started down the short staircase and slipped. Before she could grab the railing, she fell back on her bottom, hit the steps, and slid all the way down, her skirt hiking up as she went.
“Damn me!” Freddy took one look and started away, Mary close behind.
Letty wanted to follow, but how could she leave her newfound friend behind? She knelt beside Betsey. “Does anything hurt?”
“Just my dignity.” Betsey started to giggle. “Look, my bloomers are showing.”
“It’s not funny. We’ve got to get out of here.” Letty reached to help Betsey tug her skirt down, but before she could, the dining room doors swung open and diners started through. She and Betsey were blocking the steps, but too late now.
Honoria Leffington was the first through the door. She looked down the steps and in a shrill voice cried, “Who are these people?”
A white-bearded man in uniform appeared. Judging from all the gold braid and gold buttons, he had to be the captain. He took one look. “Terribly sorry, Mrs. Leffington. Steerage class has strict orders to stay where they belong.”
“Well, I should think so.” Her nose pinched as if she were smelling something bad. “I don’t want my voyage ruined by these wretched steerage people.”
Wretched steerage people? How dare she? Letty had to choke back her anger. She must get out of this horribly embarrassing situation soon as she could and get Betsey back to where they belonged.
A tall, broad-shouldered man appeared in the doorway and asked, “What’s going on?”
Honoria sniffed with contempt. “Just look, Garth. These people from steerage think they can come up to first class and take advantage.”
Garth? Oh, no, no, no. Garth Morgan couldn’t possibly be on this ship, yet there he stood, staring down at her. She turned her face away. Maybe he hadn’t recognized her. Seconds passed, and she had to look back.
He still stood at the top of the steps staring down, a look of recognition slowly dawning, followed by amazement. “Aren’t you…? Why yes, I know you. You came to my home.”
“You know this woman?” Honoria asked, her voice edged with astonishment.
Garth ignored her, came down the steps, and extended his hand to Betsey. “Are you all right, miss? Can you get up?”
Betsey emitted a self-conscious giggle, obviously unaccustomed to a gallant, impeccably dressed gentleman offering his help. She took his hand. “I do believe I’m all right. Haul me up, if you don’t mind.”
As Garth pulled Betsey to her feet, Letty arose, too, her thoughts flying in all directions. Garth Morgan was the last person in the world she expected to see—wanted to see. The villain! He’d robbed her brother, she was sure of it. Unbelievable that they were on the same ship together. She’d better make it clear she’d have nothing to do with him. She looked him in the eye. “You are correct, sir. I’m Leticia Tinsley, and I came to your home not too long ago. Our visit ended in a most unpleasant manner, and I’ve not forgotten.”
He regarded her quizzically. “What are you doing in steerage?”
“What do you think? I’m going to California to search for Charles.”
“But steerage?” He seemed taken aback, had to take a moment to gather his thoughts. “You still think I took his gold?”
“I’ve no reason to believe otherwise.” She had to get away, had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. She turned to Betsey. “Are you all right? Can you walk?”
“I’m just fine.”
“Then let’s go.” She looked back at Garth. “Good night, sir. I trust our paths won’t cross again.” She took Betsey’s arm and led her away, breathing a sigh of relief as she did so. What a shock seeing that awful man. At least the ship was big enough that if her luck held, they wouldn’t meet, especially since she was in steerage. She would certainly never venture up to first class again. As for the journey across the Isthmus, she had no idea what to expect. She only knew she wanted nothing to do with Garth Morgan and would avoid him at all costs.
They found the stairway that led to steerage. On the way down, as they crept in the darkness, Betsey asked, “Why were you rude to that gentleman when he was just being kind?”
“It’s a long story.”
“He’s uncommon handsome.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“Did you hear that awful woman, complaining about us steerage people? Didn’t I tell you what she’s like?”
“You were right.”
They reached their cabin. Stuffy and cramped though it was, Letty crawled into her bunk, happy to be back. The ship swayed gently. The muted thump-thump of the paddlewheels lulled her to sleep in no time.
* * * *
“What’s wrong with you, Garth? I’d swear you’re not listening.”
“Of course I’m listening, Honoria. Do go on.” Would the woman never stop talking? She sat across from him in the lounge, her mouth running non-stop except when she stopped to sip her after-dinner Cognac. The hell of it was he hadn’t heard a word she’d said nor did he care to. Lord help him, here they were, not a day into the voyage and he’d already had enough of the obnoxious Honoria Leffington, childhood friend notwithstanding. So far, she’d complained about the food, accommodations, and the lamentable fact her maid was in steerage, therefore inaccessible, as if she, Honoria, wasn’t the one who’d been too miserly to pay for a second-class ticket.
“…and I’m curious, Garth. Why did you say that?”
“Say what?” He’d better pay attention. He would grin and bear it because he must, for his mother’s sake. He always kept his promises, so yes indeed, he would escort Honoria safely to San Francisco or perish in the attempt, and it might be a blessing if he did.
“I’m talking about that conversation you had with that young woman in steerage, the one with the blond hair. It sounded as if you knew each other.”
“We met briefly one time.”
“It also sounded as if you didn’t like each other.” Honoria lifted her chin and aimed a cold, hard look at him. “What could you possibly have in common with a steerage person?”
Enough was enough. He smiled pleasantly. “Let’s change the subject.”
“Oh, very well, although I can’t help but wonder…”
She was off again in that awful grating voice of hers. Easy to shut her out. Good question, though. She’d been observant enough to catch the enmity between himself and the “steerage person.” Come to think of it, why did that conversation with the prickly Miss Tinsley leave him with a twist in his gut? Letty, she was called. More to the point, why should he care? He had no interest in why she was going to California by steerage or what she would do when she got there. Not his concern. An image he couldn’t get rid of floated in front of his eyes: Letty kneeling beside that silly friend of hers, blond
