It was half past eight, yet Odette had only just managed to dress. First, she had put on a gorgeous teal dress with gold trim, then believed it too extravagant for a simple walk of the ship. She changed into her flowing yellow dress lined with pearls, though she looked more ready for a spring walk in the park. Every dress she stepped into seemed to be either out of season, far too flashy and bold, or utterly plain. The longer it took the woman to find proper dressing, the more frantic she became. Nothing seemed correct for the occasion and she began to wonder if she had made a horrible mistake requesting a toured audience with the First Officer. Just when she had made the decision to claim an illness, Simone had retrieved a lovely silk dress of sage green. It was simple, though the delicate off the shoulder straps were made of dark green roses which brought the gown merit. Once the young woman was finally dressed, Simone went to work fixing Odette's hair.
Odette's hair was long and heavy. The curls that often framed her face could have been envied by many, if not for the weight straightening her longer strands. To alleviate this, Simone had dampened the bulk of Odette's hair and wrapped the strands in rag strips. That had been late the previous night, just before Odette retired from the tiring day. The strands now dried, Simone unclipped each rag one by one, sending new cascading, spiral curls to fall past Odette's thin shoulders. Odette hardly noticed at all, even when her maid began twisting and pulling against the hair at her temples in order to pin them to the top of her head. Odette's sole attention was on her makeup, her hands perfectly steady despite her growing enthusiasm for the new adventure that awaited her. She had just applied a deep burgundy shade of lipstick when a sudden tug on her hair caused her to smear the color.
"Oh, zut, alors!" Odette cursed, causing her young handmaid to gasp.
"Madame!" the blonde exclaimed, her free hand covering her parted lips. "Have I caused you harm?"
"It's no fault of yours, Simone," Odette sighed, defeated. Now all together dejected once more, Odette took a damp piece of cloth and dabbed away her lip stain. Peering from above Odette's raven mass of freshly curled hair, Simone raised a thin brow and pursed her lips, her fingers tapping unintentionally against Odette's scalp.
"If I may say so, Madame, you seem rather," her words trailed, searching for the proper assumption, "discomposed this morning."
"It is no concern," Odette responded flatly. She picked up another tube of lipstick the shade of crimson, though it took all her strength not to glare at the poor, inanimate object. Her fingers dangled the tube uncaringly and she pressed her chin into her free palm, then she dropped the lipstick. The harsh clatter caused Odette to wince and she sent an apologetic look at Simone through the vanity mirror. The young maid only shied, her eyes flickering down. At this, Odette straightened and settled her face to that of a more placid look so as to ease the tension she was creating. "I apologize, Simone. I only wish for a more simplistic look for today. I've grown tired of picking the correct shade of lipstick."
Her words were only somewhat true. Because of her grand entrance the night before at dinner, Odette now had a certain expectation to uphold on the ship. Every little, inconvenient choice she made, such as the colors she chose to color her lips with or wear around her eyes, would be scrutinized by her peers. It was dreadfully droll and tiresome, but that was not the only reason for her distress this morning. Somewhere, not so deep in the back of her mind, she wondered what dear Officer William Murdoch would think of her and the way she dressed herself. Would he think her vain for wearing burgundy lipstick, or arrogant for wearing crimson? She nearly scoffed outwardly for the mere thought of it, dressing for another man. How would her late mother think fondly of her daughter, a married woman, wondering what lipstick would fancy another man? Odette shook herself of this instantly. It was not unholy for a woman to want to impress a man of his stature in order to get in his good graces. In fact, this was how many of Clovis's late ventures concerning his business had been seen and set in motion. No, Odette was not dressing for Officer Murdoch, but for the possible opportunities her husband's business could acquire from getting close to the Titanic's officers and, undoubtedly, Captain Smith in turn. That still left the question; burgundy or crimson?
"Might I suggest a shade, Madam Anouilh?" Simone questioned cautiously, careful to not overstep. Without really hearing her, Odette nodded dully. Then, her green eyes squinted curiously at the offered tube of lipstick. Prudently, Odette took the tube within her own fingers, her eyes examining the new color thoroughly. It was a gentle rose pink, lenient in color and beautifully serene. Odette's lips parted into a bold, toothy smile.
"It's perfect." Simone only nodded and returned to pinning Odette's hair, though Odette could see the almost prideful grin daring to break across her young handmaid's face. Glancing at the clock, Odette's heart gave a great lurch at the time. It was a quarter till nine. Quickly, the woman painted her lips in pink rose, forcing her trembling hands to still so as to not make a further mistake. With her lips colored and her hair finally pinned, Odette sat back in her chair and took in her dainty features. The sage of her dress disguised any dullness to her curled black hair while the pink on her lips bolded the dark lashes that framed her eyes. She had even managed to add a touch of powder upon the freckles along her nose before there was a knock on her door. Anxiously, Odette pinched the bones of her cheek to soften her paleness before summoning for their caller at the door.
Unsurprisingly, it was Clovis, dressed finely in a tanned suit and mustache precisely curled. Odette knew the price of his clothes, despite the boater hat strapped to his slickened hair. "Are we all ready, then?" he asked, to which Odette's brow furrowed.
"We?"
Clovis rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Darling, don't make such a face. You'll get wrinkles." Odette's face smoothed. "I've invited Simone and Frédéric to join us. After all, the officer did invite our company as well."
Although surprised, Odette only nodded her acceptance. She was stunned by her husband's sudden additions, though she found herself more shocked he had chosen Frédéric, who was a handsome unwed suitor of hers. Though, that would explain why Clovis had not invited Marcel, whose wife had a deathly fear of open water. Frédéric must have had a free hour to spend, and Clovis was not subtle in gloating his power by means of his friends. Silently, Odette could only hope such a party of four would not cause disruption to the unsuspecting First Officer. Odette forced a smile as she slipped on her white gloves and draped a matching shawl around her exposed shoulders and allowed her husband to lead her by the arm. Simone followed dutifully behind. They made a quick stop by Frédéric's room and, by ten past nine, they arrived on deck to join Officer Murdoch.
Officer Murdoch was dressed in his uniform, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he gazed upon the surrounding ocean. Feeling a great surge of nervousness bubbling in the pit of her stomach, Odette's fingers twittled softly against her husband's arm. He shook it lightly, ceasing her annoying tapping. Clovis called out to the officer, capturing his attention, and when Officer Murdoch turned Odette wished to run away as far as the grand ship would allow her. And yet the officer smiled at her, completely unshaped by the rest of her group. In fact, it was almost like he was only seeing her, the rest of her crowd nothing but blurred color.
"Good evening," Officer Murdoch tipped his hat which was mimicked by Frédéric. Clovis shook Odette's grip as he stepped forward and took the officer's hand in a firm handshake. Odette wanted to speak her own greeting, though the men were instantly in conversation. She had missed her chance. While Clovis was rambling on about the goings of the morning weather, however, the officer's eyes flashed towards hers and he gave her a nod so slight that she wondered if she had seen it at all. Her heart's beating felt more like fluttering and she averted her eyes as a heat took to the tips of her ears. She could only hope that the breeze would sooth her flush. After their greetings, Officer Murdoch finally began their tour. "Right now we are at the back of the Titanic, or-"
"The Fore of the ship," Clovis suddenly interrupted. He boasted his chest and straightened his suit pridefully and Odette nearly rolled her eyes. Clovis had spent hours the night before reading whatever books he could get his hands on in regards to ships. Odette knew he was trying to educate himself on the matter, either to seem knowledgeable enough to teach Odette himself or simply to humiliate the poor officer. Whatever the reason, Odette knew it would not end in her husband's favor. "And towards the front, Ma Colombe, is called the Aft."
"My apologies, sir, but you've gotten it backwards. We are actually at the Aft at this moment." Clovis deflated and Odette's cheeks flared. From her left, she heard Frédéric clear his throat and she saw him cover his mouth with his fist. She couldn't have been sure, but it looked like he was hiding a smirk. This only further embarrassed the poor woman and she began to wring her hands. Thankfully, the officer did not let the group dwell on his correction and he went straight to speaking once again. "In fact, the Aft is home to many of the Titanic's refineries such as the smoking rooms, cafés, restaurants, and even the Palm Courts."
"Oh, yes, of course," Clovis sniffed, his mustache twitching. "My mistake."
"A common mistake, sir." This went on for what felt like hours, but couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. Clovis would do his best to outshine with his knowledge, though his confidence was quickly dwindling as he could hardly get half of his facts in correct order. With every minute that passed, Odette felt more shame. This was an awful idea, and she wished she had been bright enough to see this sooner and put an end to the failed tour before it had even begun. Despite her and Simone's obvious discomfort and Clovis's growing distaste, Officer William remained pleasant and gave no sign that he felt uncomfortable with the growing tension.
Just as Odette could bear the apprehension no longer, Clovis suddenly spoke with a surprising new gusto. "Darling, look over there! That's Arthur Garnier!"
"Who?" she questioned, searching through the gathering morning crowd for a familiar face.
"I haven't seen Arthur in months!" Frédéric commented as he cupped a hand over his brow, blocking the sun from his dark eyes.
"You remember him, darling," Clovis waved a dismissive hand her way. "We met him and his dear wife last year at the summer banquet." Odette did not remember. They had been to many banquets last year, not including the summer months. Without waiting for a confirming word from his wife, Clovis snatched Odette's arm and began to drag her forward. "Let's see how they've fared since our last meeting!"
"Clovis, wait," Odette gasped and pulled away and Clovis dropped her in surprise. If it were possible, his thick eyebrows could have disappeared into his hairline, his eyes as round as dinner plates. Odette averted her gaze and twittled her thumbs from behind her back. "What I mean is," she trailed off, not sure what to say next.
"What on Earth could be the matter?"
"Well," she swallowed down the thick lump forming in her throat, "I've quite enjoyed the tour. If we were to leave before its end, I'm worried my spirits may be dampened."
Clovis scoffed. "We've learned enough for today, Dove. Besides, I'm sure we've bothered the officer quite enough. You and Madame Garnier will have a splendid time."
"If I may, Mr. Anouilh," Officer Murdoch spoke up, his smile just charming enough to not be considered confrontational, "I still do have an hour before my next shift." Catching on quickly, Odette understood what the officer was trying to do; he was doing his best to alleviate the situation. As nice as the offer was, Odette could not risk the officer making the same mistake he had in offering his services the night before. Odette took her husband by the hand.
"I know how busy you are, darling, and I would hate to have you exhausted anymore than needed…" At first, Clovis looked slow to refuse his growing agitation at the entire situation. However, to everyone's surprise, Simone spoke her first words since arriving onto the deck, ensuring Clovis's attention from his displeasure and momentarily to her.
"Monsieur Anouilh, I do not mind remaining with the Madame, if it's not a bother," the woman spoke softly, her gray-blue eyes low. Clovis's own eyes flickered between the faces of the two women, searching them intently, for what Odette did not know. Finally, Clovis sighed and he shook his head and Odette felt utterly crestfallen. Then, he laughed.
"Women," he chuckled with an incredulous look at Frédéric, who returned his chuckles if not somewhat confused. After another short pause, Clovis finally gave in to the blonde and raven haired women with a simple nod. "Take care of them, Officer," he said and took the officer back in for a handshake, though it didn't get past Odette how hard her husband gripped the officer's hand. Ushering Frédéric along a bit more briskly than what the young man might have expected, the two disappeared into the crowd.
The tour continued, much easier than before with only Simone by Odette's side now. Officer Murdoch continued as simply as before, explaining what their eyes could have landed upon as they walked the starboard side of the ship, as the officer would call it. With the pressure gone, Odette had begun to ask her own questions as to what the different rooms above them were used for and why there were so many wheels outside of the Wheelhouse. Eventually, even Simone had asked her fair share of questions. Despite what the early morning had tried convincing her of, Odette thought the situation had made a lovely change.
The day was simple with only a light breeze to disrupt the warmth through her shawl. Although the Titanic felt a bit more unsteady under her feet than the evening before, it caused no discomfort to her as her mind was infatuated with the continuous information spilled from the First Officer. In fact, now that she paid her mind to it, she noticed the man seemed much more lively without her husband's constant contradictions. His crooked smirk was much more relaxed and true, the strain in his words almost gone. To put it as simply as she would allow, Odette thought it nice. That was, until, Odette felt Simone's grip hooked to her elbow gradually begin to tighten.
"The Bridge gives us officers a better view of the open water," the officer was saying, gesturing to the balcony above them. "It's open so the crew can readily go in and out."
"I don't feel so well," Simone muttered, suddenly stumbling. Odette was fast in acting, supporting the young girl by her elbow, though Odette did not have the proper strength to hold her handmaid. Officer Murdoch was on Simone's other side instantly. Together, they guided the blonde to a corresponding bench against the walls of the Bridge. Gently, they seated her. Odette waved her hand much like a fan before Simone, whose face had begun to take an odd green tinge to it.
"She's seasick," the officer said, his hands nervously shoved into his pockets. "I can send for a physician-"
"No, I'm alright," Simone shook her head, though her hand remained pressed against her stomach.
"You're not alright," Odette scolded, ignoring the biting feeling of regret ebbing at her subconscious. "I'm sorry, Officer, though we must end our tour here."
"Madame, I can continue." Simone tried standing, though a tremor of the boat sent her tumbling back into her seat.
"Simone, you are not well. We must get you to your bed." Odette stood, though Simone's hand capturing her wrist caused her to hesitate.
"You were so happy this morning, Madame," the blonde said solemnly, tears brimming her large eyes. "I do not wish to be a burden upon your day."
"Oh, you're not a burden!" Odette soothed, but Simone still refused to stand.
"How long until your shift, Officer?"
The officer shuffled his feet, his fingers twitching from within his pockets. "Another forty minutes, I'd suppose."
Simone returned her gaze to Odette. "Finish your tour, Madame, I insist upon it. I will stay here until I am better."
"Simone, we cannot leave you in the open while you are ill."
"You cannot move me while I'm ill, either," she countered, her sternness taking Odette by surprise. "I should not dare to get you sick as well, Madame. I only wish to remain seated until I am well enough to stand. Do not waste your time with me."
"Staying with you would not be a waste, though if you wish to be alone," Odette trailed again, her words leaving her. She thought it cruel to leave her handmaid in such a state out in the open, though she also knew how seasickness could overtake a person so greatly. It was not uncommon for someone struck by the sea to not want to move, yet leaving Simone felt horrid. She could not impose herself upon the young woman, either, this she understood. If Simone wanted to wait out her sickness alone, that was her choice. After another set of inquiries about her condition, Simone opposed and eventually convinced Odette to continue on with the officer. "I shall return soon," Odette continued to press, silently vowing to not take too long in coming back. Simone could only nod her acceptance, unable to speak with her growing nausea.
"I'll be sure to contact you later, Miss, to ensure your health. If it has not improved, I must insist upon the physician's visit," the officer said sincerely. Simone nodded again. Once Odette was quite sure Simone wanted to be left alone, the officer offered his arm and the two set out along the deck once again.
Even as the officer tried to distract her mind with the goings of the ship, Odette's subconscious wandered back to her maid. It took all her strength to look interested in the officer's words and to not stray, though her mind began to race with awful possibilities that, inwardly, she knew could not be possible. The woman thought of how ghastly she truly was, leaving the young girl behind in choice of sightseeing. She thought of how the officer might view her character, and what he thought of the failed morning. Odette should have known from the moment she had awoken this morning how disastrous the day would be.
Just then, Odette took notice of how quiet things had become. Officer Murdoch was no longer speaking. Instead, he gazed upon her benevolently, silently allowing her mind to process her own thoughts. "Je m'excuse, Officer, I believe I've been an awful audience at present."
"It's no trouble, Madam. I tend to speak for the sound of my own voice," he chuckled which, somehow, caused Odette's mind to become somewhat clear. "We can end the tour here, if you'd like. Start again in the morning."
Instantly, Odette shook her head, her fingers about his arm unconsciously tightening. "No, that won't be necessary. I quite enjoy walking the Titanic with you, listening to you speak." Just as those words fled her lips, the woman gulped and nibbled the inside of her cheek. She had to be more cautious of her words, even if simply due to unintended insinuations.
"My voice, I have plenty of," he responded easily. If he was uncomfortable with her words or noticed her reddened cheeks, he did not show it, and Odette was grateful. "She can speak, too, you know."
Odette could not hide the inquiring upturn of her brow at such a presumption. "The Titanic, you mean?" The man nodded, a knowing smirk toying at the corner of his lip. Odette found the look endearing, like a boy eager to explain the contents of his favorite book. The First Officer could have been bouncing on the tips of her toes in his glee, she thought and nearly smiled, though she concealed such winsome thoughts quickly. "The ship is female, then?"
"Yes, all ships are female."
Odette giggled at the ridiculous notion. "Why on Earth would a ship need a gender?"
"Why, to pay respect, of course. It's an old tradition amongst every sailor. It relates to the idea of a female figure, such as a goddess, guiding and protecting a ship and crew. The concept of "she" is with its connotation of motherhood, and therefore protection."
"I can't help but to wonder, Officer, of the bad luck a woman supposedly brings on board a ship."
The man nodded thoughtfully. "A good consideration. Women onboard a ship have gained a somewhat lighter look in modern time, though a good many older sailors would tell you different. Women distract the crew which angers the sea, causing treacherous conditions and capsizing ships as revenge."
Odette's eyes rounded as they drifted to the shimmering water's surface stretched before the railing to her right. "Oh, how dreadful! Who would believe such calm waters could ever bring forth such awful retribution..."
"Well, there is a way to calm the waters again, though I do not believe you should wish to hear such bold things." Officer Murdoch glanced over his shoulder upon her, a mischievous look upon his handsome face. He was a fantastic story teller, this Odette had deduced from his many years as a sailor very quickly, and he certainly knew how to keep his audience on the edge of their seats. Odette had half a mind to call him out on this guileful hesitance, and yet he had undoubtedly ensnared her within his devious trap.
"Do tell me, Officer. I am more than capable of handling an old wive's tale."
"Very well. The easiest way to calm an angered sea is by baring a woman's bare breast for it to see." Odette's gloved hand jumped to cover her gasp, to which the man nodded his head. "Oh, yes. That's the reason ships used to have naked women carved at the bow." He looked at her again and Odette could see the laughter hidden not so subtly within his blue gaze. At that, Odette shook her head and huffed.
"You must be joking."
"Indeed, I'm not."
Unintentionally, she let out a small scoff. "What brutish ostentation. Thank heavens you're nothing like those heathens."
"A heathen, I'm not, but such tales are the root of any sailor. They are what gives us our sea legs and sturdies us to brave such waters. What you call brutish, I call the Heart of the Ocean."
When he said this, Odette felt somewhat ashamed to have been so quick to dismiss his story. Officer Murdoch certainly was not a man to bare a woman's breast for all to see, though his soul was completely for the sea and every tale that came with it, no matter how gruesome or distasteful. Odette had never seen a man so wholly in passion with his work, or anything at all, for that matter. Not even had her husband's insistent ramblings of the workings of steel could compare. Odette's chest swelled with a heavy disappointment at herself for being so close minded, and she instantly wished to mend the conversation. With a careful smile, Odette tugged lightly at the fabric at the officer's elbow and regained his attention.
"So, the Titanic, she can speak?"
First, the man said nothing. Then, his crooked smile revealed itself once again and her heart lightened. "Would you like to see?"
Odette's lips parted into her own eager grin, mirroring his own. "Very much so."
Without a word, Officer Murdoch led across the deck, mindful that his quick steps were much larger than hers. However, Odette found herself growing giddy at the thought of a talking ship and it was easy to keep in step. Her mind swam with such odd imaginations that her own governess would have thought her mad if spoken out loud. By the time they had arrived at a staircase and took the steps, the man was speaking again and Odette nearly missed his words by her own thinking. "Do you know Morse Code?"
"No. What is it?"
He chuckled, "Morse Code is an international language. Ships talk with each other and the Port Master to question storms in the area and such."
"Where are we going?" Odette couldn't help but question as they passed through a set of doors and set down an unfamiliar hallway.
"The Marconi Room. It's just past the Officer's Quarters." Odette hesitated ever so slightly at this. Officer Murdoch instantly took notice and he stopped to look down at her with a look of questioning. "What's wrong?"
"Is it… improper for me to be in such a place?"
Officer Murdoch's head cocked slightly to his right, then he shook. "Not at all, I'd think so. The Marconi Room is just down the hall. You won't be a bother, I'm sure." His concern was misplaced, but the wholesomeness of his excitement lessened her worries, if only just a smidgen. He went to step forward again, though she still withheld, the thought of being in such proximity to the Titanic Officer's quarters buzzing angrily in her mind. Officer Murdoch's smile fell. "My apologies. I've been much too bold. You must wish to return now."
"No!" Odette insisted, taking herself by surprise at her own brash sternness. She did not wish to go back, even if she was feeling rather unsuitable to be in such a place. She truly wanted to see how the Titanic spoke and what a Marconi Room was. More than that, she wanted to see Officer William Murdoch smile again, even if that thought alone sent shame to snake snugly about her sternum. Odette brushed this off for the time being and she swallowed past the nervous tremor pitting in her throat. "I want to see the Titanic speak."
"Are you quite alright?" he persisted and Odette could see genuine worry over her well-being held within his gaze. This only further cemented her desire and she nodded firmly. He took her by the arm once again and he continued to lead her down the short hall. "The Marconi Room consists of three small rooms. The first, the one we shall be visiting, is the Operator's Office." He stopped at a deep mahogany door, gave it two short raps, then opened it. "Morning Mr. Phillips, Mr. Bride."
"Morning," voices echoed back. There were two men inside the room, which was almost too small for even them. The two turned in their seats with smiles in greeting for the officer, though disappeared once their eyes landed upon Odette. Instantly, Odette felt a heat rise to her cheeks and her gaze dropped shyly. Officer Murdoch outstretched a hand to the two strangers, who each shook his hand in their turn, though their eyes never left her face.
"Madam, this is John Phillips, our senior wireless operator. And this is Harold Bride, our junior wireless officer. Men, this is Madam Odette Anouilh. I'm escorting her on a tour of this ship and she wishes to see how the ship speaks."
Odette's hands came together and she wrung them in her nervousness. "Bonjour messieurs," she said meekly, not even realizing she had reverted to her native tongue. She waited patiently for the men to turn her away; to speak poorly of a woman of her stature to have a want to learn such a thing. However, when the men finally spoke, it was quite the opposite of what she was expecting.
"Of course, Miss," the younger man, Harold Bride, radiated in an obvious Irish accent. "We have an extra machine if you'd like to practice."
"It's not equipped," the elder man, John Phillips, spoke in a more British tone and his smile was more withheld and calm. Odette's eyes bounced between the two men in search of any lie behind their words, yet nothing broke. Her own smile reappeared and her teeth took hold of her lower lip. Her green orbs flickered back to Officer Murdoch, who led way towards a small table at the opposite side of the room. Upon the table was an odd machine.
"It looks like a sewing machine," she spoke her imagination aloud, to which the two men behind her chuckled and she felt her cheeks heat again.
"Aye, it does," Officer Murdoch spoke over them, silencing them, but when she peered up at the man he held no offendedness in his features. This urged the woman to continue her inquiries.
"What does this do?" she questioned, daring to touch the machine. The tips of her fingers grazed delicately across the flat knob on top, too fearful to put any force on the odd contraption.
"This is called a telegraph," Officer Murdoch spoke informatively, kindly as he stepped closer to her; so close that her shoulder grazed his chest and caused the back of her neck to flame. He offered his hand and his eyes flashed to hers. "May I?"
Odette was so taken aback by how close his proximity suddenly was that she hardly remembered what he was asking of her. All the woman could do was force a small, tight nod, her eyes seemingly trapped on his. Then she felt something touch the top of her hand and the seal was broken. Odette's green eyes landed back onto the machine - or, more specifically, his hand on top of hers. His hand was freshly warm from the removal of his glove. When he had removed it exactly, she hadn't a clue. Although the pads of his fingers were tough, they were not rough against her own silk glove. When he forced her fingers to press the knob of the machine, they were tender, yet all at once, completely strong. Officer Murdoch continued to tap her finger to the machine, every little movement different from the last, and when he was finished, Odette bounced lightly and peered back up at the man quizzically.
"What did you do?"
"I spelled your name."
"You did? But Monsieur… there are no letters." There was more laughter from the men, though Odette hardly cared at all anymore.
"Letters are represented through dots and dashes. O is three dashes, D is a dash and two dots, E is one dot, T is one dash, so there are two dashes, then another dot."
"Dash, dash, dash, dash dot, dot, dash dash, dot," Odette did her best to repeat what he had said, then a sudden giggle bubbled up her throat. "It's a whole new alphabet!"
"Indeed, it is," the man smirked and nodded.
Odette gazed upon the machine with a dazed wonderment. Never in her life had she seen such a wondrous thing! "What are the other letters?" she asked and pressed the machine again. Although she tried to recall the order of her name, it came out more sporadic and random and she was sure she hadn't spelled a thing at all, though that hardly mattered to her. Officer Murdoch reached back to the table Monsieur Phillips and Monsieur Bride were seated at and he fetched a paper and pen, where he then began to write out each letter of the alphabet and their corresponding mix of dashes and dots. Odette watched him curiously, her fingers absentmindedly tapping away at the telegraph the random letters she saw. "This is how she speaks? The ship?"
"Yes. As long as you understand this alphabet, you can speak through your ship, and understand any ship that speaks to you."
"What if the other ship has no machine?"
"Then you use Morse Lamp. It is the same as telegraphy, but you use a light instead. You simply watch for the flashes." The officer finished his writing, gave it a quick once-over, then handed it to Odette. The woman's eyes flickered between the piece of paper and back to the man, thoroughly surprised.
"For me?" she dared to take the paper from his fingers.
His crooked smirk and bright eyes seemed to sparkle purposefully. "How else is one to learn, if not first by paper?"
Odette glanced at the writings. It looked much like a foreign language to her, so chaotic and new, yet elegant and impressive. "And I'm to learn? Would I not be scoffed at for earning such a trade?"
"No one should turn their nose at a woman learning a new language."
"Would you like to send out a message?" young Harold Bride suddenly asked.
"Oh, no," Odette turned and shook her head, taking a step back. "I shouldn't."
"Here, I'll help you!" Harold Bride outstretched his hand, leaving no room for her to decline. Slowly, Odette stepped forward. Once she was close enough, the young man took her hand within his own and he placed it upon his telegraphy machine. Monsieur Bride began to tap, his fingers enveloped within her own, going at an incredible pace and she was surprised he knew what he was tapping at all. It was so fast that she couldn't decipher between any letters at all, even the faintly familiar ones of her name. Feeling a new, giddy anxiousness enveloping her, Odette beamed gleefully and passed the officer behind her a toothy grin, feeling much like a schoolgirl learning a new game. Officer Murdoch only gave her a bemused smile in turn, the look causing Odette to blush. Quickly she returned to her fingers, tap, tap, tapping away an unheard message to some passing ship, completely unknown to her, though not restlessly animated.