at all, ma’am.” Alec steps forward slightly, placing himself between Lady Regina and me. Is he defending me from her, or showing me how easily he can separate me from others? The thrill I feel when I’m near him is equal parts attraction and fear; I don’t know which emotion is true and which is an illusion. Maybe they’re both justified. “She was carrying a burden much too heavy for her earlier today. She required some help to reach her suite. Your suite, I mean.”
He didn’t tell them Mikhail was threatening me. Which of us is he protecting—me, or Mikhail?
“Tess often pretends to need more help than she requires. I hope you weren’t taken in.” Lady Regina laughs lightly. “It’s always the way, with servants. They shirk their tasks the moment you’re not looking.”
She’s trying to shame me, but I’m not ashamed. I know the truth—and so does Alec. He already knows so much about me . . . more, perhaps, than I care for him to know. It doesn’t make me feel any safer.
Despite her shyness, Irene pipes up, trying to change the subject. “Mr. Marlowe, have you seen John Jacob Astor? Is he really on board?”
“Indeed he is,” Mr. Marlowe says, obviously pleased with the change of subject. “With his new wife—who’s not much older than you.”
Lady Regina can’t resist gossip, and soon the entire party is walking forward again, the parents and Layton chitchatting easily, and Irene trailing in her mother’s wake. Alec remains a few steps back—not beside me, but closer to me than to anyone else. It’s as though I can feel his presence next to me, the deep, slightly uncomfortable warmth of standing too close to a fire.
As the others round the corner of the boat deck toward the stern, Alec turns to me. He’s so close to me now that I can feel his warm breath on my cheek.
His voice is rough as he says, “You told them nothing.”
“No.”
“About me or about Mikhail.”
“No. I swear.”
Alec’s eyes bore into mine as he leans even closer and whispers, “If you value your life, keep your silence. That’s the only thing that will save you. Do you hear me, Tess?”
“Yes.”
Then he walks forward again, as smoothly as though he had never spoken to me at all. Alec even smiles when his father waves him forward to stroll by his side. I don’t know what to think, but I follow behind, once again the obedient servant.
Was Alec trying to protect me, telling me that Mikhail would strike at me if I spoke to anyone about him? Or was it a threat?
Either way, he’s just confirmed what I’ve been trying to deny all afternoon. I’m in danger.
“How could you be so impertinent, Tess?” Lady Regina tosses her hat down on the sofa in the Lisles’ suite. “Putting yourself forward like that. Trying to monopolize Alexander Marlowe’s attention.”
“Mother, he spoke to Tess first,” Irene tries to point out, but Lady Regina ignores her.
The lecture goes on for some time, but I hardly notice. It’s all I can do to stand there and nod on cue; my mind is consumed by Alec’s threat. Or his warning—I still don’t know what it was. I can’t stop thinking of Mikhail’s cold eyes.
I tell myself that I’ve lived up to my end of the bargain. I’ve told no one. Alec said that would protect me, and why would he lie? Keeping quiet and telling nobody my true story has kept me safe up until now. This is just one more thing to stay quiet about.
Lady Regina doesn’t stop venting her anger at me until late, and then I’ve got to prepare Irene for dinner. As I help her into her cornflower-blue evening dress, Irene can’t stop apologizing for her mother. “She’s only nervous,” Irene says, as if that cow were ever nervous about anything. “Mother’s been preoccupied with— with a lot of things lately. It makes her cross. Please don’t take it personally.”
“You’re not supposed to apologize to me for anything,” I say as I sweep her lank hair up in jeweled combs, which will at least give her some glitter. It helps that she’s finally old enough for us to put her hair up; that lets me hide how straight her hair is. “I’m your servant. I know my place.”
“Your place doesn’t have to mean being treated badly.” Irene sighs as she looks at her reflection in the mirror. “Oh, what’s the use?”
“You look nice tonight. You just have to brighten up a bit. Smile. Confidence is half the battle, miss.”
And she does look better than usual this evening—the color suits her, as do the dress’s simple lines. At any other time, I’d be proud of my handiwork. It’s my job, as ladies’ maid, to see that Irene is shown off to her best advantage. When her mother gets out of my way, and stops forcing Irene to wear ruffles that drown her slight frame and pale, “pure” colors that wash out her complexion, Irene is—well, no ravishing beauty, but at least pretty. I may have been made a ladies’ maid too young and with no experience, but I’ve learned quickly.
Tonight, though, I can’t revel vicariously in this triumph. It seems as if I can hear nothing but the blood rushing in my ears, and the memory of Alec’s whisper.
Keep your silence.
“Well, that’s not so bad,” drawls Layton as he strolls into her room. Irene frowns—she likes her privacy, but her brother respects that as little as he does anything or anyone else. “At least you won’t be an embarrassment tonight.”
Behind his shoulder, I can see Ned, whose freckled face is flushed with anger. He hates it when Layton picks on Irene. But he says only, “Will that be all, sir?”
“Quite all.” Layton is, indeed, impeccably turned out; his tuxedo is so well pressed and brushed that it seems to have been polished. “You are dismissed for the evening.”
“You too, Tess,” Irene says, with a small smile.
But then, from the next room, I hear Lady Regina call, “Tess, you stay here. Horne is busy with me. Get Beatrice to bed, would you?”
My stomach is empty with hunger and fear, but there’s nothing to be done. Whatever I’m ordered to do, I must do. “Yes, milady.”
By the time little Beatrice is washed and asleep, and Lady Regina’s finally done with me, I’m not afraid any longer. Although I still feel wobbly every time I think about Mikhail’s threat, or about Alec, hunger has taken over. It seems as though I can face up to anything if I can just eat.
But by the time I arrive back in third class, it’s well after tea time. What time is the second meal service over? I hurry down the long white corridor that I think leads toward the dining hall, and run into Myriam—who, rather interestingly, is accompanied by George.
“Haven’t you got a ship to manage?” I say before I can stop myself.
George turns out to look adorable when he’s flustered—at least to Myriam, who smiles sidelong at him. “Off duty this past hour, miss. Thought Miss Nahas and I might take a stroll on the third-class deck.”
“Of course you’re welcome to join us.”
