BOARDING the Titanic signified all of the things she was leaving behind, although unknowingly to her she wouldn't just be leaving her old life, she'd be leaving more than that. Boarding the ship signified the things she would gain now that she was moving away from home: a husband, a large estate and not much more.
She was going to marry her wealthy childhood friend Thomas Douglas. She always liked Thomas. He was nice. Handsome. Polite. And at times when Margaret wasn't, he was rational and diplomatic. But it didn't matter they had years of friendship. Or that Thomas had been the first to plant a sloppy kiss on her lips. Because she didn't care much for him. And frankly, it was surprising to know he cared at all too.
The news he wanted to court her came to much shock to Margaret. It didn't come to a surprise to her family however. Her father, a peaceful and warm man, had told her she could deny Thomas' wishes for courtship. She could say no, provided she was kind. Because as her father had said, hearts were fragile and thus must be treated with care.
But her mother on the other hand....her mother. She was the exact opposite of her father. She was cold—calculative, every move not made without a few dozen analysis beforehand. Her mother told her she couldn't say no. If she didn't, her family would be in ruins. They were in debt, news Margaret hadn't learned until a few weeks ago. If she ignored her mother and went against her wishes, they'd be living in the streets in less than a few weeks.
Margaret searched for a way to prove her mother was wrong. Desperately searched for a loophole, something she could hold on to. But in the end, she reached a single conclusion: her mother was right. Yet again, always right. Margaret didn't want to marry Thomas. Didn't want to even be courted by him. She didn't want to leave London to travel to Southampton. She didn't want to board the Titanic.
And yet here she was, watching as people went on board the ship. And yet here she was, herself, going on board the ship. Frankly, she wished the ship would wreck. So she wouldn't have to do this. So that her life wouldn't end before it began. And it was true really, her life was over. She hadn't even fallen in love. And now she would never have the chance to.
She wasn't as well traveled as she liked to be. She'd been out of the UK only a few times as a child. She didn't want to do this. She wanted to be a doctor. She wanted to travel, to unseen places, to far places. To places no one had seen before. She didn't want to stop. She didn't want to settle. And still, she'd done very little to stop her fate.
She watched as her bags where taken away to her room. She watched as a man stood in the distance, not yet going aboard the ship. His eyes said he was somewhere else, lost, where there weren't noises of children running around or of mothers scolding them. For a moment Margaret was there too, a place where people weren't chattering loudly, a place which was anywhere but here.
He was handsome, Margaret noted. He had a sharp jawline, forest green eyes (or perhaps they were brown, Margaret couldn't decide) and well-formed lips. His brown hair was slicked away from his forehead. And for a moment as Margaret stared on, he looked up, their eyes meeting for a split of a second, a chill running down her spine before someone called out her name.
"Margaret!" Her father called out again. She snapped from her thoughts, turning away from the man in the distance to face her father. When she turned around again, the man was gone. Her father offered her a warm smile, titling his head towards the entrance, urging him to join her. She followed, her pace much slower than her father's. "Don't you think its lovely, Margaret?"
His eyes were locked on the stairwell. It was one of the shiniest stairwells she'd ever seen. So clean and shinny, Margaret thought she might slip if she took one step. It parted in the middle, one side leading to the left corridor and the other side to the right. There was a small statute of an angel holding what appeared to be a torch, in the middle of the stairwell, where it parted.
Her father was mesmerized by the ship. Her mother, on the other hand, couldn't be bothered to stop and admire anything. She was speaking to a servant in a harsh tone, saying something about her bags or something else....Margaret had learned to tune out her mother long ago. Her father locked their arms and she offered him a small smile.
"Shall we?" He asked. She nodded and with him, took a step up the staircase. He lead her to her suite and opened the door for her, even though he didn't have to, even though there were people who could do that and whose jobs it was to do that. "Why don't you rest, dear?"
"No, no, no. Don't rest too long, Margaret. I need you downstairs in a few hours. Thomas will make an announcement. Wear one of your prettier dresses," her mother said. She hadn't noticed her arrival. But there she was, present, unwanted.
"Whatever you say, mother." She said. She managed a thin smile and went inside her suite. She shut the door behind her and quickly undid her bun.
She took a moment to admire her suite, the bed was by the left side of the wall, a writing desk and burgundy colored chair across from it. And in the middle of her room was some furniture, chairs and a coffee table at the center. She rubbed her forehead, trying to make the pain go away. She flopped on her bed and purposely told herself not to wake up in a few hours. She threw a pillow over her head, covering her ear and closed her eyes.
THOMAS was a loud chewer. And it always took patience on Margaret's side not to scoff and leave the dinner table. If he wasn't so rich, and about to save them from poverty, her mother would surely scolded him. She'd been woken up by a servant who Margaret had confused for someone she knew. She'd scolded the young woman, muttering things under her breath. Once she noticed it wasn't anyone she knew, she apologized, many many times. But the young woman still left with tears welled in her eyes.
The young servant had sent someone else to help her get ready. Margaret made sure to be extra nice to that servant, smiling and saying more thank yous than necessary. She was trying to eat now, trying not to feel guilty about what she'd done. But food wasn't going down well. Thomas noticed, his blue eyes slightly changing color. He looked at her from the corner of his eye as she tried not to notice. She turned her head, looking at a chandelier which hung high on the ceiling.
"Are you alright, Maggie?" He asked her. Maggie. He was the only one who still called her that. She took a sip of her water. She was dizzy, unaccustomed to being on a ship. Unaccustomed to being surrounded by so many people for long periods of time. "Would you like for me to order you something different?"
"No, I'm fine Mr. Douglas," she said. She wasn't used to calling him that. She'd always called him Tom. But ever since he decided to court her, nothing else felt appropriate. He felt like a stranger. Because Tom, her childhood best friend wouldn't, in a million years have feelings towards her. He sighed next to her.
"Margaret, please. We've been friends since childhood. You know me better than anyone else. Please go back to calling me Tom," he said. He was speaking softly, almost murmuring so that Margaret's mother wouldn't scold her.
"Well Tom, wouldn't do this. He wouldn't court me. He wouldn't ask to do such thing overnight since I have not given him any reason to believe I—" she began as her mother interrupted her, waving her hand as if dispersing Margaret's words away.
"What is it that you wanted to tell us Thomas?" Her mother asked. Her mother, whose name was Alice was a beautiful woman. Her face was oval, she had full lips and straight nose. But her face, despite her age, showed little sings she had aged. Thomas cleared his throat, seemingly thankful Alice had changed the conversation.
"It was going to be a surprise but uh....the party that we're having tonight is our engagement party," Thomas said. Alice gasped as if she hadn't been expecting this. Margaret's father seemed quietly pleased. Thomas had probably asked for her hand in marriage and her father believing Margaret also loved Thomas, had said yes.
"Mr. Spencer!" Alice said, nudging her husbands shoulder. The smile which had been hidden on his lips until now, sprung up, fully. He was smiling widely, happiness in his eyes. "When did this happen? When did Thomas ask for Margaret's hand?"
"I will not tell," Mr. Spencer replied. But his smile hadn't budged. Margaret swallowed, drowning in her sense of self pity. If she'd told her father she didn't love Thomas, her father wouldn't have said yes. But then what? Thomas was determined to marry her.
"Maggie, you're pale. Are you alright?" Thomas asked. She held her stomach, her hands traveling up to her chest as though she was losing the ability to breathe, which she was. Her lungs were filled with water. She was drowning, slowly, the life being sucked out of her.
"I must catch my breath. Please excuse me," she said. She swiftly left the table before she could be stopped by someone. She walked towards the exit of the restaurant and towards the deck of the ship. She wasn't looking where she was going and she bumped face first with a stranger. The impact of her face against his chest made Margaret rub her cheeks. "Ow."
"Oops," he said. Margaret looked up, meeting the strangers face. She'd looked at him a few hours ago. The stranger who had looked at the Titanic whilst wearing a lost expression. "Excuse me, I wasn't watching my step."
"I'd say you weren't," she muttered under her breath. He was stunned, his whole face read, huh. He sucked in a breath as Margaret pushed past him, further into the deck. He exhaled and inhaled, as though there was something sweet in the air.
"What's your name?" He called after her. She didn't turn around. She walked further into the edges of the deck, closer and closer to the ocean. She was close enough to where she could jump...but there were far too many people in the daylight. "I said, what's your name?"
"Not deaf!"
"Not deaf, nice to meet you. I'm Stefan Salvatore," he said. He reached Margaret side. She slowly turned around, amused at his stupid joke. She extended her hand for him to shake. He looked at her hand carefully, as though it was something delicate before shaking her hand. "Not deaf is a very original name."
"Margaret Spencer."
"Margaret Spencer," Stefan said. He said her name slowly, as if tasting the words on his lips. Satisfied, he smiled. The wind blew Margaret's hair from side to side, making him suck in his breath, yet again. He took a step towards her, brushing her hair off her shoulders, such action causing her to shiver. He closed his eyes momentarily before opening them, turning around. "Someone's looking for you."
And with that, Stefan left. She watched him leave and wondered how he knew someone was looking for her when she saw no one in sight. And then, not a moment later, her mom walked towards Margaret. She stopped in front of her. She scoffed, before quickly slapping her cheek. Margaret was too stunned to move, touching her warm and aching cheek.
"I would hit you harder Margaret, but its going to leave a mark," Alice said. "Go inside, now. You must apologize to Thomas for leaving so suddenly. I need you wearing your prettiest dress tonight. You must smile. You must act content. You are, after all, to be married to Thomas as soon we land."
What? Margaret couldn't help but gasp. She was going to be married to him in less than two weeks? No. This couldn't be happening. She'd thought there'd be more time. No. She couldn't marry him. No. She had to find a way to end this. Alice left her side, walking back to the restaurant. Margaret turned to ocean once more, perhaps there was a solution after all.
Perhaps she'd simply jump. And die. Tonight. There'd be no one to stop her. There'd be no one to stop her from doing such a silly thing. Or perhaps they'd think it was an accident. She slipped and fell into the ocean. Yes, people thought silly things.
Tonight, there'd be no one to stop her from jumping.