Lady in Rags

Chapter Ten: Women Know

Jane Walthrope paced the deck of the Princess Anne like a tiger pacing a cage. She liked to travel, and she didn't mind ships, but after three days of sharing the company of her middle-aged sister-in-law in the narrow quarters of the French-bound liner, she was beginning to feel intellectually and socially cramped. It had been a charitable impulse of hers to take her spinsterly, impoverished sister-in-law to Paris for a month. She was quickly realizing how much that charity truly cost – not the money, she had enough of that – but, oh, what a chore to have to keep biting your tongue when you think of something clever and cruel to say, for Elise Walthrope would be so distressed to hear it, and what a pain to have to avoid flirting with all the charming, gentlemanly strangers you might meet, for Elise Walthrope would be so horrified by your impropriety.

Jane scowled to herself and leaned her back against the railing and examined the other passengers and crew on the deck. Elise was a good woman, but she was a very boring one, and Jane found nothing more painful than boredom. But at last she had left her sister-in-law in her cabin for the afternoon, and was free of that oppressive, moralistic presence. Free, indeed, through a piece of immoral trickery. Jane had deliberately torn a seam in one of her morning dresses, and Elise, being so good and servile and grateful, had insisted on mending it, as Jane knew she would. It would take her all afternoon.

Her temper relaxing quickly, for Jane was sanguine in temperament and never remained angry long, she began to run her clever eyes over the crew members and passengers. None of them, however, pleased her overly much. Was she then destined to spend the rest of the journey to Brest in solitude, or a companionship so dowdy it made solitude seem preferable?

But no. A new man appeared on the deck, coming down the steps from the stern, with a faint, attractive limp in his step, and his hair, more grey than black, tossed by the wind into a charming mess on top of his head.

Jane watched him thoughtfully. She had not seen him before, in the dining hall or any other room on board. He walked towards her, and she boldly kept her gaze on him, but he walked past seemingly without seeing her at all. It irked her, as she dressed to be seen, and with admiration. She kept watching him, as he walked down the deck, and then turned and walked back, the wind pulling his hair first to one side of his head, and then to the other, wondering how she would conquer his attention – for Jane's relationships with men were always battles, and she always the victor.

But as he came closer again, a strange feeling of recognition came to her – was it, no – it couldn't be!?

"Neil?"

He walked on by her again, head bowed, frowning, but she definitely recognized him now, though it had been thirteen years since she had last laid eyes on him. How many times had she seen that worried expression!

"Neil! Mr Armiger!" she called, pushing away from the railing and following him. At the third time, he turned in surprise. "Really, Neil!" she said severely. "Are you deaf?"

He stared at her, blank confusion on his face, and she laughed at his surprise.

"Or are just old, and forgotten me? I know I haven't changed that much, surely."

Slowly, the confusion on his face morphed into realization. The frown on his face disappeared, and became a wide, incredulous smile. "...Jane? Jane Gardiner!? Why – you have changed! When I last saw you..."

She gasped in mock horror. "No! No if I have changed do not mention it! I will not have you mention it!"

He laughed. "When I last saw you, we were both children! Of course you've changed! How could you not?"

But he was the one who had changed, to her eyes. He had been such an awkward, ungainly boy, with too much hair, and nose, and limb. Somehow, he had emerged from the ugly chrysalis of adolescence as a handsome and elegant male creature, well worthy of her attentions.