‘Oh, you’re ugly enough all right, but until you’re out of this house and taking that good-for-nothing half-brother with you, you ain’t old enough. Now, take off that dress and get upstairs out of my sight.’
‘No.’
Her mother was across the room before Ruby had drawn her next breath. Talons gripped Ruby’s hair and pulled, her scalp burning. She grabbed her mother’s meaty wrists and fought back with everything she had, already knowing her plans for the evening were over. Her mother stepped back and slapped Ruby hard across the face, sending her reeling across the room.
She slammed into the dresser and instinctively picked up the knife laying there. Trembling, her face and head stinging, she thrust it towards her mother. ‘Take a step back, Ma. Right now. I mean it, or so help me God…’
‘Don’t you dare raise a knife, your fist, or anything else to me, my girl. You are my daughter and—’
‘Your daughter?’ Ruby smiled wryly. ‘You aren’t a mother to me or Tommy. What mother stands by and continues to yell at her son while he’s bleeding? What mother grabs her daughter’s hair, slaps and punches her?’
Her mother’s cheeks darkened as she stepped closer, her eyes blazing with fury. ‘Get yourself up those stairs, take off that dress and the whore muck on your face before I wallop you into next week. Go. Go on!’
Ruby tightened her grip on the knife, her body trembling. Hatred burned through her like poison, overtaking the happiness provoked by the anticipation of spending the evening with Victoria. What the hell am I doing? Mooning over a widowed woman who prefers men? Why am I even considering leaving Tommy with our cow of a mother tonight so I can nurse a pipedream?
Defeated, Ruby lowered the knife and purposefully laid it on the dresser. Her mother had already destroyed Ruby’s minimal self-esteem, convinced her that her life would never get better. She would not make her a murderer, too. Taking a deep breath, she brushed past her mother who whipped out her hand like the jaws of a snake and clamped Ruby’s wrist.
Leaning in, her mother’s breath whispered over Ruby’s lashes. ‘Your only reason for living is to do my bidding, girl. Get that into that stupid head of yours. You cook, clean, go to work and bring home your wages. That’s it. Going out, putting on clothes that look ridiculous on you and pretending you have a life outside of these four walls is never going to happen. Do you understand? Never.’
She shoved Ruby towards the door, and she stumbled backwards. ‘I wouldn’t leave our Tommy with you tonight for anything, but know this, if you ever lay a hand on him while I’m alive, I’ll kill you.’
Her mother laughed. ‘I’d like to see you try.’
‘It’s a promise, Ma. I mean it.’
Ruby walked from the kitchen and mounted the creaky staircase before she gently knocked on her brother’s bedroom door. Walking into the darkened room, a spear of moonlight spilled across Tommy’s still form as he lay in bed. His dried tears shone silver on his thin cheeks, his overly long hair like rats’ tails on the grey-white pillowcase.
‘I love you, Tommy.’
‘I love you, too.’
Ruby folded her arms, too afraid to hold him, lest she fall apart. ‘Our lives won’t always be like this. I’ll find a way to get us out of here.’
‘I know you will.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes.’
Swallowing against the lump in her throat, Ruby’s eyes burned as she sat on the bed and brushed the hair from Tommy’s brow. She pressed a kiss to his temple. ‘Ma didn’t believe I’d get the job at Pennington’s and she didn’t believe I’d pay rent on this place for the last five months, but I’ve done both. I will see us all right, Tommy. It’s just going to take some time. Maybe a lot of time, but we’ll get there in the end.’
He nodded and snuggled deeper under the blankets, his eyes softly closing.
Ruby watched him until the flickering beneath his eyelids stilled and his breathing softened. Once she was sure he was asleep, she left the room, gently closing the door behind her.
She stared down the narrow stairwell towards the open parlour door where she could see her mother’s roughened hands on the arms of her threadbare chair. She hummed a tune, the clink of her beer bottle keeping time as she tapped it against the glinting steel of the knife Ruby had left in the kitchen.
Eight
Amelia stared around the dining room of the South Western hotel in wonderment. Completed in 1872, the hotel was as beautiful inside as it was outside. The majestic, redbrick building, with its exquisite white-framed windows, doors and pillared main entrance was resplendent. She and Mr Weir had checked in five hours earlier and she still hadn’t managed to stop staring or fully close her gaping mouth.
‘Really, Miss Wakefield,’ Mr Weir admonished as he lifted his water glass, his overly oiled hair glinting under the lights. ‘You might not have been in so luxurious a hotel before, but there is no need to act quite so stupefied. At least try to stop your mouth from dropping open over every little thing. Working at Pennington’s has surely exposed you to how some people are able to live.’
‘I can’t help it. It’s like watching a play at the theatre. Or imagining how people look at a weekend retreat on a huge estate. The hotel, the furnishings, the people, the clothes… everything is marvellous.’
A rare smile curved Mr Weir’s lips and he smoothed the lapel of his grey suit. ‘Well, the hotel is only our home for a single night, and tomorrow you will have more wondrous sights to stare at agog.’
Amelia returned his smile, pleased with his thawing formality. The man actually looked as though he might come to enjoy this trip on a personal level as well as professional. His stiffness seemed to be abating, his gaze not quite so hardened above the rims of his spectacles. So much so, she suspected he might secretly be equally as enthralled with their surroundings and upcoming trip.
She reached for her water. ‘So, we board at half past nine tomorrow?’
‘We do. We will breakfast at half past seven. That will give us time to eat and an hour or so to collect our things before we head outside to join the queue ready to board. I have no doubt it will be complete madness at the quayside. The first-class passengers will get the superior treatment, whereas we’ll be bundled along with everyone else. So, unless we want to be swallowed up by the crowds, we must prepare to leave the hotel as early as possible.’ A waiter approached with their meals, another behind him holding an opened bottle of wine. As the food was placed on the table and the wine poured, Amelia sneaked another look around the cream and pale blue dining room.
The tables were clothed in white, the crockery simply patterned with sprigs of red roses and leaves, the cutlery of the highest quality silver. Chandeliers and glass wall sconces sparkled and shone above the diners as they talked and laughed, the atmosphere one of subdued, yet palpable excitement.
Amelia could hardly believe she was here, sitting among such wealthy people and gazing at such wonderful clothes, hats, shoes and jewellery. Her eagerness to reach New York was reaching ridiculous heights with every new guest who entered the room.
Passengers had been arriving in their dozens all afternoon and now, as they congregated for dinner, she couldn’t resist studying them more closely. American accents mixed with upper-class British as men and women conversed, laughed and joked. Talk of the impending voyage and the ship’s passengers abounded, but it was the overwhelming sense of anticipation that ebbed and flowed through the occupants, regardless of their clearly established privilege, that captivated Amelia.
It had been so generous of Elizabeth to pay for her and Mr Weir to stay here for the night – not to mention the selection of outfits they had been loaned. Even as Amelia watched people who would quite obviously be first class, judging by the glint and shine of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires all around the room, she didn’t feel the need to hide away.
‘Amelia? Do you intend joining me in eating?’
She jumped and smiled. ‘Of course.’
‘Why don’t we talk about the stores we will be visiting once we arrive in New York? Mr Carter and Miss Pennington have named Lord & Taylor, Bloomingdale’s and RH Macy’s as our primary interests. After we have exhausted all we can learn at these establishments, it is for us to decide how we further our investigations.’
Amelia cut into her potatoes. ‘I would love to take some time to walk through the streets and observe people as they go about their daily lives. I think it’s important we see if there are any particular fashions or accessories that Pennington’s knows nothing about. I’m sure there will be just as many curious things on the streets as in the stores.’
Mr Weir’s expression morphed into its usual disapproval. ‘I do not believe the purpose of this trip is to introduce curiosities to Pennington’s, but rather to ensure we are keeping up with the latest fashions.’
‘But surely it’s our duty to inform Miss Pennington and Mr Carter about the unusual things we see? We wouldn’t have completed what we are being sent to New York to do unless we venture further and delve deeper into the American way of life.’
Annoyance darkened his gaze. ‘It is I who have been put in charge of this assignment, not you. You will do well to remember that once we board the ship. I am your chaperone and intend taking the role seriously.’
Disappointment shrouded her and Amelia looked to her plate. What she wouldn’t give to escape Mr Weir’s beady eyes for a while. To move around the Titanic and see how people behaved and interacted. To spend time wandering New York’s streets with her imagination running amok.
There had to be a way she could do both.
‘Ahh, there is the one of the ship’s most famous passengers. The American millionaire, JJ Astor.’
Amelia immediately followed Mr Weir’s gaze to a smartly dressed man she guessed to be in his mid-forties, his dark hair oiled into a severe centre parting, his moustache prominent, but neatly trimmed. ‘Is that really him?’
‘Yes, an astute businessman, property investor and builder. I very much doubt we’ll catch another glimpse of him once we are away.’
Amelia slid her gaze around the room, pondering who was who and what their lives were like. She had no idea who was exceedingly rich or merely wealthy, but during this trip she would be the ultimate student and learn all that she could.
And not just about the moneyed either.
Whatever Mr Weir’s opinion about their employers’ wish to focus on Pennington’s more expensive merchandise, she didn’t believe it to be true. Elizabeth would expect Amelia to return to Bath with knowledge across the classes. Information that could be used to instigate change, improvement and innovation to make Pennington’s Britain’s flagship retailer.
‘I suspect we will see plenty to show us how the other half lives.’ Mr Weir sipped his wine. ‘You know, I often wonder how different my own life could have been had I made alternative choices.’
Unsure how to respond to such a surprising change of subject, Amelia swallowed. ‘Oh?’
He flashed a stiff smile. ‘Many deem me to have always been married to my vocation and whereas that is not strictly true, I cannot deny my loyalty will forever remain with Mr Pennington and his store.’
Annoyed, Amelia focused on her meal. Would he ever forget Elizabeth’s father once ran Pennington’s? From what she’d heard, he had been as dated in his opinions about the store as he was about women and class. She had absolutely no desire to discuss Mr Pennington now or any other time throughout this trip.
‘Mr Pennington was a wonder and had a mind for retail that I feel would rival Mr Astor’s were they in the same industry.’ Mr Weir glanced in Mr Astor’s direction. ‘Yes, money is one thing, Miss Wakefield, but class is quite another.’
Amelia drove her knife deep into her meat, surreptitiously watching Mr Weir from beneath her lashes. Maybe there was a chance he might occasionally relax during this trip, but whatever Mr Weir’s changing demeanour, she would remain on her guard. She had so much she wished no one to discover and mistaking Mr Weir’s amiability for friendship would be very foolhardy indeed.
Nine
As Samuel took his designated position at the top of the Titanic’s second-class gangplank, a strong certainty came over him that his life was about to change forever. Thank God he’d been taken on by White Star as a casual worker during the current coal strike. He stared up at the ship. He and Archie were lucky to be on this voyage and earning a wage when so many other workers scratched around for a living. Too many liners lay idle without coal to fuel them, but not the Titanic. It seemed she would be untouched forever.
The enormous vessel rose from the water like an apparition. Her four gigantic funnels almost seemed to touch the sky, her decks so high, the boarding passengers below looked like ants disappearing, one by one, into an enormous iron anthill.
Samuel had boarded at dawn, his boots thumping over steel and iron, rivets pushing into the soles of his boots as he’d moved his grip along the railings, marvelling at everything he saw and heard. Noise and steam had surrounded him, people shouting, calling orders, all peppered with intermittent cries of urgent attention or euphoria.
The explanation of procedures and expectations the crew had received felt minimal and, despite not feeling particularly more well-informed than he’d been at the hotel presentation, Samuel’s fascinations with the luxury, décor and mechanics inside and outside of the ship had eased his anxiety.
Some of the crew had been directly involved in the emergency procedures and word passed around that the lifeboats would only be needed in the unlikely event of a ‘man overboard’. Two sailors were expected to row each boat, if needed.
The prospect was so improbable it was almost laughable.
The ship was said to be unbreakable, unsinkable, and now that Samuel stood on its decks, he believed it entirely true. The boat was everything and more that the press had led the public to believe. It was, indeed, Titanic.
He glanced at Archie beside him. His friend stared down at the people rushing back and forth on the quayside, a mile-wide smile on his handsome face.
Excitement and expectation streamed through the air on a tangible wave and Samuel breathed deep as he clapped his hand to Archie’s shoulder. ‘I feel like a king. Just standing here like this makes me happier than I’ve been in my whole life.’
‘It’s unbelievable.’ Archie shook his head. ‘Now we’re aboard, nothing feels real. Are we really here?’
‘Oh, we’re here, my friend. There’s no doubt about that.’
He and Archie, along with tens of other crew members, had been assigned the responsibility of helping passengers board and directing them inside the ship. Once there, they would be greeted by the stewards responsible for getting them safely to their designated cabins.
‘I’m not surprised we ended up looking after second class,’ Archie said, peering further over the railing. ‘I suspect the senior officers will be in charge of first. They say some of the richest people in Britain and America will be taking this journey. The mind boggles just thinking about what being that wealthy means.’
‘It means nothing is out of their reach. They will want and demand everything they fancy. Yet, the fact is, they are taking advantage of the opportunity of a lifetime, just like us. After all, why would anyone who can afford to be on this voyage, not be?’
‘Whereas we’re the lucky bastards being paid for the privilege.’
Samuel laughed. ‘Exactly.’ A long, shrill whistle sounded along the deck and Samuel gripped Archie’s elbow. ‘That’s our call. It must be nearing ten o’clock. Look…’ He pointed along the quayside. ‘Here they come.’
Men, women and children surged onto the dock, their faces raised in wonderment as they strained to see the very top of the famous ship.
Archie walked to the other side of the gangplank and flashed Samuel a wink as he adjusted his hat and straightened his collar, pride oozing from his every pore.
Samuel looked at the sky and the same gratificatio
n washed through him. There had been breaks of sunshine through the cloud since dawn and the dry weather looked set to continue. A cool north-westerly wind gave a bit of a chill to the air but nothing unexpected for April. They should set sail in two hours without any problems.
The next hour passed in a blur as Samuel helped passengers aboard, he and Archie directing them left and right along the deck dependent on their cabin numbers. Bouts of sympathy flashed inside him when he considered what a maze the Titanic was inside and how people would struggle to navigate the corridors. He still wasn’t entirely sure how to get back to his own cabin, let alone find anything else. Then he envied that these people would be able to relax and enjoy all the ship had to offer from food, to wine, to music and entertainment.
‘Excuse me, young man. Might I have your attention?’
Samuel turned and met the steely gaze of the tall, lean man in front of him, his chin raised in a haughty manner. He dipped his head. ‘Yes, sir. Do you have your ticket?’
The man bristled as though the question was inappropriate. Without moving his study from Samuel, he barked, ‘Miss Wakefield, our tickets, please.’
Samuel glanced to the side and immediately stood a little taller, barely resisting the urge to brush the front of his jacket and puff out his chest. Wow… ‘Thank you, Miss… Mrs…’
She smiled, showing beautiful white teeth, her caramel eyes shining in the sunlight. ‘Miss Amelia Wakefield. How do you do?’
Samuel touched the brim of his hat. ‘Very well. Welcome aboard, Miss Wakefield.’ He dropped his gaze to the second ticket he’d been given. ‘And to you, Mr Weir, sir.’
‘Thank you.’ Weir glanced along the deck. ‘Now, if you’d like to point us in the right direction.’
‘Yes, sir. You and Miss Wakefield are along the way there. Use the third entrance and a steward will be there to accompany you to your cabins.’
‘Much obliged to you. Good day.’
Samuel looked at Miss Wakefield as she studied the windows and railings around her, her eyes wide with wonder and her smile heart-stoppingly beautiful.
A Shop Girl at Sea Page 4
