Molly

By the time he reached his cabin, the peculiar thought had almost left him completely. He knew Jonathan wouldn’t expect him back for several hours, assuming he would not be able to escape the lounge. He poured himself a brandy and made his way out to the private deck. The evening was chilly, but the air felt good, and he was hoping it would clear his mind. While visions of little Ruth and her intriguing aunt were welcome thoughts, his mind kept returning to the events of the last few days that had led him to his current position. It all seemed a bit surreal, but then so had his entire engagement, quite honestly, and only now that it seemed to be over did he feel he could finally get on with his life at long last.

He had arrived in London to attend to a few business matters, both on behalf of his father’s steel company as well as the new celluloid manufacturing company he was starting on his own. His father had made a name for himself in the steel industry early on, amassing a fortune on wise business decisions, and while Charlie certainly intended to continue working in his father’s business, he felt that there was also a fortune to be made in celluloid compound manufacturing, particularly for packaging purposes. Of course, once he married Mary Margaret, he would also take over her father’s textile company, something he truly wasn’t interested in, but he knew how important it was to his father to ensure Henry Westmoreland’s legacy lived on.

At least that is one less concern, he thought as he peered out across the pristine surface of the Atlantic. His understanding was that the Westmoreland company was not doing well under the inept eye of her uncle, Bertram Westmoreland, a drunkard and womanizer from all accounts, and Charlie wasn’t even certain it was salvageable. But he had certainly intended to do his best. He knew his father had made promises to Henry before his death—several of them. Exactly why, he did not know, but if his father intended for him to salvage the business and marry the daughter, then that is precisely what he intended to do.

That all changed when he showed up in Southampton on April 7 expecting to meet Mary Margaret Westmoreland for the first time at the debutant ball of a mutual friend only to be told Miss Westmoreland would not be attending. When he called at her home the next day, he was told by her mother that she was not feeling well and that he should call again on the ninth. Upon his return, she informed him that her daughter had been kidnapped and that she had reported her missing to the police. By then, however, rumors had begun to circulate, reaching the careful ear of his assistant, and the possibility that Miss Westmoreland had actually disappeared with one of the household servants became the most likely explanation for why she had not been available these past three times he had come to call on her. He was certain that, if this were the case, Mrs. Westmoreland was aware that her daughter had actually eloped with this jack-of-all-trades, the son of a long-time house servant, and that she was simply reporting her daughter’s absence as a kidnapping in order to buy time and save face.

The next morning, he had booked his passage and set sail on the Titanic.

“Well, wherever you are, Mary Margaret, I hope you are happy with the path that you’ve chosen,” he mumbled as he finished his drink and slammed the glass down on the railing, not caring if it fell overboard or not. A rapping on the door caught his attention. He was certain that Jonathan would have simply let himself in. Curious as to whom might be calling on him at this hour, he made his way across the room to the door.

“You awake, Charlie?” Molly Brown asked, barely giving him time to open the door before she invited herself in. “Been thinkin’ about you and wanted to see how you was doin’.”

Charlie glanced out into the hallway before closing the door behind her, wondering if anyone had just seen an un-chaperoned female enter his private chambers. Though Mrs. Brown was older, she was divorced, and the last thing he needed was more fodder for the rumor mongers.

“Don’t worry,” she said, as if reading his mind. “Nobody knows I’m here.” She poured herself a drink and had a seat on his sofa. “Can you imagine? If people want to talk about the two of us, that’s fine by me. Handsome young feller like you with me? I’m old enough to be your mama, son. Now, what’s this business I hear with you and this Westmoreland gal?”

Once again, Charlie found himself glancing around in confusion. He realized he needed another drink. Since his original glass was probably somewhere in Davey Jones’s locker, he grabbed a new one and poured four fingers worth before sitting down in a chair across from her. “I’m not exactly sure how to answer that,” Charlie replied after throwing back more of the sweet liquid than he initially intended. “I guess it depends on what you’ve heard.”

“Oh, come on now, son,” Molly pried. “Surely you know me well enough by now to know I ain’t got a reserved bone in my body. After you lit out of dinner so quick, I asked some questions and found out Miss Mary Margaret’s gone on the lam herself. She ain’t on this boat, too somewhere, is she?”

“No,” Charlie replied hastily. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, I was just wondering if you didn’t decide to sneak off together and get hitched without all them prim and proper folks interferin’.”

Charlie was stunned at that response as he never would have thought anyone would consider that possibility; it had never crossed his mind. “No, Mrs. Brown—Molly—I can assure you that I did not smuggle Miss Westmoreland aboard the Titanic. But whoever told you she is missing seems to have some inside knowledge. Her mother told me the same when I called on her just two days ago. In fact, I have never even met Miss Westmoreland. So, I think it is fair to say that whatever arrangements our fathers made are out the window.” With that, he finished off the rest of his drink, realizing the alcohol was about to get to him and wondering if he even cared. Deciding he didn’t, he stood, poured himself another drink, and topped Molly’s off as well.

“Well, I do declare,” she said after a few moments of contemplation. “I’d heard she may have run off with the missin’ servants, but I didn’t think that was likely. Whole thing seems so peculiar. Course everybody says she didn’t get along with her mother at all, and that uncle of hers has quite the reputation. I wouldn’t want to be alone with him—and I’m an old divorced bitty who doesn’t generally take too much persuasion.”

Molly spoke quickly with a thick western accent, and much of what she said raised several questions in Charlie’s head. He sat staring at her until he was sure she had finished before contemplating where to begin. “I’m sorry, Molly. Did you say servants? As in more than one?”

“Sure did,” she confirmed, taking another swig. “One of the house boys is gone, and so is Miss Mary’s lady. Makes sense she’d go wherever her mistress has gone. But she had a family. Whole bunch is missing. Odd.”

“That is odd,” Charlie agreed, although he moved on before she began to talk again and lost him. “And what did you say about her uncle?”

“Bertram Westmoreland is not the kind of man anyone wants to be left alone with, especially not young impressionable girls,” she explained. “Now, I don’t know about his own niece, but the man has a reputation for being pretty handsy.”