Chapter four:
Jack's shoulder bumped against Rose's as he drew her close to his side, the added contact jostling something inside his chest. She smelled like springtime, like a breeze infused with the scents of blossoms and honey. It was rather enchanting in this dismal part of town where the stench from the gutters tended to overwhelm. In five long years, he hadn't inhaled anything as wonderful as her, and Jack was taken back to childhood and cradling his mother. She had been the only other woman who had even affected him the same way, as a feeling of overwhelming protection, rather than just to be with momentarily.
Rose DeWitt Bukater was a distraction in his rather unsettled life. Upon seeing that there was nick upon her perfectly porcelain skin on the column of her neck, Jack had almost wanted to chase after the hounds who had set upon her and given them more than a broken nose...
And yet, in spite of that, part of him was glad of their attack on the beautiful woman clinging to his arm with her nails almost lodging into his thinly covered lower arm, for that squeal had allowed him to find her. He had missed the sailing of the Titanic, for her, and whilst one day, he would question the very contents of his head, for now, he was simply glad to have found the reason he had given in tickets home.
''Are you sure you trust me?''
She gave him a startled look.
''You saved me. And besides, it appears that you are my best option at the moment.'' She said the last part so quietly that he almost missed the remark.
An odd sensation swept through him, causing a tightening of his heart and a general sense of unease. No. He couldn't pity her. She wasn't a woman who was limited in means. She had people who cared for her. The woman was a feisty, fiery one, or so it appeared. His eyes wandered downward to the hand clutching onto his own and the sight of a large diamond almost blinded him. Yes, she was indeed a great price to someone. Surely, this woman couldn't have gone missing so easily without been noticed.
The feel of her warmth beside him, the way which her body tremored against his own and the pair of haunting green eyes which seemed to dazzle him with each glance had thrown Jack Dawson into some sort of oblivion.
He held his tongue. The less he knew about her, the better and so to sympathise with her would be disastrous. He had already missed a ship because his curiosity had firmly gotten the better of him and now, he was leading her to an unknown destination with her clinging onto his arm.
''This way, Rose.'' With a firm tug, he steered her further into the town centre. The occasional cripple held out a scrawny hand as they passed. Further along, they encountered a filthy youth with a hollow gaze who was pushing a cart full of rags.
''Just where would you intend to take me dressed as I am? As you said, I couldn't think of going to a place where I usually would, not with a person of your-'' Jack tried to not turn his gaze more fully toward her. He tried but failed. It was a mistake. Her eyes, devoid of cynicism and hardship were like a pair of lighthouses in the lilac shades of dawn. And he was but a sailor caught in a violent storm, helplessly drawn to the welcome glow which they emitted.
''A poor guy, you can say it.''
''A person of-'' The green-blueness of her eyes deepened and shimmered like pools of water reflecting heaven. ''Limited means.'' Pulling at her reticule, she pressed her lips together. ''I have some coins in here, there are people here who appear to need them more than I and also, allow me to reward your kindness, Mr. Dawson.''
Jack cleared his throat and forced his gaze away. Clenching his jaw, he shook his head. ''No, Rose. I don't need a reward for doing what any honourable man would.''
From the pure serenity in her gaze, he knew that she believed herself to be doing a good deed. Which in turn would allow her to sleep better at night. It was what people of her calibre did...
''But, Mr. Dawson, it would only be a few coins, but perhaps-''
''No, I don't want your money, please, just put it away. Especially about this part of town, thieves and pickpockets are rife.''
Rose nodded, not thinking of that and quickly she pulled her purse back.
''We are almost there,'' he grumbled, his mood darkening for a fleeting moment, ''The Black Bull should have a room for you to stay in.''
''The Black what?''
''Bull.''
The public house and hotel loomed ahead, its crooked wall slanting outward as if it might fall right into the street at any second. The timbered framework held it in place, supporting the brick plaster. Thick rippling glass windows set in black lead dotted the facade. A sign, suspended by wrought iron swirls, depicted a black bull against a tarnished background. The script beneath was a perfect match for the artwork, the bold letters calling out to men in need of drink, a night of gambling, or the thrill of a fight. The prize to be won by those who managed to best one of the best fighters was always tempting, though remained unclaimed.
It was the type of establishment which Rose had ridden past in these types of towns and her mother had always advised her to divert her eyes for fear of seeing what festering sights lingered about. Now, she was beginning to understand why.
''But I couldn't possibly-'' she trailed off, turning to Jack, who's gaze penetrated her so deeply that she stepped across the threshold of the building just to escape the burn of him. She squared her shoulders, trying to adjust the layers of billowing skirts about her which were half shredded. Once she had entered what looked to be a small, hallway with the stench of beer hitting her right away. She turned to Jack again, with narrowed eyes. ''We cannot possibly-''
''You're-'' he gave her full perusal and acknowledged that the large ring upon her finger now made utter sense - ''a bride?''
A firm nod confirmed this.
''Yes, I am to be.''
Jack's muscles tensed so much that they trembled. Considering their options at this moment, he eventually asked. ''I can leave you here, alone, if you wish.'' The thought wasn't pleasing and his stomach churned at the mention, and her eyes flashed with something of a panic, especially upon hearing the rowdy punters of the interiors. ''Or I can help you to your room, and come back tomorrow to you, to see if I can help you in any way.''
She looked at his with some surprise. ''And the other option?''
There wasn't one as far as Jack could tell.
''I can help you for as long as you're here.'' Jack told her quietly.
''I had planned-'' Rose paused, what had she planned? Now it seemed to all be a terrible blur, but not quite a mistake. The dim light in the hallway seemed to offer her some sanctuary to think despite the noise of the public house. Despite his eyes penetrating her as though he was trying to read her very mind, Rose walked through the heavy double wooden doors into the sitting area where a bar was in the centre, propping up many a drunken man. Without making another move, Jack watched as doubt crept into her eyes but her fear seemed to have also grown as she had taken stock of her surroundings, which included a one-legged man with an eye patch and a ragged old woman hobbling past. Several prostitutes made their rounds about the men, stopping momentarily at seeing a lady amongst their kind but then kept going about their business as though it was regular. Perhaps it was.
''Come on, let's get you something to drink.'' Jack passed her, taking her own hand within his own to deter the severity of her fear and whilst she still looked uncertain, it was as though the enormity of her decision was finally sinking in. As the crowd of punters seemed to momentarily forget her appearance, he went to the bar, spotting a towering Scotsman with dense grey hair.
''Well, it seems ye've had a rough mornin'.'' He commented, his eyes boring into Rose's dishevelled dress. ''What can I do for yer?''
''Two beers and a room, if you have a spare?''
''Aye, we got one. I can shelter yer as long as yer need it.''
Rose smiled politely. ''Just the one night should suffice, thank you.''
''All right.''
Swinging her arm out beside her in a helpless gesture, Jack caught her hand in his, entwining their fingers as though they had been lovers for endless years and the most unsettling thing was that she didn't remove her own, feeling suddenly very secure. It was as though by anchoring herself to him, like a ship in need of mooring, there was some safety in this place.
''So, are you a lady or not?''
''Oh, no, Mr-''
''Duke. Call me that.'' He turned to Jack. ''This your lover?''
''Absolutely n-''
''My sister.'' Jack answered for her, before she spat at the bartender in disgust. ''She is my younger sister.''
Duke laughed, raising a suspecting eyebrow. ''Aye, that will make me your mother, then.''
Rose was about to open her mouth to protest when two beers were thrust upon the sticky counter top, and the dark froth had never appealed more.
''I find it rude, beyond measure that a man should laugh in your face that way.''
''But I am not your brother.''
''Or my lover!''
She also wasn't the least bit sure she had made the right decision in coming into this establishment with him. For the fact of the matter was that she was a lady. She didn't belong amongst the riffraff and yet she was standing in the middle of a tavern with a man who's name she could barely recall. Come to think of it, she ought to be beyond terrified. Yet she wasn't. Not anymore. Which may be incredibly naïve but the fact that he had come to her rescue had eased her mind and encouraged him to truth her. More than just a little.
Jack glanced down at her, with her hands now pulled away and settling around the glass of beer. Gingerly, she watched him, as though needing permission to know how to drink it.
''I believe that I do owe you a great deal.''
''It's all right.'' Jack dug into his pockets, pulled out a few coins and put them on the bar side. ''I had come into some luck as it happens.'' He didn't elaborate and she didn't press him, but she simply and tensely took a sip of the beer, and there was something beyond unfamiliar of seeing a well brought up girl drink a pint of something strong as though she was as common as the rest of them present. Seeing his reaction, a smile pulled at the corner of her lips as she swallowed perhaps more than half of the glass in one go.
''What? Do you think a first-class girl cannot drink?''
''Well, you certainly can.''
''Yes, never underestimate just what women are capable of.''
The remark was almost a threat. ''I never would.'' He raised his brow, chugging down some of the beer and quickly checking that her suitcase was still beside his feet.
Duke reappeared from a set of stairs between the bar and the exit, his hobble now visible and he shoved a key onto the bar top in front of Rose. ''Room 10. Can you read numbers?''
''Yes.''
''Right, top floor. Good luck with that case. Its steep as hell.''
Rose was about to make him aware of how grateful she was, when he stumbled off to serve another customer. Her cheery demeanour felt as though it would fade off, and then, she fell under the gaze again which she tried so hard to avoid. Jack took larger gulps of his beer, in between giving her looks of various kinds.
''Well, I assume this is where we part ways?'' Rose was eager to press on, away from the business of a bar but felt rooted, somehow.
''Right.''
''Perhaps, you would accept a small bit of change for your help?''
''No.'' Jack's expression remained somber. ''I have no need for money. Just the need to make sure that you are all right.''
In a room full of absolute chaos, Rose felt herself start to fade like a flower. In a cold, odd and frightening town, he had been some sort of beacon to her.
''I shall be.''
''Are you sure?''
''Yes.'' Rose convinced even herself, for a moment. Moving to the other side of him, to collect her suitcase, her hand landed atop it, the same time in which he had gone to grasp it. She pulled her hand away as though it was hot as Hell. ''Mr. Dawson, I can manage.''
Jack was silent, after considering. ''All right. I was going to help you to the room. Duke said it is steep up the stairs.''
Years of perfect upbringing rooted in etiquette and the need to preserve her virtue, not to mention the apprehension of been alone with this man, even outside of a room which she was to sleep in, was stopping her but then, her spirit seemed to turn on its axis.
''Well, thank you. I shall be grateful.''
Rose stepped back to allow Jack to lead the way and with the key seeming to be her only grip on reality, she followed him through a winding corridor.
Leaving the bustling carnage behind, she could hear herself think again. Feel her heartbeat and its acceleration.
''May I ask why you wish to escort me up to my room?''
She tried to dig in her heels but that made her feet skid across the hardwood planking of the floor. Jack came to a halt so abruptly she almost slammed into his back. A whiff of something wonderfully pleasant drifted toward her; a smoky aroma with coffee and sandalwood. He started her, and prevented her from foolishly falling by tensing telling her, ''Because you seem to be wishing to hide from someone. Letting the world know that you are here, would get you seen by the person that I think you are hiding from.''
Contrite forced her to step back.
''Is that what you think?''
He held her gaze, allowing her to lose herself in the fathomless depths of his glorious blue eyes. When people thought of blue; it was always the sky, the ocean but this, it was not flat or dull, or lacking any depth or vibrancy. It was bright, rich and almost like she was been collected by a great wave and pulled into them and she wasn't about to be able to do a damned thing to stop it. He turned away, breaking the spell even as he had left her shaken to her core by reading her entire mind.
''I think you are running away, rather than simply missing the voyage, I think that you stepped away on purpose.''
To trust him, would make her a fool but after having a knife pressed to her throat only half an hour ago, she had no wish to venture back onto the streets alone. And by alerting an authority to her presence, would entitle her to a passage aboard the next voyage bound for New York and she would be reunited with Cal and probably married within the next week. That was unsettling. Even worse than standing in the narrowest corridor with a man whose scent intoxicated her more than liquor ever had. Ascending a copious number of stairs left her breathless, lacking oxygen and as she reached the top, her budding emotions seemed to pour over.
''Look, I know what you must be thinking, poor little rich girl, but you have no right to judge me, never have I ever been made to feel the way that you have.''
''I am sorry, but no that isn't what I was thinking. I only wondered what could have happened to make you want to leave the comforts and your family to sleep in a tavern like this, in a strange town all alone.''
Without comment, Jack produced a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the side of her neck. She inhaled sharply, in part because of the sting but mostly because of the unexpected touch. It was gentle and warm, even soothing and...over much too soon.
Rose blinked, heart pounding as she watched him retreat. Then, she noted that they were stood beside door number 10 in gold lettering. The suitcase was beside her feet. This was where he would leave her. But it felt unfinished.
''Do you have a plan beyond running away?''
The corridor suddenly felt far too dark. Far too narrow. The blackness of the walls, the dark wood. It was all so constricting aside from the sparkling eyes which seemed to illuminate the way. Rose backed herself against the door, with only the key within her trembling hand.
''No.''
''Have you thought of your family? What could happen when they found you gone?''
''Of course! Do not speak to me as though I am some naive little child! I know that my fiancé would be furious, my mother, also.''
''And do you fear him?'' Jack observed, running his hands through his shaggy locks.
Rose paused to stare, mesmerised for a moment before she managed to collect herself and avert her gaze. ''I cannot deny it. But even if I didn't, going through-'' she was about to say 'with the wedding' but stopped. ''It was not a mistake to step away.''
When Jack didn't comment on what she had said, she hazarded a glance in his direction. His eyes were fixed upon her with even greater intensity than before, his expression tight with some indefinable emotion that caused her stomach to flutter and tiny sparks of heat to creep over her skin. Reflexively, she sucked in a breath and quickly returned her gaze to the key. She could not possibly be attracted to him, could she? Her throat dried up on that thought. Of course not. He was a man who was bred well beneath her for goodness' sake. And even if he weren't, he wasn't well-groomed enough for her to consider in such a light.
His debonair messiness ought to discourage her interest while his smirk should make her recoil from the idea of him possibly kissing her. She forced herself to swallow past the thickness of her tongue. Where in blazes had the notion of his mouth meeting hers come from? As she glanced at him from beneath her lashes, the quickening of her pulse answered that question: the texture of those layered hairs upon his chin, across his cheeks and down to his neck and the need to discover what they might feel like against her lips was shockingly alluring. It awoke the same kind of impulse inside her that always prevailed whenever she entered a modiste's shop. She never could stop from touching the fabrics, the urge to feel the grain slide against her fingers impossible to resist. Why was a man, who clearly hadn't bothered to shave in several days, causing such a stir? A man's valet should tend to the growth each morning, or so society dictated, but this man, had never even heard of the societal rule book or if he had, it had been thrown into a very large fire and burnt. She had the feeling that he didn't follow many rules.
"Why?"
Rose blinked. "What?" Heavens, her voice sounded breathless. ''Why should I be dictated to? I stepped away briefly and do not regret it. Yet.''
Jack smiled; she could not believe she'd just said that. She also couldn't believe how good it felt to do so.
The edge of Jack's mouth lifted.
"You've had enough of being the dutiful daughter, have you?"
Rose stood up straighter, tamped down her rioting nerves, and looked Jack squarely in the eye. "I'm tired of having to sacrifice my own happiness to satisfy others." She pursed her lips in thought. "Do you know, I've never been allowed to eat cake or go swimming?"
He frowned back at her. "Why on earth not?"
"According to my mother, cake ruins the figure while swimming exposes one's skin to the sun."
"That's not entirely untrue."
"Perhaps not," she agreed, "but to deny a child the joy of such things completely is unreasonable." They were also just two examples of all the things she'd been deprived of through the years for some absurd reason or other. Somehow, she'd managed to convince herself that her parents were always right and that they only had her best interests at heart.
"In that case," Jack was saying, "I'll have to find a place which can serve you the best cake whilst you're here. As for the swimming...''
"There's no need for that. Since mother wouldn't let me take lessons I..." She swallowed while trying to push through the wave of riotous panic the thought of submerging herself in water instilled. "I never learned, so I actually prefer to remain on land."
"A good thing too since I'd rather not go for a splash in the English Channel." He crossed his arms. "I was only going to say that swimming won't be as easy. It is cold in that water."
"Oh."
When he continued to watch her, she wondered whether she ought to say more on the matter but was stopped when he slowly took the key from her hands, placed it within the lock, without a struggle in the darkened corridor and it opened with a click.
''So, we might have to save swimming for another time.'' Jack told her with a smirk.
''You speak as though it shall be an activity we should participate in before I am to alert the White Star Line tomorrow afternoon of my whereabouts.''
Inhaling deeply and pushing the air back out slowly, Jack forced the tension in his body to subside. ''Well, here we are.'' He returned the key to the palm of her hand. ''Make sure that you lock the door.''
''I intend to.''
Lingering about a moment or two more, Jack grabbed his rucksack and shoved it over his shoulder.
''Well, good bye then.''
He waited a minute until her door clicked closed and then, satisfied, left her there, without really wanting to.
