Briefly, she wonders if its a little too perfect— confined to the parlor suites, and with Lovejoy there to keep watch, there is no reason for anyone to suspect she may sneak away. The valet had promised Cal he would stay behind as they all leave for dinner, posting himself in the sitting room. Rose's room is at the back of the cabin, and so if she were to leave, Lovejoy would expect her to emerge and cross the sitting room to the hallway. He had not, however, taken into account the fact that Rose and Cal's rooms have an adjoining door, Cal's containing a separate exit into the hall. Because of their unmarried status, Rose and Cal's adjoining door was assumed to have remained locked— a custom that Cal, for a long time now, had not been obliged to follow.
Rose shudders as she passes now through that threshold into his stateroom, thinking back through the past several weeks and some of Cal's actions which had expounded her misery. It had first happened in Italy— Cal knocking upon the joined doorway in the middle of the night. The first time, she had been naive, believing him when he had told her that all he wanted was to see her face and to say good night. In a way she had thought it charming, and yet he kept knocking, each time attempting to push his luck further, until it became obvious to him that she wasn't going to give him what he wanted. After a time he had stopped knocking altogether, and began instead to enter at will. Sometimes he would attempt to be charming— other times, usually when he had had one too many to drink, he would be crude and rough. He began barging in and stealing glances when he knew full well she may be changing or bathing and as time had gone on she began to see the lust grow behind his eyes, along with his persistence and his insistence upon more. At this point she has just barely been able to keep him at bay— to keep him from doing with her as he undoubtedly would on their wedding night, and of course, his eyes had already peeked, and his hands had already snuck scandalizing passes which had made Rose's skin crawl and had caused bile to rise in her throat from fear and disgust. Paris had at least kept him otherwise occupied for the most part with its array of brothels to choose from— something that had been a small blessing if you could even see it that way. At least aboard Titanic over the last few days he hasn't had much opportunity to catch her alone— not since the afternoon of their first day aboard when he had made that comment to Trudy about being the "first and only" between the sheets.
She looks around, trying to think practically and change the course of her thoughts. She has changed from the stiff church attire of the morning— dressed instead in a lilac and rose colored chiffon dress— the simplest thing she owns. Going to Cal's wardrobe, she pulls out one of his long wool overcoats, probably never even worn and something he's not likely to miss. She knows that all of her outerwear is too ornate, and none of it particularly warm. This would be less conspicuous, the dark color allowing her to blend in if necessary. Crossing to the bureau where he keeps his safe, she quickly spins the dial. Having spent months watching Cal constantly open the hideous thing, she had memorized the combination herself. Hand brushing past the box containing the heart of the ocean, something she wants nothing to do with ever again, she picks up a small handful of bills. He would miss her before he ever misses what to him would be an insignificant amount of cash— would probably think he had just gambled it away and forgotten, and after all he has taken from her she's not above taking money that will ensure her at least some food and a place to lay her head upon reaching New York.
As her thoughts reach that far ahead— past the two days she still has to avoid being found aboard this ship— her mind drifts to Jack. She trusts him, fully. She's not sure how or why, but there's something about him that makes her feel as if with him her trust would never be mislaid. What kind of a plan he may have, however, she's not sure, and so she has been scheming herself all afternoon, hoping that when the time comes she'll be able to find the help she needs with those who have shown her some kindness. She thinks that they may be willing to help Jack as well.
She's not even sure if Jack's feelings for her extend beyond just wanting to help her escape her situation or if its more. He had said before pulling her back on board the other night that he can't step away because he's involved now— is that his only reason? If so she's not sure she could bear it. Does he feel the same connection that she has been feeling grow between them, or is that all in her imagination? Is she just a pretty face he enjoys talking to and a sad problem he can solve? She hopes not. As kind as he is he doesn't seem the type to take on other peoples problems without reason.
With a small bag packed with necessities and some petty cash in the pocket of Cal's coat she takes one more look around at the two staterooms, both opulent beyond reason. She's sure that once she's starting her new life for real she'll have moments where she misses the luxury— its all she's known: soft beds, warm water, prepared meals. She wants something simpler though— craves it. She craves a simpler life bejeweled with little meaningful joys rather than this dull caged life full of real jewels, lifeless and heartless. Her decision made, she locks the entry to her bedroom, locks the doorway between her quarters and Cal's, and finally, as she steps into the hallway, locks the exit, closing the door on her old life in every way. Her only thought as she walks away is good riddance, and the hope that her plans would work and she would never have to return.
She doesn't go straight up to the bow— there is still some time before sunset. Instead she goes to the door next to the one she had just exited, and knocks softly. She had had it confirmed while listening during afternoon tea to the voices carrying across the promenade deck that the suite next to theirs is indeed occupied by Molly Brown, and while readying herself she had been able to hear that the woman has not yet left for dinner.
Their society peers had not been kind to Molly. New money, and all of that— a notion that Rose personally thought to be ridiculous. Isn't most everyone new in their situation at one point or another? She knows that her mother's vicious attitude stems from their being newly poor, and the fear behind being found out. In the short time she has known Molly, Rose has found her to be one of the most pleasant, humorous, and understanding people she has had the pleasure of knowing, and she hopes now that her assumptions are right and that maybe the older women would act as an ally. As soon as she's discovered missing Cal's first inclination will be to check third class and seek out Jack. He would never, however, think to look right next door.
It's Molly herself that answers the door rather than staff, which is something Rose is both surprised and grateful for. The fewer people who see her the better. The older woman is dressed for dinner, her ornate plum colored dress very elegant.
"Rose!" She says stepping back and allowing her to enter. "Shouldn't you be down for dinner by now? I'm running very late." Her eyes are taking in Rose's simple clothing— the men's jacket, and the bag in her hand, and her eyebrow arches in a silent request for an explanation.
"Molly, I am sorry for the intrusion, but I just don't know what to do and you're the only person I could think of to turn to for some help. I know you were kind to Jack yesterday. He said as much, and I was wondering if, well, if you wouldn't mind helping out another stranger? I know that's what we are, really, and I know that this is a lot to ask of you."
Molly glances up and down the hall before ushering Rose inside and closing the door. In the way that Rose is shepherded over to the the sitting room, she can feel the woman's maternal nature.
"What is it, darling, you're pale as a ghost. What's happened?"
There's a kindness in Molly's tone— a timbre to her voice that touches something within Rose and causes her emotions to well to the surface in an instant after hours of remaining as stoic as she could. Her own mother had never used such a caring tone with her.
Molly leans forward in her seat, looking for an answer in Rose's silence and sudden swell of emotion.
"I need out, Molly. I can't do it anymore— this life. It's all a lie. A charade. I cannot marry a man like Cal."
It comes out in a rush, but Molly only nods, sympathy plain on her face, and reaches forward to lay her hand atop Rose's in her lap.
"I heard that ruckus this morning and thought it was him," the woman tells her. "I was going to try and ask you about it after the service this morning but that hawk of a mother of yours never had you out of her sight." She sighs. "What's your plan?"
At this Rose shrugs. "I don't know. I just know that I can't escape without help. Cal is not known to give anything up easily. When this ship docks, I plan to get off with Jack, but I know we can't evade Cal alone. He'll tear the ship apart looking and with Jack will be the first place he searches. I need a place to hide, Molly, and I know that it's as lot to ask, but I was hoping you would let me stay here. I promise I will be as little trouble as I can be."
"Woah, honey, slow down," the older woman tells her. "I know Caledon Hockley is a despicable bastard, but are you really going to leave this ship with a man you've known for two days? Don't misunderstand me, he seems a decent young man, but can you really trust him in walking away from everything you know?"
Tears spring to Rose's eyes again, and she looks at her hands in her lap. "Molly, I do trust Jack. Implicitly. He— I know its only been two days, but already he knows more about me and has shown me more kindness and understanding than anyone. He—"
"What is it, Rose?" Asks Molly, sensing that there's more to what the girl is trying to say; more to the story here. She had witnessed Jack's infatuation with Rose yesterday, and had known instantly that there was a connection between the pair. In a way she had felt some guilt this morning in overhearing Cal's outburst as she had been the one to let Jack borrow her pen, inviting Rose away to glimpse another slice of life. Not guilt over having given Jack an in, but guilt over any pain it may have caused young Rose through Hockley's actions.
"Molly, I— it's so stupid. You must think me so stupid and naive. Jack and I didn't meet in the way we've told everyone. Jack found me— saved me. I had been trying that night to end my life. He pulled me back— convinced me to live, and with his discretion and the care he showed me yesterday— the joy last night that I didn't even think possible— I can't keep living the way I have been. If I stay with Cal and my mother I'll only end up back on the edge again and I don't want that. I can't keep on living the life I have been, Molly, surely you can understand."
"I do understand that, Rose," says Molly, her expression serious. "I do, believe me. I know what it is to be trapped in a life you don't want and with a man who doesn't love you." She shifts in her seat somewhat uncomfortably. "Tell me, as I can only assume from what I heard earlier, has Cal laid a hand on you? Hit you, or hurt you in any way?" The woman asks, and Rose looks up somewhat surprised. That's not a question she had expected just now, and it catches her off guard, the answer on the tip of her tongue. How much does she want to give away, however?
She decides that at this point, the truth is all she has. "Yes," she answers. "He has, occasionally. He has grabbed me roughly— hit me when angered. He has made lewd suggestions but thankfully has not done much to act on that. I need out, Molly. I need out before I'm trapped as his wife forever and he can do whatever he'd like with me."
She pauses, her eyes finally meeting the older woman's. There she can see understanding and what seems to be contempt for Cal.
"Molly, I know that Jack and I are practically strangers, as are you and I, but I just know, somehow, if I don't take the jump now to get away, and to see what's there between Jack and I I'll regret it forever."
Molly listens, nods along. She can empathize with the girl, and after having witnessed how she's treated by her family nothing Rose is saying comes as a shock.
"Well," says Molly, reiterating her point from the previous afternoon, "Sounds like he really is a good man to have around in a sticky situation." She sighs heavily, and squeezes Rose's hand. "You may stay here, of course. I'll do what I can to keep you hidden. While I do not think you should be so quick to jump into a new life with Mr. Dawson, I'll do what I can to help the pair of you." She glances at the clock, noting that its now twenty minutes past the dinner hour— nearly sunset.
"Darling, if we're gonna pull this thing off without suspicion, I ought to be getting down there to supper. I assume you're meeting Jack?"
Rose nods, feeling a modicum of relief wash over her. She at least had one person on their side.
"Cal will likely go looking for him," says Molly. "Or at least that gargoyle of his will once they realize you're gone." She makes her way over to a desk, pulling something from a drawer. Crossing back to Rose, she hands her two keys.
"These are for the staff entrance the next hallway over. Enter and leave through that door, and you're less likely to be seen. You may give Jack a key, but for now its safer if he stays put— least till after he's questioned. It'll help throw off suspicion."
Rose smiles, nodding. It's brilliant, and Molly seems to be right on track wither her line of thought.
"I'll try to stall them at dinner— distract them with questions and buy you some time, but I'd say to aim to return before the cigars come out," Molly tells her, taking her hands again and squeezing them.
"Thank you again, Molly. I don't know how I'll ever repay you."
The matron arches that famous eyebrow again. "You may want to wait and see how this all plays out before you go thanking me."
— —
"Hello, Jack."
He turns at her voice, the sound of it bringing a smile to his lips in an instant, and the sight of her making his heart pound. She looks different— more free. Her hair is down, the curls tumbling down her back, catching in the wind and fading sunlight. Her dress is simpler than he had yet to see her wear, and he assumes, more to her taste. The very sight of her stirs an emotion within him that he's not sure he can name quite yet, but he can feel the gravitas of this moment— that she has shown up here and made the choice to meet him means that she has made the choice to risk everything for freedom, and all he wants to do is show her that her trust in him is not misplaced.
He holds a finger to his lips to hush her from talking. "Give me your hand," he tells her, holding out his own, taking it as she steps forward. He notes, as she does, just how perfect her hand feels within his own.
"Close your eyes," he tells her, and only sees very fleeting hesitance.
"Go on," he encourages her, and she does.
"Now step up," he tells her, directing her forward, relishing in his closeness to her. "Hands on the railing, don't peek."
He guides her up, staying close behind. "Stay close to the railing," he tells her, his hands guiding hers. "Hold on. Keep your eyes closed." He steps up behind her now, closer than he feels he has any right to dare, but she's giving no objection, and instead gives a small laugh that lights him up further. This angel has him totally beguiled and he knows it— wants nothing more than to give her the joy and freedom he feels she deserves, which she has missed out on for so long.
"Do you trust me?" He asks, close to her ear, echoing their earlier conversations.
"I trust you." That's all he'll ever need to hear, he thinks.
He takes her hands in his, spreading her arms like wings, their fingers twining together. It's a delicious feeling now that she's without the gloves she had been wearing when their hands had touched that morning. Fleetingly, his mind drifts to the prospect of drawing her hands— of drawing her — but perhaps there would be time for that later on.
"Alright," he says, his hands now settling on her waist, steadying her. "Open your eyes."
He watches her, fascinated by the amazement lighting her features now as she takes in the sight of the sea and sky with nothing to impede the view. He knows from her reaction that he has done his job in giving her a taste of the freedom she deserves.
"Jack, I'm flying! Jack!" Her voice is breathy with excitement, and he feels the warmth of emotion spread through him— the care he has come to feel for her, and his amazement at her presence here with him— hell, her very existence. He feels as if she has walked straight out of his dreams, and yet here she is, solid and real within his arms.
"Come Josephine, in my flying machine, and its up she goes, up she goes," he sings at a whisper, the shared memory of singing it with her the previous night springing to mind. Here she is, balanced herself like a bird on a beam ready to take flight, and he wants nothing in this moment but to soar away with her. Wherever she goes, he realizes, it doesn't matter. He would follow.
He stops singing as their eyes meet, and he can see the assurance in her glance. She's feeling just how he is. Slowly, giving her room to pull away, he leans in to do what he has wanted to since she had sought him out the previous morning. He meets her lips in a kiss.
As she kisses him back, all doubts are erased from his mind. The way her hand rises to cradle his neck tells him as much as he needs to know— that she wants him just as much as he wants her, and he hasn't totally misread the situation. It's a kiss unlike any he has ever had, with so much care and feeling tied up in it.
Love, he thinks, and immediately knows that he can't un-think it, but finds it to be true nonetheless. He loves this woman in his arms. He thought he had known love in the past, but realizes that until now, every experience in his short life so far had been nothing but simple infatuation. Rose, however, he would do anything for. Absolutely anything asked of him.
—
The plan so far makes sense. He knows it does. And yet he hates being separated from her now. He hates the idea that if she were to be caught— found out— he wouldn't know, and the pivotal part of her plan had given him some trepidation. Could they really trick everyone into thinking that she had perished? That she had done what she had set out to do just a few nights ago, only this time no one had been there to pull her back? In faking this, were they tempting their fate too much?
Hand in his coat pocket, he can feel the cold metal of the key she had given him in his hand. Just a few hours, he tells himself. Just a few hours and they'll come looking. They'll find him right where he's supposed to be down in his third class cabin on a bunk that had been meant for a man named Sven, stewing appropriately over having been denied the ability to see her again.
They had spoken with Fabrizio and Tommy and explained the situation. The two men had agreed if anyone came looking for him or asking questions they would direct them to Jack and deny having seen Rose since the previous night. An hour ago, he had seen her off back to Molly's quarters, kissing her goodbye for now and watching from around a corner as she safely passed through the service entrance unseen. He had been careful on his way back to B60 not to be seen himself anywhere where he wasn't supposed to be. Now, there's nothing to do but wait. The next move lay with Cal.
When a knock finally does come, Jack opens the door abruptly, pretending to have been disturbed from sleep. One of the Swedish men sharing the room had returned a while earlier and actually is jarred from sleep, swearing at the intrusion. He isn't sure who he had expected exactly, but it wasn't Cal himself, along with his manservant Lovejoy and the Master at Arms.
"What's all this?" Jack asks, meeting Cal's gaze directly. He can see the fury in the man's eyes— the contempt.
"Don't play dumb, Dawson. Where is she?" He's shoved aside as the three men enter, the master at arms looking around— under the beds, in the tiny shared wardrobe, finding nothing of interest.
"What, Rose?" He asks, looking to Cal as if her disappearance is a surprise. "How should I know? I haven't seen her since last night. He wouldn't let me," Jack nods to Lovejoy. "You can ask him. Had me escorted back here."
Cal rolls his eyes. "And I'm to believe you've been here the whole time?" He asks. "That was ten o'clock this morning."
Jack shrugs, nonchalantly but can't resist a small jab at Cal's pride. "Here and the canteen," he answers, shrugging. "Had some rest to catch up on. I didn't have a chance for much sleep last night." A true statement for more wholesome reasons, but he knows that Cal will catch the double entendre.
The officer turns to the Scandinavian man on the bunk, who is blearily glaring between Jack and the unwelcome guests, clearly trying to understand what's going on. The officer asks something in what Jack assumes must be Swedish, receiving a satisfactory answer, and nodding. "He says the boy was here when he left this morning, and when he came back to sleep. That gives Mr. Dawson here an alibi; There's nothing I can do."
"Look," says Jack, knowing he's trying his luck, but hoping it will make the charade more believable. "Maybe I can help you look for her— show you some of the places we walked around yesterday. I know its none of my business, but she told me she hasn't been very happy, so I only wanna help. I was seeking her out this morning to check that she'll be alright."
"I think you've done enough helping already," Says Cal, clearly further irritated by Jack having more knowledge about his own fiancé than he does and her state of mind than he does. The girl had never deigned to give him a glimpse of her inner world in that way. "It's your presence that has her acting out as she has been. I swear when I find her she won't be seeing sunlight until this damn wedding is done and over with."
Jack shrugs again, willing himself to keep his temper, hating the thought of Rose trapped with these people who clearly only see her as property. It's all the more reason to be convincing— to do what he can to get her out of this life. "Look, like I said, I don't know where she is. I can help you look if you want, but other than that I don't know how to help." He pauses, weighing his words. He knows he's about to give up the heaviest secret that he and Rose share and that the rest of her life could depend on this. "Truth be told, if she's missing, that's not good. I care for her, and I know its not my place to do so, but because of that there's something you need to know." He pauses, looking Cal in the eye with an expression that he hopes plays off as earnest and sincere. "I had kept my mouth shut for her discretion, but you need to know— she didn't slip that night we met. She wasn't trying to see the propellers. I found her trying to jump, and talked her out of it. I was pulling her back over that railing when her foot slipped and she nearly fell. If I were you, I'd check the bow or the stern. I'm not kidding when I'm telling you she confessed to not being happy, and if she tried jumping once, who's to say she hasn't tried again when no one would be around to stop her?"
Cal's eyes widen momentarily, and Jack can see the muscles in his jaw tighten as he tries to reign in his emotion. For a second Jack isn't sure whether than emotion is worry or anger. If its worry, he reckons that its worry more so for his own reputation if what Jack is insinuating turns out to be true. Cal has known that Rose has been melancholy and had been for a long while. What Jack is saying isn't out of the realm of possibility if the boy had indeed been down in third class all day.
"It warrants looking into," comments the master at arms— someone that Jack is learning to be pretty fair, although not terribly observant for a cop. Lovejoy, who had until now been eyeing Jack with a look of contempt, now looks worried. If she had indeed jumped, she had done so while supposedly under his supervision and he knows that his livelihood depends upon finding her.
"You're coming with us," says Cal, grabbing Jack by the arm. Pulling his arm free of Cal's grip he simply shrugs, following a pace behind.
"Whatever you want," he says evenly. "I only want to help." He doesn't trust Cal as far as he can throw him, and he knows the feeling is mutual. Playing along with all of this will only help to keep Rose safe, and that's all he wants. He can feel Lovejoy breathing down his neck as they walk, but there's less of the malice than than there had been this morning.
With nothing found at the stern and still no trace of her reported by anyone on that side of the ship, they head towards the bow. Mr. Andrews, who had been made aware of Rose's disappearance after dinner and had been trying to help heads their way at a quick pace, having come from conferring with the evening lookouts in the Marconi room.
"Mr. Hockley! Mr. Dawson!" He greets them.
"Is there news?" Asks Cal. For a moment Jack is struck by just how good of an actor Cal himself is— the tone of genuine concern dripping from his voice seems real.
"I've spoken with the lookouts on duty. The say they saw a redheaded woman on decks alone, heading towards the Bow right around sunset. It could have been her.
"And at the bow? Did any of the lookouts see her there?" he asks, and Lovejoy shakes his head.
"The view of the bow railing from the observation tower is obscured by the deck tiers. They wouldn't have been able to see anyone there from that angle I'm afraid."
Cal scowls, kicking a nearby railing in his frustration, before turning back to Mr. Andrews and the Officer. "The bow then. We'll search there, and hope to god that Mr. Dawson here isn't right. If she isn't there then I want this entire place torn apart— room for room."
"Sir, we couldn't possibly impose that—" the officer starts, but Cal cuts him off, his temper getting the best of him for a moment.
"Room by room," Cal thunders. "She must be found."
There is no need, however. The party makes their way to the bow, and the evidence there is irrefutable, as far as they can tell. Her shoes are there, kicked to the side haphazardly, and on the railing, torn, a piece of gossamer fabric that Cal recognizes— a piece of a rather expensive day dress that he had purchased for her from a maker in Paris— a dress that Cal himself had thought much too plain for the cost, but she had insisted.
Jack stands back from the rest of them, watching, waiting to see how Cal would react to this set up; to see whether he would believe it. In a way he's astonished to see the way that the fight seems to be sapped from him in an instant. The man's shoulders slump and as he makes his way to the railing that Jack and Rose had been flying from a mere few hours ago, he can see that Cal's hands are shaking dangerously as he grasps the railing to look over the other side. He lurches down to the ground, sitting in a way that Jack is surprised the man can do in the tuxedo he still wears from dining, and reaches an arm through the bottom of the railing, pulling something up from the front of the ship— more fabric that had been caught there: Rose's idea. "We have to make it convincing," she had told Jack, and he had been surprised and a little awed and scared by her devoted attention to detail.
Cal stands again, holding the scrap in his hands, his face now white as a sheet. In Jack's opinion he looks rather nauseated and he stumbles forward, away from the railing, his hand tightening in a fist around the material.
"Good god," he can hear Mr. Andrews say, the understanding of what Rose must have done hitting the man. Jack himself, perhaps out of his sheer relief that they have pulled off their charade feels emotion well in his own eyes. All the better, he thinks. They would see him as a man who had just lost a woman he had been infatuated with. The reality of it however? He had just gained the biggest opportunity of his life— a chance at living it with the most ceaselessly astounding woman he had ever met. He knows however that they're not fully in the clear just yet. There would still be a day an a half of the journey to get through, and the debacle of disembarking unseen before they can truly celebrate.