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Chapter Eleven

My mind wanders to Cavill. How I long for him.

But I’m imprisoned in the body of another woman.

He has no idea who I really am. I wasn’t Hermione, either.

Even if I told him the truth, he wouldn’t believe me.

And even if I managed to persuade him, then what?

It would achieve nothing. It might induce him to hate me for having deceived him.

I can do nothing but love him from a distance.

Ruby is adept at putting up my hair. She uses fake hair pieces to pad out the style and pins it onto the back of my head.

I imagine that if we were in Constance’s home rather than on a boat, she might use heated tongs to curl it, but there’s no way of doing that on this ship.

The effect is elegant, however. Constance is a handsome woman.

I only wish that I were a wit so that I could do her justice.

Having read her diaries, I realise that she’s much cleverer than I am, and funnier too.

Plus, I don’t speak French. I will just have to blame seasickness for my lack of esprit .

‘Mr Glover is placing bets on the speed of the ship and on the time of arrival in New York,’ says Ruby with a disapproving sniff.

‘I daresay my nephew is doing the same,’ I reply.

‘Of course. I do not imagine Mr Glover is betting with his own money.’

‘No, you’re right about that.’ I’ve learnt from Constance’s diary that Glover encourages Lester to gamble.

‘Mr Glover will bet on anything.’

‘So will Lord Ravenglass.’ We both laugh.

I leave Ruby in the cabin to tidy up, and step into the corridor.

I glance at Lester’s door and remember the glove on the chest of drawers.

The glove that may or may not belong to Delia Finch.

Tomorrow night the Titanic will sink and I’m no closer to finding out why Lester’s soul becomes earthbound.

So far, besides a possible addiction to gambling, and maybe a flirtation with a beautiful widow, there is no indication of what exactly triggers his terrible unhappiness.

He marries Esme Aldershoff, who presumably repairs the roof of their family home and refills the coffers.

There’s a strong chance that Glover takes advantage of him somehow.

Perhaps he has something on him that he uses to blackmail him.

I’m not sure. Constance is certainly worrying about that.

Perhaps the trauma of nearly drowning is the trigger.

But then why am I here now? I could have simply slid back to tomorrow night and witnessed the sinking and Lester’s experience, but I didn’t.

I slid back to before , to give me time …

time for what? What am I supposed to witness?

There are cocktails in the lounge before dinner.

Everyone is mingling. It’s like a film set.

Women in long, elegant dresses with feathers in their hair and gloves up to their elbows are laughing and sipping champagne out of crystal flutes.

Diamonds sparkle at their throats and on their earlobes.

The men are in black tailcoats, with stiff white collars and white bow ties.

The band is playing music, and the air is filled with perfume and the fizz of jubilation.

I search the faces for Cavill and, with a lurch of my heart, spot him.

He’s tall, so he rises above everyone else, but my gaze would be drawn to him all the same.

I can’t approach him. I must keep Constance in mind and do nothing to embarrass or compromise her.

I suppose I should be looking out for Mr Rowland.

I really don’t have the will to do that while Cavill is in the room.

I don’t know who he and his daughter are talking to, and I don’t imagine it’s appropriate for a single woman to bound up to an unattached man, although, judging by Constance’s diary, no one would be surprised if she did.

However, the atmosphere here on the Titanic is formal and stiff.

As with Hermione, I will eventually slip out and go back to my own time, leaving Constance to face whatever situation I have left her in.

That’s another responsibility I have to consider.

It’s impossible to tread without leaving footprints, but I must try to make them as shallow as possible.

Instead, I turn and look for Lester. I spot him in conversation with the woman I believe to be Delia Finch.

She’s wearing an olive-coloured dress, sparkling with sequins and adorned with lace.

I notice too that she’s wearing long white gloves like the one in Lester’s bedroom.

But then, so are most of the other women.

Long white gloves are as common as corsets!

I approach Lester and a shadow of irritation passes across his face.

He’s none too happy to be interrupted. But as Constance Fleet, I must interrupt him, for he’s engaged to Esme Aldershoff and nothing must induce a scandal or prevent the marriage from taking place.

I know that much from Constance’s diary. I know she would do the same.

‘Mrs Finch, may I present my aunt, the Honourable Constance Fleet?’

Delia Finch appraises me like a panther before a racoon, but I lift my chin and endeavour to hold my own as I’m sure Constance would, although I know Constance would do a better job of it. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ I say.

‘The pleasure is all mine,’ she returns frostily and smiles the smug smile of a woman who knows she is younger and more beautiful than me and is determined to make me feel inferior.

‘My aunt is a strict chaperone,’ Lester says and there’s a nasty edge to his voice. I sense he’s already had too much to drink. He doesn’t seem quite himself. ‘She is here to check up on me, are you not, Aunt Constance?’

Delia laughs flirtatiously, holding the champagne flute in front of a beautiful but cruel mouth.

‘If I were your aunt, Lord Ravenglass, I would keep my eye on you too.’ They hold each other’s gaze, and I feel excluded and uncomfortable.

I wonder what Constance would say. I don’t believe she would be easily rattled or diminished.

‘Now why would I need to check up on you , Lester? I would say you are all bark and no bite. And every dog must be indulged up to a point, don’t you agree?’ I’m satisfied with that. I hope Constance would be too. ‘Are you travelling alone, Mrs Finch?’

‘I am. I’m sure you will agree, travelling without a chaperone gives one great freedom.’ Her smile is complicit as she locks her panther’s eyes with his. ‘I am confident that, were I to fall overboard, a gallant gentleman might dive to my rescue.’

‘How are you in cold water, Lester?’ I ask, hoping to dampen the sparks flying between them.

‘I would brave it for Mrs Finch,’ he says. I’m sure Constance would have a sharp and witty comeback, but my mind feels dull. I snatch at the only advantage I have.

‘What will you do if the ship hits an iceberg and sinks? You’ll have to save the both of us.’ I smile at him defiantly, but I feel guilty for even alluding to what is to come.

Lester pulls a face. He thinks my joke is absurd. ‘Isn’t it lucky then that the Titanic is unsinkable.’

‘There is no ship in the world that is unsinkable,’ I say seriously. ‘It is only a fool who claims it is so.’

‘The fool is she who underestimates the power of man,’ he says with surprising rancour. I baulk at his sexist comment and cannot resist a sharp retort.

‘The power of man is limited, my dear Lester.’ My patronising tone is worthy, I hope, of the very spirited Constance Fleet.

‘It is a na?ve and arrogant man who believes he is stronger than nature, and God.’ With that, I take my leave and go and find Mrs Brown.

My blood is boiling. I’ve seen a less attractive side of Lester Ravenglass tonight.

He’s like a wasp capable of a nasty sting if he wants to hurt.

I don’t know what’s got into him. If I were Esme Aldershoff, I’d find someone else to marry.

Delia Finch’s tinkling laughter follows me as I weave my way through the throng. I despise women like her who believe their beauty sets them above those less physically blessed.

We dine in the à la carte restaurant, known as The Ritz. It’s a smaller room than the dining room, with panelled walls and mirrors that give the illusion of space. I’m seated at a table with Mrs Brown, Mr Gilsden and his mother, the Norrises and Mr Rowland.

Lester has chosen to sit with Delia Finch and a grand-looking couple I haven’t met.

The husband has fluffy sideburns known as mutton-chop whiskers, and the wife is wearing a supercilious expression and a diamond tiara.

I’m glad Lester’s not sitting with me, because I’m still smarting from his comment.

I remind myself that I’m not here to start a fight, but to witness what unfolds.

It’s not easy to resist getting drawn into drama.

The trouble is, I don’t know whether Constance and Lester are used to having these kinds of skirmishes or whether this one is unusual.

I don’t want to make life difficult for Constance when I leave her.

Constance, as much as I know of her, is a woman who stands her ground and will not be disrespected. I must try harder to do her justice.

I’m interested in the dynamic between Lester and Delia, however. Surely, being engaged, he shouldn’t be hanging out so much with an unattached woman! Is this budding relationship going to cause problems when he gets to America?