Disclaimer: I own nothing! For the origins of all characters and events, please consult James Cameron's Titanic first, historical fact second. See References for more information. This chapter compliments, rather than directly overlaps, parts of "Yours, Tommie." (Chapter 6: Possessive)

XI. The Social Code

Just before noon each day, first-class passengers would gather in the smoking room for the official announcement of how many miles Titanic had sailed in the past 24 hours. It was the only time of day that women were permitted in that room, and the event attracted quite a crowd. On Saturday, I decided to go and see what all the fuss was about.

Titanic's most prestigious den of masculinity had Moroccan leather upholstery, dark mahogany paneling, and a real coal fireplace surrounded by ornate Georgian carvings. Of course, the aromas of tobacco and brandy were pervasive. Tinted windows turned the natural light of the room soft and opaque, and they featured a stained glass parade of great ships from throughout history.

True beauty is timeless, Maggie…

Captain Smith confidently strode in, the eager masses parting for him like the Red Sea for Moses, and tacked a notice to a bulletin board at the fore of the room:

12:00 noon Friday, 12 April-12:00 noon Saturday, 13 April: 519 miles

Nearly a hundred first-class passengers clamored either to read the notice, or to hear the number being spread through the crowds by those who did get a peek. The white-haired Captain pulled down the notice announcing the previous day's run of 386 miles. "We've certainly sped up, sir," I remarked.

He gave me a small, paternal smile. "We certainly have, Mrs. Brown. And she's not even at full speed yet; just wait until tomorrow's run!"

At that very moment, the environment around us hissed with whispers of Titanic attempting to break a speed record, (against her older sister the Olympic, if not against the fastest ships of the day,) and arrive in New York on Tuesday night instead of Wednesday morning. It was foolish thinking, since we would still have to wait until daybreak Wednesday to dock properly. The only benefit of an early arrival would be the press frenzy. In April, there was still a risk of a little run-in with ice, particularly as we sailed south of Greenland. Going full speed ahead in these circumstances didn't seem worth it to me.

I had sailed with Captain Smith before; I liked and trusted him. I wanted to ask him to personally put my mind at ease over these rumors, but for just one moment I was uncharacteristically timid. That's all it took for him to turn and head back to the bridge with a crisp click of his heels.

As the crowds dispersed, Titanic was naturally a popular topic of conversation. I took the opportunity to tell the Thayers, Madame Aubart, the Countess of Rothes, and anyone else who would listen, that Titanic's chief designer would be offering a complimentary tour of the ship tomorrow afternoon. "It should be very interesting. Mr. Ismay says that Mr. Andrews knows and loves this ship better than anyone."

I followed the crowds down to the reception room to wait for luncheon. The room was furnished with potted ferns, and white wicker furniture with plush green seat cushions. I took a chair in the corner by the bright, round-topped windows, and discreetly checked on my ankle. I had wrapped my foot again this morning, and traded my daily walk for some extra time standing in front of the punching bag in the gymnasium. Thankfully, my injury seemed to be healing fast.

"Afternoon, Molly."

"Afternoon, Tom," I replied as the shipbuilder took a seat beside me. We were still "Molly" and "Tom" in public of course. He opened his notebook, pretending to be only half-interested in our conversation. No one would have guessed I had been in his stateroom late the night before.

Let me be clear, Josephine: That encounter had ended innocently. Shortly after Tommie's speech about timeless beauty, I had thanked him for his thoughtfulness and limped back to my cabin alone. Still, news of my mere presence in his private quarters would have been tremendously scandalous in Edwardian society, as we were both well aware!

"How's your ankle?" he asked.

"Almost good as new." Quietly, I inquired, "How's the coal fire?" He had mentioned it on the boat deck the day before; I'd imagine it's what had him preoccupied at Thursday dinner, too. The fire was near one of the bulkheads that separated the lower decks into watertight compartments. There was nothing the crew could do about it, except keep it contained and let it burn itself out.

He smiled down at his notebook. "Went out around five this morning; the damage is very minimal, best we could've hoped for."

"Good! I'm glad. Now ya won't be distracted during the tour tomorrow."

"Ye haven't been goadin people into that, have ye?" he muttered good-naturedly.

"Of course I have," I grinned. "You deserve it."

I meant it as a compliment; he playfully spun it around. "Why, Molly? What've I ever done to ye to deserve such punishment?" I worked to rein in my laughter to polite-society levels. Then, he was suddenly solemn: "How's young Rose?"

"I can't say." I realized then that I hadn't seen her yet that day. I'd imagine she slept through breakfast, after whatever she and Jack did last night… Does Tommie know about that? …No, he couldn't possibly…

"I worked in steerage this mornin, and I spoke with Jack a bit," Tommie confessed, half-whispering. He'd dropped the pretense of working in his notebook while we spoke. "Ye know what he told me, Maggie? That he wants to help Rose fall in love with life itself again."

I snorted with laughter. "Now that's a load of bull. Where'd he get that line? A nickelodeon?"

"That's what I thought, at first," Tommie said. "But concerning Rose, it makes a fair bit of sense, now doesn't it?"

I scarcely had a chance to ponder his words before the Astors invited us to take luncheon with them, along with Benjamin Guggenheim, Madame Aubart, and the Strauses. Tommie and I sat together, with Maddie Astor on his other side and Ida Straus on mine. All four men at the table were businessmen, and Tommie the only Brit among the four. They immediately asked his opinion of Great Britain's recent coal miners' strike.

"I'm just glad they've reached an outcome agreeable to both the good workers and the businesses," he said tactfully.

"I daresay it cost you a pretty penny, though, what with the coal shortage putting people off sea travel…"

He shrugged. It occurred to me that if anyone would be hurting from the underbooking of Titanic's maiden voyage, it was J. Bruce Ismay, not Tommie. "Well, there'll be other voyages to make up for it. Besides," he grinned, "the ship looks even bigger with fewer people aboard."

The others chortled heartily, and moved on to discussing a recent strike in California that had turned violent. Each of them was, in his own mind, a deputy, a diplomat, or perhaps both. The way they talked, you'd think the whole crisis could have been averted if only they had been there!

Tommie jotted something in his notebook, then passed me the dinner rolls as they came around the table. I declined. "Aren't you hungry, Molly?" he asked.

I had worked up quite an appetite at the gymnasium, but I figured it was best to eat lean if there was even the slightest chance that I was contending with a serious foot injury. Maddie Astor groaned. "Molly, please don't tell me you're giving up bread now, too!" She explained to Tommie, "She's already given up sugar, salt and butter. I always feel a bit guilty, eating with her."

"Well, don't," I commanded as I passed the bread basket on to Ida Straus. "No reason for any of ya to suffer on behalf of my figure."

"Very magnanimous of you, Mag- I mean, Molly," Tommie said, buttering his dinner roll. "You know," he mused, "I suppose I'm lucky. I've one of those constitutions where I can eat just about anything and not put on weight."

I cast a dubious side-glance at Tommie's waistline. As you would expect of a shipbuilder, he was quite fit and muscular- but he did have just a little extra 'round the middle. Without a change in his mealtime philosophy, he was headed the right way for a midlife paunch in a few years. I let slip a small smirk, then felt my face go hot. I hope he didn't notice that.

He noticed. Rather than be offended, he gave me a sly half-smile. "Though I suppose my luck might run out someday…"

Ida Straus piped up, with blunt German humor. "It will. Just wait until you turn forty, Mr. Andrews."

"Hm. Forty," I remarked, nudging his foot beneath the table. How old are ya again, Tommie? Thirty-nine?

"Hm," he repeated, with a small, amused shake of his head towards me. Touche, Maggie.

"At least, that's when Isidor's luck ran out," Ida smiled.

"My luck with what, dear?" Isidor asked mildly. Ida whispered in her husband's ear; he chuckled and returned to the business talk, unperturbed. The Strauses had been married over forty years. They were usually quite reserved with other people. Between the two of them, however, there was an abundance of natural affection that even honeymooners would envy.

I spent the rest of the meal trying not to slip up and say "Tommie" instead of "Tom," and wondering if the small gestures and remarks between Tommie and me, the implied understandings and unspoken jokes, constituted a kind of flirting. It's disruption of the social code that we're flirting with, not one another, I decided. Society wouldn't expect us to become good friends, and yet we have. It's all in good fun.

However, I hadn't forgotten our unfinished conversation from before luncheon. Over dessert, I commented with feigned nonchalance, "You know, I haven't seen the DeWitt Bukaters yet today."

Tommie nodded in understanding. "Neither have I. But I think I see my work for the afternoon: Checking in on the dinnerware cabinets." He cocked his head towards a nearby table, where Colonel Gracie had just accidentally shattered a drinking glass.

"Must've gotten carried away with an old war story," I quipped. We shared a quiet laugh.

Just then, J. Bruce Ismay appeared. He exchanged polite pleasantries with us all, then put his hand on Tommie's shoulder. "May I have a word, Thomas?"

Tommie's face darkened, and I knew without a word that I shouldn't wait around to speak with him after luncheon.

I went back to my stateroom to take the wrap off my fast-mending ankle, and then head out in search of Rose. My plans would prove redundant, however. I unlocked my stateroom and found Rose standing there, her eyes red and her face tearstained, staring blankly at the Abbéma. She turned slowly, as if in a daze. Her voice was quiet and broken. "Oh. Molly."