A Meeting of Worlds
Her heart had been looking for a home for a long time. Now though, it was the most unsettled that she had ever felt, flitting about within her chest. Trudy stood behind Rose at her vanity, the pair meeting Cal's eyes in the mirror as he entered her bedroom, fiddling with his bow tie, a dark salacious glow across his face.
The one that she had witnessed before when he had tried to lure her into his bed.
"Good Lord, your beauty rituals keep us running late, sweet pea."
Rose had intentionally taken her time and made Trudy work for a while longer on perfecting her hair, trying on several shades of red lipstick before selecting a deep burgundy to match the colour of her dress which was covered with a layer of black beading. It was a fascinating and intricate design, one that she had selected herself in Paris. One that she felt quite attractive to be wearing. The low decolletage had caught Cal's attention through the mirror briefly, but his gaze then went upwards.
"You look ravishing, darling."
"So my efforts are not in vain."
Trudy continued to fix an intricate beading into Rose's curls. A heated curler had been used to tease some life back into her hair after her afternoon in the sun. The wind had straightened out her tendrils ensuring she was thoroughly windswept.
"Indeed not." Cal finished his bow tie, before flicking off invisible pieces of dust from his suit. "Although I shall have to leave now, I cannot keep our party waiting and Mr. Andrews is to dine with us this evening."
"Of course. I shall not be long, dear."
At the term of endearment, Cal smiled and perhaps it was a little bit genuine, but for Rose, all she could do was pretend. It was all part of a show, an act. The part of Cal's wife. He lingered within the doorway for just a moment before deciding to come forth to her, and Trudy politely stepped away as protocol dictated that they should require a moment alone.
His mouth went near her ear, tickling in a way that made her feel ill. Of course, he was oblivious to how she felt. A gentleman was never aware of his fiancée's turmoil. The melancholy haze which seemed to cloud her even on the brightest days. The impassive face had been perfected down to an art when inside was utter chaos. The one occasion in which Rose had broached the subject with her mother and then Cal, only for it to be dismissed instantly.
The cardinal sin had been broken; ladies didn't speak about their feelings to those nearest and closest. Regardless of the notions which had played in her head, even contemplated suicide as a way out of the life which had been so carefully planned.
She was so carefully wrapped up. Like the perfect China doll that was too dainty to touch or she would break. Yet, it was those who had trapped her that were causing her to crack.
Slowly and then, Cal spoke.
"I am glad that you are feeling better, sweetpea. This trip has done wonders for your moods." A single kiss to her ear seemed to seal her fate.
"The pills are working wonderfully well."
The truth was, that she had not taken those damned pills for weeks, and had felt a severe improvement. They made her feel cloudy-headed and unsteady. Unbeknownst to Cal, he knew none of that. Keeping that a secret, as well as her friendship with Jack felt criminally satisfying.
"I shall see you at dinner then."
As Cal left, Rose went back to the reflection in the mirror. She felt as though, for once, instead of resentment, there was a little piece of happiness there. After Trudy ceased fiddling with her hair, she had created an ethereal look, and even Rose had to admit that she felt different.
As they both heard the sitting room door close, Trudy came back towards Rose.
"Thank you, Trudy."
"You are welcome, miss.'' Trudy was quiet for a moment, studying Rose's face within the vanity. Rose could only stare back, aware of the contents within her maid's mind. It was that time of the day. The time she would reach within the pockets of her apron and pull out a small glass bottle of tablets prescribed to ''control her melancholia,'' just inside the bottle was a small notepad and pen which Trudy would sign to prove that she had witnessed Rose take the medication. Each signature had been a lie.
"If only I could throw those overboard." Rose mused, "Perhaps I should drown along with them if I did."
Trudy blinked at her lady's comment. "Yes, well, there are very few left in the bottle, perhaps three or four and then no more supplies," Trudy apprised her, quietly, as though offering a little bit of comfort. "You shall not feel like drowning for much longer."
"No, I shall just be sure to wait for the men to come in white coats to claim me afterwards then.'' Rose joked, smiling sadly, as she could only watch as Trudy pulled one pill from the bottle before putting it inside her apron and signing the paper.
"I shall dispose of it later, again, miss."
"Where do you put them?"
"The trash. The toilet. Any place they would not be found, where they would not care to look. I am not a fool," she smiled at Rose with a raised brow.
"Well, perhaps I shall be the fool by the end of the evening."
"How so?"
"Oh, one feels as though I may just lose myself in the dinner and the dancing."
"Maybe you should," Trudy responded, with a devilish smile. "Why should you not? You look beautiful, and no, your efforts shall not be in vain."
Rose could only return her smile, as she turned back towards her reflection in the mirror. She was feeling rather devilish this evening, even with the nerves simmering below the surface.
"You are a terrible influence, Trudy Bolt, but I shall
endeavour to enjoy myself as you instructed."
The two women could only laugh together.
After leaving the stateroom alone, Rose came to the landing before the Grand Staircase. Her attention was entirely on Jack, who was waiting at the bottom of the staircase for her. She briefly drew her attention to the backdrop of the spectacular sunset painted across the sky out of the large glass window behind her. Together, it was a sight to marvel at.
He was almost afraid to look at her as they caught sight of each other and magnetically began moving towards each other. She wore a gown of dark red satin-backed silk, which had a slight sheen to it with a bottom layer of black beaded circles. It helped the dress stand out from the knees on down. The gown consisted of an underdress with a black lace and nude bodice and the skirts. The skirts consisted of a red tubular underlayer, covered by a layer of fine black netting. The netting went to calf height and had the beaded circles sewn to it, trimmed with the beaded fringe. Each of the skirts had 8 beaded circles with rhinestones in the centre. The circles were made from large black crystal beads. Her hands were un-gloved, clasped in front of her stomach as she tried not to fidget through her nerves.
"Good evening, Jack." Her soft voice cut through the elegance of the music sifting in from the dining room.
"Hello, Rose."
"I begin to feel as though I am lacking in this game's continuation," she groused, "I am hungry and yet, I am dreading sitting with the vultures of society to dine and showing you the truth of it all. What expertise could I possibly pass on to you when I feel so out of sorts myself?"
Jack found her slight honesties endearing, smiling warmly. Rolling his shoulders back, he fought off the tension which was gathering there. She watched him, wary and unsure.
"You show me what you got here tonight and later I can show you the real spirit of steerage." Jack glanced about for a moment to see that no other folk seemed to be about.
"Where is your escort to dinner?"
Knowing that Jack was referring to her fiancé, Rose gathered her wits to respond. "He left earlier with my mother. I fear my beauty rituals kept him waiting longer than he preferred." In honesty, asking Trudy to take care of rearranging her hair and taking a while longer to select a gown hadn't been for any other reason than to ensure she wouldn't be entering the dining room with Cal and her mother. Rose had wished to wait alone, perhaps to see if Mr. Dawson would come after all.
"And are you happy with this?''
With flushed cheeks, Rose nodded in agreement.
"Well I think you look nice and whilst we are playing a grand part then I shall take you to dinner."
"I do feel well equipped for a life on the stage."
"Well, tonight I shall be your leading man." He clicked his heels together as though it was part of some stage act and she couldn't help but laugh but then he stopped, just briefly for a moment to make her feel unsteady as he reached up, just so slowly to touch the end of one of her tendrils which framed her face. The unexpected intimacy sent a little jolt of electricity through her.
His flame-bright gaze had seized hers again. "Don't worry,'' he smirked, revealing dimples that she had noticed earlier that afternoon in the sun, ''we won't end up together at the end of the play.''
There was that jest. Again. How could a man be so feignedly elegant and yet such a rogue? His honesty kept her guessing at just what could come flying out of his mouth yet. It was unheard of, jesting of such matters, with a lady of her station, she could have silenced him and turned the other cheek, but it would be impossibly difficult to. Who else could provide such a shocking conversation?
"Oh? I quite enjoy a happy ending."
"I always thought tragedies were better. What about Shakespeare?"
"You read his work?"
"Nah, but I saw the plays in Europe. The ones in the street where people truly performed for a cent or two. That was real passion right there." he patted his chest, right over his heart.
Rose could only stop and stare for just a moment in awe of him and the qualities that he possessed. "Well, Mr. Dawson," she found the cockiness of her tongue again. "I do hope that you perform with just as much passion this evening."
"I won't fail. I can be passionate." Jack smirked, offering his arm for her to take. "That you have my word on."
It wasn't quite what she had expected him to say. It wasn't quite the type of conversation one should have with a man who she had known less than a day nor was this silly act that they had somehow decided to play. In the story of her own life, this little act felt more natural to her. Instead of responding, she placed her left hand on his forearm and felt just how he stiffened there at her touch, wondering just how tolerant of her he had been and for what reason. She didn't question it. Instead, they were greeted by the two stewards at the staircase landing and before they could say another word the upper landing of the Grand Staircase was laid out for them.
The main stairwell was located in the forward part of the ship and began on the Boat Deck, extending six flights down to E Deck. B and D Decks contained entry foyers on either side where First Class passengers would embark and disembark, the D Deck entryway leading directly into the Reception Room. Each level was constructed in solid English oak with sweeping curves and the surrounding spaces panelled in the sleek neoclassical William and Mary style. The balustrades displayed distinctive wrought iron grilles with ormolu swags in the style of Louis XIV. The staircase was crowned by an extravagant wrought iron and glass dome with a large chandelier at the centre.
The wrought-iron dome was installed on the roof of the boat deck and provided natural light to the stairwell before being artificially lit at night from behind. On the central landing of the A-Deck staircase was an exquisitely carved clock with allegorical figures on either side, known as Honor and Glory Crowning Time. At the foot of the staircase, on the newel post of the middle balustrade, was a bronze cherub holding an electric torch.
All about them, the most impressive and notable faces of Society swarmed about. The ladies were in newly purchased gowns fresh from their modiste and diamonds from the finest jewellers in London or Paris. Some wore plumes in their hair and others had pearls. The gentlemen were in their top hats, three-piece suits complete with exotic colognes, their notes intermingling in the air with the aromas flitting in from the dining room.
"It's exactly like being in a play." Jack finally agreed after they had wound through a few throngs.
"Indeed."
"Because it's all an act. A pretence."
"Perhaps to you. To them, it is their entire world."
Jack bit back a grin, tightening his forearm as they approached the final landing of the first staircase. From where they were standing, Rose could see The Countess of Rothes and her companion dressed in a pale blue.
"An entire life built on how one envisages them from the outside.''
"Is that how you think the world should be?"
Rose agreed wholeheartedly but there was something inside which bit out, to disagree for the sake of it. Their views differed somewhat but they were very much the same as well.
"Jack, the judgement of how one lives their life is no different than the self-centred gossips who attend the balls and galas in the city. I never had you pinned as the type," she smirked.
Jack stopped, obliging her to turn to face him as they reached the bottom of the staircase.
"No judgement. I am a gentleman tonight aren't I?" He stopped as if thinking better of what he'd been about to say. But the trace of amusement lingered on his lips.
She didn't like the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel hot and nervous and giddy all at once.
"But we have to see how well you can manage to be a man." She couldn't seem to tear her gaze from his. His blue topaz eyes were lit by a glint of playfulness, not the innocent mischief of a boy, but something far more dangerous at times.
"Do I look the part?"
"Hmm, of course" she managed in a sensible tone. "Are you making this a competition between us?''
"I don't like competition, not with others." His laughter curled around her like a drift of smoke. "I think you will do well with it."
Rose didn't dare ask why he was so certain of that. Perplexed, she lowered her gaze to the top button of his waistcoat, trying to focus on anything else than his mischevious gaze.
"Well, I doubt that.''
Gathering her dignity, which had scattered like bits of dandelion fluff in a high wind, she frowned up at him as he led her down the second staircase with an amusing smile, she sensed he was just about to ask why when she tensed as soon as they saw her mother up ahead dressed in a yellow gown, and Cal beside her as they exchanged pleasantries with the Duff Gordon's.
"Well, here is the first part to survive," Rose whispered, before plunging ahead to lead Jack towards her fiance.
"Darling, surely you remember Mr. Dawson?"
Cal turned with those glittery onyx eyes, narrowing at Jack as though he was trying hard to place him until suddenly it was extremely all too familiar.
"Of course. How could I forget? Nice of you to come."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Jack replied, flatly. Turning his attention to Ruth, he inclined his head. "Mrs. DeWitt Bukater, I believe that we met this afternoon."
"Ahem, indeed." Ruth raised a brow and then allowed Cal to lead her onwards.
Rose had introduced Jack as the man who had saved her life, and all of Ruth's companions had been gracious and curious about him, although her mother had looked at him like a dangerous insect that needed to be squashed immediately.
"Come along, sweet pea." Cal gestured but Jack held her steady and hadn't let go, nor did he hold her back. It would be Rose's decision to make. She didn't waver and then there was a shouting from behind.
"Jack!" Molly Brown, who he had met that afternoon, was coming up behind them, looking wonderful in a black beaded dress. She placed both of her hands upon his right arm. "Good lord, care to escort another lady?"
"Of course."
It was another second before Molly was off in a rush again. "Oh, just a moment, I have to say hello to the Countess."
"Are you familiar with Molly?" Rose watched after Molly, exchanging pleasantries with the others as though it was the most wonderful thing in the world. They had met this afternoon and Molly had lingered after Ruth and the Countess had gone on to find another place to gossip, and Rose had informed her of their little charade.
"No, she seemed to find our little game fun."
"Well Molly's husband struck gold someplace out West years ago, she is what mother calls 'new money.' She travels a lot; mostly alone. She is known for her charity work back home and has two grown children. I have to say that she is quite an honest one, the best of the bunch," Rose moved on. "Well that there, with Molly, is the Countess of Rothes. She is known for her charity work in London and Scotland."
Rose pulled Jack to a more discreet location at the fringe of the room at the bottom of the staircase so that they could spy on the faces of Society.
"That's John Jacob Astor. The richest man on the ship. His little wifey there Madeline is my age and supposedly in a delicate condition." Rose spied how another strategically placed stole was in front of her stomach.
"See how she tries to hide it?"
"Quite the scandal, I'd imagine."
"Of course. Their age difference was quite a headline when they married last fall. Mother was beside herself with the gossip. The child is legitimate. Or so I hear."
Jack narrowed his eyes to the entire room. Each person had a story and yet all they cared for was massaging each other's ego. Style and grace were the answer to their prayers. They were keeping up the appearances.
"This play is getting interesting," Jack smirked. "What if the child wasn't legitimate?"
Rose recoiled, aghast. ''Pardon me?''
Jack slackened his stature. "If a man loves a woman and they have a child without a piece of paper which would only declare a woman legally his, would it matter?"
"Jack, I fear you were raised quite differently to me."
"I was raised to love. Not to hate. Or judge. Even when there are mistakes."
"You call conception an error?" Rose was in disbelief, and only ears breath away from her, society's finest stock was breezing past whilst she stood on the fringes discussing conception. "Good grief," she exhaled, turning her attention back to the crowd and not waiting for an answer to her question.
"That is Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress, Madame Aubert."
"So, where is Mrs. Guggenheim?"
Pulling back, Rose smiled. "At home with the children."
Jack smirked. "So, he takes his showpiece on a boat while the wife is at home doing the real work, huh?"
Rose arched a brow, his honesty brutal. ''What do you mean?''
Jack looked down at her, a crinkle between his brows. "If you marry someone, why have another woman to parade about? If you have a baby without being married, why is it such a sin? Isn't it about love?"
Rose was about to reply when Molly returned, taking Jack's arm and leading them onwards to the dining room, leaving her completely stumped, adding another facet to Jack which she was left to contemplate.
There was so much to figure out, yet if she spent the entire voyage trying to dissect every inch of the man, she feared that she would never find the end of the sentence. There was no logic.
"Ain't nothing to it, is there Jack?"
"You act like a pallbearer, stick your nose in the air and walk like you have a stick up your-''
"Pardon me, Molly." Rose quickly cut in, "Jack isn't quite as accomplished in the eyes of Society."
"No, I like it, I agree." Molly laughed, loudly, so that all others seemed to watch. Rose could only stifle a giggle as they approached the dining room. The centre of the universe for some people.
The chatter was already loud. The clattering of places. The chimes of the band.
"There's nothing to it. You have a gold mine, or so they think."
"Yes, but it's like going into a snake pit. You never know which one will try to bite you first or perhaps all at once."
Rose laughed. "You sound afraid, Mr. Dawson."
Jack turned and lowered his voice so that only she could hear.
"I'll handle it."