You are reading my weekly serial When the Sea Was Still.
When the Sea Was Still is a historical novel inspired by Titanic survivor Helen Ostby. While the heroine of the story, Nora Osterly, is entirely fictional, her journey draws on the incredible life of Helen Ostby. After surviving the Titanic disaster and losing her father, Helen went on to help run the family jewelry business, Ostby & Barton, which required her to face the sea again for business in Europe. Remarkably, she found herself in Germany on the eve of the First World War.
The novel starts two years after the sinking of the Titanic, when Nora Osterly is forced to cross the Atlantic again—this time aboard Titanic’s nearly identical sister ship, the Olympic. To save her father’s legacy, Nora must do the one thing she swore she never would: return to the sea that nearly killed her.
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Answers from Étienne
Nora
22-23 July 1914
Paris
Nora and Astrid took their breakfast in the Crillon’s dining room the following morning. It was one of the great rooms of the old palace, with soaring molded ceilings above cream walls trimmed in gold. Small tables set with white linen and purple flowers were spaced evenly along a wall of tall windows. With only a few other guests taking their meal at this early hour, the dining room was still quiet.
They were promptly seated at their favorite table with a view of the gardens. Their waiter greeted them, already carrying coffee for Nora and a pot of tea for Astrid. After a restless night, Nora’s eyes went straight to the coffee.
“How are you this morning, mademoiselles?” he asked, serving Nora’s coffee before pouring Astrid’s tea.
“Very well, thank you.” Nora took a much-needed sip.
He placed a basket of croissants and small rolls next to a dish of apricot preserves, then completed the ensemble with a bowl of summer fruit.
“Merci, Monsieur Leblanc.” Nora smiled politely as he departed from the table.
Astrid sipped her tea, then reached for the morning paper. Nora glanced at the headline. The front page was once again devoted to the Caillaux trial.
“Mrs. Harroway sends her regards,” Nora said, hoping to avoid another discussion of whether Madame Caillaux ought to be sent to prison.
Astrid folded the paper and set it aside.
“And how do they find Switzerland?” she asked.
“Very pleasant, by Mrs. Harroway’s account. But they have decided to cut their holiday short and have taken passage on the Philadelphia for the eighth of August.”
“I cannot say I blame them,” Astrid said.
“There is more.” Nora took a croissant from the pastry basket and layered it with preserves.
“Well? Do not keep me in suspense.”
“Mrs. Harroway has invited us to join them,” Nora said.
“Has she?” Astrid raised an eyebrow. “Have you an answer for her?”
“Not yet.” Nora broke off a small piece from her croissant but did not eat it. “It would be a comfort to sail with them, but I hesitate to leave while matters at Maison Moreau remain unsettled.”
“Many people are leaving Paris. Perhaps we would do well to follow suit.”
Nora took a slow sip of coffee.
“Perhaps.” She set down her cup and turned it slowly in its saucer. “I shall think on it a little longer before I write to Mrs. Harroway.”
“Do not think too long, dear,” Astrid said.
Nora looked at Astrid and saw the fear in her eyes. “Of course, Astrid. But before I can make a decision, I must know why Mr. Cartwright went to Maison Moreau. I wrote to Monsieur Moreau last evening to ask whether he might receive me tomorrow.”
“Good,” Astrid said. “I shall be interested to hear what you learn.”
“You shall be the first to know.”
They finished their breakfast in easier conversation, lingering over the last of their coffee and tea as the tables around them gradually filled. When their plates had been cleared, Astrid reached for the newspaper and began to read. Nora’s thoughts had already turned to Maison Moreau and the questions she had for Étienne.
23 July 1914
The following day, Nora’s carriage carried her along the Quai aux Fleurs to Maison Moreau. Étienne’s reply had reached her the morning after her request, expressing his delight that she would like to visit again so soon. Nora wished she shared his eagerness. On the way to the atelier, she had rehearsed how she would ask about Mr. Cartwright, but every version sounded too accusatory. She hoped not to offend Étienne, especially if it was Lionel alone who could not be trusted.
Before entering the atelier, she stopped at the display window, partly out of habit and partly because she was not yet ready to hear what Étienne might tell her. A new pendant of pale citrine had joined the collection, replacing the sapphire bracelet that used to be there. The stone featured a cut she hadn’t seen from Maison Moreau before, with low, wide facets that caught the light. Nora couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship. She gave the pendant one final look, then pushed open the door and found Geneviève waiting to greet her.
“Ma chère Mademoiselle Osterly.” Geneviève kissed her on each cheek. “Bienvenue.”
Geneviève was dressed in a plain linen skirt and jacket. Her dark brown hair was pinned back neatly at the nape of her neck.
“Mademoiselle Moreau,” Nora said, “how nice to see you.”
As they made their way through the showroom, Nora noticed that none of the pieces had changed since her last visit. The necklaces had been rearranged, but the brooches and rings remained just as she remembered.
“How have you found the heat this summer?” Geneviève asked.
“It is much the same as Providence.”
“Every summer I grow less patient with it,” Geneviève said. “How is Astrid?”
“She is well. She has been following the Caillaux trial.”
“Most of Paris seems to be following nothing else. Étienne pretends not to care, but he reads Le Figaro at breakfast every morning.”
“Does he?” Nora laughed.
“Do not tell him I said so.” Geneviève smiled as she opened the door to Étienne’s office.
Inside, Étienne and Henri were bent over a workbench by the window. A sheet of paper was between them, and Étienne was pointing to something on it with the tip of his pencil. Both of them looked up as the women entered.
“Mademoiselle Osterly.” Henri straightened first. “It is good to see you again.”
“And you, Monsieur Lefèvre.”
Étienne set down his pencil and came around the workbench. “Bonjour,” he said, kissing Nora on each cheek. “It is so nice to see you, Mademoiselle Osterly.”
“Bonjour, Monsieur Moreau,” Nora said, cheeks flushed as usual. “I did not mean to interrupt. Is something wrong?”
Étienne gestured toward the paper he’d been frowning over. “It’s the Baronne de Montfort, writing to say she will postpone her daughter’s wedding commission until autumn, or perhaps later.”
“By itself, it would not be concerning, but this is the third postponement this month,” Henri added.
“Is it only the commissions, or have sales in the showroom continued to decline as well?” Nora asked.
“Sales have continued to slow, yes. It is no longer only the departure of our Russian and German clients that affects us. Our French clients have grown more careful with their money. I cannot fault them for it,” Étienne said.
“No, I suppose not.” Nora looked between Étienne and Henri. She shared the concern that she could see in their expressions.
“But that is not why you’ve come,” Henri said. “I will leave you and Monsieur Moreau to your meeting, Mademoiselle.”
After they exchanged goodbyes, Henri gave Nora a quick kiss on the cheek and made his way out. Geneviève stepped aside to let him pass.
“I shall be at the accounts if you need me,” she said and closed the door behind her.
Étienne gestured toward the desk. “Please have a seat, Mademoiselle Osterly.”
Nora remained standing. “First, there is something I wished to ask you, Monsieur Moreau. I had coffee with Mrs. Cartwright two days ago. She mentioned that her husband had called here.”
“Cartwright…” Étienne thought for a moment. “Yes, he was looking for a brooch for his wife. Do you know him?”
“We met aboard the Olympic. He expressed an interest in investing in Osterly & Co., which I declined.”
Étienne looked surprised.
“His wife did not know that our houses were partners,” Nora continued. “But she did say he had spoken of your difficulties.”
Étienne’s expression went from surprise to concern. “He asked how we were finding the season. I told him business had been quieter than usual.”
“I must ask you, Monsieur Moreau.” Nora fixed her eyes on his. “Did Mr. Cartwright propose anything to you while he was here?”
“Nothing, Mademoiselle.” He did not look down but held her gaze. “He was here only as a customer.”
Only then did Nora realize how tightly her hands were clasped. She relaxed just a little. “Perhaps I have misunderstood. Did he speak of anything else?”
Étienne thought for a moment. “He spoke of his wife’s family in Germany,” he finally said. “We fell into conversation about the inconvenience of conducting business across borders. I mentioned Herr Kessler’s return to Germany.”
“Did you tell him of the loan?” Nora asked, her tension rising again.
“Only in general terms. I gave him no details.”
Nora studied him. There was no hesitation in his account, no sign that he had knowingly kept anything from her. Yet Lionel had learned of Maison Moreau’s declining sales and, more troubling still, the existence of her father’s loan. What might an ambitious man like Mr. Cartwright do with even that little information? Her concerns about Étienne’s role had eased, but her suspicion of Lionel remained. He still posed a threat.
“I should have preferred that he knew nothing of it,” Nora said, finally taking the seat Étienne had offered her.
He followed her lead and let out a deep breath as he sat in the chair behind his desk.
“I apologize if I have said something I shouldn’t have,” he began. “The partnership with Osterly & Co, with your father, and now you... It is more important to me than you may know.”
Nora looked across the desk at him. He had a raw expression on his face that she hadn’t seen before.
“There is something I would like to share with,” he said. “About the state of Maison Moreau when I partnered with your father. He believed he was helping Osterly & Co. and Maison Moreau expand. But it was much more than that.”
“What do you mean?” Nora asked.
Étienne lowered his eyes. He seemed uncertain how to begin. “You remember I once spoke of the damage from the great flood of Paris?”
“Yes, of course.” Nora thought back to her first visit to Maison Moreau. She had seen the water marks still faintly visible on the workshop walls. When she asked about them, Étienne had told her of the devastation the flood had caused. Geneviève had kept the atelier running while Étienne oversaw the repairs. He had said Maison Moreau was recovering, but nothing more.
“When the rains came that January in 1910, the Seine kept rising. There was nowhere for the water to go. It eventually began seeping through the foundation and forcing its way up through the drains. When we saw what was happening, we took everything of value out of the cellar.”
He paused.
“Eventually the water filled the cellar and crept into the ground floor. The gas lines along the Quai aux Fleurs were shut off, leaving the atelier dark and cold. We had no choice but to abandon the building. The wooden floors had begun to buckle, and cracks had appeared in the walls. We knew it was no longer safe.”
Étienne lowered his eyes. When he continued, his voice was quieter.
“Geneviève and I had gone ahead. My father was only a few steps behind us when the floor gave way beneath him.”
Nora drew in a sharp breath. She could still see her father as he turned to go back below deck for warmer clothes. “Oh, Étienne.”
“There was nothing we could do,” he said. His voice cracked just slightly. “It was several days after the river began to subside before anyone could enter the cellar.”
“I am so sorry.” She understood too well the cruelty of being near a loved one in danger yet unable to help.
“I know you understand this kind of loss.” He looked at her, his expression gentle. “My father founded the atelier in 1870. His life’s work was in that building, and within a matter of days, Geneviève and I had lost him and so much of what he built.”
“But you and Geneviève rebuilt and Maison Moreau endures.” Nora offered him a small smile.
“We would not have without your father,” Étienne said. “After the flood, Geneviève and I tried to repair what we could, but we didn’t have enough money. The cost of rebuilding was more than we could manage.”
His gaze moved to a small gold figure displayed on the shelf beside the window.
“Saint Éloi,” he said. “The patron saint of goldsmiths. He has been in our family for generations.”
Nora studied the figure more closely. “He is beautifully made.”
“A collector once offered my father a considerable sum for him, but he refused. He said Saint Éloi belonged in the Moreau family.”
“Did you consider selling it to save Maison Moreau?” Nora asked.
“Before I had to make that choice, your father walked through the door. A stranger from America admiring my work. And before I knew it, the prospect of a partnership kept our hope alive.”
Nora felt her throat tighten. “He never told me his investment saved Maison Moreau.”
“No,” Etienne said, “because your father never knew it.”
Nora drew a slow breath. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“You needn’t say anything.” He stood up and walked to the window. “But I thought you should know. This place exists because of him. Everything we are doing now—these designs, this partnership, the future we’re building—none of it would have happened without your father.”
Nora followed him to the window. “Thank you for telling me.”
He turned to her and took her gloved hand in his. In his touch, she felt their bond strengthen—through their shared understanding of loss and the resilience required to survive it. She looked up at him and in that moment, she understood why her father had trusted him. She knew now that she could trust him too.
