Despite my best efforts to get to the hospital in a timely fashion, I wound up getting to the hospital later than I would have preferred. Sylvie had asked me to take the boys to the park in the morning while she visited some friends with the girl, then Mr. Welton had called and asked me to come down to the offices. Mary's paperwork needed to be sorted through to see if anything sensitive had been sent off to 'Francis' and he wanted to go over what had been found with me.

Fortunately, nothing too important had made its way out, but it did mean I pulled up to the hospital right before dinner was served.

The secretary waved me through, a few men in the halls nodded to me, and I slipped into the ward I had been assigned. Some of the men had been moved out, but I still recognized Mr. Collins who gave a glad wave. "Mrs. Murdoch, we were getting worried!"

"I would have been here sooner if I could," I sighed, setting my bag down and letting Rigel loose. "I also would have brought something for you all to drink if Dr. Humphry hadn't forbidden it."

A round of grumbles ensued, along with a few muttered curses directed at the fine doctor. But another round of chocolate was appreciated, as was Rigel. I smiled as I watched him wander the ward, accepting the attention that was his due. While they liked the chocolate, and I'm quite sure having a woman visit was appreciated, I think he lifted their spirits more than anything. He was a perfect gentleman, gently licking hands and bumping his head on knees.

It turned out that since I was there in time for dinner, Mr. Collins invited me to dine with all of them. I was glad to, they were good company.

As he was eating a spoonful of mashed potatoes, Mr. Collins sighed. "I won't have to be dealing with this for much longer."

I glanced over, "You're leaving?"

"Next week." He shook his head. "The wife will be happy to have me home, but Lord above knows what I'll do for work."

"It's bad enough with all the women taking jobs," One of the others grumbled, before nodding to me. "No offense, ma'am."

"I employ plenty of women," I shot back, "And that was before the war even started. But I'm sure there's something you can do when you get home, Mr. Collins."

He cast a withering glance at me. "Who would want to employ a one-armed man?"

"You'd be surprised." I shrugged, meeting his gaze. "I know quite a few sailors that are missing fingers, hands, even an arm." The talk continued on for a bit, and none of it was positive. Apparently, the only thing that could be worse in the job market than being a veteran was being an Irish veteran according to Collins, and he had to suffer with both. A few others commiserated, especially those from the Empire. Not only did they have to risk their lives sailing home, but there was unlikely to be ready work waiting for them.

The nurse who came to clear away the plates simply raised a brow at all their complaints, "Now boys, you know we do our best to help you get on your feet." She pointed to the piano in the corner, "Andrew, go play something to make them stop this nonsense."

Andrew, a younger man who walked with the stiff gait of an elder, made his way over to the piano and began picking at the keys. I hastily reached for the chocolate, loudly remarking on how I wanted to play cards again and take them all on. Between the music and the cards, one of them had chosen whist as the game, the atmosphere slowly began to relax.

I was just considering my next move when Andrew began to sing, his voice clear and strong. "A cold dark night, a sea of ice, a ship out on the ocean, all fitted out by man's device." A few of the other men in their beds groaned theatrically, begging him to play something else. Andrews just chuckled, playing on.

I didn't realize what the song was about, too focused on my cards, until he sang the final verse. "The sky grows black, the icebergs crack, and death hangs o'er the water, but 'Women first!' the orders rang, for mother and for daughter. Acry, a shriek, but who can speak? For then the waters parted, the sea was cleft; and what was left, for the living broken hearted?"

He finished with a flourish, accepting the slight applause from the others. Another song was called for, and I fumbled my way through losing my current hand. I could hear him start playing again, and my heart was hammering in my chest. I couldn't listen to another song, not about that ship. Even though the ward was kept warm, I felt a cold breeze and shivered beneath my dress. But the men were enjoying themselves, enjoying playing cards and petting Rigel and I couldn't upset that.

Andrew played yet another song about Titanic, but I fled before the second verse was finished, his smooth singing voice following me as I stumbled into the hallway. "Out in the sea, parted from me, down in the deep he is sleeping,fearless and brave, his life he gave, and the angels their watch will be keeping."

I ran from the memory of Father on the deck, the moment I lost my hold on his hand tearing through me and leaving a wound that still hadn't healed. I couldn't get it out of my mind, the loss of that strong hand that had always been there for me. His ghost couldn't hold me, the hand that had guided me in my first steps would never comfort me again.

I had found a bench, sinking down and burying my face in my hands as the sobs ripped through me. I did my best to keep quiet, but must have given myself away for I heard someone sit next to me. "Mrs. Murdoch, what's wrong?"

I lifted my face briefly to see Mr. Collins there, his hand holding a handkerchief out to me. I nodded my thanks as I took it. "I, just, the song. It affected me. I'm sorry, I'll be alright in a moment."

"Ah, I forget how sensitive you ladies can be." He awkwardly patted my shoulder. "I can tell Andrew not to play anything too sentimental."

I dabbed at my eyes, "Sentimental is fine, it's just, that ship. Did he know?"

"Know what?"

I turned to meet his gaze, "That I was on that ship."

"Christ, he might have." Collins dragged his hand down his face, "Bloody fool's obsessed with the damn thing, he even has books on it." He shrugged though, "He never mentioned it to any of us while you weren't here, so I'm not sure."

"I can't stand to hear those songs." I sniffed, wiping at my eyes. "They remind me too much of my father. He didn't make it off."

Collins stood, coming around to my other side so he could put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'll tell him not to play anything related to it anymore."

"Thank you." I gave my eyes one last pat with his handkerchief, holding it out. "I should like to do something for you, Luke."

"You've already done quite a bit." He grinned, "You've certainly made my last weeks here more tolerable."

I snorted, "Chocolate and cards, that's hardly doing much." I glanced to him, "You said you think you're going to have a hard time finding work when you get out, I could help with that."

"You know someone hiring?"

I smirked, "I am, I could certainly use some help at the moment."

Collins flushed, "I, you don't need to do that, ma'am. Your husband's pay can't support us both."

"Mr. Collins," I drew myself up, "My husband is not the wealthy one in our marriage, and I can assure you I can pay you an adequate wage and enough for you to live in comfort."

His brow furrowed, "How-"

"I mentioned I know a lot of sailors, it's because they work for me." I enjoyed the way he was clearly trying to puzzle it out. "I run a very successful shipping company, and at the moment, I am rather overwhelmed and find myself in need of an assistant. I would quite gladly take you on, if you were willing."

"Mrs. Murdoch," He shifted on the bend, wrapping his hand around himself. "I can't even write anymore."

"Then I'll hire a tutor to teach you to write with your other hand." I shrugged, "Plenty of people write with their left hands."

He still didn't look comfortable. "But, but where would I stay? My wife is in Wales, I don't have anywhere to stay here."

"I have a cot in my husband's office that you can use until you can find an apartment to rent, or maybe even a house for you to bring your wife over." Everything seemed to make much more sense now, for this was something I could do. Cheering them up was useful, but providing support for them after seemed even more necessary. "Now, I would like you to start as soon as possible. I have a trip up to Scotland in a few weeks to look at houses up there and I would be glad to have someone who could tend to things here while I'm gone."

I think I could have knocked over Collins with a feather, for he was rather unsteady as he helped me to my feet and we made our way back. A smile kept playing around his lips, and he tried to speak several times before just shaking his head. It made my grin, which grew only wider when I heard a different man singing a bawdy song at the piano.

He cut off quickly though, turning beet red as I came in. I smirked, "Oh don't stop on my account."

Andrew, now at the table with an eye for the cards, blushed. "But you're a lady."

"A lady married to a sailor who has been around sailors since I was a child." I teased, enjoying the chuckles the remark drew. "I promise you, there is little you could say to shock me." They relaxed a bit at that, although they still kept things far too respectable. I would have preferred they curse a bit, joke with each other and tease me, but perhaps that was too much to ask for.

But they all appeared in good spirits, and Rigel was currently laid out on the floor, his tail thumping quite loudly as one man scratched his belly. I risked a glance to Andrew, hoping that he wasn't staring at me. He wasn't, fortunately, which gave me a minute to consider him. I didn't know much about the men here, they preferred to talk about anything other than themselves. He looked to be roughly my age, even though he winced every time he moved.

None of them had revealed why they were in the hospital or where they had received their injuries, but I could make a few guesses. My thought was that Andrew's back had been injured, judging by the way he groaned and moved slowly when he had to. But he didn't let that stop him, playing cards happily and joking with the others.

I needed to be careful around him, for if he found out about Will and I, I would never hear the end of it.

Oscar Vanderbilt spent the first day of his crossing getting well and truly drunk. It was only after the ship, an American one to avoid the U-boat threat, left the river and entered the Atlantic that the magnitude of what he had set out on hit him. Leaving his family behind, missing out on meeting his first niece or nephew, putting his life at risk, it all fell onto his shoulders in a blow that staggered him. No matter his apologies to his sister for being the worst brother in history, no matter how he bared his feels of inadequacy to his parents, it would make no difference. He knew they would be angry, furious, but then they would be sad and he would have been the cause of all of it.

It left him with two options, get drunk or hide in his cabin and cry his way across.

He chose the former, setting himself up at the bar and finishing glass after glass of whiskey. He was lucky in that there were few first class passengers on this trip, even with the Kaiser's assurance that passenger ships were safe, not many trusted that they would make it safely across the Atlantic. It meant he was spared the endless questions about why he was travelling, only having to answer it a few times.

When he was first asked, he shrugged and said he was off to see to Alfred's estate, which was not actually a lie. Alfred had left him some of his business and property in Britain, and he did need to attend to it. He had given that as an excuse to his parents in their letter, along with the need he felt to do something to help bring around the end of the war. William was actually fighting, if only in the safest way one could, but Oscar couldn't. Even if he was going to be one of those American boys jumping the border to Canada and enlisting, he knew he wasn't made for the trenches.

What he was made for though, was intelligence.

Oscar had always enjoyed playing various roles in society as needed, it had been fun to trick Zachary when he had bought Anastasia her wedding gifts. He had done jokes like it during school, spinning stories about how his friends were members of the peerage and were looking for a future duchess or countess. One time when one of them actually had been the heir to an earldom, Oscar had passed a rather boring party by convincing everyone there that he had only been invited as the earl was interested in his sister.

Professor Featherstone had enjoyed those stories when Oscar had visited him at home for some advice for a project, and he had even caught his daughter, Penelope, smirking at them. He figured that skill would be useful in intelligence, creating a new identity and using that to gain information. Featherstone had seemed to think so when Oscar had wrote him about his idea a few months ago, the relief in his letters coming through in waves when Oscar had said he would come over and help.

So he passed the crossing honing his skill, doing his best to remember what fake details he told to which person and keeping them straight even as he drank enough to drown a fish. What he was doing may be fun, and it may be useful to the war effort, but it was damn hard. It wasn't the lying, he'd lied enough in his life to do it well, it was leaving New York behind. While he knew Cambridge and London well, it wasn't home. He wouldn't have his sister coming around to drag him out on some errand, or his father calling him up to his office to ask his opinion on some matter. There wouldn't be parties or the theater, he would have to learn an entirely new set of skills but there was one benefit.

He could see Anastasia.

Even if Ruth hadn't asked him to find her, he would have. It may not be the first thing he would do, and he would likely be too busy for his first few weeks, but he would make his way to Southampton and find her. The only question was if he would reveal himself to her. Oscar wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and tell her how glad he was that she was alive and safe, that he would do anything to help her while they were both over there, but it may be the wrong thing to do. People could think he was her lover or she could grow angry with him.

God, when Anastasia was in a temper she was never more tempting. Her brown eyes flashing, her hair loose and flying as she yelled, he could have sat and watched her for hours. Any tongue lashing was worth the view, for she never stayed angry long. Soon enough she would slow and grow angry with herself for being angry, he had seen it often enough. The only person he had seen her really hold a grudge against was Zachary, and then Henry.

Thinking about that in his cabin the night before they arrived made him groan, for when they docked, he would have to endure the sight of Reichster Transport's docks. It was the only thing they were making money through these days, their German offices suffering from the stranglehold the British blockade was causing. Oscar would have preferred they had abandoned those offices before the war, he would have enjoyed seeing their fortune fade away. But the British were paying out the nose for any kind of support, so while they weren't making as much money as Mrs. Dalian was, they were still comfortable.

Comfortable was the last thing he wanted for them to be after what they had done to Anastasia. After Henry's last attempt, he had contemplated going to William and proposing that they both fund someone to take the bastard out. He didn't deserve to keep breathing after what he had done, and Oscar dearly wanted to ensure that he didn't. But he hadn't, because deep down, Oscar was not a killer. Not even indirectly, it just wasn't in his nature.

But he could see the Reichsters ruined, and if he could help ensure that while he was over here, he would. Now, of course he wouldn't mention that to Featherstone, but if he could lead the British into seizing their Liverpool offices, well, that would be grand. He could try and convince them to turn them over to Anastasia, she was as devoted to the British cause as any American could be, even if it was just to see her husband safe.

Of course, he would have to do something big in order to swing something like that.

He spent most of the train ride to London thinking over what he could do, but in the end it was all up to Professor Featherstone. Oscar left his trunks at Alfred's, now his, house and told the staff he would be back later. He only spent a few minutes in it, but it had Alfred written all over it. New furniture, fixtures, a well stocked bar and a number of fox skins displayed proudly. He had wrinkled his nose at those, he would have them removed. It may have been Alfred's favorite sport, he had loved to ride with the hounds, but Oscar couldn't stand it. A deer at least had a good chance to flee, a fox was just rode down.

But he wasn't here to fox hunt anyway, and he took Alfred's car to Professor Featherstone's house. It was in a rather charming neighborhood, well to do houses with large parks around them, potted flowers growing outside the front door and Oscar plucked one flower from a neighbor's rosebush to put in his lapel. He straightened his jacket, ran a hand through his hair and gave the door a solid knock.

A maid opened, and he gave her a grin. "Could you let Professor Featherstone know Oscar Vanderbilt is here to see him?" She scurried off, returning a few minutes later to wave him in. He followed her to the small parlor, giving a bow at seeing the professor's daughter setting out tea. "Miss Featherstone, lovely to see you again."

Penelope Featherstone, the terror of the history department at Cambridge, turned a gave him a disparaging glance. "Father could have used you months ago."

"I do have other commitments." He shrugged, "May I help?"

"You're going to whether I say yes or no." She rolled her eyes, and Oscar quickly moved over to help her lay things out.

He set down a plate of scones, "How is your father?"

"Overwhelmed."

"And you?"

"Harried."

Oscar sighed, "And your research?"

Penelope blushed slightly at that, busying herself with setting the saucers down. "There's not much need for digging through old palaces with a war on, I've decided to defer it until the war is finished."

"You shouldn't," Oscar turned to her, taking in her black curls and pale skin. Her blue eyes flicked over to him over her high cheekbones, moving away as quickly as they could. "You're one of the best students the history department has. I still remember that paper you wrote about Tudor jewelry and how the chains of office were mimicked in lady's jewels."

Her blush deepened. "You read that?"

"Your father asked me to, just to make sure it made sense. You write well."

She slung the tea tray under her arm, "I'll go get him, you two enjoy your tea." He could have sworn she was red as a tomato when she turned away, moving so quickly he didn't even get a chance to invite her to stay. Oscar took the opportunity to pour tea for everyone, and stood when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

Professor Stephen Featherstone had always been a rather sparse man, although when Oscar had been in school he had been more put together. His suits had been pressed, his gray hair tamed and his mustache neatly trimmed. The man who came downstairs, trailed by his daughter, looked like he hadn't seen the sun in a week. Pale, his pale eyes behind his spectacles red, his hair barely brushed and his beard growing in, he looked like a man half in the grave. Even his tweed jacket was disheveled, a handkerchief hanging out of one pocket. Oscar stood, coming towards him with a hand held out. "Professor, it's so good to see you again."

"You as well, Oscar." He shook his hand with a weak grip, "You don't mind if my daughter joins us, do you? She's been of great assistance and I would love to have her continue helping."

Oscar looked to Penelope, her lips pursed and her cheeks red. "Not at all, in fact I've already poured. Do you still take cream and sugar, Miss Featherstone?"

She sat in a huff, "Yes, although we have precious little of either."

"Then there is no better use than a treat for a fine lady." He grinned, stirring them into a cup and passing it over. "Lemon and sugar for you, Professor?"

He nodded, gladly accepting the cup from Oscar. "I just want to say how sorry I am to have heard of your cousin's passing. Is that what gave you the courage to finally accept my offer?"

Oscar took a sip of his own tea, plain black. Usually, he preferred cream and sugar but he was not going to strain their supplies if Penelope felt treating herself to the same was excessive. "Partially, it was very painful for my family. I had another friend on the Lusitania though, fortunately she survived but she's a very close family friend and I have to admit I grew quite distraught at the thought of her coming to harm."

"Your intended?" Penelope raised a brow.

Oscar disguised the twist his heart gave with a snort, "My sister's closest friend, actually, one that I've known since childhood. Her husband is in your navy, she was coming to see him."

"Oh, the poor dear." Featherstone sniffed, "Well, I am glad she survived and that you finally decided to join us. Are you staying in the city?"

"Yes, my cousin left me his house here and enough income from his business to allow me to devote myself fully to whatever task you give me."

"Well," Featherstone looked to Penelope, "We are most glad to have you here. After tea, perhaps we can begin?"

"Why wait until after? I find I work better over a meal."