Philadelphia Harbor, July 1870
Chapter One
“Wait,” Kirsty Thompson shouted as she hurried across the deck of the steamer Maybelle. “Wait! Stop!”
A uniformed man with sideburns that reached his chin turned from directing sailors. “Miss?”
“You must stop moving the boat,” she said breathlessly, coming to a halt in front of him.
“It’s a steamer ship, not a boat,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter what you call it, you must stop—set the brake or whatever you must do—because I need to get off.
“I’m sorry, miss. The lines have been pulled. We’ll be underway any moment now.”
“But I must get off,” Kirsty repeated, feeling a rising panic.
The man eyed her. “Where’s your ticket, miss?”
“I . . . I don’t have one.”
“Then how did you get aboard?” he asked, hands on his hips.
“There was a woman going up the ramp ahead of me, a rather large woman with a flowered dress that nearly blinded me, with a little dog, a child, and three or four servants.”
“And you walked in with her. Hiding amongst her party,” he said. “You didn’t want to pay passage, and you thought you’d sneak aboard.”
“Of course not! I’m no thief! I just needed to speak to someone. Just for a moment, I needed to speak to him.”
“Lovers gone bad?” the man said and turned away to shout at a sailor. He turned back and regarded her. “Well, you’re stuck on this ship with him now.”
“Lovers! How dare you! I am not with him or anyone, and that is why I need to get off!”
“You can get off in New York harbor because that’s our next stop,” the man shouted back at her.
“New York? I don’t want to go to New York!” Kirsty stepped closer to the man and wagged a finger at him. “And you are being rude with your shouting!”
“Now see . . .”
“Miss Thompson?”
Kirsty turned quickly. “Oh, Mr. Watson. I’ve been looking for you! Please tell this man to stop the boat and let me off!” The steamer lurched from its moorings, and Kirsty would have tumbled to her knees if it hadn’t been for Mr. Watson catching her by the elbows. She’d been introduced to him by her brother-in-law when she’d attended a party held at her sister’s home. He’d escorted her to dinner on that evening. She was so happy he remembered her!
“I’m af-fraid,” he said. “That will be impos-sible. We’re underway, it seems.”
“Oh no,” she said and looked up at him, feeling tears gather in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry. Her family accused her occasionally of crying to get her way, which was hardly ever the case and certainly wasn’t now. But she dare not blink, or those tears she did not want to cry would tumble down her cheeks.
“Perhaps a cup of t-tea would help you, Miss Thompson. Allow me to take you to the d-d-dining room.”
“But I must get off this boat,” she said. “My family won’t have any idea where I’ve gone and . . . and they will be so worried.” That was no exaggeration. They would assume the worst.
“I don’t b-believe there is anything we can do until we land at New York harbor,” he said and held out his arm.
Kirsty wrapped her arm around his and looked up at him. He was such a tall man with dark hair, very green eyes, and burning cheeks. “Oh. Oh no. I’ve embarrassed you with my shouting. Your face is quite red. I am so sorry. Please don’t be angry.”
He shook his head. “I’m not angry,” he said very slowly.
Kirsty turned as he did toward the doors leading to the inside hallways after glancing longingly at the dock, now getting smaller as they moved from shore. He seated her at a table once they were in the dining room, signaled a waiter, and nodded at her to order. She opened her drawstring bag to see what amount of money she had left after paying for the trolley that day. She was suddenly panicked when she realized she’d have to find a way to travel to Philadelphia from New York when this infernal boat stopped, and she’d need money to do it.
“Nothing for me, thank you,” she said to the waiter.
“I’ll have coffee and this assortment of cheese and olives listed on your menu,” he said. “The lady will have tea. Thank you.”
She leaned forward. “I don’t have enough money to pay for it. Surely they’ll give me a glass of water.”
“Miss T-Thompson, I will take care of the b-bill. Please don’t worry.” He raised his hand as if he was calling to the waiter again.
But a young—very young—red-haired man walked to their table instead. His face had an unsightly burn scar on one side, and Kirsty did her best not to look at it as he arrived at the table. She wondered how Mr. Watson knew him.
“Clawson,” Watson said. “Change of plans. You’ll need to contact the Royal Academy and see about rescheduling my talk.”
“Yes, sir, right away, sir.”
“We’ll be staying in New York tomorrow evening. We’ll need three rooms at the hotel where we often stay.”
“Three rooms, sir?”
“One for you, one for me, and one for Miss Thompson.” He nodded to her. “Clawson, this is Miss Thompson. Miss Thompson, my assistant, Mr. Clyde Clawson.”
“A hotel room? Oh no! I’ll be heading directly home. I have to get home. My family will be frantic!”
“Miss Thompson, I d-doubt we’ll be able to catch a train after we arrive as it will be very late in the day. We’ll have to wait until the next morning to travel.”
“How do you know? Do you always take a steamer to New York? Isn’t it easier to catch the train?”
“Ah,” Clawson said. “I’ll need to see if our tickets can be canceled or sold, perhaps.”
Kirsty watched the young man hurry away. “What did he mean about the tickets being sold? What tickets?”
Mr. Watson stared at her and then looked up at the waiter bringing their cheese platter and pots of coffee and tea. He pulled bills out of his wallet, handed them to the waiter, and told him to keep the change. He stirred several sugar cubes into the cup of coffee the waiter poured for him and looked up at her.
“Tickets for a t-transatlantic crossing.”
“Why would you cancel your tickets? When were you planning on sailing?” she asked, interested to know if the date could work for her, although after she arrived home the day after tomorrow, she doubted if her older sister and brother, Muireall and James, would ever let her out of their sight again.
“The day after tomorrow, Miss T-Thompson. This steamer stops in New York to pick up additional p-p-passengers and then goes directly to England.”
“Well, why can’t you go now? Has something happened?”
He stared at his cup for some time. He would prefer to continue to England as planned but he could not abandon her without an escort. And spending time with this beautiful, vivacious woman would not be a hardship. “I can hardly allow you to t-travel by yourself, Miss Thompson. I will see you back to your home.”
Kirsty shook her head. “No. Oh no. You mustn’t. I could not allow you to change your plans on my account.”
“Have some r-refreshments, Miss Thompson. We will not arrive until tomorrow afternoon.”
Kirsty felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. “I thank you for the tea, and I will see that you are repaid once we are home in Philadelphia. But you cannot tell me what to do, Mr. Watson. You are not my father or brother or any relation.”
He leaned forward. “I am, however, a gentleman, and you are related to my good friend Mr. Pendergast, your brother-in-law, in fact. I could not countenance any young lady traveling alone if it was in my power to prevent it, especially as she is related to my circle of friends.”
“You are not stuttering, Mr. Watson.” Kirsty put a hand over her mouth as if doing so would stop her rude words from being heard. “I’m so sorry. I should never have mentioned it.”
He shrugged. “Stuttering or not, I will escort you home.”
“My family . . .” she began and trailed off, thinking of how terrified they would be when she did not arrive home for supper.
“We will send a t-telegram as soon as we arrive at the hotel.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Will you explain it to me?”
Albert watched as she sat quietly for several minutes, sipping her tea and staring at the spoon she’d used to stir in her sugar, turning it over slowly. She looked up at him finally with a resolved, or resigned, serious look on her face that he did not understand from this young woman. He’d been introduced to her and had escorted her into dinner at the home of his friend Alexander Pendergast, who was married to her sister. She had been a frivolous whirlwind of chatter that evening after getting over some initial nervousness, but neither persona had stopped him from finding her the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance, with a joyous laugh that went straight to his gut. However, he was certain she would find nothing remotely interesting about him or his medical research, or the fact that sometimes he forgot to eat. His colleagues called his work brilliant. His mother called him a scatterbrain.
“There are men who want to harm us,” she said. “Did you know that my sister Elspeth was kidnapped before she married Alexander? She was! She was taken from us at a grand ball at Alexander’s family home.”
Albert shook his head, hoping she would explain. She leaned close to him, close enough that he could smell lilacs or some other aromatic that seemed to wrap around him, yet he could feel her panic.
“My father was the Earl of Taviston in Scotland. There was a man, an illegitimate cousin, who claimed the earldom was his, and he tried to kill my mother, stole my younger brother from us, thankfully he was rescued, and lobbied the governors who oversee such things to give him the title and the wealth and the lands. My father was so concerned about the danger to his family that he brought us to America, hoping to wait in safety until everything was settled and Plowman, the cousin, was jailed. But they murdered my father and mother on the passage here,” she hissed. “They poisoned their food, and my parents were buried at sea.”
She had tears and terror in her eyes as she whispered to him, as if there were enemies all around.
“Why did they kidnap Mrs. P-Pendergast?”
“An exchange! They wanted us to turn over my brother Payden, the heir to the earldom,” she said with a trembling lip. “Elspeth knew her duty, though. She would die for him, as would any of us.”
“Die for him?”
“Had Alexander and my brother James not rescued her, she would have been . . . abused and murdered as we would never turn the rightful Earl of Taviston over to them.”
Albert sat back in his chair and stared at her. Good God! What a story!
“Isn’t James the oldest brother?” he said, remembering the looks he’d gotten from the man as he’d escorted his sister into dinner that night. He was a boxer—and a champion too.
“James? He is actually a cousin. His parents died when he was an infant; his mother was my father’s sister. Mother and Father took him in and raised him as their own.”
“But he’s not your true b-broth—”
She’d leaned across the table again, but there were no tears this time, only a look that would have scared the most seasoned sailor. “James Thompson is my brother.”
He nibbled on some cheese and a cracker and pushed the platter to her side of the table. “So your family will assume something s-similar has happened to you.”
She nodded. “When will we arrive in New York?”
“By tomorrow afternoon.” He gave her a frank look. “Why did you come aboard?”
Her face reddened, like a length of pink gauze was slowly creeping up from the base of her neck. “Well,” she looked at her hands, “I was hoping to talk to you.”
“T-To me? Whatever for?”
“Alexander said that you travel to England regularly for your medical work, and I was hoping you’d agree to escort me and a companion.” She looked up. “I plan to import fine Scottish wool and yarns to America. I believe Thompson Wools and Yarn would be quite successful. I need to go to Scotland and meet the people I’ve been corresponding with about such a venture.”
“Your brother would never allow it.”
“No. But there would be nothing he could do if I boarded with my companion while they read a letter about my destination. Although I worried they’d be upset and frightened as they will, undoubtedly, be today.”
“And you think I would have agreed to this outrageous scheme?”
“You aren’t stuttering. Again.”
“I find that I don’t stutter when I am furious.”
“Oh. What prompts it when you do stutter?”
He looked away. Miss Kirsty Thompson had the body of a siren, the face of an angel, and the scruples of the devil. He was, at the same time, horrified by her and attracted to her. Perhaps there was a medical explanation. And his stutter was especially prevalent when he was nervous. This young woman made his orderly, scholarly world tumble through the firmament.
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