Four Months Later
Rain lashed down against the window. My room had to be lit by lamps, despite it being barely noon, due to the black clouds rolling in the sky outside. It was Tuesday, and I was due any minute to take the carriage with my aunt to Southampton. She was insisting we go up there early in order to meet up with some of our traveling companions—the Jesson-Stuarts, who we would stay with in Southampton until it was time to board the Titanic.
I was excited about our voyage; however, I could not help feeling that our rendezvous with the Jesson-Stuarts might prove less than exciting. My aunt approved greatly of them, and if this was anything to go by, they would be old, rich, and boring.
Sighing, I gave my room one last sweep of an eye, checking that I had packed all that I needed, and left. Downstairs, my aunt was stood in almost the exact place she had stood four months previously, and the only thing different in the scene now was the presence of a pile of suitcases in the hall. My aunt was dressed, not in a silk gown, but in a long, gray traveling coat.
"Ah…Amelia," she said when she saw me. "Good, good. You know," she added, when she had given me a look up and down, "you may wish to get Maisie to fix your hair more elegantly than that. There is still time."
I fingered my dark hair, which I had just let loose over my shoulders. We were only traveling, after all. I said this to my aunt.
"Ah…yes," she said, a glint in her eye I was not entirely pleased with. "But it is when we arrive that you may wish yourself to be looking your best."
Confused, wondering why on earth I would wish to look my best for the Jesson-Stuarts, I had no more time to puzzle over it, for at that moment, we were called to the carriage, and no more was said regarding my hair.
*****
The journey to Southampton was not a long one, but the roads we were forced to take were long and windy, and the carriage trundled along uncomfortably, despite the soft cushioning of the interior. It was boring, too, for there was little to occupy oneself inside a small carriage. There was only so much scenery to look at out of the window, and even then it was too misty and rainy to be able to see much.
My aunt had been reading a newspaper in silence, but I was not surprised at this; we had always been strangely affectionate in a non-communicative way, and time together was usually a silent affair. But now, the newspaper was discarded on the velvet seat beside her. My aunt's head had dropped onto her chest and she was fast asleep.
Reaching forward, I grabbed her newspaper and busied myself with the headlines, feeling as though it might bore me to sleep, if not amuse me. There was the usual fair of political articles, most of which I merely skimmed over. Some man called Carl Jung had published his Theory of Psychoanalysis, and a farmer in Devon had lost a whole herd of cows. There was a mildly interesting feature where aspiring authors posted sample chapters of their work, but this annoyed me as there was no way of finding out what happened next.
What was actually very interesting was a double page spread on the Titanic, in which it was labeled unsinkable, and there were detailed drawings of the rooms inside. I was excited, but there was still part of me that was—scared was not the word—but apprehensive about the coming voyage. The Titanic was such a giant of a ship, and I was a mere ant in comparison.
At this point, before I had any more time to contemplate the insect-nature of my size, my aunt woke with a start and scolded me for reading her newspaper and not waking her up. I sighed and we resumed our reserved silence.
The sky had turned blacker than ever, and the clock in the carriage said that it was early evening before we passed a sign that I could just see that read Southampton.
"The dock for the Titanic is over there somewhere..." said my aunt, gesturing extremely vaguely out of the dark window.
"Oh, really?"
"Hmm, yes..." She wasn't really paying attention. She appeared to be looking for something out the window.
"Ah…yes!" she said suddenly. "We're here."
"Where?"
"There. At the Jesson-Stuarts'."
I peered out of the window as the carriage slowed down.
"But I don't see anything..." I said, seeing nothing but blackness out of the window.
And then my jaw dropped.
We had pulled up to a stop just down from what looked like a king's palace. I had thought our house was large, but it was nothing, nothing compared to this. Each window was shining with a burning orange light and the whole place was shining in the dark evening. The carriage in which Maisie and the rest of our staff were traveling pulled to a stop behind us.
"The Jesson-Stuarts live here?" I gasped, following my aunt as we exited the carriage down the little fold-out stairs.
"Of course. Now, stop gawking, girl, and look sharp. You are to present yourself neatly and politely. Understand?"
I nodded, still staring in awe up at the house. Except I found it very difficult to think of this magnificent building as a house.
Our chauffeur held a large black umbrella over our heads as we shuffled up the gravel path to the front door, where we were greeted by a footman upon our knocking on the door.
"Good evening, Mrs. Lovett, Miss Forester. What a pleasure. Do come in out of the rain."
We were taken by the footman into a grand entrance hall, which was warm and brightly lit. A gold gilt mirror was hanging on one side of the hall, and I happen to catch a glimpse of the fright that was my appearance. I was pale from the cold outside, and my hair was dripping slightly from the rain. This was perhaps not the neat presentation my aunt had been hoping for. But there was no time to do anything about it now.
"Eglantine!" chorused voices. I turned to see an elderly couple in elegant dress coming into the entrance hall from a side door. The man was large, with a white moustache and equally white hair. The woman had gray hair wound up in an elaborate bun.
"How wonderful to see you again," they said, wringing my aunt's hand enthusiastically. "I hope the journey was not too troublesome?" asked the woman I took to be Mrs. Jesson-Stuart.
"No, no," said my aunt with a careless wave of her hand. "It was all fine."
"Come now, Pamela," said Mr. Jesson-Stuart, addressing his wife. "Let us all go into the parlor for a beverage, shall we?"
"Of course, of course," said Mrs. Jesson-Stuart hurriedly.
Feeling extremely awkward, having been neither introduced nor even acknowledged, I followed my aunt and the Jesson-Stuarts into the parlor.
It took me just a moment to realize that we were not the only ones present in the room. Also there was a young man of around eighteen or nineteen, with pale hair and hazel eyes that were set rather too closer together. He stood up as we entered the room.
"Ah," said Mr. Jesson-Stuart. "This is our grandson, William."
The man—William—kissed her hand.
"And this," said my aunt, gesturing to me, "is my niece, Amelia."
If there had ever been a time for an awkward introduction, it was there and then. Mr. and Mrs. Jesson-Stuart looked at me in surprise, as though seeing me for the first time, and William Jesson-Stuart raised his eyebrows and looked at me with slight distaste.
"Um…well," I said, yanking my hand from his and faltering slightly under my aunt's glare. "A pleasure to meet you all."
"And you, dear," said Mrs. Jesson-Stuart eventually.
There were a few moments of awkward silence before we were saved by the arrival of a tray of drinks, brought in by the same footman who had opened the door to us.
"Ah…excellent!" boomed Mr. Jesson-Stuart. "A toast!" he said, as he quickly passed the glasses around. "To a safe and happy voyage to us all!"
*****
"It is your wish, is it not, that I am to fall in love with Mr. William Jesson-Stuart?"
It was midnight, and my aunt was helping me out of my dress, Maisie having retired to bed long ago while I had still been making idle conversation over supper with the Jesson-Stuarts.
My aunt did not answer, continuing to unlace the corset under my dress. Then the unlacing stopped and she sighed.
"William Jesson-Stuart is, indeed, an ideal match for you, Amelia. Surely you can see that."
I didn't say anything. This was typical Aunt Eglantine. Never would we do something for the pure enjoyment of doing it. No, we were going on the Titanic with the Jesson-Stuarts in order for me to fall in love with William.
"But we are hardly an ideal match for each other!" I protested. This had been obvious enough when, whilst I attempted to make conversation with him, he had promptly told me that I should only speak to him should he speak to me first. "I should be miserable if I ever had to spend considerable time with him!"
My aunt finished unlacing my corset and turned to face me. "Amelia," she said, "it is very rare that a person can be happy and successful at the same time. If William Jesson-Stuart ensures success for you, which I am quite sure he would, then I'm afraid the success would have to come at the cost of happiness. However," she sniffed, "I'm sure you and William would learn to get along, as it were. In due course, at least."
"But—“
"Enough. Now, into bed at once. An early start tomorrow."
My aunt extinguished the lamps and closed the door of the guest bedroom softly behind her. I climbed into the crisp, unfamiliar bed, feeling as if my excitement at traveling on the Titanic was rapidly melting away, being replaced instead with annoyance at my present existence and apprehension at the coming voyage.