“Here we go,” Katherine said. “Don’t try to rush through them. Go only as fast as you can bear.”
“I can bear rather a lot,” Madeleine said, but as she got out, she kept her gaze level and her pace sedate. Just like before, she didn’t look at the reporters or answer any questions. Vincent led the way, and Katherine remained beside her. Footmen rushed down the steps but then only stood by, making certain everyone else remained back.
The lights flashed.
*
A decade later, she would come across a newspaper clipping with an image of the three of them pegged frozen as they walked in, skirts clutched in fists, feet lifted. The caption beneath it read, THE LAST OF THE HOUSE OF ASTOR?
She would think, holding that clipping between her fingers, How young we all look, none of us older than twenty. How young and audacious and afraid.
*
The stony chill of the mansion swept over her; Madeleine felt it keenly through her tired cardigan and dress. Everything echoed, everything was loud and soft at once, reverberating.
In the bronze-and-glass excess of the atrium, a man in evening wear approached, inclining his head. For a second, she could only stare at him blankly.
The butler, she remembered. But she could not, for the life of her, summon up his name.
“May I say, Mrs. Astor, on behalf of the entire staff, how good it is to see you again.”
“Thank you. How kind.”
“Doctor Kimball is waiting for you in the southeast salon.”
She blinked. “Who?”
“Kimball,” said Vincent, handing off his coat. “The physician. You saw him down at the pier.”
“I don’t think I need—”
“Just go talk to him,” Vincent interrupted. “So Dobbyn can go out and give a statement to the press saying you’re fine, you’re in impeccable health, strong as an ox. Then maybe they’ll all go the hell away.”
Before she could reply, he was gone, vanished through one of the high stone archways that led into the mansion’s interior.
She looked at Katherine, then helplessly back at the butler.
“This way, madam,” he offered, and both she and Katherine moved to follow him, their footsteps softly sounding.
At the entrance to the salon, Madeleine turned back to her sister.
“My mind’s all muzzy. I completely forgot about Miss Endres. She’s never been here before and I just left her stranded by the stairs. If you wouldn’t mind, could you see about getting a room prepared for her? She’ll need clothing, toiletries—oh, you’ll have to ask her exactly what. And would you make certain Rosalie is all right?”
Katherine smiled, quick and confident, a resurrection of her old self. “I will.”
The southeast salon had a fire blazing in the green marble hearth; the man seated in the causeuse beside it rose to his feet as she came in. He was white-bearded and pot-bellied, eyeing her warily, as if she might either tip into hysteria or else dissolve into tears, and he had braced himself to be ready for either or both.
But all Madeleine felt was a great empty nothing. Not hysterical. Not tearful. After this long, long day, in this cold and ornate home that was her own, all she felt was a sort of droning emptiness.
And it was a relief.
“Mrs. Astor,” he said, lifting his hand to her. Instead of shaking hers, he guided her down to the gilded love seat. “We met briefly last summer. I don’t know if you’ll recall it, aboard the Noma. It was a fine, sunny day along the shoals, late June or early July, I believe—”
“Doctor Kimball, I don’t mean to be impolite, but I’m honestly worn through. I’ve been under the care of the Carpathia’s surgeon and my own nurse for days now, so I think I’ll be fine for the night. All I really desire in the next hour or so is a hot bath and my bed. Vincent mentioned we need to say something to the reporters outside, to tell them that I’m well enough so they’ll leave. So, if you could just . . . ask me what you need to ask me? For the statement?”
The doctor nodded but did not move away. Nor did he ask her anything. He only looked down at her with an interested frown.
She sagged back against the love seat.
He said, “Have you had any headaches, or dizziness?”
“No.”
“Any sensation of numbness in your limbs?”
“No.”
“Any shortness of breath?”
“Only when I was rowing.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She said wearily, “I had to row the lifeboat sometimes. All of us took turns. But I was better at it than most of the other women, so I rowed more. That was the last time I was out of breath.”