On a Cold Dark Sea(9)
“Mrs. Evers would need a suitable wardrobe,” Charlotte said slyly.
Reg pulled a handful of banknotes from his waistcoat. Whatever trouble he’d gotten into, it hadn’t left him penniless.
“Buy whatever you need. I’ll book us tickets on the Titanic, leaving next week. We’ll go second class, but I hear the appointments are better than first class on any other ship. As I said”—he tipped his hat—“only the best for Mrs. Evers.”
And that was that. Charlotte said her goodbyes to the few people who cared enough to notice she’d be gone, and the nastiness of Mr. Thornton’s spitting rebukes made it all the easier to leave without regrets. Reg had supplied her with the perfect excuse for her sudden departure: a whirlwind romance, a surprise engagement, the chance to accompany her new husband on a business trip to America. Reg’s money paid for new dresses, hats, and shoes, the bags to pack them in, and a ticket for the boat train to Southampton. Reg had some mysterious matters to attend to the day before and would meet her at the pier.
On that Wednesday morning, as the train chugged through country vistas Charlotte had never seen and didn’t know when she’d see again, her heart raced in the same way it had before every outing with Reg. It could all go brilliantly or terribly wrong, and she hadn’t realized until then how she thrived in that uncertainty. By the time Mrs. Reginald Evers arrived at the White Star Line berth, she had perfected her part: a modest, self-possessed young wife in a simple wool jacket and skirt, her hair arranged in sedate waves under her moss-green hat. She surveyed the travelers milling around the second-class gangway, assessing her future companions the same way a gambler eyes the ponies at a trackside stable. They were a variety of ages and shapes, many of them in family groups, but they shared a common purposefulness. Their eyes were on what came next, not what they were leaving behind.
An officer began steering the passengers on board, and Charlotte looked around for Reg. He might pride himself on living moment-to-moment, but he’d never been late for a job; she could always count on him to be where he was supposed to be. Right as she was wondering what she’d do if he didn’t come—he had her ticket, after all—he rushed over with a wave and dramatic exhale of breath, overpowering her with apologies before she could come out with a question or reproach.
“Ah well, Lottie, no harm done. Got your luggage all sorted?”
Charlotte nodded, and Reg took her by the elbow and hurried her toward the ship. As they joined the queue along the gangway, Charlotte was struck by the sheer size of the vessel she was about to board. She hadn’t had any fear of sailing before that moment, but her chest felt tight, as if her body were forcing her to slow down and reconsider. She thought of the father she’d never known, a sailor who’d climbed on a ship and hadn’t come back. A man whose only legacy was the daughter he’d never met.
The passengers surrounding Charlotte shuffled forward with polite, mostly silent restraint, though she heard occasional “oohs” and mothers commanding their children to stay close. The young man directly behind Reg seemed particularly anxious to get aboard; he kept stepping forward when there was barely space to move and bumping against Reg’s back. His hands and face twitched with excitement, and his eager eyes kept shifting from the ship to Charlotte and back again. If Charlotte hadn’t been so put off by his pushiness, she might have been flattered. He was quite good-looking, in a youthful, sunny way, and the cut of his clothes suggested he was well off.
An officer welcomed them aboard, then directed them to the steward who would lead them downstairs to their staterooms. Charlotte tried to keep track of where they were going so she could find her way around later, but it was all a bit of a blur. They passed a smoking room, a library, and a wood-paneled dining room with corridors leading off in every direction. Charlotte noticed the young man from the gangway trailing after them. She kept expecting him to stop at one of the cabins they passed, but he never did. Finally, the steward unlocked a door with a flourish, then handed two keys to Reg.
“The other room’s right next door, to the left. The porter’s already brought in your luggage. Is there anything else you need, sir?”
To Charlotte’s annoyance, the pushy stranger was still hovering. He had the decency, at least, to gaze elsewhere as Reg talked to the steward. Perhaps he was lost and waiting to ask directions.
“Nothing at the moment,” Reg said.
“Twenty minutes until we sail, noon sharp. If you’d like to watch from the deck, it’s two flights up.”
Reg nodded his thanks, and Charlotte waited for the man who’d been following them to finally leave. Instead, he stood there, staring at Reg.
“Ah.”
Charlotte knew that sound. It was Reg’s way of buying time in an awkward situation—the moment someone accused him of cheating at cards, or a policeman shot him a suspicious glare.
“I had hoped to do this under different circumstances,” Reg said, his eyes not quite meeting Charlotte’s, “but our train was delayed and there simply wasn’t time.”
The word “our” was the one that caught her attention. Charlotte looked at the young man, who was looking at Reg, who was looking back at him. Her confusion began to clear.
“You know each other?” she asked, right as the man demanded, “You haven’t told her?”
Reg looked uncharacteristically flustered. “Georgie, give us a moment, will you? Get yourself a drink in the saloon.”