A Ripple in Time

by Julia Hughes

  ‘Sir, permit me.’ Grasping her chin, the steward pinched her nose and poured a clear liquid from a small brown bottle he’d produced from one of his pockets.

  ‘Good. Very good. Thank you.’

  Carina stared at them both with contempt. Slowly the light dwindled from her eyes and she slumped senseless.

  ‘Erm. What was that stuff?’

  ‘Laudanum sir. Very good for hysterics. A lot of brides suffer with nerves, either before or after the wedding.’

  Rhyllann realised for the first time that the man had mistaken Carina for Carrie. He felt too emotionally exhausted to explain.

  ‘She’ll be alright?’

  ‘Right as rain in a couple of hours sir.’

  The old man wasn’t such a bad chap after all, he decided.

  ‘Thank you. Thank you very much. No need to mention this to.’ He jerked his thumb towards the dining room.

  ‘Of course Sir, I quite understand. No point in distressing the Baron unnecessarily.’

  Rhyllann loosened the ties around Carina’s wrists, smoothing the long red gold hair along the outline of her shoulder and drew the curtains round the four poster bed. He stared at the steward thoughtfully.

  ‘I don’t want to leave her alone will you give me a hand to get her to the infirmary? He walked to the drawer where Wren kept a bundle of huge white five pound notes, and peeled off two.

  ‘Sir?’ The man stiffened.

  ‘Please, if she’s still raving when she comes round the nurse can deal with her. It’ll be for the best.’ He added two more notes and tucked them into the man’s top pocket.

  ‘Sir, you wait here, I’ll get a bathchair.’

  They took the electric elevators down to the infirmary on C deck. The steward openly admitted to administering drugs to quieten the “poor young lady” newly married and suffering fits of nervous exhaustion. The nurse shot Rhyllann dirty looks and agreed that Mrs. Fitzwilliam should remain in her care.

  ‘I’ll telephone your room when she wakes Mr Fitzwilliam.’

  Rhyllann was too astounded at learning that the ship had internal telephones to explain that he wasn’t Carina’s husband. He felt even more astonished when several passengers hailed him as they walked past in their evening clothes.

  ‘What are they doing down here?’ He asked the steward.

  ‘I expect they’re going back to their rooms sir.’

  Rhyllann did a double take, peering after the well heeled group certain he’d seen them dining first class.

  ‘Most of the first class staterooms are on this deck sir.’ The steward added, pulling aside the elevator’s outer metal door, waiting while Rhyllann grappled with the inner door. They rode up to A Deck in silence, Rhyllann feeling part guilty part relieved at dealing with the Carina problem. Make certain to get her on the boat deck before midnight he told himself. Two middle aged couples in evening dress waited good humouredly for the elevator to free up, the men waving massive cigars around as they chatted. Realising he was going to be late for dinner Rhyllann squeezed past, leaving the steward to manage the wheelchair in his haste to reach the dining room.

  Wren pushed food around his plate, feeling cheated. This afternoon’s tour should have given him a huge appetite, but his throat closed against every mouthful.

  He made delusory conversation with the twins, full of silly questions as usual. They were the same age as Carrie but looked ten years older and acted ten years younger. Captain Smith and John Astor had retired to the smoking lounge.

  ‘Where’s Sir Rhyllann?’ Asked one, Petunia or Penelope.

  He hadn’t seen his cousin since this morning’s service. And since the Duchess was also absent from the table he had a pretty good idea where Annie was and wondered idly what the reaction would be if he gave an honest answer.

  ‘Of course,’ the other one preened herself. ‘We all know what ails our young newly wed.’ she looked around the table archly. Andrew Tomms smiled wanly.

  ‘You do?’ Wren asked, puzzled. Carrie had gone for a nap, suffering from a raging headache. He shouldn’t have let her spend so long in the noisy stuffy engine rooms.

  ‘Of course.’ Her twin crooned back. ‘He’s missing his bride. Ah. Young love.’

  She was a year older than him. Wren hated her. But she was right. Rhyllann was wrong. The passion hadn’t worn off, he was still madly in love with Carrie, maybe because their love was still chaste. After tomorrow he might never get the chance to hold her again, he might never get the chance to love her properly, the way he longed to night after night. Listening to her breathing and feeling her warmth beside him in the double bed, sensing rather than feeling the Titanic ploughing towards her destiny was more than flesh and blood could stand, but she wanted him there, so he stayed.

  ‘Here comes Carrie now!’ Andrew said brightly, rising to his feet.

  She still wore the crew’s uniform she’d borrowed from supplies, the white jacket emphasising her flushed cheeks and her eyes seemed more green than brown under the bright lights of the chandeliers.

  ‘My my, didn’t realise it was fancy dress night.’ One twin said in a loud whisper to the other. Carrie’s steps faltered.

  ‘Really? You could have fooled me.’ Wren said giving each a long impertinent look. Their mouths hang open, Andrew spluttered and Wren strolled over to intercept Carrie. Blushing she whispered that she’d caught a glimpse of naughty Rhyllann ushering a woman into their Stateroom and felt obliged to spend the past hour dozing in a deckchair.

  Wren tchhed with annoyance; he’d have words with Rhyllann when he caught up with him.

  ‘Come on. Café Parisian. Doctor’s orders for headaches and sore feet.’

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Wren shrugged off his jacket to drape around Carrie’s shoulders. It didn’t stop her trembling.

  ‘What happens next?’ She asked.

  ‘The waitress brings your mushroom omelette and our hot chocolate, maybe we’ll have an ice-cream or dessert, then get you back to the warm.’ He said, eyes on the window and deck outside as though watching for someone.

  ‘Wren!’

  He grinned, acknowledging his obtuseness. Still he hesitated. Rhyllann had asked the same question; Wren flinched remembering the look in Rhyllann’s eyes when he’d given an honest answer. He couldn’t bear for Carrie to look at him like that. Instead he turned to stare at the Westminster style clock over the ice-cream counter.

  ‘In just under three hours from now we’ll collide with the iceberg. Then you, I and Rhyllann are going home.’ He kept it as succinct as possible. He could see she wanted more and waited uneasily for the next question.

  ‘But …’

  He placed a finger against her lips, then pushed her hair back from her face. ‘Don’t. Please Carrie, don’t torture yourself.’

  As prophesised the waitress placed a plate and two steaming cups on their table, added a bowl full of crystallised sugar rocks and left. Carrie pushed her plate aside.

  ‘Look.’ Using the miniature tongs Wren held a pastel pink lump against Carrie’s finger, ducking his head to peer under her fringe, trying to coax a smile.

  ‘When I find you I’ll cover your fingers in rings.’

  She jerked her hand away. Wren thought any minute now, the tears will start. He decided not to allow it.

  ‘Carrie. Stop it now. In three hours time we are going back to our own world and I promise you, this will be like something you dreamed. You won’t remember it.’

  She gasped. ‘I won’t remember you?’

  ‘It’ll be like something you dreamed.’ He repeated. She began breathing heavily. Ducking her head she gulped at her chocolate, pulling back quickly.

  ‘Too hot?’ He asked, smiling when she nodded. In her distress she’d forgotten basic science. She blew on her drink, and began to sip cautiously.

  ‘I won’t remember you.’ She said mournfully.

  ‘I’ll remember you.’ He said, certain of this. ‘And that’s a start.’


  Her hand dropped, fingering the chain round her neck. Her Gran’s locket. Rhyllann had retrieved it from the blonde.

  Her fingers tightened over the locket. ‘Wren – this other world – will people who died in this version be alive in the other version?’

  He considered carefully. The truth was he didn’t know. In this world he’d died aged thirteen. Rhyllann’s Mum had died. He knew what she was asking him, would Gran, would Jeff Holden live in the other version, the true version as he thought of it. Then he realised it didn’t matter; she wouldn’t remember anyway.

  He smiled brightly. ‘Of course.’ He said. Although he wasn’t going to risk it. The moment the iceberg tore a hole in the Titanic’s side, he had everything in readiness to return to their own time. He’d already drowned once in both worlds and had no wish to repeat the experience.

  Carrie’s face worked, teetering between smiles and tears.

  ‘I’ll find you, I promise. I’ll find your Gran and I’ll buy her the biggest diamond she’s ever seen.’ He said hurriedly.

  ‘And you’ll treat her to bingo?’

  ‘We’ll take her to Las Vegas.’

  Carrie giggled. ‘She’ll be happy with an outing to the pub.’

  ‘We’ll take her to Munich’s beer festival.’

  She pulled her plate back and began cutting into her omelette. Suddenly she paused, her eyes wide and staring.

  ‘The Blonde. What about the Blonde?’

  Wren had forgotten all about the psychopathic maniac. He shrugged and refused to answer.

  ‘Eat your omelette up before it gets cold.’ He said, and resumed his vigil; At times he thought Rhyllann had forgotten the reason they were on board the Titanic. Rhyllann lived in the present, throwing himself into the experience of first class life afloat.

  As though reading his mind, Carrie changed the subject to Rhyllann.

  ‘At least I won’t have to put up with Rhyllann teasing the life out of me!’ She said, pinging his hand with her fork.

  ‘Honestly Wren, he thinks we’re making love morning noon and night, why didn’t you tell him the truth?’

  He laughed. ‘I tried to, believe me. Annie thought there was a technical problem and wanted a man to man chat.’ He shrugged. ‘It was easier to let him think what he wanted to think.’

  Carrie wrinkled her nose. ‘Doesn’t he realised, haven’t you told him?’

  ‘He’ll realise soon enough. But he won’t have much time to tease. Don’t worry.’

  They grinned at each other, imagining Rhyllann’s incongruous reaction. Carrie’s face softened.

  ‘I wish it could have been so. I wish we could have spent all day and all night making love.’ She said fiercely.

  He placed a hand over hers and squeezed gently. ‘So do I.’ The expectation of what was to come churning inside, Carrie’s beautiful green and hazel eyes welling with bitter sweet tears, the knowledge, the certainty he had that in three hours they would be leading separate lives, all these emotions surging, demanding he sweep her off her feet, carry her back to the glorious double bed to lose himself in her, to give into his desires, and damn the consequences.

  ‘So do I.’ He whispered again.

  ‘I feel like Cinderella, waiting for midnight.’ She said, with a sound that was half choke, half laugh. A vision of Rhyllann as fairy godmother sprung up and the moment passed. Catching his eye, Carrie read his mind and they dissolved into giggles.

  ‘Come on.’ He pulled her to her feet.

  People were staring, he didn’t want to end up in some survivor’s memoirs.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  He paused, somehow swimming didn’t appeal tonight. Neither did he want Carrie on the boat deck, too near the lookout mast. He glanced at the clock again. The hands stood at right angles. Nine o’clock. He thought that the next one hundred and eighty minutes might be the longest of his life. He could hardly suggest they play cards. A brainwave struck.

  ‘There’s something I want you to do for me.’ He smiled, trying for shy yet charming. ‘It’ll probably bore the life out of you but it would mean the world to me.’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Rhyllann strolled into the dining room five minutes after Wren and Carrie left.

  He slipped into Wren’s place wondering at the chill around the dining table. Six of the seats were empty, he glanced towards the dance floor but the orchestra was resting.

  ‘Evening Andrew, ladies, I didn’t realise it was so late.’ He frowned. ‘Have I missed anything?’

  ‘Only your cousin and his wife. Your cousin’s manners are boorish sir!’ The fat auntie’s chins wobbled. The two girls merely looked down their noses at him. Andrew seemed amused at a private joke. Rhyllann beckoned a waiter over.

  ‘If you mean he has a nasty streak a mile wide I agree with you.’ He paused running his eye down the menu. ‘Couple of grilled chops I fancy, whatever wine you think. Thank you.’ He said to the waiter who nodded as he cleared the table of empty plates efficiently.

  ‘You should be flattered. He normally only bothers with people much bigger and nastier than you.’ He smiled as though he paid a compliment. ‘Unless of course, he felt you insulted his wife.’

  The twins flushed, rose in unison and flounced off. Their aunt heaved herself to her feet and followed after, bumping into tables in her agitation. Rhyllann raised his eyebrows at Andrew.

  ‘Something I said?’

  ‘I think you hit a sore spot.’ Andrew replied, sitting back in his chair, ready to keep Rhyllann company while he ate. While Rhyllann waited for his meal, he learned more than he ever wanted to know about the Titanic. But Andrew was one of the good guys, so he listened politely, trying not to yawn, his thoughts wandering to Carina. Although he shouldn’t be worried, his head started to crane more often towards the kitchen door, willing his food to arrive so he could get back to check on her. Halfway through learning that the Turkish baths were sited directly next to third class dining rooms, the waiter trundled back with a trolley crammed with plates.

  ‘Chef’s compliments sir.’ He said, transferring the vegetables, baby carrots boiled then sautéed with butter; spears of asparagus also dripping with butter, just in season; potatoes a la duchesse, thick chunky chips, four plump chops with just the faintest blush of pink, sprinkled with parsley, a gravy boat, floating with onions. The Chef had roared with laughter on hearing that good old Boggy had arrived with an order of grilled chops, shouting for his boy to fire up the ovens. Unlike some passengers who merely picked at the food placed in front of them, Rhyllann tore into his meals with gusto. The kitchen staff appreciated his healthy appetite and obvious enjoyment of fine cuisine.

  Rhyllann returned the Chef’s compliments, then poured wine for himself and Andrew. After a moment’s thought he added water to his glass.

  ‘Sorry you were saying?’

  ‘One of my recommendations will be that lifeboat drill is mandatory. E and G deck in particular, if the watertight bulkheads are closed, the only way out is up through the ladderways to the decks above.’

  Rhyllann chewed slowly, savouring the delicate sweet carrots against the stronger pork juices. He thought again what a nice chap Mr Tomms was, there was nothing sadder than eating alone. He found himself hoping the guy would survive the night as the food turned to sawdust in his mouth.

  Suddenly it seemed incredibly important to find Wren and Carrie and check on Carina. In fact it made sense to get Carina into their cabin. Wren had to agree. Above all Carina had to make it off this ship. Without her survival, Carrie would never exist.

  ‘E and G deck – that’s third class?’

  ‘No Sir. Just as you’ve got first and second class on this deck, there are some second class staterooms on E deck. Sixty four staterooms.’ Andrew said proudly. ‘The swimming pool’s on that deck, second class passengers have their own stairways.’ He beamed at Rhyllann, staring at him open mouthed. He was no stranger to travelling third class himself and usually associated it with
sawdust on the floor and dormitory style accommodation. Yet on this ship he’d stumbled into third class accommodation without even realising it. It really was a floating palace, even the scullions travelled in style.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to accompany me on a tour if we have time before docking at New York. Miss Carrie and your cousin found it most interesting.’

  Rhyllann pushed his plate away. ‘Thank you Andrew. That’s generous of you. I’d better go find my cousin and his wife before they retire for the night.’

  Andrew frowned. ‘It’s barely ten o’clock sir …’ He broke off, flushing. Rhyllann wanted to say what about me? I’ve gotta sleep next door to ‘em, but Andrew was too easy to embarrass. The waiter hovered, then started over, a look of concern on his face.

  Rhyllann fled before he had to lie to anyone else.

  He burst into Wren’s Staterooms. Lights blazed illuminating every corner. In the middle, her pale skin glowing with shades of pearly pink Carrie lay on her stomach on one of the chaise lounges, naked apart from a pair of white bell bottom trousers. Wren straddled her fully dressed, rapt in Carrie’s bare skin. Hearing Rhyllann’s gasp Carrie dropped her hand to cover herself, Rhyllann caught a glimpse of laughing green eyes before he slammed the door shut on the decadent pair. Behind the closed door he heard spluttering and giggling. Squaring his shoulders, he knocked firmly and flung the door open again.

  They’d barely moved. Wren still bent over Carrie’s back with a look of intense concentration. Carrie however held a lacy garment against her chest, meeting his eyes she gave a prim smile before saying:

  ‘You really should learn to knock.’

  ‘Never mind that - what the hell are you doing?’ Rhyllann asked. He looked again, studying the scene before him carefully.

  Using a cocktail stick Wren was transferring paint from one of the small saucers arranged on the table beside him to Carrie’s back. Stepping closer Rhyllann saw that Carrie’s skin had a design already outlined on her back just below her shoulder blade. Wren was adding details.