“Here’s a lovely little something, Miss,” the girl said, holding out a tiny purse that was completely impractical unless one was only carrying a lipstick and a scrap of a handkerchief. The bag was a lovely example of petit point with little flowers and birds mingling in the midst of a blooming garden. The work was skillful and told of a patient heart and steady hand. I couldn’t stop myself and held out the coin—and a little extra—as I tucked the bag under my arm.
“You are such a soft touch,” Kipp commented, staring up at me. “But it is pretty,” he conceded grudgingly.
“I’m glad you like it since I bought it for you to carry,” I quipped in response.
A second later, his head snapped around, as did Elani’s. The lupines were just a second faster than Peter and I…a symbiont duo was in the station! It was not long before we spied the tall, slender figure of Tristan Taylor with Meko at his side. They, in return, could feel our presence and stopped a short distance away, their eyes meeting ours in confusion across the crowded station, as people pushed past us to be on their way. Automatically, Tristan reached up to remove his felt bowler, a gesture of courtesy that Peter mimicked.
“Do we know you?” Tristan asked, referring to him and Meko as a joined entity.
“Yes, you do,” Peter responded. Lowering his voice, he added, “We met you in the future and traveled back to specifically intercept you in this place and time. I have a letter,” he added, pulling it from an inner jacket pocket.
The four of us let down our guards enough so that they could see we had no ill intent. With a puzzled look on his face, Tristan followed us out of the station, walking until we came to a small city park, where a few large trees loomed over a scattering of benches made of rough cut oak. I privately surmised that more than one fanny had left those benches impaled with wooden splinters. Meko fell into step next to Kipp, sizing him up as the more dominant of the two lupines. The two touched noses for a second before trotting to catch up.
Tristan adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. It was interesting to note than in over one hundred years, nothing much had changed except he would eventually have a few more wrinkles and some authentic gray hair. Meko was jet black, his pale gray eyes peering out from the dark mask of his face. As Tristan read the letter he’d written to himself, his face tightened; his jaw began to work as he realized we already knew of his plans to change the timeline of history to save J.P. Morgan. A slight flush began at his neck and traveled upwards to his face. He finally put the letter on the bench, placing his hand over it to keep it from taking flight in the cool breeze that curved through the little park. A couple of working class women bustled past, their hands anchoring their hats, giggling at some private conversation.
“So, you already know my plans and have no wish to stop me?” Tristan asked. “That would, after all, be the ethical thing to do.” His voice sounded slightly sarcastic in tone.
“We aren’t here to judge you,” I replied. “We just want you to help us get on board the Titanic so we can go about our investigation.”
“Maybe you should judge me,” Tristan said, tilting his head slightly, a slight challenge to his tone. “Meko has been trying to talk me out of my rash action, but I don’t listen to him. He thinks I’m selfish, and he’s correct.” He removed his glasses and held them in his hand, his brown eyes unveiled and unguarded. After a moment, he polished the lenses on the corner of his jacket and carefully replaced them, centering them on the bridge of his nose.
“Would you listen to us if we tried?” Kipp asked, his voice a whisper in the back of our minds.
Tristan sighed deeply and looked up, closing his eyes for a minute against the flush of soft early morning light. “No, I suspect I wouldn’t. I am compelled to do this thing that violates our code. And, yes, I can help you with J.P. Morgan,” he added, his voice becoming brisk as he shook off his emotions. Fumbling slightly, he reached for the pocket watch attached by a golden chain that stretched across his dark woolen vest. Tristan was nicely attired but not in the fashion of a wealthy human male. He passed for middle class in Edwardian society.
“We’ve been traveling while waiting for this day, visiting the coast of Cornwall.” He blindly stared out at the street, not seeing the teeming rush of people who passed, busy to be about their day. “It’s rugged, somewhat bleak along that coastline where the Atlantic Ocean breaks against the rocks and sand. It seems everything there is gray…the sea, the rocks, even the sky. He smiled, looking down at Meko, who wagged his tail. “Meko wanted to visit Tintagel, and we traveled there, too.”
“I always wanted to time shift to Tintagel at its peak of activity, but I didn’t get that assignment,” I remarked with a sigh. “And no one would even approve it as a vacation spot due to the fragility of that time and the worry we might change the arc of history.” Even as I said the words, I regretted them. Tristan’s face darkened in response, but he quickly rallied, clearing his throat.
“I am scheduled to visit J.P. today,” he said. “My task, at which I will succeed, is to convince him to not travel on the Titanic. I will mention that I’m entertaining my nephew and niece in London and will allow him to ask to meet you two, which he will. I’ll be vague, just mentioning a sister from whom I was alienated. He will be naturally curious, and I will tell him that I never spoke of my family due to the painful nature of the parting. It will be up to you to figure out a sympathetic story.” He stood, indicating our time together was over. We arranged for him to meet us at our hotel the next day, April 9th. That would only give us less than one day to prepare to board the Titanic, if all went well.
My excitement grew so that I was unable to sleep that night but then neither could Kipp. We lay together in the bed, his chin resting upon my chest, waiting until daylight began to glimmer behind the thickness of the floor length curtains in the room. The hotel lad who catered to our whims brought a light breakfast, and after we finished our meal, we were simply waiting when a card was delivered to Peter—Tristan Taylor was waiting for us in the lobby downstairs. I would like to recall that his eyes lit up at our arrival, but he merely looked tired and somewhat resigned. Meko, however, was courteous to Kipp and Elani. I noticed that Tristan and Meko had assumed their aging disguises for their meeting with Morgan. Tristan’s hair was highlighted with touches of gray from powder applied at strategic locations; he acquired a slight limp as he handled a walking stick. He’d obviously treated Meko with some of the same powder as the lupine’s muzzle was now almost white. Walking outside, we found Tristan hired a larger carriage that could accommodate three humanoids and our large traveling companions.
“J.P. is most curious to meet you,” Tristan remarked, his voice flat and toneless, as he stared out the window at the passing scenery. We were headed towards Cavendish Square which was on the northeast boundary of Mayfair. Although the atmosphere in London was generally thick with smoke and humidity, on that morning the air felt fresh and cool; the usual odors drifting from the Thames and the distant tanneries that were situated in the east end of London were minimal at that. A flock of crows flew overhead headed inland, their voices loud and echoing along the street. “I told him I’d let you share your story.” Turning to glance at me, his face reddened slightly as he dropped his gaze.
“He’s embarrassed over the fact we all know of his violation of ethics,” Kipp murmured in the back of my mind. I reached out and pulled Kipp close as I recalled having been so unkind to him when he tried to broker a healing moment between Tristan and Meko. Kipp licked my face in response…no words were needed, no grudges held.
Instead of my traveling outfit, I’d chosen a dress more suitable for an afternoon tea visit, or at least I hoped it was suitable. My time living in the future had spoiled me, and I’d conveniently forgotten some of the etiquette of the day. If the truth were told, I really didn’t care too much about such things any more. Having lived through it once in real time was enough. Peter was nattily attired in a blue blazer that was in style and all t
he rage among young gentlemen.
“So what’s Morgan like?” Kipp asked, glancing at Tristan and Meko.
Meko, who typically chose to say little, answered. “He is an interesting combination of generosity, ruthlessness, good humor and serious, single-mindedness all rolled into one.” He smiled, his jaw dropping open in a pant. “He latched on to Tristan in college, and once he’s your friend, he is steadfast forever as long as you’re genuine with him” he added.
“J.P. is no fool and realizes many people gravitate towards him due to his enormous wealth. He often feels used and has trouble trusting people in general,” Tristan remarked.
“And he trusts you when you are not a “people”,” Elani commented.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Tristan raised his dark eyebrows before resuming his watchful stare from the window of the carriage.
As we rolled along, I realized I missed the earthy, fundamental, busy part of town that made up Whitechapel and Spittlefields. The area of Mayfair through which we traveled was well manicured, controlled and devoid of the tangled bustle of transit and trade that defined other areas of London. We passed a street that I knew led, eventually, to Harrow’s neighborhood. Involuntarily, I sighed; Kipp pushed closer, if that were possible.
We rocked to a halt in front of a large, white townhouse that was bordered on either side by equally impressive homes. There was a tasteful garden out front with only scattered patches of color due to the early season. A wrought iron fence encircled the garden with an ornate gate spanning a carefully rocked pathway leading to the front of the house. There was little porch to speak of, and by the time we got to the door, it swung back to reveal a well dressed butler who bowed neatly from his trim waist.
“Mr. Taylor, so good to see you again,” the man said, beaming.
“And you, Headley,” Tristan replied.
“What, no Jeeves?” Kipp asked me, twisting his head to look up at me with that innocent look I knew too well.
“Can it, Kipp,” I hissed.
As Headley secured the men’s hats, Tristan took the lead in a familiar way and led us along a polished floor to a sitting room that was just off the main hallway in the front of the house.
“J.P!” he called out, swinging back the door.
“Tristan!”
I was struck by J.P. Morgan who was a paradox; his sense of confidence and powerfulness was tempered by a natural reticence that he’d learned to master. Here was a man, one of the wealthiest in the world, who had made his fortune in ways that sometimes destroyed others…but he would have been just as happy to have worked in a mercantile store selling canned peaches. He had become this man as result of many forces. I found it endearing that he was self conscious of his large nose. Morgan stepped forward to shake Peter’s hand before reaching out to take mine between the two of his and gently pressing against my flesh. As he bent forward over my hand, I caught a whiff of his cologne, which had the subtle fragrance of woodlands and grassy fields baking under a warm sun. I noticed his finger nails were neatly trimmed and buffed to a subtle shine. With a little flourish, he motioned us to be seated as Headley saw to tea.
“I see the love of dogs extends to all members of your family,” Morgan said, smiling. He had a pair of very intense eyes set beneath heavy brows that were dark, even though his hair was flecked with gray and white. I could only imagine what it would be like to be on the other side of that gaze when he was percolating with anger.
“Oh yes, sir,” Peter replied. “Our mother told us that she and Uncle Tristan grew up in a house filled with all sorts of dogs.” He paused to gravely introduce Elani and Kipp, who dutifully wagged their tails.
“We’ve been through several generations of Meko dogs,” Morgan said, laughing. “Tristan keeps getting a puppy of the previous Meko, and so we move on towards the future with our trio happily intact.” Morgan leaned forward, smiling at me. “I know you, young lady, will tell me the family secrets that Tristan guards like a vault of gold.”
I was grateful Headley arrived at that moment, pushing a mahogany cart carrying an ornate tea service of the most exclusive china decorated with gold leaf.
“My dear, would it be an imposition to ask you to pour?” Morgan asked, a smile tugging at his mouth. Yes, he was being an old chauvinist, but I had to remember the times and not act put out or irritated. For a moment, I tried to pretend I was at home with Fitzhugh who managed all things associated with tea with understated elegance. The serving of tea was definitely a weak spot in my repertoire. With Kipp silently prodding me in the back of my head, I managed to fill all the cups and balance them nicely on the saucers without tripping and spilling the hot brew in Morgan’s lap. Kipp, my ever faithful cheerleader, applauded my success.
“Well, Mr. Morgan, my mother was terribly fond of Uncle Tristan,” I began, having rehearsed the story in my head. “But my uncle’s disapproval of her marriage to my father caused a terrible rift, and they never spoke again after that.” I looked at Tristan, my lips trembling slightly. “I can only imagine the terrible heartache given how close they’d been.”
Tristan glanced at me and purposely took a sip of tea to delay as he considered his remarks. As with all our kind, he could fabricate on the fly, and in a moment he was up and running. “Yes, J.P., it was one of those things that gets blown up out of proportion and then people say things they can’t take back. I never spoke to her again and had no contact until I was notified that she and her husband had died in an accident.” He shook his head. “Pride is a terrible flaw.”
Surreptitiously, I glanced around the room. It was decorated in excellent taste, with just the right amount of art work and decorative touches combined with furniture upholstered in bright, cleverly textured fabrics. I wondered how much of the planning and execution had been done by Morgan, or did he just hire a professional? My guess was the latter. On the far wall, a large fireplace stood dormant; the mantle featured ornate carvings of hunting dogs chasing nonexistent prey over the rolling countryside. On the top of the mantle, a large clock ticked, the sound unexpectedly loud in the room which had fallen quiet after Tristan’s painful, fabricated admission.
“But we must try and move past all that now, Uncle, most certainly,” Peter chimed in, his voice cheerful. “I know Mother never stopped loving you, and she would be glad we’re here and can be family again.” Peter’s earnest attitude combined with his big brown eyes contributed to his ability to lie with a shockingly convincing ease. He was better at that than was I…and I was no slouch.
Morgan reached for the tea caddy and retrieved a little frosted cake which he nibbled, trying in vain to keep the icing from clinging to his heavy mustache. He was quiet, thoughtful, as Tristan appeared to gather his thoughts.
“I was telling J.P. that the two of you are eager to return home after touring the continent,” he was saying. Obviously, he’d made some tasteful reference to our having inherited some funds upon the death of our parents. We were making our way as middle class, as was he. Turning towards Morgan, Tristan assumed an earnest expression. “J.P., what will be the best way to ensure they can travel and keep their dogs close by?” He smiled. “You know how we are!”
“Yes, we managed on the trip over since we had more funds available and snagged a first class passage on one of the Cunard ships.” Peter shook his head. “Believe me when I tell you that was a terrible mistake, and I wish I’d chosen White Star which is known for comfort and passenger satisfaction.”
I had nothing to contribute and was pleased with Peter’s command of the situation. Yes, his little poke at Cunard helped fuel the fire.
Morgan grinned, enjoying hearing that Cunard, his fierce competitor, had failed to please; he leaned forward, slapping his knee. “Come here, boy,” he coaxed to Kipp, who played the role of dog and approached the old man, his tongue hanging out in lopsided smile. As Morgan thumped Kipp’s sides vigorously, Kipp turned his head to stare at me. With little effort, he rolled his eyes and managed to cross them as I bit ba
ck a laugh. “I’ve never seen more interesting color on a dog!” Morgan exclaimed. “Puts me in mind of an Irish Setter I once had…stupid dog but a great personality.” He offered Kipp a broken off piece of cookie after ensuring Kipp would sit first.
“What am I?” Kipp grumbled as he returned to my side. “A trained seal?”
“Just remember, sweetums, you don’t have to dress up and wear big, stupid hats,” I reminded him as he dropped down to curl up on the floor next to my feet.
“Well, if you two are anything like your uncle,” Morgan said, addressing Peter and me, “you are dog fanatics.” He stared up at the ceiling, frowning as he gathered a memory. “I recall we got into quite a bit of trouble once because Meko just had to go with us into an exclusive club. That little escapade cost me some money,” he concluded, smiling.
“It’s rather urgent we get home to take care of some business,” Peter said, hoping his words would prompt the old man.
“You guys seem to forget, I can plant the thought in his head and take care of all this waiting,” Kipp reminded us, his jaw resting comfortably on front paws.
“Let’s avoid that, Kipp, unless needed.” I chimed in to the telepathic dialog that was floating in the room. If I didn’t reign in Kipp and Peter from time to time, chaos would ensue. Elani caught my mood and winked at me in agreement.
“I just cancelled my passage on the Titanic,” Morgan was saying. “I heard another man wanted the rooms, but he had to cancel, too, due to family illness. So they are free at the moment.” He paused before adding, “I know Ismay thinks he can use them, but it will do him good to drop down a notch or two and take lesser accommodations.” His brows drew together as he remarked upon the latter, his bottom lip jutted out in what might have been thought of as a pout, and I saw the part of him that could be manipulative and unpleasant. For all his joviality with us as we enjoyed his hospitality over tea and little sugar dusted teacakes, he could be a harsh man.
Titanic, 1912 (The Symbiont Time Travel Adventures Series, Book 5): Young Adult Time Travel Adventure Page 19
