Disclosure
The family walked in, discussing what the newspapers were saying about the sinking, and Meg tuned them out. She had no interest whatsoever in learning the misinformation being spread across the world as if it were fact.
“Charlie, you’ve got some color in your cheeks,” Pamela noted as she returned to her spot on the sofa. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth as if she thought she could guess why that might be.
“Meg’s presence always makes me feel better,” Charlie assured her. Grace let out a small scoffing snicker and was met by another sharp look from her mother. Charlie either didn’t notice or didn’t care to acknowledge it. “We actually have some information we’d like to share with you, but first we want to caution you that what we are about to tell you cannot leave this room.”
“My god! Is she carrying your child?” Grace leaned forward in her seat so far, Meg thought she might tumble to the floor.
“Heavens, no!” Charlie shot back, before Meg even had the chance to gasp or faint or be properly offended. “Grace, will you please straighten up. You’re embarrassing all of us.”
Grace’s cheeks were bright red, and she opened her mouth as if she might say something in return, but then she snapped it shut, and Meg wondered if Charlie hadn’t recently died if she might feel differently about arguing with him.
“I know that you all think you have an idea who Meg is, but you don’t really know for sure, and we want to clear that up,” Charlie continued once Grace seemed calm. He looked at Meg, as if he were inquiring as to whether or not he should continue or if she would like to.
As easy as it would’ve been to sit there and listen to him completely tell the tale, only nodding along when she felt it necessary, Meg took a deep breath, and turning to look directly at Mr. Ashton, she said, “I’m Henry’s daughter. I’m Mary Margaret.”
The older gentlemen’s eyes grew only slightly, and he gave a little nod, as if he recognized her. He had seen her before, though it had been well over a decade, and she had been a small child. Still, Meg knew she looked at least a little like her father, and that may have been one of the reasons he suspected.
The only audible noise came from Grace, whose gasp gave away the fact that she’d had no idea.
“I didn’t want anyone to know I was aboard Titanic. I was running away from my family. My mother and uncle have been quite abusive…. I’d prefer they didn’t know where I am.”
“And that’s your reason for using an assumed name?” Pamela asked, a small smile of understanding on her kind face.
“Yes,” Meg confirmed. “I went aboard Titanic under a false name, and when they asked for my name for the list, Daniel, my lady’s husband, gave them a different assumed name, but still not my own. Only Madeline Astor, Molly Brown, and possibly Lucy Duff-Gordon know that I was aboard Titanic, and I’m hoping that none of them will say anything to my mother.”
“Where does your mother think you are?” The question came from Peter, who was staring at her intently.
Meg wasn’t sure if she could trust Peter or Grace, but she had no choice at this point. “They think that I ran away.”
“They have no idea that she is with me,” Charlie replied. “When I last left their home, they had called the police, thinking she had been abducted.”
“That’s terrible,” Grace exclaimed.
Meg wondered if she meant it was terrible that her mother thought she was abducted or that she was lying to her only surviving parent. “It’s better this way,” Meg replied, averting her eyes to the fine oriental rug beneath her feet that stretched across the room and ended beneath the sofa.
“Did you help devise this plan?” Mr. Ashton asked his son.
“No, I didn’t. But once I became aware of it, and especially when I knew what Meg had suffered, I went along with it. And I will continue to go along with it for as long as she asks me to. I would hope that all of you will also.”
“Yes, of course,” Pamela answered first. The rest of them nodded and verbally said that they would, though Meg still wasn’t sure whether or not Grace could ever take her part.
The room was silent for a long moment before Pamela spoke again. “Well, Mary Margaret—may I call you Meg?” She nodded. “Meg, it is so very nice to meet you at last.”
“Your father was a fine fellow. In fact, quite possibly the finest fellow I’ve ever met,” Mr. Ashton assured her.
“Yes, I was always quite fond of Henry,” Pamela agreed.
“Thank you,” Meg replied. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, but she did her best to hold them back. She hated for others to see her cry.
“I’m sure you miss him terribly.” Grace was staring at her with only a hint of sympathy in her voice, and Meg thought perhaps she was attempting to see how far she could be pushed to make the tears come out.
“I do miss him. Every day.”
Charlie cleared his throat. “We will need to speak with the lawyers to see what needs to be done now to prevent Mr. and Mrs. Westmoreland from receiving the money. If it’s possible to keep Meg’s identity a secret and avoid them getting the money, then that’s what we want to do.”
“But Charlie, I promised Henry I’d see to it that the pair of you were married before she turned twenty-one so that Mildred would get the funds he had left for her,” Mr. Ashton insisted.
“I understand that, Father,” Charlie nodded, straightening up just a bit in his chair, “but if you had any idea all that Meg has gone through these past several years, you wouldn’t want them to receive it either. They honestly don’t deserve a dime, and I wish I hadn’t sent them any money the last few times they forced Meg to ask for it.”
Meg glanced at him, wanting to tell him it had been that money that kept her lights on and food on the table, but now wasn’t the time, and he probably assumed her mother had spent it on superfluous items. While that was certainly the case with some of it, not all of it had been used unwisely.
“We don’t need to discuss any of that right now,” Pamela said with a smile. She patted her husband on the knee. “Charlie, have you thought about where Meg will be staying until the wedding?”
Meg had been wondering the same thing herself, and her eyebrows arched as she turned to face her fiancé.
“I’ve given it plenty of thought but don’t necessarily have an answer,” he admitted. “There are options. We could rent an apartment nearby.”
“Ooh, there’s a cute townhome for lease over by the factory,” Grace chimed in.
Charlie looked at her for only a moment before saying, “I don’t think she wants to live by the factory.”
“Is that near Kelly?” Meg asked, leaning in toward his ear.
“It is, but it isn’t that close to here, and since I likely won’t be back to the factory for a month or two, I’d rather have you nearer to me.” His voice was quiet, as if they were sharing a secret others could hear only if they strained to, and Meg felt the heat rising in her face again, like he was sharing an intimacy with her.
“She could stay in the carriage house apartment, and I could move in here for a bit,” Jonathan said with a shrug. “That way she’s nearby, but your parents wouldn’t have to be concerned about a lack of chaperone.”
“That is awfully close,” Pamela pointed out with raised eyebrows.
“You can’t beat Jonathan as a chaperone,” Mr. Ashton assured her.
Meg had no idea how she would feel staying so close to Charlie, but she didn’t want to impose on Jonathan. “I can’t take your apartment, Jonathan. That seems very improper.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, waving her off. “I’m hardly there anyway. Most of the time I’m here or at work—with the factory being my primary location.”
“It’s true,” Charlie agreed.
“Then it’s settled,” Pamela said, her shoulders relaxing a bit as if she’d just solved one of the world’s greatest problems. “Meg will move into the carriage house.”
Meg desperately wanted to call it something else--anything else.
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