Chapter VI

Not many people were above deck now. The sky was lowering and the motion of the boat had already sorted out the good sailors from the bad, sending the latter below to suffer in privacy. And even those who did not mind the rolling sea, did not care to brave the chill winds and stayed below as well. Catherine had discovered that she was a good sailor, or perhaps it was just that she was so distressed that it would not matter to her if she were in the center of a tidal wave. Her own thoughts were in such turmoil that the motion of the ship could not match them for turbulence.

She stood at the deck and gripped the rail tightly with her mittened fingers. A great many things made sense to her now—from the duchess’s servants’ attitudes to the attitude of Madame Bertrand, to even the marquis’ mocking comments. Her face flamed when she thought of him and what she now knew he had meant every time he spoke to her. But she was not a stupid girl, and the fact that she had seen nothing in her situation that was not glaringly out of line distressed her almost as much as the opinions of the marquis and everyone she had met in the duchess’s service.

For there was no doubt in her mind now. The artless Rose had prattled on and on till she had erased all doubts. She had been hired on only because Rose and Violet were not available, and Rose and Violet had been beautiful women, and young, at least far younger than the general run of ladies’ companions in the marketplace. But there was no doubt, as incredible as it seemed, Rose and Violet were women of low repute. Catherine thought of all the euphemisms she had ever heard. They were demireps, they were fancy pieces. Oh, Lord, she thought, have an end to it, they were women who catered to the darker needs of strange gentlemen, whatever you called them.

And here she was, Catherine Robins, unmarried daughter of a younger son related to the great house of the Earl of Dorset, brought up as properly and as poorly as a churchmouse, traveling companion to a duchess and two highly paid cyprians. And presently almost penniless and precisely in the midst of the English Channel. I truly am “at sea,” Catherine grieved.

She tried to marshal her thoughts. For she had to decide on some plan of action immediately. Every moment brought her closer to France. The worst, she thought sadly, was done. She had hired on—she had been introduced into the household of the Duchess of Crewe. And all those that had seen or met her most probably thought her on a par with Rose and Violet. What is done is irremediable, she thought vehemently, in an effort to think clearly, pushing aside intrusive thoughts of the disdainful marquis. It was the future she had to think on.

Her first impulse was to cut and run. She felt sullied by her new knowledge and sick at heart at her new understanding of Rose and Violet. The best thing would be to turn and go at once. But then she did some sums rapidly in her head. She had spent a great deal of her money on those foolish lace and brocades she had bought to embellish and repair her gowns. And most of the remainder of her income had gone for Jane and Arthur’s presents and gratuities to the servants in the duchess’s London house when she had left. If she should decide to turn right back and go home on a return ship when they landed at Dieppe, she would have barely enough to reach her home shores. Then there would be the problem of how to obtain enough funds to pay the many stage fares to see her home to the north country.

How could she even think of borrowing from either Rose or Violet? She could not approach them and say, “I cannot travel with two females as low as you are. My sensibilities are wounded to be even considered in the same light as you. So please lend me enough money to go home.” And if she shuddered to think of how respectable people thought of her, she now also had a few guilty feelings about Rose and Violet’s opinions of her. For no sooner had Rose done with her long and artless talk than Catherine had stared at her and blurted, “I did not know! I had no idea,” and had rushed, shocked and shamed, from the cabin.

That, she thought, furious with herself, had been unnecessary and cruel.

The major problem, she tried to think dispassionately, was the duchess. For she did not know her well enough to know what her true opinion of her companions was. The dowager was such a dignified, socially secure woman that Catherine found it hard to believe she knew the truth about her companions. She had always spoken of Rose and Violet’s doings in terms of their “high jinks” and “larks” and “nonsense.” It was, Catherine thought desperately, entirely possible that the old woman was naive enough to think they were just innocent romps. Or equally possible that the duchess’s mind was turned with age, and that she truly did not notice such goings-on.

The duchess had made it clear that she would hold her wages till the trip was done, or pay quarterly, and, in truth, since paying a sum of money a few weeks past, she owed not a cent to Catherine. All of her wages were yet to be earned. Why should the dowager just hand over monies to a companion who quit her employ the moment they had begun their journey?

And, Catherine thought with a start, if the duchess’s companions had such a reputation, how could Catherine ever find decent employment in London again? For the duchess would never write a reference if she quit so precipitously. But more, even if she did, such a reference would not be worth the paper it was written on.

After a half hour in the biting wind on the rolling deck, only two things were abundantly clear to Catherine. One was that she did not have enough resources to get safely home by herself. And two was that she did not have the resources to go safely on with the duchess. Yet every moment the ship bore her onward.

She bent with her head cradled in her arms, by the rail of the ship, cold within and without, until a light touch on her arm recalled her to herself.

“Why, Miss Robins, are you ill?” Jenkins’ voice asked softly.

She looked up to see his concerned face close to hers. His was a lined and weathered visage. His hazel eyes looked as though they had squinted against many suns, and his short-cropped brown hair and neatness of person made him seem a comforting figure. He was old enough to be her father, and looked as though he might consider himself as such. She was tempted to blurt out her whole wretched story to him, stranger though he was. But then another familiar voice said, “The sea is not always kind to newcomers. Our little country mouse has strayed too far from her farmhouse.”

Catherine’s head shot up and she looked with a mixture of embarrassment and defiance at the marquis. “I am not ill,” she said. “I was only thinking about things. And I lost track of the hours.”

She wondered suddenly if she could confide in him. He, alone of all the people on the ship was a familiar face. He would certainly have the resources not to miss advancing the small amount of money to see her safely home. If only she could strike the right conciliatory note, perhaps he could even give her some advice, for he was a worldly man. She hoped that he would unbend for a moment to give her the chance to speak freely. Jenkins, she saw, was watching her with a kind, concerned expression. She kept her gaze on the marquis as he stood and looked down at her with eyes as fathomless as the slate-gray sea they were crossing and she began to pluck up her courage.

Before she could speak again, he smiled, not at all kindly, and said in an explanatory fashion to Jenkins, “No, she’s not a bit afflicted with mal de mer. So put away your vinaigrette, Jenkins. Rather, I think, Miss Robins is afflicted with a surfeit of companionship. Her cabin is literally bulging at the seams. The fair Rose has joined Violet, and now the duchess has a veritable bower of pretty flowers in her employ. Rose, Violet, and Catherine. That does not have the right ring to it. You ought to change your name, little one, to Forget-me-not, to ensure your standing with the duchess. And the gentlemen. Miss Robins is here, I think, Jenkins, because it is difficult for a little young country flower to keep her head high in the presence of two such spectacular blooms as Rose and Violet. But never fear,” he said, laying one gray-gloved hand across her cheek to tuck back in an errant wind-whipped curl. “There are many gentlemen aboard who are weary of hothouse blossoms and who will welcome a fresh young English nosegay such as yourself.”

All of Catherine’s fears and shame coalesced into one direct and burning emotion of hatred toward the marquis. He stood there smiling, he who had been her one possible lifeline, and dashed all her nebulous hopes of escape to bits with his words. She had thought to confide in him, but before she had been able to breathe one word, he had begun a frontal attack upon her. She dashed his hand away and looked at him with brimming eyes.

“I find your humor ill bred,” she said. “And your inferences impertinent. Good day.” And she turned on her heel and walked off. After one moment’s silence, she heard a laughing “Bravo!” called in the distance behind her.

“Didn’t she carry that off well?” the marquis laughed. “Like the dowager herself. She is a quick study, I’ll be bound.”

“I think you’re being a bit hard on her, lad,” Jenkins said reproachfully.

The marquis’ face hardened and he turned to look out to sea. “She’s only a little artificial flower, after all, Jenkins. Don’t tell me you’re touched and believe her role as ingenue?”

“As to that,” Jenkins said, turning to face the sea as well, to get a last glimpse of home, “I couldn’t say. But no matter what she is, she’s only a girl. It’s not like you to get so spiteful, especially toward a woman. I saw you chatting up Violet as nice as can be. And she’s a right old tart.”

“But she’s an honest old tart,” the marquis answered slowly, “with no dissembling. Our Miss Robins aspires to play the grand lady; it’s that, I think, that tickles me.”

“Don’t seem to tickle you. Seems to gall you,” Jenkins said.

“Perhaps. Perhaps it is just that I value honesty. And I might like her very well if she would drop that facade of purity.”

“Well,” said Jenkins at length, “facade’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? With all of them? Pretending to be attracted and then pleasured, with a fellow pretending he don’t notice the pretense. That’s all part of the trade.”

“And probably why I don’t patronize such businesswomen,” the marquis said loftily, till he caught Jenkins’ eye and then laughed lightly. “Or at least such obvious tradeswomen. You old wretch, you make me admit my every pretense.”

“Seems you were interested enough in our bold little Violet,” Jenkins ruminated.

“It always pays, Jenkins, to have the friendship of such females. For there’s a great many pillows that they have their ears to, and a great deal of information they can, all unwittingly, be privy to. So although I don’t have any designs on Violet, and well she knows it, it does pay to be in her good graces.”

“Then, why are you going out of your way to alienate the little beauty?” Jenkins asked innocently.

“Be damned to you,” the marquis said pleasantly, and as he cuffed Jenkins’ shoulder, they both began to laugh.

“It’s just that ’tis pity she’s a whore,” the marquis finally said, when Jenkins thought he had forgotten the subject.

“You can’t be sure of that, either,” Jenkins finally replied.

“Oh yes, and Violet may be contemplating a life in the convent. Give over, old friend.”

“Then meet her price and see.”

“I’m not interested in the question,” the marquis said, yawning.

And it’s not often that you lie to me, Jenkins thought, looking at the marquis’ profile, or to yourself.

“It’s not such a bad crossing, for January,” Jenkins said eventually, to dispel the marquis’ frown.

“What? Oh no, it isn’t,” his companion replied, and they talked of ships and crossings till the wind blew them below to seek refuge as well.

Catherine went back to her cabin, because she had nowhere else to go. And because she wanted to make amends to Rose and Violet.

She had no idea, as she crept back in, of what a fight had been raging before her return. For Rose and Violet now sat calmly, looking through their belongings, not speaking a word to each other.

But the moment Catherine had risen, ashen-faced, and fled, they had both sat there in stunned silence.

“Oh Vi,” Rose had wailed after a moment, “see how you’ve made a mull of it? You told me she was one of us, up to every trick, young as she was. And though when I first laid eyes on her I doubted it, really I doubted it, still you told me she was a deep one. And now, you see, you was wrong. She’s just a little innocent and I’ve gone and shocked her to the bone. Oh I could bite out my tongue.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Violet countered, sitting up and throwing away her pillow, with a look of furious dismay on her face. “It’s all part of her game, I tell you. She never drops her guard, not for a moment. All meek and mild, and she’d stab you in the back in a minute. I know her kind.”

“That you don’t,” Rose shouted with unaccustomed heat. “For where would you ever meet such a sweet young innocent?”

“Stupid cow,” Violet charged back. “If she was such a sweet young innocent, what would she be doing signing on with the old torment for?”

“Well, that’s it exactly,” Rose sniffed, overtaken with remorse. “She’d hire on with Her Grace exactly because she didn’t know what she was about. For we did leave the dowager in the lurch, and that you do know. And when she asked me for the name of a replacement, I didn’t give her any, ’cause I wanted to leave the door open, in case things didn’t work out. And it’s a good job I did. But I’ll wager you didn’t give her a name neither. So she must have hired on this little pretty, just ’cause she’s so pretty and young and know-nothing.” And Rose dabbled at her eyes with the edge of the bed covers.

“I never thought you were such a flat, Rose,” Violet sneered. “To be taken in so by an act of innocence.”

“Well, it’s true that I’ve been taken in, many times, by the gentlemen,” Rose said slowly, “for I don’t understand them at all, I think. Or maybe it’s just that I keep expecting things of them that just ain’t there. But I do know women. And I’ll stake my life on that little thing’s honesty. For if she was up to snuff, why shouldn’t she come clean with us? You’ve done a terrible wrong, Vi, that you have.”

Violet, assailed by self-doubt, struck back instantly. “Rose, I vow Carlton took half your brains with him when he took all your money. Do you think the old fiend would run the risk of hiring on a good girl of good birth and reputation?”

“And I think you’ve gotten hard as nails, Violet; of course, she would, seeing as how she’s half turned in the head. And well you know it too. Didn’t you just say on our last trip as to how it wouldn’t be long before the old cow would be in Bedlam, and how we might never meet on another jaunt together again? Not that I ever approved of how you refer to Her Grace. Because dicked in the nob or not, she’s still a duchess, mind. Mad as hatter though she may be. So, of course, she’d hire on some sweet young thing. And a sweet young thing she is. I’ve never seen her on the town, and you haven’t neither. Oh I feel like a brute, Vi, really I do, and you would too, if you hadn’t grown so hard.”

“Well, I haven’t grown so hard as your head, Rose,” Violet shrieked in a voice that would have stood her in good stead in her first chosen profession, the stage. “And don’t you start blaming me—it was your babbling, your going on and on about your exploits that sent her flying, not mine. I was close mouthed as can be with her. So don’t put the blame on me.”

“You’ve grown cruel, and hard, yes hard, Violet,” Rose stated with ponderous calm. “And I’m sorry for it.”

The two fell silent, avoiding each other’s eye. And they went about pointedly searching through their portmanteaus, deep in their own thoughts, in exaggerated silence, till Catherine tapped lightly and entered their cabin again, after her time thinking on the deck.

Catherine spoke very quietly.

“I am very sorry,” she said, in the voice of a small child who has committed some grave misdemeanor and is determined to beg forgiveness as nicely as she is able, “about the way that I behaved. It was unconscionably rude on my part. Perhaps it was just that I was angry at myself for not seeing what was afoot. I quite deceived myself. And it was wrong in me to have given you the impression that I was disapproving or angry at you. For, you see, I was angry, but only at myself.”

“Oh there, there, my dear,” Rose cried, seeing the girl standing head bowed and alone in the center of their little room, “we didn’t take anything amiss, did we, Vi? So you must not apologize, certainly not, right, Vi?”

“Right,” Violet said, looking uncharacteristically conscious. “Not a thing to apologize for. “

“That is very kind of you,” Catherine said, and then, turning her large anxious eyes to both of them in turn, she asked, hesitantly, “But there is something I must ask you. And it is very difficult for me, so please bear with me for a moment, and pray do not take offense.”

“Oh we shall not,” Rose hastened to tell her, looking very anxious herself.

“It is just this,” Catherine began. “Does Her Grace, that is to say, this is of primary importance to me, does the duchess know and condone your, ah, activities that go beyond companioning her?”

“As to that, you see, my dear, we really could not say,” Rose said nervously. “Her Grace gives us free time once she is abed and no longer requires our presence. She is a very free, that is to say, a very—”

“Liberal,” Violet put in quickly, seeing Rose stumble.

“Yes, an exceedingly liberal employer. And she does not care what we get up to when she is not abroad. That is, so long as we are discreet and do not embroil her in any of our activities.”

“Then,” Catherine ventured, raising her head, “you are not required to—to do,” she stammered, “what you do?”

“Oh, Lord love you, no,” Rose laughed in relief. “That is not the case at all. Why, just ask Vi, she traveled with Her Grace for a season before I signed on.”

“Rose speaks no less than truth,” Violet said hastily, “for the duchess hired me only as companion.”

“Just so,” said Rose in satisfaction.

“But I do not understand, surely she must have heard…she does not care, then, you say?”

“The duchess,” Violet said quickly, “enjoys the attention we bring her. She enjoys the notice she receives when we are with her. As to what she may have heard, we cannot say.”

“So, then,” Catherine went on, thinking aloud, “she does not expect me to, she does not require me to…”

“Oh never, I’m sure,” Rose said in horrified tones. “She never discusses such things with us.”

“Then I can stay on,” Catherine asked hopefully, “and only be a companion, and nothing else? No matter,” she said, with a little shake of her head, “what anyone else thinks? I cannot see how I can turn and leave now. And once I return home to Kendal, I shall, in any event, hardly be running into anyone that I have met here. Kendal is such a long, long way from London and Paris in so many ways,” Catherine thought aloud, “that it hardly matters what anyone in the duchess’s set thinks of me. So, after this journey, I will retire and go to live out my life back home where no one has ever heard of the duchess to begin with. Not,” she said, aghast at her ruminations, “that you would not be welcome in Kendal. Or that I think anything—”

Violet cut her off with a wry smile.

“Give over, Miss Catherine. If you are a nice little thing from the country, if you are well born, of course you’re shocked to flinders to find yourself with us. We’re hardly the sort of companions a well-bred miss hopes to find herself with. But that don’t bother us. So you’re staying on then?”

“If you think, and I truly ask you please to tell me the truth, that I can go forward with the duchess and not be expected by her to—to pursue another trade.”

Violet gave out a little yip of laughter.

“Oh, that’s a nice way of putting it. I suppose your pockets are to let, then?”

Catherine nodded sadly.

“Well, we can’t help you out there neither. For we’re both in the same case. But once we get ashore, we can remedy that, and if you want, we’ll advance you the funds to skip out.” Violet looked almost as shocked as Rose and Catherine did at her sudden burst of generosity.

“Oh no, no,” Catherine protested immediately. “That wouldn’t be right.” Catherine thought suddenly of the names she could put to someone who profited from a cyprian’s earnings and then blurted, afraid that her companions might know the nature of her thoughts from her horrified expression, “I would not ask you to be responsible for me. For if I can go on solely as a companion, as I was engaged to do, I can see the journey out and then take my earnings and go home.”

“Of course you can go on with us. In fact, we can put the word about the gentlemen that you are not”—Rose paused—“of a sporting disposition.”

Violet winced at Rose’s effort to tidy up her speech, and then, considering the young miss so sadly lost in their midst, thought rapidly. For no doubt the little beauty would draw the gentlemen like flies to a picnic basket. And then she and Rose could only profit the more from the fact that she was unwilling to go off with them. She smiled with perfect charity at Catherine.

“Rose is right, we’ll tell them, never fear. And there is no reason to concern yourself as to the duchess’s caring one jot one way or the other. She’ll be glad enough if you only play the companion well. All she wants is for heads to turn when she appears. She don’t give a tinker’s damn as to what you do to occupy your free time. Whether you sew a fine seam alone in your room or dance naked in a fountain, it’s all the same to her. And that’s the truth.”

“Very true,” seconded Rose.

“And,” Violet said triumphantly, “you yourself said no one at home is likely to ever know what the duchess and her set is about. So cheer up. It will be a good journey. Rose and I will be amiable enough. And all the duchess wants of you is to keep by her side in good looks. You can just put all else out of your mind.”

“You two must think me a fool,” Catherine said sadly.

“Oh no,” Rose protested. “We were all young once. Only, perhaps, not quite so young.”

Catherine laughed. And then she looked at her two fellow companions.

“I think I shall grow up quite a bit on this journey.”

“Travel is broadening,” Rose agreed complacently, ignoring the weary look Violet shot her.