Chapter one:
Glancing up at the largest object ever made by the hand of man, Rose DeWitt Bukater felt the dark claws of misery clutch at the last bit of sunshine left within her life. She had travelled through Europe; seen wonderful shows and sights, albeit through the windows of her carriage but still, there had been some excitement lingering there within the pit of her belly. To cast her own eyes upon the Eifel Tower, the grand hotels, the luminance of Parisian fashion and witnessed fantastic Italian craftsmanship, the type one had only heard could be a legend. To see London as she had heard of it; the new city of fashion and how it would soon rival New York City in its elegance and history. She had read endless novels in several languages, studied great artwork and now, here she was—about to embark upon the final crossing. The one which would take her onto New York City to her engagement gala which was in ten days' time.
Yes, she could be blasé about the Titanic. Her fiancé, Caledon Hockley stood several steps away, then he offered assistance to her mother to descend from the extremely beautiful hired Renault's. The maids gasped, gaping up at the ship with such awe. Her mother, was astounded, taking in the sight with gleaming eyes and commenting how 'unsinkable' the ship was. Her fiancé's valet, Mr. Lovejoy, a man so eerily dour even took a glance with a surprised appraisal. Perhaps she was the only one filled with utter dread. Or the only one who's wits weren't scattering about with thoughts of travelling aboard her.
The gleaming white superstructure of Titanic rose mountainously beyond the rail, and above the ochre-coloured funnels standing against the sky like the pillars of a great temple. Crewman moved across the decks, dwarfed by the awesome size of the steamer. It was a spectacle that even she doubted one would witness again, or at least not for some years beyond her time.
It was almost noon on sailing day. The sky was partially overcast, but shafts of late morning sun streamed down through gaps and patches of light swept across the docks and great ship. The steamer was majestic and dignified in its black-tie colours, and it almost seemed to glow in the dark. A polished Daimler Benz touring car was being lowered into the forward hold and on past it until the deck fell away like the edge of a cliff and there, far below were the blackened crowds in their thousands at Southampton dock. First class gentleman and ladies streamed to board the ship, jostling with hustling seamen and stokers and steerage passengers in their coarse wool and tweeds. Horse drawn vehicles, motorcars and lorries moved slowly through the dense throng. The atmosphere was one of excitement and energy. People embraced in tearful farewells, or shouted to wave to friends and relatives on the decks above to call out their bon voyage wishes. This was the day many have dreamt of, saved their last remaining pennies for, cried and worked for. Yet, there was nothing for her. The entire journey felt as though she was a criminal about to be led to the stocks. To her execution. She may as well have been. The mornings events were tiring enough; their journey from London was delayed by a length due to Cal's insistence in her change of clothes from a black gown to a regal blue and white.
"I felt like black." She responded to her fiancé's jibe of her beauty rituals. In truth, a gown the colour of widowhood, of mourning was fitting for this very day. A day streamed with so much colour when to her it was grey. Morbidly grey. Almost like attending a funeral. A wake. Something which was a closed chapter and would never re-open, but not for lacking of her wishing to remain put. To not open the closed door to usher forward into married life.
Cal ushered the ladies toward the ship after checking the time on his watch. It was very close to noon; perhaps with a slight bit of luck, if they were not aboard within the next several minutes the ship would simply leave and pull agway from the docks leaving them unable to board. The thought was pleasing, even just delaying the trip by a week would miss their gala. The wedding was within sight. Three weeks. A simple second or two could delay the entire charade. Cal would be angry, her mother in a fit of hysterics but surely that would do rather than dragging herself to be hung. A slow painful hanging, no less.
"Come, we must hurry." The maids grasped hand luggage and porters began pulling suitcases from the trunk and taking them to the parlour suites rooms at Lovejoy's orders, anything to propel them to the ship faster.
Rose took a steady foot forward as all about her, hurry set in. Cal offered his arm to Ruth to escort her toward the gangplank and took a glance to Rose to ensure she was following, like a naughty child who dallied behind so far to displease her parents. She started to the crowded gangplank, just behind them. Her face was well hidden beneath her huge, wide brimmed hat and as she faced the darkened doors which was to claim her and then carry her onto the dread of matrimony. To a marriage which would suppress her entirely. And crush the last bit of spirit which she possessed. There seemed to be a little care of her wellbeing. She was crammed into carriage after carriage and slowly dimming her light more and more. Melancholy had set in just after they left Paris, and more so now as she stood facing the ship of her destiny. If only she could control it, to steer her own path to enable some freedom. Happiness. Love.
At the base of the gangplank, she would be the final member of their party to walk upon it. Her mother and Cal were ahead, Lovejoy just behind them and their maids were already aboard. Porters worked to carry the cases and then there was her...
Alone.
For a single second there were no eyes upon her.
Glancing back to the crowds of thousands, she wished she could lose herself in them. She wouldn't be unnoticed; her hat alone was large and expensive and without it, her hair was an auburn and possibly would stand out even more. Oh, how she wished to be wearing the black gown. It was incognito. It would have enabled her to at least remain unseen for a short period. Enough to-
-her heart pounded at the sudden adrenaline which seemed to spike within her. It was the most alive she has felt in months...
Was she considering running back into the crowds of Southampton?
Several seconds passed and she knew that in another ten or so, a member of her party would be enquiring of her whereabouts. With her heart and breathing accelerated, it took another beat for her to spin, without even a second look and march into the crowds at a pace one hoped was not fast enough to cause attention be drawn but also, enough to be able to escape without being pulled back to the ship. Tossing the hat which was upon her head to the floor, as she went, without a second look back she pushed herself forward there through the people of the crowds, up past several languages shouting their farewells, past parked carriages which she used to dart behind and beyond to ensure she was out of sight from her family if they were to take a glance back from the ship. There was an unclaimed plaid blanket upon the ground perhaps large enough to use as a shawl. As she went to pick it up, the ships whistle blew announcing that she was about to set sail. That was when they would have turned to find her gone. That very moment.
Rose placed the shawl over her head, with her face barely exposed and only from her waist downwards would be seen—that was if they were seeking her in the crowds. The throngs were pushing forwards, shouting about her and calling goodbyes. Her feet worked quickly, propelling her to the road which they had come down just minutes before in the touring car to take them to the docks. Her vision was sharp and a dead focus fell upon her to reach the road and move away from the area as quickly as possible. Even the Titanic would not wait for her, or her family. It would set sail at noon with or without her. That was the beauty of that. Not even the greatest and grandest ship afloat would wait for the lost fiancée of the great Caledon Hockley.
Even if she was found quickly, it would extend her stay in England and miss the gala in New York. Perhaps even the wedding. She could stay there an hour before alerting a member of crew that she has missed the ship and ask for suitable accommodation until her mother would be contacted to allow her to know that she was safe. Perhaps, she should wait to be sought out, there had to be a place of refuge nearby, one suitable for a woman of her station, or even perhaps a little smaller. The funds she did carry were small within her reticule, perhaps ten pounds at most, and if she recalled, there was a prized necklace once owned by her maternal grandmother, not that it meant much to her; the woman was a crazy old goose.
Nearby, a worn leather suitcase sat unattended by the side of an out building. There seemed to be no one about who it could belong to and so, in another momentary decision, she took it and almost balked at the weight of it. The belongings could be the clothes of a male or female but without another garment to her name, she would need something to wear past today. Her delicate hands struggled with the weight and she felt how it pulled her to the left as she clutched the shawl with her now shaking hands. The excitement had now stirred within her belly and it was like venturing into the woods as she did often as a child; something forbidden which should never be done, but it called out to her like a large beat. A beacon of light. Something about it felt oddly refreshing and exhilarating to leave the clutches of her mother, even for a short time. Perhaps after this short, odd adventure which Rose would no doubt have alone, maybe then she would be ready for marriage. A few short weeks respite from the droning about the wedding.
As she heard cheers from the crowds, that was the moment which she knew that the anchor had been lifted and Titanic had set sail to her destination. Moving faster, she still never dare to take a look back even as she reached the road. Lovejoy could have slipped away from Cal, just for a second and he was as quick as a cat, and thorough in his search. Many moons he had caught Cal crawling through less reputable parts of town and it would be Lovejoy's job to ensure his wallet was intact and his employer was put to bed and in good health the next morning. The possibility of that undertaker-like creature finding Rose pricked at her and kept her moving forward. Even after she was in an area where buildings were higher, the crowds were thinner, she never glanced back for fear of catching his eye.
With a throbbing hand, Rose drew herself into a doorway to take shelter and dropped the suitcase to the ground to adjust the shawl. Resting her back against the cold wood, it held her upright as she took several large gulps of smoky air. It soothed her. Glancing about, the narrow and winding street seemed to be dead. The houses were all together in terraces. The ground was churned up from horse hooves. The hems of her brand-new white dress were dirty to the knees. Her boots caked in stone, dust and mud. Below the knees, she could pass for one of the street urchins. For a commoner. A woman who worked for a living. One who didn't sit about decoratively. One who provided for the family. One who wasn't a delicate flower. An equal to the man of the house. She cared not of vanity. For she had done the absolutely unthinkable – she had run away. Escaped the Titanic's maiden voyage. Taken the reins of her own destiny. Even a delay in the wedding was progress. Perhaps Cal should even resent her enough to call off the wedding. It would cause such a scandal that her reputation would never recover but perhaps that would be the means for her to live with the freedom which she longed for so passionately.
Perhaps Rose would never be recovered. Could she become a stranger to the world? Take another name. Soften the genteel accent of her native Pennsylvania. Could she start over in Southampton, or London? Perhaps Paris.
No, that dream was an idiotic notion. A mindless butterfly changed from a caterpillar. A small, silly creature was able to trade one life for another, yet, a woman just shy of her eighteenth birthday. A well brought up woman at that would be unable to.
For now, all she could do was wait. Walk. Wait more.
Soon, Rose would be discovered. Cal could potentially be looking now and following her footsteps out to where she was. Upon the thought, she took the suitcase again and continued to follow the street onwards. The further away she got, the more her freedom was within reach. Temporary freedom at that, for the wedding would happen. It had to.
With a sigh, Rose traipsed deeper into the unknown. Into a foreign town.
The wonderful thing was, as she went, with skirts now completely blackened and with only a small peak of her face exposed from the shawl, Rose found she was greeted; smiled at and the odd ''all right'' in a Cockney or southern accent, it was hard to tell which. She went passed public houses, slaughterhouses, corner shops and factories all of which seemed to be situated together in one square of town centre. The sounds were ruptured, mostly from the local inns and bars celebrating the ships maiden voyage or so it seemed. She avoided those areas, and ploughed up though her feet were now sure to be bleeding from walking so far, and her left hand was cut from carrying such a weight of the suitcase. Though, she had thought of leaving it someplace, she decided against it until she found a place to rest a short while to examine the insides of it, providing it wasn't locked.
Shortly after, there was a dip in the road which led off down a deserted mud track. One, which Rose was sure by night would be terrifying but for now, would be enough to provide privacy. Glancing behind her, for the first time in however long since she had left the docks, she stopped as she came to a clearing which opened out onto a vast field filled with many scents of spring; flowers different and unidentifiable sorts and then the lake or spring right there beside it. It flowed West, and one assumed that would flow into the channel where the Titanic had been berthed at the docks. It made sense, for the direction which she had headed also indicated the same. Removing the shawl from her face, Rose dropped the suitcase to the ground with a thunk and breathed out the sigh of relief which she had held in since the moment she had spun on her heel at the bottom of a crowded gangplank. Drawing her left hand to her face, one long cut bleeding out slow trickles of red down her dress from the suitcases handle slicing into her fingers. One had to laugh; as in comparison with her gaudy engagement ring and her newly manicured nails, it was an unexpected sight to behold. She should have felt the sting of it previous, but was so focused on freedom. She pressed it lightly to her thigh, for a minute or so just to slow the bleeding and it seemed to have worked for the moment.
The suitcase sat on the ground, now dusted with dirt, but she crouched low, trying to fathom out the lock on the middle. One pull and it fell open, startling her with just how much ease it was to free the contents. Using her cleaner right hand, she rifled through what looked like women's garments; dresses, and under garments and what appeared to be a man's shirt; although worn and crinkled. Shaving balm and a cut throat razor, with a soap and teeth cleaning sorts and a well-worn copy of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. A smile pulled at her lips, how well she knew the book like her own life. Several sheets of paper were also at the bottom, and a small quill pot and ink. It was difficult to push it all back inside, in a neat order and even hard to fasten it once more, and then her hand started to pulsate once she had rested it momentarily.
A sharp Eastern breeze came and pulled some of her hair free of the pins. How she must appear now, outwardly. The day had started out like any other, but full of dread and the air had felt stifling. Her mother had quashed her voiced upset whilst in Paris, Cal had dismissed it as pre wedding jitters and now, she was the fool; stood alone in the middle of a strange city. A foreign country.
How she wanted to cry tears of every single kind imaginable. At times, she cursed her own passionate and fiery ways. How good natured her peers were; how gentle and kind and welcoming to others. How they relished to be upon their handsome husbands' arm, dripping in the jewels purchased as rewards for keeping their mouths closed, smiles happy and outward appearances wonderful. How they fancied themselves as brilliant mothers, though their children were raised by others and expected to remain out of the way at most times. How they gasped at the latest scandal, before passing on the snippets at galas and the latest polo match without a hitch of thought of the people involved.
Was she a fool to leave everything which she had ever known and kept her safe for the sake of what potentially could be pre wedding jitters? Perhaps freedom was not something she wanted so much as she had hoped. Oh, but she did. Being alone should have terrified her. It should have...
That thought was knocked from her head when suddenly, her wrist was caught and she was dragged backwards into the mud and something was placed about her mouth to shush the loudest scream which she could produce before she was silenced.
