“I would love to accept such a gracious offer, but I’m afraid I must decline,” Henry responded politely.
“Do you have other plans?” Georgiana inquired.
“Only ones that confine me to the delights of the Dining Saloon, where I haven’t seen such luxury since I was a boy. I believe the decadence of the meals has already caused me to gain some weight, and we’ve only been on board a day. I’ve never eaten so much before, and everything is so delicious. There were even fresh oysters served in the Saloon last night; it’s been years since I’ve had the delicacy. Though the taste hasn’t grown as much on me as I wish it had.”
“Oh?” Georgiana asked, her interest piqued. Like Cecilia, she had assumed that Henry, who was clearly of a lower status than the Greshams, was unaccustomed to the splendour that surrounded them. Where had Henry seen decadence that rivalled the Titanic’s before? Cecilia didn’t want to be a snob, but it was called the ‘Millionaire's Ship’ for a reason.
It was because the ship was literally filled with millionaires, choosing to travel in style and comfort.
“Pray, tell us more. Don’t leave us in suspense.” Georgiana responded sardonically, sipping her tea.
“My past is not always something I am fond of talking about,” Henry replied, and Cecilia’s heart skipped a beat. She hated how Georgiana kept prying.
“No one’s past is, unless they’ve lived a tragically boring one,” Georgiana replied. “Either you have a story to tell, or you do not. I’m assuming that, as you wish to gain my respect, truth is something you’ll lead with, so we’re not left with empty silence.”
Henry gave Cecilia’s sister a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I was the Archduke Lieven’s nephew. I spent many years at the Winter Palace in the company of Tsar Nikolai and his family.” Cecilia was stunned. This man knew the Tsar?
“And what encouraged you to leave? To reject your titles? Was it that dreadful man, the one they say practices the magic of the devil?”
“No, My Lady, it had nothing to do with Rasputin. I was expelled for my beliefs, Lady Georgiana. I’m sure you’re aware of Russia’s expulsions before, so my reluctance to confer on the topic is understandable, I’m sure you’ll see.”
While William and Georgiana were instantly rendered mute, Cecilia was confounded. What did Henry mean, and what were the expressions upon her sister and brother’s faces? She knew the evil man that Georgiana referred to was Rasputin; she’d heard the sinister tales of evil he’d spun upon the Emperor and his family, but the rest did not make sense to her.
“Your beliefs?” questioned Cecilia, when she realised no one was going to clarify.
“Yes, Lady Cecilia,” Henry replied, donning his formal voice, the one he reserved for everyone bar her. “I am but a Jew.”
Cecilia laughed. “Oh, is that all? Heavens, you were starting to have me worry about all those horrible stories you hear, especially regarding the witchcraft that Rasputin man is reported to wield.”
“Cecilia,” hissed Georgiana, and Cecilia frowned; she knew she was misunderstanding the situation, though she wasn’t sure how. Cecilia had encountered plenty of Jews before – there were plenty of them on board. Her parents even shopped at Macy’s, and she knew they would join both the Wideners and the Strausses for dinners, cards, and morning teas, if not dinners and luncheons.
There weren’t many Jewish people within her inner circle, but Cecilia assumed that was because everyone within her inner circle was part of the Church of England. That didn’t mean that her family didn’t like Jewish people. The very thought was absurd. She knew others didn’t like it when people chose not to follow the King’s religion, the country’s religion, but was that not what it meant to be a democracy? To allow people to freely choose what God they worshipped?
“What? I do not understand. So, you’re a Jew. Plenty of other passengers are Jewish. Why, I think Mr Ismay, the owner of this vessel, is Jewish. I know they have a kosher chef. Surely that means this is a Jewish ship?”
“I think your Lady Georgiana and Lord William are thinking of the expulsion of the Jews from our motherland Russia, and not my current time on the ship, or acquaintances your family may have formed. They are thinking of something more … specific. My family were refugees. Many Jewish people who weren’t displaced were executed.” He said this matter-of-factly, though Cecilia was sure she heard a trace of bitterness in his voice.
“That’s terrible!” cried Cecilia, though what she wanted to say was, “I don’t understand how that could happen.” She had not heard of Russia expelling Jews, nor had she heard of them executing them. Was Henry exaggerating?
“Celia, it’s not the first time Russia has done so,” her sister whispered, and Cecilia wondered what had happened to cause her sister to be cold so, her entire demeanour changed.
Georgiana, who had once been as free-spirited and fiery as Cecilia, who had argued with Poppy prior to his death with the way he spoke and treated women, including Granny, was morphing into Eliana, who had inherited more parvenu than her parents had despite centuries of Gresham family wealth (though Poppy had almost lost the estate through a tryst of bad investments, forcing the arrangement between Countess Eleonora Spencer and the Earl of Gresham into an uneasy alliance), frequently acted as if they were superior because God granted it so.
Georgiana used to disagree, believing that God wouldn’t make so many people suffer so just a few could live so lavishly, and Cecilia had agreed. They’d discussed the socialist values of Karl Marx, whose name had taken hold of the people of Russia. Her father, detesting the resurgence of revolution in Russia, and revelling in Britain and Japan’s conquest of Imperial Russia, had since forbidden any texts or talk of Marx or Lenin, though admittedly Cecilia hadn’t exactly heard of anyone named Lenin until her father had forbidden the use of it. It wasn’t if the books on socialism were freely able, and her tutors focused on the elegance and grandeur of the Tsar royal family, as opposed to the complaints of the frequently downtrodden Russian citizens, who were known for freezing to death in the streets, starving while the Romanov family held ballroom parties, placing all their faith in the man they said was both Death and some unwieldy spawn of the Devil; Grigori Rasputin had seemingly cured the Tsarina’s weakly son, Alexei – much to her father’s relief.
Cecilia wondered if she should broach the subject with Georgiana; part of her wondered how she would react if she mentioned she was morphing into their parents and elder sister more and more each day. She pondered what her sister’s reaction would be if she told Georgiana she no longer recognised her, and the reunion had not been what she had hoped it would be; that four months of marriage had seemed to change her sister, perhaps for the worst.
Cecilia also wondered if she was scratching, because her sister had vexed her so.
As Cecilia bit into a delicious cherry Danish pastry, she saw her parents wander into the café, seeking the same as they had; a small nip before luncheon was announced. Her heart began to flutter, and anxiety seized her as she wondered what her parents might say, or if they would disapprove that they were having elevenses with a new male acquaintance.
“My darlings,” cooed Lady Eleonora, as she approached the table. “And William. And who might this be?”
“This is Mr Henry Hamilton,” William quickly stepped in. “I met him on the Boat Deck earlier, when I was buying Lady Georgiana her beautiful new shawl –” William pointed to the silk shawl draped around Georgiana’s shoulders, as if for proof. Cecilia refused to meet her parents’ eyes, pretending to busy herself with her tea. “I asked him to join us. He’s been marvelling me with stories of his moving pictures.”
“Moving pictures? Really?” Lord Albert asked, though Cecilia did not miss the look her parents shared; they did not quite believe their son-in-law’s description of the encounter. “Are you in that business, son?”
Henry smiled. “Yes, though I’ve been trying to convince William” – Cecilia watched as her mother flinched at the
informality, despite being unaware that William had repeatedly request that he do so – “to refer to them as cine pictures. I’m travelling to America with a case of cine photography, actually. Two crates loaded in the cargo hold. It has plenty of fine events caught on film, including some of the footage the Lumiere Brothers aired at The Exposition Universelle. I’m not the only one on board, either. One gentleman has thousands of reels of film. He, too, was on the Boat Deck, also filming the ship’s arrival and departure from Queenstown”
“Whatever for? Why would they need two of you to capture the very same thing, when we’ll all see it? Some of us within a matter of weeks. So many passengers on board are frequent travellers. Is there really that much interest in cine film?” Lady Eleonora asked, her tone not as a polite as it would typically be on someone she’d consider of her station.
“It’s for the Biograph Company,” Henry explained, and Cecilia watched as the significance of those words seemed to dawn on her father, though they meant very little to Cecilia. It was beginning to annoy her; how little she knew.
“You mean, with that Edison chap?” he signalled for the table to be extended, and several servants appeared before them, bustling quickly and quietly, creating a table that comfortably extended for six, much to her dismay. “I heard, in his cine photography vault, he has moving footage of the first flight.”
“That’s correct, Lord Gresham,” Henry responded, using Albert’s Earl title out of courtesy and respect. Though part of Cecilia glowed at the thought of their parents joining them, which was a step closer to lending their approval, however slight, it dismayed Cecilia even more. After all, how could she befriend Henry properly, allowing her to answer Georgiana’s pertinent, albeit legitimate, question about whether following her heart for a likely-doomed shipboard romance? Cecilia did not care to admit it, but there was more truth than she’d like to accept in Georgiana’s arguments. Her parents would not be pleased, and though she’d called Georgiana a hypocrite, she knew well enough to know that Georgiana did have a point. That was the most infuriating thing about the entire situation; part of her was sure and certain she was so vexed because Georgiana wasn’t being as hypercritical as she’d wanted to assume.
As much as it pained her to admit, if she wanted to continue any sought of friendship with Henry after the Titanic docked, she would likely be disowned by her entire family, and be forced to live on a pittance; something that, if Cecilia were truly honest with herself, would not be a natural choice to make.
There was something in spouting ideals while sitting comfortably in a chair that cost more than the entire Estate’s servants living wages, in clothes even some of the wealthiest of Britain’s elite could not afford, eating lavishly from meals she had never prepared, that did not coincide with reality. Reality, at times, was a harsh mistress to bear.
“Mr Edison has been collecting as much cinetography as his company will allow; he frequently does showings of the films he’s collected. I’ve heard that the Americans quite enjoy some Annie Oakley film. My personal preference of Edison’s is The Great Train Robbery.”
Albert looked intrigued. “They filmed a train robbery? Pray, how on God’s green earth does one organise such a thing?”
“They shot on location, using horses to help them, and then followed the script of the play inspired by Butch Cassidy’s train robbery –”
“It took place?” Albert looked aghast. “I heard stories of the wild America, but I did not believe it was still so. I thought the Indians were removed.” He glanced at Cecilia. “I did not realise America was still so lawless.”
“Butch Cassidy wasn’t a Native,” Henry retorted. “He was just a common thief. I’m sorry for the impression I gave you, Lord Gresham. America is not a lawless country. It has its criminals, as all countries do, but many of the stories follow the disruption brought about by the Civil War.”
“That does sound frightening,” Cecilia added, her mind thinking of the savages she’d heard of. When the Terror and the Erebus were lost, Mr Charles Dickens spoke of the savages who’d eaten the Englishmen. There were those that had travelled the same voyage as the vessels had, they reported a different story, but one all the more terrifying: That the savages hadn’t eaten the English.
They had eaten each other.
Cecilia’s geography was not her strong point, and she had seldom cared to look at a map of the Americas. She was taught strong English history, and cared little for the Americans. She wasn’t sure where the ships had been lost, and she wasn’t sure if Mister Dickens had been accurate. He had been an acquaintance of her Grand Poppy’s, but had passed before Cecilia’s parents had even met. The stories she heard about Dickens were entirely second-hand, and depending on the person, heavily biased. Many of the elite praised him for being a genius of their time, but the poor and the minorities, who were discriminated by him, felt differently. Cecilia wasn’t sure what to think of a man long dead; but she was deeply concerned about the savages that could be awaiting her, especially when she knew so very little about her new-found country.
“It is not, I promise you,” Henry said firmly. “Many people have helped shape America into a country I am proud to visit. It is very different from what it once was. The people are good Christians, and the Natives stick to their reservations, mostly.”
Albert nodded his approval. “Well, there’s nothing like a good old heist story to get one’s blood pumping,” he affirmed. “I imagine it’s a worthy film of note, if it had such dedication placed into its production.” Cecilia was surprised to realise her father sounded genuine. “Have you visited the Turkish Baths? Or the Squash Court? I haven’t seen you around.”
“Albert this talk is boring me,” chided Eleonora, who was currently eating a miniature cucumber sandwich. “You sound Russian.” To Cecilia, it sounded like an accusation her mother had laid, before she realised the question was directed at Henry.
“I was, yes, Lady Gresham.” Henry cleared his throat delicately. “I lived in Russia until I was a young boy. When I came to England, I changed my name to a more English one.”
“Yes, but Hamilton isn’t prestigious, is it?” Eleonora asked, while Cecilia closed her eyes in shame. “Your family was not so wealthy, then?”
“My family was quite wealthy, at a time, Lady Gresham,” Henry responded, keeping his tone light, despite the questioning. “My parents sought to leave their Jewish heritage behind, as many Jews who have emigrated to England have done so. They desired a more Christian name.” Cecilia noted that Henry didn’t say ‘we’. Had he not agreed? Was he a Jew? Did he resent his parents for making the name change, something he had not consented to? She knew many Jewish people were shunned in England; and in America, she had heard, many were refused service in hotels and restaurants. The word was that many Jewish passengers had booked passage on the Titanic because it catered to them, offering kosher options, with no amenities barred. It was difficult for Cecilia to imagine a life so; what must it feel like to be turned away simply because of your beliefs? Your name? She could scarce believe people could act with so little humanity.
And if he was, did that matter? Cecilia wasn’t sure. No one she was friends or acquaintances with had a religion outside the Church of England; there were acquaintances, of course, but she did not know anyone intimately of the faith. It wasn’t that she thought severely of others who didn’t share her faith, she just never had known anyone that had a faith that differed from hers. Even the idea of her stewardess likely being a Papist had shaken her a little; she wasn’t sure she’d known a Catholic before. She’d heard Catholics were tiresome, with their constant rituals and wrenching guilt – something she’d noticed as a quality in Aiobheen.
For the first time, Cecilia felt as if she’d stepped outside of her little bubble, the one that separated reality from fiction, and perhaps, she thought – though only to herself – her sister was more right than she’d first wanted to accept.
It was easy to have ideals when you had nothing
to lose, and nothing that could challenge them.
Chapter Thirty
Thursday, April 11th, 1912
Barrett
Barrett was preparing the boilers for their imminent departure from Queenstown – something he’d been waiting for since he boarded the Titanic in Southampton on the ninth and had first discovered the simmering fire – as the only way he would successfully had the opportunity to extinguish the coal fire was by adding it to the boilers. They didn’t have the equipment to douse such a fire on board, and even if they did, coal fires were notoriously difficult, if not impossible, to smother.
Barrett had served on more than one ship as a fireman where he’d seen the damage an unchecked coal fire could administer, he thought as he banged his shovel against the boiler to signal their short break.
However, as they were preparing to leave Queenstown, the captain had ordered that the ship reach full speed as it made its final leg of the journey to New York – giving Barrett a sincere opportunity to remove the burning coal embers, and therefore likening his chances of improving the conditions Hell had brought down to the boiler room.
Chief Bell, who appeared to have taken a disliking to Barrett following yesterday’s incident, was barking down orders from the Engineer’s railing deck above them. Trimmers and cutters ran the length of the gangways, jumping up and down the ladders as quickly as they could, preparing the coal for the firemen. Below, the lights changed – white – signalling the captain’s orders for full steam. The brief break was over; the schedule was four hours on, with a quick break every twenty-three minutes, to help reduce the risk of developing black lung.
“Alright, men! You heard the captain!” shouted Barrett, mostly due to the rattling, burning, thumping noises the boiler room and turbine was continually emitting. “Full steam ahead! Get rid of the burning coal first! We gotta get rid of it before it ruins the entire stock.”
The Light in the Darkness 1 Page 24
