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Emilia Cavendish, kneeling in her rented room on a bright morning in the spring of 1912, was packing her portmanteau in preparation for a new life with her godmother.
Her thoughts returned to her coming journey and her spirits lifted. As long as she could avoid Mr Montmerency for a few more hours then she would be able to escape him. She would be out of his power, and sailing on the Titanic for her godmother’s home in Ireland.
‘Mr Latimer is a very wealthy man. He’s used to getting his own way.’ ‘Is he?’ asked Emilia coolly. ‘Unfortunately, he is going to be disappointed on this occasion.’
She headed towards the café, only to see the unwelcome sight of Mr Hutton heading towards her.
‘I can’t see the point in bitterness. It’s destructive. I channelled my disgust, using it to make me work harder than ever.
‘Not having enough to do is as bad as having too much to do,’ she said.

