Victoria chewed on a nail and looked down at the suitcase. Once she opened the lid, it meant there was no turning back. She dropped onto the bed next to it, her heavy skirts rustling softly. Trailing her long pale fingers over the lid, she could feel the uneven texture of the leather, the cold metal of the big clasps, the dense stitching. Abruptly she rose and walked to the window pushing the heavy velvet curtains aside. A dusty odor wafted up reminding her of Father’s pipe tobacco. Victoria wrinkled her neat, pale nose. Why couldn’t she put the clothes in the case? It was the simplest of actions. The cumbersome trunks were already packed and waiting in rows in the entrance hall, each clearly bearing her initials in gold lettering. And now all that had to be done was for her to start on her personal suitcase.
With a deep breath she flapped open the lid and started painstakingly packing each item in its place. She flinched slightly as she realized that the next time she wore these garments she would be on her way to a new home, a new life. She picked up a silk camisole smelling a faint hint of lavender as she placed it down. She and Mother had scoured London for each and every article, both carefully ignoring the emotions that swirled around as they discussed the benefits of silk versus satin or the appropriate width of bonnet ribbon. She pressed a long ivory nightgown to her throat and twirled around watching the slippery fabric follow along a second later. She was now a married woman about to launch into a brand new life. And the time onboard the ship would be her opportunity to learn as much about America as possible – a new country, a new continent!
Tossing the nightgown across the bed, she skipped to the dresser and scooped up the ticket. Holding the heavy card in her hand she read aloud: First Class Boarding Pass, White Star Lines: RMS Titanic.