The White Empress

by Lyn Andrews

  ‘Here, give me your hand, we don’t want you slipping, do we?’

  His grip was firm and she did feel more secure as she descended. His manners were impeccable, she thought, as he went first down the steep gangway, leading her as though she were a fragile doll.

  It proved to be something of an anti-climax as they were whisked away in a cab along St Lawrence Main, away from the docks which appeared to be not dissimilar to those in Liverpool and Southampton. He must have seen the fleeting look of disappointment, for he leaned closer.

  ‘They all look the same, don’t they? It’s the same the world over. Warehouses, handling sheds, cranes and dock workers! But cheer up, in a while you’ll see the real Canada – or at least a small part of it. It’s such a vast country, it’s bigger than America.’

  ‘Is it really?’ She was surprised, and surprised at his knowledge, but then he had obviously had the benefits of an education far superior to her own.

  When they reached St Catherine’s Street she began to realise that he was right and how different the city was. The shops were bigger, glossier and already full of Christmas gifts. The main streets were wider and there were far more cars and lorries and fewer horse-drawn vehicles. The buildings were cleaner and taller, some of them over twenty storeys high. There was a mixture of architectural styles. Old French-Canadian beside modern, oblique Canadian.

  The meal in Le Jardin L’eau was her first experience of French cuisine. She let David order for her, trying to hide her embarrassment at being unable to read the menu, by searching her bag for her compact. She felt as though every pair of eyes in the room were watching her. She had no intention of using the compact – that would be the height of bad taste – but the subterfuge worked. Despite the fact that she watched David surreptitiously, but closely, in the matter of the cutlery, she enjoyed the meal.

  ‘Now I feel much better and ready for our foray to sample the delights of shopping!’ He pulled a wry face and then smiled. ‘I have a wicked sense of humour but you’ll get used to it, I hope!’

  She laughed as he held out her coat, glad that he couldn’t see the faint blush that had crept into her cheeks.

  They spent two hours browsing through the shops and department stores along St Catherine’s Street and she purchased a fur hat and a small, leather-bound missal for her mother; a leather wallet for Joe and a maple leaf brooch in red and white enamel for Maisey. At a craft shop she bought a real tomahawk, complete with beads and feathers, for Eamon and promptly wondered if it was such a wise choice after all, thinking of the havoc he could cause with it. At Simpson’s department store she bought a sealskin muff for Marie and a walrus, carved from soapstone by the Inuits, for Mrs Gorry.

  ‘You’ve got nothing for yourself!’ David protested.

  ‘What do I need?’ she laughed, still thrifty and mindful of the small amount of money she had left while trying to work out the rate of exchange.

  He picked out a very chic red and black silk scarf and handed it to the assistant with the appropriate dollar bills. After it had been wrapped he placed the slim package in her hand.

  ‘Oh, David! I couldn’t! Really, I couldn’t accept it!’

  ‘You must have something to commemorate your first trip abroad. You can look at it in years to come and think “This reminds me of the very first time I went to Canada.”’

  With some embarrassment she accepted it. It was the most expensive accessory she had ever owned and it matched her coat and suit. Obviously he had very good taste. The thought disturbed her. It reminded her of her own inadequacies.

  The Indian Rooms at the Bellevue Casino were a revelation. She had expected something eastern and exotic. They were exotic, but not in the way she had anticipated. The walls were covered in hessian which formed a natural background for the spears, tomahawks, bows and arrows, brightly woven blankets and rugs and paintings of the indigenous tribes of North American Indians. In the centre of the dining room was a full-size totem pole, flanked by two smaller ones. On the polished wood floor were rugs made from the skins of bear, moose and bison, and the pelts of wolf and beaver. At the far end of the room one whole wall was filled with the trophy heads of these animals, fascinating and frightening. But the whole effect was tasteful and dignified, the culture of a noble civilisation captured for posterity.

  ‘I’m not really very keen on it, but I thought you would be interested to see it.’

  Her gaze moved slowly round the room. It was primitive, even barbaric to her modern eyes, yet she was sensitive to its raw expressions. The figures in the paintings drew her attention: there was a wild beauty about them.

  ‘It’s so . . . so extraordinary . . . so captivating!’

  ‘The Legend of the Noble Savage, Hiawatha, and all that. Shall we order? At least the food doesn’t comprise buffalo steaks or beaver stew!’

  She laughed at the face he pulled, yet she wondered just what such dishes would really have tasted like? She wanted to discover and assimilate every new sight, sound and taste.

  With their meal he ordered a bottle of champagne.

  ‘Oh, David, that’s much too extravagant!’

  ‘No, it’s not! This is going to be a day you will always remember, if I have my way, that is! Today, it’s nothing but the best!’

  This statement had the effect of putting her instantly on her guard. She touched the silk scarf at her neck. He had been charming and pleasant and witty, but she wondered if all this were not a means to an end?

  ‘The first time we met we didn’t have much chance to get to know each other, Cat, so tell me about your life, your family?’

  Her smile belied the inner panic that swamped her. The thought of telling him about her Pa, Shelagh and the O’Dwyers caused a knot to twist in her stomach. She knew she shouldn’t be afraid to tell him of her family background, but she was afraid that if she did, he would scorn her, pity her or become angry that she had presented herself, by inference, as a girl from a much better class of home than number eight Eldon Street. Besides, she had already embarked on a course of deception when she had first met him. She smiled and then told him about number eighteen Yew Tree Road. When she had finished, she asked him about himself.

  He was an only child. His father was a bank manager. Miss Sabell was his mother’s sister and the family home was in Great Crosby. He’d been educated at the Liverpool Institute and there his friendship with Stephen Hartley had developed. He’d had to battle with both his parents in his choice of career, his father being disappointed he was not following him into banking and his over-protective mother had been horrified at the thought of all the dangers, both real and imaginary, that he would face. At this juncture his aunt had proved to be a staunch ally and he was now working hard for his ticket and would one day be master of his own ship, he finished confidently.

  ‘So that’s a short précis of my life, so far.’

  She leaned back in her chair, replete. She had never met anyone like him before. With a background like that she felt she had made the right decision. Had he been aware that she was nothing more than a ‘jumped-up Irish slummy’ (as Shelagh had viciously described her before she left) she was certain now that the smile on his face would have been replaced by shock and horror.

  He refilled her glass.

  ‘David, do you mind if I ask you a very direct question?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I really don’t know how to put this, I don’t want to offend you, but . . .’

  ‘But you are wondering what I want as, shall we say, payment for all my assistance and today’s entertainment? I hope you didn’t take offence earlier when I said something about having my way? It wasn’t meant as innuendo, Cat, really it wasn’t.’

  Thankful that she hadn’t had to voice the question herself, she nodded and took another sip of champagne.

  He leaned across the table. ‘You have a very suspicious and devious mind, Miss Catherine Cleary!’

  She blushed. ‘I have a very good reason for that.’
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br />   ‘Would you like to tell me about it?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry, David, I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Obviously someone, and obviously a man, has hurt you in the past. Hurt you deeply, am I right?’

  She must think carefully, she was walking on thin ice. What if he had been in contact with Stephen Hartley? She didn’t answer.

  ‘And you swore you’d never trust another man?’

  ‘Yes, something like that.’ She was feeling very tense, wishing she had never brought the subject up.

  ‘Then set your mind at rest. I have absolutely nothing devious in mind. I want nothing except the pleasure of your company. No strings attached. That kind of thing is little more than moral blackmail and I don’t stoop to blackmail of any kind!’

  She breathed out very slowly and began to relax. She should have known. He was too much of a gentleman, but then she’d never experienced the attentions of a real gentleman before.

  He opened a cigarette case and offered her one.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t smoke, thank you.’

  ‘Do you mind if I do?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, David. I know it was wrong of me to judge every man by . . . It’s just that this job meant so much to me! Drudgery, seasickness, exhaustion – everything!’ She gave a mirthless little laugh.

  He reached out and covered her hand with his. ‘There’s no need to apologise, Cat. Let’s just enjoy ourselves. After all isn’t that what time ashore is for? Damn it, we work hard enough at sea!’

  She wanted to believe him, but experience wouldn’t allow her to drop her guard entirely. But she did smile as they finished the last of the champagne.

  Despite the sub-zero temperatures they walked to the top of St Lawrence Main and both were in a happier mood than when they had left the ship. She felt elated, partly due to the wine and partly due to the fact that she had won ten dollars in the Casino, where David had cajoled her into playing roulette. She had never gambled in her life, she had never had money to throw away, but she felt a little reckless, although caution tempered her delight and he could not persuade her to risk another chance. She’d never come by so much money quite so easily. But as they walked briskly in the crisp air, she admitted that most of her elation stemmed from the fact that she felt more at ease with David Barratt.

  They called in for a late supper at Joe the Greek’s.

  ‘Oh, someone’s slumming it!’ came the cheerful greeting as they sat down in the small, spotlessly clean restaurant with its chequered tablecloths and Ionic brica-brac. It was Anne and two other girls accompanied by three of the stewards.

  ‘I’ve had the most wonderful day and I’ve won ten dollars!’ she laughingly called back.

  ‘At first she looked on the casino as the Pit of Satan. In the end I had to drag her away!’ David teased, laughing at her indignant protests.

  He bought drinks for everyone, which endeared him to all concerned, and after that supper was a very convivial affair. At the end of it, David agreed to accompany all the girls back to the ship for the men were going on to the Liverpool House Tavern and etiquette was strict. No women were allowed in any tavern.

  When they reached the top of the gangway Anne and the others quickly disappeared, leaving them alone. David pulled the collar of her coat high up around her ears.

  ‘Has it been a day to remember, Cat?’

  ‘Oh, you know it has! It’s been wonderful, I love Montreal!’

  ‘What will you do tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh, after inspection I’ll go to Mass, then write some letters. I promised faithfully to write home.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m on watch tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘I have lots of things to catch up on. Things I didn’t get time to do while we were at sea, or rather I was too tired to do.’ She knew she was just passing the minutes in small talk, wondering if he would attempt to kiss her, in spite of all his reassurances. ‘I have to stand watch tomorrow night.’

  ‘And then on Monday, it’s back to work. Back on the merry-go-round.’

  ‘At least I won’t be seasick!’

  ‘We don’t get much time off do we? At least not at the same time.’

  Now apprehension was building. She had had a wonderful day and he’d been so generous and such pleasant company. She didn’t want anything to ruin it.

  He bent forward and kissed her gently on the cheek. ‘Never mind, things should improve next trip. The St Lawrence will be frozen over so we’re cruising. Then I’ll be able to show you some really sensational places!’

  She hadn’t even thought about next trip. ‘Cruising?’

  ‘Yes. New York, the Bahamas, Jamaica, Cuba, Barbados, Haiti, Curaçao, the Virgin Islands and back to New York.’

  She was stunned. She had only just got used to the fact that she was really in Canada. ‘But . . . but they won’t be taking emigrants surely?’

  ‘No. You’ll be promoted, temporarily, to first class. All the girls are.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘No. Ask my aunt!’

  ‘Oh, David! It’s a dream come true! This isn’t happening to me, it can’t be!’

  ‘It is and you won’t consider it much of a dream when you’re sweltering and exhausted.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll care!’

  ‘Don’t bet on it.’

  ‘I’d better be getting below.’ She wanted time to digest this piece of news, to ask Anne if it were really true.

  ‘I can’t come with you.’ He sounded a little resentful.

  ‘I know, but thank you! Oh, thank you, David, for a wonderful day!’

  ‘We’ll do it again, in New York, that’s a promise! Good night, Cat.’ He kissed her cheek.

  Impulsively she hugged him quickly. ‘Good night, David.’

  They were due to sail into Liverpool for a refit and when Cat found this out her excitement knew no bounds. At last she had realised part of her dream. She would sail up river to see the familiar landmarks from the deck of the White Empress. At last she would be looking down on the Princes landing stage, instead of looking up as she had done that day that now seemed part of another age. Another life.

  There were few passengers on the return trip but the work went on as usual, following the tradition of never taking a dirty ship into port. They had all been mustered by Miss Sabell and given their instructions. She listened intently, but with her heart racing as the quiet, precise tones of the chief stewardess carried clearly in the huge, empty dining room. All tourist-class girls were to be promoted, temporarily, to first-class for the duration of the cruises. Of which there would be four. They would be away from home for over four months. She read out all the regulations appertaining to the working procedures and informed them that tropical white uniform would be worn two days after leaving New York, and that those of them to whom it applied should have their vaccinations before they sailed.

  Cat stood on the boat deck as they entered the Mersey. A cold wind tore at her hair and her hands were thrust deep inside the pockets of her coat. The landmarks slipped slowly by and she remembered how Joe had pointed them out to her from the deck of the Leinster. On this cold December day, through a mist of needle-fine drizzle, the buildings of the Liverpool waterfront looked grim and dirty, but she didn’t notice their drabness. She was coming home. Already the tugs were coming alongside, fussily tooting their sirens, a sound taken up by the dredgers, the ferries, a Blue Star ship and the City of Adelaide standing out in the river. At the landing stage the black hull and red funnels of the Mauretania were becoming clearer and she thought, detachedly, that the Cunarder didn’t seem much bigger than the City of Adelaide.

  The deep-throated blast of the Mauretania added to the cacophany. The White Empress was coming home and Cat hugged herself. Everywhere this magnificent Empress went, her entry was greeted by a reception such as this. She was different. She was special. And she was coming into her home port. She wished that Mrs Travis could have been amo
ng the crowds waiting and a tinge of sadness momentarily marred her exhilaration.

  She went below to finish her packing, keeping the gifts she had bought in a separate bag. The few passengers had disembarked and in an hour’s time they would berth in Gladstone Dock and the crew would be signed off. She counted the notes before tucking them safely into her purse. There would be more next trip for they were to be paid a ten-pound bonus for sailing out of New York. A few trips and she would be able to find a nice little house she could rent and furnish for her mother. For them all, if necessary. At least Eamon and her Ma and Pa, if her mother wouldn’t leave them. Shelagh could fend for herself. Maybe in a decent house, perhaps with a garden, Pa might find something to interest him, she thought. He’d liked gardens. When she had been very small he had often taken her to Phoenix Park and she remembered that he wasn’t a Dubliner by birth. He’d come from County Waterford as a young man, looking for work and the excitement offered by a big city. Maybe a garden of his own could wean him away from the bottle.

  She could provide all the little luxuries they had never had. She would open a bank account and save hard. This was the advice she had been given by Miss Sabell, with whom she had discussed the matter of her earnings. Her needs were small. She was clothed and fed, she needed only a little spending money for trips ashore, so most of her wages could be saved. Miss Sabell had even given her advice on what kind of account she should open and at which bank. She had worked out that after the four months’ cruising she could move her mother to a comfortable house and she could increase the allotment so that the rent and bills could be paid with money left over.

  ‘Hurry up, Cat!’ Anne’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘Nearly finished.’

  ‘I’ve coaxed Jacko into carrying our cases and he’s waiting.’

  She snapped the locks shut, then pulled on her beret. ‘Ready!’

  ‘Anyone meeting you?’ Anne asked, as they struggled along the companionway to the foot of the stairs, where the burly figure of the stoker stood waiting.

  ‘Only my friend.’

  She craned her neck as she reached the top of the gangway, trying to peer over the shoulders of the other members of the crew, all of whom were going ashore and were shouting and waving to relatives below. Some brandishing the ‘docking bottle’ as an indication of the good, old-fashioned ‘do’ to celebrate their homecoming, parties to which all relations, friends, acquaintances, and usually most of the street as well, were invited. Even the dockers were shouting up to them, knowing there would be the usual bartering and rich pickings if they could get such illicit items past the Paddy Kelly* on the dock gate.