Amelia stared around the dining room of the South Western hotel in wonderment. Completed in 1872, the hotel was as beautiful inside as it was outside. The majestic, redbrick building, with its exquisite white-framed windows, doors and pillared main entrance was resplendent. She and Mr Weir had checked in five hours earlier and she still hadn’t managed to stop staring or fully close her gaping mouth.
‘Really, Miss Wakefield,’ Mr Weir admonished as he lifted his water glass, his overly oiled hair glinting under the lights. ‘You might not have been in so luxurious a hotel before, but there is no need to act quite so stupefied. At least try to stop your mouth from dropping open over every little thing. Working at Pennington’s has surely exposed you to how some people are able to live.’
‘I can’t help it. It’s like watching a play at the theatre. Or imagining how people look at a weekend retreat on a huge estate. The hotel, the furnishings, the people, the clothes… everything is marvellous.’
A rare smile curved Mr Weir’s lips and he smoothed the lapel of his grey suit. ‘Well, the hotel is only our home for a single night, and tomorrow you will have more wondrous sights to stare at agog.’
Amelia returned his smile, pleased with his thawing formality. The man actually looked as though he might come to enjoy this trip on a personal level as well as professional. His stiffness seemed to be abating, his gaze not quite so hardened above the rims of his spectacles. So much so, she suspected he might secretly be equally as enthralled with their surroundings and upcoming trip.
She reached for her water. ‘So, we board at half past nine tomorrow?’
‘We do. We will breakfast at half past seven. That will give us time to eat and an hour or so to collect our things before we head outside to join the queue ready to board. I have no doubt it will be complete madness at the quayside. The first-class passengers will get the superior treatment, whereas we’ll be bundled along with everyone else. So, unless we want to be swallowed up by the crowds, we must prepare to leave the hotel as early as possible.’ A waiter approached with their meals, another behind him holding an opened bottle of wine. As the food was placed on the table and the wine poured, Amelia sneaked another look around the cream and pale blue dining room.
The tables were clothed in white, the crockery simply patterned with sprigs of red roses and leaves, the cutlery of the highest quality silver. Chandeliers and glass wall sconces sparkled and shone above the diners as they talked and laughed, the atmosphere one of subdued, yet palpable excitement.
Amelia could hardly believe she was here, sitting among such wealthy people and gazing at such wonderful clothes, hats, shoes and jewellery. Her eagerness to reach New York was reaching ridiculous heights with every new guest who entered the room.
Passengers had been arriving in their dozens all afternoon and now, as they congregated for dinner, she couldn’t resist studying them more closely. American accents mixed with upper-class British as men and women conversed, laughed and joked. Talk of the impending voyage and the ship’s passengers abounded, but it was the overwhelming sense of anticipation that ebbed and flowed through the occupants, regardless of their clearly established privilege, that captivated Amelia.
It had been so generous of Elizabeth to pay for her and Mr Weir to stay here for the night – not to mention the selection of outfits they had been loaned. Even as Amelia watched people who would quite obviously be first class, judging by the glint and shine of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires all around the room, she didn’t feel the need to hide away.
‘Amelia? Do you intend joining me in eating?’
She jumped and smiled. ‘Of course.’
‘Why don’t we talk about the stores we will be visiting once we arrive in New York? Mr Carter and Miss Pennington have named Lord & Taylor, Bloomingdale’s and RH Macy’s as our primary interests. After we have exhausted all we can learn at these establishments, it is for us to decide how we further our investigations.’
Amelia cut into her potatoes. ‘I would love to take some time to walk through the streets and observe people as they go about their daily lives. I think it’s important we see if there are any particular fashions or accessories that Pennington’s knows nothing about. I’m sure there will be just as many curious things on the streets as in the stores.’
Mr Weir’s expression morphed into its usual disapproval. ‘I do not believe the purpose of this trip is to introduce curiosities to Pennington’s, but rather to ensure we are keeping up with the latest fashions.’
‘But surely it’s our duty to inform Miss Pennington and Mr Carter about the unusual things we see? We wouldn’t have completed what we are being sent to New York to do unless we venture further and delve deeper into the American way of life.’
Annoyance darkened his gaze. ‘It is I who have been put in charge of this assignment, not you. You will do well to remember that once we board the ship. I am your chaperone and intend taking the role seriously.’
Disappointment shrouded her and Amelia looked to her plate. What she wouldn’t give to escape Mr Weir’s beady eyes for a while. To move around the Titanic and see how people behaved and interacted. To spend time wandering New York’s streets with her imagination running amok.
There had to be a way she could do both.
‘Ahh, there is the one of the ship’s most famous passengers. The American millionaire, JJ Astor.’
Amelia immediately followed Mr Weir’s gaze to a smartly dressed man she guessed to be in his mid-forties, his dark hair oiled into a severe centre parting, his moustache prominent, but neatly trimmed. ‘Is that really him?’
‘Yes, an astute businessman, property investor and builder. I very much doubt we’ll catch another glimpse of him once we are away.’
Amelia slid her gaze around the room, pondering who was who and what their lives were like. She had no idea who was exceedingly rich or merely wealthy, but during this trip she would be the ultimate student and learn all that she could.
And not just about the moneyed either.
Whatever Mr Weir’s opinion about their employers’ wish to focus on Pennington’s more expensive merchandise, she didn’t believe it to be true. Elizabeth would expect Amelia to return to Bath with knowledge across the classes. Information that could be used to instigate change, improvement and innovation to make Pennington’s Britain’s flagship retailer.
‘I suspect we will see plenty to show us how the other half lives.’ Mr Weir sipped his wine. ‘You know, I often wonder how different my own life could have been had I made alternative choices.’
Unsure how to respond to such a surprising change of subject, Amelia swallowed. ‘Oh?’
He flashed a stiff smile. ‘Many deem me to have always been married to my vocation and whereas that is not strictly true, I cannot deny my loyalty will forever remain with Mr Pennington and his store.’
Annoyed, Amelia focused on her meal. Would he ever forget Elizabeth’s father once ran Pennington’s? From what she’d heard, he had been as dated in his opinions about the store as he was about women and class. She had absolutely no desire to discuss Mr Pennington now or any other time throughout this trip.
‘Mr Pennington was a wonder and had a mind for retail that I feel would rival Mr Astor’s were they in the same industry.’ Mr Weir glanced in Mr Astor’s direction. ‘Yes, money is one thing, Miss Wakefield, but class is quite another.’
Amelia drove her knife deep into her meat, surreptitiously watching Mr Weir from beneath her lashes. Maybe there was a chance he might occasionally relax during this trip, but whatever Mr Weir’s changing demeanour, she would remain on her guard. She had so much she wished no one to discover and mistaking Mr Weir’s amiability for friendship would be very foolhardy indeed.