Titanic Affair Read online

  Titanic Affair

  By

  Amanda Grange

  © Amanda Grange 2004

  This edition © Amanda Grange 2012

  http://www.amandagrange.com

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. Nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book is a work of fiction. Except where actual historical events or characters are being used for the storyline of this novel, the characters and incidents are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any other real person or incident is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  First published in hardback by Severn House in 2004

  Author’s note

  It was very important to me, when writing this novel, to make sure that I presented an accurate view of life on board Titanic as well as providing a detailed account of the disaster. I researched it carefully from contemporary newspaper articles, survivors’ accounts and official documents to provide authenticity. Sometimes the eye-witness accounts varied and in these cases I used the account which best fit my story. Woven into the accurate portrayal of Titanic’s voyage and ultimate sinking is a love affair which transcends the disaster, providing a thoughtful yet entertaining read.

  Review for Titanic Affair:

  “This is a well-crafted and fast moving story. Using the setting of the maiden voyage of the Titanic takes a degree of courage on the part of any author and in this case it paid off. I was delighted to find a fresh slant on the well-known events of the tragic voyage. What stands out is the excellent use of historical detail such as the Crown Derby china, the electric horse, the Oxford marmalade and the author’s ability to blend in real passengers like Mr Bruce Ismay, the chairman of the White Star Line, with her fictional characters in a seamless manner.”- Myfanwy Cook, Historical Novel Society

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  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. In front of her, the portmanteau was almost full. She looked round the shabby room to make sure she had not forgotten anything, running her eyes over the iron bed, the chest of drawers and the washstand, but the surfaces were all bare. Once she had packed her last dress she would have finished.

  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.

  She finished her packing and was just about to close her bag when her heart skipped a beat, for she heard the sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs.

  No, he can’t have found me, she thought in fright.

  A moment later she breathed a sigh of relief as Mrs Wichwood hurried into the room, but the feeling was short lived. The kindly landlady’s face was worried, and Emilia guessed that something dreadful had happened.

  ‘He’s here,’ said Mrs Wichwood, puffing and panting. ‘Mr Montmerency. I’ve just seen him at the end of the street, and he’s got that Mr Barker with him. He’s found you.’

  ‘Then I must go,’ said Emilia, springing to her feet and fastening her portmanteau.

  ‘Yes, dear, get away while you can. Go out the back way, then he won’t see you leave.’

  ‘Delay them as much as you can,’ begged Emilia. ‘Make them wait at the door and then keep them talking for as long as possible.’

  ‘Don’t you fear, I’ll do my best. You just worry about getting yourself down to the harbour. Good luck, my dear.’

  Emilia picked up her bag then ran down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  ‘Write to me from Ireland,’ said Mrs Wichwood, following her. ‘I won’t be easy in my mind until I know you’ve escaped.’

  ‘I will, I promise,’ said Emilia, opening the back door.

  ‘And if he gets you before you reach the ship, you send word to me,’ said Mrs Wichwood. ‘I’ll find a way to help you, somehow.’

  ‘Dear Mrs Wichwood, what would I do without you?’ said Emilia gratefully. She gave the elderly woman a hug. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they don’t catch me,’ she said.

  Then opening the door she stepped outside. She turned right and headed towards the harbour. Running through the streets, she dodged horses and carts, and threaded her way through the throng of people all heading for the quayside as they went to see the great ship set off on its maiden voyage. She turned into a side street, meaning to take a short cut … and saw Silas Montmerency at the other end of it. Fortunately he had not seen her. He was standing with his back to her and he was looking around him in an attitude of exasperation. He must have been to the house and discovered that he had missed her, but she reassured herself with the knowledge that he had no idea where she was going. He knew only that she had changed her lodgings again, as she had done many times over the past few weeks in a desperate bid to escape him. He had no idea she was about to leave the country.

  She turned back and ran down the main street instead. The tang of salt in the air and the crying of the gulls told her that she was drawing near the harbour, and she soon found herself next to the South Western Hotel. Ahead of her was the ship. Dwarfing the White Star Line shed that stood next to it, it rose majestically from the water, and was every bit as splendid as the newspapers had claimed it to be. Its white paintwork sparkled on the upper decks and its black-topped funnels shone in the spring sunlight. But Emilia saw only one thing as she looked at it: a means of escape. If she could just cross the remaining few hundred feet she would be free.

  The dock was teeming with activity. Vans were sounding their horns as they tried to deliver last-minute supplies, horses were mixing with motor cars, and everywhere there were sightseers, marvelling at the pride of the White Star Line.

  Emilia slowed her pace and began to mingle with the people milling all around her. As long as she behaved just like everyone else then she would not draw attention to herself. Bit by bit, she drew closer to the ship. But just as she approached the gangplank she saw Barker, Mr Montmerency’s henchman. He was not ten feet away, pushing his way through the crowd. If he looked round and saw her … She quickened her pace and felt her spirits lighten as she reached the gangplank. Every step would help her now. She followed a beautifully dressed mother and daughter up the gangway to the towering ship, and almost laughed as she reached the top and stepped on board. There was nothing either Silas Montmerency or Barker could do to her now, because even if they saw her, they did not have a ticket, and they would not be able to follow her. She was safe!

  She began to make her way through the ship, looking about her with interest. She had never seen anything so magnificent in her life. Walking through one splendid room after another, she was amazed a
t how large the ship was, and thought it was more like a grand hotel than an ocean liner. Potted palms were set in nearly every corner, graceful columns supported the high ceilings, and the decorations gleamed with gold.

  There were people everywhere. The ladies were dressed in the latest Paris fashions, with their tapering, ankle-length skirts and their knee-length coats. Their feathered hats bobbed and swayed as they crossed the rooms or disappeared into lifts. Gentlemen in lounge suits strolled along, and children in sailor suits tugged at the hands of their nurses, adding to the bustle. And through the throng hurried porters carrying luggage, and stewards who were seeing to the comfort and convenience of the passengers.

  Emilia wove her way between them until she came to a grand staircase leading upwards. It was lit from above by a huge dome, and was bright with daylight. She went up the stairs, glancing at the magnificent clock on the landing, which was flanked by two carved female figures. She had only ten minutes to find a vantage point if she wanted to see the ship set sail.

  She continued upwards and emerged on deck, where a keen wind was blowing. She put a hand to her hat to make sure it didn’t blow away, then she looked about her. The view was obscure by lifeboats, hanging in a row from strong davits, but in between them she could glimpse the sea. A crowd had already gathered in the gaps. To her left, they stood sedately and talked in cultured tones. To her right, further along the deck, she saw the men in third class throwing their hats in the air or lifting children onto their shoulders. The women, dressed in shabby woollen skirts and shawls, waved to people below.

  Emilia turned towards the first class passengers again. She felt hesitant about joining them but she reminded herself that she had a first class ticket and made her way over to the rail.

  She had been intending to sail to Ireland later in the month, on the cheapest ship available, but an old school friend of her godmother’s had had to cancel a trip on Titanic’s maiden voyage, and had asked her godmother if she would like the ticket.

  It had been quickly arranged that Emilia should use the ticket instead, and now here she was, in the lap of luxury, with her problems about to drift away behind her.

  She found a space at the railings, and leaning against them she looked down at the dock. There were hundreds of people standing there, waving handkerchiefs and calling out ‘Good luck!’ There were motor vans, too, and brewers’ carts, all trying to go about their business. The drivers honked their horns, but to no avail. The people on the dock were too busy cheering to notice them. She scanned the crowd, but to her relief she could see no sign of Barker or Mr Montmerency. They must have abandoned their search on the quay and gone to look for her in the town.

  A whistle blew, and the atmosphere around her changed. There was a flurry of activity as those who were not intending to sail on Titanic began to leave the ship, anxious to make sure they did not get trapped on board. There were cries of ‘Goodbye!’ and ‘Good luck!’, then the last visitor hurried down the gangplank and set foot on dry land. The gangplanks were drawn in, the ropes were cast off, and the tugs began pulling Titanic out of the harbour.

  There was an anxious moment when a small vessel broke its moorings and swung out towards Titanic. For a horrible minute Emilia thought it would crash into the ship, and that Titanic would have to put back into port, but one of the tugs soon managed to pull it out of the way. And then they were off, leaving Southampton behind them - Southampton, Barker and Mr Montmerency. Emilia felt all her pent up tension rush out of her. She was well and truly on her way.

  Now all she had to do was find her stateroom! she thought, as she went back downstairs. The ship was so huge she had no idea where to begin, but she hailed a passing steward and he kindly took her to the door.

  ‘Enjoy your trip,’ he said pleasantly.

  ‘Thank you, I intend to,’ she said with a smile.

  She opened the door and went in, stopping to look around her. The room was wonderful. There was a splendid fireplace, a comfortable armchair, and a group of table and chairs in the style of the French Empire. Fresh flowers were everywhere. How lucky she was, to be able to spend a whole day aboard!

  She was just about to go into the bedroom and begin unpacking her portmanteau when there came a knock at the door. She felt a moment of apprehension. She had lived so long with fear that it would take her some time to be rid of it. But reminding herself that she had nothing to be frightened of any more, she called, ‘Come in.’

  The door opened, and she saw a middle-aged man standing there. He was evidently not a steward, for he was not dressed in a steward’s uniform. Instead he was dressed in a suit, with a watch chain slung across the front of his waistcoat. He had a brisk, business-like air about him, and she had no idea what he was doing in her stateroom, as she had never seen him before in her life.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her good manners overcoming her surprise.

  ‘It’s more a question of me helping you,’ he said with an ingratiating smile.

  She frowned slightly. There was something about his tone she did not like. She liked him even less when, a minute later, he took a wad of bank notes out of his pocket and brandished it suggestively.

  ‘My name is Hutton,’ he said. ‘I work for Mr Carl Latimer. As I’m sure you know, Mr Latimer is a very wealthy man. He’s instructed me to buy your stateroom from you for the duration of the trip to America. He will give you a full refund on your ticket as well as providing you with another first class stateroom in exchange. He is also prepared to give you fifty pounds to make amends for the inconvenience.’ His smile broadened. ‘This must be your lucky day.’

  Emilia raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t think so,’ she replied. ‘I’m afraid I have no intention of giving up my stateroom. Now, if there’s nothing further, I will bid you good day.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand,’ he said, his smile becoming fixed. ‘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 expected him to leave but he did not do so. Taking matters into her own hands she went over to the door, but he showed no signs of departing.

  ‘Oh, come now, Miss Cavendish,’ he said obsequiously. ‘Mr Latimer will give you anything you want if you will only indulge him in this matter.’ He began to peel off notes suggestively. ‘What would you say to £100?’

  ‘I would say I’d rather you put it away,’ replied Emilia curtly. ‘Now, if you please, I’d like you to leave. ‘

  ‘Come, come,’ he said with a falsely jovial air.

  ‘If you don’t leave my stateroom at once I will call for the steward,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Two hundred,’ he said.

  ‘Not two thousand,’ she replied. ‘Now, are you going to leave or must I have you forcibly removed?’

  His mouth became grim. ‘You’re making a big mistake,’ he said.

  Emilia opened the door wide.

  He looked as though he was going to protest, but at that moment a steward hurried down the corridor. Emilia opened her mouth, preparing to call to him, but Hutton sensed defeat and stepped out of the stateroom.

  ‘If you should change your mind —’ he said, turning in the doorway.

  ‘I won’t,’ she remarked.

  Then, before he could say anything else, she shut the door behind him.

  Well, she thought, as she leant back against it, it seemed that she had escaped the clutches of one wealthy man, only to fall foul of another. But with this difference, that Mr Montmerency had wanted something of far more value than her stateroom.

  Why was it wealthy men thought they could buy everything? she wondered. Why would they not accept that some things were simply not for sale? But there was no use worrying about it, particularly when she had so many better things to do.

  First of all she wanted some refreshment, and then she must find some paper and write to Mrs Wichwood. She wanted her landl
ady to know as soon as possible that she had escaped.

  The first class corridors were narrow but well lit, and she had no difficulty finding her way back to the public spaces. Once there she called to a steward and asked him where she could find refreshment.

  ‘The Café Parisien is not far from here,’ he said, giving her directions.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  She headed towards the café, only to see the unwelcome sight of Mr Hutton heading towards her. Beside him was a gentleman with dark hair, fashionably slicked back to follow the contours of his finely-shaped head. High cheekbones and a square chin gave a decided look to his face, and there was something in his carriage which suggested he was used to command. His body was contoured with muscles that she could just see defined beneath his lounge suit. His clothes were expensive, showing evidence of London tailoring, and Emilia guessed at once who he was: Mr Carl Latimer.

  At that moment he saw her. There was some talk between him and his man, and then he started walking towards her with a purposeful air - although walking was hardly the word for it. He was stalking her.

  Ignoring him, she carried on her way towards the staircase, meaning to pass Mr Latimer by, but he moved to intercept her, blocking her path with his large body.

  She stepped to the side.

  He countered.

  She stepped to the other side.

  He countered again.

  Then, inclining his head, he said, ‘Miss Cavendish. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Latimer. Carl Latimer.’

  He smiled, and his lips parted to reveal even white teeth. Though he was dressed in fashionable and expensive clothes, there was something predatory about him, a suggestion of ruthlessness that made it easy to believe he would succeed where other men would fail. She guessed at once that his money was not inherited, but made. He had none of the ingrained poise of a gentleman born and bred, for despite his appearance of being civilized, beneath the surface there lurked something untamed. And yet for all that, she was not frightened of him, as she had been frightened of Mr Montmerency. So instead of trying to sidestep him again, she looked him in the eye and said coolly, ‘Please stand aside.’