Queen of the Waves

by Janice Thompson

  “Not likely.” Mr. Weir chuckled. “As if a tiny thing like the New York could take down the mighty Titanic.”

  Nathan picked up his menu card and ran his finger over the White Star Line logo at the top, feeling the impressions made from the type. He glanced at the foods listed there and tried to make up his mind.

  “What are you going to have, Nathan?” Mother asked.

  “Hmm?” He glanced around, wondering why the elusive young woman had not yet appeared. “What?”

  “What are you going to have for dinner?”

  “Oh.” He glanced again at the menu, turning up his nose at the ox tongue and thinking, instead, about the oysters. “I’m hungry enough for two dinners. And I think I’ll order the Pineapple Royale for dessert.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Mother said. “I’m just thrilled at all that our fine ship has to offer, from the luxurious accommodations to the fine food.”

  “I daresay, Titanic is more than a luxury liner,” James threw in. “She’s almost as large as a small city—one set afloat.”

  “Yes, a city with all classes of people dwelling therein.” Mother rolled her eyes then dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of the lower set today, if you know what I mean.”

  “Mother.” Nathan shot her a warning look, but she kept going.

  She wrinkled her nose and placed her napkin back in her lap. “Well, I’m just not used to it, that’s all. And I can’t help but think this isn’t good for them. You know how it is. Folks in the lower classes always want what they see in first class. That puts us at risk, which is disconcerting.”

  “I daresay the folks in second class are eating like kings tonight too. So I think our risk is minimal. Besides, first class is separated from the others.” Nathan gripped his menu and silently prayed that the conversation would shift gears.

  “Oh, do you see who’s seated behind us?” Mother jabbed him with her elbow. “Isidor and Ida Straus.”

  “Straus?” Nathan glanced at the older couple then back at his menu. “Don’t know them.”

  “Owners of Macy’s Department Store.” Mother rolled her eyes. “Honestly, if it’s not the insurance business, you know nothing about it.”

  Nathan felt the sting of those words but did his best not to let it show. Oh, how he wanted to give his mother a piece of his mind, to tell her that the insurance business was far more important than she knew. But it wouldn’t make any difference. He shifted his gaze back to the menu and tried to make up his mind about the various selections.

  Nathan looked up just in time to see a vision of loveliness headed his way—the woman from the Boat Deck, dressed in an emerald-green dress straight off a fashion plate with a fox stole lopped cockeyed about her neck. If nothing else, the dress would please Mother. The woman in it? Well, that was yet to be determined.

  Wednesday, April 10, 1912, Midafternoon

  The First-Class Dining Saloon

  Tessa made her way through the first-class lounge, inwardly oohing and aahing at the elegant Versailles style. Garnering all the courage she could muster, she then took several tentative steps into the first-class dining saloon with its gold-plated fixtures and luxurious seating areas. She could scarcely get over the magnitude of the place—larger than any dining room she had ever seen. Her gaze traveled to the alcoves and then to the leaded windows. Truly, such finery did not exist in her world. Until now.

  She made her way past the tables filled with chattering women and their plunging necklines, gaudy dresses, and pristine white gloves, her gaze traveling from table to table, person to person. Her gaze landed on the trio of young women who had behaved so flirtatiously with Nathan just hours ago. One of the girls gave her an admiring look as she passed by, though Tessa realized the lovely green-satin gown had garnered the attention. Or maybe the woman was staring at the fox stole, which had slipped off to one side and dangled over her left shoulder as if ready to give chase.

  C’mon now, Freddy. Tessa straightened the naughty fox and tried to focus. Just about the time she thought she might not find Nathan Patterson, she caught a glimpse of him seated at a table on the far side of the room with an elegant-looking woman to his left and several older men gathered round. She swallowed hard, whispered up a “Lord, help me!” prayer, and took a few steps in his direction.

  He rose at once, his broad smile letting her know that her presence was most assuredly welcomed at the table.

  “You came.” He gave her a polite nod.

  “I did.” She felt her cheeks grow warm as she glanced his way.

  He pulled out the empty chair to his right and she took a seat, her nerves in a frenzy as introductions were made all the way around. She found herself stuttering as she said, “I’m Jacquie Abingdon, of the London Abingdons,” though she managed to get the words out. Nathan’s mother looked duly impressed.

  “My dear, is your father the steel magnate?”

  Tessa didn’t have any idea what the word magnate meant but nodded anyway and offered a brave, albeit forced, smile. She fussed with the fox stole, wanting to remove it, but she wasn’t sure whether she should. Were the other ladies still wearing their wraps? No. She slipped Freddy off and slung him over the back of the chair. The waiter scooped low, snagged the little stole, and carted him off. To where, Tessa did not know. Or care, for that matter. The wait staff could use him for target practice and she wouldn’t mind.

  “Abingdon?” The fellow with the slicked-back hair glanced her way. “Why, I would know that name anywhere. Your father and I have done business together. I’m George Brayton, but I believe you used to call me Mr. B.” At once Tessa’s heart felt heavy enough to sink the ship.

  “Don’t you remember me?” The man glanced her way, a twinkle in his eyes.

  Tessa’s heart contorted as she gazed into the face of the older fellow. “I’m sorry, sir, but the incident seems to have slipped my memory.” Her words came out shaky at best.

  A hint of a smile turned up the edges of his lips, and his mustache twitched. “No doubt you’ve forgotten my face, as well. It has been some time since I visited with your father at Abingdon Manor. Six years, in fact.”

  “Ah.” A wave of relief washed over her as she considered the lapse in time. Perhaps she could keep this charade afloat after all. If she played her cards right.

  The man offered a kindly smile. “We’ve both changed, no doubt. I wore a beard back then, and you were just a slip of a girl, running through the hallways of the manor and generally underfoot.”

  “Well, then, little has changed.” She managed a nervous chuckle.

  “You are very much as I remember you.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Though the last time I saw you, you wore your hair in pigtails.”

  Tessa grinned. “Indeed.”

  A warm smile followed on his end. “The little caterpillar has transformed into a beautiful butterfly. Quite the lady, in fact.” A tiny wink followed on his end.

  The fellow’s flattering words sent a shiver through her, though the part about looking like a lady brought an unexpected smile. She dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “Thank you, sir.”

  The man’s gaze narrowed. “Only one thing perplexes me. I recall giving you a funny little name back then. I believe I called you Little Blue Eyes.”

  Tessa’s stomach suddenly felt like lead. “O–oh? I don’t recall.”

  “Yes. I remember it clearly.” He took a sip from his water glass then put it back down on the table. “Such bright blue eyes on such a beautiful little girl. Only, now they appear green.”

  Tessa’s gaze shifted to her water glass, which she picked up and drank from. Her trembling hand nearly gave away her nerves. Calm, Tessa. Calm. With what she hoped would look like a confident smile, Tessa put the glass down, gazed directly at the man, and batted her eyes. “My trick, sir, is to wear blue as often as possible. You can see for yourself that my eyes are neither blue nor green, but something of a mixture of the two. When I wear blue, well�
�” She dabbed at her lips once again in flirtatious fashion. “Let’s just say that I know how to play the blue card when I need to. Tonight, as you can see, I went for the green.”

  “Indeed. You did.” He quirked a brow. “And I find the green nearly as compelling as the blue.”

  “Perhaps.” She brushed her hands across her skirt to dry her damp palms. “Though I can tell you that I tend toward the blue on most occasions. Perhaps when we are next together, you will see for yourself.” Gracious, had she really said such a thing aloud?

  The fellow looked more than a little interested. “Then I look forward to our next meeting very much.”

  Oh my. What have I done?

  Tessa’s White Star Line napkin tumbled to the floor. Oh, posh. The waiter leaned down with a flourish and snatched it up then offered her a smile. Would she ever get used to this?

  In an attempt to calm herself, she took a couple of deep breaths. Her gaze shifted from chair to chair as she took in the men first. The fellow across the table with the shiny bald head looked kind enough. So did the older fellow, the one with the shimmering white hair meticulously combed to one side. He had introduced himself as James Carson, a friend of Nathan’s. Or perhaps a friend of Nathan’s mother’s. They appeared to be very chummy.

  At last, she settled her gaze on Nathan’s mother. The woman was a fine match for most of the other elegant ladies in the group, her nose equally as elevated and her hat a smidgen larger than fashion might dictate. Her brow furrowed as she took in Tessa’s gown, but an admiring smile followed.

  “My dear, is that a haute couture gown?”

  Tessa felt a wave of panic sweep over her. Haute couture? Whatever did that mean?

  “From Paris?” Nathan’s mother added.

  Ah. “No, it’s not.” Tessa reached for her napkin. “Though, I daresay my seamstress could easily find work in Paris. She’s quite skilled and very fast, as well.” Tessa tried to steady her breathing and willed her frantic heart to slow down.

  Mrs. Patterson fussed with her gloves. “Well, it’s lovely. And that shade of green is very nice on you.”

  “Thank you.” Tessa cleared her throat, her hands fluttering to the neckline of her dress. “I do hope you will forgive me, but I’m struggling with a bit of a sore throat tonight. Please don’t mind me if I listen in while the rest of you visit.”

  She turned her attention to the demitasse cup and saucer then fixed her gaze on the glass cruet and the silver ice bucket, which sat nearby. Glancing over the rows of silverware, she tried to remember everything Jacquie had taught her. Oh dear. Which fork did she start with, again? Ah yes, the one on the outside. She hoped.

  The saltcellar she recognized, of course. And the toothpick holder. She couldn’t make heads or tails out of some of the rest of it, though. Determined to stay focused, Tessa picked up the menu card and studied it, her heart in her throat. She recognized the words in English. Well, most of them. But the rest appeared to be in a different language. French, maybe? After examining the words written in English, she winced.

  “Ox tongue?” She glanced up at Nathan, feeling a bit nauseated.

  He shrugged. “It’s never been a favorite.”

  She lifted the menu to read the rest but finally put it down, more confused than ever. How could she possibly eat oysters? Were they meant to be eaten?

  Nathan caught her gaze and smiled. She knew that she should raise the menu and get back to the business of selecting her meal but found herself drawn to those twinkling eyes. Something in them rang of mischief. And caring. She could not deny that Nathan found her interesting. Not that she wanted to draw attention to herself, of course.

  No, fading into the background was best.

  She raised the menu and focused on her choices once again. She hardly knew how to pronounce these things, let alone eat them. A hint of a sigh rose up inside her, and she forced it down. The waiter appeared and shared his thoughts on the manager’s special of the day. Tessa couldn’t make sense out of what he said, but the way he described the foods made them sound delicious, in spite of their somewhat repulsive names.

  “Have you decided, miss?” He held tight to his order tablet.

  “Oh, I— No. Not yet.” With the wave of a hand, she let him know that she wasn’t quite ready. It would be easier to listen to the others first.

  She listened closely as the others chose their foods. The man across from her ordered the Asparagus Salad with Champagne Saffron Vinaigrette. Ah. So that’s how you pronounce it. To her right, a lady in a lovely red dress ordered the Vegetable Consommé. What in the world was consommé? Then another ordered oysters. Ick. Nathan lifted his gaze from the menu to ask for the beef. Mmm. Finally something she recognized. Sounded delicious.

  None of the rest made much sense to her, so she mimicked everything Nathan had said, right down to the oyster appetizer. Then she fussed with her napkin and gazed at the wall decor.

  “Oh, I hear the food onboard Titanic is to die for.” Nathan’s mother smiled. “No doubt we’ll all put on weight on this journey.”

  “Not enough to sink the ship,” Mr. Carson said, and he winked.

  Mr. Weir leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. Tessa knew that Jacquie would have been appalled by this but didn’t say so.

  “I read somewhere that Titanic needs seventy-five thousand pounds of meat to feed her passengers. Can you imagine? And something like forty tons of potatoes.”

  “Heavens.” Mrs. Patterson’s brows elevated. “If we’re worried about the ship going down, let’s toss the potatoes. I daresay my waistline can do without them.” She giggled.

  “There are forty thousand eggs aboard, as well,” Mr. Weir said. “So don’t think twice about asking for seconds at breakfast.”

  Tessa looked his way and he offered a wink, his somewhat bushy eyebrows elevating a bit beneath his wire-rimmed spectacles. She took in his overcoat with its stiff collar and tie. Perhaps he was as uncomfortable in that getup as she was in this ridiculous dress with its confining undergarments.

  Mr. Brayton, a rather rotund fellow, took a sip from his crystal goblet then placed the glass on the table. “If the Titanic is sturdy enough to hold three thousand passengers, all our luggage, and thousands of pounds of cargo besides, I daresay she can handle any added weight around my midsection.” He rubbed his extended belly and chuckled. A couple of the ladies snickered, and he went back to drinking.

  Nathan looked a bit flabbergasted by the man’s outburst. He shook his head and looked Tessa’s way. “Miss Abingdon, what do you think of the journey thus far? Is it everything you imagined?”

  Everyone at the table turned to face her. So much for disappearing into the background or feigning a sore throat. She steadied her breathing and reminded herself to use the proper manner of speech before she uttered a word, one the real Jacquie Abingdon would be proud of.

  “I daresay the views are magnificent from my suite.” She spoke with great care, enunciating every word. “And the room is all I imagined and more.” She dabbed at her lips with the cloth napkin. “But, by far, the best part of the journey has been the people I’ve met along the way. I’ve already acquired new friends.” She spoke of the dogs, of course. They had greeted her with enthusiasm, hadn’t they?

  “Indeed.” Nathan quirked a brow. “New friends, indeed.”

  She felt her cheeks grow warm and drew her hand to her throat, hoping he would take the hint about her supposed sore throat. Why did this young man have such an effect on her? She couldn’t be sure. Still, she’d better watch herself. No point in making herself vulnerable to anyone on this journey.

  No, Tessa. Just get to the other side of the pond and start your life over. No thoughts of romance along the way.

  Her gaze shifted back to his captivating eyes and she pressed down a grin. No, Tessa. Do not entertain romantic notions, even for someone as handsome as Nathan Patterson.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wednesday Evening, April 10, 1912


  The First-Class Dining Saloon

  Nathan couldn’t help but chuckle at the look on Jacquie’s face when the waiter delivered the food. Her eyes widened as she took in the oxtail Mr. Weir had ordered. For a moment, she looked as if she might be ill. Just as quickly, she seemed to regain her composure. He had to give it to her—she recovered quickly from whatever moments of distress came her way. An admirable trait.

  “They don’t eat a lot of oxtail where you’re from?” he asked.

  Her usually rosy cheeks paled. “N–no.”

  “Same here. But I understand it’s actually quite good.”

  “I’ll never know.” Jacquie shook her head with such force that he wondered how the feathers on her hat stayed in place. When the waiter delivered her plate of food, she gazed down at it as if she couldn’t figure out what to do. She finally dove in, slowly at first and then picking up speed. Nathan noticed that she pushed the oysters aside. With a wink, he slipped them onto his plate. She mouthed a silent “Thank you” and kept eating.

  Mother glanced Jacquie’s way, her brows knitted together as she watched the young woman swallow her dinner in such a rushed fashion. No doubt she found her to be something less than proper. Not that Nathan minded. He found Jacquie easy on the eyes and easy to talk to. The rest of the group bored him to tears.

  Mother and James chatted at length about their plans aboard ship, Mr. Weir went on and on about Titanic’s provisions, and Mr. Brayton couldn’t seem to talk about anything except card playing and the like…until an unfamiliar woman entered the dining saloon and took her seat at the table behind them.

  The rather somber-looking woman settled into her chair and fussed with the fur collar on her ornate velvet gown. She then unpinned her hat and set it aside, revealing a mass of disheveled dark curls.

  Mother’s eyes widened, and Nathan could practically read her excitement as she whispered, “Do you know who that is?”

  He did not, of course, so he shook his head. Still, he kept his gaze on the woman as the waiter approached to take her fur collar.