The Titan Drowns: Time Travel Romance by Nhys Glover (highly recommended books .txt) 📕

grin. For a moment, the man seemed stunned by his smile, but he quickly recovered, clearing his throat and dismissing the thanks with a grumble as went back to his task.

Throwing his leather valise over his shoulder, Marco started the next stage in his journey with long, jaunty strides.

Life seemed very fine!

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

Lizzie

 

9 April 1912, Southampton Docks, ENGLAND

 

As Lizzie stood outside the station in the gathering dusk with the last of her train’s passengers, she watched as a handsome young man from her carriage approached a middle-aged wagoner. From where she stood, she couldn’t hear what they said, but at the end of the conversation, the smile the young man gave the wagoner was breathtaking, even from a distance. White teeth shone against olive skin, in a grin that split the cold perfection of his features and warmed them to something far more appealing.

She could see that the wagoner was caught in the same spell as she, and it pleased her to know she was not the only fool to be so influenced by a simple smile. When the young man had moved off in long, energetic strides in the direction the older man had pointed, she gathered her wits about her enough to work out her own plan of action. Picking up her small overnight case, having been assured by the stationmaster that her luggage would be conveyed directly to the White Star Docks along with others in the morning, she set off to find a cheap but reasonably priced hotel nearby.

Her first few stops proved to be fruitless and she started to grow concerned as the evening set in. So many places were already full up for the night. It was, she was told, a very important day tomorrow. People had come from all over the country to see the Titanic on its way. She would be lucky to find clean and pleasant accommodation anywhere this late in the day.

In the end, she did find a little Bed and Breakfast several streets back from Canute thanks to the kind assistance of the motherly owner of another establishment who could see her delicate condition. She settled into an airy bedroom on the second floor of the recently renovated Victorian home and breathed a sigh of relief.

Removing her large, black hat, Lizzie sat in the window seat and looked down on the darkening residential area below. Even with the windows closed, she could smell the sea, and an uncharacteristic frisson of excitement darted through her. Several days ago, she had been booked on the Adriatic and worried that her plans might be waylaid by the coal strike, which was crippling transport around the country. Then, with her good luck still running hot, she had received word that she had been reallocated a berth in second class on the Titanic. And from everything she had read since, the standards for second class on this new ship were equal to first class accommodation on any other liner. The idea that she was travelling on the maiden voyage of such an amazing craft only added to her sense of dazed awe.

The last month had flown by in that kind of wonderful daze. Instead of being numb with her ever-present grief and fearful of what would become of her, now she was energised by her new life as a recently widowed mother-to-be travelling to the other side of the world. And thanks to her progressing pregnancy, she no longer suffered the distress of morning sickness or the dizziness of too tightly cinched stays. Life was certainly looking up.

Her new name was Mrs Anthony Jones, the bride of a Welsh soldier who was killed during a mishap in training only a few months ago. Just before his letter had arrived, so she had informed Bertie. The marriage had been hasty and secret, because her employer did not engage married women. However, she had planned to assume her married name once she finished up at the Peabody’s and settled into a soldier’s family billet. Then, of course, poor Anthony had died and she had been left in dire straits, until her brother came to her timely rescue.

It was a flimsy story, which she planned to correct once she had time alone with her brother. But until she was sure he wouldn’t reject her, she would stick to the fabrication she had come up with and brazen it out. The fact that she had been forced to buy all black clothes, as befitted her grieving state, was not a hardship. In many ways, she still felt she was grieving her parent’s death. She even wore a Victorian mourning brooch for her mother, pinned to her black woollen, mutton-sleeve jacket.

Would she be troubled by seasickness? She had been listening to weather reports for the Atlantic and the forecast was for clear skies and smooth waters. There had been mention of ice flows moving further south than usual this year, but she assumed the Captain would know where they were and avoid such impediments. After all, with Marconi’s invention, no ship needed to travel blind any longer. Those who ventured first could pass back valuable information by wireless to those who followed behind.

Reaching over to remove the information and tickets she would need the next day from her large reticule, she read again, for the hundredth time, the instructions for departure. The information was quite detailed. She would need to make her way to the White Star dock and be prepared to board approximately one hour before the departure time of twelve – midday. Once at the dock, signs would indicate where second class passengers were to muster in preparation for boarding. Her luggage, all but her hand luggage, which she would carry on board with her, needed to be marked for the cabin or the hold. As she only had sufficient possessions for one steamer trunk, it was an easy matter to choose to place a ‘Cabin’ sticker on it.

She would board via the C or Shelter Deck. Stewards would meet passengers there as soon as they arrived and guide them to their cabins. She was sharing stateroom D 53 with another married lady travelling alone. She knew nothing else about the woman other than her marital status, and she only hoped that she proved a friendly and patient sort. It would be nice if she could make a friend, but it would be enough if they could simply share their space in polite conviviality.

More tired than she expected, she washed her face in the small basin in her room, tidied her hair and made her way downstairs to the dining room for supper. Feeling as she did, her plan was to eat a hasty meal and turn in for an early night. She only hoped the excitement wouldn’t keep her from her much-needed rest.

 

 

Max

 

With Eilish’s gloved hand firmly gripped in his bent elbow, Max steered her through the crowd who had disembarked their train at the dock. The hotel porter, carrying their luggage, cleared a path through the milling passengers for them. The air of excitement was electric and until this moment, Max had not felt any sense of distress over their coming journey. It had seemed unreal. Now it was all too real, as he looked at the faces of the first- and second-class train travellers around him.

Suddenly, the magnitude of what was to happen in a few short days hit him hard. Would that mother with two toddlers be a victim or survivor? How about the tall, darkly handsome young man who was looking around him with such enthusiastic interest? Was this to be the first time he travelled far from home? Or would it be the last time he travelled anywhere?

It did no good to think about it, so he refocused his attention on the lovely woman at his side. They had known each other a month now, and with each passing day, their bond grew stronger. Because of it, he had been able to inform his wife politely that he had made arrangements to travel to New York for work in a few days and would not be available until later in the Season to accompany her on her many planned outings. He had serenely weathered her tantrums and emotional blackmail, until she realised that her only course of action was a tactical retreat. Over Easter, she was heard to tell friends that, “work must come first, of course, for darling Maxwell.”

He wondered fleetingly whether the rumours of his new mistress had reached Agnes’ ears yet. If they had, she made no mention of them. For the few days over Easter when she was back from Kent and before he had left for Southampton, they had remained as artificially polite with each other as they had always been.

In that time, he had not seen Eilish, and his craving for her had been like a drug. They'd been inseparable for weeks, him staying openly at her suite and going to work from there. Even his brother had made comment on it and insisted on meeting her.

That had been a hard night for him. His brother’s proclivities where women were concerned made Max insecure and jealous. What if Eilish preferred Phillip once she met him? The idea had panicked and horrified him. She was as important to him as breathing now, and if she should leave him, he had no idea what he would do. Of course, Phillip was not her Target, and even if she did prefer him, she couldn’t randomly pluck him off the streets and take him back to her future world. Only specific people like himself had that happen to them.

But, for all his fears, the dinner went pleasantly. Phillip had approved of Eilish and she had been polite and friendly, but no more, toward him. So his sanity was safe for the time being at least. The only issue then had been dealing with his brother’s insistent demands for him to make an honest woman of Eilish and divorce Agnes. How could he tell Phillip that such an action was unnecessary considering he was about to drown? Instead, he put him off by saying he would see to it when he returned from New York.

When he finally saw Eilish again, after nearly a week’s absence, he had been hard-pressed to keep his hands off her. It still seemed incredible the change that had been wrought in him by this one lovely woman. A month ago, he was an amicable, passionless eunuch. Now he was foolishly, head-over-heels in love and had an intimate life second to none. Any lingering concerns about sex being evil or sinful had been washed away by Eilish’s easy pragmatism. He had even pleasured himself without a qualm in the days of their absence, because it was the only way he could ease the pressure and stay sane.

And now they were together again, if only for one night. He had convinced her to stay with him at South Western House before meeting up with her team in the morning. During the voyage, she would be acting the part of a third class passenger and they wouldn’t see each other until the night of the fourteenth, when they would meet just before the ship hit the iceberg. Then he’d go with her through the Portal.

How was he going to handle spending all those hours alone, sitting next to people in the restaurant or other social areas, knowing that many of them were enjoying their last hours on earth? It was so tempting to try to do something to change the course of history or, at the very least, arrange to save some of the people who would disappear just like him. However, the Retrieval team had analysed the information concerning the ship, its passengers and crew, and they had decided whom they could and could not rescue. It was not his place to try to influence their decisions or interfere with their selection process.

Nevertheless, the risks were great for all of them. Anything could go wrong at the last minute and cause their escape path to be blocked. They might all die when that ship went down.

Max tried to imagine how he might feel knowing that he would die on that ship, when he’d never meant to travel on her in the first place. But, if there had