Ignoring the stares and doing her best to pretend that she had no idea that she wasn’t supposed to be there, Caroline quickly walked the width of the room examining every spot where two men could go to have a discussion. A private one, she hoped.
She made it to the hallway by the smoking room bar without spotting them, then continued into the Verandah Café, which was completely deserted. No sign of Robert or Gilbert. She grasped the back of a chair, suddenly unsteady on her feet and unsure if it was the roiling sea beneath her or the uncertainties in her life that threatened her equilibrium.
Unwilling to go back through the smoking room and desperate for fresh air, she headed to the Saloon Promenade, eagerly searching for the two men, ducking into shadows just in case Margery was as determined to find Caroline.
In the pitch dark it took Caroline a moment to realize that all the windows had been covered with black cloths to block the light and hopefully disguise the large ship on the open ocean from unwanted attention. A chill ran through her that had nothing to do with the evening air. Her mother would have said it was just someone walking over her grave. And for a brief moment, while staring out at the inky black of the ocean, she believed it to be true.
Being very careful not to trip in the darkness, she made her way around the promenade, finally ending up at the spot where she’d started. She pressed her fingers against her mouth, afraid she might lose what little food she’d managed to eat, the worry and fear over what Robert and Gilbert were saying to each other making her physically ill.
Knowing any decision was better than none, she headed down the promenade, bypassing the lounge, where she could hear someone playing a ragtime piece on the piano. She recognized it as the “Maple Leaf Rag”—a song forbidden by her mother, which of course made it irresistible to Caroline—and she wondered if the audience had become so drunk they weren’t protesting the scandalous music. Not that Caroline had ever understood why everyone considered it so scandalous.
She made her way to the main staircase and, after making sure she didn’t see Margery or anyone else she recognized, headed toward her suite. She paused for a moment in front of it, then continued walking. She’d already decided that she’d try and find Robert first.
She turned a corner and stopped in front of room B-38. It was the right one, of course. She’d been in it only that once, but it wasn’t a visit she’d likely ever forget. Gently, she tapped on the door. “Robert? Are you in there? It’s me. Caroline.”
She thought she heard movement inside, but when the door didn’t open, she knocked again. Keeping her voice as quiet as she could, she said, “Please, Robert. Open the door. I need to speak with you.”
Again, the slight sound of something—someone—moving inside the cabin. What if he were hurt? What if Gilbert had done something to him?
“I’m coming in,” she said, hearing the panic in her voice. She turned the knob, and found it locked.
“May I be of assistance, Mrs. Hochstetter?”
Caroline jerked back at the soft lilting voice of Patrick Houlihan, relieved to see an open expression without prejudice or accusation. Something she was sure he’d perfected after years of being a steward and for which she was extremely grateful. He knew her shameful secret, but would maintain a false ignorance as long as she did. He always seemed to be showing up right when she needed him, and she was too happy to see him at that moment to question it.
“Yes, thank you. I’m afraid I’ve . . . lost a sheet of piano music I would like to perform for the concert tonight.”
It was a terribly constructed lie that a small child could see through. Yet there wasn’t even a twinkle in Patrick’s eyes.
“And you believe it might be found in Mr. Langford’s room.”
She nodded vigorously, as if to add veracity to her statement. “And if it’s not, I think I’ll wait for him here so I can ask him himself when he returns.” Whatever was behind the door, she didn’t want Patrick to see before she could weigh the situation herself.
“Of course,” he said, pulling out a key ring upon which she assumed was a skeleton key for the cabins on B-deck. “In that case, I will be happy to assist. The show must go on, mustn’t it?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “The show must go on.”
Patrick unlocked the door, but she reached for the handle before he could turn it. “I’ll take it from here. I don’t wish to take up any more of your time. Thank you, Patrick.”
He smiled and this time she was quite sure his Irish eyes were twinkling. “If I see Mr. Langford, I shall be sure to let him know that you’re in his room looking for your lost music.” With a brief nod of his head, he left. She felt the color rise in her cheeks as she watched him walk away, waiting until he’d disappeared around a corner before turning the knob.
Before she could open the door it was flung open, the knob snatched out of her hand. She looked up, expecting to see Robert, and instead found herself staring into the face of a girl with tousled dark blond hair who looked as surprised to see Caroline as Caroline was to see her. The girl was pretty, she supposed, if one liked that sort of fresh-scrubbed look of a milkmaid, her brown eyes snapping with anger.
“Pardon me,” Caroline said, her manners reacting before the rest of her could. As if she should be apologizing to this person in Robert’s cabin. A girl. Actually, a woman, Caroline realized with some surprise. A woman around the same age as herself. They took each other’s measure, and Caroline had the odd impression that they’d met before, although she couldn’t place exactly where. Looking at the woman’s rosy cheeks and bright open stare, not to mention the rough material of her cheap clothing, it was apparent they didn’t run in the same social circles. Still . . .
“You’re Caroline Hochstetter,” the woman said, her voice distinctly American.
It wasn’t the manner in which Caroline was accustomed to being addressed. “I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage,” she said, copying Margery Schuyler’s grating haughtiness, and groaned internally at the accuracy of the imitation.
“I’m Tess . . . er . . . Fairweather.”
“Are you the maid?” She hadn’t meant for it to be insulting, but she couldn’t imagine why this woman was in Robert’s cabin.
“Do I look like a maid? Never mind.” Tess flushed, her eyes bright with anger. “Don’t answer that. I presume you’re looking for Robert.”
Robert? He was on a first-name basis with this person? Caroline stared at the young woman for a long moment, then glanced behind her into the cabin. “Is Mr. Langford here?” As much as she wanted to see Robert, she didn’t want Tess’s answer to be yes.
“No, he’s not here,” Tess said, trying to get past Caroline, her tone of voice one that would have made Margery proud.
Caroline blocked her exit. “Then why, pray tell, are you in his cabin?”
The woman drew back, and Caroline braced herself for what Tess would say. But whatever it was she was preparing herself to hear, it wasn’t what flew from Tess’s mouth.
“Robert and I are not lovers, if that’s what you’re thinking. As to why I’m in his cabin, ask your husband.”
The words caught Caroline off-guard so that she barely noticed the woman moving past her and into the passageway. She didn’t even jerk away when Tess placed a hand on her arm. “Be careful who you trust.”
Their eyes met briefly before Tess dropped her hand and began walking away. A thousand questions swirled in Caroline’s head, none of them coherent or logical, and none of them moving past her tongue. “Wait!” she called after her.
Tess turned.
“Do you mean Robert? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Tess seemed to consider Caroline’s words a moment before replying. “Be kind to him.” The woman turned back around and continued walking.
* * *
Caroline paced the small cabin while she waited for Robert to return, surprised her footsteps hadn’t left a threadbare mark in the rug. She’d decided waiting in his cabin while Patr
ick searched for him would increase her chances of speaking with him before she had to face Gilbert.
She sat down on a chair, then stood to pace again, then sat down on the bed momentarily before jerking herself back to a stand. It wouldn’t do to have Robert walk into his cabin and find her sitting on his bed. She began pacing again. The time spent waiting forced her to think, to examine the two paths her life could take once she disembarked. A life with Gilbert, perhaps changed from what she knew if he’d been serious about his plans for their future lives together. Or a life with Robert. Even if she would have to endure the social condemnation of a divorce, she couldn’t deny the rush of exhilaration, of sheer joy she felt at the mere thought of a life with him. Or the heat that pushed the blood through her veins at the image of waking up next to Robert Langford every morning for the rest of her life.
She loved Gilbert. She knew this with the same certainty that she knew the sun would rise in the east the following morning. Yet she also loved Robert with the same conviction. Could a heart be split in half, each part loving a completely different person? And if that were true, how could she choose without the other half shriveling like a rose left too long on the vine? It might as well be a choice of the sun or the moon, except she understood that her days would be dark and her nights empty without both.
The door opened and suddenly Robert was there, staring at her with the same surprise Tess had just an hour before. Caroline faced him but didn’t move, knowing she needed answers first, and if she touched him, just once, she would be lost and the answers would no longer matter.
“Who is Tess Fairweather?” Caroline asked, proud that she’d kept her voice steady.
He closed the door behind him, glancing around the cabin. “Where is she?”
His concern over Tess’s absence sent a sharp stab of what felt a lot like jealousy poking Caroline in the ribs. “She left, that’s all I know. She wouldn’t answer my questions, instead telling me that I should ask my husband.” Caroline heard her voice rise, like a woman on the threshold of hysteria. She took in a deep breath. “I saw you. With Gilbert. And I would like . . . I demand to know what is going on.”
He made a move toward her, but she stepped back, her legs against the edge of the bed. Robert dropped his hands to his sides. “Tess was here in my cabin as my prisoner—nothing else. I need to question her about her sister, another passenger on board this ship. Her sister is a German spy.”
For the second time that day, Caroline struggled to find the words needed to voice a question, almost as if everybody were suddenly speaking a foreign language she couldn’t translate. “But why are you . . . ?” She stopped, looked up at him imploringly.
“I work for British naval intelligence. I was on a mission, which is now complete. Tess and her sister are merely distractions.”
“A mission?” She thought for a moment, remembering Patrick with the telegram, giving it to Robert, and then him leaving the lounge with Gilbert. “But I saw you with my husband, and I knew you were with him for a long while because I went to look for you, as I imagined the worst. Is he involved in your . . . mission?”
“I’m not at liberty to tell you. But it’s all over now.” He started to lift an arm toward her, but dropped it quickly.
“Not at liberty . . .” She closed her eyes, swallowing her anger at yet again being left in the dark about what was really going on. Her anger focused on Gilbert, for not trusting her with the truth. She was his wife. “Was it all about business, then? Or was there something more?”
His eyes darkened, studying her closely as he spoke, and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t tell her what it was that haunted his face. “There was more. He told me . . .” A pained expression crossed his face. “He told me . . .” When Robert moved toward her, she didn’t put a hand out to stop him, allowing his fingers to land lightly on her shoulders.
“What did he tell you?” Caroline kept her gaze down, away from those searching eyes, focusing instead on the mother-of-pearl stud in the middle of his stiff white shirt.
With a gentle finger, Robert lifted her chin so that their eyes met. “He told me that he loved you more than I ever could. But I know that couldn’t be true.” He bent his head to kiss her but stopped, his lips hovering over hers, and she felt herself relax. The blackmailer, whoever he or she was, had nothing to hold over her anymore. At another time and place, she might have found it odd that relief was the only emotion she felt at knowing Gilbert was aware of her infidelity.
Robert continued, “I want you, Caroline. Not just here, and now. Forever.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers, his warm breath caressing her cheeks. “I can’t promise you the luxuries to which you’ve become accustomed, but I can promise you that we won’t starve. And that I will love you with everything I have until the day I die.” He took a deep breath. “But I can’t keep doing this if I don’t believe you feel the same way. It’s wrong, if you don’t. Wrong for all of us.”
She knew he meant Gilbert, too, and was grateful he hadn’t said the name out loud. “But I can’t let you go,” she whispered. She closed her eyes, too, afraid of what she might see in his. Afraid she might see him pulling away.
“Then you need to choose,” he said quietly, keeping his lips separated from hers still, killing her by degree.
She licked her lips, then opened her eyes. “Give me one more day. Please. I’ll let you know before we leave this ship. I just need one more day.”
“All right,” he said, moving closer. With a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, “But until then, what should we do?”
Caroline didn’t hesitate. “This.” She placed her hands behind his head and drew him toward her, his lips finally against hers, his strong, solid body fitting into hers as if they’d been made that way. She fell backward onto the bed with him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, with no remorse or regret or any of those things she should be feeling but couldn’t while she was in Robert’s arms.
They took their time disrobing, exploring each other’s bodies as if it were the first time. Or the last. Robert made love to her tenderly, each touch, each kiss like a branding. You are mine, they seemed to say. She allowed herself to forget who she was or where she was, giving in instead to the slow, steady rhythm of their lovemaking, yet all the time aware of the brittle space around her heart that threatened to shatter if she made herself remember.
Afterward, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, their legs entangled so that it was difficult to tell where he ended and she began. It was there, when she awakened in the small hours of the night, that she remembered. Remembered the one word she’d said as she’d hovered between the twilight world of sleep and wakefulness, pressed against the body of her lover. Gilbert.
Caroline jerked fully awake, praying it had been a dream. She listened to Robert’s steady breathing, assuring her he was still asleep. After quickly disentangling herself, she slipped from the bed and dressed as well as she could in the dark. She crept from the room, offering up a silent prayer that no one else would be up and about at this hour. And that Jones would have thought to leave the door to Caroline’s bedroom unlocked so that she could enter it from the hallway, and almost wept with relief when she discovered that it was.
The small lamp by the bed was on, allowing Caroline to see her turned-down bedclothes and her nightgown placed carefully on the bottom of the bed. She closed the door quietly behind her and had just turned toward her washbasin when a voice called to her from a darkened corner of the room.
“Mrs. Hochstetter.”
Caroline jerked toward the sound of the voice, her hand pressed against her heart. “Jones. You startled me.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Is everything all right? Is Gilbert . . . ?”
“He’s not in his rooms. But that Irish steward, Patrick, stopped by an hour ago with a message from your husband. There is a well-known collector on board, a Mr. Charles L
auriet, and Mr. Hochstetter wants to show him the manuscript. Patrick was made to understand that you’d know which one he was referring to.”
“Can’t this wait until morning? It’s quite late.”
“I’m afraid there’s some urgency, and it’s already been an hour. Patrick said that he’d tell Mr. Hochstetter that he saw you with the Schuylers on the Saloon Promenade, to explain your absence. But he made it clear that Mr. Hochstetter needed the manuscript as soon as possible.”
Caroline wrinkled her brow, too tired to attempt to make sense of any of it. “Yes. Of course. Thank you.” She was more embarrassed than thankful at the knowledge that two more people were being duplicitous because of her. And even if Gilbert knew the truth of where she’d been, she found herself grateful that at least in this regard they could both pretend.
She went into the parlor of their suite and knelt in front of the small safe. She knew the combination—it was the same combination as the one at their house in New York. Gilbert, for all of his intelligence, said he wasn’t capable of remembering more than one combination.
With the dim light of a table lamp, Caroline turned the numbers left and right, waiting for the quiet click before spinning the knob and opening the door. As Gilbert had told her, the safe was crammed with folders stuffed with papers, yet on top, unprotected and quite in the open, was the unpublished Strauss waltz.
She gingerly picked it up, then handed it to Jones, almost reluctant to let it pass from her hands. “Please be careful with this. It’s quite valuable and very rare.”
Jones inclined her head. “I will treat it as if it were mine.”
“I can get myself ready for bed,” Caroline said. “Please, go find Patrick and make sure Mr. Hochstetter gets that as soon as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am. Good night.”
“Good night, Jones.”
She watched as the maid headed toward the main door of their suite, then waited until she heard the door close behind her. Caroline stood in the quiet, listening to the dull throb and hum of the distant engines, going over the events of the evening, wondering what mission Gilbert and Robert might be involved in together, realizing all the things she didn’t understand, including what was in her own heart.
The Glass Ocean Page 30
