Lightoller
April 7, 1912
1:04 PM

First Officer Charles Herbert Lightoller let go of a breathy sigh as he pulled his heavy pocket watch from his vest. The gold lid clicked back. The thin hands told him that it was shortly past thirteen hours. One o'clock, he reminded himself silently, tucking the watch back into his vest. Not thirteen hours.

He reclined further back in his seat, linking his fingers behind his head, looking around the well-furnished conference room aboard the R.M.S. Titanic. Paintings, posters, and shadowboxes adorned the mahogany-paneled walls; a long, twelve-seater cherry wood table was in the center of the room. Two enormous windows overlooked the Southampton docking area, and sunlight was streaming in.

Lightoller shifted in his chair, another sigh escaping his lips. Five minutes now since Thomas Andrews had disappeared to search for his cousin, who was unbelievably late. Andrews, thinking she had merely gotten lost, had gone to search for her.

If she can't even show up for a simple meeting, Lightoller thought, annoyed, imagine what she's going to be like at sea. She'll be worse than we thought—a damned slacker instead of a damned nuisance.

His mind drifted, and for once, he let it do so.

It had been three days ago that Lord William James Pirrie, managing director of Harland and Wolff Shipbuilders, came to the captain of the RMS Titanic with an announcement. Pirrie had asked of the captain that there be a new position on the voyage, and that it should go to his niece, Ellen Wallace. The position was formally known as Assistant to the First Officer, and required that an officer—even a junior officer—fill the position and help out wherever he—in this case she—could. Her main duties—some more specific than others—were, of course, to the First Officer, but also to the other officers if they should require minor assistance.

At first, Captain Smith had been completely against the idea. He, like the rest of the officers, thought that a female on the bridge would cause nothing but trouble. Women and the sea absolutely did not mix, especially when a sixty-ton vessel was involved. Lord Pirrie finally had to threaten Smith with recalling his position as captain for the voyage if he didn't allow Wallace on board. Smith then gave in.

Lightoller shook his head slightly, and his eyelids lowered to a cynical glare as he remembered the reaction of his fellow crewmembers when they'd first heard about The Girl coming aboard. To say the least, all of them had been slightly teed off. Lightoller had been teased almost non-stop about having to have a female officer-in-training on his heels the entire voyage. The jokes never ended, and ranged from the clean—"Watch her try to get Lights into a corset!"—to the downright vulgar—"D'you get to share a cabin? The crew's quarters come with only one bunk, you know!"

Lightoller jerked himself back to the present as a tiny click sounded; he looked toward the door only to see the golden handle turning. Someone was entering, and Lightoller scrambled to his feet.

The door opened slowly; on the other side was a wiry girl of twenty-eight. Lightoller's eyes widened quite a bit when he saw that her arms were streaked with what appeared to be motor oil; she held a rag in her right hand. Her left still hung onto the doorknob. Her cheeks were pink with a blush. She's not pretty, Lightoller found himself thinking. But she's not exactly for the birds, either. His eyes traveled over the lace trim on her blue cotton dress, which was stained with dirt and dust. He cleared his throat. "May I help you, miss?"

She was still uncertain, but ventured, "Are you Mr. Lightoller?"

An impossible thought dawned on him. Is this Ellen Wallace? "Yes, that's me."

She let out a small breath of relief. "Good—then I've got the right place." She stepped forward and held out her right hand, which was oil-free due to the rag. "I'm Ellen Wallace."

Lightoller blinked several times, then dumbly held his hand out as well. "You're Miss Wallace?"

"All my life." she said as they shook hands. "Sorry about this..." She began scrubbing at the motor oil on her arms with the rag, but glanced up as she worked. "Hey, where's the captain? I thought he'd be here by now."

"He's going to be late as well," Lightoller said, somewhat bewildered at her casual language. "He called an emergency meeting with the Chief Officer."

"Huh," she said, trying to dust off her skirts now. Lightoller watched as she gave up on the dirt and grumbled curses under her breath. Finished, she straightened. "The Chief Officer is Murdoch, right?"

"That's correct," Lightoller said, his hands clasped formally behind his back. "Both he and the captain should be here presently..." He trailed off, still studying her. He noticed that the dark brown color of her eyes was flecked with green—just like Andrews'. Speaking of which...Lightoller cleared his throat. "What...er, what happened to Mr. Andrews?"

Ellen shrugged, self-consciously reaching up to touch her hair, which was thrown carelessly back into a small tying cord. A lone opal pin still hung on for dear life near her left ear, evidence of a once-perfect do. "Actually, I have no idea. He told me where this room was and said he'd meet me here in five minutes." She looked down at her outfit and winced at the dirt on the lace trim. "Damn it," she said crossly. "That's the second time this week."

It was one thing to hear her grumbling; it was quite another to hear a lady curse out loud. Lightoller, trying not to gape, said, "Second time for...what?"

"Oh," she said, folding the rag in her fist. "Car stalled down in the road. It backed up traffic for nearly ten minutes before its owner and I could push it out of the way and get to work on it."

"Get to work on it?" Lightoller didn't know how much more of this he could take.

"Yeah," she said, still tugging self-consciously at her dress. "Poor guy hadn't had an oil change since he got the car. It came out all runny and nasty..." She shook her head. "By some miracle the man had a few oil canisters riding around in the back."

"You know much about automobiles?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Ellen said, smiling a little. "Very much."

Lightoller was in denial. There was no way that this first class woman—that is, she had to be first class, because of her expensive dress and formerly-done hair—had gotten down on the side of the road in the dust to climb under an automobile and change the oil. Did women in general even know how to change the oil? Well, said another part of his mind. This one does. And no first class woman he'd ever heard had said "damn it" so casually. And, he noticed, even though she was cousin to Thomas, she had no such accent as his. In fact, her accent was American.

"You're not from western Europe?" was all he could say.

"No," Ellen told him. "My mother was, but my father was an American, and before I was born, he moved back to New York with her."

"Oh," Lightoller said, then swallowed. Enough was enough. "Well, as you know, you'll be assisting me in the next few days. Do you know of your duties?"

"Most of them, yes," she said, her serious eyes meeting his. "You'll probably have to help me with some of the more minor ones, though."

"Not a problem," Lightoller assured her, then suddenly felt very at ease. He'd been expecting to have to be uptight and respectable to the point of near worship, and had expected her to think it normal. But this couldn't be true with this woman. She swore and didn't think she'd committed a mortal sin; she spoke casually and calmly. Lightoller—as well as most of the deck officers—enjoyed their motor cars just as well as the next man. "Have you heard at which times you'll be on bridge duty with me?"

"Ten in the morning 'til two in the afternoon," she said. "Then ten PM until two AM. Or, if you want to get technical—ten to fourteen, then twenty-two to two."

Lightoller couldn't stop a smile. "Yes, you're right. Well then, I pre—"

The doorknob turned again; both Lightoller and Ellen turned toward the door as four men strode quickly into the room.

The first to enter, Lightoller noticed, was Captain Edward James Smith, his trim white beard and stature making him look as though he was a fraternal twin of Robert E. Lee. He drew his hat from his head, looking clean and handsome in his dark officer's uniform. Sixty-two years old and less than ten days from official retirement, he moved easily across the room and to the other side of the table, drawing his hat from his head.

The hair on the back of Lightoller's neck stood up as he saw the second man, and goosebumps shot up his arms. The man, a taller, younger gentleman, was wiry but stocky. His dark hair was combed neatly under the cap that he, too, removed, and he looked fairly dashing in his newly pressed officer's uniform. The man had an air of being fairly pleased; it appeared that he was working very hard on not seeming too happy. Lightoller's hands subconsciously balled into fists behind his back. Henry Tingle Wilde was the man's name, and in the world of the White Star Line officers, it was well known that Lights and Wilde, to say the least, did not get along well.

Lightoller, still glaring at Wilde, almost entirely forgot the slightly shorter officer who was the third man to enter. He looked neither pleased nor depressed, but was very stiff and composed. And yet he seemed slightly drained, as a college student might appear after final exams. Lightoller's eyes narrowed slightly, wondering what was amiss with the Chief Officer, Will Murdoch. He and Murdoch were close friends, having worked together on many a previous occasion, and they'd been looking forward to a new voyage. It didn't hurt that the trip included being Chief and First Officer of the newest and grandest ship in the world, the one right under their shoes.

Thomas Andrews was the last to enter, a look of resigned confusion upon his features. Though his hair was going gray, he was only thirty-nine; it was years of hard work that resulted in the loss of pigment from his wavy locks. He smiled gently at his cousin, who was still standing beside Lightoller, and then made his way to the other side of the table with the captain.

"Forgive us, Mr. Lightoller," Smith said smilingly, heading for the other side of the table. He glanced around, catching sight of Ellen. "Mr. Andrews, is this your cousin?"

"Yes, sir," Andrews said, fighting a smile as he noticed that Wilde and Lightoller were already glaring at one another. He turned to Ellen and smiled again, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "This is Ellen Wallace."

Smith smiled slightly. "Charmed, I'm sure," he said, reaching out his hand to shake hers, and was surprised at the tight grip of the girl's hand.

"Honor to meet you, sir," Ellen said sincerely.

"You met Lightoller..." Smith continued.

Ellen half-smiled at her mentor, who returned the smile. "Yes, sir, I did."

Smith gestured to the young man. "And this here is Mr. Wilde..."

Wilde and Ellen shook hands; Wilde smiled rambunctiously and raised the girl's knuckles to his lips. "Enchante, mademoiselle," he said, almost sarcastically, and Lightoller had to fight not to go over and kick him.

"Moi aussi, monsieur, merci." Ellen returned, her half-smile still in place but turned slightly acidic as she caught the sarcasm. Lightoller watched as Wilde's eyes widened slightly, stunned that she actually understood him. Ellen smiled sweetly back at Wilde, her look plainly stating, You do that again and I'll kick your ass.

"And finally we have Mr. Murdoch."

Murdoch hardly glanced at her, smiling shortly and quickly. "Miss Wallace."

Ellen, taken a little aback, only said a quiet, "Mr. Murdoch," as they shook hands.

Smith scratched the back of his neck. "Mr. Lightoller, you know Misters Wilde and Murdoch."

"Mr. Wilde," Lightoller said with a sharp and quick drop of the chin, and looked away as quickly as he could. "And Mr. Murdoch." He allowed the briefest smile to show to his friend. Murdoch hardly looked up; his hands were clasped behind his back, and his eyes were dull and tired. What the bloody hell is eating him? Lightoller thought, then suddenly glanced at Wilde, and again took in the brand-new officer's uniform. Wait just a moment...why's Wilde wearing...could it be that...it's...

"Well, let's take a seat," Smith said. He, Wilde, and Murdoch—in that order—sat down on one side of the conference table. Lightoller sat down across from Smith, Ellen on his right, and Andrews on Ellen's right. Smith opened his portfolio and drew out a stack full of papers. "Before we begin," he said, "there's been a change in plans."

"A change, sir?" Andrews said, clearly thinking it was about his cousin.

Lightoller noticed that Ellen's hands were white-knuckled as they gripped the armrests of her seat; she obviously thought it had something to do with her, as well.

"We've shifted things around slightly." Smith leaned back in his seat, folding his hands, glancing at Wilde. "We have a new Chief Officer."

Lightoller felt his stomach do a somersault; he tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone completely dry. If Smith had made Wilde the Chief Officer, then certainly that would be bumping Murdoch back a spot, into the position of First Officer. Which would in turn kick Lightoller back...

"I've asked Mr. Wilde to step in," the Captain continued. "And I'm sorry to report, Mr. Lightoller, that you'll have to take over as Second Officer. Mr. Murdoch has been informed that this change will take him down to First Officer."

Wilde did not smile; his eyes bored into the smooth tabletop. Lightoller's eyes, however, were blazing; he could hardly breathe. Not only was he losing his position of First Officer, but Henry Wilde was going to be Chief Officer. Henry. Wilde. Henry Wilde, Chief Officer! He glared furiously at the man, who didn't meet his damning stare. Lightoller looked back up at the captain, who truly did look sorry. Lightoller managed to say, somewhat hoarsely, "What's to happen to Mr. Blair?"

David Blair, before this moment, had been Second Officer. Smith cleared his throat. "Mr. Blair will remain here, in Southampton. This way, the officers beneath him will be able to keep their positions."

Lightoller felt sick to his stomach. No wonder Murdoch looked so depressed. "If I may ask, sir—" Lightoller started.

"No, Mr. Lightoller, you may not," Smith interrupted him.

"Excuse me, captain." It was Ellen who spoke up, and all eyes turned toward her. She hesitated at the attention, but locked her eyes with the captain's. "Sir, did this...shift...of positions have something to do with me?"

"Absolutely nothing to do with you," Smith reassured her. "It was my decision, and mine only." He glanced around at the group. "Now that we've gotten that settled, there's going to be a slight change as far as Miss Wallace's duties are concerned."

Lightoller suddenly realized that Ellen would no longer be serving under him, but under Murdoch, who straightened slightly in his seat, looking even more depressed than before.

"Instead of Mr. Lightoller," Smith said to Ellen. "You'll be assisting Mr. Murdoch."

"Yes, sir," Ellen said quietly, noticing that Murdoch did not meet her eyes.

"Your duties will remain the same, as well as your shifts on the bridge and breaks."

"Understood," she said, still not sure what to make of the new first officer.

Smith glanced at Lightoller, then at Wilde, and spoke their names. "You're not being forced to stay," he told them. "If you wish, you may stop by to bid farewell to Mr. Blair."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Lightoller stood up as Wilde did, and the two men exchanged another glare. Lightoller allowed the chief officer to exit first. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Wallace," Lightoller said as he left.

"Same," Ellen said, looking back at him, smiling again.

"See you around on deck." Well, Lightoller thought to himself as he headed for the bridge. At least I won't have to stay with The Girl the entire trip. And he was surprised to realize that he was a little disappointed.

But only a little.

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