AUTHOR'S NOTE: If anyone comes back to this fanfic and sees some changes, it's because I still kept the word documents on my computer, and decided to tweak them.
6:32 PM
MONDAY, APRIL 8th, 1912
DONEGAL, IRELAND
"Eponine Thenardier! Are you finished packing yet?!" Mrs. Thenardier called from downstairs.
Eponine sighed and called back down "I was just closing my case up, Mother."
"Well hurry up, will ya? The cart is packed!" was her mother's reply.
Eponine had just closed up her suitcase, buttoned up her waistcoat, and put on her straw hat.
She returned downstairs, bags in hand, where the rest of the family had stood waiting.
"Alright. All present and accounted for?!" Mr. Thenardier asked.
Eponine, her little sister Azelma and her younger brother Gavroche all nodded.
"Then let's kiss this place goodbye and head out to the New World." The old man said, as he grabbed his bags and headed out the door.
"Aren't you excited, 'Ponine?" Gavroche asked his big sister as they walked out of their house.
Eponine nudged him playfully on the arm and said, "Just get me aboard that ship and put an end to the suspense already!"
Azelma, who was walking a few feet in front of them, turned around and said, "Only two more days, and soon she'll set sail for New York!"
"Three days for us, Azelma dear!" Eponine reminded her. "Don't forget, little sister, we board her from Queenstown! The ship will have left England by then!"
"Oh, sod the English!" Gavroche muttered. Eponine nudged him again to keep him from being too loud. "They get to board the ship before us! They get a whole extra day to enjoy it before us!"
"Just remember, Gavroche, the ship will save the best for the last!" Eponine whispered in his ear.
"Now remember, children." Mr. Thenardier said to them as he loaded the last of their luggage onto the cart. "It'll take us just enough time to reach Queenstown before she pulls into port! I want you to take the time and go through your belongings. If there is anything that is not of value to you anymore, I want you to consider selling them for a decent price. We'll need all the luck we can get in New York."
The three children nodded and understood. It would've been hard for them, but they couldn't pass up this chance in a lifetime.
The Thenardiers would sail from Queenstown, Ireland, and sail across the Atlantic Ocean to New York, America. A Land of Great Opportunity.
But it wasn't just the destination that excited them all so much; it was their journey. They were going to sail aboard the brand-new ship R.M.S. Titanic.
This trip would be Titanic's maiden voyage, the first trip ever. The news spread not only in England and Ireland, but also in the nations of the world. This certainly wasn't an event to pass up.
The Thenardier Family would travel in Third Class, or as some referred to it, Steerage. They would bunk in the lower parts of the ship, but this did not phase them. Third Class on this ship, could be considered Second Class on any other ship. If there was to be any discomfort, it would be miniscule.
Once the cart was all packed, and the family hopped aboard, Thenardier picked up the reins attached to the horse and nudged it to trot away.
Several of their neighbors ran towards the road to wish them a safe journey. The Thenardier children waved back to them.
"Bask it all in, Gavroche! You'll be a celebrity when you get back!" Eponine laughed.
"Aye. Imagine the girls going crazy to hear you being successful like, when you come back to visit!" Gavroche replied.
Eponine remained silent as she waved back to the well-wishers.
!
9:23 PM
THE WATERFRONT
QUEENSTOWN, IRELAND
Bahorel O'Malley sat down in the pub just outside the docks.
He had just finished his final shift at his old job, and he went out with a few close friends to celebrate.
He used to work as a steel worker in the world-famous Harland and Wolff Shipyard in Belfast. In fact, he had helped in the construction of the Titanic.
And now he has signed on to serve as a crewmember so that he may secure passage to New York. He managed to secure a deal with a close friend who was a Stoker, and he agreed that as long as he pulled in his share, and helped to stoke the boilers, no questions would be asked.
He was trying to savor his glass of beer as long as he could, knowing that by tomorrow he would need to sober up. Yes, he's scheduled to embark three days from now, but Bahorel was not a man without principle, and he intended to make a good impression; anything to make sure he gets to New York.
"YOU'RE OUT OF YOU'RE BLEEDIN' MINDS! THE LOT OF YOU!" a drunken voice shouted from behind him.
He turned around to see an angry Irishman stagger back and forth. He was confronting at least five other men.
"If you bloody think, that this Irish Republic Resistance…er…whatever you call it, has a chance…. f-f-forget about it! The Limeys will nip you r-r-right in the bud!" the drunk exclaimed.
"It's the Irish Republican Brotherhood, fish-face!" One of the men challenged the drunk.
"Fish-Face?" The drunk stuttered. "FISH-FACE!" He said loudly. "Did you hear that…everyone?" He called around the pub.
Bahorel signaled for the bartender, put 10 notes on the bar, and was handed a bottle.
"He must think I am a….m-m-mirror! Because he just…called himself…a Fish-Face!" The drunk stammered.
The man who challenged the drunk threw his glass down, sending it shattering all over the floor.
That is when Bahorel acted.
He took the empty bottle that he paid the bartender for, and whacked the drunk on the head, sending the latter crashing to the floor knocked out cold.
"Come on, Billy-boys!" Bahorel yelled, raising his glass of beer. "Some of us will be off in a few days! Wouldn't ye rather wake up tomorrow with a hangover than a black eye?"
"Aye!" The crowd shouted. "Here's to Ireland!" Bahorel toasted. The rest of the crowd cheered in response.
Once he saw the crowd was distracted, he picked up the unconscious drunk from the ground and carried him out the back door.
!
"BBUFBB" the drunk gasped for air. "BBBBUBBUUB"
Bahorel had taken the unstable man and dunked his head in the water on a beach nearby.
"En…ENOUGH!" the drunk shouted.
"I should be telling you the same thing, Darcy Grantaire!" Bahorel replied. "You've made a damn arse out of yourself again. How many nights this month did I have to save your neck?"
Grantaire responded by spitting the rest of the seawater out of his mouth. "The damn fools…all of them!"
"Look, man. A lot of the Irishmen are proud of our heritage. Are we happy with the English lords breathing down our necks? Bloody hell, no! Are you thrilled about it? Obviously not. But damn it Grantaire, you can't just go up and about shouting your opinion about Resistance movements just because you feel strongly about the chances of success!"
Grantaire took a deep breath. "You think the Third Home Rule Bill stands a chance?" he asked Bahorel.
"As soon as I see the Wright Brothers fly across the Pond. Of course not! Why do you think I am leaving this place behind and am off to the New World? You think I'm coming back?!" Bahorel asked.
Grantaire scoffed at him and said, "Some proud Irishman you are!"
Bahorel responded by shoving Grantaire's head back into the water twice.
"If we had a stable government, I would be damn proud to be Irish. But we're not even our own country. In America, they make their own laws. They have freedom. They have opportunities for everyone. You don't see Canada or Mexico having a hold of their country, do you?" Bahorel asked him rhetorically.
Grantaire took another deep breath after spitting water out. "Ah Feck! I can't argue with you anymore, Bahorel O'Malley. It just ain't worth it, I tell you."
"What's happened to you, Darcy Grantaire? You were once one of the top Engineers on this side of the Atlantic, and now you're stumbling around pubs looking for fights."
"An Engineer, aye. But how do you think it favors with the rest of Ireland to have a Catholic service as an Engineer? Hmm?" Grantaire asked, looking Bahorel in the eye.
Bahorel's expression fades. He never knew until now of Grantaire's religious background.
"Hey, we still have two more days before I leave. Why don't I sign you up?" He asked the drunk.
Grantaire looked at him. "What the feck are you talking about?"
"There's nothing for you here in Ireland. Come sign on with me, and we can leave this place behind and you can get a better job in New York, or somewhere better than here."
Bahorel placed his hand on Grantaire's shoulder. "What would you have me do?" the latter asked.
"You could be an Engineer again. Titanic is supposed to be the world's fastest ship, you know. We'll need all the power we can get! Whaddya say, pal?" Bahorel asked.
Grantaire thought about it; it was his first sober thought in a long time.
He wasn't sure of what would come in the future for him. But then again, he hardly had anything to lose.
He then picks up his bottle and he asks Bahorel "I'm going to have to lose this, aren't I?"
Bahorel nodded. "After we sign you up first thing tomorrow morning, we'll spend the next two days getting you to sober up. Also, you will not challenge anyone to a fight while you're aboard. If you do get hired, and they find out you start a riot, your pay will be forfeited. Got it?"
Grantaire took a deep breath again…looked at his bottle. Before Bahorel could say or do anything, he took one last chug and threw the bottle into the sea.
"'Tis a crime to waste good drink; but 'tis a sacrifice I'll make, for my only friend." He said.
Bahorel smiled. "I'm proud of you, buddy boy!"
!
12:35 PM
TUESDAY, APRIL 9th, 1912
LONDON, ENGLAND
Franklin Combeferre was going through his paperwork, when James Enjolras came into the flat.
"Have you spoken to the landlord?" Combeferre asked the latter.
"Yes. We've just finished now." Enjolras replied.
"And has he recovered from his initial shock from two weeks ago?" Combeferre asked light-heartedly.
"Surprisingly so. I'm surprised he wasn't overcome with grief over the idea."
Combeferre chuckled. "I can't imagine he wouldn't have. We are after all, his favorite tenants since the beginning of time."
"That is true. But he ended up telling me that we needed to grow, expand our horizons. He was happy for us. Besides, I'm quite positive he was rather envious of our plight."
"We're only sailing on the Titanic. I can't see why he'd be jealous."
Enjolras laughed with his roommate. He then returned to his side of the flat, and checked his luggage. "Everything packed?" He asked.
"Just a few odds and ends. But otherwise, I am ready. Actually, just thinking about it is making me rather jumpy."
"I know…I wish it was tomorrow already too. The suspense is killing me!" Enjolras said.
"You know what? Let's forget this and go and take our landlord out to lunch. I think it'll be a nice treat for him, getting to spend our last day together." Combeferre suggested.
"That's a splendid idea." Enjolras said.
The two of them finished what they were doing, and headed downstairs.
Lunch was great. Enjolras, Combeferre, and their landlord, Mr. Lamarque ate at his favorite little café two blocks away from Big Ben.
When the three of them returned to the flat, Mr. Lamarque had turned to them and said "I can't tell you how happy I am that we've gotten to have lunch together. You two are the kindest, most generous tenants I've ever had the privilege to have."
"We wouldn't have it any other way, sir. You were our most generous landlord. We truly will miss you." Enjolras said, patting the old man on the shoulder.
Mr. Lamarque playfully shoved his hand aside. "Oh! I am an old man. My days for getting emotional are long gone."
Combeferre nudged him on the arm. "Nonsense! You are forever young. It will be a cold day in hell before you age another day!"
"We'll be absolutely sure to write you when we arrive in New York. You'll be our priority!" Enjolras said.
"Definitely. In fact, we can actually send you a telegram straight from the ship itself! It comes equipped with the latest in technological advances!" Combeferre boasted.
"I cannot wait for it!" Lamarque said excitedly.
"Will you come with us to Southampton tomorrow to see us off?" Enjolras asked.
"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world!" The old man exclaimed.
The three of them smiled and returned to the flat building.
!
1:23 PM
MANCHESTER, ENGLAND
The servants were busy moving luggage and trunks and suitcases into the second car. Lord Gillenormand was overseeing the loading.
"Everything is strapped and labeled?" he had asked his valet. "Yes, M'lord. The Company has provided us with plenty of labels for the luggage. Everything is in order." The Valet, Mabeuf answered.
"Excellent. That will be all." Gillenormand said.
The two of them returned inside their mansion. "Marius!" The Lord called out.
Marius Pontmercy hustled downstairs. Gillenormand cleared his throat in an authoritative tone.
Marius turned around, rolled his eyes, then walked back down the stairs with his back straight, looking proper this time.
"You called, Grandfather?" the young man asked.
"Yes. The car is prepared. We're about to leave soon. Is everything taken care of?"
"Yes, Grandfather."
"Excellent." The old man said, before walking outside to the first car. "We'll drive down to Southampton, and see to it that the baggage we don't need is safe and secure aboard the ship."
"Yes, Grandfather." Marius said, closing his eyes so that the Lord doesn't see him roll them.
The two of them climbed into their red Rolls-Royce 40 50HP Silver Ghost Replica Tourer convertible. The chauffer closed their doors and returned to the front seat when he started the car, and drove down the road.
The car ride would've been pleasant. It was a nice day for a drive. The sun was shining. It was a clear blue sky.
But the mood was overcast.
"I've read up quite a lot about America." Marius spoke up. Lord Gillenormand held onto his cane. "Oh?" is all he said.
"Yes. They've made quite a lot of progress. Did you know that the Women's Suffragette Movement is sweeping the nation?"
"Arrogance! Pure arrogance! They'll never know their place again! It will bring nothing but ruin on the country." The old man spat as he tapped his cane on the car floor.
"I personally do not completely understand their demands. But I must commend them for their bravery and their persistence. They'll do whatever it takes to have an equal say in things. They're not afraid to speak their minds, and they're also very independent."
"Marius…" the old man began. His grandson turned to face him. "You're still going through with it."
Marius rolled his eyes. "We're travelling to a free country, and yet I am still sentenced to a fate worse than death!" he muttered.
"This will be a fine marriage, Marius. The Kerringtons are a wealthy and respectable family. Their daughter is a charming young woman."
Marius scoffed. "As long as there's wealth, what's the point of respect?"
"Marius! I will not tolerate this behavior of yours anymore. This family household has a reputation to uphold. The marriage to the Kerringtons will be good to both sides. I will not have you ruining things. Do you understand me?"
"Yes…sir." Marius emphasized on the "s" sound of both words, giving off a hint of a hissing sound.
"Besides, you must give the girl a chance. She has taken a liking to you. It would be a fine healthy marriage anyway."
Marius huffed. There was no way out of this situation.
"Hypothetically…" he treaded lightly, not to provoke his grandfather's anger. "in the unlikely event that she happens to get cold feet on the day of the *arranged* marriage…" he fake-coughed on the word 'arranged'. "where would that leave the two families? I'm honestly asking out of curiosity."
Gillenormand looked at his grandson and scoffed. "Very unlikely. Our ancestral families have remained good friends for the last eighty years."
"Grandfather, I only ask that you humor me here, in a hypothetical situation. What if she throws a scene, or runs away? How will our families react?"
"I know what you're doing, Marius. You're trying to get my opinion on the matter to see if I would be as offended if she refused to marry you, as you would her. You're waiting to call me out for a double standard."
"So, it's true. If she backs out of the wedding, then you'd be more worried and concerned. But if I back out, I'm the bad guy. Typical." Marius said angrily. He turned his face away.
There was no hope. Marius would never have his grandfather see his way now. He was doomed from the moment his grandfather and his soon-to-be father-in-law arranged the whole damn thing.
!
3:59 PM
DORCHESTER, ENGLAND
Cosette Fauchelevant was combing her hair in her bedroom. But she wasn't concentrating at the mirror. Instead, she was combing her hair while gazing outside the window.
"Cosette? Are you well? It's time for tea." her father called.
"Coming Father…" she sighed. She threw her comb on the bed and walked down to the Parlor.
Her father, Jonathon "Valjean" Fauchelevant was sitting in his comfy chair, reading the newspaper. Their maid, Mrs. Toussaint had rolled out the tea cart.
Cosette took her seat by the couch. Her father picked up the pot and poured the tea into the two cups. Cosette thanked him, and picked up two lumps of sugar and stirred it into her cup.
Her father watched her silently. He knew this wasn't going to be an easy move, but he knew in his heart that she couldn't stay here.
"Father?" she asked. He put his cup down and looked up at her.
"Are you ashamed of me?" He was taken back by that question. "Darling, I would never even begin…why would you even ask such a silly question?" he asked her.
She shrugged her shoulders, but kept them back straight, remembering good posture. "I feel like I am responsible for so much disgrace to your name." She looked down at her cup.
Valjean waved it off. "You mean well, my dear. Your heart is in the right place. You are an inspiration to women everywhere!"
"Then why am I being chased out of England? Why doesn't Parliament acknowledge our rights?"
Valjean smiled. "If they were chasing you out, and I would make it quite sure that they never even think to do so, it would only be because they are frightened of you."
Cosette giggled. "You don't have to pretend to make me feel better."
"Ah, but it is the truth my dear." Her father said. She looked up to meet his eyes. "You really are an inspiration to hundreds of women. Why, just the other day, on my way to bail you out of the prison for that little…mix up with the police, I saw at least thirty more women with picket signs and guess what?"
Cosette listened intently.
"All of them were chanting your name. Some of the signs had said 'Free Cosette!'. They all look up to you. And speaking for a cause I find very commendable, I have to say I have never been prouder of you."
Cosette held her fingers to her lips to cover her mouth. She was in awe.
"And…" he continued. "Remember how I told the authorities that I would take you to New York to keep you out of their hair?" She nodded. "That's what I 'told' them. I intended to take you to New York, so that you may expand your talents to the American Women." He smiled.
Cosette placed her cup down on the cart and ran over to hug her father. "Oh, thank you Daddy!"
It was true. Valjean was moved by Cosette's modern view on change, and he was more than supportive of it. What he didn't tell her was that he had personally feared that she would've grown too powerful, and therefore, a rather obvious target from political opponents. But she was still inspirational, so it wasn't like he was lying to her.
The two of them finished tea, and Cosette returned to her room to supervise the maids packing the rest of her clothes.
She couldn't wait to imagine what lied ahead of her in the next few days. But she knew it would be unforgettable.