„A LESSON OF MODESTY"
DISCLAIMER: I have no rights to the world of Titanic. The beta was Hummingbird The Transformer. I wrote this story twice actually – I lost the first version at a computer crash but it was too good to ignore this sad incident and forget it so I just wrote it for the second time.
The hooves of the black stallions driving the most luxurious stagecoach belonging to the Hockley family, glistening delicately like they were specially polished, were tapping a fast, stable rhythm on the Pittsburgh pavements, soaked with the rain that was falling in quantities for the whole morning only to turn into an annoying drizzle. It was the very first rain this spring AD 1912 and the sky above the head of Caledon Hockley sitting stiffly at the back seat of the stagecoach taking him to the Darren – Bosworth family mansion resembled a flat, monotonously greyish surface spotted with a blur of clouds like yarns of tangled white cotton suspended up there by the hand of God.
The steel tycoon sat there in the solemn silence, holding in his lap a tiny box that contained a birthday present for his little cousin, not paying too much attention to the casket though, as he was plunged into reading the yesterday copy of The Pittsburg Press. This major afternoon daily newspaper of his hometown contained too many important news to miss even in this situation when he should be more preoccupied with the birthday of his young relative rather than with politics. The death of the Japanese Minister of War. The RMS Titanic – the ship he was going to travel on with his beautiful fiancée Rose DeWitt Bukater very soon – the man smiled to himself at the very thought about the fabulous voyage awaiting him and the upcoming wedding that was going to reach the status of one of the most important social events in the whole of Pittsburgh this year. Calbraith Rodgers – a famous aviator who had flown from the Atlantic coast to the Pacific one the previous year was killed while flying his plane in an airshow. „What a senseless death" Cal thought with a feeling of a fleeting sadness. More than 200 members of the Industrial Workers of the World were put in San Diego's jail only to be released into the hands of vigilantes soon; they beat them and warned never to return to their county. Caledon smiled again – more maliciously this time.
Yes, the world was a very interesting place indeed; the content of the newspaper only confirmed Hockley's conviction. Even the upcoming visit to his relatives and their spoiled little brat of a daughter couldn't be that bad. Cal Hockley's lips twisted in a mocking smile. The man's gaze got lowered to his lap where there lay a small black casket containing a birthday present for the girl.
Absent mindedly, the man looked out of the window, frowning. His gaze lay on the sky stretched above his head. He was quite inclined to see something almost... ominous and sinister in the drizzling rain and this blue and greyish sky moving in front of his eyes as he was looking through the windows of the stagecoach; one with strangely artificially looking clouds like bunches of dirty white cotton. All of the sudden, Cal, surprised with such a strong reaction on his side himself, felt almost like screaming. He put the newspaper away, forgetting about it. He felt so small and insignificant here in this stagecoach that was taking him to the mansion of his relatives; so strangely out of place. Quite as if the right place he should be in, was something else. His own house maybe, where he should be thinking about the upcoming marriage and planning the wedding or maybe the ship where he was going to take his Rose to show her the beauty of the world – Paris first and later England from where they would be taken to America again. This trip was going to take place in just a couple of days though, so no wonder he wished to be already somewhere else. The feeling that he got immersed in so suddenly, wasn't certainly one the young heir of the steel industry was used to; quite on the opposite and this also added to the fact that it was so overwhelming and unpleasant to him. Surprised with himself at the sight of this grey sky and streams of cold water falling from it, even if it was just a mere drizzle now and not a veritable storm it was just a couple of hours ago, Cal Hockley pulled out a white handkerchief from the pocket of the trousers of his luxurious suit and wiped off his forehead beaded with sweat. He combed his hair covered with a good dose of a brilliantine absent mindedly with his fingers. The man wouldn't have believed if someone told him this before but now he felt almost as if some superior being was giving him some sign, trying to tell him in this way that something was going to go really wrong.
But what was it? What could it be, Caledon Hockley wondered thoughtfully. Was it his upcoming marriage with Rose, the young heir of the DeWitt Bukater family that was going to be a total failure? No, it couldn't be; Rose loved him. To her he was her prince charming; a knight in shining armor, the snobbish man thought cockily. Every woman would think him to be this very way; would think him to be the most wonderful man in the whole of Pittsburgh, he thought as he was fixing his tie, proudly. Let alone the wealthiest, too.
A smile lit up the handsome face of the man once more. No, it couldn't be this, he said to himself. If it was some sign given to him by God the Lord, it couldn't in any way concern the marriage that was coming with fast steps. Or... was it maybe the trip on the board of Titanic they both – him and Rose, his red rose, his sweet little wild flower - were going to go on that was going to be a failure instead? After all, the dark-haired man thought, if God indeed existed, the voices that even the Almighty Lord couldn't make the ship sink, couldn't be to his liking. Not at all. Or... maybe it was going this very trip – one to visit his relatives he was taking now – was going to be a failure indeed?
Cal wasn't a superstitious man by any means, yet now as he was sitting in the seat at the back of the stagecoach, clutching the casket with the birthday present he ordered for his cousin Rowena – the newspaper he was so absorbed with reading which was laying there forgotten - he had this unpleasant feeling, the more unpleasant that if he dared to share it with someone, he would be found a madman - that it was the very weather that was conspiring against him, trying to tell him something – and that it wasn't anything nice. It couldn't. Even the very prospect of meeting his spoiled little cousin – well, maybe not that little; she was turning ten in the couple of days - wasn't a nice perspective either. Not at all.
Caledon Hockley sighed softly. Absent mindedly, he rubbed the casket delicately with a tip of his finger. It had even the initials of Rowena on it, written in gold. The initials shone in the rays of the spring sun that somehow managed to get out from the thick layer of clouds trying to trap it underneath. The man closed his eyes, trying in this way to get rid of the image of the grey sky that seemed to be suspended right above his head like some sinister scarf endowed with some sort of life, trying to throw itself to his throat to suffocate him.
The perspective of giving a birthday present to a child that spoiled wasn't certainly one of the most pleasurable experiences Cal was ever going to add to the list on his life experiences account. This was the thing he was sure. Rowena Darren-Bosworth age ten (in a couple of days at least), the owner of a big shock of amazingly curly hair the color of strawberry blonde and the most unpleasant disposition Cal ever saw in a child before, was certainly a very fastidious person when it came to presents. Well... when it came to basically anything, actually.
Cal was happy that it wasn't himself who was her father, forced to deal with young Ro on daily basis. He really hoped the children he was going to have with Rose weren't going to resemble her in the slightest. Well... maybe being a Goody Two - Shoes wasn't the best thing he would want his potential children to be so maybe a little bit of Rowena wouldn't be that bad about them but them being quite like her wasn't the option he was particularly happy with.
Whether the present the spoiled girl got was a beautiful china doll, a music box or a necklace ordered specially for her – artificial yet looking like real; quite as if little Rowena was already an adult young lady attending balls where she could wear it, exposing her beautiful, swan – like neck with the jewel shining on and not a fussy child who – when she was much younger at least – could throw herself at the floor, kicking and screaming only because the present she got wasn't to her liking. Cal truly hoped she already grew out of this sort of behaviors by now; the present she was going to get, ordered specially for her was really expensive, too expensive for a little girl even, regardless of the social status of her parents. Those who knew Caledon – then a young Cal - back at the days of his childhood, would say though – even if none of them would ever dare to say it aloud, not when he was close enough to be able to hear this, at least – that there already was a child that was not quite unlike young Ro – that a ten year old Caledon was like her mirror reflection.
"She will grow out of this" the subdued Darren – Bosworths used to say in an apologetic tone to everybody who would listen, yet their forced smiles, way too artificial to be something other than they were pretending them to be – a clumsy – very clumsy - attempt to convince others – and themselves – that it was indeed going to happen in the future – couldn't make Cal believe that they thought their daughter was indeed going to grow up to be a nice, kind young lady loving the whole world, the pride of the whole family and looking at her childhood's misdeeds with an embarrassed affectionate smile that said: "oh, I was just a child back then and couldn't understand what a horrible brat I was then and how much problems I was causing to others – I was way too young to comprehend the full extent of my spoiled attitude."
Caledon Hockley after all was quite similar to his cousin when he was a small boy her age himself – and he certainly didn't grow out of this. Only that his small sins only grew up to be one hell of turpitudes – little brats don't grow out of this, they just rather grow up to being even bigger ones. Cal if asked (although sneaky as he was, he was smart enough to hold his tongue even if indeed he was one day asked for an opinion), would say that what Rowena actually was going to grow up to was becoming his female equivalent in this respect – an arrogant snob with a violent temper. Not that he would be particularly sad about this – he respected people like himself – yet as a child she was just one annoying brat more.
The stagecoach was now getting closer to the luxurious three - story mansion built of polished grey marble, the delicate silhouette of which was now looming up at the horizon, emerging majestically from the thick fog enshrouding the whole area. The milk white fog seeming to suffocate everything it got ensnared by its ominouus clutches looked quite sinister – quite like it was taken from some gothic romance with a motive of fog waving over a mysterious quagmire. As the streams of cold water falling down from the weirdly, unfriendly sky got thinner since morning, turning into an irritating drizzle rather than a storm it was before, Cal could get a closer look at the solid grey mansion that stood there for what seemed like ages – for himself it was ages at least, as the mansion was standing there since he could reach for memory.
Since the late eighteenth century when Hiram and Virginia Hockley, the founders of this family branch and Caledon's distant cousins arrived here from England, the solid stocky building of grey marble served as the family nest for the next generations of the Hockleys who were born and died under this roof. They moved in the newly bought house together with their five little sons and soon the building resounded with children's cheerful laughter. Not that it could be said about what it was like now – as Rowena, Ro for her parents and "this spoiled little witch" for basically everybody who wasn't her parents and numerous nannies who changed often as Ro didn't like when someone didn't agree with her about something, demanding to change her nanny for a new one – only rarely smiled and never laughed aloud. Cal at least never heard her laughing. She just lived in there, in this house like a shrunk snail in a shell that her home was; in the mansion that was her safe haven, as due to her delicate health (and fears of her parents who already lost their other children; Ro was their fourth and only child who survived infancy) she practically never left the house, being homeschooled. The lack of peers to play with didn't help her improve her social skills nor made her understand that she wasn't the hub of the world around whom said world revolved and whose every wish should be instantly satisfied by adults.
There were actually only two adults living in there with her – those were her parents; her father Harold, an important person in the steel industry of Pittsburgh, an associate of Cal and his own father and Cal's distant cousin Edith, once a lovely Hockley girl, shy and cute, quite unlike her daughter, now Edith Darren – Bosworth, the wife of one of the famous Darren – Bosworths; one of the most important families in the elite of Pittsburgh. Those two were actually the only ones who seemed to love and accept her as she was although as Caledon himself thought, the level of their love and acceptance was way too high to allow their spoiled child to grow up to be a valuable human being. Maybe if she was somehow... less loved and accepted and someone told her that her misdeeds weren't going to be tolerated, Cal suspected she would think over a bit if it's indeed the best idea to behave like this. And maybe she would change if someone dared to give her such a lesson of good manners and modesty.
He was thinking about this as the stagecoach was driving into the alley leading to the mansion. Still leafless trees like dark skeletons enshrouded by the fog were growing on both the sides of it. Finally, the stagecoach stopped and the cabman came out to ask someone to open the gate. Waiting until it was done, swearing under his breath a bit, silently – the weather was quite foul - Cal Hockley took an umbrella and putting it up, came out himself, not forgetting to take the casket still clutched by him in his hand, careful not to make it wet. Holding the umbrella opened above his head, he kept coming closer and closer taking fast steps and finally entered the house where he was instantly greeted by the servant. He was instantly led to the hall where his coat, hat and umbrella were taken and showed the way to the room of his little niece even though Cal already was here before.
With a sudden feeling of weakness in his knees that was no excused, he realized exquisitely well, as Rowena was merely a child, bratty or not but merely a child and not a demon from the deepest chasms of hell itself, the man came closer to the door, clutching the casket. He swallowed and knowing such a reaction was just ridiculous, took a couple of steps towards the room, aware that the servant was observing him. He took the next couple of hesitant steps and was already found knocking the teak wood door.
"Come in!" he heard loudly in a high, girly voice.
Cal shivered for a very short moment. Sighing softly, he obeyed the wish of the owner's voice, coming in, indeed, as told. Instantly, he put on the widest and most artificial smile he could force himself to. For a short, fleeting moment he felt like his face was made of brittle glass about to break.
"Ehemm... hello, Ro," he said in the most official voice he could afford, still smiling.
"Hello, uncle."
It was the only thing this damn kid said as she was sitting there on her canopy bed, not even minding to stand up as the most basic standards of good manners would demand to greet her uncle any well behaved child would do. Not that Cal did mind; he was already quite familiar with young Ro and all the vices of her parents in the parenting department; if he was going to enumerate them one by one, he would soon find himself lacking fingers to do this. Cal didn't know much about raising children not having any siblings himself but what he did know was that when he had children with Rose himself, he was going to raise his progeny quite otherwise than Rowena's parents did. You aren't quite sure what to do with your child? Then think what Ro's parents would do and do otherwise. Those words were going to become Caledon Hockley's gospel the holy words of which he was going to follow. Harold and Edith did otherwise and created a monster.
She was just sitting there stiffly, not doing anything than gloomily staring at her uncle. With one smooth movement of her hand, Rowena brushed off her silk blue dress that looked rather a miniature copy of a dress a young girl could be wearing at her debutante ball but it was basically the only movement she made – her only sign of life showing she was a living person indeed and not a natural size china doll she did resemble with her dress and hair. Were her parents crazy to allow her to wear something like this? And was it the perfume smell he felt from her? Who even allows a ten-year old to use perfumes?
"I know you are having your birthday soon and well... I brought you something," Caledon said ingratiatingly and with a feeling of relief it was going to finish soon – he certainly didn't feel well at the presence of this weird child - handed her the casket, opening it, so that she could see the inside exposing the present – a necklace. It shone in the darkness of the box.
The damn kid finally showed at least some trace of interest. She stood up and came closer taking the casket impatiently from him – Cal with a feeling of amusement saw in this gesture of her a woman the little girl was going to become one day - and pulling the present out to take a look. She was holding it in her hand now – her nails were polished, Cal noticed – and studying it with attention. Caledon smiled triumphantly. She is not a china doll, he thought but a living person. A woman – even if just a woman in making. A female and all females are the same. I knew she was going to love it.
"Do... do like your present, Ro?" Cal asked, breaking the silence. He smiled once more and his smile was much less strained but much more expressing triumph he wasn't going to hide. He knew he looked stupid with this smile, the more that the person he was sulking up to was a mere child but oh, well, he mused, this visit isn't as bad as I thought, he thought to himself, proudly.
"It's really pretty" the girl replied, absent mindedly as she was looking at the necklace attentively and didn't seem to pay attention to the words said by Caledon. "But... you know, uncle, my grandma already gave me one like this. It's red, like you know, a ruby one, so maybe you will take this one this time and give it to someone else."
Cal couldn't believe what he heard. Taking the present away? The present he spent so much money on? He ordered it specially for her. He clenched his teeth.
"You know, I thought you were going to like it" he said, trying to seem so calm and relaxed as possible. "Anyway," he added in hope it was going to teach some good manners to her "a well behaved girl wouldn't ever say something like this. She would say: 'thank you'."
The damn kid was only staring at him, pouting.
"You know," she said finally in quite an adult tone, as if trying to sweeten the bitter pill, "it's a nice present, it's really pretty but I already have one. Even bigger and prettier. So just give it to someone else some because I don't want this. Grandmother already gave me one." The girl came closer to the shelf and took an unassuming brown box, opening it. The necklace she got from her grandmother was indeed "prettier" to quote the girl but this word would fully reflect – ever – the fabulous beauty of the jewel that was exposed to the eyes of fascinated Caledon. It certainly surpassed his one in grandeur.
Cal not only heard about the famous Marie Antoinette diamond necklace affair but also saw the drawing of the reconstructed jewel as well and it was what he saw when the girl opened the box – a fabulous necklace resembling that one only this time made of artificial, of course, but also very realistically looking rubies. The replica of the Queen of France's necklace lay there in a casket resembling the one Cal brought for Rowena. Out of a sudden he felt small and insignificant with his "present" - yes, a mere "present" not a present as this one was surpassed by the jewel ordered by Rowena's grandmother for her granddaughter. Cal's eyes widened, he seemed to devour the beauty lying in front of his with his eyes. Never before did he see something that beautiful and intricate – and it was just a mere replica!
"I... I understand, my dear" Cal said weakly, trying to calm down. He rolled his eyes. "Maybe indeed I should take my present and give it to someone else. Someone who... who knows how to appreciate this". He took the jewel from the girl as delicately as he could given his shivering hands, trying to hide the anger buzzing through him. "My grandma gave me a better one, pshaw!"
The necklace was carefully put back in the casket, disappearing from the eyes of the kid who even if at the beginning was as happy as any woman – even a small girl – would be upon getting something so beautiful and intricate, yet later lose any trace of interest. "Bigger and prettier! My grandma gave me bigger and prettier presents!"
The man clenched his fists. He felt his cheeks were covered with an intensive blush and didn't even have to have a mirror in front of him to be sure of it. The present for Rowena was now safely hidden but also the other necklace – the one that was a replica of the Marie Antoinette's famous necklace which immortalized her in the memory of people also was put back into the casket by the child (luckily she didn't hit upon an idea to put it on to boast about it, Caledon thought, otherwise it would end up for him with an apoplexy attack, he was sure but instead she just put it back into the box where it lay for the time being hidden from the eyes of jealous Cal).
"Well, if you don't like my present, that's O.K." said Cal. "Nevertheless," he said stiffly "it was made specially for you. I spent a lot of money on it and... and..." he stuttered, trying to find a good argument, "it even had your initials on! Ones written in gold!"
The kid only rolled her eyes – big and blue, seemed to express only her limitless astonishment at the stupidity of an adult person who thought in his naivety that she was going to catch a bait by being lured with initials. Even written in gold.
"I don't want it" she said, turning into a self-appointed little queen of all spoiled brats all over the world. Any track of the "let's sweeten the bitter pill" tone present in her voice a moment ago disappeared from it now; now the girl was a child again. A spoiled one.
"I don't want it" she repeated, seeing that Cal didn't seem to understand she really didn't want the present.
Everything Caledon Hockley could do was taking his present after a five minutes lasting conventional conversation with Ro on her grades and what she was doing. During the whole conversation Cal, though an adult man, felt like his forehead was beaded with sweat and that his cheeks were going to break, so stiff and artificial his smile was. He breathed with an immense feeling of relief when there was no topic to raise any more and he felt that it was time to end the conversation, finished with laying a kiss on Ro's hand like she was an adult lady. On one of her fingers there was a golden ring with an artificial sapphire. "It would fit my necklace" Cal thought bitterly.
After saying his final farewell, everything that left was leaving the feminine bedroom of the little Queen of Brats and directing his steps towards the stagecoach. He didn't forget to take his necklace safely hidden in its black and silky haven back. It was still raining; Cal felt like the whole world was going to get suffocated by the monotonous drizzle that seemed to permeate everything, together with the cool wind blowing. Opening his umbrella, he came to the stagecoach and gave the cabman the order to take him home. As he was sitting in the seat, he opened the casket with the present that was not to Rowena's liking to take the last final look at it.
"I will definitely give it to someone who will like it better, little Ro" he thought with a malicious satisfaction. His face was lit up with a malicious smile - for a moment the man looked like a Persian cat which got to the milk and was purring delightfully. "I certainly know someone who is going to love my present much more" he told himself. For a moment, he felt like he heard a malicious giggle in his head – the one of Ro.
Only this time this someone will not know it's just an artificial trinket," he thought. The man looked at the necklace attentively. It certainly was a very realistically looking replica of a real sapphire; someone not knowing the truth would be mistaken that it's a real jewel.
"Rose will love my present for sure" the steel tycoon thought, smiling once more. "She doesn't need to know it's not a real sapphire... have I just said 'sapphire'?" Hockley asked himself, surprised with himself. He winked. "Sapphire... I'm going to tell her it's a blue diamond – even more unique. Only that this time I will have to buy a real gold chain. I will pretend I bought it for her in Paris. Rowena didn't appreciate my present but Rose certainly will. She won't know it's not real. It certainly looks realistic enough. And even if, somehow, she would be going to find out... well, it will be a great lesson of modesty" he thought to himself. "Even if given a little bit too late. But maybe something could still be done, even in case of a seventeen-year old. I will only need to buy a chain of a real gold" he repeated."I won't even need to change the casket. Even the initials are right. R.D.B. Like Rowena Darren – Bosworth. And like Rose DeWitt – Bukater."
He closed the casket and took to reading the newspaper that lay there abandoned. He heard the sound of thunder. He shivered for a moment, shook off balance.
"A lesson of modesty," the dark-haired man thought as he was wading through the newspaper article on Titanic. The perspective of his getting to the ship was so delightfully close. Cal could almost feel the smell of the sea and taste the salty water. He closed his eyes to open them again to look at the gloomy sky with an almost masochistic pleasure.
"A great lesson of modesty" he repeated, wincing.