Into the Storm by Avi Page A

called.
    â€œBye,” Laurence echoed. For a moment, he just stood in the dark. “I am like poor Robinson Crusoe,” he said, remembering his favorite book at home. “Just the same.”

 
    I n Liverpool, England, Sir Albert Kirkle, tall hat in hand, leaned over the quarterdeck railing of the packet ship Yorkshire and watched Irish emigrants board below him.
    He was angry at his father and at Laurence. Why couldn’t his brother simply have accepted the fact that he was a younger brother? Why should he be forced to go find him and deal with him in America? As was his habit, Albert squeezed his knuckles so hard they cracked. Let them all go hang!
    For a while he studied the people filing on board. It made him think of a parade of beggars. That he should even be close to such people disgusted him.
    As Albert looked on, he observed a hansom carriage race up to the quay. The carriage bore the royal insignia, an indication that its mission was government business. A man in livery leaped out, holding a portfolio. He scanned the Yorkshire , then began to push his way through the crowd, which gave way before him. When he reached the gangway, he conferred with the sailors on guard, showing them the portfolio. He was allowed to pass through immediately. Albert presumed he was watching the delivery of a government document, somematter of diplomacy, no doubt. It made sense: The Yorkshire , Captain Bailey commanding, had a reputation for being the fastest ship in the North Atlantic trade.
    He turned away and allowed his thoughts to drift elsewhere but soon felt a tap on his shoulder. It was the man with the portfolio.
    â€œSir Albert?” The man saluted him.
    â€œYes.”
    The man bowed and held out the portfolio, which bore the stamp of the government. “A message from Lord Kirkle.”
    Albert started. He held out his hand. Perhaps Laurence had returned on his own. Upset by the possibility, Albert opened the portfolio. Inside were two letters. The first was from his father:
    Sir,
    I send you news. The enclosed letter — which I intercepted — establishes your guilt in this affair beyond question. But it also provides some information that I presume will be of use to you. Remember, I do not expect to see you again unless you bring back your brother.
    Lord Kirkle
    Albert hastily looked at the second letter. It was the one Mr. Clemspool had written to him. Not only did it make him blush, it was a disappointment to learn that his brother was alive. Nonetheless, he paid particular attention to the last part of the note.
    As to my address in America, I have yet to determine upon a permanent abode or even whether I will remain in the country. But you should write to me in the care of Mr. Ambrose Shagwell, in the city of Lowell, Massachusetts, USA. I am sure word will reach me. Mr. Shagwell is a highly esteemed gentleman and agood friend, a man I trust and, sir, a confidant in all my affairs.
    Trusting you are, sir, continuing in good health, I remain,
    Faithfully yours,
Matthew Clemspool, Esq.
    â€œWill there be any reply? the messenger inquired of Albert.
    â€œYou may tell his lordship that I’m much obliged to him.”
    As the messenger went off, Albert wondered where Lowell, Massachusetts, was. It did not matter, he would go there. He would find Laurence and make sure the boy did not come back. As he mused, he suddenly had a thought: What, he wondered, had happened to all the money that had been taken?

 
    I n the afternoon, Maura and Patrick left the steerage deck to go after daily provisions. Mr. Drabble was gone again, murmuring something to Bridy about giving a lesson. She was not sure what he meant but was content to be alone in the berth, full of idle thoughts.
    She thought about Maura O’Connell, so strong and beautiful, so sure of herself. Bridy thought that if she ever grew up, she would like to be like Maura.
    She gazed at the ceiling, the dark crisscrossing wooden