Part 9 (1/2)

8.

One of the other three lifts appeared a moment later, disgorging two elderly women, one holding a Pekingese in her arms. The tiny dog had a pink ribbon tied between its twitching ears, and it eyed me with wide-eyed terror, as if I were some unknown predator bent on devouring it.

Smiling at the two women, I entered the lift and the operator ran me up to B-deck with uncommon swiftness. I was just drawing my door key when I spied a steward standing outside the door to Harlan's suite, and I suddenly remembered my original intention to speak with him. I slipped the heavy skeleton key back into my pocket and walked down the hall.

”Excuse me, sir,” the steward said, raising a hand toward me, ”Mr. Astor has requested he not be disturbed.”

The steward had a chubby face full of freckles and a thick London accent.

”Could you please tell him Trevor Hughes needs to speak with him?”

The steward eyed me with an expression that made me feel as if I were an impertinent child. ”I'm sorry, sir, he was quite explicit.”

I frowned, concerned. It wasn't like Harlan to hole up in his stateroom like a hermit, especially after all the money he'd spent to recreate this magnificent s.h.i.+p. The man I knew would be out among his guests reveling in the spotlight.

I opened my mouth to offer a snappy comeback then thought better of it. The steward was only doing his job, and would no doubt become belligerent should I persist. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders with practiced indifference. ”Okay, could you tell him I stopped by?”

The steward nodded, a patronizing smile sliding onto his face.

”Certainly, sir. It would be my pleasure.”

Back inside my stateroom, I found the set of tails had been removed from the closet and laid out on the bed, as were my underwear, socks, and a pair of patent leather slippers, so s.h.i.+ny they looked wet. In addition, the pearl cufflinks and collar studs were inserted into the correct holes. Obviously, my steward had preceded me into the room. A part of me felt privileged, as would any Edwardian gentleman traveling first cla.s.s. The twenty-first century man in me felt invaded.

A knock sounded at the door and I opened it. A steward stood outside, his starched white jacket immaculate. ”Yes?”

”Good evening, Mr. Hughes, I'm your Steward, Henry Llewellyn.”

He bent at the waist, giving me a little bow and strode into the room, forcing me to move aside. ”I've come to draw your bath.”

”My bath?” I asked, too dazed to realize that I'd shut the door out of sheer habit.

”But of course, sir,” he said, looking arch. ”You do want to freshen up before dinner?”

The man oozed unctuous charm, reminding me of the character from an old 1980s television show, Mr. Belvedere. And, in a way, the man had the same look about him: tall and beefy, with gray hair topping a jowly face practiced in looking besieged.

”Mr. Llewellyn-”

”Please, sir, call me Henry.”

”Sorry. Henry, I was not aware that stewards aboard the t.i.tanic served as personal valets.”

An indulgent smile played across his lips.

”No, sir, normally they do not. However-”

I raised my hand. ”Don't tell me...Mr. Astor hired you to attend to my needs. Is that about right?”

Henry bowed again. ”Quite.”

”And I suppose you were the one who laid out my evening clothes?”

”Right again, sir.”

”All right,” I said, throwing up my hands. ”I guess I'm just going to have to grin and bear it.”

”Very good, sir.” Henry turned toward the bathroom.

”Uhh, Henry?”

”Yes, sir?”

”Just one thing. And don't take this the wrong way, because it has more to do with me than you. I would appreciate it in the future if you would not enter my stateroom when I am not present.”

”But, Mr. Hughes, if I am to do my job-”

I raised my hand again, and his mouth clamped shut. I couldn't tell if he was angry or bewildered. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

”Shall I draw the bath, sir?”

”By all means, Henry.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and a moment later I heard the rush of water filling the tub. When he didn't come out right away, I had the sickening feeling I was expected to bathe with him in the room, or worse, that he expected to bathe me himself. I was relieved to see him emerge a second later.

”When you are ready to dress, sir, please ring the buzzer next to your bed.”

Here was where I drew the line.

”That's okay, Henry, I won't be needing you for that. I'm much too old and far too American to be dressed by anyone but me.”

I thought I saw a tiny smile flicker across his craggy face. ”Very well, sir. If you need anything....” He left the rest unsaid and exited the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Shaking my head in amazement at Harlan's continuing largesse, I threw off my clothes, tossing them onto one of the Biedermeier chairs and padded into the bathroom. Unlike the rest of the stateroom, the bathroom was a study in elegant simplicity: bare white walls, marble washbasin with gold-plated fixtures, hexagonal tile floors, and pipes running along the walls and ceiling. The tub, a cavernous affair stood on clawed feet against the wall opposite the toilet, steam rising from it in a thick cloud. I sniffed it, detecting the pungent aroma of bath oil.

I was beginning to wonder if Harlan wasn't perpetrating another of his infamous gags. First the Polish prost.i.tute, now a valet. I could only guess at what might be next. I slid into the water, sighing with pleasure, feeling the heat tingle my skin. Settling back, I took a soaked washcloth and draped it over my eyes, suddenly glad for the silence and feel of the water lapping at my chin. After twenty minutes, I sprayed myself with cold water and toweled off.

The set of 1912 tails proved trickier than I'd imagined. The collar, so starched the fabric felt like plastic, refused to stay on the front stud. Just when I thought I had it pegged, and would grab for the tie, it sprang loose, flapping outward like a sight gag from an old silent movie. I finally managed to make it stay long enough to get the tie around my neck. Then it took me the better part of fifteen minutes of frustration before I realized I had no hope of tying the bow correctly. Feeling foolish, I walked over and pressed the little black b.u.t.ton set into the dark paneling between the door and the bed.

I only had to wait about two minutes before the knock came.

”Come in, Henry,” I said.

The steward bustled in, a.s.sessing the situation in a single glance.

With swift practiced moves, he had the tie knotted in less than thirty seconds. And what's more, he'd done it facing me, which meant that he'd tied it ”backwards.”

”You're a handy man to have around, Henry,” I said, not a little impressed.