6

Safe Harbour

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The cable had ceased to work again after having been so laboriously repaired and Ailish, exhausted herself, felt the despair of those around her as mutterings grew louder that the Fenians had struck again.

She was about to try and find Paddy to tell him what was going on, when Dalton jumped atop one of the cannons that lined the deck and called to the crowd.

“This second fault is proof of sabotage and we cannot let it go unchallenged,” he shouted, stoking the unrest. “You have worked as no other crew could and I’m proud of each and every one of you. And now tired as we all are, we must splice the cable again. I haven’t left this deck, but someone has and that man is our Fenian traitor. I say we find the dog and deal with him ourselves!”

There was a chorus of agreement and Ailish had to give the devil his due: Dalton had a way of speaking that was very persuasive. The men, frustrated and volatile, were close to rioting and she was sure who Dalton would suggest as a target. She couldn’t believe the cable would have to be spliced again! Her own back ached at the thought. She admired the toughness of these sailors and was very glad she wasn’t the one who would have to fix the blasted thing.

“Wait!” Cyrus Field pushed to the front of the throng. The American raised his hands for silence. “The signal’s started again! The cable is sound once more.”

A grateful murmur ran through the crowd and the relief was obvious on all the men’s faces save one. Rufus Dalton looked furious and Ailish knew it was because his plot against Paddy had been foiled. With an angry curse, he jumped down from the cannon and was swallowed up by the jostling crowd.

Ailish shoved and pushed her way through the melee. She thought she caught a glimpse of him disappearing behind one of the cabooses, but when the crowd thinned and she was finally able to run after him, he was nowhere in sight.

Stumbling, Ailish decided this was too much excitement for her. She was so tired, she could hardly walk and she certainly couldn’t think straight. She simply had to get some rest before tracking him to his den. That was one good thing about being at sea – no one could go far. He’d be aboard tomorrow when her brain was clearer and not muzzy from lack of sleep.

Ailish left the crowd and made her way belowdecks to find the stateroom Davy had told her about, but the ship was so immense, that before long she was thoroughly lost. She wandered the hallways and hatchways, hopelessly muddled and feeling more dejected by the minute. She certainly wasn’t going to go mincing back to Mr. Pigheaded Jones, interrupting his work to ask for directions again like some ninny.

At last, after miles of corridors and rooms and tramping from deck to deck without success, Ailish spied a sign that said Family Saloon and went to have a look, carefully closing the door behind her. Soft light from the hallway spilled in through a row of windows set high in the wall. Here was more evidence of the Great Eastern’s earlier glory. In the room were shelves of toys and games, long disused rocking horses with real horsehair manes and tails, and children’s wooden blocks with faded gold letters painted on their sides. A colourful toy box drew her like a magnet and she rummaged in it finding a china faced doll with a broken leg and a teddy bear with one eye missing as well as an entire army of lead soldiers. Tucked in a corner of the old box, a shiny brass whistle on a chain winked at her invitingly. She found it irresistible and slid it over her head, deciding no rough crewman on a cable-laying ship would want such a trifle.

It was then she noticed a divan in the corner. It looked so inviting and she was so very tired; surely it wouldn’t hurt to have a small rest. Yawning, Ailish decided she would take a ten minute catnap, and then continue on. Only ten minutes…

Noises in the hallway woke her with a start. She could hear sailors’ voices and they were getting louder. She sat up when they stopped right outside the Family Saloon. Quietly, she slid off the couch and tiptoed over to the door, then pressed her ear against the cool wood. Two sailors were talking about the cable fault and the Irish Fenian traitor.

“Dalton says we can break his legs and dump him overboard when we find him.” she heard one sailor say.

“It won’t be the first time. Just be glad we’re not on his fish food list!” the second laughed.

Ailish shuddered. What if they came into the playroom and found her? She was Irish and had no way to explain what she was doing here. What if they thought she was the Fenian and took her to Dalton?

She’d been foolish to sleep here. There was no place to hide. As she stepped back, her foot trod on a cup from a child’s tea service. The fragile china shattered into a thousand pieces. The noise was a thunderclap in the silent room.

“What was that?” the first sailor asked.

“Maybe ghosties comin’ for ye,” the other snorted.

“Nay, man, I heard something. What’s in that room?”

Ailish stared at the door knob, watching for it to turn. Holding her breath, she waited, and waited…

“You need to lay off the grog,” the second ruffian growled; then, like a prayer answered, the footsteps continued and the voices faded.

She exhaled with relief. That had been too close. She couldn’t risk one more minute here. Edging the door open a crack, she checked to make sure the coast was clear, then hurriedly left the playroom feeling like a child in a game of hide and seek with Stateroom A hiding and her seeking.

Some of the corridors looked suspiciously familiar and Ailish wondered how many times she’d been down the same ones. She had no choice but to find Davy and plead with him to show her the way. She hated the idea of grovelling but had resigned herself to the upcoming humiliation when at the end of the next corridor, a sign pointed to First Class Accommodations.

Hope made her feel giddy as she hurried forward. Surely this was where she’d find her quarters. Relief quickly turned to awe as she walked toward the tall double doors marked Stateroom A. They were oak with ornate flowers and vines carved across the polished surface.

Gingerly, she twisted the handle only to have her hope sink. It held fast. She was locked out. The benefits from her nap had long since worn off and weariness weighted her eyelids again. She slumped to the floor. Now what? Looking up and down the hallway, she saw nothing she could use to help her open the door.

She noticed the small section of floor near her was scratched. It was out of place as it was the only portion of the shiny wooden hardwood that was marred in any way. She peered closer. If she scrunched her eyes just right, there appeared to be letters written in the scratches.

Silly, but she could have sworn the letters looked like T-R-Y. Sure, she’d try, but try what? She scrutinized the solidly locked door keeping her away from her soft bed. Yes, of course, try again! The room hadn’t been used in a while; maybe the door was simply stuck. She jumped up and grabbed the handle firmly twisting it but met the same stubborn resistance as before. Now breaching the door became a personal challenge. It was the same story she and every other Irishman knew too well – a fancy, rich English barrier keeping her from her heart’s desire. Well, she’d see about that!

Steeling herself, Ailish backed up and launched herself at the stubborn wood, hitting it hard with her shoulder. She was sure she’d have a bruise, but it had been worth it as, with a reluctant groan, the elaborate door surrendered and swung wide.

Giving the hallway a quick check to make sure no one had heard the commotion, she stepped inside.

Her mouth dropped open as she took in the large room. The double-decked berths were draped with sumptuous curtains of red velvet and the plush chairs and couch made her want to swoon. There were gas lights in filigree sconces on the walls, a writing desk and overstuffed chair and a rich Persian carpet on the floor. Did ordinary people actually live in splendor like this? The only person she knew who enjoyed this level of pampering was Uncle Peter, and he was a knight with a castle! Perhaps this had been the accommodation of kings and queens.

She unlaced her boots, quickly kicking them off, and then squished her toes in the thick carpet, sighing with pleasure. A reflection in the large gilded mirror caught her eye and she stopped. Who was that scarecrow looking back?

Her chopped auburn hair stuck out at all angles and her sunken cheekbones made her cornflower blue eyes look enormous. With her shabby clothes and dirty face, she looked like an urchin from the backstreets of Dublin.

Moving to the washstand, Ailish was delighted to see fresh water in the pitcher. Piling her clothes on the beautiful couch, she poured a generous splash into the delicate porcelain bowl and cleaned up as best she could. With trembling fingers, she clambered into the snug, soft bed and lay back with a sigh. The cotton sheets were crisp and the feather counterpane was as light as... well, as a feather! She thought of her da and sent him a good-night kiss. Drifting off, she couldn’t help but feel she’d found a safe harbour here in her luxury digs and that, there was no denying, she owed to Mr. Davy Jones.