On the 30th May 1912 the body of a young pregnant woman was found dead in the Charles River. The police assumed immediately that it was suicide, no signs for murder could be found and the case was soon terminated.

Lettice Mansfield had lost the only family member that she really and truly cared for. She may have been a strict aunt and custodian, but she had loved her like her own child. When her sister, Ella's mother had died, Lettice had taken her in and raised her as her own – never once complaining.

The funeral needed to be arranged and she knew that she had to do it.

Head down she stood in her room, looking at a photograph of her. Ruth was behind her.

They had just returned from the funeral.

Seeing Ella's corpse blue and cold had been a shock to her and to endure something as distressingly as this vibrant young woman's memorial service had given her not only one severe blow.

"I can't believe that I'll never hear her laughter again."

Ruth put a comforting hand on her shoulder not knowing what to say.

If Rose would be…no she didn't want to think about it…

There was nothing she could do to really help her, she realized that instantly. Lettice's shoulders heaved up and down and obviously tried her best not to lose her composure – Ruth knew that she been trained not to from early infancy.

Ladies of the high society weren't supposed to demonstrate their feelings.

I've been the same.

Ella hadn't smiled on her wedding day, just as Lettice hadn't shed a tear on her funeral. It was all common in their class.

"Why did she do it? I thought she was happy."

Ruth bit her lip. She had noted that not all was good and well in their marriage. Roger had many characteristics of Mr Hockley. Little by little Ruth had understood that this wasn't always a good signal.

By the way did her voice sound reproachful?

"She was pregnant for god's sake."

Indeed it did. Lettice brought up her hands, balling them into fists.

Ruth was shocked not being able to understand her reaction. Lettice now seemed miles away, deeply thinking.

What if Rose would've been the one?

A pregnant woman committing suicide wasn't something that was seen every day and it was even more so spectacular, if the woman was a member of the high society.

Whatever had gone on in her head?

"Why didn't she come to me? Why did she never try to talk to me?" she looked at Ruth – with teary eyes?

But they were quickly gone.

Ruth at first wanted to tell her how sorry she was for her loss and everything, but on second thought she intended to scream at her – Your niece did try to bring it up – however, how could she?

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!

Once again remembering Rose and Mr Hockley she chose to simply embrace her, hoping this gesture would comfort them both.

…..

Rose, Jack, who was a little better now and Roger, had taken their seats in the living room. Rose turned her gaze to her husband wondering what he was thinking.

Jack seemed to be unusually quiet the last week and it wasn't only his illness. Something Rose couldn't explain.

"Jack?" she choked out deciding to end the dreadful silence.

She knew that Jack and Roger weren't exactly friends, but now Jack looked like he living in another planet.

As he turned his head to her, she immediately realized how sick he still was. It was no wonder considering how long he had been ill.

"Mmmh?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Are you alright?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I?" he smiled at her – the smile that so often before had won her over and convinced her that everything would be fine.

How his presence didn't relax her anymore. It scared her.

"It's just your eyes…they're so…you look like you're having fever again…," she mumbled sounding very hesitant.

Jack gave her a quick kiss.

"Well I'm not that long out of bed," he cut the discussion short and turned to Roger. "I'm sorry for your loss Mr Lindsay."

This reaction didn't surprise Rose. It wouldn't be like her Jack, if he didn't express his sincere grief.

"Thank you Mr Dawson," Roger only nodded.

In fact Ella's death wasn't really what was on his mind right now.

It wasn't Rose either though.

Ruth was coming downstairs.

"Lettice is sleeping."

Roger nodded again looking at her then at Rose and lastly at Jack, who indeed seemed anything but in good health. Rose was right his eyes were indeed glistening abnormally.

Ruth had noticed too and decided instantly to mention it.

"I think you should follow her good example, Mr Dawson."

"What?"

"You should go to bed."

"She's right, Jack. Come on I'm coming with you."

Jack knowing that he was defeated gave way and stood up, Rose following him at once after she had wished her mother a Good Night.

"Thank you, mother," Rose had whispered into her ear and to her astonishment even kissed her on her cheek, something that had happened in years.

Ruth smiled a bit, when she saw Jack putting an arm over her daughter's shoulders. Somehow Jack Dawson together with her daughter didn't seem as horrible to her anymore.

At least he's treating her alright…

Aren't they a nice pair – she was about to ask Roger, when she swiftly looked at Roger too rapidly indeed as he wasn't able to change the expression of hatred and detestation on his face.

'Mr Lindsay he's with his wife, don't you think we should leave them some privacy?'

The look on his face back then…it was so…more than disappointed.

Was he…

"Oh, Mrs Dewitt Bukater you look quite sick," he held out his hand his appearance once more as she remembered it. That of a real gentleman – as Mr Hockley would say.

…in love with her daughter?

In utter shock Ruth took a step back the realization hitting her out of the blue. She heard herself telling him something as if some other person would in fact be speaking.

She couldn't get to her room fast enough.