“The missives stopped years ago. She may be dead for all I know.”
Or care. The unspoken words hung in the air between the three of them.
“Don’t let him think I don’t love him. Don’t let him leave with such pain,” Charlotte begged. “Please tell me where he is going, and I will go after him.”
“Yes,” her mother agreed. “She will.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Charlotte could see his tall form over the heads of the others in the crowd at the Dover ferry dock. Charles was ascending the gangplank, about to steam out of her life. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, causing people to stare and, at the desperate look upon her face, to move out of her way as she fought to reach him through the throng of travelers.
Sailors were untying the lines holding the steamship to the dock. She would be too late. She’d spent the morning first at the harbormaster’s office and then at the Channel Steamship Company’s ticket office trying to determine the correct vessel, and thus, had almost missed him entirely.
“Charles,” she called out, but she knew at once it was pointless. There was a good breeze that in earlier years would have carried a ship swiftly, if perhaps choppily, across the Channel. Currently, it was sending her words uselessly in all directions except toward the man she most desperately wanted to touch again.
For a moment, he seemed to turn in her direction, perhaps taking a last look at England for the next year, but she couldn’t hope that he would notice her plain green hat in the sea of people milling about. Some waited for another steamship, some for a sailboat, and some surged forward to board the Empress with the man Charlotte loved.
Anguish, strong and terrifying, filled her and she nearly collapsed to her knees, carpetbag and all, but for the fear she would be trampled.
“Charles,” she yelled, causing a few people around her turn to stare. But he had already reached the ship’s railing and was speaking with someone at his elbow, whom she thought might be his valet.
Delia, by her side, as she had been for the past day and night, grabbed her by the waist to comfort her.
Without thinking how unladylike she would sound or how her mother would strongly disapprove, Charlotte whistled, long and loud. The shrill sound sliced through the blustery wind that whipped at her cape, and made those near her cringe. She didn’t care about any of that, only noticing that Charles lifted his head and glanced again over the throng on the dock.
A spark of hope lit in her.
Whistling again, she raised her arms, waving them wildly.
“I think he’s spotted you, miss,” Delia said.
While unable to see his delightful dimple from that distance, Charlotte hoped he was smiling. After all, he couldn’t doubt her love when she’d come after him all that way across the southeast of England.
Assuredly, he’d seen her for he started to lift his hand, a little hesitatingly. But to her amazement, he rested it back upon the railing and didn’t do anything more. He didn’t try to disembark or reach her, and her heart began to pound like a soldier’s drum.
“Don’t despair,” she said aloud to bolster herself. After all, at that moment, they were still within yards of each other, and he was finally within sight.
Continuing forward, she made little headway as she fought through the crowd continuing to board the vessel, as well as those who’d stayed to say farewell.
“Over there, miss,” Delia said, pointing to the ship’s bow. Another gangplank was in use by the hustling crew, carrying last-minute cargo and supplies, perhaps even mail heading to France.
Charlotte found it just as difficult at first to fight against the tide of people as to push through it. But after a few yards, she’d cleared the worst of the throng, and, suddenly, she had reached the gangplank.
About to set her foot on the rough wooden board, a sailor grabbed her arm. “Here, now, you can’t go that way. If you have a ticket, you have to board at the other end.”
“I don’t have a ticket,” she confessed, trying to wrench her arm free. “I need to speak to my fiancé. He’s already on board.”
“You can’t board without a ticket, miss. Move along.” He released her, then crossed his arms and blocked the gangplank.
Glancing up, she could see that Charles was now leaning over the railing, trying to discern what she was doing.
“You see,” she said, pointing up at him. “He’s right there.” She waved at him, but to her consternation, he didn’t wave back.
“He doesn’t look interested in seeing you, miss.”
“I just want to speak with him for a moment,” she persisted. “I promise I won’t cause you any trouble. If I could just dash up there and talk to him, then I’ll come right back down again. Just like the Grand Old Duke of York.”
“From the nursery rhyme, miss?” he asked, scratching his head.
