The Glass Ocean

by Beatriz Williams

  It felt like she spent a lot of time hunting down Ginny these days.

  It would, Tess thought sourly, have made it a great deal easier had Ginny simply given her the cabin number. But, no. For her own safety, she wasn’t to know Ginny’s whereabouts on the ship. Which wasn’t really so much for her safety as for Ginny’s convenience. Ginny didn’t want her showing up and declaring the game was off. Ginny could sense cold feet the way a gull could scent . . . what did gulls scent? Seaweed? Fish? Passengers with particularly elaborate hats?

  Despite herself, Tess couldn’t help grinning. Her fingers twitched to sketch the image: a seagull diving into Mrs. Prunella Schuyler’s elaborate headgear.

  Perhaps that was what she ought to do when she got to England: offer up her skills to the papers. Need a spot of light libel via scurrilous sketch? She could draw the Kaiser in compromising positions to prove her bona fides.

  England. Now there was a sobering thought. Only seven days to complete her assignment, all of it while the world—ugh—swayed beneath her as it was swaying now.

  By the watch pinned to her chest, it had now been ten minutes. Look for me at the first blast of the ship’s horn, Ginny had said, but that blasted horn had blasted and blasted and blasted again, and Tess’s sister was nowhere to be seen.

  Casually, just another inquisitive passenger, Tess sidled past the great wrought iron grille of the lifts, toward the Regal Suites. These weren’t just cabins; they were complexes, a whole wilderness of rooms around a private hall. The one on the left, that was the Hochstetter domain. A redheaded porter strutted into the narrow enclosure, bearing roses. Tess followed behind. She caught a glimpse of a lavishly appointed parlor, the figured carpet half-hidden by trunks and bags.

  Did one of those contain the musical manuscript?

  Tess edged a bit closer, only to find herself hailed by a loud voice from behind. “Move along, now.” It was a passing porter, his arms full of boxes. “This ain’t a free show.”

  “No need for that,” Tess retorted, hefting her carpetbag. “I was just looking for the lifts, I was. Show a girl the way?”

  The porter paused long enough to give her Gimbels couture a quick once-over. “Try the stairs, love,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “First-class only.”

  Somehow, Tess doubted that he referred to the likes of Mrs. Hochstetter and Mrs. Schuyler as “love.”

  She’d have to go now, she knew. Having been reprimanded once, she couldn’t stay on. But she couldn’t help pausing for one last look, like a glimpse into a fairy tale kingdom, the walls embellished with wreaths of gold that glittered in the light of the lamps. This was the world of Caroline Hochstetter, a world so far beyond Tess’s reach, it might have been in another universe entirely.

  “It’s in the style of the Petit Trianon.”

  The man had been so quiet, she’d hardly heard him approach. Tess didn’t have to feign her start of surprise; the hard part was hiding her recognition. It was the man she’d seen playing piano with Mrs. Hochstetter. He leaned casually against the white wainscoting, his eyes on Tess.

  “Marie Antoinette’s country cottage,” he added helpfully, when Tess failed to respond. “She was Queen of France. For a time.”

  “I—er.” Tess swallowed the comment about cake that came to mind, and said, belligerently, “I was just looking for a way to E-deck.”

  “It’s not through the Regal Suite,” said the man dryly. To Tess’s surprise, he unfolded himself from the wall, offering her an arm. “Let me show you the way to the lifts.”

  “Didn’t you hear? They’re first-class only.” Tess hid her confusion in a show of indignation. Ignoring the outstretched arm, she stomped ahead on her own. “Don’t want me soiling their fine marble floors.”

  “The elevators aren’t marble. They’re mahogany. Marble would be a bit heavy for the purpose.” The man made no attempt to hide his amusement. He strolled beside her, for all the world as though they were having a promenade on the deck. Which, Tess realized, had the effect of moving her neatly away from the Hochstetter suite. “Have we met before?”

  “You say that to all the girls?” Tess scoffed, adding a bit of Cockney to her voice. She was meant to be English, after all. “Don’t seem likely, do it? You’re too grand for the likes of me.”

  Blast it. She’d meant to discourage him, instead she’d intrigued him. He stopped in front of the elaborate wrought iron cage that contained the lifts, looking down at her with the light of challenge in his eye. “I’m hardly so grand as all that—and I rarely forget a face.”

  “Well, then.” Tess gathered her wits. A bit of cheek went a long way as a distraction. She cocked her hip and raised her chin. “If you’ve a glass slipper in one of those pockets of yours, I won’t say no to being Cinderella.”

  “I’m afraid I’m no prince.” Removing his leather glove, the man extended a hand. “Robert Langford.”

  Thankful for the cotton gloves that hid the healing scab on her palm, Tess held out her own. Not that he’d remember a maid with a cut palm, but still. “Tessa Fairweather.”

  Langford’s hand closed around hers. “I know a few Fairweathers back home in Devonshire. Perhaps you’re related.”

  “It’s a very common name,” Tess babbled. At least, that’s what the man who had drawn up her papers had assured her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d best be getting to my cabin before the others bag the best beds.”

  “Your family?” There was something about the way Robert Langford looked at you that made you feel like the only person in the world, Tess thought. Last night, she would have given anything to be the recipient of that single-minded attention. Not so much right now.

  “No.” Tess backed away. There were stairs to the side of the lifts. She could just take the stairs. If she could only get to them. “Bunkmates. They pack us four to a room in second. I’m going home to me family, if that’s what you mean. Back to me old mum.”

  “In . . . ?”

  Where was she meant to be from again? “Devon,” Tess supplied. “In Devon.”

  “Devon?” Mr. Langford’s brows quirked. “Now there’s a coincidence. Whereabouts?”

  “Coincidence?” At the end of the corner, Tess spied Ginny, who cast her a look of deep annoyance and then disappeared again. As if this were her fault. “It’s a small village, you’ll hardly have heard of it. I hardly remember it myself, it’s been ever so long.”

  “Try me. You’ll find I know the neighborhood rather well.” With difficulty, Tess brought her attention back to Mr. Langford, who was looking at her as though she were an outré naturalist’s specimen.

  “Do you?” Tess asked weakly, holding her carpetbag with both hands. “It’s beautiful country, isn’t it?”

  “Not everyone agrees, but I think so.” Mr. Langford favored her with a smile that did strange things to the backs of her knees. “Are you quite sure you aren’t any relation to my Fairweathers? My family seat is in Devon. Just west of Ashprington. Where did you say your village was again?”

  “Nowhere near your family seat,” Tess tossed back. “Sure you’re not a prince and all?”

  Mr. Langford held his hands wide. “Sorry, fresh out of glass slippers. I must say,” he added lazily, “yours is quite the most, er, piquant Devon accent I’ve ever encountered. Is it unique to your village?”

  Damn, damn, damn. She would have to encounter the one man on the boat actually from Devon. So much for Ginny’s assurances that it was suitably remote. Usually, Tess did her own research, made up her own background. But this had been a rush job. A rush job and a lucrative one. Between the two, Ginny hadn’t left Tess a lot of time to ask questions.

  “I’ve moved about a bit,” Tess said airily, moving toward the stairs. “Haven’t been home since I was little more than an infant. I expect my own mother will hardly know me.”

  “Hmm,” said Mr. Langford.

  One step, and then another. Tess did her best to look as though she weren’t running away, even if sh
e was. Again. “Well, it’s been lovely and all, but my bunk calls. Bon voyage to you, or whatever it is those Frenchies say.”

  “Miss Fairweather?” Just when she’d thought she was safe. Four steps down and his voice stopped her, and a very nice voice it was, too, like Guinness, velvet and bitter.

  “Yes?” she demanded pertly. “Decided you can’t live without me?”

  Mr. Langford smiled crookedly. “Weren’t you going to take the lift?”

  “And have that porter toss me out on me ear?” Tess waggled her fingers in the vicinity of Mr. Langford’s knees. It would have made a much better exit if she were going up the stairs, rather than down, but you worked with the material you got. As knees went, it wasn’t a bad view. “Nice to make your acquaintance. I doubt I’ll be seeing you again.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Miss Fairweather.” His voice followed her down the stairs, carrying either a warning or a promise. “Like a bad penny, I tend to turn up.”

  It was very clearly meant to be a last line. She was well away now, below the sight of his shoes. But Tess couldn’t resist calling back, “Oh, if there’s money in it, then . . .”

  His startled laugh echoed down the stairs. In a softer voice, he called, “Bon voyage, Cinderella.”

  The click of his heels on the marble tiles told her he was gone.

  Renewing her grip on her carpetbag, Tess marched down the stairs, a crooked grin on her lips and a glow in her cheeks. By any account, that had been an unmitigated disaster. She’d utterly failed in her masquerade and been caught suspiciously close to the Hochstetter suite. The only solution, she knew, was to stay well away from Robert Langford for the duration of the voyage.

  Unless he made good his promise to turn up like a bad penny.

  Tess wrinkled her nose at herself. She’d better hope he didn’t, she told herself sternly. That was a complication she didn’t need. And if she’d been lurking near the Hochstetter suite, why, then, he had, too.

  Tess gave a snort. Not much question there. At least, not if the other night was any indication.

  They’d looked good together, Caroline Hochstetter and Robert Langford. Both of them first-class all the way.

  Tess’s carpetbag weighed heavy on her wrist, heavier than it had a moment ago. It was a long way down to E-deck. And wasn’t that always the way? Well, it was up to Ginny now to find her. Tess spared a moment to hope Ginny wouldn’t. But that was foolish. She had her papers, yes, and her ticket, but she wouldn’t get far in England without the money that had been promised her for copying the Strauss piece. Unless, Tess thought wryly, she turned thief for real and made off with some of that jewelry Mrs. Hochstetter left lying about. Just one of those gems would set her up for years.

  And make her something she didn’t want to be.

  Oh, and forgery was that much better? Somehow, forgery had always felt cleaner than outright stealing, as if she were leaving them something of herself in return. And if they didn’t realize they were missing it, how could it hurt them? That was what Ginny had insisted, and Tess had tried to believe it. If they didn’t care enough to realize they had a copy, then they didn’t deserve to own it in the first place.

  Enough. After this voyage, she’d be out of it.

  Bon voyage, Cinderella, Robert Langford had called after her.

  A fresh start. Maybe not with a glass slipper—or a silver spoon—but a fresh start all the same. She’d make her own mistakes this time around, thank you very much.

  Tess stumbled off the last step into the hall of E-deck, tasteful, but less grand than B-deck. Third-class on one end, second-class on the other, with a smattering of first-class cabins in the center, the smaller kind, not like the grand Parlor Suite she’d glimpsed through the door upstairs. Those were only to be found upstairs, not down.

  Tess gave a tentative knock at the door of her own cabin, and then pushed it open. “Hello? This is E-22, isn’t it?”

  “Home, sweet home!” chirped a woman who was swinging her legs from one of the top bunks. Her dark hair had been swept into an exuberant chignon, the front puffing out a good three inches. A jaunty bow marked the high neck of her blouse. “For the next five days, that is. Not bad, is it?”

  The woman’s gesture encompassed the red brocade coverlets and the yellow silk curtains that would screen off the beds at night, but had been looped up for day, as opulent as anything Tess had seen upstairs.

  “Not bad at all,” agreed Tess. “I wasn’t expecting silk.”

  The cabin was small, but the materials were rich. The wood of the massive dressing stand that stood between the bunks had a rich hue to it, and the china basins and ewers were far nicer than anything Tess had ever used at home.

  “Well, it is the Lusitania. I was supposed to be on the Cameronia, but it got commandeered by the British navy this morning, so they transferred me over here. That’s your bed,” Tess’s new friend added, pointing at the bunk across from hers. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights!”

  “Ha-ha,” said Tess, since some answer seemed to be required.

  The woman on the bunk below looked pained, but pointedly carried on with the letter she was writing, her nose at an angle that indicated she had no idea how these riffraff had come to be in her cabin.

  “I’m Mary Kate Kelly,” continued the girl with the pompadour, “and that’s Nellie Garber”—the letter writer’s shoulders stiffened—“and, well, we’re not quite sure what her name is.”

  Her appeared to be the woman lodged in the bunk beneath Tess, her fair hair elaborately braided and wrapped around her head in an old-fashioned style. Her clothes were equally unfashionable, of heavy wool with embroidery that had never seen the inside of a shop.

  “Haven’t you asked her?” said Tess, intrigued despite herself.

  “Oh, she doesn’t speak a word of English,” said Mary Kate confidingly. “I think she’s Norwegian? Or Swedish? Something like that.”

  “Hello,” said Tess, and smiled determinedly at her bunkmate, who gave a shy smile back and then dropped her head again.

  “So,” said Mary Kate, giving a bounce on the bunk that made Nellie glare. “What brings you on board?”

  “Oh, I’m going home to Devon,” said Tess. After that encounter with Robert Langford, it seemed a good idea to practice her story a bit. She heaved her carpetbag onto her bunk and waved her hand in a deprecating gesture. “Well, it doesn’t feel much like home anymore. I’ve been living in the States since I was five. There were seven of us at home, and I had an aunt here. You know how it is.”

  Mary Kate nodded understandingly. “I was a mere babe in arms when we came over. I’ve lived my whole life in Brooklyn,” she said proudly.

  “What brings you back, then?”

  Mary Kate winked. “A man, of course. What else?” She dug a picture out of her pocket, displaying a man with a cap pulled low over his forehead. “That’s my fiancé, Liam. He got called home to join up, so here I am!”

  “That’s awfully brave of you,” said Tess, handing the photo back.

  Mary Kate grinned. “Braver to leave him on his own over there with all those French girls! This way I’ll be nearby when he has leave. His mother grew up with my mother,” she added, as though that explained everything. She lowered her voice. “Speaking of being brave, did you hear?”

  “Hear what?” Tess began unpacking her things, putting her comb and brush on her shelf on the large dressing table that stood between the bunks.

  Mary Kate glanced over her shoulder, as though the very walls had ears. “About the Germans.”

  “I hear there are a great many of them in Germany,” said Tess. Including her own ancestors, although once her mother had died, her father had stopped speaking German at home. It was Ginny to whom her mother had told the old fairy tales in the old language and sung the old songs, leaving Tess to hear them at secondhand, in English.

  “No, silly. The ones on the ship! They caught them this morning. I heard it from one of the firemen—he kn
ows my Liam. They say they’ve got them all chained up in the brig.”

  Tess gave her head a quick shake. “Got who?”

  “The Germans! Jimmy—the one that’s friends with my Liam—he says they’re here to sink the ship. Can you believe it?”

  “No,” said Nellie succinctly from the bottom bunk. “It’s pure sensational nonsense. For the weak-minded. No one is sinking anything.”

  “Then why are there three Germans in the brig, Miss Know-It-All?” demanded Mary Kate. “I hear they mean to take over the Marconi room and signal our position to U-boats!”

  “Then it’s a good thing they’re in the brig, isn’t it?” said Tess, in a conciliatory tone. “They can’t do much signaling from there.”

  “Yes, but”—Mary Kate’s eyes glowed with the excitement of it—“what if there are more? Why, any one of us could be an enemy agent!”

  “Only if they mean to talk us to death,” muttered Nellie, and pressed so hard on her pen that the nib snapped.

  “You can’t deny they mean to sink us!” retorted Mary Kate. “Why, they said so in the paper this morning! Everyone is talking about it.”

  “Talking about what?” The door cracked open to reveal one of the second-class stewards, his arms laden with parcels. “Afternoon, ladies.”

  “The Germans,” said Mary Kate, with a superior look down at Nellie.

  “Now don’t you be worrying about those,” said the steward soothingly. “We’ve the British navy watching after us, so we have. Now, which of you lovely lasses would be Miss Garber?”

  There was a letter and a basket of rock cakes for Mary Kate and a staggering pile of parcels for Nellie, cards and chocolates, roses, gloves, and silk stockings.

  “Merciful mother of God,” said Mary Kate, staring with frank appreciation at the pile of packages. “Is it your birthday?”

  Nellie daintily set down a card on the pile. “I am simply fortunate in my friends.”

  “Well, lucky you, then,” said Mary Kate. “Rock cake, anyone?”

  Tess had expected the steward to go, but, instead, he looked to her. “Miss Fairweather?”