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  “Not if you mind your dreadful manners,” Beckett said as they both stood to greet Carrington.

  “Miss St. Clair,” Warren said gallantly. “We are indeed honored to have such beauty in our presence so early in the morning.”

  Carrington took her seat. “Really, Warren, that sounds so unlike you. Couldn’t you find some insult instead?”

  “You hurt me, Carri. I’ve grown up and changed the error of my ways.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that.” She spoke to Beckett. “Did you go straight to sleep or did you write some more?”

  “Three nice long chapters. Today my characters are going looking for the mummy. And I thought maybe we could too.”

  “There isn’t a mummy on board,” Warren said. “You won’t find one.”

  “Are you sure?” Carrington asked as a plate of smoked salmon, toast and capers was set in front of her. “Beckett did write it that way.”

  “Surely you don’t believe that book is magical?” Warren asked.

  “Oh but I do. Especially if it works in my favor.”

  “So you believe all that bit about curses?” Warren picked up his fork and began eating his breakfast.

  “The Egyptians take their curses very seriously. And there have been a number of stories, even recently, about dreadful things that happened to people who didn’t heed the warnings.”

  “Old wives’ tales,” Warren said.

  “Is it?” Molly Brown joined them at the table.

  “Of course it is,” Warren said. “You were there, Mrs. Brown, and nothing happened to you.”

  “Not yet, anyway,” Molly said good- naturedly. “But just in case, I brought back a couple ushabtis- little mummies that the Egyptians consider good luck charms.” She reached into her handbag and spoke to Carrington as she pulled out a small figure, which looked very similar to the mummies Carrington had seen in the museum in London. “Carrington, darlin’ I was hoping to run into you today. I thought you might like to have one.” She handed the small figure to Carrington. Carrington held it reverently.

  “Molly, I don’t quite know what to say.”

  “Well let’s hope you don’t need it for good luck, but until you get that chance to go over there yourself, it’s a little piece of Egypt you can hold in your hand.”

  She turned to Beckett. “So how’s that book coming along?”

  “Better than I had hoped,” Beckett said. “Maybe you could describe what it was like to be there. That would be most helpful.” Molly launched into a vivid discussion of what she had seen on her trip with the Astors’ entourage.

  Beckett noticed that Carrington hung on every word, as she held the little stone figure Molly had given her in her hands, her breakfast forgotten. He enjoyed watching her converse with Molly, as if no one else was at the table with them.

  “How would we find the cargo hold?” Carrington wondered aloud.

  Molly laughed at that. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be all that exciting, but if you want to know where anything is on this ship, all you have to do is ask the builder, Mr. Andrews. He’s so proud of this boat he shares every detail with anybody who asks.”

  Carrington looked at Beckett with a smile on her face. Laughing, he pulled out the book and began to write. As Warren joined in the conversation with Molly and Carrington and other passengers began to take their seats at the table, he crafted a meeting between the two main characters, who for now he was writing in as Beckett and Carrington- he’d change the names later-and the ship’s architect, which would lead them on a foray to the cargo hold to search for a mummy. Which, he had already decided, they would find. Was that because he thought it would make a better story or because he knew how happy it would make Carrington? He wasn’t sure as he wrote, surprising himself at the prolific number of words he had been putting down in a short period of time since they had set sail aboard the Titanic. His father’s voice interrupted his writing.

  “Beckett, if I may, a word?”

  “Of course, Dad.” He rose from the table as Carrington looked up quizzically, and followed Jackson out to the Promenade Deck. It was cooler out this morning that it had been the previous day.

  “About this writing nonsense.”

  “Dad, we had an agreement”

  “We did, but I am rather beginning to regret it. You have graduated from college and had nearly eight months to travel and I don’t regret giving you that opportunity. But it is time to settle down. Have a job and a family. To be responsible.”

  “Writing is a job.”

  “Not one that is profitable.”

  Beckett said, “Unless the book is marketable.”

  “Authors are hardy well off, Beckett.”

  “I have trust funds. Unless you are planning to revoke them.”

  “I hadn’t, but your attitude makes want to consider that.”

  “Technically, you can’t, at least not the ones from Grandfather Beckett.”

  Jackson’s face had an angry expression. “Your mother should never have told you that. I fear you use that as an excuse not to do what you know you should.”

  “And what is that, Dad? Become just like you? Is that what I’m supposed to do?”

  “I’ve no wish to argue with you, Beckett.”

  “I somehow suspect that isn’t true.”

  “Believe what you will. Your mother wishes me to tell you that you should be careful around the St. Clair girl. It appears that her mother is looking to marry her daughter to a wealthy man. Which, as you pointed out, thanks to your trust funds, you are.”

  Beckett laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I don’t care what Carrington’s mother wants, but I want to see her. And I will spend time with her, on the ship and after we dock.”

  “The father was a good friend years ago. The girl seems nice enough.”

  “That isn’t any of your business. I am twenty two years old and I can be involved with anyone I like. And write, if I choose to.” Beckett started walking back into the dining room.

  “Beckett…” His father called after him, but he kept walking.

  Inside, he placed a hand on Carrington’s shoulder.

  “Let’s go for a walk.” She smiled up at him and he pulled out her chair. He wondered briefly where Warren had gone, but took Carrington’s hand and led her out onto the deck, walking past his father without speaking.

  *******

  They were standing near the front of the ship. “Is it just me,” Carrington asked, “or do we seem to be going at a much faster speed than yesterday?”

  “I had heard that Mr. Ismay, the head of the White Star Line, wants to break a record time for the journey. Not only is Titanic the most luxurious ship ever built, but the fastest.” Beckett reached for both her hands and pulled her closer to him.

  “You walked past your father and didn’t speak. Did you argue?”

  “We did,” Beckett admitted. “But that’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Can you tell me what about?”

  “My writing…and you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Me?”

  “Apparently my mother suggested that you and your mother engineered our meeting so that you could find a wealthy husband.”

  “I’m sure Mother made it sound that way. It’s her only ambition in life. I’m sure she would be happy to settle for you.”

  Beckett smiled down at her. “Would you?”

  “I wouldn’t be settling, Beckett.”

  He reached up to touch her face. “I never believed in love at first sight, until I saw you after we boarded.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Yes.” He bent to kiss her.

  She returned his kiss with a passion that surprised even her. As they broke away, she found herself looking around to see if anyone was watching, but they seemed to have this part of the deck all to themselves this morning.

  “Of course, it wasn’t really first sight,” he said.

  “No. Because we had already made plans to be married.”<
br />
  He laughed, remembering. They had been in her playhouse in her parent’s garden when he had asked her to marry him when they grew up. She had agreed to become engaged and he had picked her some flowers to celebrate their arrangement. Three weeks later she had moved away.

  “When we get back to New York, I would like to continue seeing you.”

  “So would I, Beckett. And not because Mother might want that.”

  “Of course not.”

  She looked up at him happily and he pulled her close. “What did you write, before your father interrupted?”

  “Well, in just a few minutes, we will bump into Mr. Andrews.”

  “Do you think it will really happen that way?”

  Beckett smiled and gave her a quick kiss. “If it doesn’t, I will find him.”

  *******

  Of course, it happened just as he had written it. As he and Carrington had once again clasped hands and started walking around the perimeter of the decks, the ship’s builder had crossed their paths, holding blueprints of the grand ship and seemingly preoccupied, so preoccupied that he nearly bumped into them.

  “So sorry,” said Thomas Andrews.

  “It’s quite all right,” Beckett replied, because even though he meant it, that was what he had written.

  The man extended his free right hand. “I’m Thomas Andrews, the ship’s builder. I am afraid I am too concerned with details and perhaps not enough with making sure the passengers are happy- and don’t come to harm at my expense.”

  “Beckett MacKenzie,” Beckett said, shaking his hand. “And this is Miss Carrington St. Clair.”

  “I trust that they voyage has been satisfactory?”

  “Oh yes,” Carrington said.

  “And you are finding your way around the ship without getting lost?”

  Carrington cast a look at Beckett. Beckett said, “If someone wanted to see what was in the cargo hold, how would they get there?”

  Mr. Andrews raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that first I would ask why someone wanted to see what was in the cargo hold.”

  “Curiosity mostly,” Beckett admitted. “Carrington has this idea that perhaps there is a mummy on board.”

  Thomas Andrews smiled. “I had heard that rumor myself. I take it you are one of those people who have become enamored with Egypt?”

  “Yes, Mr. Andrews.”

  “I will never admit to telling you how to get there.”

  Beckett smiled. “Of course not. Nor would we suggest that you had.”

  “And if you should find a mummy, Miss St. Clair, I should wish to be the first person you told.”

  He rolled out one of his blueprints and showed them how to find the cargo hold. “I wouldn’t stay too long,” he warned.

  He discreetly left and began talking to another passenger.

  Carrington said, “How much like what you wrote was that conversation?”

  “Almost word for word.”

  “Beckett, that is starting to unnerve even me.”

  “Me too, but if you want to go…”

  “I do.”

  He took her hand and they followed the directions that Andrews had given them.

  ********

  Both Beckett and Carrington were stunned to see how much the ship was carrying far below the passenger decks. An automobile, numerous crates, trunks, furniture items. It looked as if some of the passengers were taking the contents of their entire homes with them on this crossing.

  “Did your characters find a mummy?”

  Beckett said. “You mean do we? I’m calling them by our names temporarily.”

  “Yes, do we?”

  “In the story we find a crate we think has one inside. I haven’t gotten farther than that. I didn’t want to make it that easy. We’re looking for a crate the right size, with Egyptian markings on it. I assume you’ll know what that looks like?”

  “It would be long, and perhaps even have some hieroglyphics on it then?”

  “Yes.”

  Carrington stopped in awe of a pile of wooden crates. Three were rectangular and looked like packing boxes. “These are Molly’s crates.” She pointed to the labels.

  “Then our mummy should be close by,” Beckett said. “Assuming we are still following the storyline of what I wrote.”

  Carrington turned around and then looked behind Molly’s crates. “Here, Beckett.”

  He joined her and saw a box he had described but never seen. There was no name or label on the box. There were, however, several words written in Egyptian hieroglyphics. “What are the words on the box?”

  “It’s a warning. Threatening terrible things to anyone who dares to disturb the body of the princess. Our mummy is a royal.”

  “You read ancient hieroglyphics?”

  “In real life, yes. Do I in your book?”

  He laughed. “In my book you qualify as an expert, so perhaps your knowledge will increase.”

  “I want to open it, but that isn’t how you wrote the story, so I am afraid to touch it.”

  “Based on the warning I’m afraid to touch it. And it may be nothing. I haven’t decided if it’s a real mummy in the story and in real life, it could be anything, it just came from Egypt. There were several people with the Astors in Cairo.” It had been stuffy in the hold, but he felt a sudden chill. “Let’s go, I’m starting to get a little spooked.” He took her hand again and they found their way back up unto the deck.

  The sun seemed extremely bright after the dark of the cargo hold. Beckett struggled a little with his emotions. Seeing once again what he had written come true had that effect on him. “I think I will go write for an hour or two. Is that all right?”

  Carrington said, “Of course. I’ll just go see what Mother is doing. Shall we meet for lunch?”

  He bent to kiss her cheek. “Yes. I’ll meet you by the staircase a little before noon.” He watched her go and then went to the gentleman’s reading and writing room.

  ********

  Carrington sat with her mother in the wicker filled Palm room, the first class ladies’ lounge. Fragrant vases of flowers adorned the tables, comfortable cushions were in every whitewashed chair. It could have been someone’s solarium at home, only on a grander scale. A quartet of musicians played softly in the corner. Carrington had noticed that always there was music on board Titanic, a piano or strings seemed always to be serenading the quests of the first class cabins.

  “Tell me how it is going with Mr. MacKenzie.” Rose St. Clair poured herself a cup of tea from the silver teapot on the table in front of them.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Carrington said.

  “Don’t be obstinate, Carrington. Are you getting on well?”

  “Beckett and I have always ‘gotten on well,’ Mother. You know that.”

  “I’m not talking about when you were children. Do you think this could be a…permanent relationship?”

  Carrington reached for the tea pot, not because she particularly wanted a cup of tea but because she needed a moment before answering her mother.

  “Mother, I wish you would let me decide that. It doesn’t help anything to have you involved. But since you asked, yes, I could see myself having a future with Beckett.”

  “He is very wealthy,” Rose said, smiling, something she seldom did.

  “I don’t care about that,” Carrington said.

  “Of course you do,” he mother insisted. “Or you would, if you ever found yourself living beneath the standard you always have.”

  “I like Beckett, Mother, and quite a lot. And for now, that is all you need to know.”

  “Spend time with him. Use this opportunity.”

  “It isn’t a business merger, Mother.”

  Rose leaned closer. “Everything in life is a business merger, Carrington. That is how you have to look at it. You can’t just go on emotions. One day you will learn that.”

  “If you really believe that, then I feel sorry for you, Mother. I intend to live my life dif
ferently.”

  “You say that Carrington, but we both know that you will do what you are expected to do.”

  Carrington’s eyes flashed with anger. Why? She wanted a relationship with Beckett. She didn’t just like him, she had fallen in love with him.