Just as Millie finished squeezing the mop into its big yellow bucket, the bell of the shop jingled again.
Allowing in one last minute customer.
Milie sighed.
Damnit...Forgot to lock the door.
Leaving yet another thing left undone for her to make done before closing the shop down and getting lost somewhere with James.
"Sorry," she called from the back hallway, rolling the mop bucket back into the store closet and making her way back to her register. "We close in 10 minutes. Is there something I can help you find..."
Millie froze just as she rounded the corner.
Her heart skipping when the man waiting at her register turned to face her.
"Pax," she murmured in surprise, hardly believing that, after almost 5 months of hearing absolutely nothing from him, there her brother stood, seemingly materializing out of nowhere.
Though...he didn't look anything like the brother she remembered.
Apart from the full black three-piece suit he wore, complete with a high rounded-collar, necktie, long jacket, trousers, and waistcoat, the gray haunted look on his face made Millie instinctively come to a stop again at a safe distance between them.
His sea-green eyes red-rimmed and watery with torment under his black bowler hat as he took her in.
As if he too were trying to recognize another person in her face.
As if whatever hell he'd pulled himself out of these last 5 months had taken him prisoner again, when he found his sister there.
"Millie," he finally forced himself to break their silence. "I have come to bring..."
But as he slowly scanned over her maid's costume, from her white converse to her snowy bonnet, finishing that thought seemed impossible for him. His lips trembling dumbly as his mind raced faster than words could catch up with him.
After one punishing year of being cut through by the twisting knife of his guilt, every time he looked in her eyes, how could he bear anymore of these maddening reminders?
How could he ever find the words to tell her what gut-wrenching memories she provoked in him, upon seeing her standing there dressed like that?
How could he make himself hold fast to his nerve and do what he came to do, when she was wearing that maid's costume identical to the one he remembered her wearing the night she...
"The neighbor," he desperately tried to pull his wits back together. "Mrs. Mendez...The madam with the parakeet...She said you'd be here."
"Pax, thank God," a tearful Millie could hardly keep herself from him anymore, closing the distance between them to hug her older brother tightly, who stood like death warmed up in her arms. "You're alright. I was so worried about you. I called every hospital in the city looking for you. I called the police, I called the shelters, I called anybody who would listen to me. I could barely make myself fall asleep, thinking something bad had happened to you all this time. I missed you so much."
"What are you doing here, Millie?" her brother asked her in deep concern, as his stunned gaze darted around at all the eerie Titanic memorabilia surrounding them. "What is this place?"
"Oh, right," Millie's voice croaked as she rubbed away her tears. "I never got a chance to tell you. I got a job."
"A job?" he questioned her, glancing over her maid costume again. "At the Holiday Inn?"
"I'm a cashier," she informed him proudly. "And sometimes, cosplayer. It's just what we do here."
"No...No, this is all wrong for you," he shook his head, in swelling distress. "It's almost as if it's all happening the same way...I should have never left you alone here."
"What is that supposed to mean? And why are you wearing all this?" she asked him, inspecting the fancy gold chain hanging from his waistcoat. "What exactly are you supposed to be? The Godfather?"
"Millie, listen to me. I must take you away from this place at once," he insisted. "You've no idea the risk you've brought upon yourself by doing this. We should have never gotten ourselves attached here, and here I return to find you working?"
"I thought you'd be happy for me," she said. "I know I'm not perfect, by any means. I know I still have some healing to do after the accident, but doesn't this prove that I can do it? That I can be somewhat normal again? I held down a job for a whole 5 months since you've been gone, despite you telling me I couldn't because of my 'condition'. Doesn't that matter at all? Because it has meant everything to me. And all I've ever wanted was for you to be my older brother and support me."
"Millie, you don't understand," Pax said. "It wasn't ever that I doubted you. It was for your own protection that I said you shouldn't get yourself involved here."
"From what exactly?" she questioned him. "What is it that you seem to think I always need protecting from? I'm not some helpless little princess, Pax, and I won't let you keep treating me like I'm glass or something, like I'll just shatter to pieces if you're not around to save me."
"If you must be glass, then so be it, if only for the sake of me not losing you again, Millie," Pax swore to her. "I couldn't endure it all over again."
"You have to let it go, Pax," Millie beckoned him. "At some point, we both have to move past that accident. I won't let it define me. And I won't let it stop me from having the life I want either."
"And I can't blame you for wanting it, Millie," he validated her quietly. "This is all my doing. It's because of me you lost the life you deserved...And I can never forgive myself for it...Not until I've kept my word to you. I will fix this. I will make it all right again. I've come here to bring you home, Millie...and I fear...I fear that I have at last found the only way to do it."
"What do you mean?" Millie's concerned brow knitted with puzzlement. "It's you who never came home, Pax. Where have you been all this time?"
"'Back there'," he stated, which only bewildered her more. "Where we were once happy. Where we were once ourselves again. I've found the way back to us, Millie...But the cost of employing such a dire method...I fear I may never have it in me to make you suffer in that way again."
And interpreting his statement of "back there" as yet another disheartening sign that her brother's guilt wouldn't let him find peace with the past, Millie answered him in the only way she understood how to answer him.
"I know you wish we could go back to a year ago...I know you regret never getting in that car with me. And I'm so sorry I've put you through all this," Millie told him. "But we can't go back, Pax. The past is the past for a reason. And honestly, why should we go back, when we have so much here to still be happy for? I know it's scary sometimes, facing the unknown, but we have each other and that's enough for me."
Her brother turned his attention to the shop window, using the falling rain as a distraction from the monster of remorse inside him, hungrily lying in wait to shatter the long-held innocence of her world.
"Millie...there's so much I haven't told you yet."
"Why would you say it like that...like you've done something wrong? You're scaring me when you say it like that," Millie murmured worriedly to him. "Paxton? Please tell me what's going on."
"For God's sake, Millie," he snapped back at her. "I'm not Paxton. I never was Paxton. And you were never Emily Amberflaw."
And as he turned away from the window to meet her eyes again, Millie saw nothing in his that she knew anymore.
"It's me, Millicent. Can you still not remember your brother?" he pleaded with her. "It's Patrick."
But much to his dismay, his confession inspired nothing in her, except to make her even more disturbed by his delusional behavior.
"You've completely lost it, haven't you?" Millie realized. "What exactly happened to you these last 5 months?"
"Can you still not hate me for what I've done to you?" her brother went raving on. "How I've never stopped punishing myself for hurting you."
"I don't hate you, Pax. You've been a good brother to me, better than my stubborn head probably deserves at times," Millie said. "And whatever it is...whatever happened these last few months that made you like this, I won't give up on you. You were there for me after my accident, and I'm gonna do the same thing for you...Will you just please let me help you?"
"No, Millie," Patrick murmured to her woefully. "I do not deserve your love...I have not always been a good brother to you."
When Colonel Gracie warmly extended his invitation to the Crawleys after the final course of oysters and lamb with mint sauce had been cleared by the saloon stewards, James Crawley hadn't expected his son to make his excuses.
"Forgive me, Colonel, but I fear I must decline tonight," Patrick graciously turned down the offer to join the other gentleman in the smoking room for cigars and brandy, forgoing the opportunity to congratulate each other on being "masters of the universe".
"There is another matter of concern that has caught my attention with the victualing staff servicing my room, and I mean to make a report."
"At this hour of this fine evening?" James Crawley's brow furrowed in concern. "Can it not wait until morning?"
"As it concerns the integrity of the service on this ship, I'm afraid it cannot be neglected," Patrick informed his father. "Until my report is safely left with the head stewards, I'm afraid the matter will require my attention for much of the night."
"Well, if it's really that serious, perhaps I should accompany you to ensure it is all handled properly," the elder Mr. Crawley offered, beginning to ascend from his seat at the colonel's dining table.
But before Sir James could make his excuses to the gentleman around him, Patrick abruptly stopped his father.
"No, papa. You must stay where you are."
His tone so accidentally forceful, that it left his father mildly confused, and the other gentleman at the table curious as to why Patrick's leaving was creating such an odd damper on the evening.
It wasn't that he meant to step out of tow with his aging father.
It was just that, after 4 years of watching his father wither behind the doors of his study, pining for the return of his missing daughter, that last night on Titanic was the first night Patrick had seen Sir James laugh so honestly in good company.
And seeing his father looking so happy for once, Patrick wanted more than anything to let Sir James enjoy this night in this floating palace of the Atlantic, far away from any anguishing worries about Millicent.
"I assure you, it's quite trivial," Patrick pulled his lips into a reassuring smile, resuming his usual coolly aloof tone. "I'm sure I can make it brief. There's no need to leave your party and change your plans this evening. I will meet you again once the matter is resolved."
And once he'd marched back to his room, Patrick went to work on this resolution by first ordering a drink.
Though, instead of brandy, he asked for tea to be delivered as soon as possible to his suite.
Unusual for him at that hour, but after all, these were unusual circumstances.
Patrick knew the steward who normally attended his suite would be busy, and slightly peeved by the request. He bet on the porter being too much in a fuss about the gentlemen turning in from cigars, and preparing their parlor suites for the night, as checking off his nightly rounds was more a priority to the steward than tending to the unexpected and queer request of one lone passenger.
And being a brandy-and-cigar brand of steward, Patrick knew his attendant would very quickly decide that preparing tea was beneath him anyway, and would likely pass the request off to one of the maids bustling through the corridors instead.
And having kept a close tally on who came and who went through his corridor, Patrick was very careful in calculating his prediction on which maid his steward would ask at that particular hour of the night.
But even after going through all the fuss with the stewards over delivering one small cup of tea to his parlor suite on C-deck, Patrick had no stomach to eat or drink anything.
Not after what he had seen on his evening stroll out on deck just before dinner, after mistaking the officer's promenade for a shortcut to the gymnasium.
And ruminating on that condemnable moment now, Patrick sat like a ghost in his suite, debating with himself on how he should proceed next.
His eyes intensely studying the painting of Orpheus and Eurydice above the mahogany and emerald regency style of the fireplace. The piece showing that fateful moment when Orpheus found the sunlight, after ascending from the underworld to bring his wife back to life. And being so delighted by finding the sun at last, Orpheus forgets the promise he made to Hades to not look back, and turns around to share his joy for the sunlight with Eurydice. Only to lose his wife again, as she disappears once more into the afterlife.
A quiet knock sounded at Patrick's stateroom door.
"I have the tea you asked for, sir," the soft voice of a stewardess announced herself outside.
And knowing that he was not mistaken now in recognizing her voice, Patrick closed his eyes in a heavy private sigh.
Regretting that his time had come to be the stern older brother, and no longer her doting accomplice.
"You may enter," he gave his permission.
The maid's footfall was soundless behind him, as she gracefully carried in an ottoman style tray plainly set with a cobalt porcelain teacup and steaming teapot, placed as presentably as she could next to two tea urns filled with milk and honey.
"I heard you were feeling ill," she said empathetically to the passenger, who still sat at his fireplace with his back to her. "I apologize if the tea appears thrown together. It was a bit short of notice, but I pulled whatever I could for you. Some loose leaves of English Breakfast, and a couple of leftover lemon meringue tartlets and coconut macaroons. The honey and cream dishes were a lucky find. Please, if there is anything else you need-"
"Yes," Patrick said as he stood to face her, making himself known to her. "There is, I'm afraid, a host of things that must be made right tonight."
If she was surprised by the sudden trap she found herself in, she hid it well behind that veil of trained gentry uncommon for a mere room service maid, and dare he say it, a subtle hint of defiance.
"I see there is no limit to how far you and papa will go to drag this on," she remarked coolly. "If there is nothing else, Mr. Crawley, I have other duties to tend to before I am called off."
Patrick scanned over her stewardess apron and skirt, the corner of his lips subtly perked with his repulsion of seeing his sister dressed in such a belittling way, as if it were the ultimate betrayal to their family.
"So, it's true," he could hardly believe that it was. "This is the life you've assumed since you ran away from the good name and family who loves you? Passed around from ship port to port like a coxswain's wench all this time?"
"And very happily," she defended her way of life. "After all, it's you who are heir to Downton, not me. Why should it matter to anyone what life I've chosen for myself?"
"I hope you will come to your senses and take that bloody thing off," Patrick ordered her. "Black doesn't suit you."
"Is there anything else I can get you, sir?" she stubbornly proceeded. "If not, I have other passengers to see to-"
"Millicent, you're a Crawley, for God's sake!" Patrick declared, unable to restrain his frustration with her any longer. "And regardless of your selfish delusions, how you behave and carry yourself is a reflection of us. Do you care nothing for how papa has suffered without you? Have you not read the papers? Are you not aware of the way they talk about you at home? How they endlessly pressure me to cut you off for good for ever being this headstrong-"
"And you have every reason to do it," she countered. "I would not expect love for your sister to be the only reason you haven't done it yet. You are the future Earl of Downton, after all. You must act accordingly. And it would be better, for both you and father, if you disowned me."
"Do not ask me to damn you to a life you know nothing about, nor are prepared to take on," Patrick reproached her.
"I don't need you to shelter me from it, Patrick," she said. "I've done it on my own for some time now."
"And I suppose, now that you've let him bed you, you believe he'll marry you?"
"I'm going now."
"I saw you two together on the officer's promenade. It took everything within me to not pummel Moody that very moment and save you from yourself. Spreading your legs to your cousin's affianced in the shadows of this ship?" Patrick demanded. "I suppose it's too late for me to ask if you could think of no better way to ruin yourself?"
"Not in the least," she answered him. "I am not ashamed that I love him deeply."
"It will end here," Patrick swore. "It's time to come home, Millicent. Once papa has returned from dinner, I will inform him that I have finally found you on this ship."
"Papa is here too?"
"It was one of papa's associates that spotted you in Belfast and wrote to us immediately. It's time to stop playing dress-up, Millie," Patrick had her know. "You will leave with us when Titanic docks in New York, and then Papa and I will escort you back to England at once."
"My life is exactly as I want it. For the last 4 years now, I've looked after myself," she declared to him. "What makes you think you can just come here and take it all away from me?"
"Damn you, Millie! How can you only think of nothing but yourself? This whole ordeal has brought nothing but torment on your family," Patrick tried to reason with her. "Or was it him you left it all behind for? Did you really step down to be a three-penny-upright for that sailor?"
"Every decision I've made until now has been for my own, and I won't allow any matter of 'whore' you call me to take it away from me," she said to him. "I'm sorry to disappoint you and papa, but I won't be going back."
"Like the devil, you won't."
She turned back for the door.
"Enjoy your holiday, Mr. Crawley."
"Millicent, we're not done."
She kept walking.
"You're getting off this damned ship with us, if I have to drag you back home myself."
She didn't stop.
"Millicent, as your older brother, I forbid you to walk out that door," Patrick warned her. "Or I will be forced to do something rash."
"Goodbye, Patrick."
"You're not going back to him, I tell you!" Patrick lost himself in a fit of rage, advancing for his stateroom door before she could open it and grabbing her roughly by her arm.
"Patrick, let go of me!"
"You want to spend your night with a man's bedsheets like the little slut you are, then so be it!" Patrick declared, fighting against her wild struggling as he dragged her to his parlor suite closet where his bed linens were kept.
"Patrick, please let me go!"
"I'm sorry, Millie, but this is for your own good," he swore to her. "If you won't come to your senses, I have no choice but to keep you locked somewhere safe until you do."
And with brute strength that easily overpowered the young stewardess, Patrick shoved his sister into the darkness of the closet.
Then he slid the chair from his writing desk across the ornate gold and emerald carpeting and shoved it under the knob, making damn well sure she couldn't get out on her own.
"Patrick!" Millicent cried from the dark inside, beating her hand against the door. "Let me out at once! This is completely absurd!"
"No, you're the only unreasonable one, Millie," Patrick told her. "And you won't be allowed to leave that closet until we've reached New York. If it keeps you from turning into a danger to yourself, then I will do what I must."
"Patrick, unlock the door!" she cried, still desperate to get out of the dark closed space as he walked away. "You can't just leave me in here like this!"
"I'll check in on you after the cigars and brandy," he informed her, as he retrieved his dinner jacket and opened his suite door to take his leave. "Once you've safely gotten ahold of yourself."