THE BETTER PART OF VALOR. Morgan Mackinnon

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СКАЧАТЬ on the sidewalk. That was when the cab driver saw the epaulets on the man’s shoulders as well as the cavalry sword riding by his left hip. He quickly pulled off his hat.

      “Here, I didn’t mean no disrespect. Not to one who fought the Rebs. No, sir! Not Jack Dunn! Kin I offer ye a lift?”

      This was much better, and the man indicated he required one trunk to be loaded on the cab as well as the three trunks the young lady owned. Once that had been completed, they should like to be taken to the wharf, specifically where the City of Paris was docked.

      The young woman accepted assistance into the carriage by the gloved hand of the soldier, trying to hide a smile as she did so. Once both were seated inside, she studied him.

      “How did you know I was going to board the City of Paris?”

      Now the soldier removed his hat and bowed toward her. “Madam, anyone going to the docks at this particular time of day for embarkation must be intending to travel on that ship. Have I made an error?”

      She admitted he had not. “Then I thank you, sir. I was afraid I would be late since I have not yet purchased my ticket.”

      He laughed. “Neither have I. Do you have a reservation?”

      The lady smiled. “Yes, yes I do. First-class apartment to Cherbourg and then on to Dublin.”

      “I cannot believe my good fortune. I too am traveling on the City of Paris and am incidentally also disembarking in Dublin. I am sorry. I have not introduced myself. I am Lieutenant Colonel Myles Keogh. Formerly of the Army of the Potomac and presently assigned to the regular United States Army.”

      Briefly touching his hand, the woman smiled again. “That you are also traveling to Dublin is fortuitous. I am Missus Cresta Leigh, on my way to Ireland to visit a distant relative. I’ve never been to Ireland before.”

      The tall soldier, Myles Keogh, studied the woman. She was indeed lovely, and those eyes of hers could play tricks with a man’s mind. From what he could tell, her hair might be red but was tucked up under her bonnet. Red hair and violet eyes. What a strange combination. But cursing his luck, he now knew she was married. His discretion would not allow him any flirtations with a married woman. But why in the name of Brigit would her husband allow her to be traveling alone?

      He settled on diplomacy to find out. “I am honored to meet you, Missus Leigh. I do not mean to be rude, but how is it your husband would entrust someone so lovely to be finding carriages and ship stateroom tickets by herself? If I were he, I would not let you from my sight.”

      Just a little flirty. Formal, complimentary.

      Laughing lightly, the woman smiled again. “You are not being rude at all, sir. I am a widow.”

      Life was looking up for Lieutenant Colonel Myles Keogh. He was a romantic fool at heart, always flirting, always escorting the fairer sex, but as most soldiers ultimately find out, romantics may make good lovers but do not make good husbands. He had many female friends, but they remained friends, never wives. He’d never married and never expected he would. But the boring ship journey to Cherbourg on the French coast and then on to Dublin would take between ten days to two weeks, depending on the weather and the nautical miles achieved each day, so the time might go by more quickly if he could perhaps spend time with this lovely creature.

      He could see through the carriage window the docks were fast approaching, so he pulled out his wallet and produced a carte de visite with his name written on the back.

      “My dear Missus Leigh, I would be charmed if you would agree to allow me to escort you to supper on board this evening.”

      His offer was readily accepted, and the next order of business was to transfer their trunks to one of the dock workers as they went into the ticket office. Round trip fare in a first-class apartment was $150; $100 for one way. Both were in an apartment, and both paid their $150 in cash. Keogh instructed the waiting dock men to deliver the young lady’s things to Apartment A-14 and his own trunk to Apartment A-20. Unlike some other ocean liners, single passengers in first class were not required to separate into a men’s section and a women’s section. At the end of the gangplank, Keogh helped Missus Leigh into the ship’s lobby and reception area and suggested he meet her in the foyer to the informal restaurant at 7:30 p.m. He gave her a small salute and, setting off to find his own cabin, was still thinking about her strange violet eyes.

      *****

      Cresta, who had never sailed on a ship like this, approved of her apartment with its sizeable bedroom and adjoining dressing room. The bed, the equivalent of a modern “double,” was made up with gleaming white sheets and a soft duvet in shades of pale green. Green carpeting on the floor, green curtains at the little porthole windows, and green upholstery on the small sofa and chair in the sitting area. It was a lot of green, but fortunately, the rug did have some pattern to it.

      In the dressing room was a wardrobe with double doors, several hooks on the wall, and a little sofa. The attached lavatory consisted of a toilet, bath, sink, and clean towels. Apparently in case of an emergency, there was also a covered chamber pot. Cresta looked at her watch again. It was 5:00 p.m., and she would have time for a nice soak in a hot tub before dinner.

      What to wear? Well, if she was any judge of men, she could wear a potato sack and Mr. Myles Keogh would not object. Sorry, Lieutenant Colonel Keogh. Her hair and violet eyes were striking, so she would wear something to make both features stand out even more.

      Before drawing her bath, she carefully withdrew a large black notebook and her retrieving device from her handbag and tucked them both into one of her trunks, making sure the trunk was securely locked.

      She then prepared a bath, washed her hair with fragrant French shampoo and her body with lilac-scented soap she bought at Macy’s. When she had toweled most of the moisture from her hair, she let it trail down her back to dry. The curls looked like rivulets in a stream, but in this day and age, it would not do to appear in public with untethered locks. Not if one were in first or second class. Even women in third class would be wearing braids or straw bonnets.

      Back in the wardrobe room, Cresta chose to wear a simple gown. This was embarkation night, not a Captain’s ball, so something plain would be quite sufficient. First, chemise, bloomers, stockings, and silk low-heeled shoes. She had spent hour upon hour with her seamstress and stylist in order to have her wardrobe “just so,” but there was one thing on which they disagreed. Gentlewomen of the time wore a tortuous device called a corset. This Stone Age garment was usually made of cloth stiffened with whalebone or wire and had laces running down the front. The woman donned the horrid thing and then pulled the lacings as tight as she could to compress the waist as much as possible before tying the lacings off. Not only did the waist look smaller, but the upper part of the corset also thrust the breasts upward so they would peek out of a frock or gown. In the first place, Cresta argued, it was not natural for women’s waists to be seventeen inches in diameter. Secondly, the wretched item was damned uncomfortable. Finally, she did not think it would be appropriate in this day to be displaying her breasts when she was a widow. She was not in mourning, so was not doomed to be wearing only black. She won her argument, and several of her dresses were simple enough and cleverly designed so she would not have to wear the corset and, in particular, the bustle.

      Pawing through her trunks, Cresta finally pulled out a frock in lavender. It was slightly off the shoulders on top, gathered at the waist with a large ribbon bow, and then fell gently to the floor. The lavender design was accented with tiny blue and pink tea roses and would not only make her eyes stand out; it would make her red hair gleam.

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