“I believe it refers also to Atlantis,” Howard said.
“Does it?” Peter asked.
Howard nodded, “And that’s a little worrisome, considering that the island ended up at the bottom of the sea, the inhabitants swallowed by beasts. In spite of all the brilliance of the culture and all the advances the men made, it all lies imbued with sea water and left to decay.”
“A mythical place,” Peter Cavendar asked, “of legends? Ah, you are the writer, yes? You know the legends of Atlantis?”
Howard shrugged and managed a blush, “I aim to be a writer, perhaps. My little poems have gotten a little notice, and I am working on more pieces, but I hope for inspiration on this journey. If you would care to read anything, I would be honored, Mr. Cavendar, Miss Cavendar, Mrs. Brown.”
Delora Philips leaned slightly across her nephew to speak to Jenny, “Oh, tell him no, or you shall end up feeling terribly bleak. He is so brilliant but has the propensity to be quite morbid.” She gave an exaggerated shudder and laughed. She was thrilled to notice he had offered to socialize, albeit with his writing.
“Why I’d be downright honored,” Maggie Brown declared, “as it is a grand opportunity to read the fledgling starts of a story. Perhaps we will all play parts in the drama as characters.”
“I hope not, Mrs. Brown, as it is a grievously frightening tale,” Howard said.
“All the more for me to want to be a part,” Mrs. Brown said, winning an appreciative smile from Howard.
Delora broke in to ask the Captain a question, changing the conversation before Howard could embark upon another dismal description of his work.
Howard was so talented but prone to dark moods just as his father had been. Delora often feared if they didn’t help Howard, he, too, might be hospitalized for anxiety.
Jenny barely picked at the other hors d’ourves, Oysters a la Russe, raw oysters, served with the top shells removed and the meat topped with a sauce of vodka, horseradish, lemon, tomatoes, salt, and sprinkled with coarsely ground black pepper. It was a wonderful dish, but there was so much food she feared her corset would pop if she ate more than a few bites of each course.
Several exclaimed over the dish, asking about the ingredients so they could have the dish prepared at home. Despite the courses that were to follow, many ate a half or full dozen of the oysters and sauce.
Next, was a tiny dish of poached salmon with a dollop of heavily whipped Mousselinesauce. Most were too excited by everything to eat much, but they tried a bite of each dish.
The next course was Filet Mignon Lili, topped with seared fois gras with truffles sitting on a bed of crispy potatoes and covered in a sauce of red wine. It was served with two other dishes, but everyone in the upcoming days spoke only of the beef dish.
“How does this steak compare with your beef, Mr. Cavendar?” The Captain asked. “Is it as flavorful?”
“It compares quite well, actually.” As guests looked to Peter Cavendar, he shrugged, “I have a few cows in Texas. We have a bit of a ranch there.”
Jenny almost swallowed her carrot whole as she suppressed an unladylike giggle. Her father referring to their ranch as “a bit” amused her to no end. He was undoubtedly one of the wealthiest men at this table and, as always, modest.
Maggie Brown caught Jenny’s glance and gave her a big wink so the women were able to share a secret joke. Jenny liked the woman already and hoped they would become good friends.
After lamb in a light mint sauce and roast duckling, they cleaned their palates with a sweet, tart lemony champagne mixture like candy. The main course was served: roasted squab with wilted watercress. Then, there was asparagus with saffron-champagne vinaigrette served with silver tongs, pasta, cheese, chocolate éclairs, Waldorf salad, peaches in Chartreuse Jelly, and coffee served by the waiters.
“Have you ever had a meal so fancy?” Jenny asked Howard and John, sitting on either side of her.
“I fear not. Captain, are all dinners this extravagant?”
“They are sumptuous and varied, but nothing compares to the maiden- night-voyage dinner,” he told Howard. He led them to stand and applaud the Master of Ceremonies and the Lead Chef.
Captain Smith tipped an imaginary hat all around, and said, “I must check on the bridge but will be in the Smoking Room as soon as I am able.”
As the men retired for cigars and brandy and the ladies went to their lounge for coffee, the Captain’s eyes twinkled as he suggested the younger people might enjoy a stroll that Mr. Murphy would lead along the ship’s boat deck.
“I hope you are including me in that invitation, Captain,” Maggie Brown smiled. She took Mr. Murphy’s arm, “I aim to be a younger person tonight.”
Mr. Murphy took this task seriously and wanted to provide answers to questions about the ship and her navigation and show off her finer points. He was proud to lead a special tour of the ship.
As they walked, Howard, Jenny, John, and a pretty red-haired young woman watched as some of the other cliques of young adults ran over to cheer and exclaim about the sea, seen from the boat deck in the evening. Stars twinkled, reflecting on the water’s surface.
“Do you ever miss living on land, Mr. Murphy?” Maggie asked.
“I do live on land; it’s just covered by a little water,” he chuckled. He already knew this was a woman he could jest with.
Murphy leaned against a railing while smoking a cigar and watching his young charges as Mrs. Brown asked questions about the ship and his service at sea. Personal maids ducked into shadows to watch and show propriety without interfering.
“Sixteen,” Murphy answered about the number of watertight bulkheads.
“And how many crew?” John asked.
“More’n eight hundred, Sir. The firemen work around the clock so we have lights and warmth.”
“And the pool is heated, yes? Is that common?”
Murphy told John that it was not, and this was the first line to have warmed pools. “And the Turkish baths are a Moroccan style. You will want to visit them.”
“Mr. William Stead?” Howard asked as he noticed a gentleman close to the rail, looking out onto the water. Mr. Murphy motioned the small group over so he could make introductions.
“I doubted I would find you aboard a ship,” Howard told Mr. Stead after shaking his hand. He was so thrilled to meet the man he could not wait to say itched told the others, “Mr. Stead is a wonderful writer.”
Stead laughed heartily, wiping his eyes, “Indeed? Thank you, but I am invited to a conference and will meet President Taft. How could I refuse? But ‘tis true that it is curious to find me here on this ship. I loathe ships.”
“Please tell us why, Sir,” Bernice, the red-haired girl begged, sensing a mystery and eager to delve into this one.
“Mr. Stead, besides being a journalist and well known writer, has written works concerning safety aboard ships and penned a tale of dismal trials taking place on an ocean liner that crashes into an iceberg,” Howard said.
“Ice? In the ocean?” Bernice asked as she laughed.
“Oh, it happens, to be sure,” Stead told them, “and more than you think. It is good we are aboard an unsinkable ship. We are perfectly safe, or I would not be here, but I did imagine the ice for the story I wrote.”
“I shall have to read it, Mr. Stead,” Jenny said, “for it sounds deliciously eerie.”
“Is there a copy aboard?” Maggie asked Officer Murphy.
“Ummm. On that question, you have me stumped.”
“And was the Captain not named Smith as well? I mean aboard the ill-fated one in your book?” Howard asked.