YAYAYAY! FIRST COMPLETED STORY EVEEERRRR! This is my pride and joy, no lie.
Anyway, there are a few things you need to know: I did use the real name of a daughter of Bruce Ismay, but I don't actually know how old she was during the Titanic journey, and she obviously didn't go with him. I fudged the time-line a little so that I could have more to write, and I know I fucked up translating the Irish accent. I'm sorry, but it's the best I could do.
I set up a Tumblr for the story. If you want to see the characters' pictures, then go to my profile, and click the link for my story Tumblr! :D
Anyway, I really hope you like it!
Something I've Wanted All Along
I had always loved America when I was younger. My parents took me, my sisters and brothers there on one of my father's company's many luxury ships when I was fourteen. I fell in love with everything, the atmosphere, the people, the food…it all intrigued me to the point that I cried the whole entire journey back home to England.
I have made only three trips to and from there since, all with only my father, Bruce Ismay. It was custom for him to go on the maiden voyage that each of his company's (the White Star Line) ships made, and I made sure to kick up a fuss every time one went to America. My siblings, not having a liking for anything other than money and power, never went with us.
When I found out that I would be making another trip there for my nineteenth birthday, I was positively thrilled. But when I walked in on my personal maid packing for me, I became suspicious.
I had looked around at all of my luggage with confusion. If I was only staying for a few days, why did I need the entire contents of my closet?
"What's going on, Rebecca?" I'd asked cautiously.
She'd turned around with a slight pink tinge to her cheeks and mumbled, "Mistress Julia told me to send you to her."
"Why does my mother need to speak to me?" I asked sharply. I didn't particularly get along with either of my parents. Their fondness for wealth and position was not one I truly shared. They rather irked me most of the time, and I was nearly positive that they knew that.
"I don't know, Miss Evelyn," she said guiltily, "and I should never ask. I know my place." She turned on her heel, and tucked another pair of shoes in a bag.
I'd walked as fast as I possibly could with my spine straight and my heels clacking to my mother's library, where she spent nearly all of her time. I knew something that I wasn't going to like was about to happen when she set down her book and fixed me with a stern look.
"Evelyn," she'd said seriously, "you're nineteen now. Bruce and I have allowed you plenty of leniency on your future, but the time for allowing this has passed." She took a deep breath, and I could feel fear bubbling inside of me. "I'm certain you remember Carlton Weston. You met on your last journey with your father to New York."
Carlton Weston, how could I forget? He was tall, muscular to the point that he looked rather fat, plain-faced, and pompous enough for several millionaires. He was so obnoxious the last time we'd encountered each other (talking endlessly of his numerous houses, the well-to-do company he would inherit from his father, and the many women who were trying to catch his eye) that I feigned a headache and retired from the dinner party four hours early.
"What of him?" I snapped, not even trying to keep my tone civil.
"He has asked your father for your hand," she replied evenly. I was so horrified that I slumped against the wall with my mouth slightly open. "Your father has agreed. Once you go to America…you won't be coming back."
I was sick, absolutely nauseous. I couldn't even breathe. I had to marry that…ass? He was nothing short of detestable! "But," I floundered, spluttering crazily, "what about…a ceremony? Mustn't you be there?"
"Your father will stay out there with you for a month, by which time the ceremony will be put together," she said, almost like a memorized speech. "I will then bring your siblings and join you for the wedding. Your father will return with me afterward."
I desperately struggled for another flaw in the plan even though I knew that they had most likely thought it out so well that it would be impossible to poke any holes in it. I was light-headed. I knew that I would never be able to pick my husband, but I never imagined…Carlton Weston! I couldn't, wouldn't marry that man! I loathed him to his very core. I would run away if I had to!
"You will do as I say," my mother hissed icily, as if she were reading my rebellious thoughts. "He is going to inherit the most prominent trading company in his country. Do you understand just what that could mean for you? You would be set for life!"
I made a strangled sound, and then bellowed, "I don't want to be 'set for life'! I'd rather be poor than marry that bastard!"
She was up so fast that I didn't even see her move, and before I could be surprised, she'd slapped me so hard across the face that I stumbled.
"Never," she snarled, "will you raise your voice or use that sort of language in front of me again, Evelyn." She swept a stray strand of dark brown hair (identical to mine) from her face, and then continued, "You're marrying Carlton."
She'd walked from the room, and left me there to cry, which I did for nearly an hour. No one came to see if I was alright, even though I heard footsteps pass the door multiple times.
I thought of the past as I laid there on the floor, the days when my mother was the sweetest woman you'd ever meet. She would laugh loudly, unlike all the other women at the parties who would giggle quietly. She didn't much care about the silly first class things that everyone else worried about, and she was always there for me when most of my friends had nannies. I'd watched the years of being married to my father and being paraded through society events stomp the life out of her until she was just as cold as the rest. The last time I'd seen her laugh honestly was when I was twelve.
For the rest of the week leading up to my voyage to America on the Titanic, I stayed in my room most of the time. I barely ate or drank; I didn't wash or change my clothes. All I did really was write; which was one of my passions. I could get all of my feelings out on paper, and then twist them into a story so that they weren't my feelings at all. They were a character's and they were almost always something spectacular that I could never even hope of being.
The day of the departure several maids came and forced me into the bath, washed me like a small child, and dressed me before wrenching my hair into an elaborate knot held together by a multitude of pins.
A hat was placed on my head that perfectly matched the deep purple dress I was adorning. I was forced in front of a mirror, and I stared into my own eyes while Rebecca smeared lipstick across my bottom lip. I had the strangest eyes, a strange green that was close to yellow. They were catlike, and my sisters always said they were sinister. I thought they were different in a good way, when not filled with rage, depression, and panic as they were now.
My father and I weren't lead through the inspection queue when we arrived, of course. They put us right onto the ship, and we had the three best cabins in the whole thing. Rebecca came with us to assist me, and I sat broodingly on one of the luxurious sofas while she unpacked a few of my bags for me.
I always thought that when I moved to America, I'd be so happy that I wouldn't be able to sit still. I would finally get away from my family, and I could start my own life. I could even work, as a writer. It would have been perfect. I did not even have to marry. I could make my own way! Now I could never have that life. I would be the typical housewife, only useful for a trophy and making babies. I would stand silently on Carlton Weston's arm while he boasted about whatever he felt was best about him at the time, and I would silently hope that a passerby might shoot him or me; it would not matter which one.
I was shaken from my thoughts by my father invading my cabin. He looked around impressively at the room while I glowered at him. He was tall, over six feet, and he had medium brown hair that all of my other siblings had inherited. A huge mustache took up his whole upper lip, and seemed to never move, even when he talked or had just woken up. He was wearing his best suit, and had a smug grin on his face.
"Evelyn, dear," he said (I tried not to cringe when he called me 'dear'); "I would like you to accompany me to the deck to see the ship off."
"No," I said simply, returning my glare to the floor.
"You'll do as I say," he said, using his no-nonsense voice. "It is important that society sees you walking willingly into this marriage."
"But it's not willing, is it?" I muttered angrily.
"Well, that is beside the matter," he said, waving his hand like he was shooing the problem away. "We're Ismays. We must always show a positive and proper face to the public."
I was so irate, that I nearly jerked his shoulder out of the socket when I took his arm. He didn't seem to notice though, because he only walked me down the hallway and checked his pocket watch. "Nearly time," he muttered, picking up the pace.
When we arrived on deck, there were hoards of passengers there; waving merrily to the people they were leaving behind. Even if my family were here to say goodbye to, I still would not have joined the crowd. I was nothing less than livid with the lot of them.
I was introduced to the ship captain, Smith, and another man who had worked on the designing of the ship named Andrews. I shook hands with them, and became dutifully silent. We were relatively close to the railing, and I watched the smiling people getting the last glimpse of their loved ones before they set sail across the Atlantic. On the deck below the second and third class passengers also said goodbye, but they were of course separated from us. The thought of our deck being the same as ours would have been scandalous to anyone in high society, but I was rather uncaring about the matters of class. In all honesty, I didn't care about much of anything. I was a very indifferent young woman.
"…Evelyn?" I heard my name, and looked back at the two men my father had been talking to. They looked at me expectantly, and I realized I'd been asked a question.
"I beg your pardon?" I said quickly.
"I said I heard that you'll be getting married in a month," Andrews repeated. "I offer my congratulations."
I inhaled to tell him that his congratulations were unnecessary because I hoped my fiancé was kicked to death by a group of wild horses, but a sharp nudge in my ribs reminded me that I was supposed to be happy about this. I plastered a huge fake smile on my face, as I normally did when around people of my same class, and said, "Oh, yes, sir. I was most pleased when I heard of the arrangement," and of course I didn't spend hours bawling all over my library floor.
They both grinned approvingly at me, and my father looked smugger than ever. A very loud horn sounded, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I just refrained from using an unladylike curse. The four of us turned our attention to the dock far below, where many men were sprinting around to send the ship off. After about a minute or so of waiting, we started to drift. The cheering and calling to relatives and friends was so loud that I could barely hear my father saying that this had been the biggest turnout for a sendoff that he'd ever seen.
Once the ship was well away from the dock, I told my father that I was going to read for awhile before lunch in an hour. He let me go, and I was so relieved that a smile stayed on my face as I made my way back to my cabin. I was rounding the corner that lead to the hallway off which my cabin sat when I heard my name called. I turned, and saw Ruth Dewitt-Bukater and her daughter, Rose. Our families had been friendly in England, when they had lived there before Mr. Dewitt-Bukater died. He was close with my father, so Rose and I had been forced playmates as children. I smiled friendlily as I kissed both of their cheeks respectfully.
"Mrs. Dewitt-Bukater, Rose, it's so very nice to see you," I said, in my most proper, light tone. That voice had been ingrained into me from the time I was a small child. A woman was always supposed to be seen not heard…admired. If you spoke to loud or brashly when you did speak, it ruined the whole picture.
"You as well, Evelyn," Ruth said. Her eyes trailed from the top of my hat to the tips of my shoes with her judging eyes, and I wondered what about me she was tearing apart in her mind. Perhaps it was the fact that some curls had fallen from my hairstyle because of the high winds and were now falling about my neck, or maybe she thought the neckline on my dress was too revealing. When her eyes met mine and one side of her lips curled up evilly, I knew it must be my eyes. They were a common joke among the ladies of society. My insecurity kicked in, and I turned my gaze to Rose as a delicate shade of pink rose on my cheeks.
Rose had gone to finishing school with me. We'd been the only two girls there who had never spoken of how important it was to us that we find an attractive, rich husband. We were quiet in a frigid way that made most of the girls talk badly about us behind our backs. We were teased, I suppose, but our demeanors didn't allow much room for us to take offense to such petty things. Although we were two of a kind, we never became close friends. It was more like allies.
She'd always been the prettiest girl there, but she'd changed quickly to stunning once she'd turned fourteen. Her flaming red curls were held against her head tightly with a comb shaped like a butterfly, and her blue eyes popped vividly from her pale complexion. I noticed that she still had a certain disdain about her, and it satisfied me, strangely enough. I figured that we may be able to continue our allied status on this voyage.
"I hope we'll be seeing you at lunch," Rose said, adopting the same tone I had spoken in. I could also hear the mocking way in which she used it, even if her mother could not. "It would be most splendid. I could introduce you to my fiancé, Caledon Hockley."
I nodded respectfully. I knew of her engagement to the man thirteen years her senior, and couldn't help but feel the sympathy owed to her now that I had not paid her before. I understood what it was like to not want anything to do with the man that you were about to enter a lifetime commitment with.
"I would be delighted," I replied, a small amused smile crossing my face. "We could even discuss my fiancé, Carlton Weston. I am oh so ecstatic about our union."
Rose bit her lip behind her mother's back as she tried not to giggle. I quickly turned my attention to her mother, so I wouldn't do the same. "It was so nice to see the both of you, but I must hurry and return to my room. I have so much to do before lunch."
"Ah, yes, us as well," Ruth said pompously. "We shall see you at lunch then."
They both walked away, and I strolled the rest of the way to my room, locked myself in, and escaped within the pages of my latest book while I waited for lunch to be announced. I'd only read about a chapter before I became bored. I was restless, and I assumed it had something to do with wanting to do something before I was shackled with the Weston name. I glanced out my window, and saw the sun shining in. It was a nice temperature outside, so I decided a quick walk would do me good; fresh air to clear my head before I was forced to dumb myself down in a crowd full of men.
I changed my outfit, as was expected for lunch, as I was intending to head straight from my walk to lunch. I shed my outer layer, leaving my corset be, and replaced it with a sage green dress with gray lace trim that made my eyes stand out. Rebecca laced the back for me, and I set off through the hallways of the gigantic ship.
I found out quickly that I had forgotten my way onto the deck, and was taking entirely too many twists and turns through the corridors in the ship. As I walked, things seemed to become shabbier and shabbier, and when I caught sight of a little boy wearing torn pants and a dirty shirt, I knew I'd strayed into the low class portion of the ship. My eyes darted around, hoping no one would spot me here. I would be reprimanded vehemently for being anywhere near here.
I took another turn, and into a crowded hallway where many of the third class passengers were adjusting themselves into their cabins. Many different languages were spoken by all sorts of voices, but I didn't stop to pay attention to what they were saying, I just had to get out of here.
I instantly noticed a stark difference between first class and third class: if a third class passenger had taken a stroll down our corridor, they would have been identified and thrown out immediately. Down here, they didn't seem to think me as out of place at all, and when I was acknowledged, it was only with a smile, nod of the head, or tip of a hat. They weren't hostile…more like jolly.
I noticed a woman by herself at the end of the hallway, and decided she looked friendly enough for me to ask her directions.
"Excuse me, madam," I said, "could you by any chance tell me which way the deck is?"
She blinked, and then began to speak so fast that I had no idea what she was saying. After a few seconds of listening closely, I recognized the language she was speaking as Greek, but had absolutely no idea what she was saying. I'd heard my father speak it before, but couldn't understand a word of it myself.
She stopped, and I tried again, waving my arms to indicate what I wanted. "Could you…tell me…where I…can find the deck?"
She began to speak again, but without indicating what she was saying. Her arms stayed at her sides, and her eyes on me. I sighed sadly, and was trying to decide on a next move when I heard a voice behind me.
"Havin' some trouble, ma'am?"
I whirled around and came face to chest with someone. I took a step to the side, and looked up. A strange feeling shocked through my chest when I saw him, almost like when you almost fall, but catch yourself in time. His hair was curly in the extreme, tousled messily, and a very light shade of brown. He had a strong jaw line, and his lips were curved up in a charming smile. His nose was perfectly straight, and it looked like he'd gone a couple days without shaving. But what really caught my attention were his eyes: they were hazel, but so open and light-hearted that I felt like I could tell everything I needed to know about him just by looking into them. I had never seen a more attractive man in my life, and I knew that I wanted to get to know him explicitly…until my eyes traveled down.
He was dressed in a pair of shabby brown pants, a rumpled white shirt under a dark brown vest, and a battered coat. There were what appeared to be dirt stains on every article of clothing he was wearing, including his scuffed shoes. I felt like a theatre-enthusiast who had been dying to see a play, but glimpsed a program and taken in its vulgar reality. I pursed my lips in annoyance.
"Could you tell me which way to get to the deck?" I asked, forgetting my polite and quiet voice in my irritation. How could a third class man be so…gorgeous?
"I could show ya if ya like," he said, adjusting his tattered coat.
My immediate reaction was to say no and find someone else to direct me, but a part of me that I didn't even know existed rose up, and screamed at me. I knew what I had to do.
"That would be delightful, thank you so much," I said, although without smiling, and a harsher tone than I would have used with anyone from my part of the ship.
He grinned, and held out his arm for me to walk ahead of him in the direction I'd just come from. I kept my chin up, my back straight, and stared straight ahead as I lead the way. I could somehow sense that he was behind me, rather than hearing or seeing him. I wasn't sure whether or not I liked this new feeling.
"I'm Tommy Ryan, by the way," he said, appearing at my right shoulder with his hand held out. I noticed that he had an Irish accent, and I had an urge to giggle. Thankfully, I repressed it.
"Evelyn Ismay, pleased to make your acquaintance," I replied, taking his hand. It was so big that it nearly encased mine completely, and it was rough and calloused. I normally would have been rather disgusted by the state of it, but I wasn't this time. I felt a pang when he released it.
"Ismay?" he asked interestedly. "As in Bruce Ismay?"
I nodded. "I'm his daughter."
He whistled. "Didn't think I was getting the privilege of rescuin' this ship's princess from the peasants."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm hardly a princess," I said scathingly. "More like a captive," I added lowly.
I noticed his eyebrows arch slightly, but he didn't comment. We took a few turns in silence. I had a myriad of things in my head that I wanted to say to keep conversation going, but my pride prevented me from saying any of them. I had been taught for years that people like this man were beneath me, and I shouldn't associate with them. There was just something about this certain man…something different that made me want to know him despite his social status.
There was a door up ahead, and we walked straight up to it. He grabbed the handle, and it opened onto the lower deck, for the second and third class. Children ran by, playing with a ball that one of them had brought. Their mothers looked on, laughing and talking jovially. Couples walked hand in hand, and I saw a boy and girl around my age sneak a kiss. It was a noticeable difference from the first class, where the mothers would talk quietly, judging other people that walked by; the boys would stand with their fathers and try to understand business talk, the girls would sit together and practice etiquette or do exactly what their mothers did, the couples would walk arm in arm, and could never be caught kissing in public. It was unwelcoming, but it was how I'd grown up. I could never act like these people did; my finishing school training would never allow it.
"The stairs to yer deck will be right up here," Tommy Ryan told me, taking the lead across the deck. I followed after a second, remembering my old teacher Ms. Dean telling me that I should never outright watch people when I walked by them because it was rude. What they didn't teach you was how to peer sneakily from the corners of your eyes. I learned that from watching my mother.
As I walked I thought of lessons from my schooling days that I would give to each of the people walking by…never touch a man who you are not related to or being courted by…eat only when sitting down at a table for meals…wear shoes at all times in public…don't run…back straight…
"Here we are," the voice broke me from my thoughts. My eyes flitted back to Tommy, and I realized we were standing in front of a set of stairs that lead to a deck where I could just see extravagant hats passing by. That could only mean first class. I returned my gaze to Tommy.
"Thank you, Mr. Ryan, for escorting me here," I said formally, dipping my chin slightly.
"Call me Tommy," he said simply. He was scrutinizing my face, and I blushed. "Ya have the most unusual eyes."
"Is that a bad thing?" I asked haughtily, trying to cover up my blush.
He must have seen through my façade, because he was smiling. "No. I would say it's a good thing…a rather pretty thing."
I failed at hiding my flattered smile. It wasn't often that I was actually complimented on the color of my eyes, and I decided to bask in it. "Why thank you…Tommy."
He didn't say anything, just continued to look at my eye. I had a sudden memory of my mother speaking to one of her aristocrat friends. They were talking about a daughter of one of their peers who had recently run away with a steel worker. I recalled my mother saying that those men only cared about one thing, and their trailing eyes gave away what it was. I didn't know what she meant then, but I do now. Tommy's eyes weren't 'trailing' though…they hadn't left my face.
"I should go," I said suddenly, holding out my hand. "It was a pleasure."
He took my gloved hand, but didn't shake it. He raised it to his lips, and kissed the back of it quickly. "It wasn't a problem," he replied. "Maybe I'll see ya 'round."
He was walking away before I could tell him that that was very unlikely. Part of me was glad that he had turned away so quickly. I didn't want him to see the beaming smile on my face that wouldn't go away since he'd kissed my hand.
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Thank you so much for reading!