On a Cold Dark Sea(40)

“I saw Mr. Evers’s name on the survivors list, and I wanted to write to him,” Lady Upton said. Her voice was steady, though her eyes were shiny with tears. “But my husband wouldn’t hear of it. I was allowed a month of mourning, and that was that. My husband cleared out all George’s things, and I was forbidden to speak of him, as if he’d never existed. I thought it might be for the best. That I’d recover if I didn’t brood. Then we lost Tom, and I barely cried at all. By then, I had no feelings left.

“My husband was not an easy man to live with, but I knew my place. He made the decisions, and I did as he wished. Since his death, I’ve found myself rather adrift. I walk through this enormous house, alone, thinking of my children when they were small, rushing down the steps or begging me to join them for tea in the nursery. My husband would have found it all terribly self-indulgent, but it makes me happy.” Lady Upton managed a crooked smile. “Does that sound mad?”

“No,” Charlotte said, wondering if Lady Upton was, in fact, deranged by grief.

“I’m so glad you understand.” Lady Upton looked momentarily happy. “It’s such a consolation to be able to talk about my boys. It feels as if they’ve been returned to me, in some small way.”

What a sorry life, Charlotte thought. Kept under the thumb of a domineering husband and forbidden from mourning her own sons. Not for the first time, Charlotte congratulated herself for never marrying.

“The only thing that continues to trouble me is the thought of George’s final hours,” Lady Upton continued. “Not knowing how he died. I remembered about Mr. Evers and thought I’d try to find him. I directed our family solicitor to make inquiries, but Mr. Evers seems to have disappeared.” Lady Upton’s face dropped. “Oh dear, I didn’t even think to ask. Is he . . . ?”

Charlotte’s mind raced. What should she say? It would be easiest to tell Lady Upton that Reg was dead. The conversation would be over, and Charlotte could be on her way. Instead, Charlotte found herself shrugging.

“He’s alive, as far as I know. We’ve been estranged for some time.”

“I hate to trouble you, it’s only—I can’t stop myself wondering what happened. We all heard such terrible stories about people freezing to death or being trapped in their staterooms, and it would be such a blessing to know he didn’t suffer. And seeing that he and Mr. Evers were particular friends . . .”

Lady Upton gave Charlotte a quick, meaningful glance. With that one look, she told Charlotte that she knew the truth about her son and Reg. A truth she would never openly acknowledge.

“They were together when I saw them last,” Charlotte said carefully. “I don’t think Reg would have left Georgie alone.” She wasn’t sure if Lady Upton would be consoled by that or not.

“Yet only Mr. Evers survived.”

There was nothing accusatory in Lady Upton’s tone; it was stated as simple fact. All Charlotte could think of was Reg’s face when she’d refused to help Georgie dress in her clothes. The way Reg’s expression had shifted from anguish to understanding. How he’d shouted when the lifeboat jerked past the windows, forcing it to stop so Charlotte could be saved. She remembered her last glance at Georgie—cowering and confused, like an abused kitten—and was shocked to remember how much she’d hated him. It felt like the savagery of a more primitive self.

“Do you think Mr. Evers might pay me a visit, if I asked?”

Charlotte tried to keep as close as she could to the truth. “He stayed in America. I don’t think he’s been back to England since.”

“I could send a letter, if you have his address.”

“We don’t correspond,” Charlotte said bluntly. Then, almost against her will, she offered, “I’m traveling to New York in a few days. I might be able to find him. I could try.”

Lady Upton gave Charlotte a twisted smile, an expression of such determined appreciation that Charlotte felt sick. “I would be so grateful. You’ve been very kind to indulge an old woman like me. Hearing your stories, talking about George—it’s been such a help.”

Charlotte had her doubts about that. She suspected that dredging up Lady Upton’s questions about Georgie’s death might have made things worse. But Charlotte could no longer shield herself from Lady Upton’s grief. Even the way she looked at Charlotte—with hopeful longing—was an echo of her son, and a stinging reminder of Charlotte’s own selfishness and jealousy. Lady Upton wasn’t at all what she expected; what if Georgie wasn’t, either? Had Charlotte given him a chance to prove otherwise?

Charlotte had never shied away from lying, when it suited her purposes. But now she felt the burden of her deceit. The arrangement she’d made on the Carpathia’s deck had consequences she’d never foreseen. She would carry Lady Upton’s pain, deservedly so, until she could set things right. And if she couldn’t, she would console herself with the knowledge that she’d tried her best. Charlotte knew, all too well, that some mistakes could never be mended.





ESME

Esme Van Hausen took her first steps carefully, making sure each heel was steady before shifting her weight to the opposite foot. She’d been so wobbly lately. The previous day, she’d nearly taken a tumble in the hall, right in front of Mrs. Gerstner. She’d managed to laugh it off, but it had been a close call. Esme couldn’t afford to have the staff gossip about her more than they already did, not when her reputation was as shaky as her nerves.