On the Edge of Daylight
by whereisnovember
(Giselle B.)
Esther Bailey is Titanic's newest recruit and one of the first female officers of her time. Although she's braced herself for the duties ahead, she never expected to clash with her own mentor, First Officer Murdoch.
His cool dismissal of her only turns colder as they bicker throughout their forced partnership, with Esther's short temper challenging his own. But as Esther begins to prove her worth, blurring the line between subordinate and superior, she and Murdoch find themselves questioning what matters most: their careers . . . or the feelings they're hiding from each other.
As tragedy unfolds around them, will they overcome the sinking together and live to see daylight?
"I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand as in what direction we are moving: To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it—but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor."
—Oliver Wendell Holmes
1
Arrival
April 6, 1912 | 06:20
It rained the day she arrived in Southampton, watching the cold, sodden port drawing nearer and knowing her life would never be the same.
Esther Bailey sat in silence, mirroring the sleepy quiet of her driver as their motorcar bumped along a road long-gutted by tire tracks, the deeper ruts already swollen with rainwater. Beyond the fogged window, she could see the swirl of waves foaming against the docks, dark and vaguely blue beneath the daybreak sky.
Esther shivered underneath her woolen coat. Not merely from the cold, but from the sheer excitement of what awaited her at port: the RMS Titanic. The luxury steamship all the papers, newsboys and bustling folks across London were calling "The Ship of Dreams." A true marvel of steel and manmade opulence bound for New York in five days' time.
And she would soon become one of its newest junior officers.
A woman officer, at that.
Esther tried to keep such a trivial detail from plaguing her thoughts. But she could still feel it swirl through her mind like floodwaters, tearing away the wonder and anticipation she had thrived on these last few weeks. She wasn't simple-minded; she knew female officers were unheard of.
She had braced herself to expect the worst from her crewmates, whether it be indifference, disapproval—or outright prejudice.
This wouldn't be easy, Esther knew. But she was perfectly qualified for the role.
Her uncle, being the practical businessman that he was, hadn't wanted to waste her talents. Rather than turn his nose up at her aspirations, he had used his influence with White Star Line to secure two positions, one each for her and her brother, aboard the glittering new steamer.
Esther sighed, slipping the chain of her silver locket through shaky fingertips. Booker would be just fine aboard Titanic. Her brother had studied shipbuilding and design at the Institute of Marine Engineering and Science in London. He would work underneath Thomas Andrews, Titanic's shipwright, in a formal apprenticeship these next few weeks.
But Booker was an accomplished male student of twenty-nine. Esther was a lady of twenty-six, and although she'd studied with a small pool of female scholars at the very same institute, and knew her maritime laws like she knew the back of her hand, she was still a woman entering a world traditionally reserved for men.
It was a first for the maritime business—a first for White Star Line, undoubtedly enough—and she wasn't sure how her new shipmates would react to such a peculiarity.
They'll be ecstatic, I'm sure, Esther told herself, unable to keep the sarcasm from her nervous thoughts as she watched the raindrops glitter past the window.
The motorcar came to a shuddering halt before the rain-slick platform of the nearest loading dock, headlights blooming out across the dark shapes of berthed ships and cargo cranes. The driver swung around in his seat to look at her, cocking his head to one side.
"Y'sure yer in the right place, ma'am?"
"If I wasn't," Esther said lightly, "I would have told you by now, don't you think?" She smiled at him before stepping out into the frigid air.
A short walk brought her past a handful of sailors and seafarers tending to their ships in the early morn, many watching her pass with puzzled looks. In the distance, a sliver of light strained its way through layers of fog and rainclouds; weak though it was, Esther hoped it meant that the dreary weather might clear at last.
Hands buried deep in her pockets, she continued onward through the maze of docks, winding her way to Berth 44. But it wasn't until she rounded a row of Cunard ships that she finally saw it, and her breath caught in her throat.
The RMS Titanic loomed out of the downpour, a giantess of gleaming steel and metalwork that put the berthed ships around her to shame.
Never had Esther seen a steamer so impossibly grand. Yellow light poured from portholes and promenades, seeping into the watery blue darkness. She gaped at the ship's colossal size as it towered above her, nearly reminiscent of the skyscrapers she'd seen in New York, and she had to tilt her head back to take it all in: the buff-colored funnels soaring high above her, illuminated by lights at each base; the white paintwork sweeping across decks, davits and roaming promenades, as smooth and pristine as if the coats had dried only yesterday; and finally, the enormous mast that speared the sky, linked by a sprawl of crisscrossed cables and wirework. Titanic was every bit as stunning as the papers and newsboys in London claimed her to be—if not more.
"Good Heavens," Esther murmured, standing rigid with her eyes flooded with awe. "She's unbelievable."
Suddenly, everything she had fretted over during the journey to port—every concern regarding her gender, her purpose, her place—vanished from her mind. Her eagerness returned, and Esther found herself thinking only of the days ahead, when she would cross the North Atlantic on the grandest ship she had ever laid eyes on.
.
06:50
.
Sixth Officer James Moody had never liked the rain.
He fought to ignore its sting of icy droplets as he crossed the sprawling docks, cursing himself for forgetting an umbrella this morning.
Although he had donned leather gloves and a thick, blue-black greatcoat made of heavy wool, his attire could do little to bar the freezing chill. He quickened his stride, vigorously rubbing his hands together for warmth and dreading how much colder the nights at sea would be.
He had originally been assigned to the RMS Oceanic for a summer voyage this year, until White Star Line—for reasons unbeknownst to anyone—had transferred him to Titanic instead. Less than thrilled by his new assignment and not wanting to brave the harsh April weather, Moody had put in a request for leave…only to have it denied a day later.
He tried to swallow down his bitterness as he imagined his fellow Oceanic officers preparing for a much warmer, much more jovial transatlantic crossing. On the one hand, Titanic was a gem of a ship—a steamer that outclassed any other vessel Moody had worked in his career. Aside from boasting luxury and lavishness, she had performed incredibly well during her sea trials in Belfast, steaming through all manner of turns with impressive speed and precision.
But despite Titanic's excellence, Moody was still disappointed this trip would consist of chilled nights, cold watches and frozen seas, rather than the calm summer voyage Oceanic had promised him.
Well, he thought idly, doesn't get much better than this.
The downpour began to lighten, falling in a drizzle that was more mist than rain. Moody listened to the tides hissing and foaming against the slipway as he strolled toward Berth 44, heading straight for the port shell door where a gangway and a handful of seamen awaited him.
He was about to give the crew a cursory nod when he stopped in his tracks, taken aback by the odd sight before him.
A short, slender woman donned in a heavy coat two sizes too big for her stood alone at the far end of the dock.
She was gazing up at Titanic's behemoth mass, the glow from the portholes glittering like starlight in her eyes. She seemed frozen, almost—though whether she was in a daze or simply ridden by the cold, Moody couldn't say. But there was no reason for a girl like her to be on the docks, anyway, least of all at such an early hour. He made his way toward her at once, brow knitted into a frown.
"Miss?" Moody said, hoping the crisp formality of his voice was enough to conceal his bewilderment.
But the woman didn't even look at him; she remained hopelessly transfixed on Titanic, studying her sleek hull and speckling of rivets with soft-eyed wonder.
Trying not to feel miffed, Moody pressed on, "Forgive my intrusion, miss, but may I ask what…you're…doing?"
"Oh!"
Her gasp vaulted across the berth, catching the air in a cloud of fog. She swung around to look at Moody, her cheeks rosy pink with cold and embarrassment, her gaze widening as she took in the officer beside her.
The woman was young—perhaps his age—with dark, shoulder-length hair still wet with rain and tucked behind both ears. She had golden skin that reminded him of a Greek woman he'd met last week in Belfast. Her eyes were long and almond-shaped, their color like shallow green seawater, and there was a speckling of wild freckles across the bridge of her admittedly pointed nose that he found endearing.
"I apologize," the woman said, speaking quickly in an already-speedy American drawl. "It's just—I've never seen such a ship. I couldn't help but stop and stare, you know?"
For a moment, Moody felt an unexpected twinge of pride and kinship toward Titanic. It was the first real optimism he'd felt toward the liner since White Star Line had snatched him away from Oceanic, and it caught him by surprise. He smiled, lifting his chin in a dignified manner and hoping to impress the pretty girl in her too-long coat.
"Ah, yes. She is rather impressive, isn't she? Triple-screws, forty-six thousand tons, more than eight-hundred feet in length—and so well-constructed, God himself couldn't sink her if he tried. I daresay she's the finest steamer you'll ever set foot on."
"Jesus, I believe it." The woman tipped her head back, eyes tracing the tips of the funnels all the way down to the plated black hull. She gave a low whistle. "Never dreamed I'd be working on a ship like this."
"Oh?" Moody asked curiously. "You're a stewardess?"
She laughed. "What, do I strike you as a stewardess type?"
He studied her glossy black hair and cashmere coat, noting she was more well-dressed than he'd realized. There were pearls at her ears and a thin silver locket around her neck, while her shoes were a glittering, midnight-blue.
Heels, Moody observed, and he almost scoffed. On the docks. In the rain. Good Lord.
But the woman looked completely at ease in them, standing patiently on the dock as Moody struggled to comprehend what purpose she had here, and why she was standing by her lonesome at port. Then he cleared his throat, deciding he'd rather not know. It was too early and too bloody cold to dwell on the odd behavior of some stranger—especially when he already expected a visitor of his own this morning.
"Beg pardon, miss," Moody said. "I actually must be off—I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to elsewhere. A colleague of mine is coming aboard today, see, and I'm due to meet him any moment now."
"Very well," the woman said, and to his surprise, she was smirking. "I suppose it would be best not to keep him waiting." A sly look crossed her face as she added, "Oh, and I didn't catch your name, Officer …?"
She must have recognized the gold trim on his uniform. He stood straighter and said a little tersely, "Moody. Now if you'll excuse me…"
"Right." She was still regarding him with amusement. "Goodbye, Mr. Moody."
"Goodbye."
He started for Titanic's port side without another word, smoothing out his greatcoat and refusing to glance over his shoulder.
Pretty woman. But puzzling, very puzzling. And why on earth had she been smiling at him like that?
Moody didn't have the faintest clue, but he refused to let himself care. Nodding at the sailors lining the shell door, he pulled a heavy pocket watch from his coat to inspect the time. The new junior officer in training should have been here by now, but there was no sign of him along the rainy sprawl of Berth 44. Some chap by the name of Bailey, according to the report—and already he was late. Moody's lip curled with disapproval. How very promising.
Lightoller won't be happy, he thought. He'll skin that poor fellow alive.
Dipping his watch back into its pocket, Moody stood taller and folded his hands behind his back. As he surveyed the docks, cold and annoyed and still waiting for some tardy seventh officer to arrive, he realized the woman with the long coat was strolling toward him.
Now what? Moody raised an eyebrow as she neared, all the while considering whether to ask some dockhand or another to escort her from the premises.
"You forgot to ask my name, Mr. Moody," she said. Her tone was bright. Facetious, almost. "Junior Officer Esther Bailey. Requesting permission to come aboard, sir."
Moody froze, all decorum lost to the winds as he goggled at this girl and her mischievous green eyes.
It felt like an eternity before he managed to compose himself, smoothing away his astonishment and slipping back into his mannerly poise. Still somewhat perplexed, he rummaged around his pocket for the small notebook carrying the seventh officer's details. His eyes raced across the paper slip, and he almost had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing his shock.
Esther, it read. Esther Bailey.
Moody hadn't even realized it was a woman's name—he had glossed over that little detail earlier this morning, when he'd been more interested in hot tea and a warm jacket above all else…
And now here he was, staring dumbfounded into the eyes of Titanic's newest recruit, who stood with her chin held high, a clever little grin spreading across her face.
"Right," Moody said, warmth rising in his cheeks.
He stood awkwardly beside the girl for a moment, not sure what to do or say next. But then he remembered his manners, and he offered a tentative hand. She wrung it hard, beaming, her grip tight and painfully enthusiastic in a way that almost made him wince.
When she finally released his hand, and Moody flexed his fingers to make sure none were crushed, he gestured toward the shell door with a hard swallow.
"Welcome aboard Titanic, Miss Bailey."
A/N
Hi all! As some of you already know, On the Edge of Daylight has been published as a full-length novel. I've hosted several giveaways and mailed out free paperback copies to those who requested them. For more details, visit the site at edgeofdaylight -dot- net.
Due to legal/contract reasons, I've unfortunately had to remove most of this story on FFNet and on AO3. Only ~10% is allowed to remain up, which includes my original author's notes and review replies, the first two chapters, and then snippets of the remaining chapters, to keep in line with FFNet policy of requiring written content in every chapter upload. I apologize for any inconvenience, but I also just want to thank everyone for the support and for your lovely reviews that kept me going. Without you lot, this fanfic wouldn't have been available in bookstores today! :3
Cheers!
— whereisnovember
