Chapter Thirty-Nine
The North Atlantic
The first day of our crossing is mild, with shimmering blue waters that break before the bow of the HMS Perdita as the sun dips toward my first ocean sunset.
I hope this clement weather bodes well for the remainder of our six-day crossing.
I breathe deep of the salty air, taking one last look at the open waters of the Atlantic, and then I step away from the railing to make my way belowdecks.
I move slowly toward my stateroom, still a bit wobbly on my sea legs, though I’m told I will adjust to the ship’s sway in no time.
But will Mamma? I decide to check on her, as she has spent most of the day in bed, complaining of seasickness.
Hal, through a private secretary by the name of Mr. Brion Ballard, has seen to it that Mamma and I have the finest staterooms on board.
And what’s more, Mr. Ballard is traveling with Mamma and me to ensure our every comfort is achieved.
“No matter the time of day, ladies, your wish is my command,” Mr. Ballard keeps telling us in his fine English accent that’s as crisp as his manners.
Hal isn’t even with us for the crossing, as he left for London a few days prior, in order to secure our accommodations and finalize all the details before our disembarkation.
The carpeted corridor is hushed, the other first-class passengers ensconced in their suites to dress for the formal dinner this evening.
When I arrive back at my staterooms, I notice I’ve had a delivery.
There on the marble-topped table is a huge arrangement of red roses.
Hal. Though how he managed to send fresh-cut flowers to the middle of the Atlantic, I have no idea.
Beside the vase rests a small blue box. The handiwork of Mr. Tiffany, I see.
I throw a look toward Mamma’s closed door, then open the parcel.
My hand flies to my mouth. On the plush cushion sits a diamond brooch the size of a small plum.
It’s too much! I read the note that accompanies it:
Welcome to your maiden crossing, my dear.
I hope you enjoy this small token, though it will appear dull and dim in the moment it is placed beside your face, as you outshine the most brilliant of diamonds.
While I cannot control the weather or the conditions of the sea, I do vow to arrange every other detail that I can, in order to ensure that your trip is all enjoyment.
Yours,
Hal
And he does. Even from afar, the man’s generosity knows no bounds.
Each morning he’s seen to it that my favorite fruits—peaches and strawberries—are brought fresh to me in bed on a tray bearing cut crystal with sugar and cream.
Each evening before dressing for dinner, I find a warm bath prepared in my powder room, perfumed with lavender and crushed rose petals.
A fresh new pair of silk pajamas lies folded on my bed each night.
Mr. Ballard informs me and Mamma that a masseuse has been hired for us and is available at any time.
Hal has a milliner visit us to make several new hats and a seamstress to spiff up our gowns.
On the third night of our crossing, Hal arranges a private dinner with the captain.
The next morning I learn that he’s arranged a tour of the entire ship with its first mate.
Hal does not overlook a single detail, nor does he let pass a single chance to pamper or spoil me, so much so that the passage flies by in a flurry of excitement and heady anticipation for all that is to come.
And then it’s been almost a week. On the final night of the crossing, I find I’m most eager to see Hal again.
To thank him for his gifts and to speak to him about my time at sea, and to embark on whatever new adventures he has planned for our first stop in London.
Yes, though it’s only been a week, I truly do yearn to be reunited.
As if sensing my thoughts—as he so often seems to do—Hal responds to my longing in that very moment, as Mr. Ballard knocks on my door.
“A letter for you, Miss Talbot.” I thank the man and then look down at the envelope in my hand.
I don’t even attempt to stanch the smile that spreads across my face as I see Hal’s now-familiar cursive. I tear it open.
My dear Evelyn,
You know I love you. But if it is only friendship between us that you desire, then we can be dear friends.
Your happiness is my happiness.
Forever yours,
Hal
To my surprise, I see the words begin to blur and dance before me, as a thin misting of tears fills my eyes.
My happiness is his happiness. Hal. Ever thoughtful, ever kind.
He is a true friend, indeed. In all this time, as he’s poured out his care and his riches on my behalf, he’s never asked for a single thing in return. He is a most singular man.
That fact is driven home with a harsh clarity when, on our final morning at sea, I ask Mr. Ballard to bring me the latest news bulletins.
I’ve spent the week of our crossing deliberately avoiding all news, blissfully relishing the isolation that the sea voyage offered, but now that we are set to step our feet back onto land, I figure I ought to know at least a bit of what is happening in the world.
Mr. Ballard promptly delivers to me the ship’s latest news dispatches along with breakfast. I sit upright in my bed and look over the pages in turn.
My giddy prearrival exuberance quickly dissipates when, as I scan each article, I see several tawdry reports that make mention of me.
The first report declares that my absence from Broadway has given fuel to the flames of rumor, and many wonder if I’ve fled in order to have an operation.
“Perhaps”—the words drip with their dirty ink—“Broadway’s favorite star has found herself in the family way.
” I swallow my half-chewed bite of pastry and note that it tastes dry as paper. I throw the page aside.
The second report is hardly better: “We have it on good authority that the star is traveling with a lover, unnamed, though he’s described with looks quite similar to a description of one Mr. Arthur Darrow, lately of New York City.” I roll my eyes and push the paper away.
The third gossip column comes closest to the mark, claiming that I’ve sailed for Europe because my mamma was so concerned about my intimate relationship with an unsavory gentleman suitor, she’s removed me from Manhattan.
Who of all people but Stan is quoted in this one: “I’ve always cared for Evelyn, and I continue to want what is best for her.
” The nerve! Surely he knows his words will only prompt further speculation. I toss the paper to the floor.
Scavengers and predators, I seethe, pulling my knees up to my chest, wishing I’d never even looked.
All of the newspapers feed on me, as if my purpose in life is to make them money.
And their millions of readers—is my role to provide entertainment for their colorless lives?
With no thought ever spared for the fact that I am also a human being.
This past week I’ve been so happy to be away from it all. To look ahead and think of new adventures. Perhaps I ought to leave it all forever.
As I rise from bed and prepare to face the day, to disembark at last in London, I put on not only one of my fabulous new gowns but also a grim determination—a steely resolve to embrace all that this novel experience with Hal shall offer.
I won’t let the past, or the demons who fill it, haunt this fresh new soil.
Nor will I allow the future, with its many unknowns, to frighten me.
I will enjoy myself, here and now, along with my good friend.
My friend who has one final note delivered to me as I prepare to step off the ship: “Welcome, my Angel.”
Hal sees me as pure and good. Perhaps I can truly be just as he sees me.