by Annie Murray
‘Oh to hell with it. Let Stevie come as well then.’
‘And Mercy.’
‘Mercy?’ A momentary look of alarm swept over James Adair’s face. But of course, the child could hardly travel without his nanny. She could travel second class, somewhere well away from him . . .
‘Very well,’ he said with dignity. ‘Mercy too.’
‘D’you hear Mercy?’ Margaret was overjoyed. The thought of being alone with James and a collection of strangers for weeks at a time had filled her with panic. She was maladroit socially, and what on earth would she and James have to say to each other all that time? She thought it a sad but inevitable truth that husbands and wives had very little conversation beyond the common interest of their children. At least in normal circumstances there were other people. But now, if Mercy was coming, and Stevie, she would have familiar companions.
‘We’re going across the sea to America, the first chance we get!’ James said.
Mercy was so astonished she couldn’t take it in. ‘I’ve never even seen the sea!’
‘Well, you’ll be seeing plenty of it soon!’ James laughed. Suddenly he seemed full of joy.
Part Five
Chapter Twenty-Seven
March 1920
‘Mercy – Mercy dear. You’d better wake up!’
Margaret Adair was leaning across from the opposite seat of the train. Feeling the warmth of the hand on her knee through her dress, Mercy slowly opened her eyes. Stevie was asleep on top of her, crunched up like a crab, his damp head resting under her chin, making her hot and sweaty inside her clothes. She had a dry mouth and a bar of dull pain stretched between her temples. The seat was rocking gently, the train chugging, der dum der dum . . . Wherever was she?
‘We’re coming into Southampton.’ James Adair was sitting up very straight, peering with boyish enthusiasm out through the sooty window. ‘Soon get a look at her!’
The ship – of course! She was on a train going to the sea and they were travelling to America! Mercy was wide awake suddenly, gently sitting up and trying not to wake Stevie.
‘Bless him.’ Margaret Adair looked fondly at her son. She had seen James smiling at the two of them as they slept and was moved by the tender expression in her husband’s eyes. What she had achieved in giving him a son!
Stevie, eighteen months old, was very active once awake, but now, oblivious of her adoration, let out a shuddering little sigh in his sleep.
‘I don’t suppose he’ll remember any of this,’ Margaret said. She stopped speaking rather abruptly and Mercy saw her close her eyes and rest her head back as if in discomfort.
Mercy looked out as the train snaked between warehouses and factories. She saw rows of dwellings, church spires, occasional faces topped by workmen’s caps turned up to watch the boat train hurtle past. She was surprised to see these familiar things, as if, having left Birmingham for the first time, she was expecting a completely different world.
‘We must be about the last train.’ James’s watch hung on a gold chain from his weskit. ‘She sails at noon.’ He was trying to sound like an old sea dog.
When the train came to a halt with a groaning of brakes, Mercy eased herself and Stevie out of the comfortable first-class seat. She wrapped a blanket round him carefully as he stirred and carried him out into the chill spring air.
The platform was full of excited crowds. From first class spilled gentlemen in expensive suits, trilbys, bowlers, even the odd top hat, and their womenfolk, stylish gowns covered by fur-trimmed coats and stoles and a dazzling variety of hats, feathered and flowered, some outrageous with wide brims and decorations of fruit, others pared down, elegant skullcaps trimmed with a single gorgeous feather. Mercy felt small and poor and bewildered amid the loud ring of upper-class voices, some with foreign accents, all so ripe and confident. They found a porter, and negotiated their way through the heaving mass of people shuffling along, slowly, to the dock.
‘Smell that!’ James cried, leaning close to her ear.
She breathed in, and through the thinning smoke from the trains, smelt for the first time the salt of the sea. As they moved out, the bracing air hit her face. She felt an odd sensation go through her suddenly, tingling, excitement and wonder making her breathless. Such beginnings she had come from, she who was nobody to anyone in the world – and now this!
James Adair looked as if he might burst with pride when they saw the Mauretania. Over and over again during the past weeks he’d told them, as if for the first time, ‘D’you know, she’s held the Blue Riband since 1907 – fastest passenger ship across the Atlantic – never beaten in all that time!’
‘He seems to think it’s one of his bicycles!’ Margaret murmured to Mercy with a wry smile.
But Mercy barely heard her. Her head was back, her eyes, at least as awed as James Adair’s, taking in the massive bulk of the ship. The huge black hull stretched way above them like an endless wall, topped with white which was interspersed by the hundreds of windows of the ship’s prime living quarters. Crowning it all were the four enormous red funnels. Everyone was looking up, exclaiming.
‘Look, Stevie,’ she said, leaning him back in her arms and pointing. ‘Look at the big boat – and up there, red chimneys. Chimneys, Stevie!’
The little boy’s eyes were wide and solemn.
The place was swarming. Mercy felt herself jostled at times and held tight to Stevie. James stood protectively close to her. Once she found herself looking into his eyes. He smiled at her. She heard people exclaiming, laughing, some weeping, many hugging each other farewell for a short time or a long, perhaps even for ever. Mercy started to notice many other sorts of people, the poor as well as the rich, some dressed in odd, foreign-looking clothes and shawls. Smoke from cigarettes and cigars was quickly blown away by the brisk breeze.
‘Come along.’ James guided her arm, speaking over all the commotion. ‘We’ll take you to second class and we’ll come and find you after. Stay close to me . . .’
They made their way gradually to the second-class embarkation point, amid a more soberly-dressed, respectable gaggle of people, many businessmen in Homburgs, some with anxious-looking wives beside them. High above them, the rails were lined by passengers who had boarded earlier and now had the leisure to watch the proceedings below, calling down and whistling to friends or relatives on shore.
There was a smell of tar. Mercy felt her face buffeted by moist air and thought for a moment it was raining, but it was a damp, brackish gust from over the water and it subsided. As they drew near the gangway and the clatter of feet grew louder, she felt her stomach tighten. The dark, deep gap between the ship and the dockside, with its gurgling strip of water, appalled her. She wanted it to be over now, to be on board.
‘Go to the steward at the top,’ James instructed. ‘He’ll give you directions to your quarters. We’ll find you . . .’ He smiled reassuringly as she stepped up, tightly clutching Stevie, then he turned back to join his wife.
Halfway up the gangway, as she slowly followed an elderly couple, the man leaning on a stick, a gust of wind lifted the front of her hat and carried it over the back of her head where it hung, flapping from its pin. She was flustered and afraid of it flying right off, but didn’t dare loose Stevie to fix it. She’d see to it when she reached the top.
But suddenly the hat settled back on her head, the pressure of a hand on top of it. She turned, startled.
‘Allow me.’
She found herself looking into a young man’s face, long and pale, with deep grey eyes, a wide mouth and striking, dark eyebrows which were pulled into a slight frown of concentration as he straightened the hat. Briefly Mercy also took in details of a baggy tweed suit on a tall, but thin body.
‘Thank you.’ She was taken aback. ‘Trouble is,’ she said timidly, ‘I’ve got my hands full.’
‘So I see. That’s quite all right.’ He smiled, the rather mournful face brightening for a second. ‘I often forget how windy it is on the coast as well.’
‘Two pins from now on,’ she agreed.
‘Go on – get a move on!’ someone called grumpily from behind, and it was only then Mercy realized they’d stopped and turned to scurry on upwards.
A smartly-dressed ship’s officer stood at the top to welcome them all aboard. James had booked her a fine room – a second-class state room on C-deck just for Stevie and herself so she would not have to share with a stranger. It was close to the Nursery and Children’s Dining Room.
‘Oh look, Stevie! All for us!’ she gasped with delight when she saw it.
It was like a little house all in itself: two beds, one on each side of the room, a table and two chairs, a little cupboard, a basin and her own WC . . . Her luggage, which they’d sent in advance, was already waiting for her in the middle of the floor. She put Stevie down and the two of them scurried round, looking at everything. Soon after there was a knock at the door.
‘Ah – this looks very good,’ James said. Margaret followed him into the room. She steadied herself against the wall for a second, then sank down abruptly on one of the beds, her face nearly as white as the paintwork.
‘Whatever’s the matter, dear?’ James peered at her, concerned by the pallor of her face. He sat down beside her and took her hand. Mercy went and knelt on the floor beside her.
‘You feeling poorly? Must be all the travelling. Takes it out of you, doesn’t it?’
Margaret leant dizzily against her husband, who removed her hat and helped her loosen the neck of her blouse.
‘It’s been getting worse all morning – I feel so faint and hot . . .’
‘Put your head down.’ James and Mercy helped her lower her head between her knees, Mercy fending off Stevie who was all for tugging at her hair. Eventually she sat up, her complexion a little pinker.
‘Oh dear,’ she smiled weakly. ‘Perhaps I’d better go back to our room and have a little lie-down. I keep feeling so strange.’
James helped her to her feet. ‘I’ll take her to rest,’ he told Mercy, ‘and then come back here. We’ll be off fairly soon. It’d be a great pity not to be up to see it.’
James Adair pulled back the silky eiderdown in their sumptuous first-class stateroom and helped his wife ease herself on to the bed. She looked very pale and shaky still. The brass bedstead creaked gently as she settled herself down and closed her eyes.
‘Shall you be ill, Margaret, d’you think?’
James stood over her, eyes on her plump face, concerned but not without a little exasperation. He didn’t want anything to mar this precious journey – Cunard’s very first passenger voyage with the Mauretania since the War!
Margaret opened her eyes, a half smile on her lips. ‘Darling, it’s early days – I’m not sure, but I think we might soon be giving Stevie a little companion.’
‘Oh, my dear!’ A glow came into James’s eyes and he knelt down beside her. ‘You think – it’s possible – again?’ They had taken so terribly long to conceive Stevie.
‘It seems very like it to me – I feel even more ill than last time.’
He leant over, overjoyed, newly powerful, and kissed her cheek.
‘Then we must take the very, very best care of you. Should you like something to eat or drink?’
‘Just a little water . . .’ Margaret seemed mown down by exhaustion. ‘Food . . . perhaps later . . .’
‘You’ll miss the departure,’ he said, standing up. But she was already lost to sleep.
He would go and fetch Mercy and Stevie. Who better to share this experience with than his son – and Mercy with her naive enthusiasm for life? She mustn’t miss it. He went to the little bathroom and looked in the mirror, ran damp hands over his hair and straightened his tie. He could feel that illicit, eager excitement rising in him at the thought of being with her, standing close to her, giving her a new experience in life. How he had worked to avoid the lure of her presence through the winter months! There had of course been moments of temptation, of huge intensity of feeling. But he had plunged into his work. He had been strong and controlled, even averting his eyes at times when coming upon her so as not to disturb his thoughts.
But now he would be alone with her. His pulse quickened. He could feel himself beginning to slide, surrender to the force of it. Of course though, he wouldn’t be alone with her, he reassured himself. There would be crowds up there . . . His behaviour was perfectly within bounds.
Mercy took Stevie up to the first-class promenade deck, where James said they should join him as they’d have a good view. Stevie was bright and frisky after his long sleep on the train and toddled along, wanting to run off here, there and everywhere.
‘Here – let me take him!’ James picked him up and strode off, his unbuttoned camel coat sweeping behind him.
Mercy was glad of a few moments’ respite from Stevie. There were already a lot of people waiting out on the deck, and Mercy felt overwhelmed by the opulence of the furs and jewels she could see displayed around her. Once again she was humbly aware of the simplicity of her blue wool coat and little cloche hat – she’d taken off the one with the brim. Her clothes were respectable enough and new, the hat even rather fashionable, but she still felt drab.
‘Am I allowed up ’ere?’ she asked.
James turned, looked tenderly at her. ‘Of course. You’re with me.’ As if reading her thoughts he lowered his voice and said, ‘Don’t you worry – you look lovely. Not like some of these overdressed peacocks.’
Mercy blushed at this personal remark. She had been confused by his behaviour towards her of late. In front of the other servants he addressed her as one of them, which was of course what she was. When she was alone with the Adairs he had previously been more relaxed, brotherly almost and teasing. But recently he had been home so little, forever working, only appearing for dinner, and then he had often seemed remote, if not actually cold. When Margaret insisted she join them for dinner, which she soon realized made things easier for Margaret – it made the two of them make an effort together – he confined his conversation with her to questions about Stevie. Mercy had almost forgotten his former friendliness, the cycle ride. But it had relieved rather than troubled her. He was her employer after all and she knew where she stood.
But now the light-hearted, friendly Mr Adair of last summer was resurfacing, now he was not so preoccupied with work. He seemed younger, a spring in his step.
‘Come – let’s find a space where we can see.’
Still carrying Stevie, he led Mercy to the rail. They were so high up! As they nudged into a space there came the brisk sound of a bugle, though it was hard to tell from which direction.
‘Ah look.’ James freed an arm and pointed. She saw an orderly flurry of activity as a group of men hurried down the last remaining gangway. ‘Those’ll be the chaps who work on shore.’
Mercy knew he loved all this, relished telling her about it. He leant over, supporting his little son between his chest and the rail, and pushed his brown trilby on harder. ‘Don’t want to lose it,’ he smiled at her.
The last gangway was being pulled into the ship.
‘Bang on.’ Once more James pulled out the well-polished gold watch. The two hands were exactly on the twelve. A few moments later they heard the bugle again. The tugs had already cast off. There came a great, soulful burst of sound from one of the funnels and James laughed as Stevie’s head shot round, his eyes peering upwards, astonished.
‘That gave you a shock, didn’t it?’
The ship eased itself away from the dock, girded by its tugs. There was much waving and calling out to the crowd below.
Mercy looked down at the dark water. It was astonishing to think that all the way to America, for days and days, would be water. She thought of little Amy Laski, so small she would barely have been able to see over the rail as their ship bound for Canada slid out of Liverpool harbour. Where was her sweet friend Amy now?
The people, then buildings, wharfs, cranes, docks, began to fade, blur and lose colour
until even squinting Mercy couldn’t make out their shape. As the view faded a quiet fell over the passengers. With majestic lack of haste the Mauretania nosed along Southampton Water and they began to feel the wind quicken on their cheeks. She was bound for the short call in at Cherbourg before turning west across the Atlantic.
There came a sudden release of tension, of anticlimax, as if separation from the land was a trauma now passed through and they were free to get on with everything else.
James straightened up, taking in deep breaths of air. Stevie kicked his legs against his father’s stomach. ‘Marvellous, the sea – gives you an appetite. Time for lunch, I’d say. How would you like to join me?’ he asked her recklessly.
‘I don’t think – not with him,’ she said, uncertain, holding out her arms for Stevie.
James’s face fell. ‘Ah no, perhaps not. Silly of me. Look, I’ll accompany you down.’
‘How’s Mrs Adair? Will she want anything to eat?’
‘She said all she wanted was sleep, thank you,’ James said. They went down the first-class staircase to B-deck where he drew her aside. ‘Look – you’ll have to know soon enough. The fact is—’ – He seemed hugely embarrassed suddenly, covered in blushes – ‘Margaret is, in fact . . .’ What on earth? Mercy was thinking. Surely he wasn’t going to tell her that Mrs Adair had her monthly at the moment? She wouldn’t know where to put herself.
Mr Adair seemed to be struggling for words. ‘She – well, soon, quite soon, you, er – you’ll have more than one little one on your hands.’ He was red to the ears.
‘Oh! She’s having another babby?’
‘Ssh!’ He looked round as if he were imparting state secrets.
‘Sorry,’ Mercy whispered, beaming at him. ‘That’s wonderful news, Mr Adair! I’m ever so happy for you both. And it’ll be lovely for Stevie to have a brother or sister.’ She shifted Stevie on to her left hip, balancing him with one arm. ‘Won’t it, pet?’
