Chapter 5
"I can explain Mrs. Hockley." I beseeched. The dim sunlight had just started to flood over the windows of the Hockley's grand parlor, catching the crystal chandelier overhead and sparkling. Over all it was a very stifling room, with everything shining and orderly. Even the antique end tables and long silky sofa had a silvery sheen to it. The only thing that made me feel secure was the faint crackle of embers from the hearth fire. I needed some sort of comfort in order to formulate my lie.
I was an expert at deception. I could fix a story in an instant, in the greatest amount of pressure. Seemingly everyone seemed to trust me. But only because they thought I was my father's daughter, warm and understanding. But what they didn't realize is that I had inherited my mother's talent for acting.
"I came from the hospital. You see," I explained, making my sultry green eyes wide with expression. "I'm afraid one of his school friends has caught a deadly virus. I don't recall its name but it makes your throat so sore and scabbed that it bleeds and you drown in your own blood." I said gravely. Mrs. Hockley looked horrified, her dainty white hand cupped over her mouth.
"I was afraid Nathan had caught the virus because he's sick and, well, we were just with the poor boy the other day. I was on top of him so I could look inside his throat and see if it was scarred like the other boy's was. If it was and we caught it early enough, then maybe he wouldn't have to suffer drowning like our friend." I told her, somberly.
"Y-you, you mean" She was shocked.
"Well, he's not dead yet." I stated. "But once the scars start to rupture there's no way to stop it. You're marked for death." I said forebodingly, making my eyes turn to slits, staring at the woman with all the intensity I had. "It's a horrible way to die too. You can just feel the blood gushing down your throat and once there's enough blood and you can't swallow it no more, you either choke or let fill your lungs. Awful death, shame too."
Mrs. Hockley lunged for her son, trying to hold him in her arms like and overgrown boy. He was startled but he still looked at me with the same awed blue eyes. I blushed as Mrs. Hockley sobbed into his mop of dark hair.
"There's no need to worry Mrs. Hockley." I said reassuringly. "Nathan's throat is as pink as a petal. He'll be fine."
"Thank you dear." She said calming down, wiping her wet cheeks. "What is your name, child?"
"Elizabeth Dawson." I said, using my full name instead of Eliza or Lizzy. I felt it would add some sort of class, and I was right.
"Elizabeth, what a pretty name." She said through her post traumatic tears. "Well, Elizabeth, how would you like to join our family for dinner tonight. You deserve it after all. What if Nathan had the virus, we'd never have known he was dying."
"I'd love to, Ma'am." I said, turning on my manners.
"As long as you come back with a little color in you cheeks." She said. "I don't want my husband thinking we've invited a corpse to dinner." She snapped. "And the boy may not come. I don't like the look of him." She looked sharply at Jack who was sitting cross- legged on a Victorian armchair, his scuffed boots where resting on the fabric. Mrs. Hockley flinched.
"Of course. It won't be a problem." I said. "But my brother and I must be going. We left our parents at the hospital and there probably worried sick about us. But we had to check on Nathan." I said, running my fingers through his hair, lovingly. "If anything happened to him, who would carry on the Hockley name?" Mrs. Hockley nodded and squeezed her boy. Oh, how easy it was to read rich people. All I had to do was tell them what they wanted to hear.
Jack and I made it through the hospital doors and back into my room without hindrance, thanks to Jack's excellent diversion skills. Mother and Father were still as they were when I had left them, in a peaceful sleep with Thomas in their arms.
I was released at about noon that day. My fever had broken and my muscles no longer ached as they had earlier that morning. I played dumb. I told them that I had no recollection of my fit last night and they believed me. My father even picked me up and carried me inside the house. It felt nice to know I was still young enough to be carried yet I felt strangely out of place in his arms. Like I should be in someone else's.
I lied and told them I needed to take the air with a walk around town. I went through my mother's closet in the hours previous and found an old fashioned dress made of a thin white fabric. It was long and flowing with a pale pink sash around the waist and a powder blue bodice. It didn't quite fit my rail thin figure, but it was better than what I had worn to the last party.
I tucked the long skirt into my underwear and buttoned my long black coat over it. When they asked why I was wearing such a heavy coat I claimed I still had the chills and I would be fine once I was in the sunshine. It killed me to lie to them, but I wanted more than anything for Nathan's parents to like me. But the thing is, with lying, once you start it gets hard to stop.
As I got far enough away from my house, I backed into an alley and un tucked my dress from my underwear letting it flow down and touch the asphalt.
The Hockley's maid, Ruth answered the door again. Only this time her waxen face was red and swollen like she'd been weeping. She couldn't even meet my eyes.
"Let me take you coat." She said looking down at her shaking hands as she took the black wool from my hands.
"Ruth, why are you crying?" I asked trying to hold her gaze. I felt sorry for her. I wanted to help her. The question is did she want to be helped?
"I'm not crying." She said briskly, her face hardening. "Please, step inside. There waiting for you."
I walked past Ruth warily and strode through the heavy oak doors into the Hockley parlor that I had sat in just twelve hours ago.
The twins, Rosalie and Lavinia were at the piano tapping out a meddled tune which sounded like a mixture of Jingle Bells and Beethoven's 4th. Mrs. Hockley was sitting on the couch next to her son who was still partially translucent from his illness but he still looked deathly handsome. Mr. Hockley, a tall, dark man with a wicked glare was leaning against the piano, looking down at his daughter's content faces.
They all looked over as I walked in. It must have been the light or the way my skirt trailed behind me like a bride's train because they all gazed at me like I was royalty.
"Rose." Said Mr. Hockley, staring at me in awe, his wine glass slipping from his fingers onto the carpet. His face was sheet white. I just stared at him, not even indicating yes or no. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, his cunning eyes glancing back and forth from my body to my face in disbelief.
"No, no dear." Said Mrs. Hockley, getting up and putting her hands on my shoulders. "This is Elizabeth Dawson. She was of some assistance to Nathan this morning and she's is quite a charismatic child. I thought we should invite her to dinner out of penance." Mr. Hockley just looked, analyzing me with his eyes.
"Dawson." He said, raising his thick dark eyebrows. He looked away as if working something out in his mind before looking back and smiling with his full lips. "Well, my son and I are more alike than I thought. We both have excellent taste in women." He walked over to greet me. I extended my hand for a handshake but instead he twisted my wrist up to his mouth and pecked the top of my hand gingerly with his lips. "It's a pleasure, Miss Dawson."
"Same to you, Mr. Hockley." I answer; my eyes were magnetized to his. He looked so familiar. Was this who my mother was afraid Jack and I would meet at the twins' party? He had had said her name thinking I was her. But it was strange. He looked at me as if I were a ghost. Did he not know my mother was alive?
"That dress. Where did you get it?" He asked, taking a long sip from the open champagne bottle. His question took me off guard. I didn't know men cared about such things.
"Oh. I borrowed it, from my mother." I said, warily. "It's a little old fashioned, I know." I felt my face grow hot as I felt Nathan's eyes burning holes in through my tight torso.
"Nonsense, it's lovely. Do sit." Said Mrs. Hockley, seating me next to Nathan.
"Interesting." Said Mr. Hockley, taking a seat in the armchair by the fireplace. "If you don't mind my inquiring, who are your parents?"
"Well my father is Jack Dawson, he's an artist and my mother is Rose Dawson, she's a moving picture actress." I said shyly. Something in Mr. Hockley's perilous dark eyes flickered, like he'd had some sort of epiphany. "Mr. Hockley, I heard you mention my mother's name when I came in. You thought I was her, didn't you. Do you know her?" I asked.
"I did know a Rose. Many years ago." He said, nostalgically. "And you look very much like her. But she cannot be your mother."
"How can you be sure?" I pressed, wanting to know why my mother was so nervous when I mentioned his name. Nathan grabbed my hand and squeezed, it warning me not to go on. But my curiosity was insatiable. He stared at the floor for a while, chuckling to himself, before turning to his daughters.
"How about we start the evening off with a story." He said, a bit of mischief in his haunting voice. The two little children scrambled off the piano bench and fought for an equal seat on their father's knees.
"What kind of story, Daddy? Asked Lavinia.
"Please make it a love story." Said Rosalie dreamily.
"Let me tell you the story of my first love." He said. "With a woman named Rose Dewitt Bukater…"