Fleming, Leah - The Captain's Daughter

by The Captain's Daughter (mobi)

  ‘But, ma’am . . .’ There was a look in her eye of genuine concern. She must know what went on in their house. Did she guess that this was a farewell?

  ‘Now off you go and enjoy the train journey. I’ll get a porter to see to the luggage . . . And thank you,’ she added. How could she leave that unsaid?

  ‘What for, ma’am? For doing my duty?’ Susan was looking up at her curiously. She must know what was going on now as Celeste shoved the letter in her purse and some money.

  ‘A little extra for your comfort; you’ve been a good nurse to Roddy,’ Celeste held her hand. ‘Give Susan a kiss.’

  ‘Susan’s coming too.’ Roddy held her hand tightly. ‘No, not today. Susan has to go home,’ Celeste smiled. ‘Don’t you?’ ‘I want Susan, I want Susan . . .’ Roddy was steaming up for a paddy. ‘You’d better go before he has a tantrum.’

  ‘I can’t leave you . . . let me stay on, ma’am. Where are you going? I know things have been difficult. I can help. Please take me with you. I don’t want to leave Roddy.’

  ‘I wish it could be otherwise but you must go. You’ve been so loyal and so discreet.’ ‘Where will I find you, ma’am?’

  Celeste shook her head. Trying not to cry, she reached out her hands, gripping her maid’s tightly. ‘You must go and tell my husband I sent you packing, refused to let you continue with us, forced you onto the train.’

  ‘They shoot the messengers, don’t they?’ Susan answered anxiously. ‘Only in stories. Here’s a letter of reference. It will help you find another position. I wish

  you every happiness in the world. Take care.’

  ‘It’s been a privilege to serve you, madam. You are a good mother. I know what you are doing is for Roddy as well as yourself. I wish you the best luck in the world.’

  ‘We’ll need it, Susan. Now go before we make fools of ourselves.’ Roddy was crying, sensing the emotion. Susan was weeping into her hanky and Celeste

  tried to choke back her tears. The platform was bustling with folk pulling their baggage from the incoming train, so many passengers hurrying to the port.

  ‘I expect they’re all trying to get home,’ Susan said. ‘What with the war starting . . .’ Celeste dismissed this with a wave of her hand. ‘Oh, that’s not going to happen yet.

  What’s England got to do with Austria and Germany’s squabbles?’ She hadn’t time to let such terrible news sink in. She almost shoved Susan onto the train and waved her off with a forced smile. Roddy was too young to know he’d never see her again, she sighed as they made their way to the ticket office. The queues were long and impatient, full of anxious women flapping tickets in the officer’s face.

  ‘Ticket holders to the left, others to the right!’ he shouted. There was a murmur of protest among the crowd. ‘I’ve not got two pairs of hands. Be patient.’

  ‘Mama, I want to pee pee,’ Roddy said, tugging at her skirt. ‘Can’t you wait?’ she cajoled, not wanting to lose her place in the queue. ‘I’ll mind it for you,’ offered a woman with a kindly face. ‘There’s a gentleman’s con-

  venience over there.’ She pointed.

  It was warm now and Celeste removed her coat. ‘Would you hold this too?’ she asked, not wanting to let go of the rest of her luggage. Roddy headed for the little urinal but Celeste made him come with her to the ladies’

  comfort room. She daren’t let him out of sight in this crush. When they got back to the queue she searched for her place but the woman had gone and

  so had her coat. She asked round in a panic, but everyone shrugged their shoulders. ‘There’s always a few chancers, madam, waiting for an opportunity. She jumped up the

  minute you’d gone.’

  Celeste was too angry and tired now to protest that the man could have stopped her. It was back to the end of the queue, despite dusk falling around them.

  ‘Next!’

  ‘Two tickets to Liverpool, please.’

  ‘Sorry, madam, nothing to be had until Saturday now. Can I see your passport?’ ‘My what?’ she asked, handing over her and Roddy’s birth certificates instead. ‘I’m still

  a British citizen.’

  ‘That’s as may be but no one will take you on board without documents of passage.’ ‘Since when?’ she snapped, cross and scared. ‘I crossed over on the Titanic. No one

  asked me for anything then.’

  ‘Sorry, madam . . . new regulations since April. All passengers crossing to another coun-try must show their identity documents.’

  ‘But here are our birth certificates,’ she argued.

  ‘Sorry, madam, you will have to apply for the correct papers . . . Next!’ Celeste was not going to budge. She’d come too far. ‘But how long will that take?’ ‘I’m not at liberty to say. There’s a war on, you know.’ ‘Since when?’ Her temper was rising, flushing her cheeks. ‘Since ten o’clock this morning, madam. Have you not seen the papers? Look around

  you at the troops. England and Germany are at war, Canada is sending troops and they have priority over civilians. Step aside, please . . . Next!’

  Roddy sensed her desperation. ‘Are we going on the big ship, Mama?’ ‘No, not today,’ she croaked. Celeste wanted to sit down on the dock and howl with frus-

  tration. Where now? Time was of the essence. She must get back before Susan took the letter to Grover. They must find a night train south. What a stupid ignorant fool she’d been to think she could escape so easily.

  Now they were trapped until this war ended or until she could procure a genuine passport home. All her bravado instantly evaporated. If they didn’t arrive with Susan, Grover would be waiting. There was nothing for it but to find a rest room and sit out this panic that was descending like thick fog, blocking out all other thoughts. Until she heard a familiar voice like a foghorn in her head piercing the gloom.

  What the devil are you going back for: more of the same, honey, more black eyes? You’ve made your break, gal. Just vamoosh . . .

  ‘But I can’t,’ she heard herself cry out.

  Why ever not? Who will be looking for Rose Wood when the world’s in turmoil? Make a run for it while you can and don’t look back. You’re like me, one of the unsinkable sisters. You’ll be fine on your own.

  Celeste stood up expecting to see Margaret Brown at her shoulder but there was no one. Could she do it? Could she make a run for it, get on a train and go anywhere she pleased? She had the dollars. She had her most precious possession holding her hand. Anything was possible if you wanted it badly enough.

  So she couldn’t make it across the ocean but that didn’t stop her getting as far away from Grover Parkes as she could. Mother and child stood invisible among the thronging crowd, Celeste smiling for the first time with relief as she made for the station.

  Go hide in a crowd, Rose Wood. No one will find you there. Part 2

  1914–1921

  Washington, DC, November 1914

  Dear May

  You may be wondering where I am since I last wrote. We are living in the capital city of America, lodging with friends until I find something permanent.

  Before all post across the Atlantic goes haywire, please will you do me the most enormous favour and re-address any letters arriving for me, especially from my husband, back to me here and post these letters to him with a Lichfield postmark? Enclosed is a money order. You must not be out of pocket because of my deception. It is vital that Grover thinks I am back home and not likely to return. To compound things even further I shall be writing to Father as if we were still in Akron. It’s best if he knows nothing of this. If you can offer to post Papa’s own letters for him and readdress them here, I would be forever in your debt. I apologize for burdening you with all this. I did plan to come home but I was not well enough prepared and had to change plans at the

  last minute.

  I am trying to build Roddy and myself a new life here. I am now Mrs Rose Wood for the time being. It is important to stay incognito just in case . . . ‘O what a tangled web we weav
e . . .’

  Life here is interesting. I am helping in the office of the Congressional Union for Women’s Suffrage at the moment. Roddy is in first grade and getting used to his new life. We follow what is going on in France with fear and concern for my two impetuous brothers, who joined up in haste so as not to miss the show.

  How our lives have changed in the last months – England at war, and us, fugitives – but I have no regrets. If the Titanic taught me anything it was that our lives on earth are precious and to be savoured, not endured.

  Keep safe in these troubled times.

  Best love,

  Celeste (a.k.a. Mrs Rose Wood)

  May sat on the park bench rereading this epistle and shaking her head. Who’d have thought Celeste would make a run for it? How on earth could she be part of these mad schemes? Her husband would be on the next ship, demanding her return. What would poor Canon Forester make of it all? How could she, May, deceive him? But she must if Celeste was in danger. She owed Celeste her life.

  Lichfield was all of aflutter organizing homes for Belgian refugees and putting up posters warning of spies. There were guards on the railway lines and troops on the march. She couldn’t cross the streets for convoys of lorries and wagons. The whole world was going

  mad and now Selwyn was off on training exercises and his brother Bertram was already overseas.

  May pushed the baby up the hill towards the cathedral. It was a good place to cool off and just think. It had stood through many wars and troubled times; the tattered banners hanging from the ceilings of the side chapels spoke of conflicts. What should she do?

  They paused by the marble effigy of The Sleeping Children tucked at the back of the Lady Chapel. The Robinson sisters were buried together. Eliza Jane’s nightdress had caught fire and she had died of her burns, while Marianne had caught a chill and had died soon after. How their parents must have grieved, as she grieved for Ellen; such a beautiful me-morial glossing over such awful deaths. If only she had a place to mourn her lost loves. No one was ever alone with their troubles. Everyone had them, and now Celeste was having hers. You don’t walk past someone in trouble, she reasoned, especially a friend. Celeste had been a good friend to her when she had been more alone in the world than ever. She must now grant her friendship in return, no matter the cost. She must do what she could to help.

  ‘Do I have to stay?’ Roddy argued. Celeste knew he didn’t like Thursday afternoons. All the boys in his class were allowed to run home and play ball or ride on their bicycles round the Washington streets, but he had to change into his best knickerbocker suit, comb his hair and open the door to their guests. He hated standing there as a troop of girls, towering above him, flounced in one by one to be announced at the drawing-room door.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Wood, how are you today? Good afternoon, Roderick.’ One by one they curtsied and bobbed in pretty dresses with ringlets in their hair, smelling of rosewater and lavender. He helped serve tea in china cups on a lacy tray and hand round sandwiches and then pass the cake stand on which sat dainty cakes, iced fancies, to be eaten with cake forks.

  Each of the girls had rehearsed a poem to recite and Celeste helped them when they stumbled. He had to clap and look pleased.

  ‘Why do we have to do this?’ he asked time and time again. ‘This is how I earn my living now, teaching girls to refine their accents and learn deport-

  ment,’ she replied, ‘teaching girls to be ladies.’

  ‘But why do I have to stay and watch?’

  ‘Because you are such a help to me, Roddy. This is something we can do together and when the young ladies are here I still need to be keeping an eye on you.’

  ‘But Pa should do that,’ he argued.

  ‘Not Pa, Father . . . I told you before, we don’t live with Father any more, and won’t for a very long time.’

  In truth, Roddy could hardly recall his father’s face. It was over a year since they’d fled south. At first they had lived in a room crammed with other women, sleeping on a camp bed on the floor until Celeste found them a little house to rent in D Street at the back of Capitol Hill close to Eastern Market. Roddy had to go to the public school down the road, coming home with bruises until one of her friends taught him some self-defence moves which had proved useful to her when they were cornered on suffrage marches.

  They attended rallies but Celeste made sure they stood at the back and melted into the crowd when it got noisy or there were photographers taking snaps. Roddy liked walking

  down the Mall and standing outside the White House gates, crushed up with other kids. While the mothers were huddled together, they got to play ball or sneak off while all the shouting was going on.

  But Thursdays were his bugbear, when she earned extra, taking girls through their paces so they walked and talked like little ladies, not the noisy cackling hens who jumped down the porch steps when they closed the door after the two hours of refinement they must en-dure.

  It was through contacts at St John’s Episcopal Church that Celeste had had the idea of this class. Sometimes the President and his family came to worship. Newly married of-ficers’ wives came in the evening to learn how to set the table with forks and knives, or how to greet people. Others came for elocution lessons, wanting to copy her accent. They liked the way the English spoke in a slow, quiet, deliberate manner, and everybody who came wanted to be seen as refined.

  Had she done right to rob Roddy of a normal family life? They were poor now. She coun-ted out the dollars and put some in the special tin: ‘For when we go home.’

  ‘Where’s home?’

  ‘It’s across the ocean in a city called Lichfield.’

  Home was where her brothers lived, she sighed, not smiling in their smart uniforms from her mantlepiece. Sometimes she’d pull out an atlas and point to the pink bits belong-ing to England. ‘One day we’ll go home, where we’ll be safe, Roddy, one day soon,’ she whispered.

  Sometimes Celeste wept with tiredness. It was hard keeping up appearances. Eastern Market was smart, full of naval families living in elegant, expensive houses. She felt she was split in two, pretending to be a colonial widow fallen on hard times and a modern of-fice worker with bobbed hair and shortened skirts. It had taken such an effort to escape from Akron, and Grover’s clutches, and then having to reinvent herself here, hide her true identity and live a life of lies, was so difficult. But it was so much easier to bear than her life with Grover.

  How glad she was to have sent the letter to England from Halifax, the letter to Grover ending her marriage. She could still recall every word she’d said, sitting in the train station with a writing pad on her lap, crying as she poured out her feelings.

  I have no reason to return to the life of misery and humiliation I’ve endured at your hands and I have no intention of letting my son grow up with such a vile example.

  You may wonder where I found the nerve to defy you in this way but believe me, when I saw the bravery of those wonderful men who stepped aside so women and children might be saved on that fateful night two years ago, I couldn’t recognize you as being one of them.

  Sitting in that lifeboat, I knew in my heart you would have made every excuse to wheedle your way onto those lifeboats to save yourself, as did so many of the First Class men . How I wished you gone from my life before then but, unlike those poor souls who never got to say farewell to their beloved spouses, I am giv-ing you the courtesy of ending our marriage with some explanation.

  By the time you read this, I will be far away, back with my own countrymen, in a place where I do not have to fear saying one wrong word in case my arms are bruised and my spirit beaten. Look to your conscience as to what makes you behave in such a sick and offensive manner, like a child who cannot get its way without tantrums.

  How you fooled me into thinking you so charming and courteous when we were courting. How kind you were at first, but then it was as if once I was securely yours, separated from all who loved me, some devil sprang into your soul and made
you cruel, cold and angry when all I wanted was to give you love and affec-tion, to bear your children and be a good wife.

  It took a near drowning to make me realize you will never change unless you look deep into your cold heart and get rid of such a demon. Until that time I will not be subjected to such a monstrous regime as was our marriage, nor must my child ever have to bear witness to your cruelty. The risk to him if he ever defies you does not bear thinking about.

  Did no one ever tell you that we catch more flies with honey than vinegar? A kind word goes a long way, a loving gesture can work miracles in a woman’s heart. I fear you are sick and need the Great Physician who can cure all ailments of the soul. I don’t want to hear or see you again in this life. I have not kidnapped our child but released him into a more loving and caring family.

  Celestine

  It was a harsh letter for any man to receive but she would not alter one word of it. Once it was in the post, she felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her heart. There were no regrets, only sadness that the two of them had been so ill suited from the start and that her innocence and naivety had ensured his behaviour had gone unchecked for so long.

  May had done her part to throw Grover off the trail, sending Celeste’s letters as if from England. There were letters in his handwriting, from their lawyers, from Harriet, but they were gathering unopened until she could face them. He would not follow her during the war but when peace came, perhaps he might search them out. She must remain careful.

  When they first arrived in Washington, DC, Celeste had turned up at the offices of the suffrage society in desperation. There’d been a spate of arrests and force feedings, and a safe house was set up where women could recuperate from their ordeals out of the public eye. She’d offered her services as a dogsbody, anything to get a bed for them both. The con-dition in which some of her friends arrived shocked her. It was much worse than anything she’d endured because it was chosen and borne for their cause: emaciated bodies, swollen throats, eyes filled with fear and anguish from the treatments – how could her heart not go out to them? Having Roddy around gave some of the older suffragettes a source of amuse-ment, helping them to forget their suffering for an hour or two.