A LIFE’S TRAGEDY
Chapter Five
I walked down the steps of the Grand
Staircase, Ruth on my arm. I was anxious to see how Dawson would turn out for
dinner, but I doubted he would show up at all.
"There is the
countess," I said to Ruth, leading the way to the Countess of Rothes.
I took her hand in mine, kissing
her knuckles.
"Good evening, Cal,"
she said with a smile. She and Ruth chatted away like old friends.
"Darling?" Rose’s voice
came from behind me. There was a handsome young man at her side, dressed in a
dinner suit and jacket. I had never seen him before. "Surely you remember
Mr. Dawson."
"Dawson?" I asked,
astonished. I laughed. "Well, you look amazing. You could almost pass for
a gentleman."
"Almost," came his
reply, attempting to be sarcastic.
"How extraordinary."
Ruth took my hand and we walked away from Dawson and Rose.
I pulled a chair out for Ruth as
we seated ourselves at the table. The band played somewhere behind us.
Peaceful, though no one really listened.
Soon, the rest of our group
joined us. I sat between Rose and Ruth, of course. Dawson sat diagonal from me,
beside Molly Brown.
I sipped the champagne, silently
wondering how Dawson felt. Being on the ship is one blessing, but being a third
class passenger in the first class dining area is a completely different story.
"Tell us of the
accommodations in steerage, Mr. Dawson. I hear they are quite good on this
ship." I had to suppress the urge to laugh as Ruth spoke these words.
I remained a gentleman, though,
looking from her over to Dawson.
"The best I’ve seen, ma’am.
Hardly any rats," he said sarcastically. The entire table erupted into
laughter, except for Ruth and myself.
"Mr. Dawson is joining us
from the third class. He was of some assistance to my fiancée last night,"
I explained. Everyone quieted down then.
Whispers went around the table,
but I could hear them clearly. Mr. Guggenheim leaned in to talk to Madame
Aubert, his mistress. "What is Hockley wanting to prove in bringing this
buffoon here?"
She shook her head.
I wasn’t trying proving anything.
I merely thought this evening would be amusing.
I watched as Dawson declined the
caviar. I smiled, seeing how uneasy he was here.
"Where exactly do you live,
Mr. Dawson?" Ruth asked.
"Well, ma’am, right now, my
address is the RMS Titanic. After that, I’m on God’s good humor," was his
reply.
"You find that sort of
rootless existence appealing, do you?" Ruth asked, lifting her glass to
her lips. I looked back to Dawson.
"Well, yes, ma’am. I
do," he said.
"And how is it you have
means to travel?" Ruth asked. I sat silently, looking between them.
"Well, I work my way from
place to place, tramp steamers and such. But I won my ticket on Titanic here in
a lucky hand of poker." He looked at Rose. "A very lucky hand."
I glared from him to Ruth. I took
out a cigarette, searching my pockets for a match.
"Oh, here you go, Cal."
Dawson threw me his pack of matches. I caught them mid-air. "I’ve learned
to take life as it comes at ya. I love waking up in the morning not knowing
where I’m going to be or who I’m going to meet. Why, just the other night, I
was sleeping under a bridge, and now, here I am, on the grandest ship in the
world, having champagne with you fine people." He lifted his glass to the
waiter for a refill. Everyone laughed, except, of course, Ruth and I.
"I figure life’s a gift, and
I don’t intend on wasting it. You never know what hand you’re going to get
dealt next. I’ve learned to live life to the fullest, and make each day
count," he finished his speech.
"Well said, Jack."
Molly lifted her glass slightly.
"Here, here!" The
colonel lifted his glass.
"To making it count,"
Rose said. I looked from her to the others.
"To making it count!"
they all toasted. I lifted my glass last, forcing a smile, though thoroughly
unhappy with Dawson fitting in so well here.
Again the conversation went to
Mr. Ismay and Mr. Andrews, talking about the ship. Rivets, of all things, at
the dinner table. Very absurd.
After dessert, Colonel Gracie
stood. "Join me for a brandy, gentlemen?"
I stood, along with the other
men. They filed out towards the smoking room.
"Joining us, Dawson?"
Gracie asked.
He shook his head. "Nah. I
gotta be heading back."
I walked over to him, patting him
on the shoulder.
"It’s probably best. It’ll
be all politics and business. Wouldn’t interest you," I said, trying to
make him feel inferior. I walked behind him.
I turned back to him. "Oh,
and Dawson. Good of you to come." I smiled, throwing his matches back to
him.
I left, walking by Mr.
Guggenheim. The quiet atmosphere gave me time to think. I took my leave of the
men quickly, going back to my room. I sat in a chair, sipping brandy.
Just then, I heard a scraping
noise at the door. A piece of paper slid under it. I walked over and pulled
open the door, but no one was there.
I bent down and picked it up,
slowly walking back to my chair.
I unfolded it, careful not to
tear the cheap paper. Inside, a note was scribbled in pencil.
Mr. Hockley,
I just thought I would warn
you what you are getting into. As you sit there in your chair, not having to
truly care, she’s with him belowdecks, in the steerage section. She dances with
him to and fro. So, now where are you going to go? Do you know what she does
behind your back? Why, of course. She’s falling for Jack. Just thought I would
warn you, so you won’t be so blue. Caledon Hockley, I care for you.
There was no signature. Nothing. Who
wrote this? I asked myself. And what’s more important, what if it’s
true?
I dashed to the door. I glanced
down the hall, quickly spotting Mr. Lovejoy. I walked up to him.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Read this." I shoved
the paper at him.
He silently read it to himself.
"Who wrote this?" he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. "Well,
go find out!" I demanded. He knew exactly what I meant. He headed for
third class to see what truth lay behind the note.