Lady Of The Sea Our intriguing new seria

PART ONE: The adventure of a trans-Atlantic sea crossing beckons, but what will Sarah become entangled in?

The Southampton quayside was a human sea of hugs, kisses, slapped backs, handshakes, tears and laughter. The cries of seagulls circling in the briny air were drowned by a cacophony of hearty farewells and heart-wrenching goodbyes.

Sarah had never seen so many people or witnessed such a mass display of heightened emotions. It was so overwhelming that her heart was pounding and her blouse was stuck to her back beneath her mauve fitted jacket.

Struggling to grip her two cases and furled umbrella amid the jostling throng, she felt like the only person who had no one to see her off. But then, she wasn’t going away for long: five days to New York and five back, with barely hours ashore in between.

She wished it could be longer, but the shortness of her trip didn’t make her any less excited. Just two days before, she would have never dreamed that in her lifetime she would go to sea and set foot on foreign soil.

High above the noisy crowd, the black hull and white upper decks of the American liner Lady of the Sea loomed larger than she could have imagined.

The four red and black funnels sent a steady stream of white steam into the crisp, duck egg-blue sky.

Around the rail, beneath flapping multi-coloured bunting, stretched a line of tiny-looking passengers: women in long skirts and feathered hats, and men in three-piece suits and straw boaters, waving white handkerchiefs at their friends and families on the shore below.

Gripped by an irrational fear that the vast ship would leave without her, Sarah pressed on through the crowd. Even though she knew she had plenty of time, she wouldn’t feel safe until she was through the long departure queues and onboard.

In her haste, her leather boot tripped on a ridge across the First Class gangway and she pitched forward, helplessly.

Her umbrella and one case clattered to the steep wooden walkway. She felt certain she was about to join them before a pair of strong male arms caught her around the middle.

“Hey, take it easy!” said a jovial American accented voice as the arms hauled her upright. “The ship’s not even moving yet!”

“Thank you so much!” Sarah was glad the gangway had sides or her luggage would have been in the drink – and she might have been, too!

She turned breathlessly to find that her rescuer was a fresh-faced man in his mid-twenties, about the same age as her. He was wearing a cream linen threepiece suit and a straw boater with a scarlet silk band that perfectly matched his necktie.

“Are you all right?” He was still holding her arms to steady her and Sarah couldn’t help thinking the combination of his handsome features, the amused twinkle in his eye, and his intimate proximity would have accounted for her racing heart even if she hadn’t taken a tumble. Sarah realised she was still clutching his sleeve with her gloved hand, and quickly let go.

Conscious of the amused looks she was attracting from other passengers squeezing by on their way into the ship, her cheeks overheated as she straightened her feathered hat and tried to regain her composure.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Let me carry your bags, ma’am.” The American reached for her fallen suitcase.

“There’s no need…” She reached for it herself, but he beat her to the handle.

“I beg your pardon,” he corrected himself in an impressed tone. “I should say, Your Ladyship.”

For a moment, Sarah was confused. Then she saw the engraved silver nameplate glinting on the expensive piece of luggage. Did he really think she was Lady Veronica?

Before Sarah could correct him, he said, “Have you travelled with the

Tealby Line before?”

“No, it’s my first time.”

“Then allow me to escort you to your cabin – it’s a maze in there!”

“You certainly know your way around the ship,” Sarah marvelled.

Her new companion had swept her past the waiting bellboys and was leading her along a windowless corridor with a plush red carpet and gleaming brass electric light fittings. Paintings of older ships, Victorian steamers and 18th century sailing vessels, dotted the wainscoted walls.

Sarah’s mind was spinning from her glimpse of the opulent reception hall. With its grand, sweeping staircase, towering marble columns and vast oil canvases, it looked like the interior of a grand hotel. Only the distant rumble of the steam engines far beneath her feet reminded her that she was on a ship.

“I’ve been across the pond a few times,” the American grinned. “And I can see you’ve chosen a cabin on the POSH side of the vessel.”

“I have?”

“Port Out, Starboard Home,” the young man quipped. “That way you’re on the sunny side both crossings. I’m over on the shady side this trip, but hey, you can’t win ’em all.”

He put down her cases and handed back her umbrella.

“Here you are, First Class Cabin 84.” “Thank you for escorting me.”

Sarah wasn’t used to having someone carry her burdens.

“Glad to be of service.” The man took off his boater and smoothed neatly pomaded brown hair that gleamed in the electric light. “But I must confess to an ulterior motive.”

“Oh?”

“Since we both appear to be travelling

Sarah travelled in the style of her mistress… would it be so wrong to borrow her name for a while, too?

alone,” his cheeks shone like a pair of red apples, “would you do me the honour of joining me for dinner this evening?”

Sarah was taken aback. The man was clearly a seasoned traveller, and since he travelled first class was no doubt well off. She wasn’t used to men in his position inviting her to dinner.

How would Lady Veronica respond? she wondered, quickly.

“That would be… delightful.” She felt like her neck was on fire.

“Swell!” He beamed with a delight so contagious that it sent an excited shiver through her. “Then I’ll call for you at eight, Your, er… say – may I call you Lady Veronica?”

“Please, just call me…” Sarah’s throat had gone tight. Above the pounding of her heart, she heard herself say, “Veronica .” What on earth are you playingat? A voice shouted in her head, but the name had come out before she could stop herself.

“Eight o’clock it is, then. I’m Chester. Chester… um, Smith.”

Why on earth did you say you were Veronica? Sarah chided herself as Chester skipped happily away.

The answer, of course, was that she reckoned he would have withdrawn his dinner invitation if he knew who she really was, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that. It was no excuse, though. She promised herself she’d come clean later. With luck he’d see the funny side, although she knew that was optimistic thinking.

Her resolve slipped her mind as she unlocked her cabin and caught her breath at the sight of its opulent interior.

The room looked like a scaled down version of Lady Veronica’s bedroom at Wilton Hall, and like a palace compared to Sarah’s candlelit room in the attic.

Gleaming varnished woodwork framed richly papered panels on the walls. Gilded plaster cornicing edged the ceiling. In the corner was a curtained four poster bed. Other furniture included finely carved chairs, a writing bureau, a vast oak wardrobe and an occasional table upon which sat an ornate lamp with a porcelain bowl shade.

Velvet curtains were tied back to expose a view of the ocean that made it feel like the ship was already at sea. The grey-green horizon beckoned with the promise of an adventure – and one in which she’d be travelling in the style of her mistress. Would it really be so wrong to borrow her employer’s name, too, at least for a little while?

Tired from her long train journey to the docks and everything that had happened since, Sarah sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced her ankle boots. She swung her legs onto the feather mattress and sank her blonde hair into the soft pillow. So this is how the other half lives, she thought. She reckoned she could get used to it!

The bellow of the steam horn echoed through the ship, along with cheers from all decks. Amid the noisy comings and goings of a crowded Third Class corridor, Mary-May O’Connor hugged her husband Sean tightly.

“Feels like we’re moving.” The tall red-headed Irishman grinned, as the steel deck gave a decisive lurch beneath their feet.

“I can’t believe we’re actually aboard,” Mary-May grinned back.

“We’d best stow our things then head up on deck to wave Old England goodbye.”

“I wish we had the same cabin,” Mary-May sighed as she reluctantly uncoupled her arms from her man. “But what we save on the price of a double room will serve us better in New York.”

“Speaking of which, don’t leave the…” Sean gave her a meaningful raised-eyebrow look.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” Mary-May laughed and squeezed her snakeskin handbag to her side with her elbow. “I’ll see you on deck in a moment.”

Mary-May’s battered suitcases, filled with everything she owned, knocked against those of other passengers as she made her way down a narrow corridor.

The steel door to Cabin 298 stood open to reveal a cell-like room with cream-painted steel walls that was just big enough to contain a pair of bunk beds on the left and another pair on the right. In the narrow space between them was a small wash basin and a porthole through which Mary-May could see the quayside cranes slowly passing by.

Perched on one of the top bunks with her legs crossed at the knee was a very pretty young woman with a halo of tight blonde curls. She was wearing a silky blue-and-white-striped dress with a sailor collar, and she was applying bright red lipstick in the mirror of a shiny gold hand compact.

“Ahoy there!” The blonde’s pearly grin lit up the cabin like a lighthouse – and her Cockney accent filled it like a foghorn.

“Permission to come aboard?” Mary-May laughed. Glad that at least the first of the three women she’d be sharing with for the next week looked friendly. She eyed the cases on the lower bunks and indicated the other top one. “Is this one free?”

“Yeah, our other two shipmates have gone up on deck. Are you travelling alone?”

“No, my husband’s in the men’s section. I’m Mary-May.”

“I’m Candy.” The blonde slid down from the bunk to shake her hand.

“That’s a fine name,” said Mary-May. “Stage name, really. I’m working

my passage as a singer in the cabaret. There’s a dance every night.”

“Is that so? Then Sean will be in his element. He loves nothing more than to cut a rug.”

“I was just going up on deck,” said Candy. “Are you coming?”

“I’m right behind you.” Mary-May left her cases on her bunk and kept her snakeskin handbag on her arm.

The First Class dining room spanned the full width of the ship. Tall windows at each side faced onto a calm sea with a rosy sunset filling the glass to the south. On a low stage in one corner, a string quartet was playing a sprightly piece by Beethoven that merged with the hearty babble of conversation of around 400 well-heeled diners in black dinner suits and colourful evening gowns.

The tempo complemented the unobtrusive dance of a small army of waiters who moved efficiently between the tables in stiff white jackets, delivering platters and topping up glasses.

“Is the duck to your taste?” enquired Chester, looking resplendent in his white bow tie.

“It’s delicious.” Sarah was so tingly with excitement that she wondered if she were glowing.

She wasn’t fazed by the array of cutlery laid out for the ten-course feast that had begun with oysters followed by cream of barley and poached salmon in mousseline sauce.

She’d laid tables and served at them from the age of fifteen. She was well versed in the etiquette of fine dining and had been taught to speak in a manner befitting a country residence. She reckoned she could pull off a passable impression of one of the moneyed ladies seated all around her.

However, she wasn’t used to sitting across a table from a man as handsome and attentive as Chester.

She felt a pang of sympathy for her employer who would have been sitting where she was now if not for the riding accident that had necessitated Sarah taking her place on the trip. She hoped Lady Veronica’s leg wasn’t causing her too much pain.

She doubted that Chester would have invited the real Lady Veronica to dinner, though. The doughty silver-haired dowager was thirty years his senior and had never liked Americans. She would have doubtless described the outgoing Chester as a vulgar young upstart!

“Is something funny?” Chester’s brown eyes twinkled like the silverware.

“Nothing.” Sarah stifled her giggle with gloved fingers. “I suppose I’m just so happy to be on this beautiful ship.”

“No happier than I am to be in the company of such a beautiful lady,” Chester grinned.

Could he really mean that? Sarah wondered, blushing so hard that she thought she’d catch fire.

“What part of England are you from?” Chester asked.

“Norfolk.” Sarah pictured the grand facade of Wilton Hall, with its striped emerald lawns, wide gravel drive and tiered formal gardens.

She wondered if Chester would find her so interesting if he knew she only worked there as Lady Veronica’s housekeeper-cum-secretary.

“Is that near Liverpool?” Chester asked.

“No,” Sarah giggled. “It’s the other side of the country. About a hundred miles north east of London.”

“Ah, the east coast. I’ve been to Folkestone on business. Is that anywhere near you?”

Sarah had a sudden panicky image of Chester calling unexpectedly to visit her at Wilton Hall – and how embarrassing that would be!

“Um, not very near. What business are you in?”

“Me?” The American looked momentarily startled to have the attention turned on him. “Oh, I’m in, er… commodities. It’s kinda boring. But what brings you across the pond?”

Sarah thought of the deeds, part of a large foreign property sale that her mistress deemed important enough to be hand delivered to a New York attorney, but she guessed that, in Chester’s words, that sounded “kinda boring” too.

“Oh, I just want to see New York,” she heard herself say, airily.

“Times Square? Broadway?” Chester grinned. “Say, maybe I could show you around.”

“That would be wonderful.” Sarah forced a smile, while inwardly she sighed. Her schedule didn’t allow even one night ashore.

You have to tell him, her conscience prodded her. Now, before this charade goes any further.

Her stomach twisted as she pictured Chester’s disappointment in her. She imagined herself rising to leave the table in disgrace. Then she’d have to spend the rest of the voyage in her cabin to hide her shame.

“Ah, the Punch Romaine – the ship’s speciality!” Chester enthused as a pair of waiters simultaneously changed their plates. “Wait till you get a load of this!”

I will tell him, Sarah promised herself. But when I find a better moment. She couldn’t ruin such a wonderful evening.

“Thanks to your enchanting company that was the most delightful dinner I’ve ever had at sea,” Chester beamed, when they’d finished off the liqueured delights of peaches in chartreuse jelly and were sipping rich coffee.

“You really are far too flattering!” Sarah blushed.

“I guess we could retire separately to the gentleman’s smoking room and the ladies’ reading room,” said Chester, his cheeks quite pink. “Or if I haven’t bored you too much, perhaps I could persuade you to join me in the ballroom?”

Sarah needed very little persuading. “I should love to.”

As she took his proffered arm, she felt like Cinderella going to the ball. Just remember this will all vanish when the clock strikes twelve, she told herself. Or, in your case, when you finally tell Chester who you are.

She felt like Cinderella, but it will all vanish when she finally tells him who she really is