The Golden Prince

by Rebecca Dean

  “I know.”

  Something stirred in him that hadn’t stirred for a long time. She had no ticket, and it would be a devil of a job squaring things with the purser. He could do it, though. By God he could.

  Over her shoulder he could see her great-aunt approaching them. “Be in Southampton, at the dockside, by ten o’clock tomorrow morning. She sails at midday.” Then, to Sibyl, he said, “Your titled guests seem to have enjoyed my picture show, Lady Harland. It’s been very gratifying.”

  Marigold didn’t stay to hear any more. She had a lot of decisions to make. It was already eleven o’clock at night, far too late to travel down to Snowberry and then, in the morning, leave Snowberry for Southampton. If she had to be at the dockside by ten o’clock, there was far too little time in the morning to make a detour to Snowberry. Which meant she was going to be leaving the country without saying good-bye to anyone.

  She didn’t think it mattered too much about Iris. Iris was too absorbed in her new role in life as a wife and expectant mother to be too concerned if she left for a long stay in America. Sailing tomorrow would mean missing Lily’s wedding to Rory, but as Lily was going to be living on Islay after the wedding and she would then see her only rarely anyway, she didn’t think not being able to tell Lily good-bye mattered much either. Rose and her grandfather were, however, a little different.

  Not in a million years would Rose approve of her sailing to America at a moment’s notice—and especially not in the company of a man twice her age whom she had only just met. The row between them would be terrific, which meant it would be far more sensible to simply write a letter to Rose that she would receive after the Titanic had sailed.

  That left only her grandfather. Her grandfather would be devastated at her leaving without her even saying good-bye to him. Thinking of how great his distress would be, she thought of alternatives. Perhaps she could sail at a later date, on a different ship? But who, then, would pay for her passage? In sailing on the Titanic, unsaid, but taken for granted, was that Zac Zimmerman would pay for her passage.

  Also, in sailing on another ship she would miss the experience of traveling in decadent luxury.

  She would write her grandfather a very loving letter—and when he saw her on the silver screen, her dream fulfilled, he would be so proud of her that he would forgive her the manner in which she’d left England. Where Sibyl was concerned she would also write a letter—and not leave it, but post it. When she left in the morning, she would tell Sibyl she was returning to Snowberry. That way the alarm couldn’t be given, and no one would be sent after her to drag her from the ship.

  There was, however, one person she would say good-bye to, and that was Strickland. Strickland was totally unshockable, and it was highly likely that he would, like her, regard Hollywood as being her destiny.

  It was after midnight and Strickland put down his paintbrush and palette and looked at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. “Hollywood? Do you know where Hollywood is, Marigold? It’s in California. You do know where California is, don’t you? It’s on the very far side of the United States, two thousand, perhaps nearly three thousand miles distant from New York.”

  “The farther it is, the better. I don’t want to be on this side of the Atlantic Ocean when Maxim marries Anne Greveney. It is already being trumpeted as the wedding of the year, and I just don’t want to know about it. Neither do I want to continue living as I am, not being invited anywhere. I might as well be a leper for all the invitations I receive.”

  Without removing the cigarette that was plastered to his lower lip, Strickland said, “What does your family think?”

  “Nothing as yet. There’s no time to go down to Snowberry and tell them, and so I’m going to write letters once I’m aboard the ship.”

  “That’s a coward’s way of doing things, Marigold—and I never took you for a coward.”

  “Because I’m not. I’m doing it because it’s after midnight now and I have to be at the dockside by ten o’clock tomorrow morning. So before you tell me I could telephone Snowberry, I think breaking such news on the telephone would be far more distressing for everyone concerned than doing it the way I’m going to do it.”

  She looked around the studio. “I’m going to miss you, Strickland. Life won’t be quite the same without you.”

  “Ditto,” Strickland said feelingly.

  “And Persephone? Where is she? I thought I might take her with me. I think that one look at it might be enough to persuade Mr. Zimmerman she’d be a good subject for a movie.”

  Strickland removed the cigarette from his mouth and a fleck of tobacco from his tongue. He’d never told her that it was Lord Jethney who had bought the painting from Maxim. He’d simply told her she needn’t worry about it anymore, that it was no longer in Maxim Yurenev’s possession. On reflection, he still thought it was better for her not to know the truth.

  “She’s safely under wraps—and too valuable to manhandle all the way across an ocean and a continent. Listen to me one last time, Marigold. Going off in this manner is going to devastate your family. You don’t know the kind of man Zimmerman is. You don’t know a single person in America. It is the craziest, most reckless scheme I’ve ever heard of. Think about it sensibly and don’t go to Southampton tomorrow. Please.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “You’re growing into an old fusspot, Strickland. Now I must go. I came here in a hansom and it’s outside, waiting to take me back to St. James’s Street.”

  He walked out of the house with her and her last words to him, as the horse trotted away down the street and she leaned out of the hansom’s window, were: “Isn’t it wonderful, Strickland? Next time you see me I’ll be on the silver screen!”

  He stomped back into the house, not thinking it wonderful at all. There was an endearing warmth to Marigold’s allure that he was going to miss. He was also certainly going to miss her volatility and sheer exuberance. He had become fonder of her than he was of any other human being, and he was convinced she was heading for disaster. He’d done his best to make her see how dangerously reckless she was being, and, as usual, she’d taken not the slightest notice. Who, then, would she take notice of?

  The answer came to him with the same certainty it had when he had been pondering how to persuade Maxim Yurenev into parting with Persephone.

  Lord Jethney.

  He could hardly ring Lord Jethney up at one-thirty in the morning, though. Or could he? He decided he couldn’t.

  Marigold had told him the Titanic sailed at midday. If he spoke to Jethney first thing in the morning, Jethney would have time to travel by rail down to Southampton. With a good chauffeur, he would even have time to be driven there.

  He went to bed to dream of white slave traders called Zimmerman and of Marigold being tied to a railway track where, when the train bore down on her, no rescuer appeared.

  “Lord Jethney is not at home,” a butler said when, at seven o’clock, Strickland telephoned Lord Jethney’s home in Hampshire.

  “Where will I be able to contact him? It’s a matter of urgency.”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”

  It was the exact same stuffy response he’d received when trying to track Prince Yurenev down. Damning all butlers to hell, he forced himself to think. If Jethney wasn’t at his home in Hampshire, then he must be at his London home. Other than knowing it would be within handy reach of the Houses of Parliament, Strickland didn’t have a clue as to where it was. He certainly had no London telephone number for Jethney.

  Looking at the clock, realizing that time was fast running out, he crammed a wide black-brimmed hat on his head, swirled a black cape around his shoulders, and looking like a Transylvanian vampire unhappily abroad in daylight, he set off for the House of Lords.

  No one was willing to help him. Lord Jethney was expected at the House at ten o’clock when he had an important government meeting. And his lordship would certainly not be able to see anyone until afterward, and not even then unles
s they had an appointment with him.

  Ten o’clock would, he knew, be far too late. It simply wouldn’t give Jethney enough time to make up his mind to go to Southampton, and to get there before midday. He wondered if the Titanic was putting in at any other port before heading out across the North Atlantic for New York. Many transatlantic liners docked at Cherbourg, in France, to pick up continental passengers. Nearly all of them also stopped at Queenstown in Ireland, to collect Irish emigrants traveling steerage.

  He strode out into Parliament Square wondering where he could get the information he needed, wondering where the nearest shipping office was.

  A familiar, top-hatted figure, dressed appropriately for the House of Lords in a frock coat, was striding down toward him, a briefcase in one hand, a walking cane in the other.

  “Jethney!” he cried. “Thank God! Jethney, you have to give me five minutes of your time! It’s about Marigold!”

  Theo came to an abrupt halt.

  “She’s sailing on the Titanic in just over three hours’ time with an American by the name of Zimmerman. She only met him yesterday. He’s told her he’s going to make her into a movie star. I’ve done my best to dissuade her, but she thinks it’s all going to be a marvelous adventure and …”

  Theo was no longer listening to him. Big Ben was showing 8:45, and the only boat train to Southampton left Waterloo at nine o’clock. If he missed it, he didn’t have a hope in hell of boarding the Titanic before she sailed.

  Without another word he stepped out into the street to flag down a taxi. “Waterloo,” Strickland heard Theo bark at the driver. “I’m a government minister and the matter is urgent!”

  Once in the cab Theo marshaled his thoughts. Where Marigold was concerned he’d been going to make no approach to her until after Jerusha had been dead for a year. When her affair with Prince Yurenev had come to such an abrupt and ugly end, he had been tempted not to wait so long; but in the end he had decided that it was best for both his reputation and Marigold’s that he keep to his first decision. Now he absolutely could no longer do so. He couldn’t allow her to sail to America. If she did, she would in all likelihood be lost to him forever—and he couldn’t allow that. Not when he loved her as much as he’d ever done.

  At Waterloo he found God was being good to him: the boat train was still in the station. As a government minister he didn’t waste time buying a ticket. He sprinted down the platform, stepping breathlessly into a first-class carriage. He would buy a ticket from the guard. For the moment he would simply get his breath back.

  It was only as he did so that he remembered he was supposed to be chairing a government meeting at ten o’clock. There was nothing that could be done about it. Someone else would have to chair it. He would apologize profusely when he was back in London, explaining he had been faced with a life-and-death situation—and he would do so feeling he was speaking the truth.

  The journey gave him time to reflect on the two possible outcomes of what he was doing. Either Marigold would listen to sense, or she wouldn’t. He had a dreadful feeling that when it came to the choice of being made into a movie star, or becoming the second Lady Jethney, Marigold was going to opt for being made into a movie star. Whichever choice she made, one thing he was going to do was tell her that Persephone was in his possession, not Strickland’s.

  Marigold was in her element. Wearing a chinchilla fur that had been one of her first presents from Maxim, she was leaning over one of the first-class deck rails, Zac Zimmerman at her side. On either side of them were scores of other first-class passengers, all determined to enjoy the moment of departure to the full. The ship’s orchestra was playing on deck, while on the dockside a brass band was entertaining the vast crowd waiting to see a moment of history being made: the moment when the biggest ship in the world slid from its berth and out to sea.

  There were so many last-minute passengers hurrying up the gangplank and so many relatives of those who were traveling on the liner scurrying down again after saying their good-byes that Marigold didn’t see Theo board, nor did she see him having a swift urgent word with the ship’s officer whose task it was to welcome passengers.

  Once on the first-class deck and with only minutes to go before the ship sailed, Theo spotted her and began barreling his way through the crowd toward her.

  “Marigold!” he shouted, but it was pointless. Everyone was shouting. Those on deck were shouting good-byes to friends and relatives on the dockside; friends and relatives were responding in kind. All were trying to make their voices heard over the sound of the brass band and the ship’s orchestra.

  Only when he laid a hand on her arm and she turned to see who was being so impertinently familiar did she realize he was on board.

  “Theo!” The shock was so great that she put a hand over her heart.

  “Now what the hell …” Zac began proprietarily, but then, seeing that the thick-set, grim-faced intruder was known to Marigold—and remembering the circumstances under which Marigold was with him—he thought better of what he’d been going to say and fell silent, watching Theo with narrowed eyes.

  No other visitors were now scurrying down the gangplank. Ropes were being cast off. The deck beneath their feet was throbbing as the ship prepared to get under way. Knowing he had only three or four minutes at the most before the gangplank was raised, Theo said urgently, “Forget America, Marigold. I love you and I want you to marry me. We only have seconds, darling. What is your answer going to be? Yes or no?”

  The drama of the moment was meat and drink to Marigold. She could go to Hollywood with Zac, or she could marry Theo, who stood every chance of one day becoming prime minister. If she married Theo, it didn’t have to mean that she’d have to put an end to her dreams of being a movie star. Hadn’t Zac said at dinner the previous evening that there was a British Film Company by the name of Barker Motion Photography and that Will Barker had just made a full-length film about Henry VIII and that he was going to make another one about Queen Victoria?

  If the idea was put to him, why shouldn’t Barker make a film about Henry’s daughter Elizabeth, who had become just as great a queen—if not greater—than Queen Victoria? Like Elizabeth, her hair was a blazing, fiery red. As Good Queen Bess she would be sensational. Off-screen, she would be Lady Jethney.

  When it came to such a choice, the decision was easy.

  “Yes!” she shouted above the cacophony of noise being made all around them.

  Exultantly Theo grabbed hold of her hand and, ignoring a bewildered Zac Zimmerman, dragged her after him as he fought a way through the crush in the direction of the gangplank.

  They reached it without a second to spare. The Titanic’s mammoth whistle blew. And blew again. And again.

  It was the signal for the moment of departure. As the gangplank juddered and shook, Theo and Marigold hurtled down it, hand in hand.

  With the firm ground under their feet, Marigold looked up at the great black sides of the ship to the point on the first-class deck where she had left Zac Zimmerman.

  He was waving to her, not angry, but smiling, and as the Titanic gathered speed, heading in the direction of the English Channel, those nearest to him heard him shout, “What a gal! God in heaven! What a gal!”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Five days later the first news of the sinking arrived by wireless at the Daily Despatch office. At first the only information was that the Titanic had struck an iceberg and had called for aid.

  There was no way of double-checking, and Hal held the story. Then came news that reporters in New York were storming the White Star Line offices at Nine Broadway for further news.

  Before he pitched in to what he suspected were going to be the busiest few hours he’d ever experienced, Hal telephoned Rose.

  “The Titanic has hit an iceberg and is in trouble. Get over here fast. I want you working in the office with other reporters. You’ve been aboard her. They haven’t.”

  The next wire said that White Star’s vice president, P
hilip A. S. Franklin, had made light of the reports that the ship was in trouble. “Even if the Titanic had hit ice, she could float indefinitely,” he was reported as saying. “We place absolute confidence in the Titanic. We believe that the boat is unsinkable.”

  Hal was no longer so sure. The silence after the first wire saying that the ship had called for aid was too long. His fingers itched to be the first British newspaper to publish the banner headline of the year—but he couldn’t risk issuing it without confirmation.

  “What are the American papers saying?” he demanded of his staff. “What headline is the New York Herald running with?”

  By wireless he learned that the Herald had run with:

  THE NEW TITANIC STRIKES ICE AND CALLS FOR AID.

  VESSELS RUSH TO HER SIDE

  The Evening Sun had run with:

  ALL SAVED FROM TITANIC AFTER COLLISION.

  Hal chewed his fingernails, settled Rose at a desk with a typewriter, and took a gamble, deciding on the banner headline:

  TITANIC SINKING. WOMEN AND CHILDREN

  TAKEN OFF IN LIFEBOATS

  Hours later, when confirmation came, his headline read:

  TERRIBLE LOSS OF LIFE AS TITANIC SINKS

  A horrified Marigold bought every newspaper she could lay her hands on. One report declared that out of a passenger list of 2,340, 1,500 had drowned. Another that 1,800 had drowned.

  “But when are they going to publish a list of names of survivors?” she asked Theo. “How can we know if Zac Zimmerman has survived?”

  “He was a first-class passenger, Marigold. He’s bound to have been shepherded into a lifeboat.” Theo didn’t at all mind her concern about Zac Zimmerman. If she hadn’t been concerned about him, he would have been very disappointed in her.

  Rose relayed to them all the up-to-the-minute news. Only 4 first-class women passengers had lost their lives out of a total of 143. In second class only 15 had survived out of a total of 93.