9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Backwards Traveller by Wings
April 10, 1912
The light fades. I can feel Ben squeeze my hand and he whispers with surprise, “We did it, we really did it. Open your eyes, Ali.”
I’m hesitant to open them. Even Ben’s words aren’t enough to make me believe it worked. I need to see it for myself, but a part of me is frightened. And for some reason unknown to me, I’m more scared that it did work.
I slowly open my eyes and see we’re in an alleyway behind a red brick building. In the distance, I can hear a muffled flurry of voices and commotion. Even the air feels different, heavy with salt and smoke. We all stare at each other in disbelief. Holy shit. I’m here.
Eric is the first to break, and he speaks for everyone. “We did it.” He has a tinge of surprise in his voice. None of us can believe we’re here, that we’re even alive.
Suddenly, a familiar panic washes over everyone’s face. We’ve all collectively realized that there’s no going back now and perhaps that is even scarier than the time travel itself. I recognize the panic on all their faces because I can feel it showing on my own. “Deep breaths, everyone,” I say reassuringly. I’m just as panicked as they are, but I go into my typical take care of everyone else over myself mode. Ben can see it in my face. There’s no hiding it from him. We understand the silence in each other.
He corrects his posture so that he stands straight and formal. He clears his throat as he holds his arm out for me to take. “Shall we, Alice?” I slip my arm into his and rest my gloved hand on his sleeve.
We walk around the side of the building and toward the front. I kick my dress out slightly as I walk, careful not to trip on the fabric. It would be a shame for me to trip and fall this soon into our adventure. Above an awning, I can see the words Platform Tavern. I know this location from my research. In the years since the Titanic’s voyage, the port area has become more of a tourist attraction. But I know that right now, if I dare to turn my gaze forward, across the street, I’ll see her. I’ll see the Titanic. Then this will all be truly real.
I take a deep breath and turn my head. There she is, moored in the distance on White Star Dock. In 2024, we are used to cruise ships being massive floating cities. But in 1912, the Titanic is the most vast, luxurious, and grand ship of her time. It feels surreal to even think of her in the present tense. For now, she is not a tragedy; she is a wonder.
She is the second of three Olympic class ships, the oldest sister being the Olympic, and the younger sister being the not yet launched Britannic, built by Harland and Wolff for White Star Line. Titanic is mountainous, over 882 feet long, 92 feet wide, and 175 feet high from keel to funnel. There are ten total decks, though only eight are available for passenger use. Four funnels extend high above, only three of which are functional. The fourth, for ventilation only, was added to make the ship look even more powerful. She boasts the first swimming pool onboard a ship, among other luxuries like a gymnasium, high-end restaurants, Victorian-style Turkish baths, and squash courts. Even the third-class amenities are superior to that of other ships. If not for her tragedy, she likely would have enjoyed a lengthy career at sea and a relatively unremarkable place in maritime history. She is astounding to behold. I’ve only ever viewed her in grainy and distorted archival photos. But here she is, grand, clear, and in technicolor.
I turn my gaze upward and see the lifeboats on the top deck. Something in the sight of them puts a knot in my stomach. The sight of them serves as a stark reminder of the job we’re here to do. There are twenty total lifeboats, more than required of a ship her size, yet not enough for all passengers. They will not be filled to capacity, though it is unlikely they would have had time to deploy all of them before the sinking.
A porter approaches us as we walk toward the port side of the ship. Eric and Sarah follow behind us with the trolleys. All of us seem to tense up. This is our first proper test. Ben stands tall and powerful. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out some money, and hands it to the porter.
He points toward both trolleys. “Both to parlor suite B-51-53-55, please. Thank you, sir,” he says firmly. The porter takes the money gratefully and begins taking the trolleys toward the ship. The four of us nod at each other as if we’ve passed the first baby step together. We continue to walk toward the gangway leading to D-Deck forward.
Ben looks at me and smiles, his eyebrows raised in delight. “Showtime,” he whispers with excitement.
This is it . I clutch Ben’s arm a little tighter, and he looks back at me reassuringly. He strides forward and helps me step onto the gangway with our tickets in his hand. The walk up the gangway feels momentous, though I think that is the adrenaline coursing through me. Eric and Sarah follow as we approach the doorway. Ben presents our tickets to the officer.
“Welcome aboard,” he says proudly as he tips his cap toward Ben. And just like that, we’re on the Titanic.
We enter into the First Class Reception, an area located at the foot of the Grand Staircase, and adjacent to the Dining Saloon. It is spacious, encompassing the entire width of the ship. White oak paneling adorns the room, which is furnished with wicker and green fabric. Large leaded glass windows line the walls on both sides, allowing gorgeous natural light to illuminate the room. If this opulent space is any indication of the level of grandeur and detail of the rest of the ship, then I must prepare myself to be blown away at every turn.
The officer glances again at our ticket, his eyes scanning for a cabin location, and motions forward to a steward. The young man steps forward and is told to escort us to our cabins. We follow him to the bank of elevators. I watch with curiosity as the lift steward operates the wheel and crank handle to take us up to B-Deck. The elevator opens and we join a gathering of other passengers milling about in excitement. We follow the steward down the halls, desperate to blend in.
Act natural, Ali. Act like you belong here.
I stiffen my posture and try to walk as gracefully as possible without tripping over my dress layers.
As we reach our cabin, another steward is standing outside in the hallway. He appears to be posted outside our door, waiting for us. He stands tall, around Ben’s height, in black pants, a white dress shirt and tie, and a blue wool jacket with gold White Star Line embossed buttons. His dark brown hair is slicked back, and he stands formally and at attention.
The steward guiding us hands off our ticket to him. “This is your room steward, Charles Hughes. He will take care of you on your journey.”
Charles smiles warmly at us and extends his hand out to Ben.
“Mr. Turner, it’s a pleasure to have you aboard,” he says with a thick English accent as he greets Ben. “I’ll be your room steward, so anything at all you need I can take care of, sir.”
Ben thanks him as we enter our adjoining suites, beginning with the sitting room. The room is beautiful, paneled in white but furnished in dark woods and green upholstery on the desk, chairs, and sofas. It has a marble fireplace fitted with an electric heater, and an entrance into the attached private promenade. I walk into my attached bedroom and look around in astonishment. I can hear them making muffled small talk, but I become lost in marveling at the well-appointed cabin. Decorated in the Italian Renaissance style, it boasts high-sheen satinwood paneling and brass sconces. The room has two beds, one closest to the door leading to the corridor, and one on the back wall against the promenade. I take off my hat and place it on the bed nearest the door. Next to the bed is the vanity. A marble washbasin is on the far wall near the second bed. Connected to my cabin is the room containing wardrobes and private bath and toilet facilities. This room connects on both sides between my cabin and Ben’s, but is the only room not to connect to the outside corridor. Ben’s cabin on the other side is in the French style with wood paneling, red carpeting, and red upholstery. Even though there are two beds in each of our rooms, and plenty enough space to accommodate the four of us, Sarah and Eric have tickets for inside berths nearby. Dr. Conrad thought they needed to mingle with other servants of the first-class because, as we all know, the help gossips just as much. The goal was that we all glean as much information as possible, running in two separate social circles. I can’t say I agree with him. I think it’s risky to be separated and vulnerable. It also just seems like a waste of extravagance when we have so much room in the suite; however, the ship is significantly undersold for its maiden voyage.
Charles follows behind us, placing our respective trunks and luggage in our rooms as Sarah helps me unpack. For a moment I lose myself and proper etiquette and move a piece of heavy luggage on my own. I grab the handle and begin yanking it toward me in quite an unladylike fashion.
“Oh no, Miss Turner, allow me.” Charles gallantly swoops in to move it for me. He appears surprised that I would even attempt to move it myself, and I freeze for a moment, expecting him to suspect something is amiss. Of course, I’d be the one to blow our ruse first. I didn’t even make it twenty minutes before letting modern Ali out. As we both have our hands around the handle of the luggage, our eyes meet closely and I can study his face. He’s beautiful. He smiles at me politely, with a smile that extends to the eyes.
And those eyes .
Warm and kind, they are both soulful and soul-piercing. Twin pools of dark chocolate that I would happily drown in.
“Thank you, sir,” I mutter awkwardly. I’m flustered and Ben has taken notice. He seems like he’s quite enjoying it. He thinks I’m struggling to keep up with the etiquette, when really I just find this man's eyes hypnotizing and I can’t quite figure out why. Ben steps away, so no one sees him laugh, leaving Charles and me alone in the corner. I realize I haven’t let go of the luggage yet, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to let go of it without making this moment more embarrassing.
“Charles is fine, Miss,” he says politely. His thick English accent is smooth and luscious, like velvet. I could listen to it all day. He almost seems just as nervous as I am. I don’t know why. He’s not the one traveling from the future pretending to be a first-class passenger. I remind myself this is Titanic’s maiden journey. Perhaps he’s new in his role. I give myself a list of reasons he might be nervous. It couldn’t possibly be because of me.
“Alice is fine then,” I correct him in a matter-of-fact tone. All I want to hear him say right now is my name. Say my name.
His mouth is closed as his shy smile turns to a smirk. “ Alright Alice, I’m Charlie.”
“Charlie,” I repeat back to him with a nod and a smile before quickly turning away to unpack a different suitcase. I feel the warmth in my cheeks as they turn red.
Why did I turn away from him? Should I have bowed? What am I doing? What should I do with my hands? God, why am I so fucking awkward? There has to be somewhere in this beautiful room that I can crawl into and burrow forever.
Charlie excuses himself, explaining he has to attend another cabin. He nods towards Ben before his eyes meet mine again and he smiles before exiting the room. It feels as though he was smiling only at me, but I worry I’m reading into it in entirely the wrong way.
Finally alone, Ben slumps down into a chair lazily. “Well, this is nice.” He’s admiring the room, its grand stature, and luxurious appointments. I rip my gloves off so that I can touch everything. I want to create a sensory memory of every inch of this cabin.
Eric closes and locks the doors while Sarah and I walk around taking photos of the cabins. We have actual cameras in our lock boxes for when we are in private, and hidden cameras for when we are out in public on the ship.
We finish unpacking our things and settling in before Eric suggests that Ben and I walk up to the promenade deck to watch the ship sail away at noon. We can’t hide in here forever, so we all nod in agreement and Sarah helps me pull my gloves back on. Eric places the eyeglasses with the hidden camera in them on the bridge of his nose.
I spin around to the three of them behind me. “Before we go, everyone’s clear on the story, right?” The typical “mother” of the group, I have to check one more time.
Ben sighs and recites the backstory we have studied and practiced a thousand times over. “I’m Benjamin Turner, you’re Alice Turner, my half-sister. This is my valet, Eric, and your maid, Sarah. My mother died after I was born, my father remarried and they had you. Our family has made a fortune in hotels and real estate development. We’re sailing home together to New York, then on to Boston. Does that pass your test?”
“Alright, alright. I’m sorry.” I roll my eyes and apologize. I know I’m being overly careful. “I’m just nervous that we’re going to stick out somehow.”
“I think as long as we act like we have money, we’ll blend right in with this lot,” Ben says reassuringly, as he nods his head toward the hallway filled with passengers. “Provided you don’t trip and fall over yourself, or try to lift your luggage again.”
I chuckle. “Oh, you noticed that, huh?”
Ben smirks at me. “What I noticed was you checking out the room steward.”
“I was not!” My voice practically raises an octave the more defensive I get. I’m a terrible liar and it shows. Charlie certainly is handsome. More than handsome, actually. He’s fucking gorgeous. There’s no harm in acknowledging that, right?
“Whatever you say, sister. Let’s go, shall we?” He extends his arm out for me to take.
We take one last deep breath before stepping out of our cabin and into the public hallway.
Charlie is out there helping another family settle in across the hall. His gaze catches mine and he smiles. I quickly look away but can feel my cheeks flush with warmth. I don’t know why I’m blushing or why he seems to affect me like this.
Situated in the forward part of the ship is the Grand Staircase. Spanning over sixty feet from the landing to the glass skyline sitting above, it is the main connection point between decks for first-class passengers. I run my hand down the seventeenth-century solid oak banister. The staircase features carved paneling throughout, and at the base of the stairs, there is a cherub light and a carved wooden clock. It is a wonder to behold. I have only ever seen grainy black-and-white photos of this space or deteriorated underwater images, hardly able to recognize the beauty that she once was. Time has broken down her appearance, so to witness her in her luxurious glory is truly an honor. It’s difficult to comprehend that this beautiful piece of artistry lies in ruin on the ocean floor in a watery tomb.
Via the Grand Staircase, we find ourselves on A-Deck Promenade, an enclosed walking area spanning the length of the ship reserved for first-class passengers. Ben and I walk slowly, arm in arm, as the ship pulls away from the dock. Crowds below are enthusiastically waving us on, not realizing how lucky their fortune is to be on land and not this doomed vessel. Ben and I are whispering to each other as we play a game of who’s who. We spent weeks studying photos and biographies of the famous guests and are now covertly pointing them out to each other.
Ben leans into my ear and tips his head toward a mustachioed man with a bowler hat and a walking stick. “Ismay, right?” I calmly nod affirmatively, and he smiles and leans in again. “See? I paid attention.”
Ismay tips his head politely toward us as he passes by, which seems to excite Ben. If one of the richest and most powerful men on the ship didn’t suspect something was amiss about us, then we surely passed some kind of test.
The ship moves on the brief journey to our first port in Cherbourg, and every so often, I can see Ben tapping the hidden camera he has on his walking stick. The sun has shifted as it enters golden hour, and the ship that seemed vast and marvelous in the bright light now feels even more luxurious and romantic in the dreamy orange glows. I stare out over the water and feel the salt air on my face while Ben pulls out his pocket watch. I’m lost in a daydream until I notice Ben in the middle of a conversation with someone who isn’t Sarah or Eric.
“... No, our family owns a hotel chain on the east coast, but we live in Boston. My sister and I are making our way home now….”
Ben gently puts his hand on my elbow to turn my attention. He’s speaking to another man, around his age and height, with light brown hair and blue eyes. He’s dressed in a tan suit and matching hat. I recognize him immediately from my research and from the homemade Guess Who game Ben and I played in my living room during a last-minute study session. The man is Edward Harrison, famed steel tycoon.
“May I introduce my sister, Alice Turner.” Ben sounds proud to say that. He’s always felt like a brother to me. It just feels right to have him introduce me like this. It honestly doesn’t even feel like a lie. Though we have only known each other for just over a year, we felt bonded immediately, like platonic soulmates. We just understand each other, maybe even better than we understand ourselves.
“Alice, this is Edward Harrison.” Edward takes my hand in his, leans forward, and raises it to his mouth. He kisses it, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time. Without good reason, it leaves me uneasy. He lets go of my hand and smiles at me. It’s disingenuous and cocky. He looks every bit as smug in person as his photograph did. His eyes lock with mine and they are a great deal colder and emptier than the comfort I saw in the warmth of Charlie’s. He seems to look at everything, and everyone, as if they are objects he possesses. I want to roll my eyes so far back into my head, but social protocol won’t allow it, so I stand there like a frozen porcelain doll and smile innocently. The dream girl of this era, it seems.
I stand there smiling politely as he continues speaking with Ben about his business. I already know who he is. He is based in New York and has been groomed by his uncle to take over the family business empire. He talks finance and business to Ben as if I’m not there, yet he clearly wants me to hear it and be impressed by it. Ben does a better job than I do at pretending to care, but luckily my opinion wouldn’t matter to him, anyway. He explains to Ben that he and his elderly uncle are traveling back to New York after business took them to London.
He directs his attention back toward me. “Have you been to New York, Miss Alice?”
Of course I have, but I don’t think he wants to hear about the time Ben and I went to Pride weekend in New York City on a whim and then waited outside for hours hoping to get Hamilton tickets. So I play the doe-eyed girl once again. “No, sir. I have not had the pleasure.” The sickly sweet tone I have to use with him tastes disgusting as it rolls off my tongue.
“Perhaps soon then? I would love to show you around my city,” he says in a tone implying I’m already wrapped around his finger. He makes it sound like he owns all of New York. God, he’s so smug and presumptuous this 20th-century fuckboy. I can’t even pinpoint why I don’t like him. I chalk it up to a gut feeling. I am not normally a person who rushes to quick judgments or makes assumptions about someone without knowing all the facts. But I have a feeling about him and I just can’t ignore it. I’m certain that underneath all that money and propriety, underneath that facade of goodness and civility, is just the hollow shell of a self-important man.
Suddenly the bugler interrupts with the dress call, a reminder that dinner is approaching. It’s time for everyone to return to their cabins and change into their most elegant fashions. Saved by the bugle, I think to myself gratefully.
Edward turns back toward Ben, his eyes brightened as if he has just had an idea. I have a terrible feeling this has something to do with me, as his eyes move from Ben towards me. “Mr. Turner, you and your sister must do us the honor of dining with our party this evening, won’t you?”
Ben doesn’t know what else to say, and I’m not sure he even sees what I see in Edward. “It would be our pleasure, Mr. Harrison.”
Shit.