Amelia reached for her water glass as she surreptitiously watched her fellow dinner companions. The table of twelve was split equally between British and American couples. The style of their clothes were somewhat different, but she hadn’t noticed anything in particular to keep in mind for her return to Pennington’s. At least, not yet.
‘So, Mr Weir, what is it you do?’ The husband of the American couple beside her had a booming voice.
Mr Weir laid down his knife and fork. ‘I work as the head of the men’s department at Pennington’s in Bath. Perhaps you know of it?’
‘Pennington’s? No, I can’t say I do.’
‘Well, I certainly do,’ his wife exclaimed. ‘I understand the store compares quite admirably with Selfridges and Fortnum and Mason.’
Amelia smiled into her glass. A compliment like that would feed Mr Weir’s pride until summer.
‘It does indeed, madam,’ he beamed. ‘Miss Wakefield has been our head window dresser for a number of weeks now and we both take great pride in working there.’
‘Ooh, a window dresser. How exciting. Do you find your work interesting, Miss Wakefield?’
Amelia set down her glass. ‘Very much so. I have learned so much and hope to continue working at Pennington’s for many years to come.’
The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t you wish to marry, my dear?’
‘Maybe. One day. But, for now, my work more than sustains me. Have you been to London? Is that from where you are travelling?’
The husband sat back in his chair. ‘It is, indeed. London’s a great city. Not on the scale of New York, of course, but good enough.’
‘You’re from New York?’
His wife smiled. ‘Yes, we are. I do apologise, we haven’t even introduced ourselves. My name is Winifred Carlton and this is my husband, Marshall. We love to travel, and London has been on our list for quite a while. Although, I am looking forward to going home. We’ve been away for six weeks.’
‘Six weeks? How wonderful.’ Amelia sat forward in her seat, her interest piqued. ‘Can I ask, how did you find the department stores in London compare to those in New York?’
‘Oh, it’s very difficult to state the differences. The London stores are better in some areas and New York’s in others.’
‘I would love for you to explain what you mean, Mrs Carlton. I want to soak up as much as I can about America’s department stores and the American way of life while I’m there. For example, what do people like to do in the evenings? Are the social classes quite so apparent as they are in England? Do you find—’
Mr Weir coughed. ‘Miss Wakefield, you are asking an awful lot of questions.’
‘We don’t mind in the slightest.’ Mrs Carlton laughed and reached for her wine. ‘Your questions are most interesting. I can only assume your trip to New York is more business than pleasure?’
‘It is.’ Amelia glanced at Mr Weir before addressing the woman again. ‘Would you mind sharing in what way London stores do things better than New York and vice versa? You see, Pennington’s strives for innovation, and it seems to me America leads the way in that area.’
‘It certainly does.’ Mr Carlton beamed. ‘And I’d wager there is no one better than my wife for you to discuss the merits and flaws of shopping with.’ He turned to Mr Weir. ‘What do you say to joining me in the library for a brandy while the ladies talk?’ He stood and held out his arm towards the dining room door. ‘Any talk of shopping and I make a speedy departure, lest I never recover from Mrs Carlton’s enthusiasm with my wallet.’
Mr Weir looked at Amelia and then Mr and Mrs Carlton, indecision in his eyes. Amelia bit back her smile. It would be torture for him to leave her to lead the conversation as far as Pennington’s was concerned, but there was no way she’d forgo this opportunity. The more she could learn before they arrived in America, the better. All information would prove useful, no matter how small.
At last, Mr Weir stood. ‘I trust you know where the library is, Miss Wakefield?’
‘I do, but I think I’ll head back to my cabin once Mrs Carlton and I have finished talking. I’m really quite tired.’
‘I should really escort you.’
‘Not at all.’ Amelia held his gaze, her tone firm in her determination that she begin to enforce some time alone. ‘I am perfectly all right to return to my room unchaperoned. Shall we meet at nine for breakfast?’
He pursed his lips before he gave a firm nod. ‘As you wish. Good evening to you, Mrs Carlton.’
‘And to you, Mr Weir. Good night.’
Satisfaction and opportunity unfurled inside her as Amelia faced Mrs Carlton. ‘So, you were about to tell me about New York’s strengths and weaknesses?’
Coffee was served and an hour had passed before Amelia bid Mrs Carlton good night. Her mind reeled with the new and interesting information she’d learned. Hurrying from the dining room, she walked along the maze of corridors towards her cabin, desperate to make a note of everything Mrs Carlton had divulged.
As she emerged onto one of the decks, she noticed Officer Murphy talking to two attractive young women and an older woman Amelia assumed to be their mother. The younger women stared at Officer Murphy with stars dancing in their eyes, blushing and giggling while their mother looked on with pride.
Amelia looked at Officer Murphy from the corner of her eye as she passed. The man smiled and laughed, clearly basking in such unashamed female attention.
Considering the manner in which he’d spoken to her earlier, the way his bright blue gaze had so openly bored into hers, it seemed Officer Murphy had a blatant capacity for flirtation.
She was not surprised in the slightest. His character had been laid bare for her when he’d approached her and suggested she might call on him for his help. Clearly the man thought himself irresistible to every female aboard. Well, he’d soon learn she was most likely more different than any woman he’d ever met.
There would be no fawning and flirting from her… no matter what charms he might decide to direct her way.
Forcing her eyes forward, Amelia walked on.
Once she’d safely reached her room, she opened the door and stopped. ‘Oh, hello.’
A woman in her late twenties turned from the chest of drawers where she was arranging her undergarments. She pushed her blonde hair from her eyes and smiled, her startling blue eyes friendly. ‘Good evening.’ She offered her hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I’m Catherine… Catherine Hill.’
Amelia took her hand, immediately relaxed by Catherine’s gentle amiability. ‘Amelia Wakefield. Have you enough space? I can easily move some of my things around.’
‘Oh, I’m perfectly fine, thank you.’ Catherine walked to the desk and put down the novels she carried. ‘I’m glad to see a friendly face. It’s more terrifying than I thought travelling alone.’
‘You’re travelling alone? My goodness.’
‘I’m a widow, you see. I’m travelling to New York to stay with my aunt and uncle who have a farm in Ohio. They’ve assured me that I will be welcome around the farm and house. They run a very successful dairy and want me to help them.’
‘That sounds wonderful. I’m dreadfully sorry you have lost your husband.’
‘Thank you.’ Catherine turned towards her open suitcase, closed it and stored it under her bed. ‘I’m just going to have a little walk before I turn in. Would you like to join me?’
‘Would you mind if I said no this time? I’m exhausted and just want to climb into bed. But you are more than welcome to join me and Mr Weir for breakfast tomorrow, if you’d like?’
‘Mr Weir?’
‘My colleague. We’re travelling to America to study the department stores there. We work at Pennington’s in Bath.’
Catherine’s eyes widened. ‘Goodness. I’ve heard of Pennington’s, but never been there. I’m from Devon. I’d love to tag along for breakfast, if you don’t mind. Thank you, Amelia.’
Catherine left the cabin and quietly closed the door.
Amelia quickly undressed. As she would be without dressing help, Mrs Woolden had been mindful in the Pennington’s outfits she’d selected for Amelia to take with her and, so far, she hadn’t had too much difficulty with clasps, buttons and laces. Relieved to be in her nightgown, Amelia wandered to the porthole and looked out into the darkness. The sky was spangled with stars and a half-moon shone amid a wispy covering of clouds.
The longer she stared, the more a horrible sense of foreboding stole over her and Amelia shivered. Nothing seemed to move, nothing made a sound. It suddenly felt as though she was floating out here alone on the vast ocean. Even the corridor was absent of people coming and going. No laughter rang, no voices spoke.
She briefly closed her eyes, willing her nonsensical apprehension into submission.
Her feelings were little more than fear of the unknown. Her internal anxieties poking and prodding to the surface. Opening her eyes, she tightened the belt of her robe, inhaled a determined breath and sat at the small writing desk. She pulled her notebook towards her, pen poised and feverishly set to work.
The information Mrs Carlton had given her poured onto the page, and Amelia’s excitement for what adventures lay ahead grew. Everything she saw, heard, tasted and smelled would be noted in this book. She would absorb every conversation, every piece of clothing, every accessory and piece of jewellery. Times were changing and Miss Pennington had given her the opportunity to be at the forefront of that transition.
She would not waste a single moment. This trip was her chance to live. To experience. To challenge convention.
And she would embrace every second of it.
Her past would undoubtedly drift farther behind her, the closer she sailed to the place once called the New World. For the next three weeks, this voyage and America would be her new world. And, tomorrow, with or without Mr Weir, she would find a way to spend some time in first class. She wanted to report everything to Miss Pennington.
Absolutely everything.