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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Mr. Lowe!"
Her belly filled with dread at the familiar booming voice. This time, Harry didn't even try to hide his flinch. They both turned, and she dropped her hand from his arm, knowing full well it was already too late.
Mr. Lightoller approached from the direction of the bow, his face a thundercloud. "You were to report to the bridge exactly-" he checked his watch "-a minute and a half ago. The watch has changed, and you are late."
Corrine had one quick glance at Harry's stricken expression before he took off sprinting down the boat deck.
Lightoller turned to walk back the same way, then paused. He slowly turned and looked her over, then stared closely at her face. "I remember you," he said slowly. "I saw you right before we sailed, in Southampton. You were with him-" he jerked a thumb over his back at the rapidly receding junior officer, "weren't you?"
Slowly she nodded. It was no use trying to deny it; his memory was obviously sharp, and she was in enough trouble already without adding a lie to it.
He came closer, his voice pitched low so that other passersby could not hear his words. "I don't know what you're playing at, miss, but that man has important duties and has absolutely no time for dalliances of any sort. Any distractions could threaten the well-being of the ship, and I will not tolerate it."
Stricken, she nodded again. He must have seen something in her guilt-wracked expression, for his face softened slightly. "What is your name, miss?" he asked, not unkindly.
"Corrine Donnelly," she replied in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Well, Miss Donnelly, I will have to escort you back belowdecks now. You know that steerage is not permitted to be up here, right?"
For a minute, she bristled at his assumption of her class, feeling the pain and humiliation of her earlier encounter all over again. But she realized that her lack of sophistication and money were written all over her... and he was likely well used to assessing the status of traveling passengers.
She held her head high. "Thank you, Mr. Lightoller, but I can see myself down."
His eyebrows rose slightly, as if in acknowledgement of her gentle and dignified rebuke as well as her use of his name. "Nonetheless, I must see to it. Besides, I have other duties to attend to that will take me in that direction anyway."
They began walking slowly, not back toward the crew stairwell, where she had originally come with Harry, but amidships. Lightoller looked over at her, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. It seemed as if he were struggling with something. Finally, he said, "Mr. Lowe is a rather... interesting fellow. I can understand why a young lass like you might be drawn to him. But you would do well to keep your distance. He's more than a little rough around the edges, and he can be impetuous and temperamental. And you are not the first female to find a certain... appeal... in his devil-may-care attitude. I may have said too much, but I think it would be a shame for you to be pining over someone you can never have."
