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Chapter Two: The Meeting

APRIL 6, 1912, 07:10 AM

The bleak skies began to clear as First Officer Charles Lightoller left the bridge and made his way toward the smoking room. A tall, wiry man with blue eyes and a prominent chin, he walked with an air of strict purpose as he crossed the waxed pinewood deck. He spared a passing glance at the waterfront, watching the daylight sift through the cloud cover, pale and shimmering across glass-smooth waves. Good, he thought with satisfaction. About time the weather broke. Then he straightened his cuffs and slipped inside the officers smoking room, closing the door behind him with a snap.

The room was appointed with humble furnishings, its white-paneled walls affixed with coat hooks, brass light fixtures, and a pair of clocks displaying ship and destination time. A White Star Line sailing notice hung opposite of him, proclaiming Titanic and her twin, Olympic, to be “The Largest Steamers in the World.” A circular table of glossed teakwood sat at the center of the room, and it was here that Lightoller took his seat, laying the file about White Star Lines newest recruit flat before him. He scanned its contents with a weary sigh, lacing his fingers in quiet reserve as he struggled to process the unfortunate situation he now found himself in.

Amelia Marie Rostron, the file read, black ink burning into his eyes like a dreadful poison. Twenty-Five year old female, Born in San Francisco, Graduated from the London Institute of Marine Engineering, Science, & Technology, with a specialty in maritime law and regulations. She Attained Ordinary Master’s Certification in 1909; fulfilled apprenticeship on the SS Maloja in 1911. Sister to Alexander Maxwell Rostron, apprentice under Thomas Andrews, Her uncle Oliver Rostron who worked for the White Star Line, and lastly she was the Daughter to Arthur Henry Rostron, Captain of the RMS Carpathia. Lightoller snorted as he read the last two lines. Indeed, he thought to himself with a hint of amusement. It appeared nepotism had played a major role in this situation. Being the niece of a White Star Line executive and the daughter of a highly respected captain certainly added to her credentials, making it difficult for anyone to object against her position. If only the young lady had not been niece of Oliver Rostron and daughter of Captain Arthur Rostron, then maybe it would have been very unlikely that she would have secured a position for the White Star Line.

On the other hand her brother of course would be no issue at all. As a graduate student and promising shipwright, he would work soundly under Thomas Andrews. But to have a woman on the bridge, giving orders and working alongside his fellow officers . . . it was unthinkable, unimaginable, and quite frankly just a accident ready to happen. Lightoller was a man of order of strict formality and conviction. He was a meticulous sailor who believed there was no gray when it came to following the rulebook, only black and white. Never, in all his years of seafaring, had he known a woman to become an officer. Women worked as maids stewardesses, and nursemaids. Not in a role that demanded physical and mental fortitude, respect for maritime tradition, and the ability to delegate in the face of danger—or perhaps even death itself. He didn’t have to meet the girl to know she lacked each of these traits in turn. Oh, there was no doubt about it. She would just be a damn nuisance, like a pebble trapped at the base of his boot. Already the girl was causing a stir, and she hadn’t even boarded the ship yet.

Captain E.J. Smith was usually a collected man, blue eyes as calm as the ocean waves always stretching before him, but Lightoller had never seen him so agitated the day they’d received the news by wire. Smith had tried to reverse the decision, of course. But no amount of reasoning with Captain Rostron and Oliver Rostron could shift the tide. It seemed as if the Girl's father and her uncle had financial and political power at there fingertips, and thus Smith was neatly overruled. His only alternative would be to step down. And what sort of man would dare give up his captaincy aboard the crown jewel of White Star Line’s fleet? Not even the girl's father would be stupid enough to give up his captaincy that easily. With no better option to turn to, captain Smith was forced to accept the new female recruit without hesitation. No one besides Smith and Lightoller knew that their newest junior officer was a woman. The captain wanted to keep it hushed for the time being, more out of shame than anything else. But the men would know soon enough. They would see her standing out on the bridge or inside the wheelhouse, donned in an officer’s uniform and tie.

A woman who belonged below decks arranging meals and bedding, not working the bridge of the most expensive ship in living history. Sighing, Lightoller removed his cap and combed one hand through his sandy-brown hair. Let’s get this over with, he thought, sweeping his hat back onto his head. The girl is coming aboard, one way or another. A knock at the door saw him rise swiftly to his feet. “Come in,” Lightoller commanded, and Officer Moody entered the room accompanied by a young, blonde-haired, woman who was none other then Amelia Marie Rostron. Lightoller went still, his eyes dark with undisguised scrutiny as he studied his new protégé. There was something about her complexion that was not particularly flattering. Most Englishwomen tended to have fair skin, but this young lady's complexion was so pale that it reminded him of a delicate porcelain doll that he had seen many young children carry with them on ships he's worked on during his many years at sea. Her attire was proper but too fancy for the line of work she was getting herself into.

She practically dress like a first class woman, with elegant pearl earrings and a pair of purple lace-up heels that shimmered as she walked. "Well, at least she didn’t come dressed up like a third class passenger or worse a stowaway." Lightoller thought. Nevertheless, the pearl earrings and ornate Edwardian heels were still inappropriate for an officer to wear in a professional setting and he hoped she would have enough sense to leave the flashy clothes, jewelry, and shoes at home in the future. "Good mornin' Mr. Lightoller, how you do?" she greeted, her bright, bold American accent thundering through the quietness of the room. “It’s an honor to finally⁠—” Lightoller raised one hand to silence her, and her smile faltered. Where she had once been beaming with excitement, there was now a deep discomfort about her that she couldn’t seem to hide. Her eyes struggled to meet his stern glare, and her fingers twisted together like baker’s dough. She was nervous.

“I presume you are Miss Amelia Marie Rostron, from San Francisco correct?” The girl nodded. “Yes sir. Live there all my life.” Amelia replied. Lightoller turned to Moody who was still standing at attention. "At ease Moody, you may leave now." "Yes very good, sir" Moody replied an took his leave closing the door behind him. Lightoller sighed as he turned his attention back to the scrawny girl before him. “Have a seat, Miss Rostron” The girl scrambled forward at once, though not before slamming her knee against the table in her earnestness. "Fucking Hell!" She uttered with a filthy curse as she collided with the woodwork, wincing with pain, and Lightoller stared in disbelief, wondering how in Holy Christ some well-to-do girl could wield such a sailor’s mouth. “Miss Rostron!...I said have a seat, for heaven’s sake, not injure yourself,” he snapped. “And watch your tongue.” “My apologies, sir.” Her voice was small, her cheeks tinged pink as she pulled out the leather chair and promptly, but carefully, sat down. An awkward silence settled over the room as Lightoller considered what to say next. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, especially since he was still struggling to come to terms with such a bewildering circumstance.

It certainly didn’t help that the girl’s ocean eyes and Blonde hair were all way too similar to his wife’s. But no wife or woman of this century would have dared to step into an officer’s uniform. the only question that was spilling through Lightoller’s thoughts at that very moment was "Why?" He brought his fingertips to his temples, frowning at the swirling wood grain etched in the teak table. Then he collected himself, sitting straighter in his seat and fixing the girl with a piercing stare. “First and foremost,” he began, “I wish to make one thing clear. You are only here because of your Uncle and Father and their close connections with the White Star Line. If it wasn't for them, the captain would have never let you become an officer on board.” Lightoller spoke the simple but blunt truth. The female's ocean eyes narrowed at him, but she showed no other sign of offense as he spoke. "With that being said," he continued, "we have still agreed to provide you with the same respect and professional opportunities as each of our officers on board.

Please understand that just because you're a captain's daughter that does not entitle you to any special treatment or accommodations. As a junior officer, you are to provide every assistance in the navigation of this vessel and strictly adhere to all instructions from your officer in charge. You will be expected to perform your duties admirably, steadfastly, and without complaint. Anything less will be met with swift and decisive disciplinary action. Is that clear?" She nodded. "Yes, sir." "Good." Lightoller gave a curt nod in return, all the while silently asking himself "what the bloody hell was going on. and why had White Star Line allowed this nonsense to happen?" Lightoller’s mood only seemed to worsened as he spent the next hour reviewing the girl’s duties, summarizing their watch schedules and other such business matters. She hung on his every word, her blue eyes intent and dutiful. But not even her attentiveness could ease the hostility smoldering inside him.

Lightoller was relieved when the clock struck nine, signaling the end of their meeting at last. He shot to his feet, struggling to cling to the last of his patience as he yanked open the door. “I do believe we’re done here Miss. Rostron." he said. “Tomorrow, we will provide you with a detailed tour of the ship so you may familiarize yourself with every nook and cranny aboard, On Tuesday, we will have you situated in your cabin, And on Wednesday, we will set sail.” He eyed her accessories with cold disapproval. “Please ensure that you remove all your jewelry before stepping onto the bridge, and kindly refrain from wearing heels. Is that understood? We want to avoid any potential accidents or mishaps,” Lightoller said, trying to suppress a chuckle as he imagined the comical sight of her falling overboard due to her footwear choice. Nevertheless, it would at least put an end to the torture of having a female officer work alongside his crewmates on the bridge.

“Yes, sir.” “Oh, yes,” Lightoller added idly, “one more thing. All Officers are required to wear custom White Star Line uniforms prior to boarding. I will have Mr. Moody write down the appropriate address to our approved tailors in Southampton. Miller, Murphy, and Holmes. They should be able to assist you with your uniform.” His voice grew strained as he spoke those last words, for he could not fathom the idea of a woman being fitted in a naval tailor shop. Suppressing a wince, Lightoller continued, "Although I understand that your uniform may not be ready by tomorrow, I still expect you to wear your uniform by the time we set sail the following day. Do I make myself clear?” “Perfectly clear, sir,” the girl answered. This time, her words blazed with conviction. “Right, then.” His voice was short. “You are dismissed. Report to the ship tomorrow no later than nine o’clock.” Rostron nodded.

“Very good, sir.” She turned on her heel for the door, the light catching the glossy pearls at her ears. But then she paused, fingers gripping the brass doorknob tight, eyes boring into Lightoller’s with resolution. “I very much look forward to working with you, sir.” Lightoller hesitated. He knew he was being hard on her. Knew he ought to give her a chance. But he simply could not bring himself to do it. The girl was like a storm that appeared from nowhere, trapping him amidst an ocean of uncertainty. He felt as if he were sailing blindly into dark and unfamiliar waters—and he didn’t like it one bit. The first officer met her determined stare and merely nodded with dismissal. “Good day, Miss Rostron.”

09:40 AM

By the time Amelia left Southampton Port and made for her hotel, she was far less enthused about the journey ahead of her. Where she had once felt an immeasurable excitement, she now felt small, lost, and unwelcome, treading rough currents without a sense of belonging to keep her afloat. Lightoller had been cold with her, and Moody hadn’t realized they were colleagues until she’d given him her name. Her cheeks burned with shame and humiliation as the motorcar bumped along the road, winding along cobbled avenues already thick with people. Southampton had come alive now that the rain had cleared and the sun had risen. But the seventh officer was indifferent to it all, her gloom reaching like roots into her being, dimming the brightness of the day around her. Amelia had thought she’d dressed her best properly and modestly in white Boarding suit and a large purple hat that she had seen many proper first-class ladies wear, but Lightoller had chastised her attire anyway.

The pearls and matching purple heels might have been a bit much especially on a boat dock, and she swore to dress more conservatively tomorrow. At least she would have a uniform by Monday, so blending in with the other officers wouldn’t be much of an issue. Other than the small, unavoidable detail of her being a woman, of course. It wasn’t until Amelia entered the hotel suite and slammed the door shut that she truly let her emotions get the better of her. They billowed within the confines of her ribcage, a stormy wrath of shame and anger. She stalked across the elegant carpet in a temper, pacing back and forth in her heels and breathing through her nose like some kind of animal. She kicked at the leg of an end table in frustration, sending a bowl of pears tumbling to the floor in a heap. Cursing under her breath, she knelt to collect them. “I take it the meeting went rather well, then?” Amelia turned to see her brother, Alex, strolling into the parlor, shutting the pocket watch at his waistcoat with a snap. He was freshly-shaven this morning, suit pressed and dark brown hair slicked back to perfection.

While he and Amelia shared the same fair complexion and blue eyes, Alex stood much taller than his sister, with a sharp jawline and thick eyebrows that matched the dark brown hue of his tidy hair. At his question, Amelia straightened up with a snort. “What could have possibly given you that idea?” “Just a hunch. Though a friendly word of advice—I doubt taking your anger out on bowl of fruit and furniture will do you any good, you know.” “It helps,” she insisted stubbornly, returning the pears to their rightful place. “You ought to try it sometime.” “Tempting. But I’d prefer not to embarrass myself if I can help it. Something you could do with learning, I’m afraid.” Alex answered her scowl with a teasing smile. Clearing his throat, he gestured toward a sitting chair. “Temper tantrums aside, come have a seat. Let’s hear what happened.” Amelia folded her arms across her chest, lips pressed together in defiance, eyes glowering at some spot on the patterned floor. And before she knew it, she was pacing across the parlor, spilling out the events of the morning in a heated rush.

Her brother listened patiently to her outburst, one leg crossed over the other, eyes never leaving her troubled face. “The captain doesn’t even want me on board,” Amelia finished, chest heaving against the binds of her corset. “And that’s nothing compared to Lightoller. He basically gave me that same disapproving look that Father gives me sometimes. I could feel his disgust whenever he looked at me—like I was the sort of scum you find floating in a gutter or something.” “You needn’t fret. Lightoller will surely come around. They all will.” “Easy for you to say,” she snapped back. “You’re not the one who has to prove you belong, and that you’re worth something, when everyone expects you to keep your head down and your mouth shut and do exactly as your husband says⁠—” Her voice faltered when she realized how heated she had become; Amelia had no right to turn her frustrations on her brother when he was only trying to reassure her. Flushed with guilt, she fumbled for a hasty apology. “I’m sorry, Alex, I⁠—” “Don’t bother,” Alex said, waving a dismissive hand.

“Let it all out if you must. I can stand to be a punching bag for a day, if that’s what it takes. Just remember you’ve spent four years of your life studying maritime law at one of the finest institutes in England the same school Father studied at. I wouldn’t say that was for nothing, now, would you?” He waited until Amelia nodded in agreement before continuing, “That Ordinary Master’s Certification of yours was certainly no picnic, either. You are just as qualified as the rest of those junior recruits; you being a woman oughtn’t make the slightest difference. And if it does, then they’re damn fools, the lot of them.” Amelia smiled at her brother, all rage and humiliation momentarily forgotten. “Quite right,” she agreed, speaking with a fierce determination that surprised even herself. “I’ve spent far too many years working toward this moment to let them ruin it. I’m a junior officer on the finest ship in the world—and by God, I’m going to give it my all, no matter what they say.” “That’s the spirit,” Alex encouraged, his voice cheerful. “See? It helps to talk these things out rather than keep them bottled up. You don’t want to end up throwing a fit, kicking furniture and things . . .” “Oh, shut up,” Amelia said over her brother’s laughter. He was still chuckling when the maid entered the room bearing a platter of hot coffee and iced oatmeal cakes.

“Thank you, Miss Josephine,” Alex said, flourishing a dazzling smile. “As prompt and as lovely as ever.” Slightly pink, the maid gave a short curtsey and slipped from the room, her eyes lingering on Alex’s sleek brown hair. Amelia wasn’t surprised; her brother had always possessed a flirty charm that captivated both women and men alike—a trait Amelia swore she lacked. She couldn’t turn a head these days, whereas Alex . . . he never seemed to have any trouble catching attention. “So, you never did tell me.” Her brother hooked his mug with the crook of one finger and raised it to his lips. “What did you think of Titanic? Are you now a firm believer she’s truly the Ship of Dreams—or whatever drivel they call her these days?” Amelia hesitated, her expression softening as she sought a heartfelt response. “She’s indescribable,” she breathed, eyes glowing as she recalled it all: the grace, the splendor, the sheer size of the magnificent steamer. “I’ve not seen much of her interior, though. Only the officers’ smoking lounge on the boat deck so far.” Alex smiled. “Oh, just you wait. You haven’t lived till you’ve seen the forward Grand Staircase. Mr. Andrews did a truly marvelous job; I’m honored to work beneath him.”

Amelia sat up straight, nearly spilling coffee down the front of her white boarding suit. She had been so preoccupied with her own matters that her brother’s apprenticeship had slipped her mind. “That’s right!” she gasped. “How was your meeting with Mr. Andrews?” “It went rather well, I think,” Alex admitted. “He’s an intelligent man. I hope to learn everything I can from him.” He brought his cup to his lips, adding thoughtfully, “Hard to believe we’re setting sail this coming week. I’m already scheduled to move into my quarters on Monday.” “Same as me,” Amelia mused. “But I must visit the local tailor shop beforehand to be fitted for my uniform. If I’m not in full dress on Tuesday, there’s a slight chance Mr. Lightoller will murder me.” Alex did not respond immediately. The faintest look of uncertainty crossed his face, but it was fleeting, and she wondered if perhaps she had imagined it. “I see,” her brother said in a smooth, careful voice. “Well, I’ve Monday morning free and can accompany you to the tailor, if you’d like.” Amelia nodded, thinking tomorrow would be a new day. A brighter day, perhaps. “sounds like a, damn good, plan.”

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