Chapter five:
The room was odd in Rose's dark and delicate world, but the one which she had been thrust into, well, one supposed willingly allowed herself to enter, was now an enigma beyond knowledge. It was only then, the smallest details occurred to her, such as how would she be able to untie the lace of her corset or even reach the highest button which was located at the base of her neck, for no person no matter how long their limbs were could reach it. How could she learn to mend a fire, turning to see the black ash, she realised that it would have to made from scratch and never in her life had she paid attention to when the maids came to tend to her own embers. This truly was a life complicated beyond her own means. She had been educated at the finest schools, attended the most prestigious finishing academy in France, travelled in utter luxury and read and understood the most brilliant novels and pieces of music and yet none of it had taught her basic life skills. How to keep warm. To make a sandwich. And, she had thrust herself into this very place without a second thought of anything further. When outside, with Jack, who felt very established in a world like this, she didn't feel as lousy or lost. Now, she would be alone for the remainder of her stay.
Rose glanced about the cluttered space which Jack had ushered her into. A brown chair, a brown clad bed and a decanter of what she assumed would be water. There was a divider with what she assumed to be a chamber pot behind it and a single wooden desk with a half clean mirror atop it. Stepping farther into the room, she considered the outcome of her choice in comparison to the no doubt beautiful stateroom in which her mother and fiancé would now be resting in. There still seemed to be a lack of guilt in her stomach, and instead it was a feeling of a dip, right in the middle of her belly when Jack had passed her in the narrow hall, brushing arms and she dismissed it at once. In a cracked piece of glass, she caught sight of herself truly for the first time and it was garish. Her dress was ruined, hanging from her shoulder, her face dirty and yet her engagement ring managed to stay there; sparkling a reminder that she was engaged still. Her outward appearance was starting to fade away. She lacked to identify the urchin child who stood metres away from her within the mirror and fading out at the edges. Trembles started in her stomach, her legs and her breathing were stalling. Stripping away her jewelled earrings, Rose pulled at the buttons at the base of her neck at the back, but she could barely reach.
''Damn!''
All she required was freedom from her corset. The looking glass upon the desk provided some remedy to her loosening the buttons but her fingers trembled so, she struggled. What use she was indeed, a woman who couldn't even undress herself. Pulling at the materials of her shoulders, then her corset it would not cease to stop clinging to her, almost as though each time she clutched it away from her it would return to wrap around her tighter than before. Claiming her. Pulling harder, the white material of the shoulder ripped, and came away, along with the necklace. In a heated flurry of screams, Rose stripped herself of whatever she could manage to without the aid of another. The pins of her hair dug into her scalp, twisted and tucking her fiery curls away like nails upon her head digging in and embedding themselves into her without drawing blood.
Left facing herself in the mirror, Rose was astonished. Her hair was dishevelled, hanging about her shoulders in unruly curls. Her once beautiful dress was torn away from her and somehow, she had managed to escape the entire garment where it lay at her feet in white and royal blue rags with buttons discarded about the floor. Oh, how this morning the majestic gown had hung upon the dresser at the Savoy, and as Trudy had slipped her into it, Cal had beamed with pride after a heated discussion in which she had suggested wearing black.
You cannot wear black on sailing day, sweetpea, it would bring us bad luck.
I felt like black.
Rose had felt as though she was been led to her execution. Perhaps, the mood had been more fitting. Mechanically, she had moved as Trudy had dressed her. Pinned her hair. Applied rouge and lipstick. Slipped her dainty, useless hands into fine silk gloves and then, placed a hat upon her head, one as large as the Titanic herself. Oh, she had looked like royalty; all eyes thrust upon the young woman about to become Caledon Hockley's bride. The woman who was charming, gracious and elegant. Now, she was stripped.
Stripped of all jewellery aside from her engagement ring which she gazed at with trembling hands. What would her mother think of her now? What would her father have thought? Cal no doubt would be disgusted. Her reflection revealed a woman haunted. A woman restricted. A woman who no longer was recognisable to herself, although, she was barely past girlhood. A woman who was free of everything but the entire chains which still bound her. She wanted to scream. To cry. Glancing to the window, a brief moment, she contemplated throwing herself out of it and not stalling her flight to the floor below. Of course, it was ludicrous but these thoughts had been swirling her mind for months, slowly consuming her and it was only now, it was actually claiming her. With a panic rising in her throat, Rose clawed at what she could. Layers of her corset, stockings and her slip came away, in sheets of satin, lace and the expense shattering about her.
Stood barefoot upon the wooden floor, she felt the coolness and it was almost a mystery to be without shoes or slippers upon a new material. How the smaller things were baffling to her just from living such a closeted life. She fell to her knees, managing to locate the suitcase which she had taken from the docks, she dove inside and pulled out a large white shirt, pulling it over her body and allowing the room to disappear behind her closed eyes. She felt her way to the bed, and collapsed into it. It all had to disappear, just momentarily. Just for a little while. None of it seemed to. Rose was beyond aware even descending into a strange version of life as sleep came to her...
There was a dance, she moved behind a red sheet hanging to dry out in a yard and toying about with the shadow of a person. A male. With unfortunate long hair and taller than she recalled Cal to be. The dream went on into the night and the early morning, the bizarre string of dances she seemed to be indulging in, if one could call it a dance; it was far too close for a waltz, and there seemed to be very few choreographed steps. It was beneath gas lamps and slanted rain and then the icy cold breeze still wrapped about her even as she came around to wake the next morning as though she had experienced something strange and yet had no idea what. It caused a cautious state to fall across Rose until she pushed it as far back as she possibly could. Hurdles were overcome. Sleeping alone in a strange city, in a foreign country. Escaping from a world in which she knew would be her eventual life, but for now, there was a release from it, shrouded by uncertainty and terror. Wasn't that what a worker's life being like? Once, she had read a passage about how an actress didn't love her craft unless she was truly riveted by fear before going out on stage to perform, perhaps even crippled at times. Perhaps for now; the life was her stage. She was an actress. Without lines to recite, she would have to write them herself but perhaps that could be the most exciting part.
As Rose then dressed as well as she was able to do on her own, twisting and contorting until she managed to close most of the buttons at the back of the ugliest brown plaid gown she had managed to find within the suitcase, it fit her as though she wore a sack of potatoes, hanging loose at the shoulders and dipping at the front. The hems were in needing of a good stitching and the sleeves were needed to be rolled several times to fit her delicate wrists but she had accustomed the dress to the very best of her ability. Locating a comb, she used it to smooth out her hair and then pinned it in a knot as high as she could reach with her fiddly fingers. Recalling just how simple Trudy would make it seem, but within minutes several strands had fallen out to frame her face and so, she gave up with it and felt half satisfaction. With this accomplished and feeling as though she was better prepared to tackle the day, she went to the window, drew the curtain aside, and looked out. A grim exterior greeted her. It was as if all colour had been sucked from this part of town and deposited elsewhere. Everything was painted in brown, black, or grey, from the building across the alley, to the laundry hanging from the clothes lines between them, to the three-legged dog scampering after a man dragging a cart. Turning away from the dismal scenery, Rose considered the options which lay out to her; immediately return to the docks and inform a White Star Line official of her situation and hope that they could deposit her on the next steamer leaving for New York, spend another night here, in the centre of what seemed to be Hell, or to move on elsewhere and hope that she could avail herself of better lodgings and maybe some kind of replenishment to relieve the hunger. The stomach pain which she hadn't recalled feeling since a young child after failing to eat dinner one evening and her father had warned how she would feel the next morning had started. The rumbles, the empty feeling and how weak she felt. Glancing about at the discarded ruins of her clothing from the day before, she paused to even contemplate just which option should be right for her.
In her naïve mind, Rose had perhaps believed that she could spend a few weeks in a great hotel; wander the streets of London and sample the art museums and galleries the way she had wanted to all along without been manhandled into a carriage to attend the next engagement at her mother's request or another gala at Cal's request. The one thing she had desired throughout this entire trip was to see the wonderful sculptures, or paintings or plays, just simple things which would allow her to indulge in her own interests rather than simply go along with the ones she was supposed to have such as needlework, or playing the pianoforte. Tiresome, boring, Hellish...
God knows how Rose found herself stood in the centre of a life that she had no understanding of. A southern wind hit her face, sending more tendrils flying from the knot that she had managed. It occurred to her, that she had left the Black Bull without her coat, without the suitcase which contained nothing else for her and without her wits. Adjacent to her, stood what she thought she recalled the entrance to the Southampton Docks to have been. Entering those high gates in a Daimler tailed by a handful of maids and a police escort was a very different road to now. Just the morning before people had been piled high and now, barely a soul was about and perhaps it was because the sun had set not an hour before. Clutching her cold hands to her chest, Rose found her feet moving forward, towards the gate. What was left for her to do? What little money she had would be gone in a day or two if she went to a hotel. It was frightening to exist in a town like this when the lower class looked upon her as Cal did them, and rightly so, because the language was universal; no matter the country, the rich always seemed to stand on the poor and then poor seemed to resent the rich in return.
God knows why Mr. Dawson had decided to help her yesterday. It was good fortune that he had, for who knows what would have happened without his intervention. The wind stung the cut upon her neck and she recalled how he had stemmed the bleeding yesterday and she had not bathed it since. How would she explain that to Cal and her mother? She would have to find a way, because the White Star Line offices were before her eyes before she could even note how far that she had walked. Then, with little confidence they stopped.
How did the great vessel manage to sit within the very harbour? With a stilled breathing, she glanced about the empty space and the smaller boats, and steamers which were situated. Some were fishing boats, others about to head off to France or Ireland perhaps but none would ever be as great as the Titanic. No one would ever again be a witness to such a grand excursion. The ships majestic bow tie colours had stolen her breath as soon as she had stepped down from the motorcar to glance up at the ship, but still, there was no pining to have stepped aboard her. Not even slightly.
''You thinking of stowing away?'' A voice cut through her dizzy thoughts, and as the wind whipped about her face, she thought to have imagined it until she turned and in the practically empty dockside, to see Jack a few feet away from her. With his rucksack across his shoulder, hand shoved casually into his pocket, he seemed like a star in a massive universe at that moment. The wind whipped his hair about his face and he shoved it away, revealing a smirk that she had grown familiar with yesterday and then, all fear with her own stomach seemed to flee and were replaced with a great warmth which spread across her face.
Closing the distance between them, Rose tucked her hands into her chest. ''No, I was about to go back.''
''To America? Hell of a swim for someone who never has even had a lesson.''
She laughed, and it put her at ease. Feeling the way he watched her so closely, she sighed. ''Look I know what you are thinking of me, and it was perhaps foolish of me to step away but-''
''That never crossed my mind.'' Dropping his rucksack to the ground, he stepped closer to her, just once and removed a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to her neck. She stared, wide eyed as he then took her own hand, gently and held it up to the nick. ''But you are bleeding again. You need to clean it properly.''
Rose glanced at the red blotted white handkerchief and placed it back to her neck. ''Thank you.''
Jack stepped back, not retrieving his rucksack from his feet but continuing what appeared to be an evaluation of her. If there was something to be said between them, it seemed that neither had the wits to say it just yet. In the foreground, an echoing of voices circulated and a group of fishermen hooted as they smoked cigarettes and hauled equipment about towards the boats. A Francis Ltd vehicle noisily trawled passed, and two modestly dressed males were helped to the White Star Line office, and then the car went again, driving in a circle before leaving.
Beneath Jack's gaze, Rose felt smaller, somehow and she pulled the handkerchief away to check the bleeding. It seemed to have stalled, when she was about to offer him the linen back, she realised that it was covered in her smeared red spotted blood. Looking at his rumpled appearance, she glanced down at her own attire and how ill, odd and dishevelled she must be in comparison and almost felt the urge to straighten out her shoulders but found that it didn't matter.
''I am stood here without a clue of what I should do.''
Jack stepped forward. ''Well, what do you want to do?''
Hesitation filled her, and as the sea breeze came to cleanse her senses, she felt it wash over her and she softened towards Jack. ''I don't want to go back,'' quietly, she confessed, thinking that perhaps he might not hear, ''I don't want to go back but I have no other option.''
Within her face, he must have seen the vulnerability, or sensed her confusion because he raised his eye brows just a second before speaking.
''You know, I have been on my own since I was fifteen, when my folks died. With no close kin, or brothers and sisters, I had to step out alone and as scary as it was, it has become the best thing that I ever did.''
Rose listened in awe; seeing Jack, suddenly, as an orphan. She wished to ask his age, how he had lived alone and not become so lonely, but she was slowly drawing closer to him, and his hair billowed in the salty winds. ''And, do you think that I should find that rootless existing appealing?''
''It's up to you what you do, Rose. Nobody can tell you that.''
''Perhaps, it is hard to believe, when I have only ever been told what to do, what to say, what to think.'' She laughed, expecting to see pity, but there was none. Instead, he span about in the vast space in which thousands had trodden yesterday and today, with arms out stretched, he circled.
''Look around, do you see any other person here about to tell you what to do?''
Quickly, her eyes went about, to the sea and then, back to him. Rose knew what the answer would be, and she knew what his point was.
''No.''
''So, you see, there is only you who can make that decision. Do you want to go back?''
A smile tried to pull at her lips, because she knew that he was, indeed, correct.
''No, at least not just yet.''
''Then, don't.'' It seemed that simple. It sounded that simple. And in that moment, beneath the morning sun light and a beautiful sapphire gaze, Rose finally made a decision for herself. She didn't know if that decision would be a wrong one or a right one or just what path it would lead her down. Only time would tell her that.
"All right."
A smile crawled across Jack's face and it was heavenly causing her stomach to turn inside out and all fears seemed to melt away with the morning mist.
"Can I show you something then?"
"What is it?"
Jack went to his feet, retrieving his backpack and then, he nodded his head away from the docks.
"Do you trust me?"
Trust. Something which needed to be earned. Over time. She had known him less than a day but still found herself nodding.
"Yes, I do trust you.''
