A Shop Girl at Sea

by Rachel Brimble

  ‘Good, then it’s settled.’ Victoria pushed the dress into Ruby’s hands. ‘You wear that tonight and I will see you outside the store at eight o’clock sharp.’ She grinned. ‘See you later.’

  Once Victoria had left the room, Ruby sank onto a bench and lifted the dress to her nose. She inhaled lavender and musk, Victoria and desire. What was she to do? There was no way of escaping her mother’s clutches tonight for an assignation with the woman Ruby was in love with.

  Why would she even want to when the torment of being beside Victoria would only escalate the pain of never being able to have her? Never holding or kissing her. Angrily, Ruby swiped at the tear that had dared to fall over her cheek and quickly hung the dress in her locker.

  She closed her eyes and forced the rage inside her to calm.

  One way or another, she would find a way to meet Victoria tonight. She would never disappoint her, let her down, or give her the slightest reason to turn away when Ruby so deeply cherished every moment with her.

  Her mother could go to hell before Ruby allowed her to snuff out the singular light in her life.

  Five

  Samuel slid onto a seat in the ballroom of the South Western Hotel, Southampton, just as the Titanic’s Chief Officer walked to the front of the room. The talking and laughter of the crew quieted as a wave of hush swept over the hundreds of men present.

  The Chief Officer looked to be in his late thirties and bore a strong jaw and a stoic presence that indicated a man older than his years. A man of experience, confidence and wisdom. Excitement hummed through Samuel as he waited to hear what the crew could expect once they boarded the Titanic.

  But, as the officer talked, the focus remained on the importance of the passengers, the care and attention senior officers, crew and staff were expected to bestow on them. How vital it was that the press response to this maiden voyage stretched beyond every expectation.

  ‘The Titanic is the largest moving manmade object on Earth. It is White Star Line’s intention that this voyage be an experience no passenger will ever regret or forget. The current schedule means we will arrive in New York on the evening of 17th of April and the Captain wants the crossing to feel like a week’s holiday to the passengers, some of whom have paid thousands of pounds for the experience.’

  Money. Of course, it was all about money.

  Samuel looked along the row of men either side of him. Most seemed to be around his age, their weather-worn faces turned to the Chief Officer, hands tight around the hats they held, their faces sombre in concentration, confusion or disappointment. Sentiments that Samuel understood perfectly. He had expected a briefing on the mechanics of the ship, the individual responsibilities of the crew and procedures in case of an emergency. Yet, it seemed the eminence and press opinion of the Titanic was deemed most important.

  When the talk had drawn to an end, Samuel brushed his hand down the front of his uniform jacket and stood, looking around for any familiar faces.

  He spotted Archie as he neared the ballroom door and touched his elbow.

  His friend turned, his eyes momentarily glazed in thought before he blinked, his face breaking with its usual quick smile. ‘Murphy. What did you think?’

  ‘Not a lot, if I’m honest. I can only presume we’ll learn about the running of the ship when she arrives tomorrow. I suppose we still have a week to get our bearings.’

  ‘Our bearings?’ Archie shook his head. ‘Seems to me all the powers to be are concerned with is making sure the uppity passengers are given the time of their lives. How the bloody hell do we know about what they’re going to want or expect?’

  ‘I have a feeling it isn’t all the passengers they want to ensure a good time.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, all White Star are worried about is the aristocracy and the upper class. How are the poor buggers in steerage supposed to have a good time? I don’t care if they’re aboard the Titanic or a bloody tugboat, steerage is steerage.’

  Archie frowned. ‘Yeah but, apparently, even steerage on the Titanic is a cut above.’

  ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’

  ‘If you see it.’ Archie glanced at his wristwatch. ‘What are you doing now? Fancy joining me in town? There’s bound to be a woman to catch your eye for the night.’

  They walked outside and made their way towards the quayside. ‘Don’t start that nonsense again, Archie, for God’s sake.’

  ‘What? I’m in love with my Nancy, but you’re young and free. Why not enjoy yourself before we sail out?’

  ‘Because that kind of life isn’t for me. You know that.’ Samuel stopped and stared out across the quay, imagining how New York would look the first time she appeared on the horizon. ‘I might not have a lot, but what I do have is loyalty, and the next time I’m with a woman she’s going to have the whole of me, not bits and pieces. The future is bright, Archie… New places. New people. New countries and new experiences. That’s all it’s going to be for me from now on. Who knows? I might even stay in America at the end of this voyage.’

  Archie followed Samuel’s gaze across the water. ‘Yeah? And what about your ma?’

  A horrible knot of guilt formed in Samuel’s gut. ‘Are my family supposed to be what anchors me to Bath forever?’ He glared. ‘I’m cutting the rope. On the 10th of April, my life becomes my own before I drown under the weight of other people’s.’

  Turning away, he marched along the dockside towards town and Archie’s hurried footsteps followed before his friend slung his arm around Samuel’s shoulders. ‘Hey, take a breath, will you? You deserve a bit of adventure and I’m glad to be serving beside you on this trip. You’re a good bloke, Sam and I want you to be happy. Mark my words, once we’re aboard, we’ll be told everything we need to know and then it will be onwards and upwards.’

  Samuel tried to relax a little of the tension in his shoulders, grateful to be away from the subject of his family. ‘I assume no one, including the senior officers, are entirely sure what’s what until they get onboard. The man who designed the ship – Bruce Ismay, I think his name is – and Captain Smith are due to arrive in the next few days. Once they’ve looked the ship over, it will be our turn.’

  Archie shielded his eyes as he looked to the sky. ‘Well, if the weather stays as fine as it is today, we’ll be away right on schedule.’ He grinned. ‘We’ll soon be out in the Atlantic feeling like kings. Sod the first-class toffs, my friend, once we’re on the ship of dreams, we’ll be no different to anyone else.’

  Samuel smiled, keeping further thoughts about his aspirations to himself. What did it matter that his mother and Archie couldn’t imagine what he could? All that mattered was that Samuel didn’t have a single doubt that the Titanic was the vehicle, the machine, he’d been waiting for to finally set him free.

  Six

  ‘Are you quite sure you have everything you need?’ Mrs Woolden glanced at Amelia. ‘I don’t want Miss Pennington thinking I’ve sent you off to New York without you looking your best. The last thing she will want is to have your appearance reflect badly on Pennington’s.’

  Amelia smiled in an attempt to mask her unease about the upcoming trip and all that was expected of her. ‘I will be wearing finer clothes than I ever have before. The hats Miss Pennington has loaned me are priced at more than I earn in a month. I shall feel like a queen. You’ve been wonderful, Mrs Woolden. I just hope that I bring back all the information Miss Pennington would like.’

  ‘Of course, you will. Your eye for design and innovation is only second to your predecessor’s and I have every confidence you will do equally as good a job as Esther would have, if she’d been in your shoes.’

  ‘I’m not sure Mr Evans would agree.’

  ‘Mr Evans? What does Mr Weir’s deputy have to do with anything?’ Mrs Woolden frowned. ‘Has he been bothering you?’

  Amelia turned her attention to the dress in front of her. ‘Not bothering me as such. He just makes me a little uncomfortable.’


  ‘Well, pay him no mind. The man has a chip on his shoulder the size of St Pauls. As for Mr Weir, he is quite amiable away from the store. Now…’ Mrs Woolden held out a hat box and a pair of kid gloves. ‘Here. These should be the last of what you need.’

  Amelia took the hat and gloves, still concerned about Mr Evans. He was Mr Weir’s second in command, and she had no doubt that Mr Evans had been whispering words into Mr Weir’s ear about her. The man seemed to watch her from every corner of the store. She would be glad to be out of his way for a while, even if she would miss the store terribly. Pennington’s had become her haven. Her refuge. And now she was to embark on a journey most never would. How she would fare without the safety of the store to protect her she had no idea, but she had to find the inner strength to embrace all this trip had to offer.

  She pulled back her shoulders. ‘Right, I’d better set off for the night. I will see you when I get back.’

  Mrs Woolden softly smiled, her gaze tender as she grasped Amelia’s hand and squeezed. ‘You are a lovely young woman. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently, do you understand?’ She feigned a glare. ‘Including Mr Weir or Mr Evans.’

  Amelia nodded.

  ‘Good. Trust me, underneath Mr Weir’s harsh exterior is a man who will ensure you are safe and well while under his care. Enjoy yourself. This is a wonderful opportunity.’ She inhaled a shaky breath. ‘Now, off you go.’

  Touched by Mrs Woolden’s obvious emotion, Amelia left the ladies’ department and wandered slowly along the long, carpeted landing to the grand staircase. She stood at the top step and stared down into the atrium.

  Pennington’s was a store like no other.

  Despite the hour being near closing, people continued to mill around, moving from one illuminated counter to the next. The women’s eyes were wide, their smiles stretching the breadth of their faces as they gasped and squealed in delight at jewellery, silk scarves, gloves and scent. Everything could be touched or sampled. Everything a possibility. Everything in hand’s reach.

  But it wasn’t just the merchandise that Pennington’s laid out for a person to believe could be theirs. The displays were so artfully executed, they projected a silent promise that no matter how fanciful a person’s dreams, anything was possible.

  And it was that feeling Amelia drew deep inside her heart where no one could see or steal it. She had to believe that her shame would not forever taint the woman she could have been had she never been attacked when she was in service. Had to believe that trusting in good people, and working hard, led to success and happiness. That one day she would have someone to love, maybe even a family of her own.

  Blinking back tears, Amelia slowly descended the stairs, imprinting every inch of Pennington’s glory on her mind. It seemed impossible that New York’s department stores could be in any way better, but her employers had both voiced fears that Pennington’s shine would tarnish for Amelia once she’d visited America.

  The notion seemed utterly ridiculous.

  She surveyed the sparkling glass counters and tempting merchandise, the huge glass dome overhead, the famous mahogany staircase that stretched to four floors and, finally, the gilded front doors.

  Her heart and life lay in Pennington’s.

  Yet tomorrow, she would board the train to Southampton for an overnight stay before she and Mr Weir stepped onto the Titanic for the very first time.

  Fighting her growing trepidation, Amelia walked outside and down the stone steps into the street. Darkness had fallen along with a fine drizzle that had entirely dampened her hat and the shoulders of her coat by the time she’d caught the tram to take her to her lodgings.

  She was looking forward to sharing a last meal with her landlady and the two girls she boarded with. The last thing she wanted was for Mrs Cambridge, Elsa or Martha to think she was getting ideas above her station. Amelia’s mind wandered back to her escape from the house where she’d been a maid and her heart turned heavy.

  If it hadn’t been for Mrs Cambridge passing on Pulteney Bridge that night, Amelia had no doubt she would have gone through with her plan to throw herself into the river’s churning waters. Fate had stepped in and Mrs Cambridge had taken her back to her boarding house, offering Amelia room and board for next to nothing until she was on her feet again.

  Something the kind landlady had also done for Amelia’s housemates.

  The New York trip was exciting, and Elsa and Martha were full of questions and exhilaration but, no matter how hard she tried, Amelia couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that, sooner or later, she would be revealed as a fraud. A victim. A woman who’d been violated. Dirty and used.

  What if being in such close proximity with Mr Weir meant he would look at her a little more closely and see her for what she was? Exposed her secrets to the whole of Pennington’s upon their return? The man had the eye of a hawk and the ears of a bat and there was very little that escaped his notice.

  If she made a slip or spoke a careless word, Mr Weir would discover she was tainted. Her body molested and her virginity stolen. What would he think of her then? He already looked at her as though waiting for her reality to be revealed. If it was, he would hold her entire future in his hands, both personally and professionally.

  The tram jolted and Amelia blinked from her reverie, sitting a little straighter in her seat. Staring through the window at the passing shopfronts and pedestrians, she fought to get her self-pitying thoughts under control. Her imagination was running wild. Deep inside, she knew her secret was unlikely to be discovered. Yet, sometimes, she longed to confide in Elizabeth and Esther, Elsa or Martha, four women who had come to mean so much to her, but fear of their rejection ensured Amelia’s silence – and loneliness.

  Trapped. Caught. Gagged.

  The strain was merciless.

  Hastily brushing at her eyes, she lifted her chin.

  She was going to America. She must take this chance to grab a whole new world by the scruff of the neck and wring every last opportunity out of it. Make herself invaluable to Pennington’s. Make herself matter. And the only way to do that was to be braver than she’d ever been before.

  Seven

  Having rolled and pinned her hair, Ruby critically assessed herself in her bedroom mirror. She’d lightly applied some powder and a soft pink rouge to her cheeks. Small paste diamond earrings, given to her by her grandmother before she died, glittered at her ears and her hands were a little smoother from a sparse application of some cream.

  She stood a little taller. She could almost pass for attractive, if it wasn’t for the permanent frown lines between her brows. Even when she purposefully forced a smile, she only looked pained. Her shoulders slumped. Victoria’s lemon dress showed off Ruby’s black hair, but it did nothing to alleviate the nervousness in her eyes.

  How was she to prevent Victoria from sensing her lack of self-confidence? If she failed to convey a self-assured woman who knew her own mind and feelings, her dreams of having a relationship with Victoria would never come true… not that there was even the smallest chance of that happening, of course.

  A bang and smash of china downstairs jolted Ruby from her contemplation and she quickly yanked opening her bedroom door and made for the stairs. Every nerve in her body stretched tight as she hurried towards her mother’s screaming and cursing in the kitchen.

  If she’s laid as much as a finger on Tommy, I’ll wring her bloody neck.

  Ruby shoved open the kitchen door. ‘What’s going on?’ Her eyes darted to Tommy who stood in the corner of the room, part of a broken bowl in his bleeding hand. ‘Oh, Tommy, are you all right?’

  Hurrying to the sink, Ruby snatched up a cloth and ran it under the tap.

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ her mother snapped. ‘Look after him, why don’t you? Who cares less about me or the bowl that won’t get replaced?’

  Ruby bent down in front of her brother and carefully took the broken china from his hand and pressed the cloth to the cut on his palm, her back turn
ed to her mother. ‘It’s donkey’s years old, Ma. Don’t fuss.’

  ‘Fuss? Who the bloody hell are you to tell me not to fuss… and what in God’s name are you wearing?’

  Heat immediately warmed Ruby’s cheeks and she briefly closed her eyes before focusing on Tommy. ‘A dress.’

  ‘That’s not a dress I’ve seen in this house. Who gave it to you? Got yourself a fancy man, have you? Well, we don’t need dresses from him, we need cash. Lots of cash if you want to keep living in this house.’

  ‘A friend lent it to me. I haven’t got a fancy man and have no need of one.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Her mother gripped Ruby’s shoulder and roughly pulled her to her feet. ‘Take it off. You’re going nowhere dressed in some else’s castoffs.’

  Ruby’s blood pulsed in her ears as she shrugged out of her mother’s grasp and led Tommy gently across the room. ‘Let’s put a bandage on that and in the morning, you’ll be as right as rain.’

  ‘I’m talking to you, my girl. Don’t you dare turn your back on me.’

  Ruby fought to hold her temper as she took some bandage from the sideboard and wrapped Tommy’s hand. ‘I’m going out with some friends from work. I won’t be home late, and I’ll bring you back a bottle.’ She stood and pressed a kiss to Tommy’s cheek. ‘There you go. Now up to bed and get your pyjamas on. There’s a good boy.’

  Tommy threw a hasty, fearful look at their mother before hurrying from the room as quickly as his eight-year-old legs would carry him.

  Ruby took a deep breath and faced her mother.

  Her mother’s eyes burned with malice. ‘You’re going nowhere.’

  ‘You can’t stop me.’ Ruby battled to keep her voice level even though she knew what was coming. What always came. ‘I’m old enough and ugly enough to do as I please, aren’t I?’