She was merely herself, smaller than these rooms, larger in girth than the girl she used to be, a woman with a fresh bleeding wound to her soul that could never be healed . . . but that could at least be understood by the ladies coming to visit her today.
Madeleine thought Jack’s goldfish were welcoming enough, with their small colorful grace.
Marian and her friend, Florence Cumings, arrived first. About a week ago, Madeleine had finally realized that the most brawny footmen in the household needed to remain by the entrance gates to keep the peace. It was especially true today, because the insect swarm of reporters and photographers outside had been joined by an entirely new nuisance: moving-picture operators, filming everything in sight.
The news of Madeleine’s luncheon starring the heroic Rostron and some of Titanic’s most famous widows had already been leaked to the press, and the press was ready to pounce.
The butler spotted the limousine carrying Marian and Florence; by the time the auto reached the lower steps, the footmen were already hurrying out the doors to escort them inside. Both women exited quickly from the automobile, garbed in solid black and heavy veils.
They came in, glancing around, and Madeleine was so happy to see Marian, she simply walked up to her and wrapped her arms around her.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, and broke away, surprised at herself.
Marian tossed back her veil. She had the same gentle, grave smile she’d worn back on the ship. “It’s good to see you again. You look well, Madeleine.”
“I’ve been tucked away for weeks. I think it’s helped.”
Marian nodded. “You remember Mrs. John Cumings?”
“Yes, of course.”
Florence Cumings was the matron in sable from Lifeboat Four, the one who had joined her voice with Madeleine’s in insisting they row back for the survivors.
Madeleine smiled. “Welcome. Welcome to you both. Please, come in. We’re still waiting for the captain and doctor.”
“There’s a snarl of traffic out there,” said Marian. “They’re likely caught in it.”
“There is always,” said Madeleine, leading them to the south-west salon, “a snarl of traffic out there. Traffic of one kind or another, I’m afraid.”
The salon was flooded with light; Madeleine had chosen it over the southeast because it seemed less somber. But as she watched Marian and her friend discreetly take in the ivory lacquered walls, the tall Japanese urns and marble statues of robed girls playing lyres and holding roses, she realized suddenly that this room was more like a mausoleum than any other in the house. For a second, it crippled her—how had she not seen it before?—but then Marian and Mrs. Cumings were settled in their chairs, and Madeleine was pouring tea, wondering in quiet, simmering embarrassment if they had noticed what she had noticed, the funeral feel of it all.
If the oil painting of Venus riding a dolphin that stretched across the ceiling was too marine, too nautical. Too much ocean.
Marian accepted her cup with a murmur of thanks. She tasted it, replaced it to its saucer, and tipped her head.
“What a fine room,” she said. “I don’t think you’ve done much to it since Caroline’s time?”
“No,” Madeleine admitted, uncomfortable. “I haven’t really had much of a chance to do anything here. Not yet.”
“Your own time will come.” Marian took another sip. “Lina always did have a mighty preference for gilt.”
*
Captain Rostron and Doctor McGee had taken a taxicab from the Cunard pier, but it had thrown a wheel on the way over. Luckily, no one had been injured, but it had delayed them sufficiently enough that the pressmen were in a mood by the time they appeared. Madeleine was alerted to their arrival not by the butler, but by the rising volume of shouting outside.
“Is it always like this?” asked Mrs. Cumings. “Those horrible people all around you?”
Madeleine lifted a shoulder, forcing a smile. “So far.”
Mrs. Cumings shook her head. “Oh, my dear. I had no idea.”
“I don’t think anyone could have had,” said Marian. “Madeleine is forging her way through an upside-down world.”
“It is,” agreed Mrs. Cumings sadly. “It is upside-down.”
*
Madeleine hadn’t thought that she would recognize the Carpathia ’s captain. She had only a muddled recollection of boarding the ship, and once he had made certain that she was safely inside his cabin, she hadn’t encountered Arthur Rostron again. Doctor McGee, who had visited twice a day, was a much more familiar face.