Rose DeWitt Bukater walked down the Promenade of the beach in Southampton, linking arms with her mother Ruth. Passers by knew they were mother and daughter from there pale skin, piercing green eyes and fiery red hair. Rose loved to wear her hair down when she knew her day was going to be spent outdoors, curled elegantly as always, falling over her shoulders, a blue, low neck line dress adorned with golden flower designs and pearl lining hugged her curved body, trails of silk following her in the cool breeze of the afternoon air. Ruth was a bit more tight lipped when it came to how she presented herself. A dark green dress with frills coming right up her neck, held tightly in place with a shining broach, leaving no flesh apart from her face visible. The petticoats of her dress widened her girth to match her already large ego, although not as wide as her hat, decorated with enormous feathers and ribbons which danced in the sea air, high above her red hair which was neatly tied up in a bun. They were both the same, yet entirely different, and that was only outwardly. On the inside, they were far from similar.

"Rose?" Ruth said quietly, almost through her teeth.

"Yes, mother?"

"Who dressed you this morning?"

Rose was puzzled. "Trudy… why do you ask?"

Her mother closed her eyes and sighed, dreading the question she was about to ask. "Are you wearing a corset today?"

The fiery headed 17 year old pulled her arm from her mothers and stopped in her tracks. "Mother!"

Ruth stopped and surveyed those around her, not wanting to cause a scene. "I only ask, because… you don't look…"

"Petite enough?" Rose scoffed.

"Of course you do, of course, you have my figure. You were gifted with that… but… did Trudy tighten it?"

"Yes she did… but I-"

"You told her to loosen it, didn't you?"

"I may have." Rose began walking again, so Ruth began to catch up.

"And do you see that as dignified?"

"I'm dressed, aren't I?"

"Yes, but only just."

"I beg your pardon?" She quickened her pace now, the wind picking up and blowing strands of hair into her face which she pushed aside. "Mother, if I was wearing anymore layers I wouldn't look so petite anymore."

"That neckline is dangerously low."

"Dangerously? What do you think it's going to do, kill me? I think your neckline is more dangerous than mine."

"How so?"

"It's choking you!" Rose laughed.

"It is not…" she played with her broach.

"Oh mother, you should have been a nun… although I think even they would let their hair down once in a blue moon." Rose laughed again and her mother hit the back of her head with her gloves.

"If I were a nun and had you for a daughter I would have you tied up with rosary beads and bathed in holy water."

"Oh no Mother, that's quite alright. Seeing your bulging vein of anger alone can put the fear of God into me." Rose teased.

Ruth began to giggle and took her daughters arm again. Whilst they may have had their disagreements, they could never fall out for long. It wasn't so much that their bond was too strong for a full scale mother and daughter feud. It was only that the young Rose had learned that keeping on Ruth's good side was the easiest thing to do when you were forced to live with her.

And another thing being forced upon the young Rose was a fiancée, Caledon Hockley, who was a good 20 years older than she was. There was no denying he was a dashing man, with a charming smile, persuasive brown eyes and an immaculate dress sense. But he was in his late 30s, and that alone was enough to turn Rose's stomach. Sleeping with him was a hard act to perform. And that's what her ''love'' for him was… an act.

Cal had a way with words however. That was for sure. It was his way with words which first attracted Ruth to him at the funeral of her late husband, Jonathan DeWitt Bukater, an addicted gambler who had endless debts to many people, and ultimately lost his life at the hands of someone he owed money to. Ruth was doing the depressed wife act, a black veil hiding her dry eyes, a black dress and black feather hat to match. This funeral wasn't a day to mourn. It was a day to show off her best black dress to her and Jon's friends and family. Cal and Jon had known one another for some time. They gambled together, and it was Cal who got him into it again after he recovered from the first obsession. Of course, Ruth and Rose were completely oblivious to this.

Ruth was offering finger sandwiches and drinks to the guests after the procession of mourners got back to their manor in Philadelphia, which was conveniently close to the graveyard. Cal was standing by the fireplace, his posture flawless, his expression composed, a glass of brandy in one hand, his bowler hat in the other. His presence alone almost seemed to dominate the room. He was extremely sociable, and had created a group of conversing males around this fireplace, discussing politics and money, and also "congratulating each other on being masters of the Universe" as Rose always said to her friends. When Ruth walked by the men, Cal took her by the hand, gripping it comfortingly. He leaned forward to her and whispered under the racket of the gentleman debating, "I'm ever so sorry Ruth. I truly am. Jon was a brilliant man, but the world knows you deserve better." His eyes sincere, his lips soft, his voice soothing. Ruth was hypnotized by him. She thanked him silently and agreed with his statement, knowing that she deserved more than a legacy of bad debts hidden by a good name. The dress that Ruth was wearing that day was probably that last dress she would ever have bought, for the rest of her fortune would have to go into paying off gamblers debts. A life she couldn't bare thinking about. However, Cal was extremely wealthy. Too young for her, that would be scandalous, but Rose was old enough to marry, and the age gap would not shock their fellow socialites. 20 years was nothing compared to some other couples of the time.

Within months of the funeral, Cal and Rose had been on several dates. Romantic dinners and moonlit walks on the beach. Walks in the park and a horse and cart around the city. Rose found him to be a nice enough man who could give her anything, but the age was too much. She had expressed this to her mother, who simply explained that Cal was the scapegoat out of this life of debt and poverty. Ruth didn't hide the fact that Rose was just a pawn in this game, ultimately leading to ''the Hockley fortune" and as much as Rose wanted to escape this arranged pairing, she couldn't. And when Cal proposed to Rose on December 25th 1911 at a Christmas Dinner, Rose had finally become permanently stuck in this game.

And today, on the 8th of April 1912, Rose and Ruth were heading back to their hotel to meet Cal after a day of shopping. The finishing touches to the wedding were being picked up in England, when Rose discovered that Philadelphia couldn't offer her what she wanted. 500 invitations had to be made, but that had been done back at home, so they were already in the possession of Philadelphia's elite. She had wanted her bridesmaids to wear lavender, for she loved the colour, although Ruth had other ideas. Rose was beginning to think this wasn't her wedding at all. Not that she cared very much at all about the whole arrangement.

Rose still hadn't found a wedding dress. Nothing she had looked at was to her liking. That's what she told her mother anyway. The truth was, the longer she held off finding the dress, the more time she had to live before the wedding, because there's no wedding without a dress. She was really buying time by not buying a dress. The dress was the final turn of the key in the lock which would make Rose a prisoner forever. The first turn of the key was her engagement ring, and holy mother of God was it was an engagement ring to be envied. The biggest lump of diamond and gold Rose and her friends had ever laid eyes upon. "Big enough to sink a ship!" Her friend Helena had squealed when she first spotted it dazzling in the Philadelphia afternoon sun. "Well I plan on jumping ship before it sinks." Rose replied, turning the ring on her finger in an attempt to loosen its fiercely tight grip on her.

Ruth and Rose had left the pier behind and were now walking through the bustling city of Southampton. Trams and automobiles, pedestrians rushing back and forth, the squawking of seagulls swooping down to the cobbled roads and paved sidewalks to capture scraps of dropped food. Ruth hated the filth and noise of the city. She preferred the countryside. Rose on the other hand adored the hive of activity around her, taking in all the people of all social classes. The quietness of the countryside was calming to her, but the noise of the city got her blood rushing, something Rose never felt anymore. Even then, walking down the street arm in arm with her mother, she found it hard to stop herself from running off and dancing round the streetlamps, chasing the gulls and striking up conversations with the gentleman in the top hat outside the Bank, or the little boy playing in the muddle puddle with his toy boat. In fact, this urge to explore the city was becoming too much for her, so she told her mother, "You go back to the hotel mother. I'm feeling a migraine coming on. I think I may just stroll around the block once more." It was a lie, but migraines were something Ruth could relate too.

"It will be the incessant racket of this place giving you a migraine." she looked down her nose at a group of ship builders in their dirty work clothes standing outside the pub, singing songs loudly. Some of them were foreign, and some of them sounded foreign as they struggled to string a sentence together.

"Perhaps." she unlinked arms with Ruth. "I'll head back towards the pier. It's clean air there, like the country." She began to walk off.

"Rose!" Ruth called after her. Her daughter turned, a strand of hair blow over her face, she brushed it aside. She noticed how mature and grown up Rose was now. She wasn't the little girl that used to depend on her father to bring her up. She was independent, although as a woman, society wouldn't let her do things by herself.

Rose noticed that her mother had fallen silent. "Yes mother?"

She snapped out of her thoughts. "Be careful."

Rose smiled, nodded, and headed off into the crowd of people, struggling to blend in with her attire, but as she bid people good day, whether they were poor or wealthy, she could have been anyone's friend in that crowd. And that's how Roe wanted people to see her. Just because she (or her fiancée at least) had money, it didn't mean she wanted people to be cautious of approaching her. She turned round and searched for her mother glare following her, but Ruth had gone. Probably eager to escape the crowds as quickly as possible. She relaxed now, feeling less pressure to be ''proper'' and got to her knees next to the little boy with the boat. She watched him playing on his own in the middle of a busy high street. He glanced over at the shoes she was wearing, he gasped. They were blue and adorned with little shining studs, then he noticed the luxurious material of her dress, and when he lifted his head further he saw her friendly face and bright hair glowing in the sun like a halo.

"Hello." she said warmly. "What you doing?"

Passers by watched, puzzled by the combination of class displayed before them. "My name's James. What's your name?"

"That' a lovely name. My name is Rose."

James laughed slightly, "That's a flower."

Rose chuckled at his adorable grin, "It is indeed a flower."

"Do you want a shot of my boat?" he held out a grubby hand and offered his wooden vessel, dripping with mud and water.

Ruth would be cringing right now, but Rose nodded whole heartedly and replied, "I would love to!"

She took the boat, got onto her knees next to James and made the boat speed through the water, making "choo-choo!" noises as she went. James was in hysterics as she made the boat dance on the water. The people around watched in amazement at the 1st class teenage girl on her hands and knees on the cobbles playing in a muddy puddle with a poor, dirty, 7 year old boy.

"I like you Rose." James said, catching his breath from laughter.

Rose was caught off guard by what she heard, but soon said, "I like you too James."

Just then, a shadow came across the puddle. Rose let go of the boat and it slowly vanished underneath the murky water. She looked over her shoulder and saw an ancient looking women, dressed in rags which were once colourful, her face decorated with wrinkles and lines of life. Her hair was a long, a swirling mess around her head that fell down her back, blowing about her in the breeze. She stared at Rose with deadly serious blue eyes.

"Can I help you?" Rose asked awkwardly.

"No Rose." she replied in a hushed and frail voice. "But I can help you."