Summary:  When Adam invited Joe to come to Europe for a holiday, he never imagined the consequences.

Rating: T
Word Count: 9,898

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“All the world’s a stage,
and all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances;
and one man in his time plays many parts.”

 

Prologue

“Mmmm.”

“Take it easy, Joe.

“Adam?”

“I’m here.”

“Where am I?”

“The infirmary. You’ve got a bad concussion.”

“S’plains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Sharp guy.”

Sharp guy?  I must have looked perplexed for while I was trying to decipher Joe-speak, Dr. Hantz interceded.

“It’s not unusual. Many concussed patients are disoriented when they waken, especially after receiving as severe a blow as he did.”

“A cast iron frying pan upside the head will do that a fella.”

“Why would this man be in the galley? I thought he was a paying passenger.”

“I don’t know and he is.  Oh, wait … I do know.”

“Why he was in the galley?”

“No. I don’t have a clue about that, but I do know what he meant by ‘sharp guy.’ We visited Notre Dame before sailing. He was referring to the bell that rings a perfect F sharp.”

“Emmanuel.”

“Exactly.” I said. Now it was the doctor’s turn to look confused. “He feels like Emmanuel is pounding inside his head.”

“Again, to be expected. But if the patient is cognizant enough to make that connection, he’ll likely recover with no side effects. However, I’d like him to remain in the infirmary overnight—”

“—All right—”

“—and then be confined to his cabin until we dock in New York.”

“That’s three days from now.”

Dr. Hantz arched an eyebrow. “Will that be a problem?”

Only for me. “No, of course not.”

The doctor’s stern gaze telegraphed his skepticism. “Twenty-foot seas; 60 knot winds. Do I have to explain what another blow to the head would means should he fall?”

Properly chastised, I shook my head.

“Bring him back to the infirmary immediately if he experiences dizziness, neck pain, attention or memory issues. Is that clear?”

“Yes, doctor. Thank you.”

“I’ll leave instructions and some powders with the orderly. You can sign him out tomorrow morning. Good night.”

I had no intention of leaving my brother alone. Rough seas aside, I still didn’t know who clobbered him or why. Was the attack related to the Masque? I would have to have a word with Monsieur Péreire in the morning but meanwhile I would take advantage of the orderly’s presence and get answers some way, somehow.

**********

Day 1 – At Sea – Setting Sail

We left La Havre, France at 4 p.m. sailing westward, chasing a red-gold setting sun which sank slowly into a cobalt sea. In the afterglow, winds filled our sails, but the seas remained relatively calm, resulting in little impedance to our journey. Among the 2045 souls on board were 115 first-class Saloon Cabin passengers, my brother Joe among them. He’d traveled to France at my request, a present ostensibly for a belated 25th birthday but also as my way of thanking him for stepping up after I left the Ponderosa to travel the world in pursuit of my own dream and not that of our father.

As intended, I have seen the capitals of the world: Rome, London, Paris, Istanbul, Salzburg, Vienna, St. Petersburg, Venice, Madrid, Constantinople—all ports my father had visited—and I also sailed beyond to exotic places like Madagascar, Tahiti, Australia, New Zealand and the Sandwich Islands. On occasion, I’d meet up with sailors who, upon hearing my surname, asked if I was acquainted with a Ben Cartwright. When they learned I was his first-born son they couldn’t wait to tell me incredible tales. Tall or not, it was a treat to hear the stories. As brother Hoss has said on occasion, it is rare that Pa opens up about his life before marriage.

Prior to leaving the ranch, the furthest I’d ever traveled on my own had been to Boston to attend college. I lived there with Grandfather Stoddard, my mother’s father. He’d been Pa’s captain on the Wanderer and eagerly recounted his sea days to me, but shared little about Pa, except to say that he was a good first mate … not husband, I noted.

Grandfather was disappointed that my father had not continued to follow in his footsteps and I believe the result was the distance that grew between them. Or maybe it was because Pa took me away from him by moving west. All I know is that Grandfather never visited the ranch and seldom wrote to Pa, although as I grew older he and I kept in touch through letters and an occasional daguerreotype. Frankly, his offer for me to live with him while attending school came as a surprise.

More than room and board, the old man introduced me to the right people in Boston. People who aided my quest to excel in my engineering studies and who furthered my career as an architect. I disappointed Grandfather when I eventually moved back to Nevada and resumed a ranching life. I don’t believe he ever forgave me for that choice any more than he forgave my father. When he died and left me his house, I in turn disappointed my father by leaving the Ponderosa and moving to Boston. The only thing that redeemed me in Pa’s eyes was when I went to sea. That he could understand.

Eight bells.  Time for dinner. How odd it is to be eating in the dining saloon rather than in the officers’ mess.

**********

Day 1 – At Sea – Dinner

Our ticket on The French Line’s S/S Amerique included First-Class Dining-Saloon. When I entered a string quartet was playing Hayden’s Op 76 No 3. Excellent!

I was shown to a round table for 12 covered in Irish linen and set with Waterford crystal and Gotham silver. Its location in a rear alcove afforded a good view of the entire room. I chose a seat against the wall—a habit acquired growing up on the frontier where it was necessary to protect one’s backside when in unfamiliar territory. From there I could observe without being obvious about it.

The first-class passengers were of the usual sort that made an ocean crossing: wealthy businessmen, socialites, a few ne’er-do-wells and no doubt a con man or two hoping to find a mark. Down in steerage the emigrants fleeing Europe for a better life in America fixed their own meals.

An impeccably attired young man introduced himself as Albert our table’s waiter and handed me a menu of this evening’s dinner choices with a suggested wine pairing for each course. I apologized for arriving early and ordered an apéritif which was promptly served with a small plate of hors d’oeuvres.

While nibbling, I reviewed the events of the past month. Upon Joe’s arrival, I looked for any telltale signs of seasickness but he appeared to have suffered no ill effects from the two-week journey over on a packet ship other than the smell.

“Have you taken up smoking?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“You reek of tobacco.”

“That was the cargo coming over. The whole ship smells like this. I’ve gotten used to it, I guess.”

“Well, I haven’t. The first thing we do is get your clothes washed…and you too for that matter!”

“Hey, I can go home the same way I came if that’s what you want!”

 

Aside from that minor spat the reunion with my youngest brother has thus far been a joyful one, free from discord and disharmony and I was touched by the presents he brought like the leather-bound journal from Hoss and a new guitar from Pa. Joe’s gift was several sheets of music popular in the States, songs like Champagne Charlie, O Little Town of Bethlehem, and In the Sweet By and By.

I offered Joe the opportunity to visit other countries during his visit, but he was content to soak up the ambiance of his mother’s homeland and he had me repeat oft-told tales I heard from her lips about her childhood in Marseilles and Paris before her relocation to New Orleans where she met Pa.

We took in the sights like Notre Dame, the Catacombs, Arc de Triomphe, Sacré-Cœur and of course the Louvre, where he caught me off-guard with his comments on some of the paintings. There were art books at home and Pa saw to it that all of his sons were exposed to the masters. Still I was surprised by Joe’s depth of knowledge on some artists’ techniques. Whether he’d been studying on his own or because he was truly interested in such things remains a mystery.

What I realized early on was that the Joe I am traveling with today is not the man I remember. He is prematurely gray in his mid twenties much as our father had been. When I mentioned my hair was still black but thinning. Joe laughed and said, “Not as much as Hoss’s is!”

I am pushing forty, set in my ways, with no marriage prospects. Joe frowned when he learned that, leading me to believe that his secret reason for accepting my invitation was to gather details for Pa. I bristled at the thought. My love life, or lack thereof is none of my family’s business. Of course I have women friends and lovers, but no one who makes my heart sing as Ruth did. I confess I often grow melancholy at the mere thought of her. I suppose that mood is akin to what I’ve seen pass over Pa’s face when he thinks of my mother.

I snapped out of my reverie when I realized the conversation level in the room had risen and that although Albert was now seating others at the table my brother was not among them.

While Albert distributed menus, I slipped back into yesteryear. Although possessed of a ravenous appetite for such a scrawny kid, food has rarely been an incentive for Joe. Make no mistake, he can and does often out eat Hoss if the mood strikes but it’s on his terms not someone else’s . . . even Hop Sing.  Breakfast, dinner and supper on the Ponderosa were served with the type of military precision that wreaked havoc with Joe’s internal clock. It surprised me that our cook let my youngest brother get away with a more relaxed eating pattern than either I or Hoss had been allowed, but Joe had a way of currying favor with Hop Sing that defied the Chinaman’s rules without incurring his wrath.

I admit that Joe’s ability to twist the little man round his finger irked me. I thought him spoiled and didn’t hesitate to let our father know it.

Nevertheless, Joe’s non-appearance concerned me. Was he seasick? He hadn’t mentioned that condition afflicted him on the voyage over. Perhaps he lost track of the time or didn’t know that eight bells meant dinner. More likely he got caught up in conversation. He always has been a bit of a jabberwocky–to borrow a word from Lewis J. Carroll. He can talk a blue streak and, God knows, he can talk Hoss into anything.

I was brought back to the present by a flurry of activity at the entrance to the dining room as a stunning girl in her early twenties entered on Joe’s arm. Mother-of-pearl combs held cascading wheat-colored ringlets off her face and her ivory skin was fairly luminescent against the sapphire blue of her silk gown. The dress was formfitting with a high bustle in the fashion of the day and did little to hide her rather buxom figure. Thankfully, matching lace surrounded her décolletage. That didn’t stop Joe, however, from admiring the view when he held out a chair at our table for the young lady. When he leaned over her shoulder to place the napkin in her lap, he stared at her bosom, licked his lips, and then winked at me.

I sighed. It was going to be an interesting voyage.

**********

Albert soon asked for our dinner selections. True to the cattleman that he is, Joe ordered the Steak au Poivre with Potatoes Savoyarde. I decided on the Lemon Cod Fish Francaise with Dauphinoise Potatoes, as did several other guests. The rest chose Coq au Vin with roasted potatoes. On Albert’s recommendation, we all ordered Crème Brûlée for dessert.

A distinguished gentleman about my age or a little older was seated to my right. He suggested we introduce ourselves. “I am Edwin Wilson, Esq., partner at Cadwalader, Wickersham & Taft in New York City, returning home after attending a legal conference in Paris. I cross the Atlantic frequently and would be happy to answer questions if needed.”

“Adam Cartwright, architect currently residing in London. I am traveling to Nevada to visit family.” I turned to the gentleman to my left.

“Ah, Henri Chevalier. Excusez-moi, mon anglais n’est pas bon. Je suis relieur. J’habite a Lyon. Je vais en Amérique rendre visite à ma fille à Saint-Louis”

I volunteered to translate. “Permettez-moi de traduire, Monsieur Chevalier?”

“Bien sûr, avec mes remerciements.”

“Mr. Chevalier is a bookbinder from Lyon, France and will be visiting his daughter in St. Louis, Missouri. If no one has any objection, I will continue to translate for Monsieur Chevalier’s benefit.”

“Lady Margaret Egerton. My late husband was the Second Earl of Ellesmere. I am traveling the world, much to the chagrin of my children who think me in my dotage—but pish tosh what do they know?” The dowager’s up-swept hair was mostly white with just a hint of red and the twinkle in her blue eyes bespoke a wild streak in her youth.  No doubt a force to be reckoned with.

”Anouk de Vries. I-I’m 19 and, um, this was my first trip to the Continent. I am, um, from M-Michigan, um Holland, Michigan and I’m, um, returning home after visiting my grootvader–grandfather–in Leiden. He is a p-professor at the University. I, um, I don’t know why I’m at this table with all of you, um, p-professional and, um, rich people.” Miss DeVries tucked a lock of mousy brown hair behind an ear and said, I’m s-sorry, I’m so nervous.”

Befitting her title and class, Lady Margaret immediately set about making the shy young girl feel comfortable. She patted Miss DeVries’s arm and said, “You are doing fine, my dear. No need to be frightened.” She looked around the table and said for everyone’s benefit. “The Leiden Botanical Garden introduced the tulip to Europe in 1590. I have a wonderful garden at Ellesmere, my dear, and would be honored if you would look at my botanical sketches.”

“Y-Yes, ma’am.”

“Lady Margaret.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Taking a cue from the dowager I added, “I had the pleasure of visiting Leiden last year, Miss DeVries. I would be interested in hearing what you thought of the architecture there as compared to what you find in America.”

“Yessir, ah, Mr. Cartwright.”

Joe rolled his eyes, but l ignored him.

A rather stern looking woman of perhaps middle age was next. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight chignon, and her expensive but dowdy clothing emphasized rather than softened the severity of her appearance. “Mrs. Gregory Worthington from Bristol, England. My husband is not well and will be spending the voyage in our cabin. He insists, however, that I partake in the activities on the ship so I am here unescorted much to my dismay.”

“Fiddlesticks,” Lady Margaret said, “the three of us—you and I and Miss DeVries—can chum around and get into all sorts of mischief.” I was beginning to like this woman.

Miss DeVries giggled but Mrs. Worthington was appalled. She jutted her chin into the air. “I do not ‘chum’ nor do I require your intercession,” she said in clipped tones.

An older gentleman to the left of Mrs. Worthington introduced himself as Matteo Rossi, an Italian entrepreneur and investment broker with lucrative business dealings on the Continent and in America. I noticed he perked up the instant Mrs. Worthington said her husband was confined to their cabin. Possibly a rake and a roue. He will bear watching.

“Jane Simmons, telegrapher.”

“Excuse me,” said Lady Margaret. “Can you explain ‘telegrapher’?”

“Of course. I operate a telegraph key for Western Union sending and receiving messages by Morse Code.”

Intrigued, I opened my mouth to ask Miss Simmons a question but was usurped.

“How fascinating! You must tell me more another time.”

“I would be happy to Lady Margaret. Thank you for your interest.”

“I’ve worked a telegraph key before… not for pay but as a relief operator. Knowing Morse Code comes in handy though when you need to signal someone.”

“And you are?” asked Miss Simmons.

“Pleased to meet you Miss.  I’m Joseph DeMarigny, horse breeder from Stockton, California. I’ve been in France looking at the Percheron and Boulonnais breeds for possible import to improve my line of draft horses.”

I nearly choked when Joe used his mother’s maiden name. I stared at him but his face was blank so I quickly translated for Monsieur Chevalier and then nodded to the young lady next to Joe to proceed.

“Aneline Havermeyer of the Charleston Havermeyers.”

Her honey-coated words were more of a question than a statement. Whether she was seeking recognition or affirmation was unclear and she drawled on.

“I’ve been attending finishing school in Switzerland but my Daddy took sick so I booked passage on this rather poor excuse for a ship because it was first available and I couldn’t bear to be absent from my daddy’s side in his time of need.”

“Aller à l’école en Suisse. Rentrer chez papa,” I said quickly. Lady Margaret hid a smile behind her hand. I had a feeling she spoke French.

In a high-pitched voice, the next guest introduced himself as “Dominik Szabo. I am delighted to meet everyone and look forward to getting to know you,” he said, waving his elongated fingers while looking straight at Joe, who appeared not to notice the overture. I admit I may have misread the signals, but Szabo’s foppish clothing and mannerisms reminded me of why I taught Joe to defend himself at a much younger age than Pa had wanted him to learn of such things. Whether Pa was truly oblivious or chose to turn a deaf ear, Hoss and I heard the ‘pretty boy’ comments and catcalls, and we took matters into our own hands … a decision that served Joe well on several occasions.

Fortunately, dinner arrived at that moment and we directed our attention and energy to the food before us.

**********

Day 1 – At Sea – The Game

With our dessert, we each received a sealed envelope that said Do Not Open Until Directed. By whom, it was not clear, although that query was soon answered when a gentleman in a tuxedo approached and introduced himself.

“I am Stephan, your Maître d’. You are seated at this table at the request of Issac Péreire, one of the owners of Compagnie Générale Transatlantique or The French Line as it is known abroad. Monsieur Péreire is your host for this voyage’s Masque.”

“What is that?” inquired Mr. Wilson.

“A form of dramatic entertainment popular among the aristocracy during the 16th and 17th centuries but in this case without costumes, scenery, etc. The subject of our Masque on this voyage is Shakespeare.”

I heard Joe grumble under his breath, “oh, brother!” I would have kicked him if I could.

“How delightful!” exclaimed Lady Margaret. “These crossings are dreadfully boring,” she said. “A game is just the thing to enliven the time until we reach New York.”

Stephan cleared his throat to regain our attention thus squelching the wave of murmurs that began to ripple around the table. “There is no need to be concerned about learning lines or dressing in costume. Let me further assure you that it is not necessary for you to be familiar with the Bard or his plays. A role will be assigned to you. You may invent your own dialogue as long as it is in keeping with your character’s motivations which will also be provided. We will begin the game at dinner tomorrow evening and continue each night for the remainder of our voyage.”

“What about during the day? I must finish a speech before we dock in New York,” said Mr. Wilson. He looked from guest to guest. “I’m speaking to the bar association.”

“With the exception of dinner you may engage in any of the shipboard activities you wish and interact with passengers as yourself. There are no restrictions.”

“If we’re not f-familiar with the play, how will we know w-what to say?”

“Thank you for asking, Miss DeVries. Inside the envelope is a roster of the characters in the Masque with the role you have been assigned circled. A separate card lists your character’s description and motivations. Monsieur Chevalier … your cards are in French, est-ce que tu comprends?”

“Oui, merci.”

“How do you win this game and what do we get if we do?” asked Matteo Rossi.

“On the last night of the voyage, you will write down your best guess as to the role each player assumed and you will receive one point for each correct choice. The guest with the most points will be reimbursed their fare and win a round trip voucher for a future voyage to any port in the world on the French Line. In case of a tie, both players will receive the prize.”

There were whispers and murmurs as we looked around at our competition and quietly assessed our chances of winning.

“Should you choose not to participate in the game after reading the cards, please stand and you will be immediately reassigned to another table. I have already been informed that Mr. Worthington will not be participating in the Masque. Are there any more questions? No? You may now open your envelope.”

I removed a pen knife from my pocket, the one that had a pine tree brand carved into the handle. As I fingered it, a flood of memories washed through me. Pa had given it to me the year I became bull of the woods in charge of the ranch’s timber operations. I had negotiated the contract for the new courthouse in Carson City with Abe Curry, hired the crew, and oversaw the cutting and milling of the lumber. Curry had found favor with our operation and threw additional work our way.

I gave the same knife to Joe when he successfully bid for the Sun Mountain contract. He beat out Will Poovey by figuring out how a flume could be used to deliver the stand of fir above Buckhorn Meadow specified by the project. We were all proud of Joe for his ingenuity and determination in fulfilling the contract on time and under budget despite the difficulties encountered because of some poor hiring choices he made in the beginning.

The man he chose as foreman turned out to be not only lazy but criminally bent. Joe’s faith in their friendship blinded him to the man’s faults. It wasn’t the first time he’d been burned, nor would it be the last, but it was a watershed moment for Joe and his belief in his ability to stand on his own. Although having to turn to his family for assistance was a blow to his independence, he finally grasped that there is no shame in asking for help when it is needed. In so doing, he was able to salvage the contract and fulfill the bid. That alone proved to me that he had earned the gift. He disagreed and I found the pen knife on my desk at the conclusion of the project. No amount of persuasion could convince Joe he deserved it. He wouldn’t take it back and it has remained in my possession ever since.

I opened the blade with my thumbnail and slid it through the sealed flap. The first card listed 12 possible roles: 6 male and 6 female. I saw the role that had been circled as mine and took a sip of water to stifle a smile. I knew the play and character well but read the second card anyway. The analysis was spot on.

I glanced at Joe but his face was expressionless … in and of itself that was a curiosity given how transparent his feelings usually are. He did not stand although both Mrs. Worthington and Henri Chevalier did. Stephan escorted them post haste to another table as promised while Albert removed their place settings as well as the one for Mr. Worthington.

And now there were nine.

**********

Day 2 – At Sea – The Game’s Afoot

When I awoke the next morning I discovered Joe in my cabin. He was sitting quietly in the lone chair with one leg over the arm holding a mug of coffee in one hand.

“You’re burning daylight,” he said.

“What?”

“’bout time you woke up. I’m usually the one who sleeps in.”

“How long have you been up?”

“Since before dawn. Three bells? Is that right?”

“Yes.” He was beginning to pick up the jargon. “Why?”

“Why am I up this early?” He grinned. “The better to catch you in the act.”

“Of?”

“Putting on your game face. Who are you?”

“Who are you?” I countered.

“You can’t guess?”

I thought over the list of characters we’d been given: King Lear, Othello, Petruchio, Romeo, Tybalt, Prospero, Cordelia, Rosalind, Miranda, Desdemona, Ophelia and Lady Macbeth.

“Romeo is too obvious,” I said, but Joe showed teeth as his smile widened. “What? You mean you are?”

“Are what?

“Romeo?”

“No, Adam. I am not. You’ll have to do better.”

“Better?”

“You never could figure me out.”

“That’s not true. I had your number the moment you were born.”

He laughed. “You think so? Oh, brother, how much you’ve forgotten.” Joe swung his foot back to the floor and stood, placing his coffee mug on the built-in chest of drawers. “See you at breakfast. I hear they’re making French toast. Think it will be as good as Hop Sing’s?”

“And just where did you hear that?”

“From that saucy redheaded kitchen wench with the dimples.”

“I suppose you think she’s sweet on you.”

“Don’t have to think . . . I know.”

“I thought you were interested in Miss Havermeyer.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

Joe laughed again and cracked the door looking left and right before slipping out into the passageway.

I put my hands behind my head and stared at the ceiling. Romeo loved only Juliet. Joe had his eye on more than one woman; therefore, Joe couldn’t be Romeo. One character down, eight to go. No, that wasn’t right. Joe could not be my character either, so that made it two down and seven to go.

I rose on one elbow ready to get out of bed but hesitated because that still wasn’t right. Stephan had said that we were only to be in character during the evening meal so Joe’s activities with crew members or any other behavior outside of dinner didn’t matter. To further complicate things, there were now more female parts than there women in the Masque.

I lay down again placing both fists on my head. Problem? No, because in Shakespeare’s day males played female parts and since we were only dealing with dialogue and not physical action, I didn’t invision one. In fact it might be amusing to see someone like stuffed shirt Edwin the lawyer play Miranda. I laughed aloud in spite of myself.

Joe was right … I was burning daylight. I got out of bed and dressed quickly.

**********

Day 2 – At Sea – Dinner

After we communicated our dinner selections to Albert, Edwin clinked his glass with a spoon. “Shall we begin the game?”

“And how should we do that pray tell?” asked Dominik sweeping his wavy long locks over his shoulder.

“By talking,” Joe said, rather aggressively I thought. “Unless you think we should use sign language or would that overtax your delicate fingers?”

“There is no call to be snippy, dear fellow.”

Joe stood abruptly knocking over his chair. “You wanna fight? Queensberry Rules or would you prefer to duel? I’m sure an officer would lend me his sword.”

Matteo rubbed his hands together. “Nothing like a little blood sport to awaken our prurient interests.”

Miss Havermeyer fanned herself while drawling, “My, it is a bit warm in here. I shall require a stroll on deck in the moonlight before our food arrives.” She stood and placed her hand on Joe’s arm. “Mr. DeMarigny, would you care to accompany me?”

Joe turned and kissed her hand. “It would be my pleasure, milady, but the moonlight shall pale in comparison to your beauty.”

I cleared my throat loudly. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the game is played.”

“You mean, Mr. C-Cartwright that this unpleasantness was all an act?”

“Yes, Miss DeVries. An admirable effort by our players to distill the essence of their assigned characters. Thank you Mr. Wilson for inaugurating the evening’s Masque.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Cartwright.”

Lady Margaret clapped. “Oh, well done everyone. I say that was more entertaining than the usual game I play to relieve the tedium on long voyages.”

“And what game would that be, Lady Margaret,” Joe said as he picked up his chair and took a seat. Miss Havermeyer, realizing she alone stood, frowned and sat quickly.

“Why people watching, of course. There is nothing to be done on long days at sea but to observe your fellow passengers, and to speculate about them. For example, is that young lady at the table by the door a bride, or is the gentleman with her her brother?”

“Oh, I get it,” said Miss Simmons. “Are that elderly gentlemen and sweet young thing by his side husband and wife or father and daughter?”

Dominik patted the pads of his fingers together in glee. “Is that pompous individual who just entered the dining saloon with such an air, some mighty general or a clerk of great personal pretentions?”

“This is fun,” said Miss DeVries. “But how do you know who is married and who is not?”

“Looking for a suitor?” Matteo said wickedly.

Lady Margaret ignored him. “It is simple, my dear. If a gentleman is very attentive to a lady, then they are going to be married. If the lady is very attentive to the gentleman, then they have just been married. If they do not seem to care anything about each other at all, then they have been married for some time!”

Everyone laughed, including me, and I added, “It does bear some consideration that while we are looking at others, others are also looking at us.”

“Speculation leads to rumor and innuendo.”

“And the potential for slander,” I added. “Do you practice tort law, Mr. Wilson?”

“Not personally, but my firm does handle defamatory suits. Have you need of an attorney, sir?”

“Not presently.”

Our food arrived in the nick of time.

**********

Day 2 – At Sea – After Dinner

I found Jane Simmons on deck gazing at the horizon.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Simmons?”

“Oh, Mr. Cartwright. Hasn’t it been a fine day?” she said brightly. “The sun, the moon, the ocean air. It’s breathtaking, don’t you agree?”

“I do. Is this your first time at sea?”

She looked at me with a curious expression. “Mr. Cartwright, if I’d never sailed before, how could I be sailing home now?”

“My apologies, dear lady. During introductions at dinner last night the discussion never advanced beyond a definition of telegrapher.”

“Goodness me. So it didn’t. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jane Simmons currently of Kansas but soon to be a resident of California as I am being transfered.”

“How did you come to work for Western Union?”

“My best friend, Annie Ellsworth, was the girl who handed the first message to Samuel Morris to be transmitted from Washington to Baltimore.”

“’What hath God wrought?’ Numbers 23:23.”

“Excellent, Mr. Cartwright! I see you are student of history.”

“And smart, adventurous women. Please call me Adam.”

“Then you must call me Jane and together we shall scandalize the posh people on this ship.” Jane linked her arm through mine and as we walked the promenade the silvery tinkle of her laugh sent shivers down my spine.

**********

Joe was stretched out on my bunk when I returned to the cabin after my stroll on deck with the charming Miss Simmons. I hung up my dinner jacket and sat down in the chair.

“Happy?” he asked.

“What makes you think so?”

“You were whistling. I haven’t heard you whistle since I’ve been here. You’re in love . . . Or at least lust.”

“Impertinent knave!”

“What did you make of the Masque tonight?” Joe asked earnestly.

“I think if we can keep the dialogue to the period between ordering and food being served, we might survive with a minimum of bloodshed.” I undid my tie and opened the top buttons of my shirt. “Were you seriously flirting with Aneline?”

“What do you mean?”

I mimicked him. “The moonlight pales in comparison to your beauty.”

“I told you, I’m not Romeo.”

“No, you’re Tybalt.”

Joe sat up quickly. “How did you figure that out?”

“Your performance tonight. Argumentative, aggressive, prone to violence. Well done brother.”

Joe took a bow, then laid back against the pillows. “Aneline is a predator.”

“She’d certainly like to get her hooks into you.”

“I like Lady Margaret, though. If she were only twenty years younger.”

“Only twenty? More like thirty.”

“You think she’s sixty?”

I shrugged. “Near to. She does have spirit and intelligence.”

“So does Lady Jane. Charming, witty, intelligent. Perfect for you.”

“Get out!” But as the door clicked shut, I smiled. Lady Jane. I liked the sound of that.

**********

Day 3 – At Sea – Passing Time

Against type, Joe continued to wake up early and if I didn’t see him at breakfast, I usually found him on deck talking with crew members. Although he quizzed them incessantly about their life at sea and adventures ashore, he never interfered with their duties that I observed.

Sometimes I would see him strolling on the promenade with one or more of the ladies from our table, including Miss Havermeyer who, I noted, clutched his arm as if her life depended on it. She reminded me of a squid whose suckers are embedded with hooks. Joe was correct, she was a predator. And it appeared he was her prey.

Every afternoon Joe played chess with Edwin Wilson who was then out of sorts by dinner. Joe could be a worthy opponent when he wanted to be and Edwin was obviously someone who didn’t like to lose . . . at anything.

When not used for meals, the dining-saloon became an entertainment venue for impromptu sing-a-longs, musical performances and poetry readings. It was also the place to go to read, write letters, or play cards or board games.

I meandered through the room, stopping at a few tables to chat with other passengers before taking a seat in sight of the chess board and sat down ostensibly to read. It didn’t take long to figure out Edwin’s dander was up because Joe was contravening the conventions of the game. I suspected he was doing it for no other reason than to provoke Edwin’s ire.

Even though I was familiar with Joe’s tactics, he still could beat me now and again. He didn’t gloat. Nor did he protest when he lost. Instead, he would tip over his king and shake my hand. As far as I could tell, Edwin had yet to win a game. No wonder he was sullen.

**********

Day 3 – At Sea – Dinner

Our third night at sea was more of the same — excellent food and wine and a few more personality traits revealed during the Masque portion of the evening.

I had Miss DeVries pegged as Miranda which wasn’t a stretch of the imagination at all given her youth and naiveté. Edwin Wilson was looking good for King Lear because he liked power and being in control.

The female roles were more problematic. I couldn’t figure who was acting like Lady Macbeth … certainly not Lady Margaret. Or Lady Jane.

My earlier supposition that men could be playing female parts was beginning to have merit. If that were true then Matteo could be Lady Macbeth. I hadn’t liked the man from the first night.

The only obvious casting was Dominik as Ophelia but that was too bizarre to contemplate and therefore it probably wasn’t him.

At any rate the score was now likely 5 down and 4 to go.

**********

Day 4 – At Sea – Stormy Weather

Hoss, quit jumping on the bed!

I thought I was dreaming but quickly realized that the sea was moving through all six degrees of motion with alarming intensity. I dressed in my familiar ranch clothes but wore my balmorals instead of boots because of better traction. Shaving was out of the question due to the heave, sway, surge, roll, pitch, and yaw so I donned my life vest and left the cabin.

My first concern was Joe. He met me halfway down the passage as I staggered side to side toward his cabin.

“You all right?” I shouted. He didn’t appear seasick but he was pale.

“Is all that creaking normal?”

“It’s when it doesn’t creak that you should worry. Go back to your cabin, put on your life vest and hunker down in your bunk. Do not go on deck!”

“Yes sir.”

I encountered one of the officers battening down the hatches and offered my help quickly relating my maritime experience and the fact that I was an engineer. As the crew was overtaxed, he welcomed my help but first I had to check on Jane.

Having escorted her to her cabin the previous evening, I knew where to find her. She already had her life vest on and was in the passage way surrounded by a number of distraught women.

“Are we sinking?” she asked calmly.

“No. But you — all of you—need to get dressed in warm clothing—no petticoats or crinolines. Wear pants if you have them. Put your life vest on and stay in your cabin.”

Jane pressed my cheeks between her palms. “I rather like the rough look.” She smoothed her thumbs across my lips and stood on tip toe to give me a decidedly unchaste kiss. “Now get to work.”

**********

The squall line abated in due course but the rough seas and high winds continued and the promenade deck remained closed to passengers. Around mid-afternoon the culinary staff prepared a buffet of cold meats, bread, cheese, fruit, and desserts in the dining-saloon.

The room was packed with first- and second-class passengers and their children. Edwin was organizing who sat where. Definitely King Lear. Miss DeVries hung on his every word and was obedient to his every command. Definitely Miranda.

Lady Margaret distracted and enthralled the children with tales of her adventures in Africa as a young girl. 

And in the corner with a baby on one hip and a spoon in the other hand feeding pudding to an elderly woman while debating the merits of westward expansion with her husband was my Lady Jane.

My focus was fractured by the sudden lurch of the ship and the concomitant gasp of the passengers, I called out “Don’t be concerned. Just a slight roll. The ship will correct itself momentarily.”

I spotted Dominik near the desserts and made my way through the crowd to ask, “Have you seen Joe—Mr. DeMarigny?”

“He went below deck with that brassy redhead. She really ought not to wear orange with that color hair. It simply does not work.”

Definitely Ophelia … unaware of the harsh realities of adult life.

Six down and three to go.

**********

Day 4 – At Sea – The Infirmary

“Mmmm.”

“Take it easy, Joe.

“Adam?”

“I’m here.”

“Where am I?”

“The infirmary. You’ve got a bad concussion.”

“S’plains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Sharp guy.”

Sharp guy?  I must have looked perplexed for while I was trying to decipher Joe-speak, the doctor interceded.

“It’s not unusual. Many concussed patients are disoriented when they waken, especially after receiving as severe a blow as he did.”

“A cast iron frying pan upside the head will do that to a fella.”

“Why would this man be in the galley? I thought he was a paying passenger.”

“I don’t know and he is.  Oh, wait … I do know.”

“Why he was in the galley?”

“No. I don’t have a clue about that, but I do know what he meant by ‘sharp guy.’ We visited Notre Dame before sailing. He was referring to the bell that rings a perfect F sharp.”

“Emmanuel.”

“Exactly.” I said. Now it was the doctor’s turn to look confused. “He feels like Emmanuel is pounding inside his head.”

“Again, to be expected. But if the patient is cognizant enough to make that connection, he’ll likely recover with no side effects. However, I’d like him to remain in the infirmary overnight—”

“—All right—”

“—and then be confined to his cabin until we dock in New York.”

“That’s three days from now.”

The doctor arched an eyebrow. “Will that be a problem?”

Only for me. “No, of course not.”

The doctor’s stern gaze telegraphed his skepticism. “Twenty-foot seas; 60 knot winds. Do I have to explain what another blow to the head would mean should he fall?”

Properly chastised, I shook my head.

“Bring him back to the infirmary immediately if he experiences dizziness, neck pain, attention or memory issues. Is that clear?”

“Yes, doctor. Thank you.”

“I’ll leave instructions and some powders with the orderly. You can sign him out tomorrow morning. Good night.”

I had no intention of leaving my brother alone. Rough seas aside, I still didn’t know who clobbered him or why. Was the attack related to the Masque? I would have to have a word with Monsieur Péreire but meanwhile I would take advantage of the orderly’s duty to watch over Joe while I searched for answers.

**********

Day 5 – At Sea – Captain’s Quarters

There is nothing that happens on board a ship of which the captain is not aware. This is true even for an ocean steamship carrying 2,045 souls. In essence, he is the absolute ruler of a small town comprised of officers, crew, first- and second-class passengers and the emigrants in steerage. The S/S Amerique was captained by Eduord Louis D’Hauterive, a gentleman with 30 years of experience in the French navy, merchant ships and luxury liners.

I was prepared to settle with speaking to either the first or second officer about the attack on my brother but was informed that the captain wanted to meet with me personally and I was immediately shown to his cabin.

His quarters were cramped and crammed full of all manner of books of every size from naval histories to textbooks on navigation, mathematics and philosophy to novels as well as stacks of newspapers and magazines, maps, and equipment like telescopes, barometers, chronometers, sextants, and more.

He stood immediately to shake my hand and I involuntarily took a step back. The captain was not an ordinary-looking man being rather tall for a Frenchman, slight of frame, and wearing a full beard. But it was his eyes which made the most impression. One was as dark as Pa’s and the other light blue like Hoss’s. If the eyes are indeed windows to the soul, it was fair for me to presume the nature of this man was a blend of sunny days and foggy nights.

We exchanged pleasantries and I apologized for the intrusion which he brushed aside with a wave of his hand.

“Nonsense! Everything that happens on the Amerique is of concern to me and nothing is more important than the welfare and well-being of her passengers. I understand your brother was injured in the galley. May I inquire what he was doing there?”

“I wish I knew, sir. I was hoping that in your investigation of the crime you—“

“—crime? What leads you to believe a crime was involved?”

“Pardon me, sir, but this isn’t a case of slip and fall because of rough water. He was hit on the head with a cast iron frying pan resulting in a severe concussion and that, by definition, is assault and battery whether it happened on land or sea.”

“I apologize for any confusion on my part. The incident report I received was that a passenger was injured in the galley, which is off limits to passengers, hence my inquiry into what he was doing there. I ask your indulgence, Mr. Cartwright, as I seek to the ascertain the facts.”

“On that goal we can agree,” I said, pausing to weigh whether to volunteer information. “I do not know for certain but I suspect that my brother may — and I repeat may — have gone to the galley to meet a woman he’s been keeping company with on this voyage.”

“There are no women serving on my crew in the galley or otherwise. Have you met this woman?”

“No. My brother told me that he was seeing a redhead and implied that she worked in the galley. I can think of no other reason he would go down there.”

The captain’s overall countenance remained neutral but I noted a vein pulsating in his neck. He calmly turned, crossed the small space and opened a door partway. “Lisette, come in here.”

I then realized this room was just the captain’s office and that his quarters must lay beyond. A few awkward, silent minutes passed before the door swung wide and an attractive young woman with red hair entered. “Yes, Papa?”

Discretion being the better part of valor, I quietly took my leave of the Captain and his daughter trusting he would get to the bottom of the ‘incident’ and I returned to the infirmary thankful that Pa only had sons.

**********

Day 6 – At Sea – The Aftermath

When it was time to leave the infirmary, I was informed by the Chief Steward that Joe and I had been relocated. Before I could protest, he explained the Captain had ordered a larger stateroom that we could both share so that I could tend to my brother in his convalescence.

‘Larger’ was a relative term meaning only that there were now two bunks — one above the other instead of just one, two chests of drawers, and two chairs which made the room more cramped. The other addition was a small sink with built-in shelves above it for toiletries. The upside was that the cabin was closer to the head which meant less chance of Joe falling down getting to and from the toilet. The downside was the head was located at the bow of the ship which is the worst place to be in rough seas. Fortunately, the seas were now at 10-14 feet and winds around 25-30 knots.

All told, I supposed it was an improvement. The only reason I hesitated was that I had booked separate cabins for a reason: we had been in close proximity to each other day and night for a month prior to sailing and I thought Joe would welcome some breathing room on the journey home. In truth I didn’t want the memory of our time together to be tarnished by last minute squabbling. Selfish, perhaps, but I had very much enjoyed our reunion and didn’t want anything to spoil it.

**********

I made a special request for egg drop soup for Joe’s lunch because I felt it could be tolerated even though his headaches hadn’t diminished in frequency. Amazingly, he claimed it was better than Hop Sing’s because it wasn’t as salty but he made me promise I wouldn’t tell our sometimes-temperamental cook.

Joe had just finished the bowl when there was a knock on the cabin door. I expected it was the steward coming to retrieve the tray and was surprised when I opened the door.

“May I come in?” asked the Captain. I nodded and he stepped over the threshold, ducking as he entered.

“Captain, may I present my brother Joseph. Joe this is Captain Eduord D’Hauterive.”

Joe started to swing his leg over the side of the bed and the Captain quickly said, “Don’t get up, son. I only came to talk about the—“

He looked at me and must have recalled my taking exception to the classification of Joe’s injury as ‘an incident’ because he finished with “—crime in the galley. The Captain removed his cap, tucked it under his arm and leaned back against the door. “I understand you took a tour of the ship with the Chief Purser.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you are aware there are areas of the ship that are off limits to passengers.”

“That’s why I asked for the tour … to see what I couldn’t see otherwise.”

“Careful,” I said softly.

“No disrespect intended, sir. My father and my brother here both served as first mates on a ship and I’ve spent my whole life on a cattle ranch and I just—“ Joe bit his lip hard. “—I just wanted to know what the big attraction was because God knows they never talk about it!”

So that explains Joe’s interrogation of the crew.

“The Purser didn’t take you to the galley.”

“No.”

“Because it’s dangerous. Sharp instruments, boiling water, hot grease, open fires, pitch and roll of the ship . . . “

“Yes.”

“So you knew how dangerous the galley is and that The French Line has a good reason for denying passengers access.”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you go there?”

“Because Hop Sing would demand a full description.”

“Hop Sing is the family’s factotum,” I said. “Among other things he is an excellent cook.”

“That’s the why but not the how. How did you gain access to a restricted area below deck?”

“Someone showed me the way down without being seen.”

“And would that someone have red hair?”

Joe snapped his head towards the Captain so fast he cried out in pain at the sudden movement and leaned forward with his fingers against his temples.

“That’s enough!” I yelled, stepping between the Captain and my brother.

“One more question.”

“No!”

“Who hit you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it the redhead?”

“That’s two questions … now leave!”

“I didn’t see who hit me!”

Thankful for the sink, I added a packet of powders to a glass of water and had Joe swallow it. After I eased him back down on the pillows I placed a wet washcloth on his brow. Only then did I turn to see the Captain still leaning against the door.

“I told you to leave.”

“You did. However . . . scuttlebutt being what it is I thought it best to tell you in person before you hear it at dinner.”

“Spit it out–quickly. Joe needs to rest.”

“We know who the culprit is and have a witness, but I needed to hear your brother’s side of the story. Although it wasn’t exactly the truth of what happened it was close enough. His version corroborates the witness’s account.”

I made a guess. “And that witness would be Lisette?”

“Yes. My daughter, Lisette.”

Joe pulled the cloth off his head. “Lisette is your daughter?”

“At this moment, regrettably yes. She’s as high-spirited as her mother was. I thought bringing her to sea with me would temper her impetuousness. However, that’s not your concern. What is of importance to you is that she has been very clear from the start that you have always behaved as a gentleman in her presence.”

“And she has always been a lady, sir.”

“Who wasn’t behaving as a lady is the woman who followed the two of you into the galley and picked up the frying pan.”

Joe inhaled audibly. “Aneline Havermeyer.”

“I thought you didn’t know who hit you?” I said.

“I didn’t but when the Captain said someone followed us, Aneline’s face just flashed in front of me. She was screaming, saying crazy things like I was a gigolo and Lisette a Jezebel and worse. The last thing I remember seeing before I woke up in the infirmary was Lisette’s face.”

“That’s because when Miss Havermeyer charged my daughter with the frying pan poised to strike, you pushed Lisette out of the way and took the blow yourself. You saved my daughter’s life. Thank you.”

“What will happen to Aneline,” Joe asked.

“That’s no longer of concern . . . To anyone.”

I was enraged. “What do you mean no longer a concern? Your daughter was assaulted. My brother was severely injured. Aren’t you going to turn her over to the authorities in New York?”

“Miss Havermeyer hanged herself in the brig this morning.”

**********

Day 7 – At Sea – The Way Forward

I spent the day in the cabin with Joe who slept most of the time. The steward brought scrambled eggs and broth for him and Jane came by several times with an assortment of foods she thought I would like.

Although she said she wasn’t concerned about impropriety, I made sure the door to the cabin was open. Impropriety is one thing; notoriety is another and, as Lady Margaret had alluded to, people were always watching. The door stayed open.

During her visits we talked of my upbringing and hers, the books we’ve read, the plays we’ve seen or wished to see, politics, philosophy, music, where we’ve been, and where we want to go. Everything except the Masque and what had happened to Aneline Havemeyer.

“Who do you think her character was?” Jane asked seemingly out of the blue although I’m sure it was on both our minds.

Awake, Joe cleared his throat. “Cordelia.”

“How do you know?” Jane asked.

“Cordelia was hung wasn’t she? Or do I have the plays mixed up? King Lear?”

“Correct,” I said. “Cordelia loved her father, so did Aneline.”

“I thought the roles were assigned randomly, Adam. Coincidence?”

“It has to be,” said Jane. “No one could guess who would leave the table that first night.

“Did she leave a note?”

“No, Joe. Whatever else Aneline was struggling with, we’ll never know what her motivation was.” I stood up and filled his glass with water from the sink. “Drink.”

“I don’t want any more medicine. It makes me groggy.”

“No powders, just water. Drink.”  When he finished, I put the class in the sink and retook my seat. “It occurs to me the purpose of the Masque was not about taking on the role assigned to us but about recognizing the characteristics and motivations of Shakespeare’s creations so we could better understand ourselves.”

Jane thought about it and then asked, “What would be the purpose in devising such a complex parlor game?”

Joe ventured a guess. “Lady Margaret said that long days at sea were tedious. You have to admit this voyage has been anything but.”

“It has been enlightening,” Jane said. “I think Edwin is King Lear. Lear enjoys absolute power and being flattered and he doesn’t like being contradicted or challenged but by the end of the play he changes into a common man who realizes the true nature of the world.”

“What makes you think that’s Edwin?” asked Joe.

“Faced with his own mortality during the storm, Edwin discovered compassion for others.”

“So since Tybalt is an aggressive ass that means I am? I am Tybalt by the way . . . in the masque . . . not in reality. At least I don’t think I am. Oh, don’t make me think at all. It hurts too much.”

Jane laughed, “But you just as easily could be Romeo . . . a handsome, intelligent hero.”

“I told you so, Joe. You are multi-faceted.”

“What?”

“You have many sides to your personality . . . as we all do.”

“Who are you then older brother?”

“That’s easy,” said Jane. “Adam is Othello, an eloquent storyteller who is respected but often feels like an outsider.”

“And beautiful, witty, warm, and resilient Rosalind is my Lady Jane.”

**********

Day 8 – At Sea – Game Over

The farewell dinner on our last night was a quiet one. I thought Henri Chevalier and the Worthington’s would join us but they did not and with Miss Havermeyer deceased, the table for 12 was now set for 8.

I shared my view that the game was more about understanding the masks we all wear than trying to assign characteristics and motivations to others. We decided as a group to forego the balloting and the prize money because the Masque had served its purpose. Stephan put on a disappointed face but I caught him smiling as he turned away.

I was wrong about several things. Matteo was not a roue or rake. He was in truth what he said he was–a wealthy businessman and investment broker . . . who happened also to be Lady Margaret’s lover.

But the climax of the game was when Dominik stood, removed his wig, and identified himself in flawless english as Monsieur Péreire one of the owners of The French Line and the creator of the Masque. He apologized for the deception and said that all of the remaining players would be reimbursed their full fare. He also added that Miss Havermeyer’s refund would be sent to her father with company’s condolences.

**********

Day 9 – New York City – Disembarkation

I had insisted on a wheelchair for my brother during disembarkation. The fact that Joe did not protest told me he needed it more than he would admit. Although subsiding in severity—or so he said—the headaches continued. Without saying why, I would wire Pa to let him know we would be spending an extra week in New York City, trusting he would attribute the brevity of my message to the medium.

The Captain, First Officer, and Chiefs were lined up to bid farewell to the cabin-class passengers. Other officers would be positioned at another ramp to do the same for the steerage class.

As we approached the exit I saw the First Officer speak quietly to the Captain. He looked briefly in my direction, nodded curtly, and resumed his farewells until it was our turn.

“Mr. Cartwright and Mr. DeMarigny.”

“Joe Cartwright, sir. DeMarigny was my mother’s maiden name. It was . . . for the game.”

“Ah. The Masque. I shall have to have a word with Monsieur Péreire.”

“I wouldn’t be too harsh,” I said. “We all wear masks and play many parts in an effort to discover our true selves.”

“Like that of an architect who fixes bilge pumps?”

“That’s my brother,” Joe beamed. “Cowboy, engineer, architect, musician, thespian… you name it, he can do it.”

“And which one is his best role?” asked the Captain.

“That of older, wiser brother.”

Shaking the Captain’s hand I said, “If you ever want to give up the sea, you’d make a terrific prosecutor.”

***The End***

Written for the 2023 Ponderosa Paddlewheel Poker Tournament. The words/phrases dealt to me were:

hanging
cast iron frying pan
pen knife
tobacco
“burning daylight”

Author’s Note:   Sarah G. Bagley was the first woman telegrapher. In February 1847 she was hired by New York and Boston Magnetic Telegraph Company for their office in Springfield, Massachusetts. She was unhappy to discover her salary was only three-quarters of what the man she replaced earned and thus began her commitment to human equality and the rights of women.