April 10, 1913
The last night in Philadelphia brought an unwanted, unwelcome guest for Rose. All day she had been quiet, lost in thought. Evelyn had tried to draw her out, but Rose was occupied with her memories of this same day a year earlier—the day that she had boarded the Titanic, and her life had changed forever.
When she had boarded the ship, she had felt as though she was being brought back to America in chains. Now, those chains were broken, as surely as the chains of Jack’s handcuffs had been severed by the ax. She was free now, but she would never forget her beginnings.
That night, after their last performance in Philadelphia—a performance of Hamlet—Rose returned to her dressing room to find Dennis Rivers, Cal’s valet, waiting for her. Rose was shocked and angry, wondering who had let him in. Recalling that Melanie Anderson, the woman who usually helped her with her hair and makeup, had winked and giggled when Rose had walked by, she realized that Melanie had mistaken Rivers for an old acquaintance of Rose’s, a guise he had sometimes followed her under before she had left Cal.
Rose immediately left the room, but Rivers followed her. Suddenly wishing that her dressing room was closer to the others, Rose had tried to duck away amongst the piles of old props and costumes, but he followed her, grabbing her arm and insisting that he needed to speak with her.
Rose felt a chill, listening to his voice—very calm, very quiet, very controlled, and very, very menacing. Rivers was worse than Lovejoy had been, but he was just the sort of person that Cal would want guarding him—the sort who could frighten people with a look or a word. Rose had little doubt that Rivers was also armed, but he seldom had to draw a gun in defense of his employer, since few people wanted to cross him in the first place.
Rivers had always frightened Rose, though she had never admitted it. Instead, she had always snapped back at him, or turned her head, refusing to look at him. Rivers thrived on people’s attention; like many bullies, he was basically insecure, and enjoyed using his position to intimidate others.
Now, Rose glared at him. "What do you want?" she asked, trying to pull away.
Rivers tightened his grip on her arm. "Mr. Hockley has requested an audience with you."
Rose’s heart rate increased, pounding with fright. "No."
"He has insisted."
"That’s just too damned bad. I don’t want to see him." Rose’s voice showed more bravado than she felt.
"Mr. Hockley wants to meet you for a late dinner. He sent me to pick you up."
"Tell him to find someone else to share his dinner with. I’m not coming."
"Miss DeWitt Bukater—"
"Miss Dawson."
"Mr. Hockley is your fiancé. He has the right to share a meal with you."
"He’s not my fiancé. I made that perfectly clear the day I left him at the altar."
"Ah…yes. You abandoned him in front of five hundred members of Philadelphia society. Quite humiliating."
"I’ve no doubt he got over it."
"He still wants you back. And you’d be wise to meet him, especially since your lover seems to have abandoned you."
Rose was confused. "What lover?"
"The one who’s name you’ve taken. Jack Dawson."
At that, Rose began to struggle in earnest. Raising her free hand, she slapped Rivers as hard as she could. "He’d dead, you idiot! He didn’t abandon me!" She couldn’t understand why she was even telling him this. She hadn’t mentioned Jack to anyone else. Maybe it was to correct him; she couldn’t let him undermine Jack’s memory. Death was not abandonment.
Rivers grabbed Rose’s other wrist. "Either way, you’re a woman alone. You need what Mr. Hockley can provide."
Rose’s expression showed just what she thought of that idea. She could take care of herself. And even if she couldn’t, she’d be better off alone than with Cal. She could still feel his hand closing around her throat, and she suspected that if she went to him now, she probably wouldn’t live to see another sunrise.
"Let go of me." Rose spoke in a voice just as calm and dangerous as Rivers’. She would not go with him.
"I can’t do that. I have an obligation to bring you to Mr. Hockley, whether you like it or not."
Rose decided to try reasoning with him. Rivers had a mean streak, but he wasn’t crazy. Not like Cal.
"Just tell him you couldn’t find me. Tell him I left the theater right after the show and you couldn’t find out where I’d gone."
"I’m sorry, but that’s not acceptable. You’re coming with me."
"No, I’m not. Leave me alone."
He shook his head. "Mr. Hockley has told me about the way that you’ve been living. I believe that it’s in the best interest of both of you if you come with me tonight."
Rose could just imagine what Cal had told him. Any story would do, and Rivers was one of those individuals who was loyal to a fault. Rose wasn’t sure if Rivers really believed that what he was doing was right, or if he was acting out of loyalty to his employer. Either way, she wasn’t going with him.
"Let go of me, now."
Rivers didn’t reply. Gripping her arms tighter, he headed for the back exit.
Rose opened her mouth to scream, but he let go of one of her arms and clapped a hand over her mouth. Rose’s free hand immediately curled into claws as she went for his eyes, Alice’s lessons in self-defense taking over.
He swore and let go of her. Rose turned to run, but he grabbed her arm again.
"Let go of me!" Rose’s voice was high-pitched with panic.
"I’d suggest you do as she says." Both Rose and Rivers turned, startled, as Richard stepped into the hallway.
"My employer has requested an audience with her," Rivers told him, putting on his most menacing voice.
"Obviously, she isn’t interested." Richard wasn’t intimidated. He had spent too many years around actors who portrayed menacing characters with great skill to be frightened by the ploy.
"Mr. Hockley is one of the wealthiest, most influential individuals in this city. He could make or break her career."
Richard was unimpressed. "She’s been making her own career up until now, and we’re leaving Philadelphia tomorrow morning. Mr. Hockley’s influence is of no importance."
"Do you know who Mr. Caledon Hockley is?"
"No. Should I?"
Rose almost laughed. Cal would be furious if he could hear Richard’s blasé tone of voice.
"Mr. Hockley is her fiancé."
"He is not!" Rose twisted from Rivers’ grip. "Tell Mr. Hockley that he can shove it up his—" She stopped, determined not to sink to Rivers’ level. "—nose," she finished, giving him her most insipid smile.
"I think you’d better leave." Richard spoke to Rivers in an equally menacing tone. "Tell Mr. Hockley that Miss Dawson is otherwise occupied."
"Her name is Miss DeWitt Bukater."
Richard shrugged. "A lot of actresses take stage names, especially if their real names are a mouthful. I don’t care what she calls herself. However..." He paused. "You are obviously unwelcome, so it is in your best interest to leave. Immediately. There are plenty of police around here to direct traffic and the like. I’m sure one of them would be more than happy to remove you from the premises, your employer be damned."
Rivers could see that Richard meant what he said, and the scene had drawn a couple of crew members who were standing back, but certainly ready to step in at a moment’s notice. Slowly, he backed away.
"I will relay your message to Mr. Hockley," he said, reaching for the doorknob.
"Good. See that you do." Richard nodded curtly to him. Rivers opened the door and left, scurrying into the alleyway.
Rose was staring at Richard in shock. They had come to a truce of sorts, but she had never expected him to come to her defense. "Th-thank you," she stammered, still shaken by what had happened.
"Are you all right?" he asked her. She looked pale.
"I’m fine," she assured him, even as she felt her knees buckle and blackness edge around her consciousness. She had been more frightened than she cared to admit, but she refused to faint. She wasn’t a fainter. She had never fainted in her life, except for the time when she had been rescued from the sea, and then she had been half-frozen.
Rose leaned against the wall, willing the blackness away. "I’m fine," she repeated, stepping away from the wall. The world went black.
*****
Someone waved smelling salts under Rose’s nose, and she stirred, opening her eyes. Melanie was looking at her with concern, still holding the smelling salts.
Rose looked around. She was lying on the floor of her dressing room. Melanie offered her a glass of water, and as Rose took it, she saw Richard leaning indolently against the door.
"You going to live?" he asked her, stepping closer.
Rose sat up, noting that someone had unbuttoned her dress and loosened her corset. Pulling the edges of her dress together, she nodded. "I think so."
"I guess I pulled your laces a little too tight," Melanie apologized. "You don’t wear a corset all the time, so you’re not used to them this tight."
Richard raised an eyebrow in interest at that bit of information. Rose scowled, reminding herself to find Melanie some unpleasant work to do. Melanie frequently spoke before she thought.
"You’re right, it was too tight," Rose told her, unwilling to talk about what had happened. Thinking quickly, she told Melanie, "After this, don’t let any admirers into my dressing room."
"He said he was an old friend."
"Even then." Especially then, Rose thought. She had little desire to see her old friends. "Just tell them to leave me a note, and I’ll see them later. I really don’t want gentlemen callers in my dressing room anyway."
"Right." Melanie looked a bit embarrassed, realizing that she hadn’t even thought about Rose’s reaction. She had stepped outside for a moment to smoke—one of her few vices—and had been approached by the well-dressed gentleman who claimed to be an old friend of Miss Dawson’s. Melanie had assumed that Rose would be pleased to see an old acquaintance, so she had let him in. Apparently Rose wasn’t so pleased.
Richard nodded to Rose, stepping outside and closing the door so Rose could change. Melanie scurried to find some face cream and a hairbrush for Rose.
After Rose had changed into her usual simple dress—without the corset—and removed her stage makeup, she dismissed Melanie. Melanie hurried away, still embarrassed about letting a gentleman caller into Rose’s dressing room. Rose sat alone in front of her mirror for several minutes, staring at her reflection. She had come a long way since the day she had boarded the Titanic, but sometimes she felt as though her old world was lying in wait, ready to drag her back. The troupe’s next stop was Pittsburgh, and after that they would be heading west. Rose hoped that she could finally leave her old life behind completely.
Richard was waiting for her when she left the dressing room. "How about dinner?" he asked her, rising from the rickety chair that he had been sitting in, reading a newspaper.
Rose really just wanted to return to her hotel room, eat a quick room service meal, and go to sleep. She shook her head. "I’m kind of tired."
"Just a quick dinner. We can go to that restaurant next to the hotel. It’ll be faster than room service," he told her, as though reading her mind.
Rose sighed tiredly. "All right."
"Don’t make it sound like such a chore."
"Sorry. It’s been a long night."
"I noticed." They walked along in silence for a while, until Richard asked, "So, you were engaged to a member of high society?"
"What makes you think that?"
"Your visitor certainly seemed to think so."
"You know who Caledon Hockley is, then."
"Of course. He’s in the papers often enough. I just wanted to get that fellow’s goat."
"I’d rather not talk about him."
"Who? Hockley or his servant?"
"Either of them."
Richard shrugged, noting the stubborn set of Rose’s jaw. She wasn’t going to volunteer anything.
"Who’s Jack Dawson?"
"Don’t you ever quit?" Rose turned on him, eyes blazing.
"Quit what?"
"Tormenting me!"
"It was just a question."
"Don’t...ask...me...questions." Rose spoke slowly and deliberately. She had already confronted her past enough tonight. She didn’t need Richard asking more questions.
"Fine. I think I’ve got the story anyway. You abandoned Hockley at the altar for this Dawson fellow, who died some time after that. You took his name and became an actress."
"Good night. I’m leaving." Rose had had enough of Richard for one night. She sped up, walking ahead of him.
"Rose, wait. I’m sorry."
Rose turned, glaring at him. She didn’t believe his apology, and she didn’t want it.
"Leave me alone."
"Look, I won’t talk about it anymore. We’ll just talk about things that have happened since you joined the company."
Rose shook her head. "I’m tired. I’m going back to the hotel now."
"It’ll be cheaper to eat at the restaurant."
"Richard, what part of no don’t you understand?"
"Fine. Great. Go on up. Just remember that the train leaves at ten tomorrow."
"I won’t forget." Rose clapped a hand over her stomach, embarrassed, as it growled hungrily. She hadn’t eaten since noon, and it was eleven o’clock now.
"You’re sure you don’t want dinner?"
Rose sighed. "Fine. Let’s get dinner. But we won’t talk about what happened tonight, or about my past. Got it?"
Richard gave her a half-mocking salute. "Aye, aye, captain."
Rose scowled at him and tossed her head, surprised that she wasn’t more offended. But she was learning to tolerate Richard, and for some strange reason, she actually liked him.