by Sarah Jane
Taking a filled cup from the tray, Lucy extended it to her mother. “It’s nice and hot,” she said. Elisabeth took it and smiled. It was still quite warm in the sun, but in the shade of the overhang a chill was creeping in.
“Now what would you like to eat?” Lucy asked, eyeing the selection of sandwiches. Her mother, though, was not paying attention—she was watching the steward walk away. As was Abigail.
“Do you know that steward, O’Rourke?” Elisabeth inquired when the lad was out of earshot.
Abigail blushed and shook her head. “No, of course not, ma’am …” She busied herself with retucking a blanket around Lucy.
Lucy’s mother took a sip of tea. “Pity,” she murmured into her cup. “He’s quite handsome.”
Lucy struggled to swallow the bite of her sandwich rather than cough it into her lap. “What did you say, Mother?” she asked.
Elisabeth Miles looked to her daughter, and then to her maid. “Oh, nothing …” she said, shaking her head. Her mouth was a flat line, but her eyes were laughing, and Lucy was quite sure she’d heard her correctly.
From the look on Abigail’s face, Lucy surmised that the maid had heard her as well.
“O’Rourke, I think you may be getting too much sun. You look flushed,” Elisabeth said.
Abigail raised a hand to her cheek, and Lucy, to save her from further embarrassment, set down her cup and hugged her own arms. “I think I’m getting a chill after all. Would you mind fetching my coat back?”
Lucy hoped the errand would give the poor maid a moment of relief.
But Abigail’s eyes widened further, and she looked at Lucy strangely. The pink in her cheeks drained away until she was as pale as her apron. She stood stock-still for several seconds. Finally she responded.
“Of course, Miss,” Abigail said as she backed away. “I’ll just go and fetch it.”
Unsure of where to go, Isabella had simply fled. She just kept going, moving forward, until she reached the Titanic’s bow on B deck and could not go a step farther—only the rails of the ship kept her from walking right out over the deep.
Isabella stared at the endless blue-gray of the Atlantic. Wind swept her hair back, loosening it from its careful knot, and pushing the wayward locks away from her temples. There was nothing ahead of the massive ship. Nothing but water and sky, and a future that was uncertain to say the least.
Isabella drew a quaking breath. The ocean was so beautiful, so impossible in its endlessness. And so terrifying. She shivered in the green wool coat, feeling more lost and alone than ever, and closed her eyes to the horizon.
Two faces haunted her waking daydream: Phillip Miles and the maid who had spotted her in the stolen coat. Of the two, Miles was by far the more frightening. She had never stopped to consider that her biological father might be a bad man. Nor, she realized, had her mama and papa when they put her on this ship. Their hopes, as well as her own, were dashed, but what had been done could not be undone. That ship had, quite literally, sailed.
Isabella thought of Francis James, the papa who had raised her. She thought of his rough hands and tender heart. The man from the smoking lounge didn’t look as if he’d worked a hard day in his life. His hands were likely as smooth as the bald head of a new baby! It was his heart that was hard and callous. Isabella squeezed her closed eyes more tightly shut. She could never call a man like that Father! And yet she could not walk away, either.
Now her fate was bound to Phillip Miles—unless she chose to disembark in New York without ever letting on about the letter and her birth certificate. But how would a girl with no means, no family, and no connections make a life for herself in America?
A chill deeper than the bitter wind snaked its way inside the wool coat. She had more family than the dastardly Master Miles aboard the Titanic. She had a mother. She had a sister. And the terrible man she could never call Father was plotting against them both.
Isabella did not have to accept the charity of an evil man, but she did have to do what was right. She needed to find the rest of her biological family before they made port, and tell them what Phillip Miles was up to.
What if they are as awful as he is? The question came unbidden, and the very idea of it left her feeling even more alone. Still, it would not change her course of action. She knew what she must do in order to sleep at night, in order to be able to write to Mama and Papa and tell them all that had transpired.
Bella, look to the bright side. How many times had her mama lifted her chin and told her to have hope, reminded her that the darkest times were when it was most important to fan the flames?
Her eyes wide open, Isabella looked out at the Atlantic again. The sun glinted on the waves. She had always wanted a sister. That could be a bright side …
Ever since she was tiny she’d longed for a playmate, a confidant, a best friend. The sisters who lived in the apartment downstairs, all three of them, bickered at times, but were closer than fingers in a mitten. Isabella had played with them occasionally, but it was as if the girls had their own language. And though Isabella wanted to understand it, what her heart really desired was someone of her own to share a secret language with. A sister.
You’ll never be like sisters. The Miles family didn’t want you when you were born … why would they want you now? A terrible voice deep in her consciousness trampled her hopes. The Miles family gave you up. Threw you out. “Like rubbish,” Isabella told the wind.
Only, she would do them better. She would treat her biological mother and sister as people should be treated. She would find them. Warn them. Help them.
But first she would have to determine who—amongst the hundreds of first-class passengers—they were.
“Are you sure, Mother?” Lucy peered at her mother anxiously in the mirror while Abigail fastened her ruby necklace around her neck. It had already been a long, lovely day. After their late lunch on deck, they had spent some time writing postcards in the reading room. By Elisabeth Miles’s standards the day had been quite exerting, and Lucy had thought her mother would stay in their stateroom until it was time for bed. But when the bugler played, alerting passengers that dinner would soon be served, Elisabeth had surprised Lucy again by insisting they dress for the dining room.
Lucy was delighted. It was only their second night, and she was anxious to meet other passengers. She hoped they might catch a glimpse of John Astor and his young bride, who had booked return passage to America after their European honeymoon, or Benjamin Guggenheim, one of several very wealthy Americans on board.
But now she worried at the signs of fatigue on her mother’s face. “We could stay here tonight,” she suggested gently.
“I’m fine,” Elisabeth insisted, “and O’Rourke has fetched enough trays for one day.” She managed a small smile and Lucy decided to drop the subject.
In the adjoining parlor room, Lucy’s father paced anxiously. When Lucy and her mother emerged, instead of admiring their fine dresses, he snapped, “It’s about time!”
“Here, Miss,” Abigail handed Lucy a shawl as her father hurried them out of their suite and toward the reception for the dining.
Lucy’s mother took her arm instead of her husband’s, and Lucy noticed immediately that she was leaning rather heavily. She stood straighter, placed her hand over her mother’s, and said a silent prayer that dinner would go well.
The reception room was already crowded with first-class diners dressed in the latest fashions and wearing sparkling jewels. Lucy was glad she’d chosen her peach chiffon with the contrasting underskirts. It was her best dress, but nonetheless paled beside the dresses of the other young women in the dining room. The empire-waist frocks in silks and velvets shimmered in the electric lights. One in particular, a deep lapis-blue gown with a short train, caught Lucy’s eye and she wondered if she would be able to find something like it in New York. As she lost sight of the girl in blue, she realized she’d lost sight of her father as well and began to search for him in the milling crowd.
A steward near the door was announcing each guest as they entered the main room, and Lucy and her mother were drawing close. Lucy craned her neck, and spotted her father at last. He was already inside the dining room with a drink in his hand, and about to find a table without them! Lucy nudged her mother forward.
“Elisabeth Miles, and her daughter, Lucy,” the steward pronounced. Lucy smiled and escorted her mother to the beautifully laid table her father was already standing beside. The seated diners smiled back, and the men stood politely. The family sat down and for a moment there was an awkward silence. Lucy wondered if her desire to get to know the other passengers was purely one-sided. She glanced at her mother, who was introducing herself politely to their tablemates, and admired the grand room.
The walls and ceiling were gleaming white with lovely patterning. Windows were set between the carved wall panels and lit from the outside to give the impression of being on land. Combined with the fine furnishings and polished table settings, it was difficult to believe they were on a ship.
Elisabeth turned away the first course of oysters and made small talk with their table companions, an American family traveling back to the States after a long vacation. The children, a boy and girl, were amusing themselves by playing some sort of game under the table that involved only their hands. They made faces at each other—not speaking—so they wouldn’t be told to stop, and seemed to understand each other’s every brow wag and nose squinch. They needn’t have worried about getting caught. Their parents weren’t paying a lick of attention.
“This tastes just like the salmon we had in Paris!” the children’s mother exclaimed loudly over the poached fish. Her husband disagreed just as loudly, but with a hearty laugh, saying she was mistaken—they hadn’t even had salmon since they left New York. Lucy smiled at the napkin in her lap and wondered if all Americans were loud, and whether her uncle’s family would be as boisterous. She secretly hoped so. It reminded her of the way her mother used to be—spirited and fun.
Suddenly an even louder, far less amused voice made Lucy stop chewing. On the other side of her mother, her father was engaged in conversation with an older gentleman, and the conversation appeared to be taking a turn.
“That’s preposterous,” her father boomed.
The man sitting across from him lowered his voice, but not so much that Lucy could not hear. “I am simply asking that you do the honorable thing and give me what you owe.”
“All is fair in love and war … and cards,” her father replied. “I’m just surprised to learn that you are a sore loser.”
“Isn’t this delicious?” Lucy asked, her voice pitched louder than usual in an attempt to distract attention from the arguing men. It was no use, however. The men’s voices grew louder and soon her father was practically shouting.
“I owe you nothing!” he bellowed.
“That’s a lie,” the man insisted. “I suppose I should have known better than to play cards with a man who doesn’t repay his debts!”
A sudden knot in her abdomen made Lucy’s stomach clench. What was this man saying?
People were staring … or trying hard not to. Lucy stood to excuse herself and her mother before things escalated further. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the steward who had announced their arrival make his way past the waiters toward the men, likely in an effort to quell the disturbance.
It was far too late. The man across from her father stood up abruptly and tossed his napkin onto his plate. “I’ve heard enough of your lies and your vulgar boasting, Miles!” he admonished Lucy’s father.
Lucy’s mother did not have to be coaxed into making a hasty exit. She, too, pushed back her chair. “Please excuse us,” she said softly. “I’m afraid I haven’t much appetite.”
That was an understatement. Lucy had lost her appetite as well. Leading her mother by the arm, she determinedly looked straight ahead and ignored the stares as they made their way to the exit. When she paused to get her shawl and her mother’s coat from the attendant, the dining room was quiet, but the damage had been done.
When they were safe inside their stateroom, Elisabeth sank onto the sofa and closed her eyes. Probably trying to shut out the awful image of Father causing a ruckus! Lucy thought. She wished she could dispel her own anger so calmly. She paced the room with her hands clenched into fists, feeling like a volcano about to erupt. Her father with his surly moods, argumentative nature, and bad habits had already managed to blot the family’s reputation on board, and they’d barely lost sight of land. Was it like this at home, too? Lucy had very little knowledge her father’s business relationships in London, but could not escape the sinking feeling she had now. The rest of the voyage would undoubtedly be full of stares and clucking tongues. It was humiliating! Just the thought of going back into the dining room was more than she could bear.
“I’m going to get some air!” Lucy said suddenly. Abigail would be there soon to help her mother dress for bed, and Lucy had to do something to keep from exploding. She went to her wardrobe in search of her warm green coat. Not seeing it, she pulled her blue coat off its hanger and tossed it over her shoulders, anxious to be outside.
Why does he do this? Lucy wondered as she hurried toward the promenade. She reconsidered what she knew of him as a businessman. He had a reputation as a hard man—and certainly had a stable of people who worked with him regardless of his demeanor—but did he have to be so … unlikeable?
Bursting out of the doors, Lucy drew a deep breath. The cold evening air felt good in her lungs. She took another slow inhale, longing to let it out in a scream. After several more breaths she stopped shaking and began, at last, to feel normal. But as her anger cooled, the night’s chill set in. Lucy pulled up her collar and shivered in her blue coat. She wished she’d been able to locate the warmer one, but she wasn’t ready to go back inside. Not yet.
Almost as soon as she’d wished for her green coat she saw a girl walking toward her wearing a coat of exactly the same shade and style. As the girl drew closer Lucy could not help but stare. It wasn’t a similar green coat—it was her green coat!
The girl was strolling alone and behaving oddly, peering too long into the face of each person she passed. Lucy grasped the ship rail as she drew closer and the girl turned to give her the same odd stare. They locked eyes and Lucy felt a jolt, like electricity, course through her. She opened her mouth to say something … but couldn’t.
The girl appeared stunned as well. She missed a step and then picked up her pace, averting her eyes and hurrying past Lucy without a word. Lucy was dumbfounded. She let the girl walk on for several paces and then turned to follow.
What on earth is she doing with my coat?
Now that she thought about it, Abigail had acted strangely earlier, bringing her blue coat when she’d asked for the green one. Had the maid given her coat away? Sold it? Did Abigail know this girl?
The departing girl walked faster and faster, and then, without turning back, darted into the second-class staircase and began to descend. Lucy paused. She hadn’t seen much of second class, but it was no surprise that a girl with a stolen coat was not traveling in first. She followed her down to C deck, and then D, and then lost sight of her completely in a sudden press of people.
Lucy turned in a slow circle. Second-class passengers were crowded onto the shelter deck, taking air before retiring for the night. She scanned in all directions, and finally spotted the girl. She’d shed the coat and was carrying it under her arm as she slipped through the gates that led down to steerage.
Abby woke with her little brother’s big toe dangerously close to her left nostril. Under normal circumstances she would have yelped and slapped Felix’s grubby foot away, assuming it was one of his pranks. Only these were not normal circumstances … not by any means.
Silently shifting away from Felix’s feet, Abby listened carefully. She could hear her brother’s steady breathing, and Constance’s soft snores in the bunk below. That girl slept like a log!
&
nbsp; And we’re grateful for that, Abby thought.
As quietly as she could, Abby climbed down from the upper bunk. She switched on a small light—their windowless room was black as pitch without it—and dressed in silence.
Abby stifled a yawn as she brushed out her hair and pinned it neatly up and back. She had barely slept. All night she’d had nightmares about the missing coat, and now she couldn’t stop thinking about it. How could I have been so careless? she scolded herself. Though she knew how … the reason was lying behind the curtained bunk with his feet on her pillow!
But the important thing now was to get the coat back before Miss Lucy realized it was gone, which could be soon. Her mistress’s daughter was quite sharp, and very observant. When she’d brought her lighter-weight blue coat on deck the day before she’d noted a strange look in the girl’s eye. She probably already suspected something was wrong.
I’ll tell her I spilled something on it, Abby thought, concocting a confession in her head. It would at least buy her some time to find the thief.
Constance rolled over, yawned and stretched, and sat up. “Good morning!” she chirped. The girl started talking before she even opened her eyes! “I hope you slept well. I slept like a baby! This boat’s a big cradle, she is, giving us all a nice little rock-a-bye.”
“I slept fine,” Abby lied, jumping in before Constance got too far off into a ramble. “Good thing, too. I have so much to do today. How about you? Will you be looking for more eligible officers today?”