“Ah!” Cecily exclaimed. “What fun! Sightseeing time! Now then, I must get back to my room and fetch a parasol before we go.”
Rosalind sighed. “There’s no need for a parasol, Cecily,” she said. “We’re underwater, remember? There’s no sun.”
Cecily flashed an indignant look. “It’s not for the sun, Rose. It’s to complement my hat.”
Chapter Eight
As the passengers readied themselves to enter the undersea train station, Rosalind’s expectations were informed by her father’s sketches once again, although she had paid very little attention to them. Undersea architecture was boring. Bicycles were interesting. The Hamburg terminus should have prepared her for what was in store, but as she stepped out of the train onto the platform . . . Rosalind was struck dumb.
The circular grand concourse was three stories high with an arched ceiling of glass—more like a palace of gold and crystal than a railway station. A large balcony extended out from the second floor, three quarters of the way around, facing the train platform. Preparations for the ball had already been made, with dozens of tables draped with white cloths, lit by electric lamps in the shape of candles, and festooned with vases of flowers.
And then there was the eagle theme. They were everywhere. There were bronze statues of eagles, and eagles on banners hanging down from the balcony. Even the vast marble floor was marked by a grand mosaic of a German imperial eagle, though the effect was rather lost beneath all the furniture.
“A bouquet of nationalism,” Rosalind mused, once she’d gathered herself enough to speak again.
Cecily craned her neck and pointed, silently counting the number of German flags on display. “ ’Tis, isn’t it?” Then she chuckled. “Less of a bouquet, really; more of an onslaught. You’d think the Germans were afraid we might forget they owned the place.”
The passengers filing off the train had started to find seats at the various tables. Rosalind hurried forward, gesturing for the girls to follow. “It really is a bit much,” she said as they maneuvered through the crowd. She had to raise her voice in order to be heard over the dull echo of the chatter swirling around the vast room. “The station is quite pretty, but all of this . . . nonsense does distract from the ambience, don’t you find?”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Cecily said.
Once seated, they found menus printed on embossed paper: a list of what would be provided rather than a selection of options. Of course, that was only to be expected, Rosalind knew. Everything they ate had to be shipped down in quantity beforehand, and it could hardly be kept for weeks on end. One shipment for each voyage, probably. It was enough of an extravagance that they were being treated to meals in the station at all . . .
“Hmmm,” Cecily said. “I could do with a little more variety, but I suppose that’s that.” She placed the menu back on the table and frowned at a nearby eagle statue. “I wonder if they’ll wheel out a statue of the Kaiser at some point.”
Rosalind laughed. “I almost expect them to start playing the ‘Deutschlandlied’ while we dine.”
Cecily giggled and turned to Alix, but Alix did not look pleased.
“It’s not very funny, you know,” she said quietly.
“What isn’t?” Rosalind asked. She was aghast that she’d somehow offended her new friend. She was also quite confused. Admitting she was a would-be suffragette hadn’t done it, but poking fun at their surroundings had?
“Well, I don’t think either of you is being very fair,” Alix said. “I mean, yes, it is very . . . extravagant. I am not entirely pleased by the display.”
“The eagles, you mean?” Rosalind ventured.
Alix nodded, her frown fading. “By those least of all,” she concurred. “But we Germans aren’t the only people who love absurd pageantry like this. The English are just as bad.”
Cecily responded with a carefree toss of her head. “Well, perhaps just a bit.”
“And I do not know about you Americans,” Alix said to Rosalind. “But from what I hear, you’re not entirely blameless in this regard.”
“Oh, yes,” Rosalind said, relieved the tense moment had passed. “We enjoy our flags and eagles as well. So you can have a good laugh at my expense when we arrive in Columbia Station at the end of the week. I daresay it will be even more ridiculous than all of this. Agreed?”
Alix finally smiled. “Agreed. To be fair, it is rather silly, isn’t it? Pride?”
“Utterly,” Cecily said.
“Well, seeing as how the German government bankrolled the construction, you can’t blame them for being proud, now can you?” Rosalind suggested, mostly as a peace offering to Alix.
But Cecily simply tossed her head again. “I can blame anyone for anything,” she said. “I’m English. It’s the rules.”
•••
After lunch, in order to avoid the crowds, Rosalind led Cecily and Alix up to the second-floor balcony. Rose and Alix stared down at the mass of people below, but for some reason Cecily had turned her back on the view.
“What are all these doors here?” Cecily asked, pointing to a series of bulkhead hatches that lined the dim hallway behind them.
Rosalind glanced over her shoulder. “Submersibles,” she replied.
“No, they are certainly doors,” Alix insisted.
Rosalind laughed and replied, “No, what I mean is that they lead to submersibles. Those are the escape hatches.”
“Escape hatches?” Cecily asked.
“Of course.” Rosalind couldn’t tell if Cecily’s blithe confusion was an act. But perhaps it was. “We’re underneath the ocean. If something . . . untoward were to happen . . . flooding or something . . . we would need a means of escape, and quickly. Especially now, when everybody is off of the train.”
Alix strode to one of the doors and peered at it. “How many are there?” she asked.
“Enough for all of us, I should hope,” Rosalind said.
“I suppose it would be rather awkward if there happened to be a shortage of seats,” Cecily said in a dry voice. “Although I expect we three would be fine. Women and children first, you know.”
“You’re full of charitable feeling, Cecily,” Rosalind joked.
A shadow passed just outside her range of vision. When she turned, her smile vanished. There was a man at the end of the hallway, watching them: a man with a mustache, in a plain brown suit and a matching bowler hat. Rosalind recognized him almost immediately. He was the one who had been staring at her from the crowd in Hamburg.
“Oh, goodness,” Cecily whispered, following Rosalind’s gaze.
“Is he watching us?” Alix murmured.
Rosalind glanced toward the balcony, then back down the hall. He was definitely watching them. And they were all alone up here. “Cecily, get behind me,” she said.
“What does he want?” Cecily asked, her voice rising to a whimper. “Why is he looking at us so?”
“I don’t know,” Rosalind said softly. “Just stay back.” She stepped forward and fixed him with a hard glare, then addressed him in a loud voice: “Is there something you want from us, Sir?”
The man jerked slightly, as if startled out of a trance. He looked from side to side, just in case there were some grounds for doubt as to whom Rosalind had spoken.
“Yes, I am speaking to you,” Rosalind said, taking another half step forward. “What do you want?”
“I . . . am lost,” the man said. He grinned rather unpleasantly from under his mustache. “You can . . . help me, yes?” He took a few steps in their direction.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rosalind glimpsed Alix pulling one of the long pins from her hat. She held it out like a dagger. That was some decent thinking. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, but the hatpin was certainly a reliable weapon in a pinch.
“Rose, he’s coming over here,” Cecily
gasped. “Why is he coming over here?”
“Shh.” Rosalind stepped forward again, closing the distance between them. She didn’t relish the idea of being near the fellow, whatever his game was, but she certainly didn’t want him anywhere near Cecily or Alix. “Sir, if you are lost, kindly turn around and walk in the other direction. You will find the stairs leading to the platform almost immediately.”
“Oh, yes, but—”
“We do not know you,” Rosalind interrupted, “nor have we any wish to make your acquaintance. Turn around and leave us in peace, or I will have no choice but to shout for help.”
The man quickly held out his hands and said, “Oh, but you misunderstand me . . .”
“If that is true, then you will kindly demonstrate your good intentions by leaving at once,” Rosalind shouted.
“I go! I go!” With an angry scowl, he began backing away. As he reached the adjoining hallway, he very nearly collided with Jacob, who was rounding the corner with Erich. The man jumped back. But then he planted himself in front of the boys and began shouting angrily in German.
Jacob stiffened, clearly at a loss as to how to respond. He suddenly looked very young in his crisp uniform. Erich straightened and smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket, but at that moment he spotted the three girls down the hall. His expression clouded. He whirled and gave the strange man a shove toward the stairs. “Dummkopf!” he snapped. “Have you been bothering these ladies?”
“Wah, I . . . nein,” the man stammered.
“Go away before my friend and I give you something to think about!”
“I go,” the man growled again.
He stumbled around the corner and vanished from sight. Rosalind held her breath, watching Erich and Jacob watch him, making sure he’d descended the stairs. When they turned back toward the girls, Rosalind finally exhaled. She took Cecily’s hand. It was trembling slightly. Or maybe it was her own hand that was quivering.
“See, Cecily?” Rosalind soothed. “The trouble’s all passed.”
“I didn’t even get to use my pin,” Alix muttered, placing it delicately back inside her hat. She almost sounded disappointed.
Rosalind managed a nervous smile. She didn’t like to think how close they may have come to needing it. “A neat trick, that,” she said. “You’ll have to teach me sometime.”
“I will,” Alix said, cocking an eyebrow. “Mother says every young lady should learn how to give a swift kick and a good stab.”
Cecily let go of Rosalind’s hand. “She’s more practical than my mother.” Cecily had put on her usual unruffled expression, but Rosalind could see that she was still shaky.
“And mine,” Rosalind said, with one eye on Erich and Jacob, who were now rushing down the hall toward them. “Thank you for the rescue, gentlemen,” she called. “It was very good of you.”
Jacob blushed a little at the compliment. “Well, it is a gentleman’s duty, you know,” he said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Erich said with a nod toward the girls. “We’re pleased to help, of course, but I wonder how much we were truly required. He seemed about to flee for his life.”
Rosalind shook her head. “Nonsense. I don’t know what might have happened if the two of you hadn’t arrived.”
“Oh, don’t be so modest, Rose,” Cecily countered. “You were simply marvelous, glaring at him like Boudicca staring down the Roman hordes.” She blinked at Erich and pointed to Rosalind, mouthing the word “Marvelous!”
“I did not know the Romans had hordes,” Alix mused aloud.
“Well, there’s obviously been a bit of a muddle,” Cecily said, interrupting the conversation before it became too peculiar. “What matters is we have found you, and you us, and that awful man is gone.”
“Right,” Erich agreed. “Besides, who cares about the Romans when we have the English?”
“How did you two happen to find us?” Rosalind asked. Now that Cecily had mentioned it, this struck her as a strange coincidence.
“We were looking for you,” Jacob said. “The three of you,” he quickly corrected. “It was Erich’s idea.”
“No, no,” Erich said with a laugh. “It was my idea to come up here. We could not find you in the crowd so I suggested we take a look from the balcony.”
“And a good thing, too,” Cecily said coyly.
“Why were you looking for us?” Alix asked. Apparently she was not interested in joining in on Cecily’s flirtations in the least. Mother would like this girl, Rosalind thought. “We will be at the ball tonight. Surely you would see us then.”
Erich coughed a little and exchanged looks with Jacob.
“Is it not obvious?” Jacob asked Alix. “Erich and I would like to ask you girls to join us for dinner.”
“Oh!” Alix exclaimed, turning bright red. “Oh, my goodness. I don’t think we could.”
“But we must,” Cecily insisted.
Rosalind hid a smile. “Speaking as the chaperone,” she said in a mock authoritative tone, like a haughty governess, “I think it would only be polite to accept the invitation.” After all, what harm could there be? They had already been seen dining in the company of these two fellows. Any gossip that might come of it was already swirling about the train in the way gossip did, like tendrils of cigarette smoke. No doubt they would catch a whiff of it before they arrived in the United States, where Mother and Father would be apprised. No, the girls might as well enjoy themselves now. The damage was done.
“You will?” Erich said, sounding surprised. He quickly recovered his easy smile. “You will. Well, that’s wonderful. Good. That is to say, it’s good.”
“We’ll speak to the head steward to make the arrangements,” Jacob added.
“Lovely. What time do we eat?” Rosalind asked.
“Four o’clock,” Alix answered. “So that we all have plenty of time to change for the ball afterward.”
Rosalind blinked. “Change for the ball? We’re already dressing for dinner. How many times are we changing today?”
“Twice by the schedule,” Cecily said. “But I’m hoping for more. I’ve brought so many dresses, I don’t know if I shall have occasion to wear them all.”
Chapter Nine
Rosalind thought about not changing for dinner and saving the effort for the ball. Mother would be horrified at the notion, which made it all the more appealing. But then she remembered her father’s letter: “The public will judge you.” Meaning “the public will judge the family.” If Rosalind flouted convention too much, too openly here on the train, her parents would be furious. They might never let her out of Pittsburgh again, at least not until she was married.
So Rosalind changed into something simple and understated: a pale-green evening dress that demanded as little effort as possible. Better to be comfortable than fashionable, she reasoned. But once she and Cecily and Alix were seated with Jacob and Erich over carrot soup, fillet of salmon, and game fowl, she began to regret her decision.
Both Cecily and Alix had taken pains to make themselves pretty for the boys, and worse, both boys had done the same. Jacob was in uniform, of course, just as he had been the night before. Erich wore a white tie and dress coat, as did most of the other men. Everyone at the table—indeed, everyone in First Class—had put tremendous effort into looking their best. All of which had the unfortunate effect of making Rosalind appear even more like an outsider. Or worse still, like an actual chaperone.
By the time dessert sorbets and after-dinner chocolates were served, Rosalind had drifted completely out of the flirty, mindless conversation. The four laughed over a faux pas that some viscount had committed during a recent wedding ceremony between two aristocrats Rosalind had never heard of. She didn’t recognize a single name. She couldn’t follow, nor did she care to. The lone American is indeed alone, she thought.
Rosalind tried to soothe herself with the mus
ic of the orchestra. Wagner, of course, to complement the eagles, lest anyone forget the station had been built by the Germans. Her thoughts turned to Charles. He would have included her in the conversation, if only out of politeness. He always did. He should have been here. What had really happened to him? It made no sense.
She glanced at the train, parked alongside them. Only First Class passengers could dine in the station concourse; only they could be serenaded by the orchestra. Second Class had been allowed out earlier, to stretch their legs. Rather like cattle. For the meal they were confined to their own dining cars. The ball wasn’t on their itinerary, either.
Rosalind sighed. She would have expected better of Father. He’d organized all of this, knowing his own family would have traveled Second Class if he hadn’t proved himself a capable industrialist. Their Scottish cousins wouldn’t be able to afford any ticket whatsoever; they would be porters or waitstaff if aboard at all. But perhaps the decision to adhere so firmly to class distinctions hadn’t been Father’s to make. He had Old Money partners with Old World priorities. He was obliged to follow their rules, and to pretend to respect their prejudices, for the sake of business. It was no small part of his success.
Oh, dash it all, she thought. If her foul mood got the better of her, this was going to be a very long journey, indeed.
•••
The hour for the ball was approaching and Doris still hadn’t arrived. Rosalind had spent the better part of two hours alone in her room, expecting Doris to come by at some point to “assist” her after she’d finished with Cecily. Not that Rosalind minded being left to dress on her own, of course. But Cecily could have made clearer that she would take longer than usual. Then again, Rosalind should have known that intuitively, given her friend’s flirtations with Jacob. Alix certainly would have. But Alix had her own servant.
Left to her own devices, Rosalind chose her pink gown, the one with the embroidered roses and the mother-of-pearl beading. Cecily would appreciate it. She always called it Rosalind’s “rose dress”; “a rose for Rose,” as she put it. Rosalind had worn it many times in London, and each time Cecily had pointed out how perfect the color was for her.
The Transatlantic Conspiracy Page 8