THE BETTER PART OF VALOR. Morgan Mackinnon

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ in New York City who was an alienist, but his job was to evaluate the mental state of men accused of criminal behavior and establish if they could understand the implications of what they had done. It was definitely not a job for a woman. A woman handling such a job would surely be big, raw-boned, fleshy of appearance, and unladylike in manner. This lady was…a lady.

      “And…and your late husband? May I ask after him?”

      Cresta drained the little goblet, and without thinking, Myles held up his hand to the waiter and ordered two more. She smiled again. “I know I am not what you envisioned, Myles, and for that I do apologize. I am not given to lies or artificiality. I’m different, and I know that is difficult for you to understand. My husband was also an alienist. In fact, we shared an office in Virginia. He was a philanderer who cheated on me, lifted his hand to me, and had he not died in an accident, I would have divorced him.”

      Shock after shock. Keogh was Catholic. Catholics did not divorce. While it was acceptable for a man to dally with a widow—after all, widows had been married and they knew about sex—a divorced woman was something else. Almost fallen in some sense. A woman who had taken an oath before God to forever love and obey one man then divorce that man and look for another. It was blasphemous. Of course, if the man had the proper provocations and justification for divorce, that might be different. For her to confess she would have done so and admitted as much to him should cause him to rise and excuse himself.

      And yet he did not. Wasn’t he himself referred to as a fallen Catholic? Hadn’t he had sex outside marriage? Wasn’t he being a hypocrite? A faint realization seemed to be intruding on his mind. He had never found a woman who interested him enough to marry. Just one, and he’d lost her in 1866. She too had been a widow. She had been outspoken. Her husband had used her badly. Perhaps this woman with her mesmerizing eyes and her forthright manner was much more formidable and interesting than he had thought.

      He rose and offered his hand. “Dear lady. We have imbibed, and now we shall have supper. May I?”

      The seriousness of their previous conversation largely forgotten, Myles saw the lady seated at a side table in the large supper restaurant, near a small fountain. He preferred side tables, especially when with an elegant young lady. Young? College educated and widowed. How old was she? She would have to be…nearing twenty-five, but she barely looked that old. There was something in her eyes. Not hardness but experience and determination. He mused for a moment that this woman might be more than he could handle, but since he was a man and a military man at that, a man used to giving orders and expecting himself to be obeyed, the prospect of taming this creature and bending her to his will suddenly became a pleasurable proposition. A challenge he couldn’t resist.

      They ordered; rather, she told him what she desired, and he did the ordering for both of them. She wanted the filet mignon well done, potatoes Lyonnaise, green salad, and a buttered roll. Myles had no objection to this although he added to his order a side of green beans, florets of cauliflower, and ordered his steak rare. Ever since he’d been in military service, he’d learned that rare was usually how meat was served when you had meat, and he’d adjusted to that.

      When the meal came, Cresta watched as her companion cut into his steak and made a face. When he looked puzzled, she remarked that she did not like her meat to be bleeding. Her honesty was refreshing, and rather than be offended, he laughed. They ordered red wine with dinner, and each had two glasses.

      By the time they’d finished a final brandy and some crème cake with coffee for dessert, Cresta said she’d had a lovely time but she really should get back to her cabin and try to get some sleep. Myles gallantly helped her up and escorted her out of the restaurant. He paused to retrieve his blue greatcoat from coat check, leaving a tip on the counter for the attendant. As they passed the door to the outer deck, Myles could see stars twinkling overhead and asked if she would like to go outside for a moment. Cresta expected this and let him escort her outside. The panoply of stars overhead was beautiful, mystical, breathtaking. Here and there could be seen a brief streak of light as a star fell to its death. Out on deck, it was windy and cold, and it was only an instant until the tall officer removed his greatcoat and wrapped it around Cresta’s shoulders. She noticed how his hands lingered on her shoulders just a bit too long, and she smiled into the darkness, pleased. It did not require too much effort to take his arm and just gaze out at the dark waves and beyond.

      *****

      Once Myles Keogh saw his dinner companion to her cabin, he went back outside and stood at the rail of the liner. He’d put his greatcoat back on and thought about the events of the day. He’d met a strange, mercurial woman like none he’d ever encountered before. She said what she meant and did not flirt and giggle like most of his women. He thought briefly of his one love, Abby Grace Clary, who he had met in the fall of 1865. Her brute of a husband had been a brevet Brigadier General named Robert Emmet Clary who had been a drunkard and a brawler and was court-martialed more than once. Clary thankfully died in December of 1864, a result of excessive drinking. This was in Memphis, Tennessee, where Myles was assigned at the time. He fell in love with the pretty, young widow and decided if he was to marry anyone in life, it would be her. After a cautious, discreet courtship, Keogh went out of town on a short assignment, and when he returned, he learned that Abby Grace Clary had died of gastrofever and had been interred in a cemetery in Washington, DC. Keogh was heartbroken and grieved for his lost love by hitting the bottle more than was good for him and falling into a deep depression. He swore then he would never court another woman and would resign himself to being alone the rest of his life.

      Now as he stood at the railing, his eye was caught by a shining star above, and he wondered if it was Abby Grace. The star then caught fire and flew across the heavens in a fading trail of light. He turned away. Was she blessing him or cursing him? He did not know.

      Back in her cabin, Cresta carefully took off her evening clothes and changed into a virginal white cotton nightgown, plumped the pillows on her bed, and took out the black notebook kept hidden in her trunks. Producing a ballpoint pen, she began her first entry. In a paragraph, she listed her observations and her impressions and signed it “Dr. Cresta M. B. Leigh, PsyD.” Then she locked the book away again and sank down onto her soft bed, thinking of a deep, lilting Irish accent and very blue eyes.

      Chapter 3

      The first few days of the voyage fell into a comfortable routine. Cresta favored the informal restaurant and usually arrived there for breakfast around 8:30 a.m. Invariably, she would find Keogh seated outside with a cup of coffee and the ship’s newspaper which would have whatever news had arrived over the ship’s telegraph along with small sketches of seafaring life, thumbnail descriptions of members of the crew or passengers, a list of daily activities on board such as shuffleboard, deck bowls, or a roster of lectures. The orchestra played on deck in the afternoons if weather permitted and played in the formal first-class dining room every evening.

      Spotting Cresta, Keogh would rise, fold the newspaper, and tuck it under one arm while offering his other arm to her as escort into the restaurant for breakfast. Normally, both breakfast and luncheon were solely buffet choice while waiters brought water, coffee, tea, and juice to diners. Should a lady enter the restaurant with a gentleman, the gentleman would prepare her plate first, bring it to the table, and then fix his own. Cresta always waited for the gallant soldier to return to their table before beginning to eat.

      After breakfast, they would stroll the deck (if weather permitted) or sit in deck lounge chairs and talk. Keogh spoke mostly of his family and how much he missed them; Cresta spoke of her family and made him laugh when she described a bevy of kooky, nosey, exasperating characters. When it came time for luncheon, they more or less assumed they’d be dining together. Afternoons were usually spent in the writing and reading room, and they were quite contented sharing each other’s companionship whether they spoke or not. Evenings they would change into СКАЧАТЬ