Titanic Affair

by Amanda Grange

  ‘Good. I’m glad. Sea sickness can be very unpleasant. Even on a ship like this it’s impossible to completely avoid it.’ He glanced out over the calm water. ‘There might not be any motion caused by the waves, but there is always the throb of the engines.’

  ‘That is so.’

  The wind had risen, and although her hat was held on with pins, she did not trust them and put her hand on her hat to stop it blowing away.

  ‘But if you are feeling better then ill health can’t be the cause of the worried expression you were wearing just now. So what caused it?’

  He looked at her searchingly.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said.

  He waited.

  She tried to keep it in, but at last her feelings got the better of her.

  ‘Mr Latimer, just how safe is this ship?’ she burst out.

  He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Has something happened to make you concerned?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Not really. It’s just that I heard one of the crewmen talking. He was saying he didn’t like the ship. And that he’s not the only one. A number of crew members have had presentiments of disaster.’

  ‘Sailors always have presentiments of disaster,’ he said reassuringly, ‘but they very rarely come true. If they did, every ship ever built would end up on the bottom of the sea.’

  She gave a rueful smile. ‘I’m sure you’re right. Even so, just how safe is Titanic?’

  ‘She’s probably the safest ship ever built.’

  ‘So if there were an accident, she wouldn’t sink?’ she asked, holding on to her hat more tightly. The wind had become even stronger, and it whipped her coat around her ankles as well as trying to pull the hat from her head.

  ‘It’s very unlikely. She has some of the most up-to-date safety features ever devised. I was talking to Andrews about it only yesterday. She has a double hull, and a series of watertight bulkheads down below that will protect her if she should, by any chance, hit something. Say she’d hit the small vessel that broke its moorings when we were leaving Southampton, and say the collision had punched a hole in her, she would still have been able to float.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Emilia with a frown. ‘I don’t know what you mean by bulkheads.’

  ‘They’re like walls, dividing the lower part of the ship into sixteen separate compartments,’ he explained. ‘That way, if the hull’s ruptured, only one of the compartments will flood and the water will be kept out of the rest of the ship.’

  ‘So the compartments are like boxes?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, but without a lid.’

  ‘Without a lid? But if they don’t have a lid, what’s to stop the water from getting into one compartment and then going over the top of the bulkhead into the next one?’

  ‘In theory, nothing. But the ship would have to be taking on a lot of water for that to happen. The bulkheads reach ten feet above the waterline.’

  ‘But if one of them’s flooded, as long as water doesn’t spill over the top into the next one, the ship can still float?’

  ‘Yes And not just with one compartment flooded, but with two compartments flooded, or four of the smaller bow compartments. So you see, even if we do hit something, there’s almost no chance the ship will founder.’

  Emilia breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Did you believe in the superstitions?’ he asked her curiously.

  ‘Not exactly. But it did make me think. If anything happened to us out here, we’d be a long way from help.’

  She looked out over the ocean.

  ‘We’re not as far away from assistance as you think,’ he said. ‘Ships use these routes all the time. Besides, it would be easy to signal them using the Marconi wireless system if there was a need. And as a last resort there are always the lifeboats.’

  She glanced at the wooden boats hanging from the davits. They were covered over, and looked very clean and fresh. There were sixteen of them in all, eight on the port side of the ship, where she and Carl now stood, and a matching eight on the starboard side of the ship. They were very sturdy, but they did not look large enough to carry everyone on board.

  ‘How many people does Titanic carry?’ she asked, as she walked over to one of the lifeboats and tried to estimate how many people could sit inside.

  ‘Over three thousand when she’s full. There are just over two thousand people on board at the moment. The coal strike in England put a lot of people off travelling, as they didn’t think the voyage would go ahead. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just looking at these boats, it seems to me they would not take more than fifty or sixty people each. With sixteen boats, that’s not enough room for a thousand people. Even if I’m wrong about how many people can fit in each one, there still can’t be enough room for over two thousand.’

  He eyed them thoughtfully.

  ‘You could have a point. There are a few collapsible boats on board as well, but I believe there are only four of them. There don’t seem to be enough boats to save everyone. I know Andrews wanted to put more lifeboats on board. He used strong davits on purpose. They will take two lifeboats each, instead of only one.’

  ‘Then why didn’t he?’ asked Emilia, pushing her hair back from her face as the wind whipped stray tendrils loose from her chignon.

  ‘He was overruled. It was thought a double row of lifeboats would make the deck look too cluttered.’

  Emilia looked along the length of the deck. It was true that the lifeboats took up a lot of room, occupying perhaps half the width of the deck in some places. It was also true that, being taller than a man when they were strung up on the davits at the side of the deck, they reduced the view of the sea.

  ‘There would certainly be less space for walking,’ agreed Emilia. ‘Even so … ’

  ‘I agree. It’s safety that’s important aboard a ship, not appearances. Still, I shouldn’t worry about it. We’ll be in New York by Wednesday, and then you won’t have to think about it any more.’

  She looked out over the ocean, breathing in the salty tang of the sea air. There was nothing but water in every direction. But in a few more days they would see land once again.

  She smiled. ‘I expect you think I’m foolish.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said with an answering smile. ‘Titanic’s a marvel, but it doesn’t do to forget that she’s made of iron, and that anything made of iron can sink. Prudence as well as an eye for beauty is needed when designing a ship.’

  The wind intensified, and a sudden gust blew across the deck, pulling her hat from her head. She tried to grasp it, but it was whipped out of her reach.

  Carl stretched out his hand and caught it.

  ‘Oh! Thank you,’ she said.

  She held out one hand, whilst pulling a hat pin out of her hair with the other.

  Instead of giving it back to her, however, he tucked his cane under his arm.

  ‘Here, let me help you,’ he said.

  As his deft fingers ran through her hair searching for more pins, she stilled. The feel of them in her golden locks was mesmerising. Her scalp began to tingle. She was filled with an almost irresistible urge to turn her head so that his fingers would run over the crown of her head, but she must resist it. She must not betray by word or deed the effect he was having on her. But even though she said nothing, even though she did not move, she thought he sensed it.

  His fingers stilled.

  She stopped breathing.

  Then she felt his fingers running over her forehead before tracing the line of her cheek. His touch was gossamer light and made her shiver. She marvelled that such strong fingers could be so delicate. With such strange and unnerving, yet delightful, sensations coursing through her she dare not look at him. If she did, she was sure he would see her feelings written all over her face. His fingers stroked down the line of her cheek and came to rest beneath her chin.

  She swallowed.

  And then what she had dreaded happened. He lifted her chin, so that she was forced to look at him.<
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  She tried to hide her feelings, but they would not be disguised. She felt her eyes opening wide as she drank him in.

  She saw his own eyes flash in response, and for one insane moment she thought he was going to kiss her. There was a look on his face that told her the idea was in his mind, as well as in hers.

  She couldn’t understand why she should want him to do it. It was not as though she liked being kissed. It was terrible. Mr Montmerency had kissed her, and it had been dreadful. But the thought of Carl kissing her was somehow enticing.

  How would it feel? she wondered. Would it be hard and powerful, as he himself was hard and powerful? Or would it be tender?

  She must put a stop to this, she realized with a gulp. She was letting her feelings run away with her. They were on the boat deck, in a public place, and although for the moment the deck was empty, at any moment it could become busy again.

  ‘Can … ’ Her word came out breathlessly. She took a hold on herself. ‘Can you not find the pins?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. I can find them,’ he said.

  He made no move to take them out, however, but continued to hold her with his gaze.

  ‘Then … ’ She swallowed ‘ … won’t you pull them out?’

  There was a long moment. She thought it would never end.

  She was not sure she wanted it to end.

  But then, to her relief - and also her inexpressible disappointment - his fingers returned to her hair, and she felt the pins glide over her scalp. As he pulled them out, several tendrils of hair were pulled loose with them.

  His fingers moved deftly in reaction, combing her hair back from her face, and she felt as though she had escaped from one danger only to fall into another. The feel of them as they ran through her hair was intoxicating. She stood quite still whilst he fastened the loose strands, pushing them back into her chignon.

  His hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary.

  Then, taking her hat from beneath his arm, he pinned it back on to her head.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, not meeting his eye.

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  He turned to look along the deck.

  Without his eyes on her, she felt her pulse begin to calm.

  ‘Would you like to take a walk?’ he asked.

  She hesitated. She should not spend any more time in his company than was necessary, but she could think of no reason to refuse without being rude.

  ‘Very well.’

  He offered her his arm. She rested her fingers on it so lightly that they could barely feel the muscles beneath his coat.

  They turned and walked along the deck, towards the stern of the ship.

  ‘Have you been enjoying your extra time on Titanic?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, very much so,’ she said, relieved to be on safe ground. ‘I went to the Turkish baths yesterday, and then spent a while in the gymnasium.’

  ‘That explains why I didn’t see you. You weren’t at dinner,’ he remarked.

  ‘I dined in the à la carte restaurant, with Pansy Wainfleet and her husband. I met Pansy in the baths,’ she explained.

  ‘Ah. I see.’

  They walked on, past a little boy playing with a whip and top. He had chalked on the top, creating a colourful pattern which merged into a blur as the top spun across the deck.

  ‘I am hoping to experience everything Titanic has to offer before we reach New York,’ she said.

  ‘What will you do when we get there?’ he asked. ‘Will you put up at a hotel until you can arrange for your return passage?’

  ‘A hotel, or a lodging house.’

  ‘And do you intend to see the sights?’

  ‘I do. I have a friend living over there who sells antiques, and I am hoping he will show me round.’

  ‘Him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see. Have you telegraphed to let him know you’re coming?’

  ‘Of course. I did so as soon as I thought of it. I haven’t had a reply yet, but I think he will be pleased to see me.’

  ‘Ah.’ he hesitated. ‘He is someone special?’ he asked.

  His tone was superficially light, but there was an edge to his voice, and a tenseness about him that told her he was keeping himself in check. For some reason the idea that Charles might be special bothered him.

  ‘Yes. He is a very dear friend of mine. I’ve know Charles since we were children,’ she replied.

  ‘Oh. A friend. Then he is not your fiancé?’

  His question startled her, and also flustered her.

  ‘I hardly think that’s any of your business,’ she replied.

  ‘It might not be any of my business, but I’m curious.’ He stopped and turned to look at her. His eyes traced the lines of her face. ‘You’re a beautiful young woman, Emilia, and yet you’re not married. You’ve known poverty, but you’ve also known something better. Have you never been tempted to marry in order to get back what you lost?’

  The idea brought back vivid memories. Bad memories, of Mr Silas Montmerency saying, ‘Give in to me, Emilia. You’ll have a fine house n fine clothes. I’ll make you the first lady in Southampton,’ and of him pawing her with an evil madness in his eye.

  ‘No. Never,’ she said vehemently, taking her hand from Carl’s arm.

  He looked at her curiously, and she could tell her was surprised by her reaction.

  ‘To marry to escape poverty,’ she continued more calmly. ‘It isn’t worth —’

  She broke off suddenly.

  ‘It isn’t worth what?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, biting her tongue.

  ‘You were intrigued by me. When we danced at dinner, I satisfied your curiosity. Won’t you satisfy mine?’

  There was an intensity to his gaze that unsettled her. His questions seemed prompted by more than idle curiosity. It was as though he wanted to come to know her, and find out what events had shaped her personality. The idea made her afraid. It was too intimate. If she told him too much about herself she would find it very difficult not to draw close to him. And that would be unwise.

  ‘There’s really nothing to tell,’ she said lightly.

  She turned away from him. As she did so, she caught sight of something that made her shiver. It was a figure on the third-class poop deck. Barker.

  ‘You’re cold,’ said Carl, seeing her shiver. ‘We’ll go in. Will you join me in the café for a cup of coffee?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry, I can’t,’ she said hastily, turning her back towards the poop deck in an effort to escape Barker’s notice. ‘I - have an appointment,’ she said, thinking quickly. She must go below before Barker saw her, no matter how rude she appeared. ‘I arranged to meet Pansy. I’ve only just remembered. Please excuse me. I must go.’

  And then before he could try and stop her she hurried away, back along the deck and down the stairs. Seeing Barker had reawakened all her fears. For the time being she was safe enough, but once they neared New York she would no longer be safe. With all the bustle of disembarkation, it would be easy for Barker to strike.

  Even worse, she could not think what to do about it.

  Below deck, in a sumptuous first class stateroom, Mrs Gisborne was reclining on a damask-upholstered sofa.

  ‘Where’s that magazine,’ said her husband, as he looked through a pile of newspapers and magazines on the console table. ‘You know the one I mean, Margaret. The one with the article about the stud.’

  Mrs Gisborne shifted slightly but did not reply.

  ‘It was here on Thursday. This is ridiculous, where can it have got to?’ He called out to the maid. ‘Janice … Janice,’ he called.

  ‘If you are going to ask Janice where it is you needn’t bother,’ said his wife, idly turning the pages of her book. ‘It isn’t here. I … lent it to someone.’

  ‘Well you can just unlend it,’ he said. ‘There was an article on Hugo’s stud I wanted to read.’

  ‘You can’t have it,’ she said.

 
His eyes sharpened. ‘Why can’t I? What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean I gave it to Miss Cavendish, and I am not about to ask for it back.’

  ‘Miss Cavendish? What the devil would Miss Cavendish want with - ah. The picture of Carl and Isabelle.’

  His wife sat up and put her book aside. ‘There’s no use letting the poor girl encourage unfortunate feelings for him,’ she said. ‘I wanted to put her on her guard.’

  ‘Wanted to scare her off, you mean,’ he grumbled.

  ‘And you don’t?’ she demanded. ‘You would like to see Isabelle reduced to rags?’

  ‘No … well … ’ he blustered.

  ‘Because that’s what she will be, if Latimer doesn’t come up to scratch. My poor sister’s been penniless since Paul died. She thought he’d leave her well provided for, but instead he left her nothing but debts. A good marriage for Isabelle is the only thing that can save them both from the poorhouse, and I’m not about to let a jumped up little nobody take him away from her.’

  ‘It seems a bit rough on Latimer,’ said Thomas, pursing his lips.

  ‘I don’t see why. Carl Latimer is a dear boy, and he is delighted to be marrying into such a well-connected family,’ she returned. ‘And why shouldn’t he be? Isabelle’s beautiful, charming and elegant. Together they’ll have fine children, and her connections will bring him everything his heart desires.’

  ‘Carl Latimer’s no boy, and if you ask me, this idea you’ve got of making a pet of him won’t work out. He might be marrying Isabelle for her connections, but you’d do well to tread warily until the ring’s on her finger. There are plenty of other hard-up young women with good families who’d love to have such a fine looking man in the family, especially one who happens to be a millionaire.’

  A frown crossed her exquisitely made-up face.

  ‘You could be right. The Pargeters have been chasing him.. So have the Theakstons. The sooner Isabelle fixes his interest the better.’ She thought. ‘It would be a good idea if Susan and Isabelle came to meet him when she ship docks in New York. Perhaps they’d better make it look like an accident - in fact, they can pretend they are meeting me. If Isabelle is there at the pier, looking elegant and glamorous, it will remind him just how inferior Miss Cavendish is. She’s all very well for a shipboard romance, but when it comes to the serious business of marriage, the sight of Isabelle should remind him that only a well-bred and well-connected wife will do. I’ll telegraph Susan straight away and let her know.’