“She is my daughter!”
“She is my fiancee! You can't order I stay away from her. I won't. You have no house and no stable income. She is not safe out there on those streets. She'll stay here.”
“I will not allow you to keep my daughter living here like a harlot!” Mr. Harlow shouted. “What exactly happened on that ship to make you think you have any authority over her life? Why would you marry her?”
“I love and respect your daughter and I would not marry her for any other reason.”
“You are not her husband, thankfully, and my word is above all others.”
“Neither of you can make a good decision on my behalf,” Cora commented. “Look at you two, shouting at each other like children. I am my only honest advocate. The decision is mine.”
“Cora, pack your bags. We're meeting the nine train,” Mr. Harlow ordered.
Cora looked Ioan straight in the eyes. “You played your part so well,” she said. “I honestly believed you would keep your promise.”
“Cora, dear, it's no use,” her father told her. “It can't be mended. You won't stay in this house any longer. I've found a better situation for you.”
“You looked at me like this,” Cora told Ioan. “And you told me we'd be done with it. I'll spend my whole life wondering how a person could lie so effectively.”
“I won't ask forgiveness because I don't want it,” Ioan told her.
“You won't get it either way,” she answered.
“What I do ask, if nothing else, is that you think on it one day and understand that I loved you enough to do what I did,” Ioan replied.
Cora chuckled. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Well, that makes perfect sense now. I only hope one day you understand the true nature of a promise and how I kept mine and walked away. I wish you all the best, Mr. Saier.”
“I wish this house the best,” Mr. Spruce commented. “If you two must settle your differences under this roof.”
“So you called your lawyer to speak for you? Typical,” Cora remarked. “The case is closed, Mr. Spruce.”
“I'm not here to defend, Mr. Saier, whom I will deal with later. I'm here to provide free consultation to you, Miss Harlow,” Mr. Spruce replied. “I know you mean well, Mr. Harlow, but taking Cora away in the dead of the night will only raise more suspicion about her fragile reputation. It won't save her.”
“Are you suggesting she marry this-this-?” Mr. Harlow stumbled for an insult but could think of nothing. “Welsh man!”
“On the contrary,” Mr. Spruce replied. “I say we do nothing. We must not act guilty. A wedding today would only raise more suspicions about the couple's accused behaviors on board the ship, whatever they may be.”
“I swear there was nothing of that nature going on,” Cora defended.
“Nonetheless, the wedding plans must proceed as usual and you must be formally introduced to the public as the future Mrs. Saier,” Mr. Spruce informed her.
“How can I marry a man I can't trust?” Cora replied bitterly. “It's impossible.”
“It's been done longer than you've been alive and quite successfully,” Mr. Spruce replied. “There is no escaping marriage now that you've shacked yourself in Mr. Saier's home.”
“I have lost all respect for that man,” Cora said. “There's no way I can stand looking at him for the rest of my life. I can't even look at him now without wanting to rip his head off.”
Ioan cleared his throat. “I'm going out. I can't stand this much amusement,” he said to Mr. Spruce. He left the room, closing the door behind him.
The room fell silent. “Miss Harlow, do you know what the real world's like?” Mr. Spruce asked quietly.
“Not the fantasy pantomime you find yourself in now, but the reality of your situation? I'll be the first to admit that Mr. Saier has done you a disservice, not because he exercised his masculine right to his own decision, but because he's done everything in his power to shelter you from the situation you deserve. He has put his reputation at stake just by giving you as much regard as he does, while the majority would have taken what they wanted and thrown you out on the streets. The very least you could do, Miss Harlow, is grant that man some courtesy.”
“Fine. I'll play your little house game,” Cora snapped. “It changes nothing. Nothing will ever take back what he's done.”
“It's a shame you can't take back yours either,” Mr. Spruce replied. “We have to do something about that attitude. Fortunately for you, I know an excellent tutoress. No one can root out all your bad breeding, but she will at least teach you silence to hide it.”
“I beg your pardon, sir!” Mr. Harlow protested.
“Good evening to you both,” Mr. Spruce left the room.
* * *
“What can I do you for, Mr. Henry?” the company attorney asked as Mr. Henry strode into his office.
“I've written up a charge on the officer I told you about. You'll see everything is there.”
The attorney daintily put on his glasses as he scanned the paper. “Officer Ioan Rhys Saier,” he read the heading. “I must admit I'm surprised. He's been with the company for years. The last time I saw his name on my desk was to question his age when joining the company. He was a smart, eager lad. What did you say his charge was?”
“I've written it in detail in paragraph three.”
The attorney took a moment to read. “Is this it?” It was not the reaction Henry was looking for. “This is a very serious offense against company policy.”
“And have you any solid evidence?”
“I have a witness.”
“A witness,” the attorney took off his glasses. “Mr. Henry, do you know what I deal with on a daily basis? I haven't slept since the sinking. I have a cabinet dedicated to compensation lawsuits. The company is not interested in your romance novels. What officer doesn't give a smile at the ladies now and then? Of course it's quite rare when an officer boards a ship with no romantic attachments on shore. We old men can't hate him if the ladies drop their handkerchiefs when he passes. It's to be expected.”
“It's not as benign as that,” Mr. Henry persisted. “What kind of example is he setting if we let him resume his position? His behavior was completely unacceptable.”
“Which behavior are you referring to? The fact that he's a man with a life outside of his work or the fact that you find him threatening because he disagrees with you?”
“It should be obvious. We'll lose many notable patrons over this. They'll refuse to bring their wives on board. We may as well turn our ships into floating harems.”
“That's a bit of extreme thinking, sir. I haven't had anyone come at us with a pistol yet. If he has done anything, it seems harmless and is his own moral business. I'm not God. I don't punish sins.”
“Blast! I wish you'd take this seriously!”
“You knew I'd say this. Why waste my time? What do you find so threatening about him? He's a quiet man. He's never been in trouble with the company in all his eleven years of service.”
“He's an anarchist! He's a young defiant gremlin! If only you heard the outrageous statements he told the inquiry. His only objective is to ruin this company.”
“Why ruin the company that feeds him?”
“Well, he's not exactly starving now, is he?” Mr. Henry snarled. “After his little inheritance, his officer salary is merely pocket change. Perhaps he's doing it to bring down the company and promote his own commercial agenda. It's us that will starve.”
“Saier. The lost heir to Charles Saier, you mean? Well, that's rather unconventional. How did we miss that one?” the attorney chuckled. “He's a gentleman then. And if I'm correct, he's represented by an old friend of mine, Mr. Edward J. Spruce.”
“That's very touching, but just because he's a rich officer doesn't mean he should be exempt from regulations.”
“In a perfect world,” the attorney smiled. “Normally, I'd say if you want him fired then go right ahead. However, in this case, I'd strongly advise you to
take caution. With no evidence and no other witnesses, Spruce will tear you apart if Saier chooses to fight it.”
“So you'll just sit there and let him do what he pleases with this company? If he doesn't stand down, we're finished.”
“Then find another way to get him to stand down. If you will excuse me, Mr. Henry, I'm up to my hind parts in paperwork.”
Chapter 12
The old melody danced around the house. Ioan chased it from room to room. He hadn't heard the music box in years. He froze at Cora's room. The sunlight slipped into the hall. She locked herself away for a week. He never saw her door open until now. He carefully approached. He decided against the usual attack. Any sudden noise and it's back to phase one. He must not upset her. Cora expected it. “An open door doesn't mean an invitation,” she commented.
“I've respected your privacy for a week. I'll have my say,” Ioan insisted.
“Your apologies are meaningless at this point.”
“I have nowt to apologize for,” Ioan defended. “Nonetheless, I understand my actions greatly affected you, which is why I'm here. I know you hate me for going to the inquiry, but I can't change that. I wouldn't change it. All the same, I've realized I can make better choices. I can keep my promise to you and still do what I feel is right. I've decided to fund a charity for Titanic families. We need more relief services for widows and children until they find a better situation. This is the best answer.”
“For whom? You're possessed by Titanic, Ioan. You don't owe anyone anything.”
“You're not being fair,” Ioan said. “It's a reasonable compromise and a beneficial proposal. I thought you'd go with it.”
“I'd go with you not obsessing over it for one moment. I'm fed up with it. I want our lives back. The life you promised me we would have,” Cora persisted. “Is that so much to ask?”
“Right. Why did I think this would go differently?” Ioan said quietly. Cora could see he was gutted. “I'm going to do one and leave you to it. When you're ready to talk without having a fit, you know where I am.” He left her alone.
Cora hated that she felt terrible. Nothing was harder than saying she was sorry. She couldn't bring herself to it. He had to understand why she was so frustrated. He wouldn't figure it out if she kept giving in with apologizes. Yet, he didn't ask for her frustration. He only asked for her support. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't take it out on anyone but herself. She snatched the music box from the vanity table and smashed it into the wall. The melody sighed sorrowfully and faded. The rose figurine that once twirled for her laid in pieces. “No, no, no,” Cora wailed, falling to her knees beside it.
She didn't mean to throw it so hard. She picked up every piece she could find. She hurried downstairs to the sitting room and swung open a hidden cabinet in the wall. “God, where did he hide it?”
“Pardon me. Is this a bad time?” a soft voice asked.
Cora fell against the cabinet. She walked right pass the sofa, and never once noticed the lady seated there. She couldn't be real. She never saw someone sit up so straight. She was practically a porcelain doll. Her silvery blonde ringlets curved so gracefully on her porcelain skin. Her soft blue eyes dazzled against her white cheeks and bold lipstick. She dressed modestly for her single status, but as fashionably as a high collar and long sleeve dress permitted. She stood with an angel's grace.
“Holy shi-.” Cora trailed off when the lady disapprovingly put a finger to her lips. “Forgive me, Miss Harlow. I should have called first,” she said.
“Are you here for Mrs. Dillsworth?” Cora asked.
“No, no, I'm here for you, Miss Harlow. Lavinia Appleby, at your service,” the woman replied.
“I don't remember calling anyone,” Cora answered. “I don't even know a Lavinia Appleby. There must be a mistake.”
“Oh, I've heard all about you, miss. You are the new topic at tea. I've been anxious to meet you. No worries. I think it's rather sweet. A working class girl and a respectable gentleman. It's romantic.”
“It's not what you think,” Cora replied.
“Well the papers can embellish the story all they'd like, but I know he must at least treat you well. It's a habit of older gentleman. They like to keep their young women happy. Of course there are pitfalls. What do you converse about with such an age gap? How do you impress his friends? How do you run his house? That's why I'm here.”
“There's been a misunderstanding,” Cora answered.
“Ioan and I are the same-”
“The same soul united by love and understanding,” Lavinia romanticized.
“That is nothing like what I was going to say,” Cora replied. “I don't know how you got in here, but I'm sorry you made the trip. This is a huge misconception.”
“My dear friend Mr. Spruce sent me. He said you required my lessons on how to condition yourself to a superior husband.”
“Well, you may tell him that I don't give a-”
“Stop there, Miss Harlow,” Lavinia said suddenly. Cora stared at her astonished. “Now take a deep breath, and tell me again what you were about to say.”
“I was about that say that I don't give-”
“Stop,” Lavinia interrupted again. “Breathe in with me, Miss Harlow. Relax. Mr. Spruce tells me you have the temper of a hot poker. This will be the first thing we address. A lady's emotion is as unreadable as her Bridge face. When I am finished with you, Miss Harlow, you will have so much discipline that the Royal Navy could draw and quarter you, and your smile would never break. I hear your husband plans on hosting a concert to raise charity for Titanic survivors.”
“He's not my husband.”
“Oh, Miss Harlow,” Lavinia cooed. “Still in the shocked phase, I see. I know this is all strange and exciting. We'll take it step by step. Now, how do you plan to draft your invitations?”
“My what?”
“It's a broad, frightening question, isn't it? Let's try something more specific. What is your favorite color?”
“I'm fond of mauve.”
“I'm sorry, that's incorrect. Mauve is appropriate fashion in the home, but never on a calling card or invitation. White or cream with gold accent is acceptable. You must also avoid any seals or décor. We call with cards, not telephones. It is more tasteful. If you invite a house, it is no longer acceptable to send one card to your addressee, and have them fold the corners for each additional guests. It is polite to send a card to every member of the household, starting with the gentlemen, the lady, and her daughters. Calling should be done in the morning and calls should be answered in the evening. Do you understand?
“Now, let us move on to the next part of your day. After waking no later than sunrise, choosing your morning attire, sending your invitations, we move on to my favorite part of the morning. Shopping. As the wife of a gentleman, you're expected to keep a certain appearance. This requires a different dress for every event of the day. You consult your seamstress daily. After which, you may accept an invitation for a garden tea party. Have a small lunch. Attend another garden party. Have a walk for exercise, but never alone. Attend the spa to rejuvenate your skin. Attend dinner. Respond to calls, and do it all over again.”
“Is there any personal time?” Cora asked.
“My dear, you're fortunate to get at least five hours of sleep a night,” she giggled melodically. “And note, there is nothing that reflects high breeding like your laughter. I learned mine from my opera lessons as a girl. I sang scales in ha ha ha ha ha to tune my laugh. Believe me, my dear, when I say it was worth learning. We will work on it.”
“Miss Appleby-”
“Do call me Lavinia. There's no need for the teacher-pupil formality. I'd like to greet you as friends.”
“Right. Lavinia. I don't know what Spruce thinks he's doing, but you've been misinformed,” Cora replied, retrieving a wooden box from the cabinet. Ioan appeared in the doorway. “What have you got my ditty box for?” he demanded. Cora took the glue from inside. “Can I borrow this?”
<
br /> “Give it here. You're going to get yourself killed,” Ioan took the music box pieces.
“A ditty box?” Lavinia repeated puzzled.
“Isn't it silly? I told him we call it a duff box here,” Cora informed her.
“It's not a duff box. It's a ditty box. It never hurts to have two of everything in one place,” Ioan defended, as he delicately glued the glass together. “How did you break this anyway?”
Lavinia frowned. She whispered something distressful to Cora in French. Cora stared blankly at her. She was never any good at French. She knew it was a question and recognized only a few words, “Does Mr. Saier let his attendants talk to you like that?”
Ioan saved Cora the trouble of answering. He replied just as elegantly in French as Lavinia had, leaving the woman bewildered and Cora clueless. Cora guessed he'd said something close to, “Shame, isn't it? I'm sorry, I don't believe we've properly met.” She watched them exchange back and forth. She may as well have disappeared from the room.
Lavinia turned pink. “You speak French very well, sir. The mark of superior upbringing and a refined education. You must be Mr. Saier. Forgive me for not recognizing you before. You're a great deal younger than I expected,” she said.
“I'm sorry to disappoint you,” he replied.
“It's no dissatisfaction at all. Merely unexpected,” she said. “I'm truly sorry for making you uncomfortable, Miss Harlow. Perhaps Mr. Saier can help me touch up your French. It is required of anyone who is anyone in good society.”
“Of course,” Cora forced a polite smile.
“Don't take it to heart, Miss Cora,” Ioan said, nudging her. “Knowing it makes no difference. I wouldn't have learned it either if my father had given me a choice. What do I need three languages for? As long as we understand each other some way, it's fine by me.”
That shut Lavinia up. Cora couldn't have loved Ioan more for it. The ladies turned their attention to his work to avoid anymore embarrassment. Lavinia blushed as she watched him. She said something quietly to Ioan in French. Cora thought hard about her French lessons in boarding school, searching for any meaning to Lavinia's words. The translation dismayed her. “Your hands are gentle for a man.”
Once We Were Page 12