“But Norm, we haven’t got that much to hide. Men leave their wives every day of the week.”
“And if they all run off of with gorgeous girls like you, good luck to them I say.”
“I do hope my mother’s not missing me too much.” Clare thrust her hands inside her trouser pockets. “It’ll be a shock for her, I mean going into my room and finding me gone. That’s why I had to leave her a note.”
Norman grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her round to face him. “Note! What note? I told you not to leave a shred of evidence behind when you left. You were supposed to disappear without a trace, remember?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t let my mother worry about me. I only said I was going to America with an angel and she wasn’t to worry about me and one day I’d come back dressed in the very latest New York gowns.”
“Foolish child!”
“Hey, who are you calling a child? I’m nineteen years old which is hardly a child and you certainly didn’t think I was a slip of a girl when you were having your way with me last night.”
True, Norm took a deep breath. The very last thing he wanted to do was fire Clara’s temper, not after he had tasted her sweet juices every night and morning since they had left Southampton. The first night, he had missed the softness of her golden tresses, but her short haircut had not spoilt his enjoyment of the rest of her supple body. He loved every inch of her and marvelled at her lack of inhibition when he had stripped her clothes off. He moistened his lips at the thought of tasting her again.
“When we get to New York, you will buy me some dresses, won’t you? Only I don’t think I could stand wearing these awful tweeds in Manhattan.”
“Of course, my love,” New York had begun to feel like a huge magnet to him, drawing him closer as the mighty ship ploughed her way across the Atlantic. In New York he would be free, free to live the life he wanted, free of the shackles...and if...in a few months time, he told Clara that he had heard from May’s solicitor and that she had agreed to a divorce, he could marry Clara officially. He smiled, they were well and truly married in the carnal way.
A knock came at the door, the steward opened it and called from outside. “The dinner bugle has sounded Mr. and Master Fox.”
“Thank you,” Norman responded, then turning to Clara said, “come on Master Clarence, time to eat.”
The Marconi Room later the same night
“I’ll take over now,” Jack Philips said to his assistant Harold Bride.
“Sorry old man, there’s an enormous pile of traffic waiting to be sent. And we’ve received several ice-warnings from other ships in the vicinity.”
“Okay, you turn in now, get some shut eye. I’ll take over.”
Harold signed off and left. Jack sat down and was about to begin transmitting when he received an incoming message from Cape Race. He copied the signal onto a standard Marconi form:
TO: CAPTAIN RMS TITANIC
WANTED FOR QUESTIONING RE SUSPICIOUS DEATH OF MAY BAINES STOP NORMAN FOX BAINES TRAVELING WITH CLARA WITHERS STOP DETAIN IN NEW YORK UNTIL FURTHER INSTRUCTION END
“Bride? Are you still there?” Jack removed his earphones and glanced over his shoulder, but the Marconi Room was empty. He placed the message on top of the pile of ice warnings.
Starboard side Promenade Deck 9.30 pm same night
“I’ve eaten too much,” Clara said.
Norman wanted to put his arm around her and comfort her as they strolled along the Promenade Deck. Although the area was enclosed with glass windows, Norman shivered. “Do you want to go back to the stateroom?” he asked, hoping she would say yes.
“In a few minutes, I thought a walk might easy my bloated belly.”
“Has it? Do you feel relieved?”
“Not really, I shouldn’t have had the extra portion of pudding the waiter brought me.”
“Then why did you?”
“I’m supposed to be a boy, remember? Boys always eat too much. Besides, I was dying for a drink, why you couldn’t have ordered me a glass of wine, I don’t know.”
Norman let out a long sigh. “We must both act our parts and not draw attention to ourselves. No one must get a clue about our true identity.”
Clara stopped and turned to face her lover. “Norm, I don’t understand, May has agreed to a divorce, so why do we have to run away and hide?”
Norman looked into her eyes and thought how lovely they looked. “It’s the money, I’m prepared to pay her an annuity but she is not having the bulk of my savings. I’ve worked hard all those years in the brewery counting house. I worked my way up in the company. Now that’s all behind me. I resigned from my job to be with you. We both deserve a fresh start in the New World, but we can’t do that without finance.”
“I wish I could kiss you, Uncle Norman.”
Norman breathed a sigh of relief, Clara seemed to accept his rationale, at least for the time being. “Then let’s turn in and you can kiss me as much as you like.”
Keeping a polite distance between uncle and nephew, they strolled along the corridor until Mr. Fox and Master Clarence Fox reached their stateroom and retired for the night.
11.43 pm same night
Norman sat up, he thought he felt the ship’s engines quiver and send a strange dancing motion through the mattress. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what? What time is it?” Clara asked.
Norman fumbled on the side table for his gold pocket watch and switched on the light.
“Oooh, that’s bright!” Clara rubbed her eyes.
“It’s quarter to twelve, we could go back to sleep or you could come into my bed for cuddle.”
“Oh, I don’t know Norm, my belly is still aching from all that pudding. I don’t think I could I’d rather go back to sleep.”
Feeling disappointed, Norman switched off the light, but he couldn’t get back to sleep. He tried not to think of May back home, but he couldn’t get her insulting remarks out of his head. If only she hadn’t started to belittle him by asking who would be interested in a bald forty-five year old man with a pot belly? He had told her, told her everything and she had said his little Clara was only interested in his money.
“Divorce?” she had screamed at him, “I’ll never let you go!”
He had snapped, lost every bit of sense he had, launched at her, grabbed her by the throat and squeezed the life out of her. Then desperate to conceal the body, he had dragged her down the cellar and covered her in coal. That’s when he had decided to run away to New York with Clara. That afternoon, he bought tickets on the next ship to sail out of Southampton, the brand new Titanic. He had not thought of May since, strange he should be thinking of her now.
Following two loud knocks on the door, the steward poked his head inside the cabin and switched on the light. “Sorry to disturb you sir, but you must get up, get dressed, put on your life-preservers and come up on deck.”
“What? What’s the meaning of this?” Norman bellowed.
“Captain’s orders sir, all passengers are to get dressed, put on their life-preservers and go on deck.”
“Oh bugger, Norm, what’s happening?”
1.35 am Monday, April 15th 1912
“Why did we have to wait so long before coming up on the deck?” Clara moaned.
“I needed to get to the Purser’s Office, I wasn’t going to leave the ship without my money and valuables.”
“Forget your valuables, I think this ship is sinking! Come on Norm, we’ve got to get to the lifeboats.”
“Okay, I’m coming, I’m right behind you.”
Norman struggled up the stairs gasping for breath as he tried to keep up with Clara. People pushed and shoved each other, some women cried and there was a lot of screams. He caught up with Clara on the portside of the Boat Deck. “God, I thought I’d lost you.”
“Look, most of the boats are away! Let’s go along here.”
Norman seethed as she took off. He watched her dodge between the crowds of people gathered on the
open deck. He tried to follow her as she ran towards a large group of people surrounding a lifeboat.
“Women and children only,” the officer called. Women stepped forward, made their farewells to their men and clasped their children in their arms.
He caught up with her and standing behind her placed his hands on her shoulders. “You go. Take your chance now, I’ll get another boat.”
She looked up at him over her shoulder, “That’s very good of you, Uncle Norm.”
Norman grabbed the officer’s arm, “He can go, can’t he? He’s only a child.”
The officer looked back at them blankly, “No, sir, he’s not a child.”
“He’s fifteen,” Norman cried.
“We’ve got bell boys aged thirteen, no sir, he can’t go. Come on ladies,” the officer called to the hostile crowd and turned away from them.
“Norm, this ain’t right. They’ve launched most of the lifeboats and just look at the crowds. There’s no way they’re going to get everybody into boats.”
“Yes they will, everything is going to be all right, I’ll take care of you.”
“Are you bloody stupid! Take a look, how many boats can you see? Most of them have gone!”
“Clara, what are you doing?” Norman felt his face drop as she stripped off the life-preserver followed by her tweed jacket.
“I’m going to show that officer what a bare bosom looks like and if he doesn’t let me go with the women, I’ll be showing him my fanny as well!”
“No Clara, come back!”
Standing alone, Norman was astounded how deftly she slipped through to the front of the crowd where the lifeboat was loading. He heard the officer tell her to cover up and watched as she climbed into the lifeboat. As it was lowered away, he waved at her, hoping for one last kind gesture from her. But she didn’t look back. His heart sank, as if his whole world had collapsed around him.
He jumped at the sound of pistol shots and realised panic was breaking out around him. A voice cried that there was another boat outside the Promenade Deck. Unable to stop himself, he followed the crowd down the stairs. He ran along the enclosed deck to where a few women were being loaded into the lifeboat through an open window. He pushed his way to the boarding point.
“Women and children only,” the officer shouted.
Stunned, unable to make sense of his situation, Norman stood back not knowing how long he waited there. But something made him look through the glass panes of the Promenade Deck. His heart searched for Clara, but found the ocean only a few feet below where he stood. He didn’t know what to do.
The officer who launched the lifeboat, the one that took Clara, hurried towards the ship’s bow. Instinctively, Norman followed him. Somewhere in the distance he heard music playing.
“There are some boats on the roof of the officer’s quarters,” a man running alongside him said. But most people ran in the opposite direction and Norman couldn’t make sense of it. The ship groaned and listed further. His legs felt heavy and he stumbled as movement along the deck became increasingly more difficult. Pulling himself up, he grabbed the ship’s rail and gasped at the ocean only feet below as Titanic’s bow disappeared into the water.
A circle of crewmen, arms locked, held back a large crowd. The officer only allowed women and children into the boat he was loading. Pistol shots rang out, they silenced the crowd for a few seconds, then panic returned. The mob scattered and ran towards the stern. Rooted to his spot at the ship’s rail, Norman watched Titanic’s forecastle head sink underwater and her decks become steeper, until it was almost impossible for him to stand up, but he clung to the ship’s rail.
He looked up and saw an officer wearing a great coat and cap heavily emblazoned with gold braid. He assumed it was Captain Smith when the man shouted, “Every man for himself.”
Titanic’s bow plunged under as a huge wave swamped the deck. Norman’s feet slipped from under him as the water surged over the ship. An upturned lifeboat floated off. In desperation, he let go and struggled through the freezing water towards it.
Someone must have hauled him aboard. He coughed and tasted sea water. He could not feel his legs, numbed with cold he lay across the hull of the overturned boat. Others clung to the sides as the small vessel drifted away from the liner. A huge roar went up and echoed eerily across the flat sea.
“Her lights have gone,” a man said.
“Won’t be long now,” another cried.
“Poor bastards,” the first voice added.
“Clara,” Norman whispered “I can’t feel my hands or legs. Can I come for a cuddle?” Shivering, teeth chattering, he slipped from the upturned lifeboat and floated on his back. This time no one stopped him. No one pulled him back.
Norman opened his eyes and looked up into the cloudless sky, bright with stars, twinkling at him like all the jewels in the universe.
Dealt a Bad Hand
Grimshaw picked up the card dealt to him without looking at the dealer. He paused for the tell-tale signs of nerves from each of the four players at the card table; a tentative lift of an eyebrow, a collar tightening, an inaudible sigh or slight reddening of a face. Since leaving Southampton he had groomed the gentlemen, noted their reactions, measured their play and ensured each won back a little of what he had taken from them.
“Let’s make it five hundred,” he said.
“Too much for me,” the American replied and cast his hand down alongside the mounting pot of notes and coin piled in the centre of the gaming table. Grimshaw made a mental note of the exposed cards. They held no surprises for him.
Several gentlemen onlookers had gathered around the table. They stood in silence anxious to witness the final stages of a game where the pot was increasing rapidly.
Grimshaw’s concentration wavered as he felt a jolt from the starboard side of the ship. Concentrate, hold your nerve, he told himself, no time for distractions now.
The next player, Sir George Croft, a middle-aged iron and steel baron from the north of England, smoked a cigar. He exhaled and signalled for the waiter to refresh his glass.
“Are you playing Sir George?” the next player asked.
Grimshaw noted the young man’s frigid expression but didn’t waste time speculating about his motives for playing. He switched his attention to the dealer, whom he had watched closely throughout the previous games. The man’s sleight of hand confirmed to Grimshaw that he wasn’t the only professional gambler at the table. The dealer, aged about forty, looked more like an undertaker than a professional card player. But who was he to judge?
The young man, who pressed Sir George, had kept his winning to a moderate level hence he drew little attention from the others during the game. Grimshaw suspected the young man was in league with the dealer, who had just passed the young man a card, doubtless to go with the pair he already held in his hand.
But Grimshaw kept silent and bided his time.
“Aye,” Sir George grunted, “I’d have to be a numbskull to throw the towel in now!” He began writing another promissory note, his hand shaking slightly. When he had finished he slapped the note on the table with a thud.
“One-thousand pounds,” the young man said and threw his note onto the pile. A collective gasp came from the onlookers. Grimshaw smiled, nothing like a few extra witnesses when he went in for the kill, especially for card games at sea where the aggrieved had the opportunity to come back to the table with the Chief Purser if there was any hint of skulduggery. That’s why Grimshaw always kept his winnings to a moderate level, he was never greedy. His young opponent had a lot to learn, he decided.
The game had reached a crucial stage as Grimshaw readied himself to cut to the chase. He recognised the run of play instantly, having used the same ploy himself in previous gambling engagements. Simply, get rid of the third party, then pounce on your unwitting victim, in this case the unsuspecting Sir George. But had the young man realised he was up against a professional?
Grimshaw doubted it. However, playing s
afe he kept a self-satisfied grin on his face in an attempt to deceive his young opponent. He knew the upstart was cheating but felt both frustrated and intrigued by him because he didn’t know how he was doing it.
“Too much,” the final player in the round declared and cast his hand down.
Grimshaw noticed the slight flicker of pleasure at the corner of the young man’s mouth with only three players left in the game. He glanced at Sir George, who also had the option to back out and leave his stake money on the table, but it would be lost to him. Grimshaw decided to raise the stakes.“Fifteen hundred,” he said.
“Fifteen! I...I don’t have such funds to hand,” Sir George gasped.
“Quitting too?” the young man asked.
“Did you hear me say so?” Sir George fired back, his fat cheeks reddening. “Fifteen hundred it is.”
“And what’s backing your note, Sir? With your own words you implied you were light,” the young man said.
“Damned insolence! I’m not a man who’d wager beyond my means.”
“Then put up some collateral,” the young man challenged.
So that was his ploy, Grimshaw nodded. Bait the quarry, then when the hook’s in deep, reel him in. Result? Land or property on the strength of a hand. Didn’t the portly Sir George know he was being taken hook, line and sinker?
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” the Chief Steward leaned over the table. “There’s some problem with the ship, we’ve stopped and the Captain has ordered all passengers to put on warm clothing, collect their life-preservers from their staterooms and first-class passengers are requested to wait in your allocated area of the Boat Deck. Might I suggest gentlemen that you bring your game to a conclusion?”
“What?” Sir George grunted.
“Perhaps we should follow the captain’s orders, gentlemen,” Grimshaw said and tapped the side of his half-filled glass. “Titanic appears to be listing.” He scrutinised the dealer as he spoke, then turned to his right and said, “I’m sure I and my fellow players would prefer you to keep your hands on the table in clear view whilst we discuss this matter.”
Titanic Twelve Tales - A Short Story Anthology RMS Titanic Page 4
