The Glass Ocean

by Beatriz Williams

  “Are you feeling all right, ma’am?”

  Caroline realized she’d pressed her fingers against her lips. She removed them with embarrassment. “Yes, perfectly fine. Thank you. What time am I supposed to meet Miss Schuyler for our concert rehearsal?”

  “Right after breakfast, ma’am. In the first-class lounge. I took the liberty of asking Patrick to make sure the piano was tuned for you. I know what a perfect ear you have.”

  Caroline looked at Jones, as if seeing her for the first time, taking in the scraped-back dark hair, the somber features, and wondered what her story was. She was curious as to how Jones had come to be a lady’s maid, and why she was so good at her job. And she wondered what it was that made Jones notice all the small things about Caroline’s life, and then use the knowledge to make everything run more smoothly. It was a gift. She couldn’t ask her, of course. Her mother had always warned her about being too close to “the help,” as she’d called the two servants they’d been able to hold on to despite meager pay—most likely because they’d been elderly even when Caroline was a child and didn’t have any other prospects.

  “Thank you, Jones.” She smiled brightly to show her appreciation, even though the guilt over the kissing incident continued to gnaw at her.

  “Are you sure I can’t bring you anything else for breakfast besides coffee, ma’am?”

  Caroline shook her head. “I must be having a bout of seasickness because I really don’t think I could face any food right now. I think I shall get dressed and make it up to the lounge before Miss Schuyler to test the piano. Exercise my fingers a bit. They’ll need some warming up with all of this cold, damp weather.”

  She stood, prepared to slip her dressing gown from her shoulders, when there was a soft tap on the doorframe and a subtle throat-clearing.

  “Darling,” Caroline said with more force than she’d planned. She and Gilbert had had no time alone since she’d seen him after the infamous kiss, no time for him to rage at her, or accuse her, or any of the things he had every right to do or say. She eagerly scanned his face for any sign that he’d seen her with Robert. But he looked the same; same steady gaze and firm jaw. Same gentle eyes that stared back at her without recrimination.

  She held back a sigh of relief. “Have you come to listen to me rehearse for Thursday’s concert? I think I will need your help to survive spending an hour with Margery Schuyler.” She hadn’t realized until she spoke just how much she needed him to say yes, if only to give her the chance to lavish attention and affection on him. Not to assuage her guilt, she told herself. But to remind them both of how much she loved him.

  He cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry, but I have business matters that need my attention. But I will be joining you for dinner this evening.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a handful of strung pearls. “I retrieved these from the purser’s safe at Jones’s instruction. She’s suggested the sapphires for your dinner gown, which I will retrieve later.”

  He held out the pearls like a peace offering. She wanted to take them and hurl them against the wood wall paneling in her frustration. Instead, she held out her hand and allowed him to pool the pearls into her palm. “Thank you, Gilbert. Although I think it would be easier if you kept my jewels in the safe you brought from home and installed in the sitting room. Then you wouldn’t have to run back and forth from the purser’s office.”

  “My safe is filled with business documents I will be needing once we arrive in England. There’s simply no room for anything else, I’m afraid.”

  “Fine,” Caroline said, her voice sounding defeated even to her own ears. She forced a smile. “The pearls for now and the sapphires for later are perfect.”

  “Until later,” he said with a stiff bow, most likely in deference to Jones’s presence, then left, his footsteps swallowed by the thick carpet.

  * * *

  Caroline focused on the oozing sore in the corner of Margery’s mouth to distract her from the horrendous sound of the older woman screeching out a high C. Although her voice could be diplomatically classified as a contralto, Margery was delusional enough to have selected Karol Szymanowski’s “Songs of a Fairy-Tale Princess” for the Thursday evening concert, a vocal and piano arrangement that was clearly meant for someone with a first-soprano voice who could hit the high notes without startling mice in the walls. Or really, anyone who could sing at all. Caroline was quite sure she’d heard roosters crowing on early mornings back home in Georgia with more vocal abilities than Margery Schuyler.

  Caroline lifted her fingers from the keyboard of the grand piano, conveniently situated in the middle of the lounge so it would be hard to avoid being seen, which, apparently, wasn’t something Margery minded as she shrieked even louder when someone walked by. Caroline wondered if the tone-deaf woman had realized there was now a growing circumference of empty chairs surrounding them.

  She reached for a stack of sheet music that had been placed helpfully on top of the piano by Patrick, their steward. She wasn’t sure where he’d found the music, but it was clear that he knew something had to be done and was trying to be helpful. Perhaps he was afraid of a mass exodus over the side of the ship if Margery were left to continue her assault on not only poor Mr. Szymanowski’s music, but on the human ear itself.

  She pulled from the stack Schubert’s “Der Tod und das Mädchen.” Not one of his most inspired pieces, but a good starter song for a novice singer, and Caroline was already familiar with the piano music. “How about this one instead?” she suggested, holding it out for Margery.

  Margery’s lip quivered then turned down in a perfect frown. “Only if you believe you need something easier to play. I’m an artiste. And you are supposed to be accompanying me. I don’t know why you can’t play in the key in which I’m singing, or why you have to squeeze in so many notes so that it appears as if I’m coming in at the wrong time.” She looked down her not inconsiderable nose and sniffed.

  “Because that’s the way the music is written,” Caroline insisted, using great effort to unclench her teeth before speaking, even taking a brief moment to stare up at the exquisite carvings on the lounge’s ceiling in an effort to calm herself. “I thought since we were performing together it would behoove us both to actually read the music. At the same time.”

  Margery frowned at the music, dabbing at her mouth sore with her handkerchief. “What about the Strauss waltz? As I’m sure I already told you, I’m quite the writer and I am very sure that I can create something magnificent to go with the waltz.” She sniffed again. “Typical German not bothering with words for the music. As if lyrics are an afterthought.”

  “But it’s a waltz—” Caroline began.

  Margery cut her off. “Go fetch it now. I’ll show you what I mean.”

  Caroline turned around on the bench to give the vile woman her full attention. “My husband has it under lock and key. I’m afraid it’s simply not possible.”

  “Nonsense. Surely your husband isn’t so busy that he can’t acquiesce to a simple request from his wife?”

  Caroline wasn’t completely successful in keeping her annoyance and anger from her voice. “It’s not that he’s too busy, Miss Schuyler. It’s that the manuscript is too valuable and will not be removed from the safe until we disembark.”

  “Well, that’s just ridiculous. Let’s go to the purser’s office right now and demand to have it taken out.”

  “It’s not in the purser’s office. . . .” Caroline stopped, wondering why she was bothering to argue with this woman. She took a deep breath, then faced the keyboard again. “I am sorry, but it’s just not possible. Shall we continue with another piece?” She looked up and forced a smile.

  Margery didn’t smile back. Instead, her eyes narrowed as she considered Caroline. “Exactly what I would expect from an upstart such as your husband. He might have all of that new money, but he doesn’t fit in. Perhaps if he spent more time with you, some of your upbringing might rub off on him. But I hardly see the two of you
together, as he always appears to have some urgent business to take him away. What in heaven’s name could be more important than spending time with his young wife? It’s no wonder you don’t have children.”

  The older woman looked as if she actually expected an answer. Caroline picked up the stack of music and pretended to rifle through it, although her hands were shaking so badly, she was afraid she might rip the paper. “My husband has many business dealings, Miss Schuyler, and I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss them with you. Shall we continue with our rehearsal?”

  Margery pressed her lips together, making the sore bulge a bit at the corner of her mouth. “I’m finding it very difficult to work with you. If I could find another accompanist, I would, but it seems everyone else is already occupied so I’m stuck with you.” She sucked in a breath. “I have a headache now and will retire to my cabin to lie down. May I suggest that you use this time to practice? Otherwise I’m afraid you will embarrass us both.” With a quick tilt of her head, she turned and left, the swish of her outdated long skirts against the floral carpet loud now in the glaringly empty lounge.

  Unable to keep it in one moment longer, Caroline let out a loud groan then slammed her hands against the keyboard in an admittedly childish fit of frustration. But people like Margery were amazingly good at bringing out childish emotions in normal people.

  The sound of enthusiastic clapping brought her suddenly to her feet, nearly knocking over the heavy piano bench as she stood. She grabbed on to the brocade seat to keep it from toppling, looking around to spot her audience.

  Robert Langford, who’d apparently been sprawled out of sight on a nearby high-backed sofa, stood. “That last bit was the best part of the entire performance. Will you be doing that again on Thursday?”

  She started to laugh, but then remembered what his chest felt like pressed up against her. How his lips tasted. And then she wasn’t smiling anymore. “You should have let me know you were here. It was quite rude of you to lie in wait like that.”

  He moved closer and she could smell the clean crisp scent of him. “And miss that lovely performance? Well, the piano was lovely anyway.”

  “Thank you.”

  Their eyes met and he wasn’t smiling anymore either. “I could listen to you play all day. I suppose it takes me back to my childhood at Langford House, listening to my mother play. She was quite good, you see. Brilliant, even. Before she stopped playing, that is.” He grinned, but the light faded in his eyes.

  “She stopped?”

  He nodded, his smile faltering. “The day James drowned. So I suppose that means that was my fault, too.” His mouth lifted, as if that could erase his words. “She was beautiful. Like you.”

  A pregnant silence filled the space between them. She found her gaze resting on his lips, and wanting to take a step toward him as much as she wanted to run as far away as she could. “I love my husband,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound like she was trying to convince herself.

  “I know,” Robert said quietly.

  “What happened yesterday . . .”

  “Needed to happen,” he finished for her.

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “You’ve had an infatuation with me for years. It had to come out at some point.”

  “Excuse me? You have some nerve. . . .”

  He laughed. “That’s better. You were getting far too serious. You kissed me, and we both enjoyed it. And if you want to leave it at that, we can. I just want you to know . . .” He took a step forward as if the room were crowded with people instead of completely empty, and he wanted just her to hear. “I’ve been in love with you from the moment I first saw you. I’ve tried to stop, but I can’t. I just can’t seem to accept that I will have to spend the rest of my life loving you from afar.”

  He hadn’t touched her, but every inch of her skin was burning as if he had. And then she was smiling at a memory, even while she wanted to cry. “You held my hair back while I threw up in the Talmadges’ rose garden,” she said. “That was the first time we met.”

  “You had just turned sixteen and had too much champagne, as I recall. You were trying so hard to be grown up.”

  They were standing so close she could have kissed him. She was embarrassed by how much she wanted to kiss him. “That seems like a million years ago, doesn’t it? I wonder what would have happened if you’d declared your love then? What our lives would be like now.”

  “Your mother wouldn’t have sent you away to school in Pennsylvania, for starters.”

  “But then I wouldn’t have met Gilbert.”

  There was a long silence. “No. You wouldn’t have,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

  “Caroline. There you are.” Gilbert’s voice boomed from the doorway into the smoking lounge. “It’s almost time to dress for dinner.”

  She stepped back quickly, hoping Gilbert wouldn’t notice. “Of course. I was just about to leave.” She indicated Robert. “You remember Robert Langford, don’t you, darling? He was at our bon voyage party.”

  The two men, nearly the same height, eyed each other speculatively and shook hands. “Yes. Of course. Your father is Sir Peregrine Langford, I believe.”

  “Guilty as charged. Do you know him?”

  “Only by reputation. I understand he’s at the forefront of trying to convince President Wilson to enter America into the war.”

  “You are as familiar with my father’s position as I am, I’m afraid. My father and I don’t discuss politics or anything else. We’re estranged. However, I have read a lot recently about Hochstetter Iron & Steel being the leading supplier of shrapnel and barbwire to Great Britain. I suppose I should thank you for your efforts in fighting the Germans.”

  Gilbert coughed, clearing his throat as he indicated Caroline. “I’m afraid we are boring my wife. Please excuse us, we must get dressed for dinner now. Good evening.”

  Robert nodded. “I must be off myself.” He turned to Caroline. “Thank you for allowing me to eavesdrop on your rehearsal. You’ll be splendid.” He said his goodbyes and exited the room, and it took all Caroline had not to stare after him.

  “Shall we?” Gilbert said, offering her his arm.

  “I wasn’t bored,” she said, not moving. “And is that true—what Robert said about you being a major supplier of shrapnel to the British?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “It might be. Without the numbers in front of me, I can’t be sure. But they’re in dire need over there and it’s a big market for the company. There, now you know. May we go back to our suite?”

  “Yes, of course.” She held on to his arm more tightly than warranted, hoping he’d think it was the tossing of the ship that made her wobbly on her feet, and not her encounter with Robert or learning from others what her husband kept from her.

  As Gilbert led her through the lounge toward the lifts, a small group of children tailing two nannies ran in from the Saloon Promenade, all giggles and fresh air, eager for their tea. A little boy, not more than four years old wearing an adorable sailor outfit with matching hat, ran into Gilbert with such force that the air seemed to be knocked out of him.

  “Now, now, little man,” Gilbert said gently as he lifted the child into his strong arms. “What’s the hurry?”

  “Oh, Rupert—do say you’re sorry,” said the young nanny, her complexion a deep red from either the wind or embarrassment.

  The boy smiled into Gilbert’s face. “Nanny said I could have two ices if I was good.” He held out a hand with two pudgy fingers.

  “Well, then,” said Gilbert, gently placing the boy on his feet again within easy reach of the nanny. “I’d say you’ve been very, very good. A bout of enthusiasm at the promise of ices should never be punished, I shouldn’t think.”

  “No, sir,” said the nanny as Rupert looked up at Gilbert with admiration, and something inside Caroline’s chest pressed against her lungs, making it hard to draw breath.

  Gilbert stared after them as the group made their
way toward the stairs, then escorted Caroline back to their suite. “I have something to show you,” she said when he opened the door to her bedroom.

  Without waiting for his answer, she walked inside and when he followed her in, went behind him to close the door. And lock it. Seeing him with the child had reminded her of how much he wanted to be a father. How much she wanted to be the mother of his child. With everything else between them, this was the one true thing that had never changed and probably never would.

  Gilbert raised a sandy brow as she approached him. “What are you doing, Caroline? It’s still daylight.”

  “I know. And I’m still your wife. I’ve missed you in my bed.” She began working the buttons on his waistcoat, then stood on her toes to kiss the underside of his jaw just where he liked it. “Love me,” she said softly into his ear. “Right now.” She pushed his jacket over his shoulders, relieved to feel no resistance. “Because I want you. And because I’d like to believe that you want me, too.”

  His fingers threaded through her hair, scattering pins, but he didn’t seem or care to notice. He was like a man starved as he lifted her and carried her to the bed, neither of them waiting to get completely undressed.

  His hands were tentative at first but Caroline, impatient and eager to erase the image of another man, showed him where she wanted him to touch her, how fast and how slowly, where to kiss and how hard and how soft. They forgot, for a short time, who they were and what had brought them there, and enjoyed themselves as if they were two new lovers.

  Happy and satiated, Caroline fell asleep with Gilbert on the narrow bed, one bare leg thrown across his. And when she awoke alone to the sound of Jones calling her name and tapping on the door, she found a note written on Lusitania letterhead on the bedside table. She held it between her fingers for two long breaths, knowing what it would say without opening it. Gilbert had written her a note the morning after their wedding night, a night of excited anticipation and fulfilled passion. Which had only made the contents of the note more devastating. She opened the folded note, the stiff paper crisp and formal, and read the two simple words, followed with the lone initial G. Forgive me.