3rd September 1904

I boarded this ship with a heavy heart.

When I was younger, I wished for escape from Britain, and all the conventions it rigorously upholded. Then, as my Father got himself further and further in debt, I wished for escape from the genteel poverty we lived in then. And, when Father jumped off a bridge because he couldn't evade debtor's prison, I wished for escape from the grief of his death, and the degrading dependance on my grandparents I had come to for money to live.

Then I met Henry; the wealthy doctor who could save me from a life of misery. My family, the Beaufort-Stuarts, were descended from Mary, Queen of Scots, and money to Henry did not matter. Combine my name alone, which still commanded respect in higher circles, with the beauty of youth; and Henry wanted me.

Aided by my grandparents, relieved to get me off their hands, he proceeded with his suit, and I, of course, accepted. He was my escape, but it was a hard price to pay. I was bonded to this man, thirty years older than me, for the rest of my life.

It's been all right these last two years; Henry so busy with his Harley Street practice and his book on some obscure neurological disorder, I hardly ever saw him. My life has been a plethora of managing a large household, commissioning expensive dresses, and chatting with old doctors' wives; all of whom are the same age as their doctors and look on me as a naïve child of just nineteen.

But now Henry has finished his book, we are off on a six month tour of America, Henry lecturing in one hospital in each state. I will be present at every dinner afterwards, the old man's pretty, young, highborn wife, the model British aristocrat. No one, of course, will know my recent years of poverty; I am meant to have forgotten about it, and I'm sure Henry already has.

Evening

Tonight, we dined with the other passengers. There was not many of us, but just enough to make two tables of people. Most of the ship is used for the transportation of luxury goods, and only a few cabins, a dining room, and a separate deck is reserved for the luxurious transportation of people.

Henry found a fellow doctor and promptly forgot about me, conversing deeply with him. Around the table, men were talking about the latest news on the stock exchange, while women traded life stories with each other.

I eyed the other table enviously. The passengers seemed to have naturally divided into tables according to age. As Henry's wife, I was the anomaly, confined to the dry talk of the middle-aged.

Every so often, a shout would emit from them, followed by large amounts of laughter. At this the women of our table would turn to stare, half frowning disapprovingly, half benignly looking on, remembering their days of youth.

The lady sitting next to me noticed my expression.

'I daresay you would wish to join them, my dear. My son Thomas is on that table, look,' she pointed at one of the most active, who happened to also be extraordinarily good-looking. He heard her, and turned round. He stared at me for a long time, and then said something to his friend, and then they both stared at me. His friend did a slow wolf - whistle. I was staring furiously at my gloves. I looked around for my husband; he had broken off his conversation and was frowning. I smiled reassuringly at Henry, and he nodded at me.

There was a silence between me and the woman. After a minute, I looked up at her son thinking he would have resumed talking to his friends by then. His friend had, but he hadn't. When he saw me staring at him, he gave me an embarrassed smile and turned back round.

His Mother pursed her lips at me, and then promptly turned her back to talk to her neighbour. I listened in on Henry's conversation with the doctor. Medical terminology has never been my strong point, and I didn't understand a word.

Whenever I think of Thomas staring at me, I get the shivers all over. I know I shouldn't, after seeing the obvious desire in his face this can only lead to trouble. But trouble will be exciting, and excitement at least alleviates boredom.

4th September

When I told Henry that I would rather take a walk on deck than sit with him while he wrote letters, he wasn't best pleased.

'It's so stiflingly hot though. Surely you'd prefer to sit in a cool room than walk on your own in the baking sun!' He protested.

'Not really dear; exercise is supposed to be good for you, you know,' I replied, half smiling. He just grunted.

I found my way to the first class deck and stepped out.

In comparison to the cool, dark corridor the brilliance and warmth of the sun was blinding. I squinted for a second from the sudden transition into the light.

And then I noticed the heat. It was humid and heavy, the sort of temperature that you can hardly move in. It seemed to be able to induce docility in everyone and everything; no clouds energetically traversed the sky, the sea was so flat it looked as if one could step on it, and even the little dog a lady was walking in front of me seemed as if he was half asleep.

Although this obvious deterrent in the form of weather ensured that many more passengers sat in the cool shelter of the morning room, still a few people from the table across from ours last night had braved the temperature. I noticed Thomas with a slight quickening of the heart; he was leaning over the rail and chatting to the man who had whistled vulgarly last night.

I carried on walking, feeling self conscious and trying to keep sweating to a minimum in the overbearing heat.

Presently, I heard footsteps quicken and then fall into step with mine.

'It's a bit hot for a leisurely stroll don't you think, er, Mrs Foreman?' Thomas said.

'Oh, I don't know,' I replied. 'It may be for a leisurely one, but the kind of stroll I am practising is more of the determined variety.'

'Thomas Everton at your service here. But you must call me Tom,' he replied.

'Ah, alright then. I'm Julia. So, Tom, what brings you to America?'

'I am visiting friends in New York. Mother, who I gather you met last night, also has friends to see. We are staying for three months, and then returning to London. What about you?' He asked.

'I am on a tour of America's finest hospitals, accompanying my husband as he publicises his newest book on some obscure brain disease,' I stated, smiling in contradiction to the dread uttering these words brought me.

'That does not sound fun,' he said, matter of factly.

We walked over to the rails and looked out to sea. After a couple of seconds passed I turned to look at him properly. He looked at me back.

Tom Everton is taller than me by about three inches, meaning that my eyes come up to his chin. I looked up at his face and was immediately arrested by dark blue eyes, laughing eyes that looked eternally happy. I tore my eyes away from his and looked at his chestnut hair, cut fashionably short. I looked at his eyebrows, his nose, his ears, his strong, masculine jaw and finally his mouth, which was slightly open. I could feel myself being inspected in much the same way.

'You're beautiful,' I heard him murmur, and his mouth moved involuntarily towards mine, just as mine moved involuntarily towards his.

I remembered myself as our lips were about to touch. I pulled away and turned to stare back out to the distant, blurry horizon.

I realised I couldn't trust myself any longer not to do something that would be eternally regrettable. So I turned and walked away, out of the formidable heat, through the morning room and into our cabin, where I sat until I calmed down.

5th September

I don't know what to write because I have so much to say. The happenings of last night are still so clear in my head, and I know I must get them down on paper. But where to start? To chronicle my thoughts it is imperative this entry be a narrative; I will therefore begin with myself awakening in the small hours of today.

I woke suddenly, to find the ship rocking violently. It was all I could do to hang on to the bed as the floor lurched to and fro. The bed is nailed to the floor of our cabin, which was lucky. I sat up in bed trying to keep my balance. I didn't succeed, and as the next wave hit the ship, I slipped onto the floor with a crash.

I managed to get back onto the bed, and tried to shake Henry awake.

'Henry, Henry! The ship's sinking!' I said urgently. I admit it; I was scared.

'What? Who told you that?' Henry asked, forcefully.
'No one,' I replied.

Henry gave a short laugh.

'Julia, it's just a bit of rain - don't get yourself worked up about it. You didn't need to wake me up. Now go back to sleep and it'll be alright in the morning,' he said.

I half lay, half clung on to the violently tossing bed for what seemed like hours. By then, I had got used to the rolling motion of the ship and could sway with it. Sleep was impossible; my brain was too alert and awake.

As each second passed, I became bored of just lying on the bed. And with my boredom came an unstoppable restlessness. Something stirred inside me, a feeling I knew had lain dormant ever since Father died. It was a sort of curiosity that filled every atom in my body with a burning desire to do something.

So, against my common sense, I staggered out of bed, and tried to walk normally accross the heavily tilting cabin floor. Sneaking out of the cabin was adventurous, and filled me with a rush of adrenaline. To escape Henry's snores for a night was an escapade in itself.

I found my way out to the corridor leading to the passengers' deck, and stood behind the door for a second, readying myself for the barrage of weather I was sure to encounter on the other side.

The first pinpricks of doubt came at that moment. What earthly need could I have had to get out of my warm, dry bed? What was I doing, about to go outside in the middle of a storm with nothing but a silk night dress on?

But a corner of my brain was still urging me to get outside and explore, to find out the real danger our ship was in and to experience some of it myself.

So with a heave, I pushed open the door and stepped boldly outside.

I noticed the rain first. It descended in all-consuming sheets of water droplets packed so tightly together they merged into one smothering blanket of rain. It was very difficult to see anything else, but holding onto the wooden rail to keep upright I could just see lots of tiny sailors working in unison, their goal the same: to keep this mass of metal plated wood floating on a hostile ocean.

And the ocean really was hostile. For some time I had been edging along the wooden railing nearer to where the sailors were. I looked up at the sky in time to see, illuminated by a flash of lightning, a colossal wave developing in a mass of sea green tendrils and yellowy foam. I knew it would crash over the boat, and couldn't think of anything else to do apart from cling on to the wooden rail tightly.

The wave fell, and the salt water mixed with the rain until it was all I could do to hold on to the wooden rail and breathe properly. After about half a minute the sea water cascaded off the side of the ship and my mind stopped running solely on survival instinct.

I observed a shape moving towards me from the direction of the door to the cabins. Realising it was a person from the way he was clinging onto the rail, I decided to wait until he was in recognising distance before doing anything.

As he came closer, I saw it was Tom. I stayed exactly where I was until he was within two metres distance away and noticed me.

'Who's there?' He bellowed, and although he was close I heard his voice only faintly.

'Julia,' I shouted back.

Tom was standing next to me now, looking at me.

'Julia, you fool! This is no place for a girl!' He said, angrily.

'Well, I -' I tried to reply, but the rest of my sentence was smashed out of me, as another gigantic wave collided with the deck.

The shock of this made me lose my grip on the rail, and I slipped, crashing onto the wooden floorboards of the deck. Already being washed away by the water, I would have easily been swept overboard, if it hadn't been for him.

He grabbed my wrist and hauled me up so I stood holding the rail again, and then pushed me back along it until we were back inside the corridor. Tom shut the door leading to the deck with a final burst of energy, and then we were in comparative silence, as the harsh sounds of nature's anger was barricaded out.

We slumped side by side, our backs to the door, on the ground. After a few seconds, Tom kissed me and this time I kissed back. Then he said,

'Oh, Julia, I love you so much. Will you run away with me?'

I dreamily replied in the affirmative, although I don't know if I should have done.

The rest of what happened last night is too utterly romantic to put down into words; I cannot and so will not try to do justice to my feelings.

6th September

We have arrived in New York, and I'm standing on the gangplank, writing in this little journal because I can't think what else to do. I cannot walk down the gangplank because waiting at the end are two men, totally oblivious to one another.

On the right is Tom. Tom who I have fallen so head over heels in love with over the course of just two days. Beautiful, exciting Tom is waiting for me to run away with him, spend a lifetime of adventure in his company.

And on the left is Henry. But it is only now, when the prospect of leaving him has become so possible that I've realised I love him too. In a steadier way, a calmer and more generous love. A feeling grown from companionship, something warm and unperishable.

So I am torn. Torn between two men, two choices, two lives. Torn between young and old, adventure and stability, love and duty. But really just torn.