Harold Lowe has managed to claw his way up the career ladder of the British merchant marines, rising from a ship's boy to a master mariner with one of the world's elite passenger lines. Along the way, he's learned to master not only his craft, but...
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They were just nearing the forward lifeboats when a door suddenly burst open right in front of them, slamming into Corrine's arm. "Ouch," she cried, startled, and rubbed her shoulder.
A man in an expensive suit and a top hat emerged from a vestibule, followed closely by a woman dripping in silks, furs, and diamonds. Rather than apologetic, they looked decidedly put out. "Say, watch where you're..." the woman began, her American twang sounding harsh and grating to Corrine's ear. Then she focused in on Corrine and narrowed her eyes in distaste. "Wait. Darling, what is this? Is the White Star Line now allowing steerage to mingle with the rest of us?"
Corrine's cheeks flushed, and she stared at her boots. She was suddenly very conscious of her too-plain dress, her lack of jewelry. She knew she stood out like a sore thumb up here, but she didn't think anyone had the gall to point that out. Obviously, she had been wrong, she realized miserably.
"How positively boorish," the man tutted, not caring that he was discussing her as if she weren't there - as if she weren't even human.
Corrine wanted to turn and sprint back the way she came as fast as she could. But her shame rooted her to the spot. Like a predator sensing a meal, the woman stalked closer, moving in for the kill. "I will have to make a report to the captain," the woman said in a silky tone, eyeing Corrine up and down. "They are supposed to be... quarantined... for our health and safety."
"I assure you, that would be a mistake," said a smooth, cultured voice beside her.
She raised her eyes to find that the officer next to her had changed completely. His face looked as white and cold as marble, and his eyes glinted with steel. His body thrummed with barely-suppressed fury, but his voice remained calm and authoritative. "The captain has given permission for the ship's officers to bring their betrothed," he emphasized the word, "to the boat deck for an exclusive tour." His lie was smooth and delivered with utter aplomb.
The man looked abashed, but the woman still appeared doubtful. Lowe stared her down, unblinking, until finally she averted her eyes.
"But now we should be returning, my darling," he said, looking down at Corrine and flashing her a dazzling smile. "The rest of our party are waiting on us for dinner." Again the lie slipped easily from his tongue. He offered up his arm, and she slipped hers through it, grateful for the reassuring touch. She nodded silently, still not trusting herself to speak. But the gentle press of his arm against hers thawed her frozen limbs, and she found that she could move once again.
They turned in a wide circle away from her tormentors and began making their way aft again. She drew strength from the steady presence at her side, from his unwavering support. And as she glided past the still-glaring couple, she felt her confidence and self-assurance return in full force. She tossed her head regally and lifted her hand, pretending to check her nails. Then, with a graceful flick of her wrist, she made an extremely obscene and rude gesture to the couple. She stuck out her tongue and wagged it at them for good measure.
