"Oh my darling! My beautiful darling!" Ruth sobbed as she hugged Rose so tightly she felt she would suffocate.
Rose could only sit stiffly, grimacing, hating the very feel of her mother's grip. Goodness, why had she said yes? Why had she come here? This was...why, this was utter torture.
Finally, at long last, Ruth pulled back, smiling a watery smile at Rose. "Oh goodness Rose, I thought...we...we thought...oh this is...this is such a miracle! I...I can't believe it. I can't believe it," she said, as she smoothed Rose's red hair.
Rose stared back blankly, not saying a word. "Oh Cal...why...why this is such a miracle!" Ruth said as she turned to flash a patented, trade-mark smile at Cal. "Th...thank you so much for restoring my daughter to me, our Rose!"
Rose fought the urge to gag, and, for the umpteenth time, was so shocked, so flabbergasted, so disgusted, that neither Cal nor Ruth had even bothered to even ask about Jack. Ask what had happened. Ask how she was doing, for goodness sake!
True, she had stiffly told Cal Jack had died, but he had not even offered a word of comfort, a word of anything. He had not said a word, only stared back at her, impenetrable.
And her mother...god she was despicable! Did she really think Jack just magically disappeared, vanished? Did she think Jack had been a ghost, or some such ridiculous thing?
Then it hit her. Of course they would have known he had died. His name would not have appeared on the survivor's list, as hers had not.
But it did not make it any less deplorable.
Grimacing again as her mother began to caress her pale cheek, the scent of her mother's ghastly, familiar perfume clouding her nostrils, she breathed hard and tried not to scream.
She looked at Cal, where he was watching the pair of them, leaning against the dark gray parlor wall, arms crossed, his hair down and slightly messy, dark blue sweater vest on over a white dress-shirt, pants and shoes perfect as always. He was such a darkly handsome man and somehow, the gray of the wall fit him: Dark, just like he was. It was a cold, dreary day anyhow, as it was September, and Rose felt cold. Her mother's grip felt cold. Everything about the mansion felt cold, ominous. There were so many servants, too, but she hardly ever saw them, strangely. When not working, they seemed to disappear, fade, as if they were ghosts. They were helpful, polite, well-spoken, but so quiet. It was vaguely creepy; disconcerting.
Cal had such an odd, peculiar expression on his face...almost expressionless. It was so odd: He had hardly said two words to her since they had arrived yesterday evening.
He had had the servants show her to her room, and suggested she eat something, to her snappy refusal.
Then he had simply left her there, alone in her spacious, warmly decorated room. She mused the room must not have ever been used before, but oddly, she liked it: It suited her. It was old, yes, and huge, yes, but it was so old-fashioned, so...perfect. His mansion was so large, with so many staircases and rooms and hidden dwellings that she almost felt certain there was probably something as far-fetched as a ghost in it; something ominous. Especially at night.
And just the very fact that it was so large made her feel over-whelmed; it would take days to explore every inch of the mansion. She thought she might do that later, when she was sure he was gone.
But she could not deny being able to bathe properly, be dressed in warm, decent clothes, and almost...pampered, for a change, had been heaven.
Ironic. She had always hated such things, but after living the life she had been living for most of the spring and summer, she found such luxuries were no longer nuisances. At least, not as much as she had thought initially.
Pulling back to her observation of him, she started at her mother's gentle clearing of her throat.
Cal started, and suddenly he smiled gently at Ruth. "It was no trouble at all, Ruth," he said. "It...it was the least I could do," his eyes moving to Rose.
She felt a jolt in her stomach at the contact, and hastily averted her eyes.
Ruth simpered sweetly, and then turned back to Rose, continuing to caress her soft red hair, touching her, over and over again, breathing in the scent of roses from her bath earlier, as if in a trance. It was as though she still felt Rose was a ghost, a mere phantom that would disappear in the blink of an eye.
"You're still so beautiful, darling," she said, as she ran her eyes over Rose's form. To the average witness it appeared nothing but motherly reverence was the reason for her attentions, but Rose knew better. Ruth was searching for the tiniest flaws to correct, primp.
She turned Rose's head slightly, critically examining her daughter. "I suppose your hair could do with some proper brushing and taming again, and you are a bit thinner than you were, but other than that, you look wonderful. I...tomorrow, I am having tea with the Countess! We will get you some brand-new gowns, in the latest styles, the latest fashions all the way from London and Paris! And...yes, we'll get you some new corsets too. In fact," she simpered airily, smiling, "We can just get you some new stockings as well. You'll look much improved Rose!"
Rose felt like gagging. She didn't want new gowns, in the latest styles, the latest fashions from London and Paris! She didn't want those horrid, constricting cages, those blasted corsets again! That at least had been one good thing about being a prostitute: no corsets.
But of course, she knew she would get them, as she always had.
"Was that dreadful shelter really so horrible? I can only imagine, living among the poor!" She said, shuddering.
Rose rolled her eyes. The cover story was that Rose had simply been extremely ill, lost and disoriented and so had been taken in among other survivors off the Carpathia.
It had taken months and months for her to heal, but somehow, she had, and the press had been making public the shelter.
Cal, on a desperate hunch, had simply visited there on his business trip, somehow hoping, wishing, she really was not dead as they all knew she was, and lo and behold, had found her. Rescued her!
"It was fine," she said airily. "Perfectly fine."
Ruth smiled. "Well...goodness, this is such wonderful news! You...Oh, you and Cal can be married soon! Oh..."
Rose started, blanching, heart pounding, feeling sick. Oh goodness no!
She coughed theatrically, putting her hand to her head. "No...We can't. I...I'm still ill," she said, shifting her eyes towards Cal.
He looked back at her, expressionless. Then he surprised her by speaking. "Yes, Ruth. She is. I...the doctor was here earlier; she is still on strict medication."
Rose was shocked. He...what?
Ruth gasped, putting a perfectly manicured hand to her mouth, and then embraced Rose again. "Oh my darling! Oh, then...well...the wedding can wait, as long as you can heal and heal well," she said.
Rose forced herself to woodenly embrace Ruth again, and then finally, Ruth pulled back and placed a single kiss on Rose's cheek. "Goodbye Rose darling," she said, and then she surprised her: She smiled at her, and then grew serious, and then said, "Rose, it will be just like it used to be, before the dreadful sinking. We...we will go back to being mother and daughter, as it used to be. I...I love you," she said, embracing her again.
Rose glared. Like it used to be? They had never had a relationship! Was her mother so deluded she thought they had ever been close, when it was so clear they hadn't?
Ruth got up, putting her gloves on primly, slowly, perfectly, and then said, "Rose darling, will you walk me to the door? Mr. Hockley, it was a pleasure as always," she said, going to him and kissing his cheek.
He smiled slowly, evenly. "The pleasure was all mine," he said. Ruth smiled brightly, and then briskly walked over to Rose, collected her by the arm, and leisurely walked her out.
Rose was shocked. Why ever did they get on so well?
The door to the parlor shut behind them. Taking her arms, Ruth said, "Rose, I...you must forget that steerage boy. I know you are still angry, still going through this...this rebellion. But...he is dead, and you must forget him. You never would have been happy with him anyway...he was far beneath you. You belong here, with us. This...this is your proper place," she said snootily.
Turning red, Rose wanted to claw her. "Forget him? Forget him? Mother, I don't know who you think you are, but I loved him! I still love him! You...you just think that I'm going to forget him, as if he was a bad cup of tea? I don't belong here...and I'm not...I'm not going to stay long. So..."
At least that was her plan. Where she would go, how she would get out, when the time came, she did not know.
Ruth blanched. "Rose, whatever has gotten into you! You are so fortunate that Mr. Hockley still loves you, that you survived, that you have a home! You are so ungrateful and disrespectful! Now, you are going to stay here, you are going to follow the rules, behave, and you will be the woman I raised you to be!"
Rose scoffed. "So a mindless, shallow ninny like you?"
Ruth's nostrils flared. "I am not going to stand here and listen to this! Rose, I...I love you, despite your difficulties, and when I see you again, hopefully your attitude will have improved considerably!"
She briskly kissed Rose, donned her bonnet, and swept out of the mansion.
Rose seethed. Such wonderful quality family time, such mother-daughter bonding they had!
It was late. Very late. Rose sobbed quietly as she stared across the black backyard, the moon's gloominess touching everything.
It was cold, but it did not bother her, even in her nightgown.
God, why oh why had she come here? Why? This was...why this was horrible! But the core of her sorrow tonight, was him, of course, again. The loss of him was literally killing her.
She thought of Jack, his handsome face flashing before her eyes, causing only more tears to appear. God, she missed him so much! She was so lonely! Why had he left her here, alone, in this cruel world? Why?
Vaguely, she realized how expansive, how wide the backyard grounds were.
She could run. She could run as if her life depended on it, run, run, and escape this.
The idea was so easy, so...inviting.
But thinking of Jack again only made her face crumple more and more tears fall.
She didn't even realize somebody was behind her until she heard a throat clear.
She turned, hastily wiping her eyes, and he was there, standing there, quietly, still dressed.
She gasped, trying to cover herself with her arms.
"Don't do this to yourself, Rose," he said quietly. "It...it does not help, in the long run. Trust me. I...I know from experience," he said awkwardly.
She swiped her eyes again, heart pounding, realizing what he meant by that. He meant her. "I...you could at least have made your presence known," she said frostily.
He said nothing.
"Rose, you...doing this, thinking of Dawson everyday...making yourself cry...it does not..."
Suddenly fury gripped her. He had no right to say his name!
"You don't get to say his name! You do not have any right to say anything to me, not after all that you did! You're such a bastard! You...god I hate you! Words cannot explain how much!..."
Cal looked at her. "Oh silly me, how uncalled for that I came out here when I realized you were upset, and I was trying to comfort you as best I could! Goodness Rose, you are such an irritating woman it's pathetic!"
She scoffed. "Please! You are the most deplorable man in existence! You..."
He scoffed, rolling his eyes upward, and then looked at her, growing serious.
"You know Rose, nothing is ever, ever good enough for you! Nothing! I...goodness, I try so damn hard to please you, so damn hard, and nothing is ever good enough. And you...it's so ironic. You pride yourself on how far above all us other first-class members you are, how worldly, how unprejudiced, how "human" you believe you are. You think of all of us as prejudiced, snobby, heartless monsters, with no feelings or morals whatsoever, and think that you and others are just the most saintly, faultless creatures in existence. But what's so strange, darling, is that you are just as damn prejudiced and narrow-minded against us as you think we are to everyone else!"
She stared at him, shocked. Then words came to her.
"I know I am above you all, because I am! All of you don't have any feelings, don't have any morals, don't have...don't have anything at all of humanity in you!"
He scoffed, smirking at her. "Well Rose darling, I'd look in the mirror if I were you. If you could only see how snobby and self-centered you can act at times, you'd realize you are just like you think the rest of us are."
She scoffed, rage and derision flooding her.
"How dare you! You are nothing but a heartless, selfish monster who..."
He smirked. "And this is the thanks I get for saving your life, for taking you into my home, rescuing you from that waste of a life you were living? Goodness, if Dawson could only see you now...I doubt even he'd act like you...though I don't think anyone is as bratty and childish as you.."
She did not think through the impact of her next words, though they were just what she longed to say.
Rage and grief rising to tantamount levels in her, she suddenly screeched, "Shut up Cal! Just shut up! God...Oh I wish you had died instead of him! I wish it every waking moment of every waking day! I wonder why God let such a wonderful man die every day, and wonder why he let such a useless, pathetic, waste of a man live every single damn day!"
After she said them, she felt so satisfied, so wonderful...but she felt shocked, too.
She watched his face freeze, turn expressionless, his dark eyes boring into hers. He blinked.
He stared at her, and she stared back, angry, breathing hard.
Then he smirked, and he came closer to her. Anger visited his features, and he said, "Well darling," he said, though the way he said the endearment rendered it akin to a corrosive, "a word of advice: I'd watch that pretty little mouth of yours, because you really do have a damn habit of saying the most disgusting things."
Breathing hard, he thought and then anger and hurt made him say it: "And besides, Rose darling, you know, thinking about it, I believe Dawson died to get away from you. It would not surprise me in the slightest, you make everyone around you so damn miserable. He probably only saw you as an easy lay anyway, or else he would have stuck around longer."
Rose blinked, feeling gutted. Tears reached her eyes, and she said, "Get the hell away from me!"
He still stood there, and she yelled, "Get the hell away from me!"
Smirking, he said, "Gladly. But for future reference, kindly remember this is my home, and you, my darling, are only a boarder!"
She closed her eyes, tears threatening to fall.
Cal watched her, and somehow, he felt...guilty. But then he remembered how she had started it, how completely out of line she had been, how hurtful she had been to him, how gutted he had felt at her comment, and he felt a little better.
"Sweet dreams," he said sarcastically, and then stormed into the mansion, leaving her there.
Rose crumpled into a ball and sobbed.
Cal went into the darkened parlor and slammed the door, grabbing a drink. He blinked.
God had his heart ever felt like shattering at her words.
He smirked, balling his hand into a fist, drinking. He did not need her. She was such an ungrateful whore anyway. And so damn disrespectful!...
So why did he feel so empty inside, so hurt at her words?
As he drank more and more into the evening, he hoped it would slowly heal the wound in his heart that only seemed to open more and more in her presence.