I decided to skip forward purely for selfish reasons, I struggled so hard to think past the last chapter and wished to end it there but knew that I couldn't. These next few chapters are just additional to end it where I kinda wanted to after the fire but then I went to Boston with them 😊 this is when the investigations were taking place in New York City after the sinking.

Chapter thirty

A week later.

26th April 1912.

The testimony was given. Signed and sealed. Written in his own penmanship and sent via the Postal Service to Senator Smith in New York City. Despite an invitation to personally attend, Jack Dawson had still to fully recover from the extent of his injuries after his arrival in Boston on 19th April, the day which the inquiries started into the sinking of the Titanic. It was a strange sense to return to the city which had somehow become his home, complete with walls and ceilings over the last few years—or at least the place which he would politely tell others was his rooting spot, as he conversed with them at dinners or other endless social events. Upon arriving at the City which he had returned to a handful of times since his uncle's death, it felt almost as though it was another foreign city, although one that wasn't quite as welcoming as Florence or London had been.

The house though, was still very much left the way Eric Dawson had. It was nicknamed the 'Oak House' because every single room was both panelled and floored with the dark wood. When his uncle had first arrived in the city famous for its College, he was seen as a raving mad small-town boy who knew nothing but how to secure and cut timber and so as time went on, his hand in building the house had ensured that his touch was left upon every surface of the three-story mansion which sat just a little way back from the road beside the Arlington Street entrance to the public gardens. It was a light brick, swamped by growth of violets due to Eric's wife who was a lover of the lilac flower. There were even touches of Jack's father here and there; a very rare photograph of them together a few months before he died. A home-made piece of wood which they had collaborated on as boys. It was only upon arriving back at the nondescript place which had never truly felt like a home that Jack finally saw with a better clarity; this home was personal. It was made to be the best which Eric could and his dedication to his wife was unmistakable but then, he had also been dedicated to his work. One could say that he had been considerably more devoted the to latter than the former.

Jack Dawson had never been a man dedicated to anything in his entire twenty years of living, but as he had arrived Arlington House, with a woman in tow who had agreed to become his wife of convenience, it dawned just how easy it was to become ravelled up within something; money, art... love.

Dawson Steel's office sat on the corner of Huntington Avenue and Massachusetts Avenue across from the Symphony Hall. The riot of a noise had never changed and now, since the sinking, interest in the place seemed to have double or tripled. Jack had arrived into the office one smoky Monday morning and found nothing but Mail stacked about the cold office as though it was a dammed post office.

"It's because of your involvement." Charlie Thompson explained, exhaling smoke from the third consecutive cigarette. "Besides they expected you in New York on the Wednesday night with the Carpathia, not in Boston on the smaller steamer days later."

''Yes, what a surprise that must have been.''

''It certainly gave the rumour mill a scare to find you not amongst the living.''

Running a hand through his heavy head, Jack slumped back into his chair as carefully as he could. "I don't want to be involved in any of it. I replied to the testimony and that is all there is to be said."

"But these are offers, potential investors and those needing stock."

"Dawson Steel was on the Titanic, Charlie. Who would wish to invest in the stock which people are saying potentially had a hand in sinking the largest ship ever built?" Laughing as he spoke, he sunk further into his chair, it was almost a cruel and twisted joke.

"That's only the damned media, you know how the circus works. Whilst it's still fresh meat, the vultures circulate until the right time and then attack when they think you're unprepared. Unprovoked. You're the hero of the hour. You saved how many men's lives? So, they'll attack you somehow and the only damned way is to find loopholes in the most successful steel business in the United States!"

Charlie's excitement and enthusiasm was not even slightly contagious. Their family connection was hazy; Charlie was Eric's wife's nephew and had been raised in the city and mostly by his aunt and uncle and had somehow always had an interest in finance and business. Tall, dark and not yet thirty, he had overlooked the estate in Jack's absence and now it was abundantly clear just how much was lost. Charlie Thompson had a face, a mind and a clarity for shrewd business and Jack had a vague interest purely drilled into him by Eric. Guilt swamped him in seconds, and it had done since he was fifteen years old agreeing to take on a large weight which he clearly knew he could never fully accept. Whilst it was in his best interests, it was also his worst. Looking about everything, it was as though he was dreaming to be back in this place. It didn't fill him with any kind of desires...

It was true as he had told Rose aboard Titanic; it was hypocritical of him to persuade—almost steal—her away from her life within chains when he was here, living himself practically the same way. The thoughts turned his mood sour.

"Can we clear this away?"

"Will you not read one of them?"

"It's horse shit! Like you say, they're circulating. Let them strike, I have no time for that."

"And what if they are from buyers? Jack, think about it, how did Eric get a business of this size by dreaming, thinking, eating and shitting out the damned steel?" Jack didn't wince at Charlie's crude remark, but as he glanced about at the pile of letters, the collection of awards and trophies, the large oak desk and the panelling of the office, only one thing was clear to him, with such pristine clarity that it was almost screaming at him.

"I'm not him. I never will be and I never was."

''No, Jack, you're not.'' Jack was about to stand but Charlie got to his feet, rounded the desk and held him in place with hands at his shoulders. ''But just last year you were a man who was never to marry or think of anything other than your next adventure and yet you arrive home with a woman who last we knew was to be married to an enemy's son; I can see that she had the face of an angel and the body meant to sin-''

''To what?'' Jack pushed past Charlie's grasp and stood so abruptly that even the chandeliers tremoured.

Charlie raised a brow, simmering down Jack's temper as he came eye to eye with him. ''All right, I never intended to cause any offence, I just say that society may speculate but they would never shut their doors to her.''

''I care for none of that,'' Jack raked his hands across his overly long hair, suddenly uneasy with what his life had become. Again. ''Neither does she.''

''Are you saying that she didn't think that calling off the engagement of the season to become involved with the chairman of Dawson Steel wouldn't ruffle a few feathers. Both of you are the most naïve idiots that I have ever heard of.''

If he wasn't still feeling the lingering effects of the damned burns upon his shoulders then he wouldn't have backed down from something of a disagreement, but as Charlie exhaled his frustration and shook his head, Jack loosened the tensions within his jaw and his body.

''You telegrammed me from the ship. You said you wish to sell, to leave or do whatever you wanted with this place? Now what? What will you do?''

That was the magic question, wasn't it? Just what to do with something; a large investment, built from the ground up over years by a member of his own family. Weight added atop his shoulders. Slowly, he felt as though he was drowning in a sea of his own letters. The formed words seemed to float across his eyes. It was as though there was no escape, not even for a second in the security of his own office.

''The damned papers are all over here, wanting a picture, wanting to see you and your woman. If you wanted to escape the media and the interest then coming home, back to Boston was the worst thing you could have done, Dawson! They know you are here and Hockley will know where she is. That's his primary goal, isn't it?"

On his skin, across his back and chest, Jack could still feel Rose's tender touch as she had laid within his bed. The one which they had shared as though already man and wife since their arrival in the city. She tangled herself about him; her breathing lulling him to sleep. Calming his racing heart. Softening his heart. Deepening his love. They say that you only miss home when you've been out on the road, but in those moments of caressing her skin against his own in bed, these were the moments when he missed been out on the road. With nothing out ahead but emptiness, or an ocean. Endlessly without question or answers and that it was the ultimate goal. There wouldn't be an end, it wasn't infinitive, it was simply living in the now. 'Let's see where it leads' that was all that he would say when faced with a proposition of a situation of an event lasting longer than a day or so. Now, he was desperate enough to enter into an engagement with a woman with who he wished to never let go. Since their arrival in Boston days earlier, Jack had spent those days just in the upper level of the house; not wishing to live amongst the grand splendour which Eric had left behind. Jack did not need a large ballroom, a billiard room, a dining room with enough chairs to seat the entire football team and then the expansive bedrooms adorned with all the trimmings. Once they had arrived and come through the reception room, time had been spent in an opulent bedroom which overlooked the beautiful garden.

"Yes," Jack replied, with a queer stretch of serenity passing over him and it was then he realised that she was the cause of it all. Rose ''His aim is to disarm me. Perhaps, even take her away from me if he could.''

''He will not come about this place.''

"Let him find me, I shall wait for him. He wants Dawson Steel, he shall never have it and he wants the woman who I intend to marry before the week is over with."

"So soon? Why the rush?" Charlie queried, invasive and quickly. "Is she having your child?"

The words caused Jack to smile, knowingly, partly because they have not yet become intimate with the other, not in the way a man and wife should and because, he knew that would be the first question asked.

"No, Charlie, she isn't having my child."

The comfortable silence fell over them for a while as Charlie moved through piles of correspondence and Jack went to the great window of his uncle's office. It was almost as large as him in height and the length of the back wall. Eric had liked the light, he liked to tower the extent of his vision. Glancing below, he saw what appeared to be hundreds of people running about the mill like ants. They worked hard, went home dirty each day and he had yet to hear a single complaint. The men were true back breaking workers. The ones who kept a place like this ticking over. That was what the rich failed to see; that it was always those beneath them who kept them on top. They would never face that the penniless and dirty kept them going. Workers would always work, but if one day society was shattered, where would those go whose skills simply included counting dollars and unable to even dress themselves without a valet.

"Give them a raise," Jack suddenly broke the silence.

"What?" Charlie asked bewildered.

"The only thing which I ask is that you give them a raise. As much as we can afford to without breaking our own banks. Do what you will with the letters, only respond as yourself, for I wish to have no part of it."

"You're truly leaving?"

Exhaling slowly, Jack recalled the times aboard the ship he had seen how suppressed and suffocated Rose had become with her life. Perhaps that was the true reason of their kinship; having both lived to please others. Having the absolute pressure piled upon their shoulders. Now, with his own life having taken a drastic change, he was a man who had felt the weight shift. Felt the earth spin and tilt when he met the woman who he had fallen in love with. Life was an open road again, of some kind.

"I intend to see the week out." Jack collected up a handful of items which were of sentimental value to him; mostly coins and stamps which his father and uncle collected together as boys. ''I expect to hear back from the senator before then, and after that I will be on God's good humour.''

Charlie's smirk made Jack smile, almost recalling their days under the tutelage of his uncle and it was almost bittersweet in that moment. It took him back to the days where he had been certain that Eric would live forever, and there would be no need for him to ever sit at the heads desk. Ever need to chair meeting. Make decision to impact something as critical as the wages of hundreds of men and the mouths which they fed.

''You always were a wanderer, a free spirit. I admire that of you, I admit, but this-'' Charlie tapped the desk, the heavy clutter sound sent ripples across the oak and suddenly, a pile of stacked mail dropped to the floor and scattered about the plush rug. ''This is what Eric was all about and there was always a part of me, perhaps what he instilled into me, that feels the need to complete what he started.''

''And that is the part which is absent in my bones.'' Jack lifted his gaze to the window again. ''I feel more at home down there working with the mill than up here, tucked away in a suit and cravat without an urge to sell, or make an associate. I want to work; I have logged, chopped, fished and drawn. I have tended bars, dug holes and everything that a man does to make a living.''

''Is that how you intend to live? Yet how many millions reside in Boston State Bank?''

Jack bit the inside of his lip, and again looked out to the ones who truly kept their business afloat. ''Give them a raise. That is all that I ask.''

''Yes, boss.''

With silence and empty, insincere smiles, Jack felt the walls close in about him. The moments like this, should be celebratory, yet, his own, what could be viewed as selfishness, He felt the weight of his mistakes; of making any sort of promises to Eric to even attempt to be half the man who he was. His mind wandered about before it settled on something; the day before whilst watching Rose comb the knots from her hair after assisting her in washing it, Jack had come to view her from the vast vanity and watched as she shrunk into the mirror, a contrast to the vision which she would be once they were living freely, with his sketchpad at his knee and a piece of sharpened charcoal within his hand. He had done various sketches of her over the days; some were worthless, others were of her hands, or just her eyes. Some were close and others from afar. Some she was fully aware of and would watch him with a gaze as heated as the one she had viewed him with whilst he had sketched her nude. Now though, Jack just watched as her fingers worked, braiding her long auburn waves into a single plait and the smallest tendrils escaped to frame her face in the most beautiful, simple way. Her cheeks were flushed from the bath. Her lips full from their passionate kisses.

''He wouldn't resent you,'' Charlie viewed the man before him who seemed to crumble inside and brought him back to the office, when his mind had wondered away to Rose.

''I know.'' Jack smiled, tactfully. ''He would marvel at you, and curse me, but then tell me to marry the woman I loved because he did the same. He would have given everything for his wife. Isn't that what it was about? The person who would share your life?''

''So, they tell me, I am yet to be inspired by such a thrill.''

''It is almost unconventional.'' Jack glanced out to the mass of smoke which trailed from the smokestacks. ''It's the city.''

''What?''

''As soon as I entered this city, those few years back, fresh off the steamer from a small town that I had never left.'' Jack recalled the cocky, young boy and almost felt the same inside, and then, he felt scores older and it had barely been five years. ''I was just happy to be seeing another city and to be out of that damned town. I wanted the freedom and thought Boston would give that to me. All Eric would tell me was that work; a large business like this, it would ground me and settle me. The harder he worked to keep me here, the more I wished to leave.''

''Adolescent rebellion.'' Charlie smiled. ''And then, you had the damned foal brought from Wisconsin.''

''Lucky; my dad helped her mother give birth not so long before he passed. I don't know what happened to the other horses.'' Jack felt the ache in his stomach. There was a nick of guilt, a slab of something and then, he shook his head. ''No, no rebellion. Just me. A boy who wanted to ride the rails and never look back to this city. Who never wanted to rub shoulders with the likes of the Astor's, the Guggenheim's, the Hockley's...''

''Well, you've certainly done more than rub shoulders with the latter. He will be looking for damage to cause very soon, mark my words.''

''I know that. Don't you think that is another reason why I don't want to be here, sorting through stacks of pointless mail when I have Rose alone at the house?''

Charlie paused for thought before slowly nodding as though some realisation had trickled through into his mind. ''I can see that. The house isn't too fit for living in. Just a handful of staff who kept it running whilst you were gone but of course, dust would gather. What would you intend to do with it once you're gone?''

Jack just watched the workers out of the window for another minute before gazing up over the smokestacks of the industry. ''It's yours. Whatever you want to do with it.''

For he found that all his cares had truly gone.