by ID Johnson
The liegeman took a deep breath, as if he wasn’t sure exactly how to respond. “I think… Charlie may be experiencing a more traumatic effect due to his actually being in the water with the people who were… expiring. But I’m sure he’ll be back to his old self completely soon enough. If he’s not, then there are plenty of doctors who can help him.”
“Doctors? Like psychiatrists?” Meg asked the question with knots in her stomach. She didn’t know much about psychiatric help, but she was familiar with asylums as she’d often wondered if her mother or uncle belonged in one of those places.
Jonathan swallowed hard. “Let’s not worry about that right now, all right, Meg?” he asked. “Charlie is going home today, and that’s good news. I’ll take you over to his house in a few hours, once he’s settled in. He’s asked to see you, but I think it might be best if we let him get situated first. Also, his parents will be there, along with his sister and Peter. I asked Charlie if he was ready to tell them the truth about you, and he said whatever you wanted to do was fine with him.”
Meg realized she was pulling on a lose thread on the sofa and stopped abruptly, thinking she might somehow unravel the entire piece of furniture and end up in a heap on the floor. “What if we tell them, and he forgets again, and when they ask if my story is true—if Charlie and I really do love each other and plan to marry—he says he doesn’t know who I am?”
He was shaking his head before she even finished the sentence. “I don’t believe that will happen, Meg. He knows you now. He hasn’t taken any more of that medication. It will be fine.”
“But does he know me, Jonathan?” she asked, turning her body so that she was facing him even more. “What I mean to say is, the last time we spoke aboard Titanic, he was still quite angry at me. Then, we parted, not knowing if we would both survive. What happened aboard Carpathia could easily be dismissed as a cathartic dream. Clinging to each other made sense when that’s all we had. Now, here we are, back where he belongs, with his family and friends. And I am also here, but that doesn’t mean he even really knows me, let alone wants me to be part of his life.”
“Meg, he has been planning to marry you since he was eight years old.” The reminder was gentle, but firm. “He knows who you are. He remembers what you told him—about your uncle.”
“You asked if he remembered?”
“No, I didn’t have to. He said you’d already been through so much at home, it was a shame you had to add the sinking of Titanic to your experiences as well. I could tell by his expression that he remembered precisely what you’d said. He also mentioned being well enough to travel back to Southampton so he could clear a few things up with ‘that bastard.’”
Meg was certain he must have remembered then. Bertram Westmoreland was the only bastard he could’ve been speaking of. She dropped her eyes to the floor for a moment in concentration before returning them to his face. “If I tell the Ashtons who I really am, do you think they will be angry?”
“No, and certainly not if you tell them why you’ve kept it a secret.”
“Do you suppose they will keep my secret? I’m still not certain what I plan to do.”
“Do you mean as far as your mother is concerned?”
Meg nodded. There was a knock at the door, and a male voice shouted, “Room service.” Carrie entered the room and smiled as if she was apologizing for intruding. The conversation froze in place as Carrie and the gentlemen set up Meg’s breakfast on a table across the room, and then he left, Carrie returning to the bedroom.
Jonathan had scarcely even blinked the whole time they had company. “They will keep your secret, Meg, but there are some things we need to consider.”
She felt her stomach tighten again. “Consider? Like what?”
For the first time, he looked away from her. “You do know about the contract, correct?”
Meg nodded. She was aware that her father, Henry Westmoreland, had arranged with Mr. Ashton for her to marry Charlie before Henry mysteriously died when Meg was only six.
“You know there is a substantial amount of money involved?”
She didn’t know the details, but she assumed there had to be something of that nature. “What’s substantial?” she asked.
“Fifty thousand dollars,” Jonathan replied, inhaling deeply and then letting it go.
Meg’s eyes widened. Suddenly, she felt very nauseous. “Fifty thousand dollars?” she repeated. All of the color was seeping out of her face, and she felt her head begin to spin. “Well, no wonder then,” she managed to utter. She leaned back on the sofa, resting her head back so that her face was tipped to the ceiling.
“No wonder—what?” Jonathan asked, his voice indicating he was confused, but Meg couldn’t see his expression to say whether or not she was correct.
“No wonder Charlie was willing to put up with me despite my antics, the way I’d ridiculed him and dragged his good name through the mud. I mean, I am shocked he’s that motivated by money when he has plenty of it, but fifty thousand is an extraordinary amount of money!” She was still looking up at the ceiling, one hand clutched across her midsection, the other palm up, pressed to her forehead.
Jonathan began to laugh.
Meg looked up, thinking she might slap him across the face. “What in the world could possibly be funny about this situation?”
“I’m quite sorry,” he managed to say, attempting to bring himself back together. “It’s only… there’s been so little to laugh about lately, and I suppose it’s all gotten a bit bottled up.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” she said sharply, crossing her arms.
“Meg, darling, Charlie doesn’t get the money for marrying you. Even if he did, fifty thousand pounds is nothing to him, you realize?”
She felt her cheeks fill back in, this time with red.
“Your mother and uncle get the money. But only if Charlie marries you before you turn twenty-one. Of course, Mr. Ashton agreed to the original terms, that you would marry before your twenty-first birthday, because that’s what your father wanted. His hopes were that you and Charlie would marry, then your mother and uncle would leave you in peace if they had the money. But now… I’m not sure your father would want them to have it at all. Which complicates things just a smidge.”
While Meg hadn’t quite gotten over his laughing spell at her expense, she was very relieved to hear that Charlie was not marrying her for the money after all. It didn’t make much sense to her either when Jonathan had first mentioned it, but she’d never imagined anyone would be willing to marry her so that someone else could make that sort of money. “You think my father wanted them to have the money so that they’d leave us alone?”
“That’s what Mr. Ashton said.”
“And what happens if I’m twenty-one and one day when we marry?”
“Then the money is yours.”
Meg’s eyebrows raised. Her father had already left her quite a bit of money, something she’d just come to find out recently. Having fifty thousand dollars more, would be life altering, even for her. And yet, she realized once she married Charlie—if she married Charlie—she would never even have to think about money again. She could take that money and do whatever she wanted with it. Give it to Kelly. Or Kelly’s mother, Patsy. She could build a children’s hospital or a school.
Her mind was wandering and she didn’t realize Jonathan was talking to her until he was finished. “I’m sorry?” she said, looking at him expectantly.
“I said, we’ll have to sort all of that out, but it is something to consider. I do think it’s perfectly safe to go ahead and let the Ashtons know who you are.”
Meg nodded. The thought of explaining everything to them seemed ominous, but she was hopeful Charlie would remember and could potentially do at least some of the talking. After all, he knew his parents better than she did.
“All right then, Meg. Why don’t you eat your breakfast, and I’ll be back to get you in a bit? And don’t say you’re not hungry because you need
to eat. You’ve scarcely eaten a bite since… for a few days. Now, go.”
He stood and walked toward the door, and she came to her feet as well. There was something about his tone that seemed to make everyone snap to attention. “Tell Charlie I said hello.” She followed him to the exit.
“I will,” he promised, and Meg bid Jonathan goodbye and closed the door behind him, praying that Charlie knew who she was the next time she saw him.
Charlie’s house was unlike anything Meg had ever seen before, and she could scarcely believe she was engaged to the man who lived here. While she could easily imagine it sitting out of town on a few hundred acres and still being imposing, it was situated between two other similar dwellings, though Charlie’s was by far the most impressive. It resembled a French chateau and reached at least three stories into the air, though Meg thought the turrets might count for one more. She stood outside on the sidewalk next to Fifth Avenue trying to catch her breath.
“It’s stunning, isn’t it?” Jonathan asked at her elbow. “His mother picked it out. Charlie was far too busy with his work at the factory and his other interests to go house shopping.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” Meg admitted. “It’s breathtaking.”
“He can explain the history to you once he’s feeling up to it. At least, he likes to retell the story even though I’m quite sure he’d have managed just as well in a much smaller dwelling.”
“Do you live here as well?” Meg asked as Jonathan offered his arm and led her up the ample steps.
“I have an apartment in the back, above the carriage house.”
Thoughts of the carriage house made Meg’s stomach queasy, but she dismissed the statement quickly. “It’s nice that you live nearby.”
“Less of a commute,” Jonathan joked. Meg managed a giggle, but when Jonathan opened the front door without even knocking, she became serious again. She’d expected a moment to compose herself as they waited on the front stoop.
Carrie was behind them, and as soon as Jonathan led her into the opulent foyer, Carrie shut the door quite loudly, making both of them jump. “Pardon,” she said with a slight bow. Meg smiled, realizing there’s no way the young woman could possibly know the visions that loud noises brought up in her mind—and apparently Jonathan’s as well—and rather than dwell on those memories, she returned her attention to the foyer.
A large chandelier hung overhead, adorned with crystals and gold leaf. The floor was polished wood and appeared to be cherry. Meg knew next to nothing about architecture and décor, but she was impressed with the soaring ceiling and details in the molding.
“I thought I heard voices.” Pamela Ashton, Charlie’s mother, entered the room through an adjoining parlor. She was dressed in a blue gown a similar shade to Meg’s, which made the younger woman finger her frock, wondering if it would be considered a fashion faux pas to wear the same color as your fiancé’s mother upon a proper introduction.
Stepping forward to greet her appropriately, Mrs. Ashton took both of Meg’s hands. “Meg, it’s lovely to see you again. You look divine.” She pressed her cheeks to each of Meg’s in turn and made kissing sounds as she did so, and Meg wondered at this American greeting, which seemed oddly French or Spanish to her. “It must be so nice to be back in more proper attire.”
“It’s nice to see you as well, Mrs. Ashton,” Meg replied.
“Please, call me Pamela. Mrs. Ashton is my mother-in-law,” she joked. “Now, Charlie is in the library, and he’s been asking about you all morning.” The second half of the statement garnered a stern look for Jonathan, as if he’d been secretly keeping her occupied all morning for no reason. She took Meg by the arm and led her through the parlor toward an adjoining room. “Have you contacted your family yet?”
The question was a simple one which made perfect sense, and yet Meg had no way of knowing what to say. Jonathan, who was behind them, answered for her. “She hasn’t contacted them yet, but the list of survivors has made it to Southampton.”
“I’m sure you’ll want to let your parents know you’re well.”
Meg turned her head to look at Jonathan, hoping he’d intervene, but he didn’t. “I… well, it’s rather complicated,” she stammered.
Pamela looked at her with her eyebrows raised. Before she could ask more, they were standing before the library. The solid mahogany doors were open, and Peter stood from his seat next to Grace and exclaimed, “There’s our Meg!” as soon as she was visible.
“Meg, you remember our son-in-law, Peter?” Pamela asked as she led her across the room.
“Yes, lovely to see you again,” Meg said, acknowledging him with a nod and a smile, but she was more concerned with Charlie, who was sitting near the fireplace across from his sister and her husband in a large overstuffed chair beneath a thick blanket. His face was pale and his eyes looked glossy, not entirely different from the way he’d looked the last several days, but he was grinning at her, and Meg was hopeful this meant he knew who she was.
Peter hugged her, which Meg found to be both uncomfortable and questionable, before Grace said, “Good morning, Meg,” in a snippy voice. She didn’t stand, but when Peter finally let Meg go, she did offer her hand, which Meg squeezed and replied in kind.
“Meg,” Mr. Ashton said, smiling, “please take my seat next to Charlie.” He patted her warmly on the shoulder, and though Meg attempted to insist she couldn’t take his seat, she soon found herself sitting there anyway, Mr. Ashton having found a spot on the sofa where his wife was also now seated.
Turning her attention to Charlie, Meg felt her face grow red, the sensation of a thousand people watching them, though it was only his immediate family—and Jonathan, who already knew all there was to know and then some. “Good morning,” Charlie said to her with a smile. “You are absolutely stunning.”
His voice was weak, and he only turned his head slightly to look at her, as if turning around completely would be too exhausting, but Meg could tell by the words he chose and the light behind his eyes that he knew who she was. “Thank you,” she replied, quietly. “It’s nice to see you… sitting up.”
He chuckled, and Meg felt her blush meet the apples of her cheeks. While she wanted to add it was best of all to know he remembered her, she couldn’t say that in front of his family.
“Charlie was just telling us about how you’d gone back into the bowels of the ship to rescue a little girl,” Pamela explained. “Your lady-in-waiting’s daughter?”
Meg looked at Charlie who gave her a reassuring nod. “Oh, yes,” Meg said. “Ruth is more like my niece than anything else. She’d lost her doll and slipped away from her parents. So I went down to find her.”
“It seems odd to me that the daughter of a First Class passenger’s lady would go all the way down there to find a doll. Is that where she was being accommodated?” Grace’s inquiry had even more questions behind it, and while Meg could understand why the older sibling was suspicious of her intentions, she felt her abdomen tighten and her palms grow clammy.
“Everything was chaotic that night,” Charlie stated. “People were everywhere, running about, shouting. I spent at least half-an-hour trying to convince women who spoke no English to get aboard the final lifeboats. It’s quite easy to understand how a child might get lost.”
His voice was still raspy, but it grew stronger the more he spoke, and Meg longed to reach out and hold his hand, the way she’d held it most of the time they were aboard Carpathia.
“And then once you found her, what happened next?” The question came from Mr. Ashton, whose eyes reminded her of Charlie’s. Twinkling and inquisitive.
Meg didn’t like to think about what happened directly after that, so she skipped over the part where she was certain she and Ruth were about to drown or freeze to death in the rising water. “Then Charlie found us and led us to safety,” Meg replied. She wanted to tell his parents that Jonathan had managed to procure a key that he’d given to Charlie that allowed him to unlock the gate which
had prevented Meg and Ruth from going any higher in the boat, but the moments she’d stood there with Ruth clinging to her shoulders were some of the most dreadful of her entire twenty years, and she didn’t intend to rehash them now.
“That’s simply marvelous!” Pamela proclaimed. “How did you manage to find them?”
She was looking at Charlie, and it took him a moment to answer. Eventually, he gave a small shrug. “I’m honestly not sure. I just kept looking until I could hear them shouting my name, and then I hurried to the source of the noise.”
His eyes flickered to that haunted look Meg had seen so many times aboard Carpathia when he’d complained of the screaming, but then they cleared almost as quickly. She wondered if some of the voices he heard in his head were hers and Ruth’s.
“How lucky is that?” Mr. Ashton said with a laugh, looking at his wife.
“Charlie makes his own luck,” Peter offered, joining in on the chuckle. Grace said nothing, only forced a smile on her pretty face that looked every bit as fake as the pearl necklace Meg’s doll, Lilac, had worn when she was a child.
Meg exchanged glances with Jonathan as the rest of the family continued to comment on how fortunate they all had been, and then she returned her attention to Charlie. While it was true they were all lucky to be sitting there, she certainly didn’t think their experiences were as jolly as they were being made out to be, and she wondered if this was just the family’s way of dealing with the pent up emotions from not knowing where Charlie had been.
After the giddiness died down a bit, Mr. Ashton turned to Meg and said, “I’m sure your parents were relieved to hear you are well.”
She glanced at Charlie whose eyes told her he had not revealed anything, and then she looked at Jonathan who gave a small shrug. “Actually,” Meg began, with a sigh, “my father died when I was a little girl, and I’ve only my mother.”