No Moon (14 page)

“And now, ladies, you’ll need to return to your deck. The ship will be docking in Queenstown soon to take on the last of our passengers. A hundred expected–mainly immigrants for steerage, I hear, bound for America. By late afternoon, it will be full speed ahead for the Statue of Liberty and New York. That is a fine sight, I can tell you. With a bit of luck and the fair weather holding, we are hoping to get in a day early. There is nothing like being out on the open sea, never knowing from one day to the next what the weather will bring.”

This is the second time I am reminded that we will soon be out of sight of land! My expression must give me away.

The young man says, “Think of the ship as a small town, miss. The decks are your streets, paved with wood instead of cobblestones. They’re as safe and watertight as your own house.” He obviously does not know what our scullery is like at home, and how it floods when we have a rainstorm!

“Here we are. The lift will be along any minute.”

“Thank you very much, Mr…?”

“I’m Tim, one of the glass-washers. I won’t forget your letter. Chef will be sending out a search party for me!” He hurries away.

The girls talk about Jenny for the rest of the morning.

At Queenstown, we stop to watch the long line of passengers going up the third-class gangway. There are many children among them–we have very few in first class. It seems a pity that gates separate us all. Father would say everyone is happiest keeping to their own place, but I do not believe that is true. On the first day, when passengers from second class were allowed to explore the ship, I noticed a nice-looking girl with her little brother and sister. I would have liked to have someone my own age to talk to.

The seagulls are noisy and fight over bits of leftover food from our lunches, which have been thrown overboard.

Later in the afternoon, I take the children up to A deck to see their mother in the Verandah Café and Palm Court. The air is still full of birds beating their wings steadily, following behind the ship as she steams, proudly, through the calm Atlantic waters.

I wander to the end of the promenade deck and look down on B deck below. On the stern of the ship–the back or aft, as it’s called–a man plays the bagpipes. The music is as mournful as if he were playing at a funeral.
Is he a passenger who came aboard at Queenstown?
He plays as if his heart were broken, bidding farewell as the coast of Ireland gradually disappears and the sun begins to fade.

It makes me sad to listen and I shiver, even in my warm coat. The wailing of the bagpipes somehow
reminds me of Lady Portman’s garden, of the voices that called to me in the night air, crying from the depths of the water.

I am glad to return to the café–it is time to fetch the children. I pay only surface attention to the girls’ chatter.

Miss Portia scolds me. “You are not listening, Gardy. We had ice cream and strawberries!”

“You never did! You must be dreaming–strawberries in April, in the middle of the ocean?”

“Yes, yes!” Miss Alexandra nods her head vigorously.

“Indeed, it is true, Gardy,” her sister says.

“Indeed, is it? Then you must be the luckiest children in the whole world. Did you save some for me?”

“All gone.” Miss Alexandra looks wistful, but I doubt it is on my account.

Just as we turn to go down the staircase, we pass the nanny who avoided us earlier. The little girl with her waves to Miss Alexandra, but the nanny hurries her away, saying, “Come along, do, Miss Loraine.”

The week passes pleasantly, the weather remains beautiful, the sun shines every day, and true to Mrs. Landers’ prediction, the
Titanic
is a happy ship!

On Saturday evening, Hart looks particularly smart as she goes in to have her dinner in the saloon.

“You do look nice, Hart,” I tell her.

“There’s to be a bit of a party tonight, seeing tomorrow is Sunday, so I have to look my best. I’ll be back in plenty of time for you to have your moonlight stroll, Gardener.”

Kathleen was right about there always being a moon! I like my walks on deck, and it is surprising how many of the passengers I have come to know by sight, or to say “good evening” to. There is an elderly couple who always walk arm in arm–they are inseparable. Hart told me they are a Mr. and Mrs. Straus, who own Macy’s, a big department store in New York. Mrs. Straus always greets me. She reminds me of the woman at the shoe stall where Mother buys our boots.

Little Robert Spedden’s nanny sometimes walks with me, and we laugh at the young couple on their honeymoon because they argue so often! It was she who told me about the second Mrs. Astor, who never smiles in public. I don’t wonder. Mrs. Astor must know her in-laws don’t think she is good enough for Colonel Astor. He is supposedly the richest man on board ship! Everyone on the
Titanic
, at least in first class, knows everyone else and their secrets. Obviously they have never heard of Nanny Mackintosh’s warning, never to discuss one’s private life.

I did mention my suspicions to Hart about the nanny I think is Roberts.

“There is nothing we can do, Gardener. We have no proof that she stole anything, and she might say that you are being spiteful, or worse. I say, give her a chance to start a new life. If she is unkind to those little children, it will be discovered soon enough, and she will be dismissed!”

Tonight I walk along our deck, past the Café Parisien, where the waiters converse in French. The ship’s orchestra trio plays tunes that get my feet tapping! I wish Kathleen were here with me to watch the elegant passengers, laughing, talking, and drinking wine. I’ll always remember how the air is filled with the scent of perfume and the smell of the gentlemen’s cigars.

Tomorrow is our fifth day on board. Sunday service will be led by Captain Smith in the first-class saloon, after breakfast. And in only three more days–less, if Mr. Ismay, the managing director of the White Star Line, gets his way–we reach New York!

The
Titanic
will have set a new record for the crossing. As for me, though this whole voyage seems like a dream, I shall be more than happy to arrive back home in England!

O
ur first Sunday at sea feels special. I dress the girls in their new cream-colored frocks. The children look a picture, sitting between their parents, waiting patiently for Captain Smith to begin the service. I can’t help smiling, thinking of Miss Portia asking me if she should wear her life jacket to show the captain how quickly she can put it on!

Hart and I sit at the back of the first-class saloon, with the other servants. I look around for Roberts–almost certain that it is her–but she is not here. However, Miss Loraine sits between her mother and father, just behind Miss Alexandra, who turns around to smile and wave at the little girl.

One should think kindly of everyone on a Sunday, but I can’t help wondering if Roberts found an excuse
to stay with the baby boy. She must know, by now, that her former employers are on board and that even a wig, dyed hair, or a nurse’s uniform cannot disguise her forever!

When we stand to sing

the words have never sounded more beautiful to me, especially because we have the ship’s orchestra to accompany us. The service does not end until noon, but the children have behaved beautifully throughout. Captain Smith shakes hands with all the passengers, and I am as thrilled as Miss Portia and Miss Alexandra are to be included.

It must have been the hymn that gives me the idea to take the children up to the boat deck to look at the lifeboats.

“Look, here they all are. Can you read what name is written on each side, Miss Portia? I will give you a clue. The lifeboats have the same name as our ship,” I say.

“I know, I know, it is
Titanic!
I can read, Gardy,” she says proudly.

“Me read too,
Titanic,”
Miss Alexandra repeats, not to be outdone.

“You are both very clever girls. Now, look at the numbers 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, 14, and 16–these are the even numbers. They are on our left, which the crew calls the port side, Mrs. Landers said. And on our right, on the starboard side, are the odd numbers: 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13, and 15.” This is far too much information for the children to take in, but I do it as much for myself as for them. It is a precaution. There is no harm in looking at the
Titanic
’s safety features!

The boat deck is deserted. Other passengers are wiser than me, for the wind has turned bitter and the temperature has dropped.

“Let’s run along one side of the deck and then down the other, before lunch. It will warm us up.” I hold out my hands. A gust of wind blows off my cap, and my hair tumbles down. The children shriek with merriment, and we almost collide with Mr. Thomas Andrews. I had not noticed his lonely figure before.

“I do beg your pardon, sir,” I say.

“This belongs to you, I believe, Nanny?” Mr. Andrews says, and returns my cap. “And do you still like my ship, young ladies?” he asks the children.

They nod vigorously, suddenly shy.

“You need not be concerned, Nanny. There are twenty lifeboats, including the four Englehardt collapsibles. Not that we have need of so many. As it is, we have room for quite half the passengers–more than the law asks of us. In addition, I designed sixteen
watertight compartments. They reach all the way up to F deck. You may rest assured, the
Titanic
is unsinkable! I wish you a pleasant afternoon.” He bows and continues on his walk.

Mr. Andrews is such a kind gentleman.
To think that he would stop and talk to me!
Now, Mr. Ismay of the White Star Line walks past us as though we are invisible. I have not been given so much as a nod, though we often pass by him in the corridor. His stateroom is also on B deck.

Hart said that Mr. Ismay’s manservant mentioned that his employer’s sole topic of conversation is taken up with beating the competition. He keeps urging the captain to increase the ship’s speed! As if it mattered whether we get to New York a few hours earlier or later…

“I’m cold,” Miss Alexandra says, shivering.

“I am too. Come along into the lift and down to our warm stateroom. Won’t it be lovely to eat some nice hot soup for lunch?” I say.

The sun has disappeared and it feels almost cold enough to snow. When Hart comes in after lunch, she says that I should not bring the girls up to the Verandah Café and Palm Court this afternoon. Lady Milton has decided it is too chilly.

“I have not seen anyone out on deck,” Hart says, “but the library and little writing room are full. There is to be a big dinner party this evening, in the à la
carte restaurant, which the first-class passengers have named the Ritz. The dinner is to be in honor of Captain Smith’s last voyage before he retires. Lord and Lady Milton have been invited. Lord Milton has already been down to the purser’s office to fetch Lady Milton’s diamond tiara, bracelet, and necklace. There will be more glittering jewelry at that dinner party, Gardener, than you’d find at Buckingham Palace or Windsor Castle! And as for the food, goodness knows what has been ordered specially for the occasion. I shall ask her ladyship to tell me. Mrs. Porter is sure to be interested.”

“Don’t you think it is wasteful, Hart, to spend all that money up there when they serve such wonderful food in the first-class dining saloon?”

“What do we understand of the whims of American millionaires? I am more than satisfied with the meals we are served in the saloon–fit for the grandest home, I should think!” Hart says.

“Mrs. Landers says Chef sends up plain, simple, nursery meals for us. He has no idea what is meant by plain nursery food, and I’m happy to admit it. Last night, we had chocolate éclairs for dessert. I had never tasted them before! You should have seen Miss Alexandra’s face–chocolate from eyebrows to chin! Can you imagine what Nanny Mackintosh would have said?”

“Don’t get too used to all of this, Gardener,” Hart
says. “We’ll be returning to normal soon and to eating good plain English food. I’m not complaining–we are luckier than some I know, where the cook watches every scrap of butter the servants put on their toast! We are treated fairly. I’m not just talking about food. What I’m trying to say is, nothing about the way life runs in our household at Number 4, or anywhere else, is going to change, Gardener. We’ll go on the same way we’ve always done.”

“I know that, Hart. No one could live like this; it’s not real life!” I am glad Hart reminded me that all I am is a fourteen-year-old nursemaid who’ll soon be back at the house as an extra pair of hands for Nanny Mackintosh. But that’s what I was hired to be. No one ever promised me anything different.

You’re right, Father. It’s about keeping to my place
. I can’t help hearing his voice in my head–I do need to be reminded.
To think I had not wanted to come!
Well, I have had my wish–I have seen what the world is like and how different it can be. But the whole ship is not like first class. I know about the stokers, who live and work in the bowels of the ship. The sailors and cooks and glass-washers and stewards, they are the ones–the servants, like Hart and me–who make first class happen.