Chapter One

April 6th 1912

The sun that filtered through the tall windows of the White Star Line office glowed against the wooden floorboards and made my head pound something fierce. I tried putting on a brave face for the secretary behind the desk, pretending like I hadn't spent the better half of the night finishing off my stash of bourbon. It would be a poor first impression to arrive on a new ship with a raging headache, but then again, I never was good at first impressions. Perhaps being hungover would be an improvement to the usual. I watched as the woman behind the desk shuffled through my paperwork, my summons to the Southampton office laying on top of the pile. She handed me a paper and asked for my mark.

"You'll meet the rest of the stewardesses and the matron at berth forty four," the secretary said as I signed my name on the crew agreement. I added my age, address, place of birth, and the likes in the respective columns.

I nodded my head and handed the paper back to her. Reaching down to grab the one trunk I had with me, I turned to leave the building. I heard the secretary call after me, "And you best hurry! The rest of the stewardesses checked in almost an hour ago!"

If the light inside the office was bad, the light outside reflecting off the Solent was merciless. I blinked a few times, trying to ease my headache but failing miserably. I adjusted my trunk and hurried off down the port to find the berth that Titanic was docked at.

I wasn't particularly fond of alcohol, in fact, I rarely drank. But the night before had me reeling from some newly discovered information, and the call for something a little stronger than water was too great. I dug out the bottle of bourbon from the bottom of my dresser and after the first sip it was a quick decline. Within the hour I was tipsy and had completely forgotten the name that I had seen scrawled on the Titanic crew and passenger list; the name I had to read four times before I actually believed what I was seeing.

Unfortunately, the feeling of alcohol induced amnesia did not last. By the morning I was groggy, in a foul mood thanks to my headache, and faint with apprehension at the fact that Harold Lowe would be serving as an officer on Titanic. As his name drifted into my mind, so did his face, and my stomach knotted for an entirely different reason other than the aftermath of poor drinking choices. The dry toast and marmalade from this morning sat precariously on the edge of my stomach, and it wasn't a question of if I'll be sick, but when.

I took a few deep breaths of sea air to calm myself before I brinked on hysteria. I had to find the other stewardesses first, then I could deal with the trouble that was awaiting me on the decks of Titanic.

I shifted the trunk in my hand again. I typically packed light for the sea voyages, seeing as the only clothing I really needed was my uniform, but on this particular trip I had packed everything I owned. It wasn't much, but I still struggled with the clasps this morning trying to shut the trunk. After Titanic docked in New York, I would not be on the return voyage to Southampton. This was probably the first and only time in my life that I wished I didn't own so many things.

I finally found my way to berth forty four, per the secretary's instructions. By the cluster of twenty or so women gathered there, I assumed I was in the right place, and very late. There was one stout woman with mousy blonde hair that was addressing the group—Cissie our matron for the trip. She held herself like a woman who was not to be trifled with, lecturing about the pristine character of the White Star Line company. Trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, I slipped into the back of the group.

"Fancy meeting you here," said the young woman I was standing next to, "I was certain you were going to sleep in and miss the board."

I glance at her. Violet and I had found each other a few years prior on the Olympic. I was working a short stint as a stewardess for a few months, but she had remained with the ship for a few years. By default or design, I wasn't sure, we had become fast friends on the few voyages we shared. After a dozen or so runs, I made the switch to Oceanic, and Violet and I lost touch for a while. When we discovered we would both be serving on Titanic for the maiden voyage, we were stupid with glee.

"If only I was so lucky," I murmured to Violet. She snorted a laugh, trying not to let the matron hear. In front of us Mary Sloan turned around and glared at us. I glared back, scrunching my nose in the most unladylike way I could muster and sneering at her. Frowning, Mary turned back to listen to the matron, clearly offended by like lack of decorum. Violet was overcome with a new fit of giggles.

Someone needed to give Mary a swift kick to her rear side. If I was I man I would do it myself.

In the few days before we boarded Titanic I became acquainted with most of the other stewardesses. About half of us shared the boarding house next to the dock, everyone filtering in at different times over the course of the previous week. I had arrived four days before the actual summons to Southampton. Violet arrived five and the rest followed at different intervals.

I came to know each of them in the days leading up to the boarding of Titanic, at least as well as I could in such a short amount of time.

Annie Robinson had a child back in Hampshire and said she lost a toe in an unfortunate accident with feral cat and a rusted bicycle. I have yet to know if it was the cat or the bicycle that took her toe.

Mabel Bennett had ten siblings and the shrillest laugh I've ever heard. It's the kind that makes you laugh along whether you intend to or not.

Mary Sloan had the uncanny ability to pick out the least graceful woman in a group and brandish her incompetence at every possible moment. That woman was me.

With the exclusion of Violet, Mary, and a few others, most of the stewardesses were almost twice my age. They were kind enough, but we had next to nothing in common and we never really made it past civil conversation with each other. The real delight came from Violet occupying the room across the hall from mine at the boarding house. We spent the last few nights staying up into ungodly hours, chatting about our lives since the Olympic and the new possibilities Titanic had in store for us. It felt so good reconnecting with an old friend.

Violet was a devout Catholic. I never cared much for religion, but Violet's faith and goodness turned even the staunchest atheist into God fearing men. She was morally devoted, which was why I was completely shocked when she showed me the crew and passenger list she snatched out of the matrons room the previous night. I wasn't Catholic or anything, but I was certain that stealing was one of Gods 'I'd rather you not lest I smite thee with hellfire' commandments.

We sat on my bed reading over the list of names, first to see if there was anyone famous we knew that would be crossing on Titanic. Three years prior, Gertie Millar held a first class ticket on the Medic. I silently cursed the stewardess who was assigned to her cabin, because I would have given anything to see the theater star up close. Most of the first class passengers on Titanic were businessmen Violet and I had little interest in. We went through the crew list next, wondering if we knew any of the other employees. There were a few names I recognized from previous voyages, like a steward I had befriended on the Oceanic, and a scullion who always snuck an extra piece of shortbread for me on the Medic. When Violet went over the officers on board, my blood ran cold and I snatched up at list as the name of Harold Lowe was read aloud. I practically threw Violet out of my room, then proceeded to get myself piss poor drunk and stare at that list for the remainder of the night.

"Are you going to tell me what exactly got into you last night?" Violet whispered as if reading my thoughts. Her voice wasn't hard or insinuating, she was just being curious.

I looked at her. She was a few inches shorter than me, but the list of women who rival my height is sparse, so that isn't saying much. She was pretty, with bright eyes and a soft face. She has an inviting persona, one that makes her effortlessly approachable. Though no matter how much I liked Violet, I could never completely confide in her.

"I just wasn't feeling myself," I finally replied.

"Nerves?"

I nodded and silently begged her not to push the questions anymore. She didn't and I was grateful.

I found it hard to pay much attention to Cissie, and instead I took to gazing around Southampton port. I heard this lecture a dozen times with every new ship. The details change from time to time but the gist of it remains the same; stewardesses represent the refined details of the company, and as such we must do our best to make the voyage as comfortable as possible for our passengers.

So on and son on…

My gaze drifted to a ship in the dry dock across the way that was undergoing cleaning and repairs. A workman hung from the makeshift scaffolding, welding a facture crack along the stern of the ship. Sparks flew from his torch, falling like little stars. He paused, lifted his welding mask to wipe is brow, and then started again. I took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of salt and burning oil that surrounded me, comforted by the familiar scents.

Though I would never admit it out loud, I loved being a stewardess. The exhausting hours, piles of laundry, ludicrous demands and thinning tips were all made worth it by the chance to spend half my life at sea. I never thought I would be one to fall for the oceans endless abyss, but the more time I spent among the seagulls instead of the socialites, the more I grew to love it. As I let my mind mull over thoughts about the sea, a note of bitter sweetness gnawed at my heart as I was reminded that this was my last crossing. I didn't want it to end, but I'd reached a point of desperation where I had no other option but to let it go. The idea of never walking an empty promenade deck to see the stars made me wistful and I hated it. I hated that I'd become so attached to something that had brought so much misery to my life, I hated that I was stuck in this state of nostalgia when there are a thousand other things that should be occupying my mind, and I absolutely hated that in a weeks' time all of this would come to an end.

I sighed and reached up to rub by temples with my fingers, frustrated that I had gone and worked myself up like I did. The pounding in my head seemed to worsen, and I didn't think that was possible.

Cissie finished her speech with a promise that so long as we didn't cause her trouble, she wouldn't cause us trouble.

I suppress a snort. Me cause trouble? The absurdity of it.

We collected our things again, and I'm very aware of the fact that I had the largest trunk. I prayed that Mary would keep her mouth shut because the only person that knew I was going to stay in America was Charles. I wasn't at all eager to explain my cowardly flee to the States to the women I would be abandoning on the return voyage. I was just glad I wouldn't have to see their faces, or feel their wrath, when they were informed they'd be short a victualing crew member returning to England.

We turned towards the gangplank that jutted out from the bow of the ship to the berth and marched up it, Cissie leading the way and the rest of us following like her helpless ducklings.

I took a moment to let my eyes slowly wander over the new super structure that was now the largest moving object built by the hand of man. It really was a beauty of a ship. The fresh paint and clean lines elongated the broadside of the ship, giving the illusion that it stretched from horizon to horizon. The bow seemed to puff up out of the water, like the ship knew it was being boasted about and couldn't help but be a bit prideful. I didn't blame it. The top decks stacked in clean, precise lines and the funnels lay lazily on top, ready to smoke like the giant cigarettes they appeared to be. I smiled as I passed under the shadow of the ship. If this was going to be my last cross Atlantic voyage, then at least it was going to be on the most progressive ocean liner of the time.

Cissie took us up the folding gangplank to the forecastle deck. We all searched the deck, taking in everything Titanic had to offer. We had five days to memorize every inch of the ship and calculate the fastest routes from the first class cabins to the Pursers Office to the galley to the mail room. There was no time to waste and already the stewardesses gazed around the deck attentively as Cissie talked.

I found myself doing the same but for an entirely different reason.

My eyes immediately went to the bridge. I saw two officers talking on the port wing and my heart fluttered in my chest. I was filled with so much anxiety that I'm worried I'll lose my breakfast all over the newly polished deck. I haven't the slightest idea what I will do when I see Harry; I was torn between slapping him as hard as I could, or flinging my arms around his neck and never letting go for fear I might lose him again. I squinted into the brilliant sunlight to try and make out the faces of the officers. One is definitely a young man, blonde, and my height. The other is dark haired and stocky in stature, not at all like the lean figure I remember of Harry. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. There was no sign of him yet. If I was lucky, there had been a mistake, or a shuffle, and there would be no Harold Lowe on this crossing. I was at ease with that thought, even though I knew there were still four other officers to be seen, and I settled with it. Figure out my assigned cabins, get settled, and then worry about the other officers. If I took it one step at a time, I might be able to prepare myself better for the inevitable.

I turned to find Cissie and the other stewardesses about halfway down the forecastle. I'd fallen behind, too preoccupied with discerning the faces of the officers to notice the stewardesses moving on. I hoisted my trunk and went after them, falling in step with Violet at the back of the group.

"Nothing like a man in a uniform is here?" Violet said once I caught up to her. She had noticed me staring at the officers. If only I was looking out of interest instead of dread.

We snicker behind our hands and I'm glad I have a friend for this crossing. I can count plenty of voyages where I didn't find comradery with a single stewardess—and plenty where most of the stewardesses avoided me like a disease —and while I was often too busy to indulge in a foreign concept like 'friendship,' it did make these long journeys more bearable.

Cissie guided us towards the first class decks to see the library, dining rooms, and passenger cabins. We all followed, mostly giddy at the prospect of being a part of Titanic on her maiden voyage, but for me there was still an underlying feeling of dread that would not subside.

Harold Lowe was amazed that one man could have so much knowledge and yet not a shred of wisdom in his body. It was like watching a circus act, seeing Bruce Ismay parade around the boat deck with gang of reporters at his heels; like the ringleader and his band of monkeys. They passed by as Harold made his way to the bridge, Mr. Ismay enlightening the reporters, and in turn the public, about the marvel that was Titanic.

"Gentlemen, here we have Titanic's gymnasium, an innovative addition to the ships construction. For a shilling passengers are welcome to use top of the line exercise equipment at the discretion of Titanic's own personal physical educator…"

The rest of Mr. Ismay's speech is lost as they entered the gymnasium. Men file in after the ship owner, dressed in their newsboy caps with pens and notebooks at the ready. At the back of the group, Mr. Andrews tailed to answer any questions about the architecture of the ship that may arise. He halfheartedly listened, glancing at Harold as he passed. He gave a wink and Harold returned it with a fleeting smile of his own. Over his shoulder, he watched the six or so men file into the gymnasium, then the magnesium flash of the camera tray went off and he shook his head.

Even he wasn't prideful enough to admit that Titanic was impressive. He had been on plenty of ships in his lifetime, but none to this grandeur. It was inspiring and luxurious and Mr. Ismay was making a complete spectacle of it. All of the excitement over the ship was not lost to Harold, he understood perfectly why people were in awe, he just didn't share the same enthusiasm. A ship was a ship; give him the stars and a rudder and a sail and so long as it took him from point A to point B in one piece, he would be satisfied. A gymnasium? Jesus, what would they think of next. Even so, despite his distaste at the world romanticizing a ship, Mr. Andrews had outdone himself with this creation. It really was magnificent.

As he neared the deck, Harold spied two of his fellow officers at the wing of the bridge. James Moody stood talking with Joseph Boxhall, both wearing smiles that told Harold something was up. He joined them at the rail.

"What's the news then?" he asked and they turned to him.

James grinned and pointed over his shoulder towards the forecastle.

"Stewardesses," he said suggestively, raising an eyebrow.

Harold leaned over and watched the sea of white pinafores move across the deck. They paused briefly at the entrance to first class, then disappeared under the bridge to the lower decks.

"I love recruitment day," James said with an impish look on his face. Harold ignored his brazen comment. Only James could make that statement sound sexual.

"Has Ismay finished with his parade?" Joseph asked.

So Harold wasn't the only one who thought Bruce Ismay could stand to be knocked down a few pegs.

Harold turned around and leaned against the rail, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his arms over his chest. "I suspect he'll drag it on for as long as possible," he replied.

Joseph chuckled.

"Well I think it's a nice notion," James offered and both Joseph and Harold turned to look at him exasperatedly. He quickly elaborated. "I was talking with Mr. Andrews yesterday. He was explaining to me that the ship is so meticulously built that you could slice it three ways vertically and each individual piece would remain afloat, so why not celebrate? It's a ship ahead of its time."

Harold resisted the urge to roll his eyes. James had been sucked in by the fantasy as well then.

Harold might have been the odd man out among the officers, but James was the youngest, both in age and in rank, and so suffered relentless torment from his fellow officers at his expense. It wasn't two days ago that the third officer found a copy of English poetry on James' mattress and the rest of the officers all but laughed him off the ship. He handled the teasing surprisingly well, and perhaps that's why the other officers did it so much; because they knew James would take it with a grain of salt and a smile. That, and James unwittingly set himself up for verbal assault on a daily basis, so the temptation to ridicule him was just too great. Like the dreamy eyed gaze he wore while talking about Titanic. It looked positively moronic, and Harold had about a dozen slurs he was prepared to throw at the sixth officer because of it.

Joseph came to James's rescue with his next comment, distracting Harold from the snippy reply he was about to unleash on James.

"I suppose they don't call it unsinkable for nothing," Joseph commented.

"Is that what they're saying?" Harold asked and Joseph nodded. "You know they said the same thing about the Lusitania."

"Well, yes, but I don't recall her ever sinking either," James said and both he and Joseph laughed.

Will Murdoch rounded the corner off the bridge and the three officers straightened at his presence, their laughter dying respectfully.

"What's got you lot acting like school girls?" Will asked.

"Harold's just seen Mr. Ismay's new suit and hat with Mr. Ismay inside. Says he looked thoroughly silly, sir," James said and Harold shot him a dirty look. James didn't have a discreet bone in his body and one of these days it was going to get him in trouble, if not by Harold then by someone else. He didn't think mocking the ship owner was a terribly good way to start a maiden voyage.

To Harold's surprise, Will grinned. "Yes I saw. Can't help but make a scene of himself, can he?"

The four of them exchanged smirks.

Harold had answered the call to Liverpool over two weeks ago, along with the other officers. It had given them plenty of time to get acquainted with each other and yet Harold still felt a little lost. Two weeks of trying to make friends with his fellow officers and he had nothing to show for it. The others had worked with each other at least once before boarding Titanic; Will, James, Charles, Joseph and Bert Pitman had all sailed together on the Oceanic. Will and Henry Wilde had worked under Captain Smith before on the Olympic. James had an annoying habit of following Charles around like a lost puppy dog. He had so much admiration for the senior officer that Bert had suggested a marriage between the two. James happily obliged. Bert and Joseph were close, and often sat together talking in the smoke room after dinner.

Harold was the odd man out, and while the other officers were perfectly kind to him, he couldn't help but feel estranged. They all talked like old friends while he felt like he was walking on eggshells around them. One wrong word, and they would all turn their backs on him for good. James was the only one he didn't have to worry about. James had made it his mission to befriend Harold, no matter how much Harold resisted. It seemed the more he ignored him, the more persistent James became.

Harold liked the men he worked with, there was no doubt about that. They were all hard working, respectable, good humored men. They got along well too, and worked in sync while on the bridge, but there was just something that set Harold apart and he couldn't quite figure out what it was. He tried being friendly, but it seemed his fellow officers were riding with the tide and he was stuck swimming against it. He had better figure how to change his corse and fast, or else it was going to be a long trip.

"The cargos in," Will said after a moment, pulling Harold from his thoughts. "We'll need someone at the forecastle with the manifest and someone down in the holding deck giving orders."

"Aye, sir," James and Joseph said in unison, quickly. James went off down the boat deck towards the forecastle and Joseph disappeared into the bridge to retrieve the manifest. Will turned to Harold.

"I'll have you run down to the docking bridge," he said, his voice laced with annoyance, "One of the quartermasters swears the telemotor is off. Take a look at it and notify me or the chief engineer if you see anything?"

"Yes, sir," Harold replied with a nod. Will nodded back, then excused himself for the bridge. Harold started off down towards the stern of the ship by himself.

He told himself to be patient. There was always a bit of uncertainty when joining a new ship. Harold had faced tougher hardships than making friends on Titanic. A few days at sea and he would settle into his position among the officers and the rest of the voyage would be, for lack of a better phrase, smooth sailing.

Inside the cool and, most importantly, dim interior of Titanic, my head had substantial improvement. Cissie gave us a quick tour of first class, hardly giving us enough time to appreciate the ornate wood paneled walls, the hunter green velvet chairs, the leaded glass windows or the gold trimmed carpet, before she whisked us off to the cabins for room assignments. I tried not to be cross, knowing that I would have plenty of time to wander around Titanic freely before the passengers arrived. I couldn't wait until we were turned loose.

Violet and I were assigned a room together, and we both tried not to look too happy about it for fear of giving Mary a heart attack at seeing us as anything but miserable. I had a feeling Cissie purposefully assigned us as roommates, which made me like her twice as much as before. The rest of the room assignments were given out, then Cissie handed us a list of our cabins and passengers, and allowed us to go and unpack.

Violet and I made our way down to B Deck. We occupied the first stewardesses cabin, all the way fore on the deck, and in turn were responsible for the sixty or so passenger cabins there. Violet turned the gold knob and with a push of her hip, she opened the door to our room. I followed in after her.

The room had one bunk with two beds, two wardrobes and a wash basin. It was modest, but clean and fairly spacious for two young women. The room was paneled with similar mahogany wood as the rest of the first class deck. White sheets with heavy, navy wool blankets dressed the beds. I dropped my trunk in front of one of the wardrobes.

"It's nice," Violet commented and I nodded my head in agreement.

We set to unpacking our things. I lifted the lid to my trunk and carefully moved some of my dresses to the wardrobe. I left the others tightly folded because I was terrified of what was hidden below them, shoved to the very bottom of my trunk as if I could forget I had ever placed it in there.

Violet spoke again and I jumped.

"When are you really going to tell me what happened last night?"

I scowled and busied myself with trying to flatten out the creases in my uniform cap before shoving it in one of the drawers. Violet was too perceptive for her own good. I should have known better than to use nerves as an excuse; I'd been on too many ships at this point to be worried about nerves and Violet knew that.

"Lucy Fairchild if you don't tell me what's got you nursing the Irish flu…" she halfheartedly threatened. She couldn't hurt a fly if she wanted to. I smiled at her, but it's weak.

I had no idea what to say. Violet was my friend, and friends should tell her each other secrets, but even if I wanted to tell her everything, I wouldn't know how to begin. I could barely sort the terrible mess that my life had become myself, let alone try and explain the mortifying complications to another objector. Charles was the only one who understood; he had wadded through the hell with me for the past four years or so. We had watched each other try and scramble out of a slow downfall, but it seemed the harder we fought, the faster we fell. Up until a few months ago, that is, when we finally saw a silver lining. Even so, the memories were too fresh, too new, to talk about. I wanted nothing more than to bury the past and forget about it.

"I can't explain it," I finally offered and Violet raised a dark eyebrow at me.

I wet my lips, scrambling for something to put her at ease. Perhaps if I only told her half the truth then that would be enough.

"There's a man on board I once knew," I said softly, "And I've just got the funniest feeling that we won't be very pleased to see each other. I was drinking to take the edge off my nerves, but not about the ship, about seeing this man. In a worst case scenario, he'll ruin everything I've worked for, in a best case scenario, I'll manage to cross the Atlantic without ever running into him."

It's a vague answer but I didn't want to give her more than that. Violet seemed to understand. She nodded her head and went back to unpacking her things. I quietly put away the last of my dresses and push the trunk underneath our bed.

"If it makes you feel any better," Violet said after a moment, "It's the largest ship in history. There's bound to be plenty of places to hide."

I look at her for a few long seconds before I choke out a laugh at the ludicrousness of the whole situation. It's just my luck that when I try to make my escape to America and leave everything behind, the man from my past reappears to pull me back over the void.