“To the job. Dry goods. Sounds boring, but it’s … well, it’s a little boring, but I love it. Marriage? Maybe someday, but I travel a lot.”
“That’s not lonely?”
“Naw,” Kimball said. “I make friends easily. Look at you and me.”
Elizabeth grinned. She liked him. He was easy and open.
The couple next to Kimball moved away and he turned toward the man leaning on the railing beyond where they’d been.
“And Nicholas here,” he said. “Nick!”
The man didn’t react and Elizabeth knew why. Niels Bohr wasn’t used to being called that.
Kimball slapped his arm with the back of his hand. “Nick?”
Bohr shook himself out of whatever reverie he’d been in and smiled at Kimball.
“Some new friends for ya,” Kimball said as he turned back to Simon and Elizabeth.
Niels’ smile faded.
“This is Elizabeth and um …” Kimball started and snapped his fingers until Simon supplied his name for him. “Right. This is Nick Baker.”
Niels tried to summon a smile. “Nicholas.”
Simon stepped forward and held out his hand. “Simon Cross. My wife, Elizabeth.”
Niels looked uneasily at them. “Nice to meet you.”
“Any friend of Harry’s,” Elizabeth said.
Niels relaxed a little, nodding gratefully that they hadn’t given him up.
Kimball threw back his head and laughed. He leaned on the railing and grinned at her. “I like you.” He looked at Simon and quickly added, “both of you.”
There was an awkward silence then and Kimball seemed to think a retreat was in order. He quickly found another group of friends. “Countess!” he cried and then looked back over his shoulder at Simon. “You don’t mind if I …?”
“Not at all,” Simon said.
“I’ll see you around.” He tipped his hat and hurried off.
Simon watched him go and then they both turned back to Niels. He frowned and turned toward the water, resting his elbows on the railing. “Thank you for not giving me away.”
“Believe it or not, Mr. Bo—” Simon started, “Mr. Baker, we are on your side.”
Niels clasped his hands in front of him. “How is it you know there are sides to be on?”
He cast a quick glance at them to gauge their reaction.
“It’s not exactly a mystery, is it? You were nearly murdered by a man who’s been following you since Manchester.”
Niels turned toward them with alarm. “He has?”
“We saw him on the train to Cambridge.”
Niels’ face grew worried. “You should not be involved in this”
“I’m afraid we are,” Simon said. “I don’t know who he is or why he tried to kill you. But he tried to kill Elizabeth this morning and that very much makes us involved.”
Bohr was suitably alarmed at that bit of news. “I am sorry.” He looked at Elizabeth. “That is my fault.”
He shook his head and looked down at the water. “If I had known this would put other people in danger …”
“You would have gone anyway,” Elizabeth said. He started to protest, but she shook her head. “It’s important, isn’t it? Wherever you’re going?”
He nodded slowly. “It could be.”
She wanted to ask him more, but he would tell them in his own time, if he told them at all. For now, she was just happy he was safe. If only he were safe somewhere else.
“Good Lord,” he said suddenly and leaned back.
“What’s wrong?”
He nodded toward the water and Elizabeth looked down to see what had alarmed him.
They were passing closely by two moored ocean liners, the Oceanic and the New York. Elizabeth heard what sounded like a gunshot and immediately grabbed onto Niels’ arm.
He shook his head. “It was the ropes.”
The mooring lines holding the New York in place had snapped. The wake from the Titanic must have caused them to draw too tight and now they flew through the air like giant flailing snakes. The stern of the New York immediately began to swing out, right toward the Titanic.
Elizabeth swallowed. “Simon?”
He watched passively, curiously. “It’s all right.”
It didn’t look all right. The New York was much smaller than the Titanic, but it was drifting right into its path. She felt the engines beneath her surge and a slight sensation of slowing. They must have reversed engines. The wash that was created pushed against the New York and gave the Titanic just enough time to avoid the collision.
People on the docks and the New York were going crazy, but the passengers on the Titanic viewed it all with the same calm interest Simon had, but for very different reasons. He knew they’d miss each other. To the others, their calm came from the idea that this was all a mere curiosity; they were, after all, on an unsinkable ship.
“That was a near thing,” Niels said finally. “A bad omen.” He turned to them and smiled. “It’s a good thing I am not a superstitious man.”
“It’s never too late to start,” Elizabeth mumbled.
~~~
It had taken nearly an hour to sort out the New York and get the Titanic underway to France, where it would take on more passengers and supplies. When they finally did, Niels went back to his suite to rest before dinner. Last night had been as sleepless for him as it was for them.
“Now that we know Bohr—”
“Baker,” Elizabeth corrected. “Nicholas Baker.”
The sooner they both got used to that the better.
“Right. Now that we know he’s safely, if one can call it that, on board,” Simon continued, “I’m going to see the purser and the chief steward about a few things. I want to make sure we’re seated at … Nicholas’ table for dinner.”
“Good idea.”
Simon kissed her cheek and took a step away before turning back. “I won’t be gone long.”
“Okay.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You will manage to stay out of trouble for a few minutes?”
“I make no promises.”
He half smiled and half frowned at that. With a small laugh and a shake of his head he walked away down the deck. She watched him until he turned and disappeared down a flight of stairs.
What kind of trouble could she really get into?
She turned and collided with something, someone. The impact sent her staggering backward toward the stairs to the Second Class deck. Like a cartoon character, she felt herself almost falling, trapped in that slow-motion space between standing upright and plunging down a flight of stairs to one’s death. She windmilled her arms to try to regain her balance or grab onto the railing, but it wasn’t working. She had just enough time to look behind her and see a dozen metal stairs waiting to break her neck as she fell down them.
Just before she did, a hand latched onto one of her flailing arms and yanked her back from the abyss. She stumbled forward this time and found her face buried in a man’s chest.
“I’m sorry, miss,” a voice with a slight Cockney accent said in her ear.
He pushed her away almost as quickly as he had pulled her toward him.
“Holy macaroni and cheese, that was close,” Elizabeth gasped, her heart still pounding.
The young man’s ruddy face broke out into a broad grin.
“Edmund,” he said with a tip of his cap.
“Elizabeth.”
He looked anxiously over his shoulder and she saw why. Two deck stewards were in hot pursuit. He gave her another grin.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, tipped his cap and quickly made for the stairs. He slid down the railing and jumped onto the Second Class deck.
The stewards ran toward the stairs. Elizabeth stepped into their paths to slow them down. Whoever he was, he’d saved her life. Of course, he might have been the reason she was nearly killed, too, but she was willing to overlook that part.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, sure to block t
heir way, “but I’m feeling a little faint.”
She started to swoon, but had to stall in mid-collapse—her knees bent, the back of her hand to her forehead—and lingered there while they decided whether to help her or catch their man. The men were a little slow to pull their attention away from their quarry and she wondered if they were going to let her fall.
“I’m faintin’ here,” she said and grabbed onto one of the men’s sleeves.
Somehow that got their attention and they “caught” her. As they helped her to a deck chair, she glanced toward the lower deck and caught a glimpse of Edmund just before he disappeared.
“Are you all right, madam?”
“Must be the excitement of the voyage,” she said. “Thank you.”
They tipped their caps before walking over to the stairs. They stood there scanning the deck below, said something to each other and walked away grumbling.
Elizabeth waited until they’d gone before she walked over to the railing. She scanned the crowd, but didn’t see him. He was young, maybe twenty. She’d half expected him to be sitting there with a sketchpad. But she wasn’t Rose and he wasn’t Jack.
And she had no intention of trying to recreate scenes from the movie. In fact, there was one in particular she hoped to avoid. Just the thought of it sent a shiver up her spine. There would be room enough for two on her raft or there wouldn’t be room for either of them.
As worried as Simon was about things, he didn’t have a corner on the market.
The image of what was to come hit like a wave from the ocean. It nearly took her breath away as she looked around at the passengers, suddenly seeing them for what they were—men, women and children—people with days to live and no idea.
But she knew. She knew what would happen, what could happen, to her, to Simon. Suddenly, she wanted to, needed to, see him very much.
She found him on the landing by the great staircase.
“We’re all set,” he said and then frowned. “Is something wrong? Did something happen? Elizabeth, I—”
She shook her head and took his hand. “I just missed you.”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t question her.
“I thought maybe we could have a rest before dinner, too.”
He looked worried but nodded. They walked in silence back to their suite, which wasn’t far.
Simon opened the door and Elizabeth walked in ahead of him. He closed the door behind them.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
She nodded, unconvincingly.
His eyes searched hers for some clue, but she didn’t want to talk about it and, thankfully, he knew enough not to press.
She held out her hand to him. He took it and gently tugged her toward him.
He put one arm around her waist and gently touched her cheek with his hand.
She lifted her head and brushed her lips against his. The gentle kiss grew, as theirs were wont to do. They retired to the bedroom but didn’t get any rest.
Chapter Eight
ELIZABETH LOOKED AT HERSELF in the mirror of her vanity table. “Yikes.”
Her hair was in full revolt. The nice up-do she’d managed to wrangle was half up and half squashed now. Her perfect Psyche Knot, a sort of elongated squishy bun at the back of her head, was less knot and more blob. Loose curls hung down on one side and the other was just mush.
“Why didn’t you tell me I had bed-head?”
Simon looked over at her as he put on his collar. “I like seeing you like that.”
“A mess?”
He came over and dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. “Well-loved.”
She nearly blushed. She was that.
“Dinner isn’t for another hour yet,” he said.
“That’s all?”
He chuckled to himself as he decided on cufflinks. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”
Somehow she did. After a few skirmishes, she and her hair had come to a truce and it was now pleasantly piled on top of her head in a poofy bun with just a few tendrils escaping to frame her face. Her corset kept her lower half in line and her bust bodice the upper. It was annoying that she needed either. At least these versions didn’t force her into that annoying monobosom she’d had to endure in 1907.
She did love her dress, though. It was princess style with a high-waisted bodice and long slender skirt. The tailor at the Council told her it was fashioned after one that Queen Maud of Norway had worn. The silk was ice green and embroidered with gold. It had a deep square neckline that showed off just enough but not too much and delicate quarter length sleeves.
For reasons she still didn’t quite understand, she also had to wear long silk gloves that made her palms sweaty.
Last came the jewelry. She wasn’t a jewelry person. She wore her wedding ring, simple earrings, and the occasional necklace. Simple, tasteful. Her taste in jewelry BS (Before Simon) had been solely of the faux variety. She’d never even touched a diamond before they’d met.
Now that she could afford some of the nicer things in life, her tastes hadn’t changed. The simple diamond studs she wore were just real diamonds now.
But this, she thought, as she picked up the enormous diamond bracelet the Council had given her, was a whole different thing. Cartier. The real deal and worth a mint. It made her uncomfortable, but she was playing a role and big, gaudy accessories were part of the costume.
She chose a necklace to go with it. The special watch key Teddy had given them dangled from a chain inside her jewelry chest. She could just see his face the day he’d given it to her. Even though, in his timeline, he hadn’t even invented the watches yet, he had “given her the moon” in that key. It was special to her far beyond its ability to let them travel without an eclipse. It reminded her of him—eccentric, charming, annoying, brilliant. She glanced at it once more. She felt a little naked without it, but the first night out on the Titanic called for bling. Tonight, Cartier and Tiffany would have to do.
“Would you?” Elizabeth asked as she held out the jewels.
Simon fastened the bracelet over her gloved wrist and then worked the clasp of the necklace. His fingertips brushed softly against her neck as he did.
He admired her reflection. “Beautiful.”
She turned in her seat. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
He wore the uniform of wealth and power—the tuxedo—and he looked damned fine doing it. It was a slender cut with a white waistcoat. He looked sexy, but nothing could compare to the first time she’d seen him in a tuxedo—leaning smugly against Charlie’s piano at the club in New York.
They consulted the deck plan that had been printed and left in their suite along with a detailed passenger list. The First Class dining room was two decks down on Saloon Deck. They left their rooms a few minutes before seven o’clock. A small group of people gathered near the elevators while even more took the grand staircase. A clear but not unpleasant noise cut through the murmured conversations of the crowd.
“Am I losing my mind,” Elizabeth asked, “or is that a bugle?”
She’d heard it, or thought she’d heard it while they were dressing.
“The call to dinner.”
“Is it a race?”
Simon laughed. “No.”
They descended the last set of stairs that spilled out into the reception room where everyone waited for dinner. People gathered in small groups to chat about their day as a man played classical music on the piano in the corner.
The room was lovely and stylish with white paneling and brass light fixtures. There were Chesterfield sofas, wingback chairs, and small groupings of cane furniture scattered around the large room.
They wound their way through the elegantly dressed passengers in search of Niels. Nick. Nicholas. Dammit.
“Hello!”
She knew without looking it was Harry Kimball.
They walked over to him.
“Good to see you again. I think we’re at the same table.”
He turned towa
rd the group he’d been talking to. “These are the Rivets,” he said, introducing a very handsome looking couple in their mid-thirties. “And this is Doctor …”
“Hass. Gunther Hass,” he said as he held out his hand toward Simon. Elizabeth tensed slightly at his German accent, but this wasn’t their Mr. Personality. This man was probably about the same age, early forties, but pleasant looking and with a kind smile. A far cry from the craggy nightmare that haunted her sleep.
“George Rivet,” the other man said, his French accent thick. “My wife, Henrietta.”
“Simon and Elizabeth Cross,” Simon said. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Henrietta turned to Elizabeth. “Your gown, it is beautiful. Laferrière?”
Elizabeth had no idea what or who that was. “Yes.”
Henrietta looked at Elizabeth’s bracelet. “And Cartier.”
The corners of her mouth pursed slightly in an impressed smile. From the arch in her eyebrow and the look in her eyes that was something that didn’t happen often. She had a regal bearing and more than a hint of charming condescension nearly worthy of Marie Antoinette.
“Have you seen Mr. Baker this evening?” Simon asked as he made a show of looking around the room for him.
“Not yet. But he’ll turn up,” Kimball said. “Food’s too good to pass up, I hear.”
“It had better be for these prices,” Rivet said under his breath.
“Don’t be gauche,” his wife reprimanded him softly, but not gently.
“Speak of the devil.” Kimball nodded toward the elevator.
Niels stood inside, talking with the lift operator who shook his head as the other passengers got off. Niels looked up and around the car and said something else to the man, who shook his head again. Finally, Niels nodded and left the elevator.
“Nick!” Kimball said so loudly that Henrietta actually blanched. “Over here.”
Niels gave them a small uncertain wave and walked over to join them.
“What was that all about?” Kimball asked, nodding back toward the elevator as Niels reached them.
“I was asking him about how it is powered.”
“You are interested in how things work?” Dr. Hass asked.
Niels gave him a small smile. “Theoretically.”
Voyage in Time: The Titanic (Out of Time #9) Page 6
