A/N Wow, thank you so much for all the reviews! You do not know how much that means to me. I'm giving you the next chapter early because I'm ahead in my writing schedule, so here you go. I hope you are enjoying your voyage.
Two
Towards midday, after exploring her stateroom and taking a trip down the corridors to see the elevators and the Grand Staircase, Clove found one of her coats and followed the stream of people flowing towards the Boat Deck like a shoal of silvery fish. By lucky chance, she had managed to evade Miss Trinket earlier and now found her way up to the front of the rail, looking down almost one hundred feet on the people gathered below to see the great ship off on her maiden voyage, tiny and insignificant as ants.
A considerable roar went up from the crowd on the quayside as the great ship's engines began to rumble like a bear waking from its winter hibernation, and, with the help of a team of assembled tugboats, it began to move, ever-so-slowly. Clove clutched at the railings with gloved hands, silently ecstatic as the water parted before the prow and an expanse of blue grew between the edge of the ship and the dock. This was always the most exciting part of a voyage, the setting off into the great sapphire unknown with whistles blowing and people cheering and the universal wonder at the fruit of years of labour.
She remembered the very first time she had voyaged on a ship, much smaller than the Titanic, of course, and how she had clutched her father's hand as they stood in the very prow as the ship sailed out of harbour to the sound of a crowd shouting, beaming with excitement at the feel of the engines throbbing within the hull.
Suddenly, there was a crack, and several people screamed, expecting that something had gone wrong with the ship, there was something wrong and they were barely out in Southampton Water, but no, it was another ship, with two tall black funnels, pulled inexorably towards them by the wake of the Titanic. Clove held tightly onto the rail, one hand pressed against her mouth as the floundering ship drew closer, like a moth drawn to a lighted candle. But one of the tugboats was already moving, and another cheer went up as the wayward ship was towed safely back to its moorings. Relief rose like a wave over the onlookers, and the Titanic kept moving, out into the bay until the city of Southampton was disappearing into the distance and the passengers began talking animatedly about the near-miss.
"That was too close for my liking," a voice said next to Clove's ear and she jumped at the familiar light brogue, turning and flinging herself into her father's arms without a thought for propriety. "Hello, darling."
"I missed you," she said into the softness of his jacket shoulder, ignoring the whispers from fellow passengers. Look, it's Mr Andrews, the designer and his daughter. Look, look, over there.
"I missed you too." He released her, straightening her coat as though she were the same age as her little sister. "How is your step-mother? And where is Miss Trinket? I don't see her anywhere."
"Ssh," Clove whispered. "I've been hiding from her. And yes, Helen is well."
Chuckling at his daughter's reluctance to bear the company of her governess, her father offered his arm. "May I escort you into luncheon, then, my dear?"
"You certainly may, Papa," Clove took his arm just as a bugler, resplendent in bright blue and brass buttons, began to play and people moved towards the Grand Staircase in a rustling of expensive skirts and top hats.
They descended the grand staircase with her father pointing out the chandeliers and the great clock on the landing at which they entered the Dining Saloon, finding a table clothed in white linen and bedecked with a little vase of flowers. The rest of the table quickly filled with two couples and a young American woman; fortunately Miss Trinket seemed to have found elsewhere for luncheon.
The luncheon itself was far grander fare than Clove was used to at home, and the conversation was all about the ship, questions directed at her father which he fended off with an amiable smile over the paper-thin slices of roast meat. The American woman seated next to Clove introduced herself as Glimmer; she was younger than Clove had realised, only eighteen or so, and somewhat vapid with floating blonde hair and a flashy, ostentatious diamond engagement ring on her fourth finger.
"Oh, I miss America dearly. The English are so stuffy," she answered when questioned politely about her homeland, not appearing to notice that her comment had caused many subtle glares in her direction. As an afterthought, she added, "Though you don't seem too awful, Miss Andrews."
"I'm Irish," Clove snapped back, jamming her fork into her fruit tart with a little too much violence, indeed, both of the English ladies looked quite taken aback. Her father gave her a pointed look and she made a concerted effort to keep from repeating that scandalous action; really, it was not like she had done something truly awful (though she knew her father wouldn't put it past her).
Finally, when luncheon was over, Clove pressed a kiss to her father's cheek, bid the ladies goodbye and left the Dining Saloon and the stupid, air-headed Miss Glimmer to explore the ship a little more. Really, socialites (for Glimmer could be nothing else) were so infuriating! And who gave their child a name like that in the civilized world?
Putting aside the slight with a huff, Clove ascended in one of the lifts to the next deck. In the course of the afternoon, she discovered the whereabouts of the gymnasium, the Turkish Baths, the swimming pool, three other places in which they could eat. She had overheard many conversations in which the plans for the ship were being discussed, but never had they prepared her for the sheer splendour of what had been achieved.
Eventually, she wandered back to her stateroom, only to discover that it was only four o'clock, so she settled herself in one of the upholstered chairs with her battered and worn copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' by Miss Jane Austen, flipping idly through the dog-eared pages. She had loved this book for a very long time; her father had always used to take fifteen minutes each evening to read to her when he came to kiss her goodnight, and he had always put on the most ridiculous voice for Mrs Bennet, the rambunctious mother of the five Bennet sisters around which the book was based.
So lost was she in her novel that she did not notice Madge's quiet entrance until her maid was tapping her shoulder. "Miss Clove? It's time to dress for dinner."
Clove started and looked up. "Already?"
Madge smiled. "Yes, already, I'm afraid. What do you want to wear tonight?"
"The blue," Clove decided, putting her book aside on the polished table and rising to open the wardrobe.
She stood still as Madge fussed over the laces of her corset, and helped her into the light blue gown, smoothing the floating layers of chiffon and lace, and re-pinning her dark hair up at the nape of her neck.
"How is it downstairs?" Clove asked as Madge tucked the last pin into her hair. "Have you had a good afternoon?"
"Yes, Miss," Madge said. "I met two girls across the way from us; they're very pleasant, though the eldest girl is rather sullen at times. They're from Liverpool; her fiancé is working as part of the engine-crew and she has the dearest little sister."
"Well, you shall have to show me around down there," Clove smiled as Madge laced a string of pearls around her neck. "Papa always likes to know how people find the conditions, especially in third-class. Have you any other news?"
"We should be arriving at Cherbourg somewhere within the next half-hour," Madge told her, handing her a pair of white silk gloves to pull over her slender fingers.
"But the ship is too big to fit into the harbour," Clove chuckled. "Papa told me; he said that many passengers waiting in Cherbourg are not amused."
Madge shook her head. "It is a grand ship, you can tell your father that most in steerage are very pleased with their rooms and everything available to them."
"Thank you, Madge." Clove stood. "Now, go and have your dinner. I'll only need a little help to get out of this wretched corset at the end of the evening. Have a good time for me; Lord knows I'll be stuck talking to some old, boring aristocrats over dinner tonight."
"As long as you don't do anything too outrageous, you should survive just fine, Miss."
There was a knock at the door, at that moment, and Clove went to answer it in a rustling of silk and chiffon. "Good evening, Papa."
"Good evening, my dear. You look beautiful," he smiled, a hint of unexplained sadness in his eyes.
Clove took his hand for a second, and then her father cleared his throat, stepping out into the corridor. Miss Trinket was waiting outside her own stateroom, swathed in a pink silk dress bought out of her savings for the occasion, smiling brightly if a little too widely. "Hello, Clove, dear," she started, too shrilly for Clove's tastes. "I didn't see you all day today, but never mind, your father says that you should have no lessons until we reach New York."
"Really, Papa?" Clove smiled, and her father winked conspiratorially, his good humour restored.
"So long as you don't tell your stepmother."
"Never fear, Papa. I wouldn't dream of it."