The door to the house flung open. She was inside, back in the old familiar hallway, the solitary appliqué chair, the arched nook holding the telephone. She was in her mother’s arms, inhaling her familiar sweet vanilla scent.
Mother was crying and attempting not to, delicate little tears that fell and fell. Everyone stayed bunched in a knot against the front door until Katherine herded them all into the drawing room.
“I’m all right,” Madeleine kept saying. It was becoming like a chant; she knew the words were correct, but in this unreal world, they were beginning to lose their meaning. “I’m here. I’m all right.”
“Matthews,” said Mother, “bring the soup and sandwiches.” She faced Madeleine again, dabbing the moisture from beneath her eyes. “We have your bedroom ready.”
“No, I’m not staying. I need to go back to—” Jack’s house, she almost said. “To go back home,” she finished.
“My dear! Are you sure? To be in that enormous place all alone . . .”
“I won’t be alone. There are dozens of servants, plus I have a nurse now, Miss Endres—she’s waiting in the motorcar. Jack hired her. I’ll need to see her settled in.”
“A nurse?”
Madeleine tilted her head, framed her hands around her middle. Mother gasped.
“You never said! Not once in your letters, you never mentioned—”
“We wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Oh, my darling!”
She was pulled into another embrace. Madeleine closed her eyes, yielding momentarily to the solace of it, relaxing against her as she used to do as a child. But then behind her eyelids the fog came, and the white faces against the water, and she eased away.
“I’ll stay with her tonight,” Katherine volunteered. “And Vincent will be there, too, won’t you?”
Vincent Astor, his arms crossed over his chest, only nodded.
“I must go home,” Madeleine said. “I’ve only stopped by for a moment, so that you and Father could see for yourselves that I’m okay.”
“He’s in the sitting room,” Mother said. “Waiting for you.”
*
The sitting room had been transformed into a makeshift bedroom, complete with a brass bed, a chest of drawers, and a night table where the secrétaire and a bronze bust of Antigone used to be. Her father lay propped against a mound of pillows, one leg atop the covers, a plaster cast reaching from his toes to just above his knee.
His beard had started to grow in, more of an iron gray than the silver of his hair, rough and glinting along his cheeks and jowls. His eyes were reddened, but when she walked in, he lifted his head and smiled, and he was suddenly exactly the same as he had always been, the exact same, and so was she.
“Madeleine, my little one.”
“Dad.” She bent down to kiss him, then dropped into the armchair that had been placed beside the bed.
“How it does me good to see you again. What time is it? You must be so fatigued.”
“I’m all—yes, I am,” she admitted.
He held her hand, his gaze roaming her face. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t get rid of the pressmen outside, not even with bribery.”
“They’re relentless, I know. There were some aboard the Carpathia, too. And back on the pier—well. It’s good you didn’t go and try to wade through it all.”
Her father shook his head. “It is my duty to protect you.” His forehead furrowed; his fingers tightened over hers. His eyes took on a sheen. “I should have protected you.”
“You have, Daddy. You have protected me.”
“No. I failed you in this. The ship, the—those vultures outside. I should have . . .”
“I have been protected by you my entire life,” she said quietly. “You, and then Jack. I’ve been the most fortunate girl in the world my entire life.”
He exhaled. His hand trembled. She leaned down to rest her cheek against it, lightly, so that she wouldn’t hurt his joints.
“Even now,” she whispered. “Even now.”
*
She had expected to find the chateau empty and spectral, shrouded in shadows; in the corners of her mind, that was how it always lingered, day or night. But as the limousine pulled up to the porte cochère, she saw rows and rows of windows glowing past their scrolled iron grilles, as if there were one of Lina Astor’s famous balls taking place inside, throwing yellow brightness out into the rain and along the throngs of men crammed along the sidewalks.