The Light in the Darkness 1

by Carla Louise Robinson

  “That’s nice,” she said, absently, as he led her through the blue and white hallway, the plush blue carpet signifying the Georgian style of the suites. Eliana’s heels sank into the full carpet as she followed the steward to her family’s suite.

  “Here we are, M’Lady. The doors are all adjoined and can be locked and unlocked as you please; the Earl and Countess are in B53; Lady Cecilia, that is where you’ll find your adjoining room. Your room is just here, Lady Eliana, and the servant’s quarters” – he pointed to the white door directly to Eliana’s left – “are here. You will find lifts both on aft and forward grand staircases, directly behind them, with bellhops at your service to give you directions and offer any assistance you might require. The purser is located on C Deck, and the bugle is sounded at one for luncheon. Is there anything further I can assist you with, m’lady?”

  Eliana tried to hide her surprise at the young man’s knowledge – though she supposed it was his job to pay attention to the more elite and prominent passengers on the Titanic. “No, that will be all,” Eliana replied, as he opened the doors to her parlour suite, before handing him a five-pound note. It was a tip higher than was custom, but that was the point. Eliana wanted the young man to remember her. The adjoined door to their parents’ room was already opened; she could see her mother, Lady Eleonora, was already lying on the plush burgundy chaise, while Lord Albert, sat in a velvet armchair, reading an open newspaper.

  “Mama! Papa!” Eliana cried, rushing forward to hug her parents as if she hadn’t only parted with them for a few short minutes; little Albert and Primrose followed suit; calling, “Poppy!” and “Granny!” each. They rose quickly, ignoring the flurry of servants around them arranging the three parlour suites, as well as the adjoined servant quarters, who were tiptoeing in the background.

  Cecilia did not share her sister’s enthusiastic greeting; though Eliana was lucky if she saw her parents several times a year; she supposed, however, with Cecilia moving to America, she would see them even less. She wondered if Cecilia was angry with her parents for seemingly abandoning her in a foreign country; Eliana knew that she would not have cared to marry an American, no matter how much money he had to his name. Americans were loud and uncouth, frequently vulgar, and drank coffee excessively, a habit Eliana found unfavourable. They had a fascination for firearms, and while Eliana participated in the hunt every year, even travelling to their Scottish estate to do so, it was not the same. Eliana enjoyed the sport; Americans appeared to enjoy the weapon.

  She wondered if Cecilia’s continued, and now noticeable, silence was a protest of what was to come. Perhaps she felt she could persuade her parents differently; she knew her mother wasn’t fond of the idea of selling her youngest daughter, her “baby”.

  Eliana was distracted from her thoughts; the captain blew the whistle, indicating to the visitors she’d seen in the reception room that they now needed to disembark; the ship was scheduled to leave at midday, due to arrive in Cherbourg at six in the evening, where they would collect a hundred or so more passengers, including her sister Georgiana and her husband, William.

  It would be the first time anyone in Eliana’s family had seen Georgiana and William since their honeymoon, though they were expected to attend dinner in The Ritz – their father had paid extra to dine there for every luncheon and dinner – which, by definition (even if it wasn’t the ship’s maiden voyage), would make the dinner either incredibly exciting or overly irritating.

  Chapter Three

  Friday, 19th April, 1912

  Howard

  The weather, which had been reasonably calm and perfectly seasonal as the Mackay-Bennett had departed Halifax two days prior before making its treacherous journey across the Atlantic, had now sharply turned dark and cold, an intense, thick, light grey fog surrounding the vessel, as if determined that the sea would keep its spoils, now that the Mackay-Bennett was fast approaching Titanic’s wreck site.

  Howard, an able seaman who was selected to serve on the Mackay-Bennett due to his stout physicality – he was an uncommonly tall man, frequently towering over even the tallest of his fellow crewmen standing at over six feet, and his steely, resolute personality, had made him a prime candidate for the grim task ahead: To collect the Titanic’s dead, so that they could receive a proper Christian burial. He had volunteered with a mixture of unpleasant discomfort and macabre curiosity, and he hoped that God saw into his soul and knew that he had not asked for interest in the wreck. Perhaps God was understanding; such a wreck had never before been envisioned; the papers still could not stop talking about how it was “impossible” to believe such a ship sunk so quickly.

  He knew the Ismay fellow had been cowardly, leaving the ship immediately. Hadn’t wanted to stick around, to see the damage that had been done, or so Howard had been told. The others had gone down with the ship – ironically, Howard couldn’t remember their names, not even the captain’s – but Ismay had turned yellow, seizing the first lifeboat opportunity he could.

  While Howard was not a superstitious man, he was a devout one, and he felt as if the fog was God’s ominous presence, reminding them that no one, and nothing, was infallible. Throughout this new technological age that had graced the suddenly expanding world (as a boy, things had seemed far more straightforward and more natural, with everything having place and purpose) – there were too many new inventions, announced seemingly daily to Howard, that he quite simply could not keep up with in this rapidly developing world, especially when the ship he was currently serving on was more technologically advanced than anything fitted into his humble, one-room cottage – not that this fact bothered Howard in the slightest. He’d heard that the electrical fittings the rich installed in their homes could cause all sorts of terrible ailments; though as he’d never learnt to read, bar a few words here and there, he’d only been aware of the developments through his crew members.

  Howard had been at sea since he was thirteen, and in the two decades since, he was never as happy as when he was called to serve the sea. As Howard felt the ocean was his home, his simple cottage was merely the place where he docked whilst waiting to return to that which he solely loved. He did not have a wife waiting for him, and nor did he ever care to take one.

  Howard watched as another large growler loomed – a steady fifty feet taller than the last the ship had passed – on the setting horizon, surrounding itself in the treachery cloak of fog and twilight darkness, Howard was unable to shake the feeling that the Mackay-Bennett, sent to rescue the Titanic’s dead and ferry them back to the countless mourning families where the victims would then laid to rest and given the care they were due, was also destined to meet the same fate as the ship they were searching for.

  Chapter Four

  Wednesday, April 10, 1912

  Adene

  Adene, who had boarded the Titanic several hours earlier after filing through the immigration portals (she and her daughter had already suffered through an unpleasant exam with the ship’s doctor), was trying to settle her young daughter, Isla, down for an overdue morning nap when she heard the loud blow of Titanic’s whistle, indicating the captain’s intention for the ship’s imminent departure. Both Adene and her daughter were travelling to New York, where she would be reuniting with her younger sister whose husband had found luck upon emigrating to America from England, where he now successfully ran a ranch out in someplace called Montville. Their journey would be considerably longer than a week, as they would be travelling to Montville by train after they had cleared immigration at Ellis Island. As they were from England, they were unlikely to be detained long, if at all; America’s immigration policy currently was trying to eliminate the droves of Irish, Italians and Jews; a category Adene and her daughter did not fall into.

  As a result of her sister’s husband’s success – he was reportedly one of the best cattle ranchers in America, though Adene had never eyed a ranch before – Arthur Phelan and her sister, Edith, had offered to upgrade Adene and Isla into a second clas
s two-berth cabin, insisting that they had the money to afford a more pleasant travelling experience, but Adene had refused out of both pride and stubbornness, not wanting to be in her younger sister’s debt, especially as she was crawling to her sister for safety and security because she could not afford to support herself and her daughter on her own, even after taking work in a textile factory. It was all the more humiliating because it was Adene’s baby sister, making Adene feel even more like a failure.

  Adene’s husband, Robert, had died in February due to what the doctors referred to as a “weak heart”, though she could not fathom what the doctors meant by uttering such a nonsensical phrase. Her Robert, who had moved from Ireland to Southampton when he was but a small child, had been anything but a weak man; he was a man destined to become old bones, who had eagerly signed up for the Russo-Japanese War, responding to the British Royal Navy’s call for aid in supporting the Japanese and halting the Russian Imperial expansion. He had gallantly served his country in aiding Japan rid the world of the Tsar’s ruthless campaign, or at least that was what Robert frequently told Adene of his naval adventures. He had boundless energy – or he had once had it.

  Adene felt that war was a rather pointless endeavour, and seemed only to compensate the foolish needs of arrogant man who believed they were entitled to things they did not deserve whilst inflicting horrific and irreversible damage on those poor souls who elected to serve a war they likely didn’t understand themselves. Robert had not returned home from the war the same man. He wasn’t bitter and withdrawn, like some men were, but something in him had changed, made him colder.

  Adene could not count how many young men she’d known had passed in battle, or if they’d lived, had regretted their service. Many of them, even if they were physically well, came back not always of sound mind. Some sat silently, blankly, as if they were watching something invisible to the rest of the world; others grew visibly mad, regularly drinking at public houses, regaling the horrors that they had seen to anyone foolish enough to listen.

  Of course, Adene did not share her feelings with her husband; she had dearly loved Robert, despite all his faults (though sometimes she wondered if it had been his flaws that made her love him so), but Adene followed the Church of England’s rigorous demands, and above all, she was an obedient wife, who had always supported her husband’s decisions, regardless of her personal feelings. It was not her job; her pastor reminded her every Sunday, to question her husband’s intentions. It was her job to support them unconditionally, and without question, and Adene had done so proudly.

  Right up until her husband was killed in a tragic work-related accident, leaving her and her daughter alone and destitute.

  Isla, a striking carbon-copy of her deceased father, had her long, tousled brown hair – an inheritance of her father’s, as Adene donned strawberry-blonde hair – pulled partly back in a large, clipped bow, was now trying to rip the piece from her hair, still distressed at her mother’s refusal to let her play. Isla, who was not yet eight, was already agitated and over-tired, exhausted from the long journey; they’d departed with the other second-and-third-class passengers at Waterloo at seven-thirty, meaning they had been well up before then. Combined with the excitement of the Boat Train, the mass of people, and the enormity of the Titanic had quickly exhausted the young child, and now Adene was left with a hyperactive child with a firm determination to refuse all possibility of sleep, judging by her wails.

  As Adene tried to convince her daughter to sleep, singing a children’s lullaby – Lavender’s Blue – to ease her daughter’s discomfort, she realised that she, herself, was looking forward to docking at Queenstown in the morrow morning, as the stewardess who had shown the small, young family to their four-bed berth, had informed her (with her sincerest apologies) that another young woman and her ward would be joining them once they reached Ireland tomorrow morning.

  The stewardess had appeared genuinely sympathetic, regaling that the Titanic was barely half full, even in steerage, where most of the passengers were expected, as they were the primary source of income for passenger liners. The stewardess – whose name Adene had already forgotten – had lamented that such fine and splendid accommodation shouldn’t be wasted, especially when there were so many available two-bed berths, perfect for a single mother and her young daughter. “It won’t be like this on our return voyage, though,” she had warned. “We’re full up.”

  While Adene had appreciated the young stewardess’ sincerity and kindness, she secretly yearned for her awaiting, anonymous companion. With any luck, the pair would become fast acquaintances, providing Adene with a welcomed companion, and depending on the accompanying child’s age, perhaps even a friend for her daughter to play with. Isla had been inconsolable since her father’s untimely passing, regressing in many respects. She’d taken to having uncontrollable tantrums, as well as wetting the bed and sucking her thumb. Adene desperately hoped these behaviours would dissipate once they reached America, with Edith and Arthur providing the comfort and safety her daughter so obviously needed.

  Adene smoothed her grey cotton skirt as she watched her daughter finally start to drift off, her tear-stained eyes swollen and red. She was dressed finely, with a white button-up shirt, and a warm grey shawl, similar in colour to her skirt, draped around her shoulders.

  While Adene had been struggling since her husband’s sudden, unexpected passing, she had lived quite well before his demise, and it was with the knowledge that she had borne him no son, and was already nearing her thirties, that had forced her to relocate to America, where she could form a new life, and mourn freely with the financial support of her sister’s family as she tried to establish herself with a career, instead of marrying someone new, as was the expectation.

  While all the family’s possessions were packed below in the cargo hold (though Adene had passed several cargo sectors before reaching ‘R’, the area where her berth was), several of Adene’s more beautiful clothes laid in the trunks underneath their bunks in their berth, as well as Robert’s framed photo that she took with her everywhere. In the picture – the only one she had – he was unsmiling, sporting a thick, black moustache that matched his dark, albeit greying, hair. He had his portrait taken shortly before enlisting for the Russo-Japanese war, jokingly telling his wife it was so that “she wouldn’t forget what he looked like while he was gone”.

  At the time, she had felt he was being silly.

  Now, it meant more to her than any other item she possessed.

  Adene tucked her daughter in tightly under the grey blanket as she fell into a deep slumber, her head falling to the side of her pillow. With a bit of luck, Adene thought as she searched for her copy of Jane Eyre, a favourite novel of hers – her new companion would even relish the idea of helping with the children, providing each party with a few moments of peaceful leisure.

  Yes, Adene thought as she kissed her sleeping daughter’s forehead, this would be a pleasant voyage indeed.

  Chapter Five

  Wednesday, April 10, 1912

  Barrett

  The three-layered switch – which, when activated by the Bridge, reflected three colours, each issuing a different order: White for full speed, blue for half, while red indicated an immediate stop was necessary. Barrett, already prepared for the Captain’s half-ahead order, ordered his firemen and trimmers to open the furnaces, creating steam to propel the ship’s massive turbine engines. Barrett kept his eyes focused on the valves and gauges, so that he could issue commands depending where needed more steam pressure.

  “Alright, lads!” Barrett shouted to his crew of eight stokers and four coal trimmers, “Get a move on! Get those furnaces going!”

  After overseeing the men, Barret diverted his attention back to the coal fire he had been charged with extinguishing, as ordered by Chief Engineer Bell, and supervised by Hesketh. Barrett barely had a moment to inwardly complain about his burdensome task when he heard Bell’s shout, “Full-ahead stern!” coming loudly from the En
gineer’s deck. Barrett looked up in surprise and confusion – he couldn’t fathom why the Captain would need to reverse the engines; the ship couldn’t possibly have left port yet. However, it wasn’t Barrett’s place to discern; it was his to react.

  After a few minutes, the light returned to blue, as did Bell’s announcement to continue slowly, indicating that whatever had passed was over, and that the ship could finally leave port. Barrett could feel the vessel steadily picking up speed, before the command changed to full speed, as the Titanic made her way to Cherbourg, eighty miles away.

  Chapter Six

  Wednesday, 10th April, 1912

  Cecilia

  Lady Cecilia glanced around her parents’ suite, which included an adjoining room for her, complete with an opulent double-size bed, gold and silver lamps adorning the room, glistening like a thousand different fireflies against the mahogany panelling. The furnishings in the promenade suites compared in luxury to the Waldorf Hilton they’d departed from this morning, decorated in Louis XV style; a beautiful telephone even sat on a desk, next to the passenger manifest that contained a warning of the various card sharks travelling under assumed names, as well as passengers others might wish to socialise with on their journey. Cecilia’s parents’ bed was grander than hers, though that was to be expected; the marble bath was to be shared between the three, though the very notion that they had their own private bathroom had even earned a comment of praise from her father. Even among the elite, most ships were unable to offer private bathrooms to first-class passengers, meaning they frequently had to share; something that would evidently not be an issue for Cecilia’s family. Cecilia, though she had barely said more than a few words, silently shared her father’s praise; the French-inspired cabin had intrinsic oak and mahogany panelling, Cabriolet furniture with marquetry, with a call button either above or next to the bed (against the wall, in Cecilia’s case), for easy assistance from one of the ship’s many stewards.