Titanic Affair Page 4

  She heard the sound of smothered laughter and a woman’s voice saying, ‘My dear, have you ever seen anything like it? Look! Over there! Do you see the young woman in the home-made dress! She must have wandered up here from steerage. Do you think I should tell the stewards?’

  ‘No, don’t,’ came another woman’s voice. ‘It is too delicious. I only hope she goes into the dining-room. I am longing to see if she knows which cutlery to use.’

  ‘She’s probably more used to eating with her fingers, don’t you think so, Carl?’ came the first voice.

  Emilia’s spirits sank. It was bad enough to be humiliated, but to be humiliated in front of Mr Latimer was worse.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she heard him reply. ‘I dare say she knows how to use a fork and spoon, although I must admit she’s unlikely to use a knife as efficiently as you, Ida.’

  There was a stunned silence from the ladies, and Emilia laughed. Looking up she caught his eye in one of the gilded mirrors. He inclined his head, and she inclined hers in reply. He had been bested in the matter of her stateroom, and she had been routed when trying to help his mother, but it seemed a truce had been declared between them.

  She only hoped it would last until she disembarked in half a day’s time.

  Chapter Three

  ‘There are ten floors on the Titanic, miss,’ said the waiter helpfully as Emilia studied the breakfast menu the following morning. ‘There are the state rooms, of course, then there are the sitting rooms, the libraries, the cafés, the Turkish baths and the exercise rooms. The gymnasium is just off the boat deck, and the swimming pool —’

  ‘Swimming pool?’ asked Emilia in surprise.

  ‘Yes, miss. It might not be filled yet. The water’s too dirty close to shore and we have to wait until we’re in the open sea, but it will soon be ready for use. Then there’s the squash court, and of course it’s very pleasant up on deck.’

  ‘I won’t have time to see half of it, or even a quarter,’ said Emilia. ‘I’ll be leaving the ship at Queenstown. We dock at lunchtime, I think?’

  ‘Yes, miss, that’s right.’

  ‘I will just have to see how much I can fit in before then.’

  She had managed to see the reading room and the library the night before, and she had eaten in the dining-room, where not even the titters of some of the ladies at the sight of her home-made dress had been enough to dim her enjoyment, but there were still plenty more things she wanted to see.

  After a breakfast of fresh fruit, poached eggs and soda and sultana scones, with Norborne honey and Oxford marmalade, she carried on with her explorations. Just as she came to the Grand Staircase, however, she saw a familiar figure. It was the elderly lady she had glimpsed through the stateroom door the day before, Mrs Latimer. Mrs Latimer was sitting on the bottom step, looking most unwell.

  Emilia went over to her in concern. ‘Are you feeling all right?’ she asked.

  ‘No, dear, I’m feeling a bit queer,’ said Mrs Latimer in a weak voice. ‘Can you help me up, do you think? It’s my legs. They won’t do what I want them to.’

  Emilia felt a rush of guilt. She had told Mr Latimer there was nothing wrong with his mother, and had suggested the elderly lady be encouraged to go on deck, but she had been quite wrong. She only hoped it was not her own words that had caused the present situation. If Mrs Latimer had heard her talking in the stateroom the day before, and then been encouraged to go out alone with such disastrous results, Emilia felt she would never forgive herself. Why had she interfered? she asked herself in mortification, as she put her hand gently beneath Mrs Latimer’s elbow.

  ‘Is your companion not with you?’ she said, as Mrs Latimer, half risen, fell back on to the stair again.

  ‘No, dear. She’s feeling poorly so I left her behind. She doesn’t travel well on ships. It’s the throbbing of the engines. They make her feel sick. Thank you,’ said Mrs Latimer, as she finally managed with Emilia’s aid, to rise to her feet. ‘You’re a good girl.’

  ‘It’s the least … ’ began Emilia, only to be arrested by the sound of a man’s voice behind her.

  ‘What the devil do you think you are doing?’

  Emilia turned round with a sinking feeling, to see Carl Latimer striding towards her, glaring ferociously.

  ‘I am trying to help — ’ she began.

  ‘Help?’ he demanded as he almost drew level with her. ‘Inducing my mother to leave the safety of her stateroom and take a walk about the ship, without even so much as her companion to assist her? And that is what you call helping?’

  ‘I didn’t —’ began Emilia, her sense of injustice starting to rise with this false accusation.

  ‘And with what result? She collapses on the stairs.’

  He put his arm solicitously around his mother’s shoulder as she staggered, and helped her to keep her feet.

  ‘I suggest you refrain from any further meddling in other people’s affairs,’ he said over his shoulder as he escorted his mother away from the stairs and towards her stateroom.

  Emilia was tempted to make an angry retort, but his words so exactly matched her own feelings that the words died on her tongue. She should have refrained from meddling. She had done no good. On the contrary, she had done a great deal of harm. Making matters worse was the fact that a number of curious glances were being directed towards her. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Emilia turned to go towards the deck.

  ‘Got a mighty fine suitor there,’ said a formidable woman, dressed in grand style. She had the appearance of a very wealthy woman, but a twang in her voice suggested she had not always been wealthy. Emilia recognised her as Mrs Brown, the Denver millionairess who had joined the ship at Cherbourg.

  ‘Suitor?’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He is not my suitor. He can hardly bear to look at me.’

  ‘Is that so? Seems to me a man doesn’t cut up so rough unless his feelings are involved.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Emilia. ‘His mother’s been very ill.’

  Mrs Brown nodded. ‘I know all about it. I’ve met Carl a time or two in America.’ She looked at Emilia appraisingly. ‘How long are you staying on board?’

  ‘Until Queenstown,’ said Emilia.

  ‘Pity. If you were on board til New York we might see some fireworks. It would set a few of the old biddies here by their heels, that’s for sure.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Emilia, perplexed.

  ‘No. I don’t think you do,’ laughed Mrs Brown. ‘Enjoy the rest of your trip, my dear, and don’t worry about Mrs Latimer. She’ll pull through.’

  ‘What a lot of fuss,’ said Mrs Latimer as her son steered her gently along the corridor, back towards her stateroom.

  ‘I find you collapsed on the staircase and take you back to your stateroom and you call it a fuss? You forget how weak you are. You shouldn’t be out of bed —’

  She sighed, and stopped, shaking off his arm.

  ‘Oh, yes, I should. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. I’ve tried telling you once or twice, but you were always saying the doctors were right. I knew a breath of fresh air’d cheer me up but they made such a fuss about it I got frightened and gave in.’

  ‘They were right. Look what happened as soon as you left your stateroom. You’d hardly gone any distance before you collapsed,’ he reminded her sternly.

  ‘Now what’s distance got to do with anything? I hadn’t found my sea legs, that’s all. This Titanic’s a marvel, but it’s still a ship and I lost my balance.’

  ‘But the doctor —’

  ‘The doctor’s a cheat. I heard that girl talking to you in the stateroom yesterday, and a good thing I did. It made my spirits rise, I can tell you!’

  He looked uncertain.

  ‘Now then, Carl, don’t you believe me?’

  He pursed his lips. ‘Every doctor we’ve ever had —’

  ‘Have a look at me,’ she said. ‘Do I look poorly?’

  He scanned her face, then gave a rueful
smile. Her eyes were sparkling with unwonted vitality, her complexion looked fresh and vibrant, and there was an animation to her features that hadn’t seen there for a very long time indeed.

  ‘I have to say I can’t remember having seen you look so well for years.’

  ‘That’s more like it. You’re a good boy, Carl, but if you try and put me back in that sickroom we’ll have words. I shouldn’t have gone into it in the first place, or any other sick room either, for that matter, but there’s no use crying over spilled milk. I’m alive again now, and that’s the way I’m going to stay.’

  ‘You don’t just look alive, you look young,’ he told her truthfully.

  ‘Well, so I should,’ she replied. ‘I was only eighteen when I had you. I’m not even fifty yet, you know.’

  He looked surprised.

  ‘You’d forgotten. So had I, until that girl reminded me that I wasn’t an old lady. And now you’ve frightened her off,’ she said with a glint in her eye.

  He laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.

  ‘You are,’ he said with a smile. ‘You sound exactly as you used to, before you took to your bed. Before … . ’

  ‘Before your dad died?’

  He nodded.

  Her face fell. ‘It was a bad time, and that’s the truth, but what’s done is done. I’ve got to make the best of it, and I’ve got that young woman to thank for making me see it. If she hadn’t come in, I’d still be in that sick room. Would you believe it, I was so used to being treated like an invalid I’d started thinking I must be one. You’d better go and find her, Carl, and ask her to have her dinner with us.’

  He pursed his lips. ‘I can’t do that, I’m afraid. She’s leaving the ship at Queenstown.’

  His mother looked surprised.

  ‘How do you know that?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t know you knew her.’

  ‘I don’t. But I tried to buy her stateroom from her and she told me I could have it when she left the ship She’ll be disembarking at mid-day.’

  ‘Well! So she got the better of you, did she? I like her more and more,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘You’d better go find her straight away then. You can tell her you’re sorry for speaking to her like that, and I can say thank you to her before she gets off the ship.’

  He put his hands in his pockets. Although he saw the sense of his mother’s suggestion, he wasn’t looking forward to speaking to Miss Cavendish. He was going to have to eat humble pie, and it wasn’t a dish he liked. But Miss Cavendish had helped his mother. He owed her for that. And whatever else he might or might not be, Carl Latimer was a man who paid his debts.

  Emilia made an effort to put Mrs Latimer and the infuriating Mr Latimer out of her mind as she explored the ship. There was so much to see that she soon became engrossed as she wandered between decks, investigating as many rooms as she could before it was time for her to disembark. She was amazed to see that the accommodation in second class was almost as good as that in first-class, for although the carving on the woodwork was less ornate, it was still sumptuous. The dining saloon was panelled in oak, and the library was panelled in sycamore. There were bars in which the passengers could while away their time, and a barber’s shop selling pennants, postcards and other souvenirs of the voyage. She bought a postcard for her godmother, with a picture of Titanic on the front, and one for Mrs Wichwood. They had the White Star emblem in the top left hand corner, and across the top was written, White Star Liner “Titanic“.

  She caught a glimpse of several cabins through open doorways, and although they were not as large as those in first-class, they were still spacious and well appointed, with basins for washing and mahogany furniture.

  She wandered on, storing everything away in her memory to tell her godmother, until she realized that her surroundings were becoming less sumptuous, and with a feeling of dismay she realized that she was lost. By the look of the cabins she saw through a few open doors she guessed she had wandered into third class, for the cabins were smaller, and bunks were provided instead of beds.

  She went on, hoping to find her way to a staircase leading back to second class. She walked through a large communal room, panelled in pine. Instead of comfortable chairs, interspersed with potted plants as there were in first-class, there were only wooden benches, whilst exposed pipe work hung from the ceiling, but it was clean and fresh.

  A number of people were talking or playing cards. Over in the corner a group of women, some wearing plain skirts and blouses, and others wearing dark coloured dresses over which they wore woollen shawls, were talking animatedly about the new life they hoped to find in America. Nearby, a group of men, coatless, with their sleeves rolled up and their braces stretched tightly over their rough shirts, were playing dominoes. Between the benches ran children, the girls in dresses with white aprons and the boys in knee length trousers with rough jackets, enjoying the relative freedom of the room after the confines of the small cabins.

  As she had not come across a staircase, Emilia decided to ask for directions. She doubted if any of the passengers in steerage knew the way to first class, but if they could direct her to the deck then she could walk along it until she came to the first class section, and from there she could find her way back to her room.

  She found the women friendly and they soon told her the way. Thanking them, she set off towards the stairs. But just as she turned a corner and came in sight of them she stopped suddenly and shrank back against the wall, her heart hammering in her chest. There, standing at the foot of the stairs, was Silas Montmerency’s henchman, Barker.

  Her heart began to pound in her chest. What was Barker doing on board the Titanic? she wondered. He must have seen her get on board, and followed her. But how? He didn’t have a ticket, and he would not have had time to buy one. She had boarded the ship with only ten minutes to spare.

  Her mind returned to more pressing concerns. She could go no further. If she continued on her way towards the stairs he would see her and it would be all over with her.

  She began to back away, and had almost managed to slip round the corner, out of sight, when he turned round. She froze again, hoping the shadows would hide her, but it was no good. His eyebrows shot up, then his mouth curved into a crooked smile.

  Their eyes locked for a tense minute, and then she turned and ran, neither knowing or caring where she was going, driven only by a need to get away from him.

  She knew without looking that he was following her, for she could hear the steel caps on his shoes tapping on the floor as he ran after her. If she could just get away from him, then lose him in the labyrinthine passages of the ship, she might have a chance of escape. She had only to return to her stateroom and collect her luggage and then she could disembark. The ship would be docking at Queenstown in less than an hour. As long as he did not see her, the ship would be heading for New York before he realized she was no longer on it.

  She threaded her way through the third-class passengers, past gossiping women and men playing fiddles, avoiding children’s hoops and balls, every few minutes glancing over her shoulder to see if he was still following her.

  She could see no sign of him and stopped to catch her breath, but the tell-tale sound of steel on wood alerted her to the fact that he was near and she ran on again.

  She was becoming afraid. She recognized none of the corridors. With their uniform doors they all seemed the same. She had hoped to be able to double back on herself, reaching the stairs once Barker had left them, but she had lost her sense of direction.

  The further she went, the more lost she became. She threaded her way through a further maze of passages. One of the cabins had its door open. Inside, sitting on the bottom bunk, were two men playing cards.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she gasped, holding her side as she stopped for a minute to catch her breath. ‘How do I get to the deck from here?’

  One of them muttered something unintelligible, waving his hands in the air. He must be Italian, she guesse
d. Her spirits fell. He had not understood a word she had said.

  Clutching her side, she went on.

  Further down the corridor she saw another cabin with an open door. Again she asked for directions, and again she was met by a torrent of some foreign language she could not understand.

  She began to be seriously worried. The ship would be docking shortly. One way or another, she must find her way back to her stateroom.

  The man continued talking and gesticulating, then, getting up, he pushed his way past her and went down the corridor.

  She would just have to ask someone else.

  The stitch in her side had started to ease and she was about to hurry on when a voice called, ‘Can I help you?’

  Turning round, she saw the man from the cabin. Next to him was the man who had spoken English.

  ‘I’m Mr Müller, the steerage interpreter,’ he said. He was a fine looking man with an air of solidity about him. Although he spoke with a heavy accent she had no difficulty in understanding him. ‘Do you want something?’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’ Emilia straightened up. She seemed to have lost her pursuer, and had finally found someone who could give her directions. Her fear began to leave her. ‘I have lost my way. I need to get back to first class. If you can tell me the way to the deck, I can find my own way from there.’

  ‘It’s quite easy,’ he said cheerfully. He gave her a series of instructions, finishing with, ‘then turn left, and you will find yourself at the stairs.’

  She gave him a heartfelt, ‘Thank you.’

  Hurriedly following his directions she found herself once more at the bottom of the staircase. And this time, there was no sign of Barker. Breathing a sigh of relief she picked up the hem of her dress and climbed up to the poop deck. Never had a sight been more welcome. Although heavy smoke from the funnels was blowing across it, she made for it eagerly.

  She took in a deep breath as she emerged … only to see Barker scanning the deck.

  There was no use hiding. He had already seen her. And she would have to catch her breath before she could run any further.