sea. It was tucked in the woods,
a short distance from their port of call.
An uncomfortable silence had settled between the young couple
from the moment they left the Flynn residence. Evelyn sat brooding
by a drafty window while Lucius lounged upon the bed, tickling his
nose with a quill and running through a mental checklist of
everything he had packed: India rubber? Check. Bowie knife? Check.
Coffee grinder? Check.
Now and then, he glanced at Evelyn to see if she had moved.
She reminded him of a Greek statue: pale and lifeless, lovely and
hard as stone.
Exhaustion, however, was apparent in the way her eyelids hung
low and heavy. He realized she was shivering.
“Come away from the window, lass,” he said. “You’ll be warmer
by the fire.”
She picked at her gloves and said nothing.
He sighed and sank back on the weathered mattress. “How long
were you planning not to speak to me?”
He watched for a reaction, noting the slight rise of her chest with
a sharp intake of breath.
“As long as I can help it,” she responded presently.
He smiled. “And yet you’ve just spoken.”
She turned up her nose. “Only to acknowledge that I shan’t
anymore.”
He waited, studying her openly. Firelight danced upon her rigid
features, and her hair shone like embers.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
She hesitated, then dipped her head and splayed her fingers.
“My gloves.”
“Hm.” He nodded, unconvinced. “And what were you trying not
to think about?”
She sighed. “My da.”
He heard the sadness in her voice, and recalled the times they
had argued over who would be the first to challenge Emmett
Brennan to a game of chess. He was a coveted opponent, for he
always let the children win.
“Sometimes I can hardly believe I knew you when you were
young,” he told her. “You've altered a great deal.”
“I can hardly believe you’ve grown to be a man,” she replied
haughtily. “You seemed so much older as a child. Now I’m afraid all
indications of maturity show signs of decay. It’s a pity. Your boyish
ambition has brought all gentlemanly progression to rot.”
Lucius searched her face for any indication of jest. There was
none.
He drew himself up. “Perhaps I am reclaiming the years that
were stolen from me as a child.”
 “You’re resentful of your father. That is all this is about.”
Lucius scowled. “What would you know about it? Your father
never disappointed you in his life.”
“No, but I was very disappointed in his death. Yet you don’t see
me running from it.”
“On the contrary, you’ve been in hiding since the day he died.”
“Out of spite,” she said, looking at him pointedly, "for you.”
Lucius’ jaw pulsed. “You believe I killed him.”
“If not your self, then your stupidity, certainly.”
“You’re as arrogant a lass as I ever knew.”
“If being right makes me arrogant, then I say amen.”
“You know nothing about what happened that night.”
“I know enough.”
“The girl I knew would have listened to my side of the story.”
“Well. You wounded that girl, didn’t you? So forgive me if I want
nothing to do with your side of the story.”
He sneered. “It pleases you to assume the worst of me, does it?”
“I have not been pleased with anything since the night my father
was murdered.”
He smiled ironically. “Not even as a bride?”
She shook her head. “I wore a pretty dress for a day, only to
spend a lifetime with a reckless gambler, drunk on wanderlust. Tell
me, why should I be pleased?”
“Harsh words, indeed, my darling.”
“Call me Miss Brennan, if you please, sir.”
The fire crackled loudly. Evelyn had not looked at Lucius once
since the ceremony that afternoon, and although her malice was
almost tangible, he could hardly take his eyes off her.
“Indeed, Miss Brennan, you are very pretty when you’re angry.”
“Then it’s fortunate I’m always angry.”
“With me, yes? You barely know me. What have I done to merit
such constant scorn?”
“We have known each other all our lives, Lucius.”
“You know nothing about me, Evelyn.”
“I know enough to know that to know more would be to know
too much.”
 “You think me so low and worthless?”
“I think you are the last human being on earth I should like to
befriend.”
“I never asked you to enjoy my company.”
“No, yet I am bound to you nonetheless.”
“And I to you.” He raised his left hand, his ring catching the light
of the fire. “These shackles are equally distributed.”
“Your complacency had me fooled. I thought you pleased to
acquire a slave.”
“It would please me to be free.”
“Then alas, we have one thing in common.”
“Alas.”
They were silent a moment. Evelyn’s eyes closed and she
appeared to be drifting into sleep when Lucius roused her.
“We needn’t be married,” he said. “We can come to some other
agreement, I’m sure.”
Her eyes snapped open.
“What are you talking about?”
He slipped the ring from his finger.
“No one need know. Tomorrow marks the beginning of our new
lives. Perhaps you are my servant.”
Evelyn looked displeased. “Perhaps you are my guardian.”
“I shall not fan you on hot days.”
“And I shall not launder your clothes.”
Now Lucius looked unhappy. “Look here, Miss Brennan. Let us
help one another. As your dowry is paying for this expedition––”
“A fact of which I am most displeased!”
“You are helping me fulfill my wildest dreams! I am entirely
indebted to you. If you will assist me on the gold fields by washing
my clothes and making my meals and—”
“Proceed, Lucius.”
“I will pay you back entirely! In addition, I shall purchase your
passage back to Ireland and send a living allowance periodically.”
He had planned on this all along, but Evelyn need not know that.
“You are awfully confident in your scheme to become wealthy,”
she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “Where will you be when I am
restored to Brennan House?”
Lucius adopted a dream-like countenance that reminded Evelyn
of when he was a boy.
“I think I shall like California,” he said. “In a year’s time I shall be
satisfied with my store of gold and move to San Francisco, where I
shall captain my own ship and build a nautical empire to put my
father’s to shame. If you can wait that long, I shall escort you to
Ireland myself and name the first ship I purchase after you, in
gratitude for all you have done for me.”
A grin tugged at the corners of Evelyn’s mouth. “I suppose it
sounds grand, but you needn’t name your ship after me.”
Lucius leapt from his seat, smiling. “Then we have an accord?”
Evelyn held up her hand as if to stop him. Then she caught sight
of her own ring and removed it.
“I am not your wife,” she told him. “From this day forward, I am
your equal. Not your slave, not your servant, not your inferior. I am
not your sister, nor your friend. I am simply your charge and you are
my guardian. I am going to the gold fields to meet my cousin and
his wife. Do you understand? This is the story and we are not to
veer from it. That is my condition.”
Lucius arched his eyebrows and looked at her sideways.
“Meeting a cousin, hm?” he asked. “Dressed like that?”
Evelyn dropped her eyes to her lap. Her wardrobe was altered to
reflect her status as a married woman. The girlish pastels had been
replaced with lush, womanly hues, the necklines of her evening
gowns had plummeted, and she now possessed a matching hat or
bonnet for every dress.
“What do miners know of fashion?” she asked, smoothing her
skirt. “In the style of a maid, I shall wear my fairest dresses and
leave my head uncovered. Though I sincerely doubt any man shall
know the difference.”
Lucius shrugged. “Aye, that may be so. Take my hand once more,
Miss Brennan. Let us seal this most favorable agreement.”
 CHAPTER FOUR
Lucius’ heart pounded as he gazed up at the Steam Rose for the first
time. He had never wanted to kiss a beautiful thing so badly in his
life.
She boasted two masts, each equipped with three square sails. A
black steam stack loomed between them, belching smoke. Her
beam, the widest part of her body, stretched fifty feet, and from
stern to stem she ran two hundred and thirty feet. A good size,
Lucius noted with approval. He was thoroughly prepared to pass the
following weeks sunning on her decks, drinking from her stores
(which were hopefully stocked to supply three hundred thirsty men),
and gambling in her drawing room.
“Magnificent, isn’t she?” he shouted to Evelyn as they shouldered
their way towards the gangplank. Passengers, riggers, porters, and
deckhands swarmed around them, the air clamorous with calls and
whistles.
Evelyn gasped as a man budged past her, nearly knocking her off
her feet.
Lucius reached out to steady her.
She caught his eye, but quickly averted her gaze.
“It’s a ship,” she replied, correcting her cap.
Lucius scoffed. “It’s a lot more than a bloody ship. It’s our
future!” He inhaled deeply of the moist, salty air, pungent with
smoke, fish, manure, and grime. “It’s everything.”
Onboard, Evelyn’s heart sank. There was not another woman in
sight. She’d heard rumors that California-bound ships like the Steam
Rose were exceeding capacity, and worried she might be forced to
share a stateroom with a handful of stinking, bawdy men.
She followed Lucius into the open air, where she noticed other
passengers drawing rectangles on the deck with chalk.
“What are they doing?” she asked.
Lucius nodded towards one of the men. “Establishing their
quarters, I’ll wager.”
 Evelyn’s eyes widened. “You mean to say there are no rooms for
these men?”
Lucius cocked his head. “The rooms are full, lass.”
His nonchalance sent a chill through her, and she swallowed
hard.
“Surely,” she began, nonplussed, “you secured a room for us?”
Lucius smiled and waved to a man Evelyn was certain he’d never
met.
“I will not sleep in the open air!” she cried.
Lucius spread his arms and exclaimed, “The adventure begins!”
Evelyn’s chest heaved with rising panic as her gaze swept the
deck. “You must do something to alter our situation. Look at these
men! They shall rob us blind! Did you not even think to secure a
stateroom?”
Lucius waved her off. “Chin up, lass. You can’t see the stars from
a stateroom, can you?”
“The stars? We shall catch our deaths in this March air!”
“Nonsense. We’ll be sailing in warmer seas soon enough. I hear
we shall make berth in Havana, Cuba. In your wildest dreams, did
you ever think you’d see Havana, Cuba?”
She clenched her teeth. “I dream only of Ireland.”
Lucius placed his hands upon his hips and took a deep, exultant
breath.
His cheerfulness was infuriating. Evelyn could feel her cheeks
burning red.
“Now,” he said, "if you will be so kind as to procure a bit of chalk,
Miss Brennan, I think I shall take a turn about the ship. To scout out
a decent place for us to set up camp, you know.”
“But—”
“Thank you!”
Lucius leaped over a crate and disappeared behind a swell of
passengers, leaving Evelyn to gape after him.
She stood alone amidst a sea of men, none of whom seemed
bothered by the prospect of sleeping on deck, though the wind was
like ice and the sun hid behind a thick blanket of cloud. Evelyn
tugged at the ribbons of her cap and shivered, and folded her arms
beneath her cloak for warmth.
A gravelly voice addressed her from behind. “You lost,
sweetheart?”
She wheeled around, coming face-to-face with a man whose
thinning black hair hung in limp, greasy tendrils over his shoulders.
He eyed her lasciviously and grinned, revealing an assortment of
decaying teeth.
She recoiled and took a step backward.
“Certainly not,” she replied. “I’m here with my guardian.”
“Are you now?” He glanced around the deck. “Where might he
be?”
She followed his gaze, longing for the sight of Lucius.
“Over there.” Her hand flitted towards a cluster of well-dressed
men conversing near the rail. “Excuse me.”
She all but fled, determined to find her supposed guardian and
throttle the life out of him.
The ship emitted a throaty farewell, and passengers flocked to
the decks to witness the nascent of their journey. Evelyn was jostled
by the crowd, and was on the verge of screaming when she
discovered Lucius among them.
“There you are, Miss Brennan!” he cried. “I’ve been looking all
over for you!”
Her mouth dropped open, and she regarded him as though he’d
gone mad.
“That’s rich,” she remarked. She gestured to the others. “How
could you leave me alone with these hormonal dogs? They were
after me not two seconds after you scampered off, and their women
were still waiting to bid them Godspeed from the docks!”
Lucius rolled his eyes.
“Give it a rest, Miss Brennan. Once they hear how you prattle on,
they’ll lose interest entirely. That mouth of yours, as tempting as it
may be, is truly your greatest defense.”
She groaned and shook her head. “You are insufferable, Lucius
Flynn.”
He grinned as though she’d bestowed a compliment.
 “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” she added.
“Oh, but I am,” he replied.
They made their way to the railing and leaned against it, feeling
the chill of exposed steel. Lucius’ elbow grazed Evelyn’s as the
Steam Rose drifted away from the docks, creating soft undulations
on the surface of the water.
“I discovered something during my exploration that may be of
great interest to you,” he said.
She played aloof. “Oh?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to know what it was?”
“Could you refrain from telling me if I didn’t?”
“Certainly.”
Lucius clamped his lips shut and gazed out to sea.
Evelyn waited.
“Well, what is it?” she asked, perturbed. “Or do you expect me to
beg?”
“You’re begging now,” Lucius smirked.
Evelyn snorted. “I would never.”
“Then ask me kindly. Like a pleasant person asking a fellow
pleasant person.”
“Have it out, Lucius.”
“Tut tut, Evelyn. Is that the best you can do?”
Evelyn pursed her lips.
Lucius nudged her.
“All right!” she sighed. “Dear Mr. Flynn, may I please be privy to
your great secret?”
“Of course you can.” He gave her a dashing smile. “You, Evelyn
Brennan, are not the only female aboard this ship.”
Evelyn gasped and turned to investigate the faces around her.
“Who is she?” she asked. “Where is she?”
“I shan’t tell you, lest you think lowly of me.”
Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “You mean to say that her husband
secured a stateroom.”
“Precisely.”
“Perhaps they can accommodate one more.”
“They have a child and servant to accommodate.”
 “A servant! My God. Her husband must tutor you in the art of
being a decent man.”
Lucius laughed.
“I have already made his acquaintance,” he said. “A Mr. Stephen
Whitfield. An Englishman. And a man of the cloth, no less. A bit
Puritanical for my taste, but I’m sure his wife will be capital company
for you. Perhaps she can tutor you in the art of being... all the
delightful things you are not.”
Evelyn swatted his shoulder.
“I’m joking!” he exclaimed.
She scowled. “You’re so dreadfully witty, Mr. Flynn.”
“You’re not the first to tell me so.”
“Conceited, too.”
“Aye, my faults are many.” He drummed his fingers on the railing.
“Back to it, I confess you’ve been the unwitting subject to one of my
lesser pranks. The truth is, while the ship is overbooked, we are
indeed to room with the Whitfields.”
Her hand flew to her chest. “Mr. Flynn! It was dastardly to make
me believe we should sleep out of doors!”
He was pleased with himself, and seemed to leap away from the
railing. Evelyn was exhausted by his insurmountable energy.
”Come along, Miss Brennan,” he beckoned. “Allow me to escort
you belowdecks.”
A girl of fourteen opened the door. She was dressed in common
maid’s attire, with skin so white it nearly glowed. Her vivid green
eyes were arresting, and startlingly large.
Lucius cleared his throat.
“Hullo,” he said. “I’m Lucius Flynn, and this is Evelyn Brennan. I
believe we are expected.”
She smiled warmly and gestured for them to enter.
Lucius dipped his head and swept past her into the room, but
Evelyn remained rooted. She stared, dumbstruck. While there was
nothing particularly extraordinary about the maid’s nose, or mouth,
or honey blonde hair, those eyes were bright and bottomless as the
sea. Evelyn didn’t think she had ever seen such an enchanting young
woman.
 The spell suddenly broke when a female voice erupted from
within the cabin. “Welcome! Oh, welcome! We are ever so delighted
to meet you!”
A woman appeared from behind the maid, her dark curls
springing untamed from beneath her cap, which was slightly askew.
Her cheeks were flushed and her red lips turned up in a smile that
spanned the breadth of her face. Her blue eyes sparkled, and Evelyn
felt drawn to her at once.
“Come in!” the woman cried. “Make yourselves at home!”
Lucius removed his hat and planted himself in the center of the
room. Evelyn moved to join him.
“I’m Adele Whitfield,” the woman said. She touched the young
maid’s shoulder. “And this lovely girl is Josephine. She looks after my
son, who’s fast asleep at the moment, glory be!” She waved her
hands in a gesture of praise, then motioned towards a covered
bassinet and pretended to button her lips. She dropped her voice.
“He’s a sound sleeper, thank God. His Christian name is
Bartholomew, though we call him Bartie. Dreadful title, I know. But
my husband insisted upon naming him after his great uncle, who has
been dead many years now. I don’t rightly know if my husband ever
actually met Uncle Bartie, but Mr. Whitfield is a man of great respect,
which you shall discover soon, I’m sure. Oh, but indeed! Mr. Flynn
has already made his acquaintance.”
“Yes,” Lucius said, glancing about. “Where has he gotten off to, I
wonder?”
Adele’s hand flitted through the air. “Off exploring the ship. Mr.
Whitfield has a fancy for ships, and I told him to be sure to get
acquainted, as this one shall be our home for the next few weeks.”
“Then if you’ll excuse me,” Lucius said, moving towards the door,
“I think I shall join him.”
Before anyone could protest, Lucius slipped past Josephine and
into the hall.
“Well,” Adele said, arching her eyebrows, “someone was in a
hurry to escape, wasn’t he?”
“You’ll find Mr. Flynn has trouble keeping still,” Evelyn replied.
She sighed and took Adele’s hand. “Never mind him. It is such a
pleasure to meet you. Moments ago, I was certain I was alone on
this ship.”
“Extraordinary, isn’t it?” Adele said. “I have never seen so many
men in my life. We are a rare breed aboard this vessel, I daresay.”
Evelyn looked about the room. It was surprisingly spacious, and
might have been elegant if not for the worn upholstery and peeling
wallpaper. A porthole afforded a view of the sea, and the furnishings
were splintered but sturdy. There was a writing desk and bureau,
two chairs, and sleeping accommodations for four adults, with one
double bed and a set of bunks.
“Have you devised a plan for our sleeping arrangements?” Evelyn
asked.
Adele looked at the berths as if she had only just noticed them.
“Dear me, I haven’t,” she replied. “This entire adventure is quite
peculiar, is it not? I never dreamed I’d be obliged to share a room
with anyone but my own relations. But these are strange and
exciting times, and I would rather share a room with you than an
open deck with fifty indecent men, by Jove! What do you think, my
dear Miss Brennan? How might we make the most of our situation?”
Evelyn smiled to herself.
“If Mr. Flynn was present,” she began, “he would certainly
volunteer to sleep on the floor.”
Adele clasped her hands in approval. “That is very nice, isn’t it?
Your guardian must be quite the gentleman.”
“On the contrary,” Evelyn shook her head, "he’s intolerable. I only
bear with him because I must.”
Adele looked as though she could not imagine a single soul in the
world as anything less than perfectly amiable. “I see,” she said. “To
the floor with him!”
They laughed, and it was agreed that the Whitfields would sleep
in the master bed, with Josephine on one bunk, and Evelyn on the
other. Lucius, as discussed, would sleep on the floor.
“Is this your first time sailing?” Evelyn asked.
“Indeed!” Adele cried. “But it shall be easier with a friend
alongside, I’m sure. We shall have great fun together, shall we not?”
“Oh yes,” Evelyn grinned, her spirits buoyed.
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