Rose awoke feeling strangely refreshed, despite how early it was. Even though she had rather foolishly stayed up until three in the morning reading, she still felt…quite strangely, fine.
The cold, fierce winter wind beat against the windows, and little tiny icicles, like ghostly fingers, rattled the panes.
But she could not truly focus on any of these things. Ever since that morning, what seemed an eternity ago, when she had awoken, alone in Cal's bed, embarrassed, blushing, fumbling, slightly aching, and out of her mind with shock. To later find he had, for all intents and purposes, abandoned her for a business trip, with no prior word or warning-not even a proper note, just a tiny, dinky message, really-had cut her, however very slightly. It made her so confused, so very perturbed. Why? Just why had he left her like that? After what they had done?
Rose could not deny that through all of these undulating, gray, never-ending days of solitude, her heart had seemed to puncture just a bit more each day, at his absence. It was so strange, so laughable, so utterly and completely foreign to her, but-she missed him. Cal. She actually, for once in her life, missed him. Missed his smirks and his inappropriate comments. Missed his jokes, his conversation at the dinner table, his willingness to play chess with her, his willingness to go do something as completely childish and ridiculous as ice skate with her. Missed talking about exciting things they would soon do, like sledding, as he had promised her, or in the summer, horseback riding and going to the amusement park. Missed unraveling new secrets about him every day. Missed the very scent of his cologne, or the way his hair looked when he was home. Missed his handsome face...Goodness-simply missed his very company.
And, though profusely embarrassing, and a bit alarming, not a day went by when she wouldn't close her eyes and flash back to their night together and wish she could go back in time and relive it, over and over and over again. She sometimes wanted nothing more than for him to somehow, miraculously, walk through those large mansion doors and kiss her as though her life depended on it. Touch her anywhere and everywhere, to carry her upstairs and lay her down on his bed and have his way with her…
Her thoughts were cut off as suddenly, she was overtaken by a sudden, severe bout of terrible nausea that sent her running for her adjoined bathroom. She made it just in time, and was promptly sick for what seemed hours, though it was probably only ten minutes of agony.
After, Rose simply laid down on the cold porcelain tiles, her nightgown and face almost as pale as the tile, and panted. She still felt very, very nauseous all of a sudden, and had the most terrible feeling she was about to be sick again soon, if not now. Her suspicions were proved correct, and she vomited twice more before having a very, very short break. She moaned in agony. This was the most terrible bout of nausea she had ever had! She couldn't ever remember feeling this sick—or miserable. As she quickly sat up and vomited again, she vaguely realized that at least she hadn't gotten anything in her hair or on her nightgown. Small comfort.
Her head still leaning over the toilet, she suddenly heard a woman clearing her throat, and said, without having the energy to look over her shoulder, weakly said, "Charlotte, is that you?"
Charlotte weakly smiled and came and knelt by her side, rubbing her back and smoothing her hair. "I was just passing by, and heard, and decided to investigate. I assume you're not hungry?"
Rose moaned again and then was sick again, before wiping her mouth on her hand, turning around, and leaning back against the toilet. "No, definitely not hungry."
Charlotte still watched Rose, smoothing her stark black work dress uniform and white apron over her knees, and her eyes held the oddest mixture of pity and sympathy. It baffled Rose.
Taking deep breaths to compose herself, and feeling her strength somewhat ebbing back, however very slowly, Rose sat up and said, "Charlotte, what is it? You just have this look on your face that suggests I'm dying, or some such thing," she said, laughing weakly.
Charlotte still was quiet. "What, no witty reply or joke like usual? What is it? I'm not dying-though it certainly felt like it a few minutes ago…Oh, I'm sure it's just a stomach bug. The flu or something-it is winter, after all."
Finally, Charlotte spoke. "Rose, please-I need to talk to you, right now. And I don't mean to-to alarm you, or to make you fearful. I-I consider you a second daughter, in a way, and you are, for certain, the only likeable young first-class girl I've ever had to deal with, in all my years of being a servant." Here the older woman smiled, showing slight wrinkles around her mouth. Yet Rose still felt unsure.
Her stomach felt like lead. "Charlotte, you're-you're scaring me. Please, just tell me."
Charlotte took a deep breath and went and shut the bathroom door, ensuring them complete privacy. Again, Rose felt nervous, butterflies beginning to swarm in her stomach.
Charlotte smoothed her frizzy, coarse golden hair back, adjusted her hat, and then sat down again.
"Rose, I've had the suspicion ever since, but-please, tell me. You and Mr. Hockley were intimate before he left, weren't you?"
Here Rose blushed furiously, the red of her face a stark contrast to the paleness of before, unable to meet Charlotte's gaze.
"Rose? Please, it's-it's nothing to be embarrassed about."
Finally, Rose did, still blushing. "Oh god-do all the servants know?" She asked, her voice coming out strangled.
Charlotte looked at her with even more pity. "In a manner of speaking…yes. But it's bound to happen, what with laundry and all. I can honestly say that even first-class families never have secrets hidden from us, though they fancy themselves they do…"
Rose laughed a little, bitterly. "Oh and I suppose you're all gossiping about it-"
Charlotte shook her head. "Oh, no, no Rose. It's frankly none of our business, anyway. Do not worry; nobody is gossiping. I assure you-and I wouldn't allow it."
Rose looked at Charlotte. "Oh I'm-I'm sorry. I know at least you wouldn't-"
She smiled softly. "Oh it's quite all right, Rose. But-now that I have my answer, I have another question to ask. A rather personal one."
Rose snorted. "Well go ahead and ask."
Charlotte leaned forward and asked, quietly, "Have you had your monthly course yet, Rose?"
Here Rose looked at her, alarmed. "N-no. I-I usually get it-"
She grew cold as she realized just how late she was…She was never late, and had never skipped a period before…But she had not even noticed…even appreciated it…
Beginning to panic, she said, "Oh Charlotte, you-you can't be saying what I think you're-"
Charlotte nodded solemnly, the usual devious twinkle in her eyes gone. "And I will just have you know, that when I discovered I was pregnant with Michael, Benjamin, and Samantha, I felt just as sick and miserable as you feel now in the early days," she said, referring to her three children, now fully grown.
Feeling like she was going to be sick again, just from the news, Rose balled her fists, digging her nails into her palms, and glared ahead of her, tears beginning to reach her eyes. Pregnant? She, Rose, was pregnant with Cal's child? Carrying that unimaginable bastard's child, when she couldn't even have been lucky enough to carry a child of Jack's?
No. No! She couldn't be-she couldn't be-
She felt, now, that her entire world had gone dark. Now, oh now she would never escape first-class life! She would never escape Cal…even though she knew that life with him wasn't so bad…even pleasant…. even though she knew that he himself wasn't so bad…
But it still cut her. Anger residing, now all she felt was a raw sense of panic, and more tears ran down her face. Charlotte still watched her, unsure of what to do, and simply patted her hand and embraced her once.
"P-Please, Charlotte, just-just leave me alone. Please," she said, looking at her beseechingly, and Charlotte nodded. "Of course, Rose, but may I advise you to have the doctor come today as well? Just-just as a final say?"
Rose nodded, swiping her cheeks, and Charlotte said, "I truly am sorry, Rose. But if I may say, this is not the end of the world."
Rose didn't even respond, and as soon as she was sure Charlotte was gone, she locked her bedroom door and laid down on her bed and sobbed.
How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so foolish, so careless, as to be intimate with Cal when it was so very clear that falling pregnant was such a possibility, such a fatal result? But of course, at the time her thoughts had been somewhere else entirely…
And oh god, her mother! Her mother would have a panic attack! She would probably die of shame for knowing her daughter had been intimate with her (former) fiancé outside of marriage. And everyone would look down on her at parties and cotillions-be even more snide and snotty and catty than usual-
She could not admit it, even to herself, but as she cried more and more, and thought more and more, it hit her that, despite it all, no matter how unwanted this was, how frightening, how damning this was, she didn't hate the child growing inside of her-if this was indeed what this was. Somehow, she…she loved it. Loved it.
And…even more damning yet-she couldn't deny that though this baby meant that she would effectively be tied to Cal forever-though this baby meant that she would have to marry him, as just the very idea of a pregnancy out of wedlock was entirely too scandalous and foolish to consider-the idea didn't really scare her. Or make her want to run for the hills, at least too much. Or even disgust her. In fact, the idea-the idea made her almost-almost happy. And she couldn't understand it. Couldn't, couldn't, couldn't. But she couldn't deny that it was almost like she had finally fallen for-had feelings for h-
As she was suddenly hit with a most vivid image of him kissing her, as he had that night, she tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, the flushing of her cheeks, and the rapid racing of her heartbeat.
No. No. She would not think of that now. She wouldn't…
And as she got up and composed herself as best she could, and called for Charlotte and waited for her to dress her, she also tried to ignore the sudden mental image of Cal, hair tousled even more so in excitement, face beaming in happiness as he twirled her around and then pulled her to his chest in happiness as she told him she was carrying their child, and then the fantasy of him kissing her, pulling her to him, against him, so she could feel his heart rapidly beating for her, and then carrying her upstairs to make sweet, sweet love to her…She tried to ignore her intense desire for that to happen, above all. Above anything…She tried to ignore the happy, pleasant feelings the fantasy filled her body, and very being, to the brim with…
As she was laced into her corset, she tried to ignore all of these things and just focus on the doctor saying she was quite simply mistaken…
It was snowing even more deeply after the doctor left. She simply went to Charlotte, nodded yes, and locked herself in her bedroom again, simply lying on her bed, watching the already dim winter daylight grow dimmer still until it was dark.
Tears reaching her eyes again, she simply touched her stomach.
It was indeed happening. She was going to be a mother, at barely seventeen and a half years old. The fact wasn't uncommon to her, or even unheard of to her. Lots of girls her age were pregnant, and even girls a bit younger than her-but, of course, they all had proper husbands to care for them. Something she lacked, at least at the present time. And they all weren't outcasts for it, as she would be, if the secret came out now-not that she would tell anyone! Charlotte was the only one who knew, besides the doctor, and she knew both were sworn to secrecy, though both for different reasons.
Going over to the soft chair by the window, she undid her curtains a bit and drew snowflakes and other patterns on the cold glass. Staring outside at the black outdoors, a single tree branch blowing in the wind the only thing she could see at present, she went back and laid on her bed again, this time on her side.
She could not deny she was terribly, terribly nervous to tell him. Cal. When he finally came home next Thursday evening.
She wondered what his reaction would be. Happy, she hoped. She couldn't tell. She couldn't exactly imagine him being angry about it, but…she could never tell, with him. But what if he was? What if he cast her out of his home, his life, because of it, leaving her to die in poverty?
Then she snorted a little, though not as strongly as she usually did, she was still so frazzled and upset and shocked. Her mind was reeling. She felt she could faint at any moment. She at least knew she would be alternately crying a lot and then even laughing a little bit at the situation in the next few days. She didn't even know whether to laugh or cry now. She had to at least credit herself for not fainting at all today, as most girls probably would have…
She knew she was being ridiculous. Cal wouldn't do that, would not do that to her. To their child. This was, after all, the very man, who, even after she had cheated on him, thrown it back in his face, and then later made him believe she was dead, still took her into his home without a second thought. Even after being a prostitute, no less.
Then suddenly she started laughing, almost deliriously. The very situation was pure irony. It was like something out of the worst kind of nightmare. It was almost comical, really! She, Rose, had to have the worst luck and timing out of any girl in the whole world! At least all of first-class. Here she was, pregnant with her…her murderous boor of an ex-fiancé's child, bound to the one man she hated above all others…and, not only that, but she had also lost the love of her life in the Titanic's sinking, after failing to conceive with him!
Then she sobered, at both thoughts. Particularly the one about Jack, yes, but also the one about Cal. She knew what she had just said about Cal was pure nonsense, now. Pure…well, pure childishness. Untrue. She closed her eyes and felt ashamed for laughing at all of that…but she knew it was simply out of shock. Nothing more and nothing less.
She knew that Cal had never been any of those things. Had never been. She had always been so blind and stubborn and downright terrible to him. But what truly struck her was that, when she really, truly thought about it, that in their terrible world of appearances, snobbery, white gloves, and perfect, rehearsed smiles…he really was her only friend…
And not only that, but the man, though she tried in vain to fight it, that she was rapidly, somehow, falling head over heels for…
Tears reaching her eyes again, she closed her eyes and touched her still-flat stomach again, butterflies beginning to rapidly swarm again at the prospect of his homecoming next week. She still had no idea how she would tell him…
As sleep gradually overcame her, she knew that, in the morning, she would be again, in vain, trying to excuse and to not be affected by the dreams that would come, unbidden, that would only be much more in-depth versions of her fantasies of earlier.