"Posture, girl!" Emily Chamberlain hissed in her daughter's ear.
Aria grimaced and tried to keep herself from fidgeting in her impatience. Staring down at her empty plate, she fervently wished shewere elsewhere.
"Well, we are leaving our Ireland to join family near Pittsburgh…Pennsylvania, correct?" a woman who had introduced herself as Shauna O'Malley explained in her heavy accent.
"How interesting," Mrs. Chamberlain said graciously with an indulgent smile. "Aria and I were just reuniting with some family in Scotland, and now we're heading home. We have some…business… to attend to."
An obvious silence settled over the table for eight. Aria looked down at the ornately patterned carpet, trying her hardest not to show the shame she had for her mother's total inability to create a cover story.
"I haf never seen such a beautiful ship," a semi-wealthy German woman, Frau Hass, commented, scrambling to change the subject.
Her boredom deepening, Aria allowed her gaze to travel over the classy swivel chairs and the rich oak wall paneling.
"It is…adequate," a pretentious lady by the name of Amelia Downheart sniffed. In Aria's opinion, the British accent completed Mrs. Downheart's arrogant image quite nicely. "My husband was too Spartan to give me first class passage, so I suppose this will do." If her nose gets any higher, indoors or not, something's going to fly in, Aria observed. "Mrs. Chamberlain, you seem to be a woman of stature. I am surprised that you are down here with us in second class."
As Mrs. Chamberlain opened her mouth to respond, Aria stepped in. "Mrs. Downheart, I am afraid we are not as wrapped up in class distinction as some, and we wish to eat next month," she replied coolly, keeping a straight face.
There were a few chuckles around the table, but the mother shot her daughter a venomous glare.
"Mother, may I be excused?" Aria asked, keeping all traces of emotion from creeping into her voice.
"Yes, you may," her mother answered, trying to keep the please out of her answer.
Standing and inclining her head in farewell to the others seated at the table, she hurried from the second class dining saloon back towards her stateroom. Just as I planned, she thought triumphantly.
Smoothing the plainer skirt she had changed into, she looked at the clock. The stateroom was an unfortunate little detour, but her dinner gown would not do where she was going.
The time was6:45 PM. Titanic wasn't due to raise anchor and leave Cherbourg for another hour. Plenty of time. She exited her stateroom and headed for the outer deck. Taking in the gorgeous sunset and eyeing the tenders with mild interest, she made her way forward.
Fifth Officer Harold Lowe leaned gently on the ship's wheel, watching the sun hover just above the horizon. He loved being at sea…even if he wasn't technically there yet.
Alone on the bridge, he enjoyed some sense of independence and control. The other officers were helping new passengers embark and were supervising the loading and unloading of more cargo. Terribly boring stuff. Lowe had volunteered to keep watch. A slightly chill breeze blew through the wheelhouse, and he left for a moment to prepare himself a nice warm cup of tea.
Despite her weeks of careful study of anything she could get her hands on pertaining to Titanic, Aria still managed to get lost numerous times. After an unprecedented number of turn-arounds and dead ends, she finally found herself approaching the coveted bridge. Just a glimpse…she told herself. I need to see it at least once before we reach New York.
She crouched as she approached the door, and peeked in cautiously. Two wheels…splendid! she thought. She was surprised to find it completely empty. This little excursion had been planned in coordination with the stop at Cherbourg since she correctly figured that the officers would be occupied with port activities, but she hadn't expected to find the area completely devoid of any crew. She intended to take full advantage of this bout of good luck. Immediately, she headed to the back wall to examine all of the instruments, phones, and the display showing the status of the watertight doors. For those few moments, Aria thought she could never be any more ecstatic. She was wrong.
Lowe had been strolling back towards the bridge, stirring his earl gray tea absentmindedly, when he heard the noise. It sounded like a small feminine squeal of excitement. Quickening his steps, he cursed his lack of alertness. He prayed that a passenger had not wandered in during his absence; the consequences for him would not be enjoyable. "Hello…is anyone out there?" he called out as he strode into an empty wheelhouse.
Aria crouched between two lifeboats, trying to quiet her breathing. Where had he come from? Suddenly, the clinking of spoon and china had alerted her to someone's approach. How could I be so oblivious? she wondered. Of course they wouldn't leave the bridge unattended!
The footsteps stopped. "What the…" she heard a Welsh voice mutter. "I could have sworn that I…" the footsteps moved away, accompanied by mutters of "paranoia" and "I've been at sea too long."
Allowing herself the tiniest of sighs of relief, she remained curled up in her little ball on the hard deck, just to be sure. She kept her eyes fixed on the lifeboat's black number 14 above her. After a moment, she allowed her eyes to wander, but stayed silent. Hmm, Welin davits, she observed. Aren't those designed to hold two or three boats, not one? Reigning in her wandering mind, she focused again on listening for the man's approach. Hearing none and rapidly growing stiff, she straightened slightly and poked her head out into the open to observe her surroundings.
A pair of navy blue clad legs ending in brightly shined black shoes was what she ended up observing. "Well well, what do we have here?" asked the dashing young Welsh officer leaning against the lifeboat next to her.