A Bride For The Asking -- (on hold)

Chapter 17--Stranded in New Orleans

            Captain Donegal turned back towards Mrs. Rosenthal, and leaned over in his chair to within inches of her pert little nose. The chair squawked a protest at this unusual position.  “As I said before, you are quite welcome to stay here on board The Halifax,” he reiterated icily, holding onto his temper by a thread.  “Your meals will continue as usual, and there will be no extra charge for the additional days aboard; or the meals, either.”

            Eleanor stood up haughtily to her not very significant height and looked down her nose at Captain Donegal, who leaned back in his chair the moment she moved away from his desk.  “Your superiors will be hearing from my employer,” she pronounced frostily, determined to have the last word.  She spun around, and stomped out of the sweat and oil reeking cabin in an angry whirl of pink-striped silk.  The tiny hat perched precariously on her curls bounced in time to her every step.        

            Only after she was sitting dejectedly on her bed, back in her cabin, did she realize she had forgotten to ask Captain Donegal where she could find a telegraph office. Now she would have to go back up to that odious Captain.  How humiliating!  On top of that, she had gotten a spot on her new dress from touching that vile desk in his office. Oh, and she did love the pink-striped silk.

            Gritting her teeth, she readjusted her hat.  It was one of those ridiculous confections she couldn’t resist when it came to accessorizing the new pink silk dress she’d had made at MiMi’s, the best dress shop Chicago had to offer .  Eleanor loved nice clothes. She thought about why that was so, as she leaned towards the tiny mirror hanging on the wall in her closet-sized cabin.  She blamed it on her many disguises.  Most of them were horribly repellent at their worst.  At their least, her disguises were the reverse of anything she would wear in real life.  It made her crave beautiful clothes whenever she did have the chance to wear them.

            Hat adjusted, she slipped her reticule over her gloved hand, and swept from the room, her little pink dove ready for flight.  She fortunately ran into the steward who not only kindly helped her across the gangplank, but flagged down a carriage for her, and made sure she was seated comfortably before he took his departure.  Eleanor had made another conquest, it seemed.  Before she knew it, the carriage deposited her in front of the telegraph office, and promised to return for her in half an hour.  Which he did.  Eleanor was standing there patiently waiting for its return--now that she had done all she could do presently for her employer’s interest--when the carriage arrived. 

            She had sent three identical telegrams.  The first she had sent to the Pinkerton headquarters.  One, of course, she sent to Alfred Barnaby, esquire, in case he wished to pay for her expidited trip on another vessel.  The third, she wired to Fort Randall, so they would not be expecting her for two more weeks. 

          All she could do now, was return to The Halifax.  The carriage let her out close to the gangplank, where the steward came rushing up to her and offered his arm to her with a formal little bow.  Rupert Merriman was his name, Eleanor found out as he not only eased her crossing the gangplank, but escorted her on to the dining room as well.  Mr. Merriman kept up a pleasant stream of chatter the entire distance.  Eleanor encouraged him to continue with the merest nod or smile, as appropriate.  Inside, however, she wanted nothing more to get to her cabin where she could light up one of her tiny cigars in private.  She sighed.  From Mr. Merriman’s demeanor, it proposed to be a long evening.

            ***

            Alfred Barnaby got Agent Rosenthal’s telegram later that evening just before he headed in to the dining room to enjoy a leisurely dinner with his wife, Elizabeth. 

            “Delayed in New Orleans due to circumstances beyond my control.  Stop.  Will await The Halifax to be repaired, unless there are further orders.  Stop.  Agent Rosenthal. Stop.”

         Alfred chuckled and sent the following reply:  “No hurry. Stop. Better to wait there than here. Stop.  No further orders.  Stop.  Let me know when you reach Fort Randall.  Stop.  Alfred Barnaby, esquire. Stop.”

            Now, Silas was going to be really pissed.  The Pinkerton’s were charging him by the day for this job.  Agent Rosenthal would be able to buy her a really pretty new dress after this.  Alfred smiled.  He couldn’t wait to tell him.  He only hoped the reprieve caused by Agent Rosenthal's delay would benefit Rose McGregor in the long run.