1609366867 (20 page)

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Authors: Janice Thompson

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“Inhumane?” Iris let out an unladylike snort. “Left to his own devices, the cunning fox would surely eat you for lunch. So why not wear him to dinner instead?”

“Ah. Well, when you put it like that.” Tessa watched as Iris reached for the odd-looking stole and slid it over her shoulders. She petted the little fox and decided to give him a name—Freddy. Perfect. He would keep her company and offer the perfect distraction in the dining saloon.

“There now.” Iris stepped back and glanced at her. “As much as I hate to admit it, you look the part. Now all you have to do is act it. Think you can remember what you’ve been taught?”

“I—I hope so.” She couldn’t honestly say. “I plan to tell everyone that I have a sore throat. Hopefully they won’t expect me to speak. Much, anyway.”

“Yes, just keep your lips closed and all will be well.” Iris’s words were tinged with sarcasm, but Tessa did her best not to let them create offense. After all, Iris was right. The less she opened her mouth, the less opportunity to play the fool. Publicly, anyway. She gave herself a quick glance in the looking-glass, feeling once again like Alice, tumbling into Wonderland. Hopefully there would be no Mad Hatters at tonight’s tea party. One could hope, anyway.

Wednesday, April 10, 1912, Early Evening

Outside the First-Class Dining Saloon

Twilight slipped off into the darkness of evening just as tenders ferried more passengers onboard
Titanic
in Cherbourg, off the
coast of France. Nathan arrived at the reception room for appetizers just as the Astors came aboard with a woman that Mother called Margaret Brown.

“I’ve read about her in the papers,” Mother whispered. “Not all of it good.”

Nathan did his best not to gasp aloud as John Astor breezed by with his new wife. Likely Mother would be giddy at the idea that they were breathing the same air as John Astor, in spite of the latest rumors about the fellow’s new wife so quickly replacing the old one. To Nathan’s way of thinking, the fellow needed to be horsewhipped for treating his first wife in such contemptible fashion…but wife number two seemed content enough, strolling into the reception room on her new husband’s arm with a peaceful expression on her face. Not that everyone there treated the woman as an equal. Many appeared to snub her.

Nathan offered them a polite nod and looked around, hoping to see the lovely young woman he’d met on the Boat Deck—Jacquie. If only he’d gotten her surname. Hopefully she would arrive in time for dinner.

To his right, James Carson chatted with Major Archibald W. Butt, a kindly gentleman who happened to be a close personal friend of the president. Mother seemed particularly thrilled by this news and did all she could to direct Nathan’s attention to the man. Still, he couldn’t stop searching the crowd for Jacquie.

“Oh my.” Mother nudged him with her elbow as a well-heeled couple entered. “That’s Benjamin Guggenheim.” Mother leaned close to whisper, “And that lovely young thing on his arm is not his wife. I’ve met his wife, and she doesn’t look a thing like this lady.” Mother’s voice lowered a bit more. “If one could call this woman a lady, I mean.”

Thank goodness, a blast of the bugle signaled the evening meal and Nathan did not have to comment.

“That’s our cue, I believe,” Mother said.

They settled in at a fine table on the far side of the dining room and Nathan left the seat to his right empty, just as he’d promised, though Mother fussed a bit at having to sit on his left, as that put her out of hearing distance from the Astors at the next table. Only when Colonel John Weir, illustrious silver miner, asked to share their table did Mother perk up. Mr. Brayton, the fellow who had invited Nathan to join him for a game of cards, joined them as well, his bushy eyebrows quite the distraction.

A steward reached to unfold the napkin and placed it in Mother’s lap. She took a sip of water from the crystal goblet and sighed. “This is all so beautiful.”

“Did you see Mr. Ismay?” John Weir pointed to a fellow at a nearby table. “We owe the man a debt of gratitude. Without him,
Titanic
would not exist.”

“After our close call with the
New York
, I wondered if she might meet an early demise,” James said.

“Not likely.” Mr. Weir chuckled. “As if a tiny thing like the
New York
could take down the mighty
Titanic
.”

Nathan picked up his menu card and ran his finger over the White Star Line logo at the top, feeling the impressions made from the type. He glanced at the foods listed there and tried to make up his mind.

“What are you going to have, Nathan?” Mother asked.

“Hmm?” He glanced around, wondering why the elusive young woman had not yet appeared. “What?”

“What are you going to have for dinner?”

“Oh.” He glanced again at the menu, turning up his nose at the
ox tongue and thinking, instead, about the oysters. “I’m hungry enough for two dinners. And I think I’ll order the Pineapple Royale for dessert.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Mother said. “I’m just thrilled at all that our fine ship has to offer, from the luxurious accommodations to the fine food.”

“I daresay,
Titanic
is more than a luxury liner,” James threw in. “She’s almost as large as a small city—one set afloat.”

“Yes, a city with all classes of people dwelling therein.” Mother rolled her eyes then dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of the lower set today, if you know what I mean.”

“Mother.” Nathan shot her a warning look, but she kept going.

She wrinkled her nose and placed her napkin back in her lap. “Well, I’m just not used to it, that’s all. And I can’t help but think this isn’t good for them. You know how it is. Folks in the lower classes always want what they see in first class. That puts us at risk, which is disconcerting.”

“I daresay the folks in second class are eating like kings tonight too. So I think our risk is minimal. Besides, first class is separated from the others.” Nathan gripped his menu and silently prayed that the conversation would shift gears.

“Oh, do you see who’s seated behind us?” Mother jabbed him with her elbow. “Isidor and Ida Straus.”

“Straus?” Nathan glanced at the older couple then back at his menu. “Don’t know them.”

“Owners of Macy’s Department Store.” Mother rolled her eyes. “Honestly, if it’s not the insurance business, you know nothing about it.”

Nathan felt the sting of those words but did his best not to let
it show. Oh, how he wanted to give his mother a piece of his mind, to tell her that the insurance business was far more important than she knew. But it wouldn’t make any difference. He shifted his gaze back to the menu and tried to make up his mind about the various selections.

Nathan looked up just in time to see a vision of loveliness headed his way—the woman from the Boat Deck, dressed in an emerald-green dress straight off a fashion plate with a fox stole lopped cockeyed about her neck. If nothing else, the dress would please Mother. The woman in it? Well, that was yet to be determined.

Wednesday, April 10, 1912, Midafternoon

The First-Class Dining Saloon

Tessa made her way through the first-class lounge, inwardly oohing and aahing at the elegant Versailles style. Garnering all the courage she could muster, she then took several tentative steps into the first-class dining saloon with its gold-plated fixtures and luxurious seating areas. She could scarcely get over the magnitude of the place—larger than any dining room she had ever seen. Her gaze traveled to the alcoves and then to the leaded windows. Truly, such finery did not exist in her world. Until now.

She made her way past the tables filled with chattering women and their plunging necklines, gaudy dresses, and pristine white gloves, her gaze traveling from table to table, person to person. Her gaze landed on the trio of young women who had behaved so flirtatiously with Nathan just hours ago. One of the girls gave her an
admiring look as she passed by, though Tessa realized the lovely green-satin gown had garnered the attention. Or maybe the woman was staring at the fox stole, which had slipped off to one side and dangled over her left shoulder as if ready to give chase.

C’mon now, Freddy.
Tessa straightened the naughty fox and tried to focus. Just about the time she thought she might not find Nathan Patterson, she caught a glimpse of him seated at a table on the far side of the room with an elegant-looking woman to his left and several older men gathered round. She swallowed hard, whispered up a “Lord, help me!” prayer, and took a few steps in his direction.

He rose at once, his broad smile letting her know that her presence was most assuredly welcomed at the table.

“You came.” He gave her a polite nod.

“I did.” She felt her cheeks grow warm as she glanced his way.

He pulled out the empty chair to his right and she took a seat, her nerves in a frenzy as introductions were made all the way around. She found herself stuttering as she said, “I’m Jacquie Abingdon, of the London Abingdons,” though she managed to get the words out. Nathan’s mother looked duly impressed.

“My dear, is your father the steel magnate?”

Tessa didn’t have any idea what the word
magnate
meant but nodded anyway and offered a brave, albeit forced, smile. She fussed with the fox stole, wanting to remove it, but she wasn’t sure whether she should. Were the other ladies still wearing their wraps? No. She slipped Freddy off and slung him over the back of the chair. The waiter scooped low, snagged the little stole, and carted him off. To where, Tessa did not know. Or care, for that matter. The wait staff could use him for target practice and she wouldn’t mind.

“Abingdon?” The fellow with the slicked-back hair glanced her
way. “Why, I would know that name anywhere. Your father and I have done business together. I’m George Brayton, but I believe you used to call me Mr. B.” At once Tessa’s heart felt heavy enough to sink the ship.

“Don’t you remember me?” The man glanced her way, a twinkle in his eyes.

Tessa’s heart contorted as she gazed into the face of the older fellow. “I’m sorry, sir, but the incident seems to have slipped my memory.” Her words came out shaky at best.

A hint of a smile turned up the edges of his lips, and his mustache twitched. “No doubt you’ve forgotten my face, as well. It has been some time since I visited with your father at Abingdon Manor. Six years, in fact.”

“Ah.” A wave of relief washed over her as she considered the lapse in time. Perhaps she could keep this charade afloat after all. If she played her cards right.

The man offered a kindly smile. “We’ve both changed, no doubt. I wore a beard back then, and you were just a slip of a girl, running through the hallways of the manor and generally underfoot.”

“Well, then, little has changed.” She managed a nervous chuckle.

“You are very much as I remember you.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Though the last time I saw you, you wore your hair in pigtails.”

Tessa grinned. “Indeed.”

A warm smile followed on his end. “The little caterpillar has transformed into a beautiful butterfly. Quite the lady, in fact.” A tiny wink followed on his end.

The fellow’s flattering words sent a shiver through her, though the part about looking like a lady brought an unexpected smile. She dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “Thank you, sir.”

The man’s gaze narrowed. “Only one thing perplexes me. I recall giving you a funny little name back then. I believe I called you
Little Blue Eyes
.”

Tessa’s stomach suddenly felt like lead. “O–oh? I don’t recall.”

“Yes. I remember it clearly.” He took a sip from his water glass then put it back down on the table. “Such bright blue eyes on such a beautiful little girl. Only, now they appear green.”

Tessa’s gaze shifted to her water glass, which she picked up and drank from. Her trembling hand nearly gave away her nerves.
Calm, Tessa. Calm.
With what she hoped would look like a confident smile, Tessa put the glass down, gazed directly at the man, and batted her eyes. “My trick, sir, is to wear blue as often as possible. You can see for yourself that my eyes are neither blue nor green, but something of a mixture of the two. When I wear blue, well…” She dabbed at her lips once again in flirtatious fashion. “Let’s just say that I know how to play the blue card when I need to. Tonight, as you can see, I went for the green.”

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