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Esme had risen shortly before five and was finally nearing the end of her morning duties. She had spent almost six hours making up the beds with fresh linens, picking up wet towels, and clearing breakfast trays. She also helped a sweet old lady put on her jewellery while listening to stories about the woman’s recently deceased husband. In another stateroom, she felt compelled to exit the room in a hurry after discovering a gentleman and his butler in a delicate position. She deliberately chose to leave the Grafton’s stateroom until last.
Bridget was waiting for her by the door and quickly ushered her inside. “I’ve waited so patiently for you, but now feel I may burst if I do not tell you my news.” Bridget paced back and forth as she spoke, her hands gesticulating wildly.
“Please try not to, Mrs. Graf ... Bridget. I would ’ave to clean up the mess.” Esme was laughing as she steered Bridget towards one of the couches. “I’m here now; so please sit yourself down, and take a deep breath before you begin.”
Bridget accepted Esme’s advice, taking a seat on the couch; although, she remained sitting upright with her hands outspread in her lap. She took a few slow deep breaths, composing herself so when she spoke, her words were measured and thoughtful, her voice calm, almost accepting.
“My courtship with William was brief to the point of whirlwind, and the romance briefer still. The man is a pig ... and saying that is to do pigs a great disservice. He sees fit to interfere in every facet of my life, by bullying and manipulating everything to his advantage. You yourself have witnessed the results of his handiwork if I displease him in even the minutest of ways.” Bridget paused, her distress obvious in her expression.
“And yet you carry his child,” stated Esme, then before she could stop herself asked, “It is his?”
Bridget looked at her hands for a moment then shook her head. “I had the briefest dalliance at Christmas with a fine young gentleman from Boston, whom I grew up with. It was brief, but we did ... you know?” Bridget’s face flushed a dark pink, causing Esme to giggle.
“You should come visit me when you’re next in England,” said Esme. “I know a few men who would gladly relieve you of your embarrassment over such matters. You might even earn yourself a pretty penny.” The shock on Bridget’s face brought tears to Esme’s eyes as she struggled to keep her laughter bottled up.
Bridget launched a cushion at Esme. “You are a cow for having such fun at my expense, and I will not continue my story until you have regained your senses.” She tried to preserve a suitably disapproving visage, but the maid’s laughter was infectious.
“My apologies, Mistress Bridget, please do go on.” One hand still covered Esme’s mouth, stifling a final small giggle, as she replied.
“We dined at the Captain’s table with Mr. Guggenheim, who William couldn’t stop fawning over, and his little French plaything. Obviously, the Captain himself, with the unbearable Mr. Ismay and the delightful Officer Moody who, I must say, is a dashingly handsome and perfectly charming gentleman.” Bridget’s voice had risen in pitch as she rushed through the final few words even surprising herself with such a brazen statement of attraction.
“He is that,” said Esme, “and a whole lot more, I daresay, if given half the chance.” She winked at the American socialite who feigned a disapproving look.
“Captain Smith suggested Mr. Moody dance with me so William and Mr. Guggenheim could adjourn for a cigar, but William cleverly put a stop to that.” Her mood quickly changed as she looked down, inspecting her fingernails as her eyes filled with tears. Esme rushed to her side and placed a comforting arm around the distraught woman’s shoulders. She gently drew Bridget’s face into her chest allowing her to sob uncontrollably for a few minutes, until finally, she composed herself enough to snivel, “And I thought that ironic, as I’m sure he has a mistress.”
“But if you do not love him, why do you care? Maybe he will realize the error of your marriage and you could divorce ...” Seeing Bridget shaking her head furiously, Esme added, “Or at least live separate lives. Perhaps you could stay in Boston on the pretence of a family illness when he returns to England.”
Bridget smiled wistfully at the one person in the world she felt she could trust. “I do not care for him, but I do care about myself. To fail in a marriage before the honeymoon is even over is not something I’m proud to admit. How could I have been so blind, so blinkered to his infidelity even as he courted me? Although I see now it was not me he courted but my father’s connections. William Grafton is nothing but a worthless sycophant.”
“I would agree wholeheartedly, I’m sure; however, there is not much call for such posh words in the Belvedere Arms.”
Bridget let out a little chuckle and took a handkerchief out from her sleeve which she used to dab her eyes. “That’s what I like about you, Esme, what you see is what you get. No airs or graces, just honesty and kindness, and despite being wise beyond your years, you have retained an almost childlike sincerity.”
“Thank you for your kind words; however, I must admit I can be rash and, at times, too forthright for my own good, and I fear it will be those qualities that get me dismissed on our arrival in New York.” Esme felt a lump rising in her throat, then it was her turn to cry, the tears rolling unchecked across her cheeks.
Bridget rose quickly from her seat reaching out to embrace the distraught maid. “What on earth is the matter?” She rubbed Esme’s back sympathetically and made soothing noises as the other woman cried uncontrollably into her shoulder. It took Esme several minutes between sobs to tell Bridget about her fears for Charlotte, their plans for a new life and how, in a matter of hours, she’d jeopardized it all by upsetting the head housekeeper, Miss Wilson.
Bridget listened carefully to Esme’s tale of sorrow without interrupting. Even though she was intrigued by the notion a dead body could simply disappear, she remained silent for a short while after Esme finished speaking, pondering her new friend’s predicament. When she gingerly sat back trying not to aggravate the bruising left by William’s riding crop, she had an almost triumphant smile on her face.
“It seems we both have problems that individually appear insurmountable; however, I believe I could, using a few of my rich and powerful connections, wipe clean your earlier misdemeanours with regard to Miss Wilson.” Bridget let the statement hang in the air between them for a moment, before adding, “But in return, I would like your help in resolving the awkward quandary I have engineered for myself.” She looked deeply into Esme’s sparkling emerald green eyes, searching for a deeper understanding before finally asking, “Would that be acceptable to you?”
Bridget had to wait for her answer.
