MAKING LUCK
Chapter Four

Saturday, April 13, 1912
RMS Titanic

Cal was subdued that evening. Well, outwardly; inwardly, he was seething. He had been tempted to turn back and fetch Rose, but he swore he saw a flash of Ruthie’s face, shaking her head warningly. He couldn’t be certain, but the thought alone of Ruthie coming to stop him again was simply more than he could handle. He did try to participate in the conversation, though; the cigars calmed him to a degree.

"What do you think, Cal?" Astor asked, jerking him out of his reverie.

Cal thought quickly and remembered the conversation; they had been talking about labor unions, yes. "Well, it’s under the jurisdiction of the Sherman Act, so of course my lawyers will be arguing," Cal invented. He remembered what a pain the Sherman Anti-Trust Act had been.

"That’s what Rockefeller said, but the Supreme Court is not swallowing it!" Guggenheim reminded his fellows.

Cal allowed himself to drift out of the conversation again. He had sent Lovejoy to go find Rose earlier; he should be returning any moment now, reporting her whereabouts. Sure enough, he appeared in fifteen minutes, looking grim. Cal excused himself and approached him by the door. "Well?"

Lovejoy sighed. "She’s below decks. With him. They’re at a steerage party." He paused. "She was quite…disheveled, sir. And…" He hesitated. "…in his…well…arms, sir."

Cal almost hit something. His oh-so-clever plan to keep the two apart had failed. It was as if fate was forbidding him to interfere. As if, almost as if God himself wanted the two to be together. And that just wasn’t right, was it? Cal nodded tightly. "I shall speak with her tomorrow. That will be all, Lovejoy."

Lovejoy nodded and left the room, clearly puzzled that he wasn’t being sent to dismember Dawson or something equally demonstrative. Cal returned to his brandies and cigars dejectedly, trying very hard to not think about what the love of his life and a common gutter rat were doing right at that moment.

Sunday, April 14, 1912
RMS Titanic

Cal couldn’t help staring at Rose over breakfast. Well, glowering, really. She was so…so calm. She didn’t look guilty in the slightest. Wasn’t her conscience bothering her the slightest bit? She hadn’t returned until late last night; Cal had sat up in his bed, waiting. He heard her when she slipped into her suite and shut the door. If he hadn’t been mistaken, she was stumbling a little bit. Rose wasn’t much of a drinker--that he was aware of; if Dawson had gotten her to drink, who knew what else he had convinced her to do?

Cal loved Rose; he truly did. He only wanted the best for her, and the path she was currently taking was, he knew, not the best thing for her. It would lead to death. Even if she and Dawson did survive and make a life together, how long would that last? She could never be happy that way, ever. But with Cal? She would have the world at her fingertips. Everything was hers for the asking. How could any woman—any person at all—not be utterly happy with such a life?

These questions had plagued him last time and they continued to plague him now. And speaking of which…why was this happening? Hadn’t Cal done everything possible to stop nature from taking its course? But fate was determined to make him unsuccessful. Cal simply wasn’t used to being disappointed. His parents had indulged him all the time as a child and even his nanny was under orders to appease him by whatever means necessary. He wasn’t satisfied unless his servants were running to do his bidding. The foremen in his mills were more brawn than brains and enforced his instructions with threats.

But when it came to women, particularly this one…he was at a loss. Gemma and Violet and Alexandra had all been problematic, but nothing he couldn’t handle. But Rose…she could have him groveling on his knees if she really wanted to see him do it. She wielded as much power over him as Anne Boleyn had over Henry VIII.

He shook his head slightly; his mind was wandering. For once, he was grateful that Rose was avoiding his gaze. He wanted to speak to her, but the words refused to come. And what would he say, really? Oh, by the way, Rose, I know that you were down at a steerage party last night in the arms of that Dawson fellow. Try not to do it again.

Somehow, he felt that that wouldn’t sway her very much.

But he had to say something, anything. He waited until the servants had left them alone before leaning forward slightly. "Rose, you know that I love you. That I care about you more than anything else in the world."

There it was. The guilt. It flashed across her panicked face and the teacup in her hand trembled.

Cal went on. "I understand that perhaps…you may not care for me as much as I do you. But I am willing to do everything in my power to make you happy. I need you, Rose." Personally, he thought that his words were rather touching. Especially coming from him—after all, he was not a man who was adept at the sort of flowery language that normally swept women off their feet. That was why he relied so heavily on his charming personality and good looks, if he did say so himself.

Therefore, he was quite disappointed when Rose said, "Oh. Well…thank you."

Cal shifted in his seat, glanced around to make sure no one was watching and leaned even closer. "Rose. It hurts me that you were cavorting with that…with him last night."

Rose froze completely, her lips parted and her face stunned. Slowly, she set down her cup and raised her eyes to meet his. Her mouth soundlessly moved in an effort to speak; she finally seemed to grasp the words. "I wasn’t…cavorting—"

"You were in his arms at a steerage party, at which I also believe you drank an excessive amount. Many would consider that cavorting, Rose," Cal said coolly.

Rose fiddled with her dressing gown for a moment. "I was just having some fun. It didn’t mean anything."

"I certainly hope not." Cal cleared his throat. "I’m not a fool, Rose. I can see perfectly well the way that boy looks at you. The admiration in your eyes isn’t much different, I might add."

Rose bit her lip. "I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know you…you…"

"Knew?" Cal asked dryly.

Rose bit her lip again. "Well, I was actually going to say I didn’t know you felt so strongly about it—"

"You are my fiancée, a promise that I have honored," Cal reminded her hotly. "I have no doubt you see no wrong behind your actions, but I do, Rose."

Rose was quiet for a moment. And then, her voice burst loudly. "I was just having some fun, Cal! I never have fun!"

Cal was bewildered. "Of course you do. You attend yacht parties and cotillions and debutante balls and polo matches all the time—"

"Those aren’t fun, Cal."

Cal snorted. "Really, what nonsense. You always enjoy yourself."

"I pretend to enjoy myself." Rose’s eyes were earnest.

Cal felt as if something was making sense, but not all the way. "But…well, then, what do you consider fun? Name it, Rose, and I shall see to it we do it all the time once we are married."

Rose shifted uncomfortably at the mention of their marriage. "Well…the party last night was fun."

Cal scoffed. "Oh, yes; drinking cheap beer and dancing to immigrant fiddles and harmonicas is intensely entertaining."

"Actually, it is," Rose argued. "I liked it. God forgive me, but I did."

Cal contemplated this. "Please don’t do it again, Rose. And while we’re on the subject, I wish you wouldn’t see Jack again."

Rose was quiet. "I can’t not see him, Cal."

"Why?" Cal almost bellowed. "How can you be so infatuated with him?"

"Because he…oh, never mind. It’s useless," Rose huffed, rising rather dramatically to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Cal demanded as she began to stalk away.

"I’m getting dressed for church!" she snapped without even turning around. She disappeared over the threshold and Cal felt that he had already lost her.

*****

While Cal waited for Rose to finish dressing and for Ruth to finish her primping and polishing, he and Lovejoy discussed the Dawson situation. "I want him kept away from my fiancée at all costs. Do you understand?" Cal asked in a low voice so that they would not be overheard. "He’s dangerously close to seducing her and I do not want that to happen."

"Shall I keep watch during the service?" Lovejoy asked. "I can dispose of him and Miss Rose would never have to know."

"Perfect." Cal nodded in agreement.

The door opened and Ruth glided out, obviously making an effort to appear more beautiful and graceful than she really was. She beamed somewhat flirtatiously at Cal, who was in no mood to humor her.

"Is Rose ready?" he asked, working to keep the impatience out of his voice.

"She should be; let me check on her progress," Ruth offered. She disappeared into Rose’s room and Cal was very sure he heard some angry hissing exchanged between the two before they both emerged, each a little red in the cheeks and stiff in the backs. Rose hesitantly took Cal’s arm.

"I’m…sorry about this morning," she murmured curtly, not wanting to be overheard. "It was rude of me."

"It’s quite all right," Cal said, rather taken aback. But he would not look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he led the way to the Divine Service in the dining saloon. Their usual social circle greeted them warmly and gushed over how beautiful Rose looked--she did, actually--and Lucille, of course, had to inform them of the latest gossip—Cal was stunned at what could happen overnight.

The service was the exact same as last time; nothing new happened at all. Cal noticed Dawson try to come in at the same time as last time, during Eternal Father, Strong to Save. Rose, thankfully, never noticed. When the Divine Service ended, they went to the Palm Court for Sunday lunch. They were joined by Thomas Andrews, who sportingly invited them on a short tour of the deck. Cal was grateful for the chance to keep an eye on Rose; it gave him an excuse to be around her without looking like a trained husband. Their first stop was in the gym, were Mr. McCawley was bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to show them around.

"And here we have the stationary bicycle!" he announced, gesturing to a woman in a long dress riding it; she looked ridiculous. "It’s very good to keep you fit! And over here, the electric horse! This, also, is very popular! And we even have the electric camel!"

Cal tried the rowing machine at McCawley’s insistence; he hadn’t done this in quite some time, but the motions came back to him easily and he was stronger than he thought. There again, he was also in a body seventeen years younger. "Haven’t done this since I was at Harvard," he noted, getting up and shrugging his jacket back on.

"And this is our rowing machine!" McCawley turned to where Ruth was looking around. "Ah…care to try your hand, ma’am?"

"Don’t be absurd!" Ruth scoffed good-naturedly. "I can’t imagine a skill I should likely need less."

Cal snorted and, remembering himself, turned it into a cough. She really oughtn’t to sneer; she would be rowing like an oarsman come midnight.

"The next stop on our tour will be the bridge. This way, please!" Andrews called happily, leading the way out of the gym.

The men at the bridge were well-bred English gents who were no doubt annoyed at the visitors, but masked it splendidly. Cal recognized a few from the papers; the others, he supposed, would die tonight.

"And why do you have two steering wheels?" Ruth asked interestedly.

"We really only use this near shore," Andrews replied, clapping a hand on the steering wheel.

A man in a suit came up to Captain Smith then, clutching a telegram. "Excuse me, sir. Another ice warning. This one’s from the Noordam."

"Thank you, Sparks," Smith acknowledged, accepting the telegram.

Cal remembered reading that the Titanic’s crew had received a number of ice warnings, all of which were ignored. Turns out he’d witnessed Smith signing a death warrant this whole time. Smith caught their expressions and smiled. "Oh, not to worry! Quite normal for this time of year. In fact, we’re speeding up. I’ve just ordered the last boilers lit."

Cal cleared his throat. "Isn’t that dangerous, though? If it’s nighttime, you won’t be able to see an iceberg until it’s too close. Especially without the binoculars."

Everyone turned to stare at Cal.

"How…how did you know that?" Smith asked.

Cal cleared his throat nervously. "I…overheard some crewmen."

The sailor at the wheel swallowed. He was in for it. He could tell.

"Well…let’s move on, shall we?" Andrews asked, walking off briskly.

As they moved along the deck, Rose moved forward to speak to Andrews. "Mr. Andrews, forgive me…I did the sum in my head, and with the number of lifeboats times the capacity you mentioned…forgive me, but it seems that there are not enough for everyone aboard."

Too right you are, dear, Cal thought.

Andrews smiled as he spoke. "About half, actually." His tone was impressed. "Rose, you miss nothing, do you?"

Except the rules of propriety, Cal couldn’t help thinking. She has a bit of a problem concerning indecent behavior.

"In fact, I put in these new type davits which can take an extra row of boats inside this one," Andrews continued, demonstrating with his arms. His tone suddenly turned annoyed. "But it was thought, by some, that the deck would look too cluttered. So I was overruled."

"Ridiculous English regulations," Cal muttered. He had stayed on the ship longer than he would have liked; he knew all too well how handy those new davits would have come in. Cluttered deck be damned—lives were at stake!

"Sleep soundly, young Rose. I have built yeh a good ship, strong and true," Andrews assured her. "She’s all the lifeboat yeh need!"

Cal scoffed and instantly turned it into a cough.

"Just keep heading aft. The next stop on our tour will be the engine room," Andrews went on.

A few moments later, Cal realized that there was an absence of inquisitive questions. He glanced around and frowned. "Where’s Rose?"

Everyone stopped and looked around as well. Ruth even called out, "Rose? Where are you?"

They were considering spreading out and searching when she jogged towards them, looking flushed.

"Where were you?" Ruth demanded to know at once.

"Oh, my shoe wasn’t buckled all the way and it came off; I stopped to fix it. I didn’t want you all to wait on me; I’m sorry," Rose said nonchalantly.

It was a credible enough story, but something about Rose’s demeanor told Cal that she was hiding something. But what she could be hiding was beyond him, and so he let the matter go. She stayed with them for the rest of the tour, still asking Andrews questions about the smallest matters. Cal had to force himself not to ask too many questions; he was much more curious about the ship now than he had been seventeen years ago. But Caledon Hockley was not supposed to care so much about a ship, and so he held his tongue.

As teatime rolled around, Cal decided that his masculine reputation was at stake--he had spent all day with the women, and his peers would almost certainly take the mickey out of him for it--and stayed for only a few moments before excusing himself to join the men for cigars and brandy. Before he left, though, he leaned down to talk to Ruth. "Please keep an eye on Rose; I’m afraid she might slip off again."

Ruth nodded gravely. "I can assure you, Mr. Hockley, that I don’t want her associating with that boy just as much as you, perhaps moreso."

Cal nodded. "Thank you." He left then, assured that Ruth’s scrutinizing eye would not let Rose wander away.

*****

Cal was proved very wrong at dinnertime when Rose did not show up.

"Cal, I’m so sorry!" Ruth burst out the moment he entered the room. "Rose spilled tea on her dress and of course I let her come back to the stateroom to change and...oh, God, you don’t think she’s with him, do you?"

Cal was tempted to strangle her, but he restrained himself. With great difficulty. "All right…we’ll send the stewards to search for her and give them orders to hold her until one of us can fetch her."

"But what will the others think?" Ruth cried. "Oh, the gossip that would ensue if they knew—"

"Calm yourself, Ruth!" Cal shouted. "We will not tell them. At least, we won’t tell them that she’s missing. We’ll tell them that she’s not feeling well. No questions will be asked and our reputations will remain intact."

Ruth looked greatly calmed at this plan. She fluttered her fan in relief. "Yes, yes, that will work."

"Go get dressed," Cal advised. "I’ll send Mr. Lovejoy to spread the word."

"Thank you, Caledon," Ruth said with much more poise than she had possessed a moment earlier. She walked as gracefully as she could to her room before shutting the door.

Lovejoy stepped out of his room, an unsurprised expression on his face. "Miss Rose has taken flight again?"

"I’m afraid so!" Cal spat. "Lovejoy, I should like for you to spread word around to all the stewards, but do it quietly." There again, Lovejoy was an ex-Pinkerton; he probably knew what to do better than Cal did. But no matter. "Bribe them, if you have to. Just find her."

"Of course," Lovejoy said solemnly, leaving to do as instructed.

Cal went to Rose’s room and banged on the door. Trudy sprang to it a moment later, looking petrified. "Y-yes, sir?"

"Have you seen Rose?" he demanded.

Trudy shook her head, trembling. "N-no, sir, not since…since I helped her dress this morning."

Cal stormed to his room and almost slammed the door in his rage. He kicked the bed and let out a growl. This was not supposed to happen, damn it! How had he let her escape again? Well, he hadn’t been the one to let her slip past him; that was Ruth’s fault. Damn that woman. They hadn’t been able to find her last time; what was he supposed to do when she turned up now? By that time, the ship would have hit the iceberg and they would be sending the stewards around to order everyone to dress warmly and put on their lifebelts.

"Where are you now, Ruthie?" he hissed. "Why aren’t you here to help me?"

And suddenly she appeared, looking very annoyed. "You’re acting very childish, you know. I wasn’t supposed to show up yet, but it’s rather hard to ignore you."

Cal was taken aback. He hadn’t really expected her to come. Hell, he didn’t want her to come. "I…well, I…"

"Just leave it alone, Cal." Ruthie sighed wearily. "You can’t change it. This isn’t even what you were supposed to change. Just…just let them be. You’ll know when the time is right to change what happened last time. But not now. Wait."

"But my fiancée is running around doing God-knows-what with…with a gutter rat!" Cal protested.

Ruthie sighed again. "Don’t you think that if the odds were in your favor, you’d have Rose by now?"

Cal didn’t want to admit that her words made sense. "I…oh, honestly! This is nonsensical!"

"No one ever said it was supposed to make sense," Ruthie reminded him patiently. "Now. Forget about changing the past for now. You’ll know when the time comes. But it’s not now, I can promise you." And she disappeared.

Cal kicked his bed before sighing and deciding that, since there was nothing else to do, he would dress.

Ruth was nervous that evening and so forgot to grasp onto Cal’s arm. Under normal circumstances, he would have been greatly relieved—tonight, however, this did little to eradicate his foul mood. Ruth’s fan fluttered anxiously and he was tempted to swipe it from her gloved hand and snap it. He had a feeling that that would do little to ease her nerves, though, and so he left her alone.

Their dinner companions, of course, inquired as to Rose’s whereabouts instantly, and they all clucked their tongues sympathetically when informed that she was suffering from a little seasickness. A few of the women lamented over how dreadful it was to be seasick while some of the others prescribed a number of remedies to ease the discomfort, such as sucking on a lemon and keeping a cool cloth on the forehead. Little things that everyone’s nanny had taught them as children.

Dinner seemed painfully slow as it inched along at a glacial pace. Cal was bored almost out of his mind. Ruth managed to mask her emotions well—she was, after all, an Edwardian lady who was never supposed to look anything but demure and pleasant. Cal was normally gifted with a poker face, as it were; he maintained a cool and careless façade that drove respect and, at times, fear into those around him. But now, he felt dangerously close to losing his composure. His sanity was slipping, piece by piece…he was going to burst. He knew it…

"This ship will hit an iceberg tonight and sink! Most of the men here won’t survive!" Cal suddenly roared.

To him, it felt as if time itself had stopped. Perhaps it had. He didn’t know; all he was aware of was his frozen heart and airless lungs. And the terrible, pounding fear. The moment passed and he was sucked back into reality. Everyone was chattering just as they had been a moment before; it was as if he had never made that little outburst. He glanced around, incredulous. And then, Ruthie’s words came back to him.

"…any mention you make of me or the ship sinking or anything else no one here is supposed to know will go completely unheard."

"Join me in a brandy, gentlemen?" Sir Cosmo stated rather than asked, getting to his feet.

Cal glanced at his pocket-watch as he got to his feet. 8:40. In exactly three hours, the ship would strike an iceberg. Almost two hours after that, Titanic would be nothing more than a legend.

Chapter Five
Stories