Disclaimer: I do not own Titanic or any of the people. Anne and George are the only ones that belong to me. It's kind of sad isn't it?
Wow it's been a while since I've updated! I had a writer's block for a bit there so I kind of have an excuse. Not really though. Yeah, these two scenes in the beginning are just a little bit of history as far as Anne and James go. I get back to Ellen real quick though so no worries.
Chapter 7: Overprotective
March 2, 1912
James Moody held a deep and immeasurable hatred for hat shopping. Yes you heard right, hat shopping. His sister, Sarah, in full knowledge of this loathing, felt the need to drag him on every expedition to buy said accessory. Normally, he would have found any available opportunity to get out of going with her, but today was her seventeenth birthday and besides, he'd be leaving in a few weeks to join the crew of Titanic. He needed to spend some time with her.
Sarah was a very attractive young woman but there was no denying the resemblance between her and her brother. Sure, her face wasn't as square, her features not as masculine, and her hair not as short but she had the same chocolate eyes, high cheekbones and sandy blonde locks. Overall, it wasn't difficult to tell that they were family.
The worst part of shopping for hats, James decided, was the fact that he never, and I do mean never, knew what to do with himself while his sister finished doing whatever it was she was doing. He just, kind of, stood there looking thoroughly stupid or walked around the shop looking…well…thoroughly stupid. Either way, his image was pretty much the same. For that day, at least, he chose the second option.
Various colors of ribbons, cloths, and threads filled the room but James looked right through the eye-catching articles. He didn't know what he was thinking about but whatever it was, it was better than his current location. If he had been paying attention, he would have seen the other body moving towards him and stopped in time to keep himself from slamming into it. However he wasn't paying attention. In fact all he felt was his chest crash into something hard and then there was a tumult of color and a flash of silk.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry!" were the only words that reached his ears through the chaos. He looked down to see a young girl, only a little older than his sister, down on her knees gathering up the materials he had just sent tumbling to the floor. He couldn't see her face but by the manner in which she was dressed, it was obvious that she was of the upper class. James knelt down to assist her.
"You're fine," he told her with a smile. Either she didn't hear him or she ignored his words.
"Please don't be angry with me. It was an accident, I promise."
"Hey," he chuckled finally catching her eye, "no harm done. Besides it was my fault anyway."
"No I should have been paying more attention. I—."
"How about we say it was both our faults and call it even?" James put out his hand for her to shake. She took it. "James Moody," he told her simply.
"Anne Whitehouse."
- - -
March 7th, 1912
"Are you alright?" James asked worriedly as he looked at the rather large bruise on the side of Anne's face. She turned away so the discoloration was out of his view.
"I'm fine," she stated firmly, her shy façade tossed aside for a brief moment. Instead of growing angry, James's countenance only became softer.
"What did he do to you?" he asked gently. He was talking about George. He knew it and she knew it. James may have only been familiar with the siblings for a few short days, but it never had taken him long to materialize bonds, good or bad, with his acquaintances. Anne's connection seemed to be the strongest of anyone before her and James was at a total loss as to why.
"He didn't do anything," she said, too firmly to be convincing.
"Anne…" there was a long, weighty pause as James tried to persuade her with his eyes. It seemed to be working.
"You can't tell anyone. Promise you won't tell anyone."
"I can't promise that."
"Promise," she said again though now gritted teeth. He sighed. There would be no winning.
"Fine," his eyes were cast downward, "I promise."
"George—," she didn't seem to know exactly how to put it, "sometimes George g-gets…upset. At times, it's at me, other times…it's not. Either way, w-when he's angry…" she couldn't finish the sentence.
"Does…he hurt you?" he asked quietly. She nodded and suddenly James had a very strong urge to kill George Whitehouse.
"It's not like there's anything I can do," Anne continued, "who would believe me? Who would believe you, even, when all the proof you have is my word? I'm just a woman. Besides that, no one even knows I exist. What is my word to his? Nothing." As much as James hated to admit it, she was right. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that could be done. He wished there was though.
He sighed heavily, examining the imperfection carefully. His hand, of its own accord, reached up to gently caress it, more from the desire to touch her than the bruise. She winced.
"Did that hurt?" he asked worriedly.
She nodded, "Only a little."
"Maybe you should see a physician or someone about it," he said quickly. "You could tell them you fell or—."
"James," interrupted Anne with a small smile, "you're worrying to much."
"I only worry because I care," his hand had migrated so that he was holding her chin, a little possessively, between thumb and forefinger.
"You do?" she asked quietly. The idea seemed to surprise her, as though someone caring for her was completely unheard of. That thought alone injured James. He nodded in response to her question.
The moment had become much more intimate than they first intended. It shouldn't be this way, couldn't be this way. He was just a humble officer; she was a first class lady. If he moved forward, took that simple step in the direction of 'something more', he would have to hide it, they would have to hide it, for God only knew how long. No one would be able to know, not even those closest to them. And with that in mind, he kissed her. And she kissed back.
April 12th, 1912
When Ellen woke, she could hardly believe all of the events that had occurred the day before had actually happened. It had all come about so quickly, so suddenly and she could hardly discern between reality and fantasy. Had she dreamed it all? She hoped not.
Her petite form laid restlessly in bed, unable to drift back to sleep but unwilling to get up and face the day, until Harriet, her middle aged lady's maid, came to wake her. Her corset was tied, her dress put on and her hair done but Ellen hardly registered a moment of it.
"What's the matter with you this morning Miss Whitehouse?" Harriet asked in her stern yet caring way.
"Nothing," Ellen said a little distantly, "nothing at all." The maid looked at her skeptically but gave no response. As the young woman began to make her way out of the first class stateroom, the older woman called after her.
"Miss," she said after getting her attention, "your uncle told me to tell you that there were reports of thievery lately and he wanted you to take your key." Titanic's locks, unlike modern ones, needed a key to secure both sides. If you didn't have one, it was impossible, not only to not lock your doors when you left, but you couldn't do so while you were inside either. Ellen never locked them from the outside, only from within, so she felt no need to cart that key around needlessly. Instead, she kept it securely fastened in the interior lock at all times. This worried her uncle persistently since he had discovered the habit, and he asked her not to do so with increasing frequency.
"Tell him he worries too much," she said defiantly, "or better yet I will tell him he worries too much." Harriet merely shook her head at that.
- - -
Ellen was late to lunch…again. Luckily, for her, she was in better company this time. There was no Mrs. Dewitt Bukater, no Caledon Hockley to cage her in. They probably had Rose off somewhere putting up their intangible bars around less elusive prey. As always, Uncle Andrews scolded her half-heartedly for her tardiness, his anger dissipating as she put on a remorseful façade.
When she saw Harry again, she was walking with Molly and Charlotte. They had asked her—not her uncle but her—to give them a tour of the ship. She had been so honored that they had even considered asking her that she didn't think twice before agreeing. They had been near the bridge, just as the junior officers switched duties, when Harold came into view. For a moment, she forgot herself and yelled out his name.
He turned, smiling brightly when he saw who had called him, and made his way in their direction. When he was close enough, he greeted her with a kiss on the hand to which she responded with a blush. Somewhere in her mind, in the part she didn't dare admit existed, she wished she could have kissed him. She pushed the thought aside quickly. It wasn't even proper for married couples to do so in public, so how much worse would it be for a couple who weren't even engaged? It was one thing to be so improper in front of steerage, it was quite another to be brazen around first class women. They were predators, all of them, waiting on baited breath for one slip up, one mistake so they could say terrible things about you to their friends.
"Charlotte, Molly this is Fifth Officer Lowe. Harry this is Mrs. Taussig and Mrs. Brown."
"It's very nice to meet you ladies," he said politely.
"You to, Mr. Lowe," Molly spoke up for them both, "and, please, call me Molly."
"Ah, there you are Ellen," Captain Edward said as he approached her. He threw in a polite, "Good day Molly, Mrs. Taussig," before continuing on. "I wanted to tell you that your uncle and I were discussing your habit of never lock your door," she looked a little embarrassed at the scolding tone in his voice. "There are thieves aboard this ship, Ellen, you should be more careful. Now I want your key with you at all times, am I understood?"
She sighed, "Alright, Mr. Smith. I will try to be less careless." He cracked a smile, letting her know that his anger was nonexistent no matter how much he put on. She probably wouldn't obey his orders, she thought distantly, but it was always best to let him think she would. There was nothing in that room she cared for anyway. As long as her uncle, her captain, her friends, the officers and her officer were safe, she could cope with any theft that was laid upon her shoulders. But so far, the matter hadn't come up anyway.
- - -
"He's right you know," Harry told Ellen. They were alone now. Well, as alone as you can be on the largest ship in history. They found solace on the bow, the steerage section where shows of affection were not so frowned upon. They were leaned against the railing, standing close to one another, him looking down at her with a caring gaze.
"Who was right about what?" she asked confused, looking up at him now.
"Captain Smith. You being careful," he reached forward to touch the base of her ear, his hand tenderly memorizing the curve of her jaw.
"You all worry too much."
"Maybe," he told her, his eyes studying her face, "but I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."
"Don't talk like that. Nothing's going to happen to me."
"But if it did—."
"It won't," she persisted, pressing herself forward slightly. Harry leaned in, placing his lips a few centimeters from hers before stopping. She tilted forward, attempting to capture his mouth with her own, but he backed away just enough to keep the same small about of space between them.
"Impatient are we, Ellen?" he asked, sounding amused.
"That's not very nice, Harry."
"I suppose not." There was a pause as he examined her face, again committing every curve, every detail to memory.
"Are you going to kiss me?" Ellen asked frankly. "Because if not, I'm just wasting my time here."
He gave a mischievous smile, "Well I guess you had better go then." She gave a shocked laugh, pushing his backward lightly with a hand to the chest. Finally, his lips met hers in a smiling kiss. She backed away, letting her arms rest possessively on his shoulders.
In one quick and carefully timed movement, her hand darted upward snatching his hat away from him again and she darted off into a run. For a moment he stood in shock, not quite absorbing what had just happened.
That girl will be the death of me, he thought to himself before dashing after her.
So there you have it: the much awaited chapter seven. I thought I'd give our lovebirds a little peace before the ship's sinking. You know, calm before the storm type stuff! Alright today I'm gunna try something. I won't update until I have…let's say…five reviews. Heehee! It's not hard: click the review button and you'll get your update sooner! ) Luv ya! Oh and no flames by the way!
