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Violet struggled to find a foothold in reality. She only occasionally dabbled with the opium flower, and then only to free her inhibitions when in William’s company. But over the last few days, restricted to the confines of her room, she had used it to excess, partly to relieve her boredom and partly to escape the reality of her existence. She was a rich man’s plaything, nothing more, and with the Graftons’ baby on the way, she understood that was unlikely to change. Even taking Mrs. Grafton out of the equation, she doubted William Grafton would debase himself so much to marry a housemaid, however skilled she was in the bedroom. She went out on deck hoping the brisk, refreshing sea air would unscramble the jumble of thoughts that tumbled through her mind with no coherent pattern or meaning, but to no use. The coldness of the evening served only to narrow her arteries, effectively forcing the drug into her brain, intensifying its effect.
She stood at the rail on the first class promenade deck sucking in fresh, clean air and looking out across the dark expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Although dressed in an expensive evening gown, a thick fur shawl to keep away the chill, and a wide brimmed hat to conceal her features, she still felt displaced and vulnerable. This feeling was not helped by the knowledge that none of the clothes actually belonged to her. They were all Mrs. Grafton’s; Violet had borrowed them for the trip and would have to ensure she returned them to her mistress’s wardrobe when she arrived back in England. William had thoughtfully booked her a second class cabin for her return trip the following week, arranging for her to stay at a hotel during the interim. There was no doubt he would visit her during her stay so they could engage in the sexual activities his prim and proper wife would find abhorrent.
William had not visited her as promised today, so she decided to defy his instruction for her not to leave the cabin. She would, of course, not be so stupid to go near his cabin for fear of running into Bridget, but if she exercised care, she could at least get to eat in the saloon. That would be a treat beyond words, but if William were there! She could only imagine the look of shock on his face as she boldly introduced herself.
But what if he were dining with Bridget? She realized she had not thought of this most likely scenario. Then, a thought so wicked crossed her opium ravaged mind, and she started to laugh aloud. If her lover was dining with his wife, she would take a seat at a table behind Bridget so she could catch his eye. Violet would then leave immediately and wait for him in her cabin where he would be sure to show before the evening was out, no doubt aroused by excitement and anger.
Buoyed by the expectation of an evening of delight, Violet pulled the shawl tight against the chill and strolled down the almost deserted promenade towards the entrance to the grand staircase. She would, for once, enter a dining room as a lady, dressed in all her finery and not skulk in as a servant to collect the dirty dishes.
Bernard collected Kathleen from her cabin and, as promised, she had exchanged her dowdy black mourning dress for one in emerald green, which he thought, accentuated her ample curves in all the right places. He escorted her to dinner, taking a short excursion out onto the covered walkway to show her the early evening sky’s canopy of twinkling stars. Long ago, Bernard had perfected the secret craft of romancing a lady and was going to ensure he used it to maximum effect on Kathleen. His cynical old heart, the heart of a trickster and charlatan, had never skipped so many beats as it did when he was with her. He convinced himself ... well almost, her vast fortune had nothing to do with what, to him at least, was a strange phenomenon.
He found her to be attractive, witty, and surprisingly intelligent with a direct, flirtatious, and carefree attitude he found refreshing. She was like no one else he had ever met in the stuffy country houses attended by the inbred upper class of English society. He felt his determination not to let her slip through his fingers coursing through every fibre of his being, and he knew this could be his one true chance of happiness.
Bernard escorted Kathleen down the grand staircase to the accompaniment of Brahms, expertly played on the piano in reception by a member of the ship’s orchestra. A young woman descended the stairs before them, and although well-dressed, Bernard noticed she didn’t carry herself in the way expected of a young lady. As she reached the bottom step, she hesitated and threw a nervous glance towards the saloon, as though having second thoughts about entering. He spent so long being someone else that he grew accustomed to spotting individuals who did not fit the picture they were trying to portray. He guessed, because she was dining alone, her gentleman friend was otherwise engaged this evening, probably with his wife.
“Good evening,” his jovial greeting caught the young woman unawares. She swung round, a startled look on her face, but quickly regained her composure when seeing Bernard and Kathleen a few steps above her.
“Good evening. Sir, madame.”
“Good evening. That is a lovely dress; you must tell me where you bought it,” Kathleen gushed as she glided down the last few stairs. A look of terror filled the young woman’s eyes. When she decided to attend dinner, she obviously had not anticipated having to engage in conversation with other passengers.
Seeing her fear, Kathleen came to her rescue, “It is such a daunting prospect, is it not, entering a restaurant on your own, especially one filled with so many pompous, old farts.”
“I hope you’re not including me in that statement,” said Bernard with mock indignation.
The young woman smiled nervously. “I must confess, I do feel somewhat out of my depth. Maybe it would be better if I dined in my room ...”
“Nonsense!” Kathleen interrupted with a dismissive wave of her gloved hand. “You shall dine as our guest, and that’s all there is to it.”
“No, sorry, that’s such a kind offer, but I couldn’t possibly impose.”
“It will be no imposition, I can assure you. We would be glad of the company and any scandalous gossip you may have. Let me introduce ourselves, I’m Kathleen Black and this is Sir Bernard Astor.”
“I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Violet ... um ... Holmes,” replied Violet, clearly flustered at having to introduce herself.
“Don’t worry, Miss Um Holmes. We’ll take a seat at a discreet table, and if you should see anyone whom you would prefer did not see you, then just keep your head down and stay close to us.” Bernard winked at Violet before striding over to the maître d’.
Violet looked at Kathleen apologetically, “Is it that obvious?”
Kathleen smiled, “Like a beacon, dear. Who is it you wish to avoid? Is it your master or your lover?”
“They are one and the same,” confessed Violet, suddenly too ashamed to meet Kathleen’s eye. “And I don’t expect it’s considered good form to bump into his wife either.”
“Oh ... extremely bad form indeed I would think,” laughed Kathleen as she took Violet by the arm, following in Bernard’s wake as a steward showed them to their table.
