Author's Note: Now that school's out, I'll be dishing these chapters out about once a week. So, what's today, Tuesday? Every Tuesday I'll try to get one out. For in-depth historical notes, check the LJ, whose URL is in the author profile. But for brief ones: "Lord Pirrie" refers to Mr. Andrews' uncle, the managing Director of Harland and Wolff Shipbuilders. And I started to look up rooms for the passengers I have boarding here, but that got tedious, so I just started making up names and room numbers. And I was going to put the almost-collision with the New York in here, but. . . I didn't. Maybe sooner or later I'll throw that scene onto the LJ. For now, please review. . . and enjoy. Hopefully.

FIVE: WALLCE
April 10, 1912
07:15

"Stop that." Smith said, smiling broadly. I stopped drumming my fingers on the wall behind me, and he shook his head, eyes twinkling. "You're not in trouble."

I swallowed. Kindly as he was, it was still hard not to get intimidated, especially with my job. "Sorry, sir."

He crossed to the helm and stood before it, looking the way a captain truly should as he gazed out the large windows. "I just wanted to say that, should any passenger choose to. . . speak his mind. . . to you today, you have my full permission to retaliate with whatever comes to yours."

I blinked. "Sir?"

"You heard me." his voice was steady and friendly.

I'd definitely heard him. Meeting his level gaze, I could tell that he understood exactly what I'd been worrying about since signing on—the passenger's reactions to my being onboard. I was sure that most of them probably wouldn't care at all. In fact, there was a huge group of third-class passengers who were going to be boarding that I knew personally. They'd worked in the shipyards at Harland and Wolff, and Thomas and his uncle had offered them free tickets. But there were some that I was worried about. I managed, "Thank you, sir."

He nodded, still with that friendly smile in place. "Of course. And the second thing—Thomas stopped by earlier this morning and asked that, if you have a moment of free time before the ship leaves, to try to find him."

I nodded, too. "Okay. Thank you, sir."

"Certainly. Now you'd better hurry down to the docking bridge before our first officer has a fit."

Yeah, right. Murdoch having a fit because I wasn't there. But I said again, "Yes, sir. Thanks."

Leaving the bridge, I felt kind of stupid. Seemed like the only words in my vocabulary were "sir" and "thank you". But that didn't really seem to matter at the moment, in light of what Smith had given me permission to do. Hopefully none of the passengers will be crabby to begin with, I thought, and immediately chided myself with another, Yeah, right.

"Name, please, sir." I said for what felt like the hundredth time. And also for the hundredth time, I was given a look that was mildly surprised and then immediately nonchalant.

"Er, Herbert Chaffee. And my wife, Caroline."

I flipped through the list to the C's, and found his name. "Found you—you'll be in room E-31." He passed me his and his wife's tickets (she was smiling, and holding on to his arm), and I did my best to smile back at them. "Thank you, and welcome aboard."

After putting a checkmark beside their names, I glanced around, trying to see if Murdoch had gotten back yet. He'd run off at the last minute to supervise the lowering away of two of the lifeboats, along with Lowe and Moody. The way Bert Pitman explained it to me, a guy called Clark from the Board of Trade had come in, and was in charge of some kind of safety inspection.

Pitman now stood across from me with another clipboard, also taking names and tickets. There was a break in the flow of people, and we traded tired glances. "D'you have the time?" I asked.

He drew a pocket watch from his jacket and flipped the lid open. "Quarter to eleven." he said, and let out a long breath. "We're going to be here for awhile."

"No joke. Hello, sir, may I have your name?" Another man stepped in, this one trailing a wife and daughter.

"Tim Breckenridge." he said, smiling cordially, this one not forced at all. "My wife and daughter should be on the list as well."

It was so much easier to return the smile when the other person meant it. "Yes, sir, here you are. You'll be in cabins D-14 and 16." He handed me his tickets with a "thank you", and I said, "Thank you, sir. Enjoy the trip." Even the wife and daughter were smiling. Nice people.

The next man was older, and looked at me sourly. Here we go, I thought, and also recalled Smith's O.K. to me earlier. "Good morning, sir, can I take your name?"

"Are you an officer?" he asked, very suspiciously.

No, I'm just wearing the uniform and doing an officer's duty. I'm actually a cook. "Yes, sir." I said levelly, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Pitman watching.

This guy's eyebrows went up. "You're a woman."

Really, sir? I hadn't known. "Yes, sir."

He frowned, very concerned and confused. "I don't want a woman handling my ticket."

"Sir, all I'm doing is taking your name and putting your ticket in the stack here."

He was getting worried, now. "No. I said I don't want to woman handling my ticket."

Well, Pitman was so close by that if I'd sneezed and hadn't been covering my nose, he'd have gotten sprayed. "If you haven't noticed, Mr. Pitman is just right there, sir," I said, gesturing. "And of course, he is infinitely better at taking names and tickets than me, because he's a man."

This guy stared, anger creeping into his voice. "Are you being smart with me?"

No. "Yes, sir." I said kindly.

The man shook his head, disgusted. "Who is your superior officer?" he asked. "I demand to speak with him at once."

"Sir—" Pitman began, finished with his passenger, but lo and behold, Murdoch had returned from the safety inspection.

"I am her superior officer." he said, stepping up to us, his gaze not worried an iota. "Is there a problem?"

"The woman is a disgrace to her office," the man said, speaking simply. I kept my level gaze locked with his, but inside, I was mortified. Not only was I being insulted, but Murdoch was getting dragged into it. Suddenly I wished that Smith hadn't given me permission to speak my mind.

The people behind this man were staring as he continued. "I have never met a more rude—"

Murdoch was calm, and so professional that I practically gawped at him. "And yet I do believe that it was you that was trying to provoke her. If it satisfies you, I will handle your ticket—we're holding up the line."

The man thrust his ticket at Murdoch, who read the name aloud to me. Trying to hide the fact that my hands trembled slightly, I found the man on the list, checked his name, and read him his room number.

"Might I have your names?" the man, Mr. Jones, asked bitterly. "That is, so that I can report the two of you to the White Star Line."

My heart skipped a beat with fear, but Murdoch drew himself to his full height—all five-feet-eight inches of it—and said regally, "I am First Officer William McMaster Murdoch, and this is my assistant, Ellen Wallace. Would you like it in writing? And there's an O-C-H, at the end of my name."

The man stared at us in disgust, labeled us with curse words, and sulked off.

I hadn't realized that I'd been holding my breath, and air burst out of my lungs in relief. It was short-lived, however. "Did I just completely blow it?" I asked dully, but Murdoch shook his head.

"Lord Pirrie couldn't dismiss us over this. He knew that this sort of thing was bound to happen. Good morning, miss, welcome aboard. May I take your name?"

I bit my lip, frustrated. It seemed like the more I knew of Murdoch, the less I understood him. With anyone else, his sticking up for me would have been an act of friendship and kindness, rather than the duty it was to keep me from getting in trouble with a passenger. He hadn't told off that guy because he wanted to help, no matter how much I wanted to believe that he had.

I swallowed hard as Pitman moved back into place, and thanked Murdoch anyway. "Well, thank you for saving my a—bum." I changed my mind as an older couple stepped up.

"Mr. and Mrs. Peterson. . . ah, yes. Room A-54. Enjoy your stay. You're welcome." The last part he said was directed at me, and there was almost no emotion behind it.

I didn't know whether I wanted to kick him or to burst into tears. That had been damn humiliating, being scolded by that guy like that in front of all those passengers. And then Murdoch sticking up for the both of us had been impressive, but he just dismissed it like it was nothing, like this kind of thing happened every day—don't worry, I'm used to her acting up, now give me your ticket and we'll have this behind us.

We got through the next person before Murdoch spoke up again. "Your cousin was walking around on deck, and he asked if he could see you now, Miss Wallace."

Even with Murdoch, I hated that sound. "My name's Ellen, sir."

"Fine. Ellen. But if you wish to go, feel free—just be back within the half hour."

"Yes, sir, I will be." I passed him my clipboard and stack of tickets (he didn't meet my eyes), and I hurried off to find the staircase to the boat deck.

The sun was bright and high overhead, the air thick and salty. The crowds on deck were thick; people were gathered all about the port rail, waving to the thousands of people crammed in the street below. And it was still practically an hour before we left.

Thomas found me first, and hailed me from behind. "Ellen! Over here!"

I turned to see the most welcome sight in ages—not only was Thomas there, but his wife Helen and two-year-old daughter Elizabeth were with him. Helen had practically been a sister to me in all the years I'd known her, and Elizabeth was the cutest thing on two legs. "Hey!" I greeted happily as I drew near.

"Hey, yourself!" Helen pulled me into a one-armed hug, Elizabeth in the other arm. "Ellen, you look lovely!"

"Thanks." She looked nice, too, in her cream and mauve afternoon dress. "So do you." I grinned at her, and Elizabeth laughed happily. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Don't get too excited; we're not." Helen said, shifting Elizabeth to the other arm. "I just wanted to see Thomas and the ship off, and to say hello to you before it got too late." Elizabeth reached toward me with both arms and said, "Eh-wen!"

"Thanks." I was slightly disappointed that Helen wouldn't be coming along; it would have been nice to have a female companion on the trip. But at least she'd shown up at all. "I'm sorry you're not staying. But how are you, and Elizabeth?"

"We're fine." she beamed at Thomas. "Nervous, too, I suppose—I believe my husband is about to burst at the seams."

"Into a hundred tiny pieces." Thomas agreed, holding one hand up; it trembled slightly, but he was grinning.

Helen took it, and kissed it. "You're too anxious. Everything will be fine."

Thomas shook his head, letting out a deep breath. "You're right. You always are."

I gulped, not wanting to interrupt their time together, but Thomas seemed to sense my discomfort. "How's it going with Will, Ellen? Has he lightened up at all?"

"Enough to call me 'Ellen' and not 'Miss Wallace'." I told him. "He's just stubborn, I think."

"Well, so is his assistant," Helen said, and I couldn't stop a smile.

"Good point." There was a brief silence, and suddenly I wanted to go below decks again, and leave them alone to say their farewells. "Hey, uh, I'd better get back down there. We've still got tickets and things to sort."

"Of course." Thomas smiled. "Go ahead."

"Nice to see you again," I said as Helen and I exchanged another hug. "Take care of yourself, and Elizabeth." I grinned at them. "See you later, Thomas."

"See you."

"Good-bye, Ellen. Take care of yourself."

"That was quick." Murdoch said when I arrived at my post again.

"Glad to see I was missed." I said, and took up a clipboard once more. The crowds weren't as thick now, but people were still boarding. The next people in line were a red-haired woman with whom appeared to be her daughter, a young man, a maid, and a manservant.

Talk about wealthy, I thought, hoping that Murdoch would handle this group. He did, partially: "Good morning. May I take your name?"

The woman's cold eyes swept over me once; I held my head high and wondered why I hadn't chosen to stay with Thomas longer. "DeWitt Bukater." she said to Murdoch, voice low and disapproving. "Ruth and Rose."

"And Hockley, Caledon." The guy stepped up to me, eyes telling me that there was something very funny. "Are you an officer, miss?"

I hunted for his name, and didn't meet his eyes. "No, sir. I just wear the uniform to confuse people. B-54. May I have your ticket?"

He didn't know whether or not I was kidding, but he handed me his ticket with a short and false smile. The woman, however, was glaring. "You will hold your tongue, young lady." she instructed. As though she were my mother.

"Tell him to hold his first."

She was flabbergasted. "Well, I never—"

"Next!" Murdoch said, and firmly but gently moved DeWitt Bukater Senior out of the way. Her daughter looked somewhat ashamed, and whispered a small, "I'm sorry," as she went by, and the maid offered a quavering smile. The manservant didn't even look toward me.

There was no "next", though, not yet. "This is ridiculous," I said, leaning against the doorframe. "I'm just causing trouble down here."

"Does them some good, if you ask me." Pitman muttered, walking over to set down his stack of tickets. "Sometimes it can be a healthy thing to get one's skirt ruffled."

I smiled at that, but Murdoch sighed. "In all my years of this," he said. "I've never seen the passengers act this way."

"In all your years of this, you've never had a woman working this position." I pointed out.

"That, too." he agreed, and I marveled at the fact that we weren't arguing. And actually having a conversation.

"Well," Pitman said. "Either way, we've got to get underway soon."

I watched as Murdoch removed his cap, and ran a hand through his hair tiredly. "Thank God," he said. "We've been here too long."

"Just a week or two." Pitman reminded him.

"Yes," Murdoch said, and I actually saw a smile surface on his lips. "As I said, we've been here too long. Good morning, sir, may I take your name?"

Forty more minutes and the crowds in the street were swelling, and so was the crowd on deck. At five till noon, crewmen began to unchock the gangplanks, and Pitman and a crewman closed the heavy iron door to the outside with a final-sounding slam. Pitman turned the crank that kept it closed, and when he turned around again, he was beaming. "Come on," he said, the excitement clear in his voice. "Let's go topside."

The three of us left our clipboards and tickets for the pursers to sort, and we quickly found the staircase that led to the top deck. Without warning, the entire ship shuddered and a distant, hardly noticeable vibration picked up. "Engines," Pitman said eagerly, and a shrill whistle blast sliced through every panel of every wall. It was so loud that it hurt my ears, and it rang out several times.

Then it was up a corridor, out a doorway, and into the blinding sunlight of high noon. The whistle-horn blew again, steam issuing from its vent on the forward most funnel, and the noise blocked out the deafening cheers of the crowd. When we emerged onto the deck, and moved aft along forecastle, it was clear that it was Smith who was tooting the whistle; we could see him through the large windows on the bridge.

"Hoi!" The three of us turned to see Henry Wilde waving at us from the starboard rail; Lightoller was with him—and even he was looking pleased (though whether to be leaving or having company besides Wilde, I'm not sure). "Get over here!"

We complied, seeing as the starboard rail was practically empty—everybody was crammed over on the port side of the boat. "Everything work out alright this morning?" Wilde wanted to know, grinning like a madman. The mood this afternoon was infectious; I couldn't help but to smile along.

"For the most part." Murdoch glanced at me as he said it.

Wilde noticed. "Good. That's. . . yes."

Suddenly the deck lurched under our feet, and we all leaned over the railing to see the five—count 'em, Jesus, five—tugboats pulling us away from berth 44. A collective cheer went up from the crowd, roaring through Southampton as the ship finally, finally moved.

I wondered vaguely where Thomas was. After years of work, the moment was finally upon us—just like that. I hoped he was above decks, and that Helen and Elizabeth had chosen to stay in the crowd.

"Well," Pitman said at last, looking around at us all with a broad smile on his face. "I do believe we're finally under way."

Truer words were never spoken.