They were all elegant, refined and intelligent young women; all suitable matches. And all, when he had boarded the ship, people he had been contemplating spending the rest of his life with.
He finished his brandy and went out on deck. It was cold, but he wanted some fresh air. As he went over to the rail his thoughts returned to Emilia. Unlike the other women he knew, she had not reacted to his wealth. Instead, she had reacted to him as a man. Arguing with him, berating him, teasing him, laughing with him … But that was not the whole of it. Emilia was someone he could admire and respect. Her own life did not seem to have been easy, and yet there was no trace of self-pity or bitterness in her. He admired her for it, as he admired her for the way she had stood up to him, defending the needs of an elderly lady she did not even know. He respected her for sticking to her principles and refusing to sell her stateroom, no matter what the temptation. And he enjoyed her company. He could not remember when he had ever enjoyed anyone’s company more.
And then there were the feelings she roused in him, by her softness and her vulnerability, feelings of protectiveness. When she had run into his arms on deck, he had wanted to shield her from whatever it was that had frightened her.
He went back inside, to the inane chatter that surrounded him.
It no longer seemed enticing to marry into one of the first families in America, adding his wealth to an old name and thereby creating a powerful union, or to marry in order to cement a business merger which would result in yet more millions.
Both ideas, which had been a source of such interest to him only a few days before, now left him cold.
‘Good morning, miss,’ said Emilia’s stewardess cheerfully as she drew back the curtains in Emilia’s bedroom and let in the spring sunshine.
‘Good morning,’ said Emilia.
‘Did you sleep well?
Emilia hesitated. In fact, she had slept badly, tossing and turning as she had been plagued by conflicting emotions. She had been intensely drawn to Carl Latimer and the news that he was engaged, or as good as engaged, had disturbed her deeply. Still, she could not tell her stewardess these things, and so she replied brightly, ‘Yes, thank you.’
She dressed quickly, slipping on her camisole, drawers and corset before putting a square-necked dress on top of them, then brushed her golden hair before arranging it into a fashionable chignon set low at the back of her neck. Her toilette completed, she set out for the dining-room. A quick glance reassured her that Carl was not present, and having eaten her fill of poached eggs, scones, fruit and marmalade, she returned to her stateroom and composed her telegram to Charles.
Dear Charles, she began.
I am aboard Titanic. I will be arriving in New York on Wednesday. Can I see you? Emilia Cavendish.
It was short and to the point. Anything more would have to wait until she saw him.
She was about to make her way to the telegraph office when she hesitated. Barker was still at large on the ship, and it was possible he would try to kidnap her. But he would be stopped by the stewards if he tried to enter the first class part of the ship, she reassured herself, and even if he did, by some chance, slip through, he could not drag her all the way back to steerage without anyone seeing. Unsettling though it was to know that he was on board, she did not believe he could do her any harm until the ship reached New York, and she had no intention of remaining in her cabin all day just because he was aboard. There was too much she wanted to see.
The telegraph office was busy, as usual, but she was assured her telegraph would be sent that morning, and as she handed it over she considered what to do next. She decided to spend the day visiting the Turkish baths and the gymnasium. She longed to see them in their own right, but she also knew she would not see Carl there as men and women used them at different times of the day. If she should, by chance, encounter him anywhere about the ship she would treat him with cool politeness. She was sure he would be horrified if he realized she had read anything into his attentions other than thanks for helping his mother, and she did not mean to disgrace herself by allowing him to guess that she had feelings for him.
The Turkish baths were in a part of the ship she had not yet visited, and she had to ask one of the stewards where she could find them. She was directed to the lower part of the ship. She had never had a Turkish bath and did not know quite what to expect, but the woman in charge explained it to her, telling her about the hot, temperate and cool rooms, and explaining the use of the massage couch and the plunge pool.
She undressed, wrapping herself in a towel, and went in.
Like everything else on board Titanic the Turkish Baths were magnificent. The walls were made of enamelled tiles in rich shades of blue and green, whilst blue and white tiles covered the floor. Bronze lamps hung from the ceiling, which was supported by slender, intricately carved pillars. Couches upholstered in vibrant orange were arranged around the walls, and small tables were set in between them. She felt as though she had wandered into a scene from the Arabian Nights.
She enjoyed the novel experience of the baths, falling into conversation with a number of other ladies who were enjoying themselves in the hot and steamy rooms. She decided to have a massage, and found it extremely relaxing, then went through to the plunge pool.
It was in the plunge pool she made the acquaintance of Mrs Pansy Wainfleet.
‘Isn’t this heavenly?’ asked Mrs Wainfleet, as she relaxed in the cooling water.
‘It’s wonderful,’ agreed Emilia.
‘My name is Pansy, by the way, Pansy Wainfleet,’ said Pansy, introducing herself.
Pansy was a few years older than Emilia, being in her late twenties. She had dark hair, dark eyes, and Emilia warmed to her straight away.
‘Emilia Cavendish,’ said Emilia.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’
Emilia did not find it surprising that Pansy had introduced herself without waiting for a mutual acquaintance to perform the ceremony. On board ship an informality prevailed that would have been unthinkable on dry land.
‘Have you ever taken a Turkish bath before?’ asked Pansy, as she stretched herself in the cooling water.
‘No,’ confessed Emilia. ‘This is my first one.’
‘Mine, too,’ said Pansy. ‘I never thought I would take one on board a ship, but there is so much to do on Titanic. It’s like no other ship I’ve ever been on. It offers so many opportunities, and all of them interesting and enjoyable.’
Emilia agreed.
‘Have you been on a big ship before?’ asked Pansy.
‘Never,’ confessed Emilia. ‘This is my first time.’
‘Robert and I cross the Atlantic regularly,’ said Pansy. ‘His business is in America, which is where we live, but we still have family in England and we like to visit them as often as possible. I couldn’t believe it when he said we’d be returning on the Titanic. We were meant to be travelling on the Philadelphia but she was laid up because of the coal strike and so we transferred to the Titanic instead. I’m so glad we did.’
They compared their experiences of the ship and all the varied entertainments Titanic offered her guests, soon falling into an easy friendship. Pansy was entertaining, and knew a great deal about the various ships belonging to the White Star Line, so that Emilia felt not only well entertained, but as though she had learnt many things as well.
At the end of their session in the Turkish baths, Pansy said, ‘Would you join us for dinner tonight, Emilia? Robert and I are dying to try the à la carte restaurant. Dinner in the dining-room is superb, but we want to sample everything Titanic has to offer, and the restaurant has a very good reputation. It’s run by a Frenchman, you know, a Monsieur Gatti. He used to manage the restaurant of the Ritz. You’d be our guest, of course. Do say you’ll come.’
Emilia was delighted with the idea. She had seen the restaurant on her way round the ship and had thought how splendid it looked. It would be wonderful to dine there, especially with a companion as entertaining as Pan
sy. Besides, by avoiding the dining-room she would have an opportunity to avoid Carl Latimer, which was a very good thing. Mr Latimer was not proving easy to banish from her thoughts, and the less she saw of him the better.
‘Thank you,’ she said to Pansy. ‘I’d love to. What time are you intending to dine?’
‘Shall we say, eight o’clock?’
‘Eight o’clock. I’ll look forward to it.’
The à la carte restaurant was in a beautiful room on the bridge deck. Emilia had thought she could not be surprised any more by the wonders of the ship, but she had been wrong. The restaurant was breathtaking. It was panelled from floor to ceiling in French walnut, and decorated with furniture in the Louis Seize style. Large bay windows gave an air of being in a country house, whilst their fawn curtains complemented the Axminster carpet, which was in a beautiful shade of Rose du Barri. At the after end was a bandstand raised on a platform, and musicians were playing. The lighting was discreet, and the atmosphere wonderful. Many of Titanic’s passengers were enjoying Monsieur Gatti’s superb food, and the buzz of conversation filled the air.
Emilia met Pansy and Robert just outside. Pansy was beautifully dressed in a dark red Empire-line gown, with a feather in her hair. Robert, a handsome man with a jovial countenance, was dressed in evening attire. Neither of them turned a hair at Emilia’s outmoded yellow gown, and when Pansy had performed the introductions, the three of them were shown to a splendid table at the front of the restaurant.
Once they had settled themselves they perused the menu. It contained a mouth-watering selection of fish and meat dishes and was as varied as any menu on land.
‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ sighed Pansy, after they had given their order. ‘I’ve never seen so many famous people in all my life. Look, over there by the door, just entering the restaurant, that’s John Jacob Astor. They say Mr Astor is one of the richest men in the world.’
‘Really, Pansy,’ said her husband, but without rancour. He was clearly used to Pansy’s harmless enjoyment in spotting the rich and famous, and did no more than offer a token remonstrance.
‘The girl beside him is his new wife. Their marriage was quite a scandal,’ went on Pansy, taking no notice of her husband and turning to Emilia. ‘Madeline is only eighteen years old - younger than his son. They went to Egypt right after the wedding, to avoid the gossip, but Madeline’s in a delicate condition so they’re heading back to New York. And look, behind them, that’s Margaret Brown. She comes from a family of Irish immigrants, and she married a miner. You wouldn’t think so to look at her now, would you? He made his fortune somehow or other,’ Pansy went on, ‘and she rose to become one of Denver’s most prominent citizens. They don’t see a lot of each other nowadays, though. He doesn’t like the high life, and she does. She’s been staying with the Astors in Cairo, but her grandchild’s ill so she’s going home.’
Pansy’s eyes travelled round the room.
‘Over there’s Dickinson Bishop,’ Pansy continued. ‘He’s from Michigan. He’s been on honeymoon, too, with his second wife Helen. And at the next table is Paul Chevré the sculptor and Jacques Futrelle the writer - he writes mysteries, you know. Have you read any?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I have,’ said Emilia.
She’d enjoyed Monsieur Futrelle’s novels immensely, and was interested to see him in person. But she did not have long to look at him before Pansy pointed out the next celebrity.
‘Over there’s Henry B Harris, the Broadway producer. He’s been over to London to see about a play for Rose Stahl, one of his actresses. And look, there’s Archie Butt.’
‘Major Butt,’ her husband interposed.
‘Very well, Major Butt,’ said Pansy with the air of one humouring a child. ‘He was military aide to President Roosevelt, and then to President Taft, but his health’s been suffering lately and he’s been to Europe to recover.’
‘A good thing, too,’ said Robert. ‘All that in-fighting must get a chap down.’
‘Oh, politicians are always fighting,’ said Pansy blithely. ‘At the next table is Dorothy Gibson,’ she said with a sigh. ‘The lady with her is her mother. They are travelling together.’
Emilia turned to look at Dorothy Gibson. Miss Gibson was a celebrated actress, and Emilia had seen one of her films with Aunt Clem.
‘She’s very beautiful,’ she said.
And indeed Miss Gibson, with her fine features and expressive eyes, was very lovely.
‘Isn’t she?’ sighed Pansy. ‘I think she’s even more beautiful in real life than she is on the screen. I’d love to go and talk to her, but I can’t pluck up the courage to do so. She’s just made a new film, I hear, called The Easter Bonnet. I’m dying to ask her all about it, but I don’t suppose I’ll get the chance.’
Emilia was enjoying herself immensely. Pansy recognised a great many people, and Emilia was learning a lot about her fellow passengers. It was almost worth missing her chance to disembark at Queenstown, just to see so many famous faces.
It was also a help in diverting her thoughts from Carl. She had hoped that by dining in the à la carte restaurant, where she would not see him, her thoughts would not keep straying to him, but she had been wrong. Memories of the evening before kept returning to her. She kept remembering the way he looked, the things he said, and the way he smiled. Even with Pansy’s conversation sparkling round her she could not stop thinking about him; without it, she would have thought of nothing else.
Emilia could hardly believe she had been on Titanic for almost three days. So much had happened, and the time had passed so quickly. But as she wrote up her account of the voyage on the morning following her meal with Pansy, the morning of Saturday 13th April, she realized just how long she had been at sea.
The weather had been beautiful, and this morning was no exception. Having finished her writing, she decided to take a turn on the deck. She donned her coat, gloves and hat, then went out into the fresh air.
A number of early risers were already there, admiring the ocean. It stretched out in an unbroken vista in every direction, looking calm and placid beneath the clear sky.
Further along the deck, a game of quoits was going on, and past that a couple were playing deck golf. In sheltered nooks and crannies out of the wind, people were sitting in deckchairs supplied for their enjoyment, and stewards were carrying trays of refreshments to and fro.
As she stood there, watching the ocean, two crew members walked past her, talking.
‘I still don’t like this ship,’ said one. ‘I have a queer feeling about it.’
‘Come on, Wilde,’ said his companion. ‘She’s a wonderful ship.’
‘I don’t know so much. I’m not the only one to have a queer feeling about her. Arthur Lewis, one of the stewards, is anxious as well. His wife put his White Star in his cap the night before we sailed, and it fell to pieces in her hands. “I don’t like this”, she said, and I’m not surprised. Arthur didn’t like it above half, either.’
‘Superstition,’ said the other crewman, but all the same he sounded a little less sure of himself.
‘John Stewart’s not happy,’ continued Wilde.
‘The verandah café steward?’
‘Yes. His wife saw him off at Southampton. It’s unlucky. Wives should never see their husbands off. He’s convinced something’s going to happen.’
‘To him, maybe, but not the whole ship. Perhaps he’s going to trip over his own feet!’
But despite his nervous attempt at a joke, the mood did not lighten.
‘And then there’s Joseph Scarrott. He said “Goodbye” to his sister, and not, “So long, see you again soon” as he always does. And did you hear about one of the passengers. A hard-headed man, a New York lawyer, Isaac Frauenthal. He had a dream before we set sail. He was on a ship. It crashed into something and started to go down. He could hear the shouts of people drowning.’
‘Better stop this. You’re starting to make me worry now,’ said the other crewman. ‘In fact
, you’re starting to make me wish I’d followed Coffy’s example and jumped ship. He was one of the boiler stokers. He hid under the mail sacks going ashore and got off at Queenstown. Never got back on again.’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘You don’t suppose he’d had a premonition, too, do you?’
‘Who knows?’
They passed out of hearing.
It was only idle superstition, Emilia reassured herself as she looked out over the calm blue waters. It seemed impossible to think of any disaster befalling Titanic, with the spring sunshine glimmering on the quiet sea. Even so, she felt less comfortable than she had done ten minutes before.
‘Is something worrying you?’
She heard the familiar voice at her elbow and turned to see Carl approaching her. He was dressed in an overcoat and gloves, with a bowler hat, but not even the superb cut of his clothes could hide the fact that he was a vibrant man with a ruthless streak, rather than the sophisticated gentleman he appeared.
She felt her heart start to beat more quickly as he gave her a brilliant smile. It was all very well for her to tell herself that she must not find him attractive. Unfortunately, she did. His face was strong, giving evidence of his character, and she could not help remembering how it had felt to be held in his arms. She had better not think of it. If she did, she would give herself away.
‘Mr Latimer,’ she said, as coolly as she could.
‘Miss Cavendish. I’m glad to see you again.’ He came to a stop a few feet in front of her, and rested the tip of his cane on the deck, then folded his hands on its top. ‘You left the dining-room very quickly on Thursday night. I was sorry to miss saying goodnight to you. I hope you were not too unwell?’
‘No, it was nothing. Just a little sea sickness, that’s all,’ she said.
She did not know why, but she had a feeling he did not believe her. But she could not tell him the truth, that she had been distressed to learn of his forthcoming engagement.
‘I hope you’re feeling all right now?’
‘Yes, thank you. I have quite recovered.’
Titanic Affair Page 8
