“Really?”
“Yes. But I was afraid you’d think it was unethical and leave me.”
We laughed nervously, looking downward into the thin, hot chasm of air between our two bodies. His fingers slid from my face to the back of my head. I said, “Probably it is unethical, though.”
“Then I suppose we should stop.”
I looked up. His face was so tender, it bruised me. “Yes. We really should stop.”
We didn’t move. Went on looking at each other in awe, in disbelief. His palm at my waist lay heavy, his fingers in my hair were as warm and light as sunbeams.
I lifted my own hands to rest on his collarbone, so that my fingertips just reached over the ridge to touch the hollow of his throat. The extreme softness of his sweater absorbed my skin. “For the record, though, you’re not plain old John Langford. You’re not plain or old. You’re John.”
“John,” he said. “John and Sarah.”
There was nothing I could say to that. No possible reply, except one.
I went up on my tiptoes, slipped my hands around the back of his neck, and kissed his lips, which parted just in time.
Chapter 20
Caroline
At Sea
Thursday, May 6, 1915
What time is it? Caroline sat straight up in bed at the clatter outside, metal and wood clanging together as if an angry cook had run amok with all of her utensils and pots. Except this was much louder, the objects being slammed against each other much bigger and heavier than mere pots and pans.
A gray, filmy light filtered through the edges of her curtains, telling her that it was predawn. She turned on the bedside lamp so she could see the small clock on the writing desk. Five forty-three. Bang. Not from the corridor, then. The noise was outside the ship, and a little above her. Something on A-deck.
Caroline sat up, blinking as if that might clear her head. Maybe it was one of the daily lifeboat drills, a subject of quite a lot of derision among many of the other passengers Caroline had met. Not about the drills exactly, but more about the fact that the passengers were not invited to attend.
Sliding on her wrapper, she padded across her room then down the short hall to Gilbert’s bedroom. Perhaps he’d know what the noise and commotion was all about. If anything, he would be able to put her worries to rest. She placed her palm against his door and smiled bitterly to herself. The first person she’d sought to set things right was her husband. Her reliable and dependable Gilbert. The man she’d thought she loved. The man she’d betrayed.
She rapped on the door. “Gilbert? It’s Caroline. May I come in?” In the past, she would have knocked briefly, then entered. But she felt as if she’d given up that right and now needed his permission.
When there was no answer, she knocked again. “Gilbert? Are you awake?” After waiting another long moment, Caroline hesitated only briefly before turning the door handle and pushing it open. His room was similar to hers, although slightly smaller and without access to the outer corridor. She’d been surprised when he’d selected it, assuming he’d want the space and the access. But he’d told her he wanted her to be more comfortable and given her the larger room. Caroline had hoped he’d really meant that he’d be sharing the room with her, but she’d realized the very first night that she didn’t actually know her husband’s intentions at all.
The curtains on one of his windows had been pulled open, allowing her to see the unmade bed, the indentation still on his pillow. “Gilbert?” she said to the empty room, not sure why. Maybe it was to finish their conversation from the previous morning, to ask him what it was he didn’t want her to do.
The banging on the deck above continued unabated, yet she didn’t care anymore. She sat down on the edge of the bed, smelling his scent, feeling his cold sheets. Missing him. She’d seen him only briefly the previous evening for a politely formal dinner with two other couples before he’d excused himself to attend to business. Not wanting to cause awkwardness, Caroline had also left the dining room and headed to her suite shortly afterward, desperate not to see Robert. Yet here she was, longing for both of them, feeling their absence as the tides must ache for the moon.
Do not rely on any man for your happiness, Caroline. You must find your own. Caroline sat up as if her mother were standing next to her, telling her daughter what she’d told her the day Caroline’s father had died. Annelise Telfair had loved her husband, and the security his position and money had offered her, but she had not stopped living just because he had.
Caroline stood. It wasn’t the same thing, of course, but she could certainly appreciate the sentiment. Her mother hadn’t raised her to wallow in misery. She simply must decide where her happiness lay, and chart her course accordingly.
With renewed purpose, she made her way back to her bedroom, planning to dress quickly and without her maid’s assistance, have a quick and quiet breakfast in her suite, then wait in the first-class lounge until her appointment with Margery Schuyler for their final rehearsal before that evening’s performance.
Yes, she loved her husband. But, as she’d realized in the darkest hours of the night as she tossed and turned in her lonely bed, she loved Robert Langford, too. Perhaps she needed to tell him how she felt, and then depending on his reaction, she’d know what to do next. She had to know what to do next.
She was so preoccupied with rehearsing what she’d say when she saw him that she almost missed the envelope that had been slid under her door from the outside hallway. Had it been there when she’d awakened? She wasn’t sure. She’d been focused on the noise from the deck above, and could have easily overlooked it from where it lay on the blue carpet, shoved just past the edge of the door.
It had to be from Robert. Of course he’d been wondering why she was avoiding him. Maybe he wanted to meet with her, too. Eagerly, she stooped and picked it up, examining the envelope. It was cheap paper, thin and lightweight, not the heavy linen of her own stationery. She flipped it over, frowning at the Mrs. Hochstetter written in an unfamiliar hand. Not feminine or masculine, and definitely not tidy. It seemed as if someone had written the words using the opposite hand the writer was accustomed to using. As if the writer might be trying to disguise their identity.
Caroline ripped open the envelope, letting it fall to the ground as she unfolded the single sheet inside.
I know your secret. If you do not wish your husband to find out, you will deliver to me that which I ask. Wait for further instructions following this evening’s concert. I will find you.
Caroline felt as if she’d been plunged into the icy Atlantic, suffocating and freezing, the suck of the waves pulling her under. Who else knew? She remembered what Jones had said, about there being gossip among the servants about Caroline’s fight with Gilbert and then her fleeing the dining room followed by Robert. Had they been followed? Had Robert told someone? She dismissed the second thought almost as soon as it appeared. He would never have betrayed her. He loved her, she knew that. He’d said it often enough the night they’d spent together. And she knew his character. He wasn’t capable of hurting her like that. Then who?
She remained standing, unwilling to give in to the urge to collapse on the bed and fall into a pathetic ball of fear and self-pity. That wasn’t the daughter her mother had raised. She had no one else to blame for her predicament except for herself, and only she could extricate herself from it.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to think. To consider the motives of the blackmailer. It only took a moment. Jewelry. It had to be that—she had nothing else of any value, at least that’s what everyone except for a select few would assume. She’d been wearing various pieces since she boarded the ship, visible to anyone who glanced in her direction. She wondered which pieces her blackmailer would demand, and how she’d be able to get them from the safe in the purser’s office.
Taking a deep breath, Caroline pressed her fisted hands against her chest as if she could slow the pounding of her heart. Think. She wasn’t sure if the p
urser would grant her access to the jewelry, seeing how Gilbert was his only contact. But she could ask Gilbert to take out all of her jewelry from the safe and bring it to her room, claiming she wasn’t sure what she wanted to wear that evening for the concert. It would make him happy to think she wanted to wear one of the gaudy pieces he’d bought for her. She swayed but didn’t buckle, the burden of yet another betrayal almost too heavy to bear.
She finished dressing, then wrote two brief notes: one to Gilbert requesting her jewelry, and another to Robert asking him to meet her in the lounge, where she’d be alone for the next two hours. Then she shoved the blackmailer’s envelope and note into the back of the desk drawer and gathered her piano music. She hurriedly left the room, intent on finding Patrick to give him the notes to be delivered, letting the door shut behind her with a decisive snap.
* * *
“I’m quite sure that’s supposed to be an F sharp,” Margery said down her long nose as she peered over Caroline’s shoulder to examine the music on the piano stand.
“It is,” agreed Caroline. “Which is why I’m wondering why you’re singing an A flat. I could certainly play the piece in another key, which would make the A flat correct, but that would change all the other notes to the same key, which I’m afraid you might find too challenging.”
Margery’s rather large nostrils flared, at least making her mouth sore seem slightly smaller by comparison.
Caroline returned to the keyboard and began playing, not even caring that she and Margery were apparently performing in separate keys. She simply wanted this day to be over. After she’d delivered the notes, she’d waited in the lounge for two hours, her anxiety growing with each ticking of the giant clock over the green marble mantel. Despite assurances from Patrick that he would deliver her note to Robert straightaway, he had not appeared.
She needed to speak with him before the concert and her encounter with her blackmailer. Not to seek his advice, but to let him know that she was prepared to give in to the blackmailer’s demands, whatever they might be, if only to protect Gilbert. Whatever happened between them, Caroline would not make her husband a public cuckold, an object of ridicule.
Only once had she ventured outside the lounge to see if she could spot Robert, thinking maybe he’d misunderstood, but she had spotted only the lifeboats on the Boat Deck hanging on the outside of the great ship—apparently the commotion from that morning. It was sobering to see, a reminder of the necessity of last-minute emergency preparations. The Germans had not been keeping it a secret that their U-boats were lurking in the waters off Ireland, and despite the captain’s assurances that Lusitania could outrun a U-boat, it was apparent that he was taking the possible threat seriously.
Caroline remembered what Gilbert had told her about the Germans not wishing to risk the ire of the American public over the potential loss of so many American lives. And how she’d thought there was more to his conviction than he was telling her. He was holding something back from her, she was sure of it. But she was no longer sure of his motives for keeping her uninformed, his actions since boarding the ship convincing her that his reticence wasn’t all about protecting her delicate sensibilities. Watching the dangling lifeboats, suspended like a held breath, had erased any comfort his words had offered and filled Caroline with enough apprehension to force her back inside.
It had taken her a while to return to the Saloon Lounge as she was stopped several times by on-board acquaintances to sign their memento books. She felt odd not having one to offer in turn, but it had never occurred to her. She wondered how many of these people would remember her after only a year as they stared at her name and tried to put a face to it. But she signed several with a smile and then made her way back to the lounge, avoiding large droves of children led by stewardesses—apparently taking advantage of the fine weather—before finally arriving at the lounge to an annoyed Margery. She’d hurriedly sat on the piano bench and begun to play. Half an hour later, she was ready to toss either herself or Margery Schuyler over the ship’s railing.
“Really, Mrs. Hochstetter, if you can’t play the right notes then perhaps I should perform a cappella.”
Caroline was tempted to agree. Her anxiousness over Robert and discovering the identity of her blackmailer had done nothing to keep her mind focused on the music and keyboard in front of her. Not that it mattered. The most gifted pianist in the world stood no chance of sounding better than snarling traffic when paired with Margery’s screeching soprano and grating contralto voice.
Keeping her anger in check, Caroline said, “Perhaps we should try it one more time. I promise to try harder.” She stifled a yawn behind her hand.
“Perhaps you’d play better if you got more sleep,” Margery said, her eyes sharp.
“Excuse me?” Heat flooded Caroline’s cheeks.
“You’re yawning. I’m thinking lack of sleep isn’t helping your somewhat pedestrian abilities on the piano.”
Caroline stood abruptly and picked up her music from the piano stand. “I think I’m done for now. Please feel free to continue practicing without me. I’m retiring to my room to rest and I will see you at dinner.” She bowed her head slightly. “Good day.”
Despite Margery’s sputtering protests, she hurried toward the lifts, halting suddenly at the strident notes of Prunella Schuyler’s voice expounding on the virtues of her stepson, Phillip, at Harvard Law School. She watched as Prunella and her unfortunate victim disappeared into the lift, quickly lifting her skirts to head down one flight to the Promenade Deck and her suite.
Caroline had somehow managed to fall into a restless sleep, roused by Jones in time to dress for dinner. She watched her maid carefully, to see if she might give away any signs that she might know something of the blackmail note. But the woman was efficient as always, even expressing concern over the amount of jewelry that would be left behind in the cabin after Caroline and Gilbert went to dinner, promising to stay in the room to guard it until it could be returned to the safe. She’d even suggested storing it in Gilbert’s safe in the stateroom, but Caroline had declined, telling her it would be taken care of and not to worry.
Gilbert escorted her to the dining room, his conversation stilted. “You look lovely,” he said, indicating the thick collar of rubies and matching earrings she’d chosen, a set she detested.
“Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile, trying to think of something else to say. But they were silent on the way to the dining saloon, as if both were aware of the gaping potholes into which any words might lead them.
They had joined the Schuylers for dinner, minus Miss Smythe-Smithson. It seemed no one was eager to repeat the earlier night’s disaster. Caroline glanced at her dining companions, wondering if they’d noticed how she’d been unable to eat a bite of the quarters of lamb in mint sauce or the cauliflower au gratin she’d allowed a waiter to place on her plate. Her stomach felt as knotted as a ball of twine, her nerves filling any reserve space.
“Are you feeling all right?” Gilbert’s words were solicitous and without recrimination, making Caroline feel even worse. “Are you quite sure you’re not . . .”
He stopped as Caroline felt the blood drain from her face. Gilbert handed her a glass of wine. “It’s possible, you know. Perhaps you should see the on-board doctor?”
She shook her head, horrified to think that the one thing she and Gilbert had always wanted was now the one thing she most dreaded. What if she were expecting a child? Could she ever tell Gilbert that it might not be his? She took another sip of her wine, her next thought making her even more ill. Because even if he suspected it wasn’t, Gilbert would love the child as if it were his own.
“Are you nervous, then?” he asked. “About the concert. You haven’t eaten a bite.” He leaned closer. “You shouldn’t be nervous, you know. You’re quite brilliant on the piano. I don’t think I’ve told you that enough. How proud I am of you.”
He smiled his old smile, the smile of a handsome and eager young man. The smile
she’d fallen in love with, and she found herself relaxing as she returned it. “Thank you, Gil. I’m not really nervous about the concert. It’s just . . .” She looked up at that moment, forgetting what she was going to say. She’d spotted Robert across the room being seated at an empty table for two. It stunned her for a moment. She’d been looking for him for an entire day without success and then, when it was too late to speak with him, there he was.
Gilbert followed her gaze, settling on Robert for a long moment before returning his attention to Caroline. “Yes?” he prompted.
She brought her attention back to her husband, trying to remember what they’d been saying. “It’s just . . . I don’t think I’ve had enough time to practice.”
He placed his hand atop hers. “You’ll be fine. Even the most shrill voice couldn’t hide the music you can coax from a piano.”
“Thank you,” she said, attempting to focus on the food and the conversation at the table, painfully aware of Robert watching them from across the room. She dared not look directly at him, aware that Gilbert’s attention also seemed split between their table and Robert’s. When the waiter brought the desserts and offered her a bavarois au chocolat, she quickly shook her head, feeling as if she might be sick.
As soon as dinner was finished, everyone headed up to the Saloon Deck and the lounge for the evening’s entertainment. Caroline looked through the throng of passengers for Robert, but he’d left his table by the time Gilbert held out her chair. “I asked Patrick to bring your music to the saloon,” Gilbert said into her ear.
“You always think of everything, don’t you?” She’d meant it as a compliment, but somehow it didn’t sound that way.
He met her eyes. “I do. Always.” He put his hand over hers where it rested in the crook of his arm, then led her to the lifts and into the lounge. He settled them into two wing chairs near the piano, and asked a passing waiter to bring a Scotch for him and a sherry for Caroline. She didn’t want it, but figured it could help settle her nerves. She and Margery weren’t scheduled to perform until after a brief intermission, which meant she had to remain seated and not appear jittery through each performance. According to the program, the entertainment included a passenger dressed as Bonnie Prince Charlie in full Highland regalia singing six Scottish songs, various poetry recitations, singing, and solos on the euphonium and mandolin.
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