Maiden Voyage

by Sarah Jane

  “But, Mama!” She hadn’t been able to say more than that.

  Ruth James held up a hand to silence her child. “It has been decided, and it is for the best,” she’d said. Her voice quavered as she shoved a third-class ticket and an envelope into Isabella’s hand. “It’s a seven-day journey to New York,” she’d said. “You are to open this envelope the day before you arrive in America, and not a moment before. Do you understand?”

  It was then that Isabella had started to cry. She’d nodded her understanding when words failed her.

  “Do you promise?” her mother had asked again.

  “I promise, Mama,” she’d finally managed to croak raggedly.

  With that, her mother had pulled her into a tight hug. “We love you more than anything in this world,” she’d whispered, kissing her hair. “Never forget that.”

  Her father had brushed away tears with a shaking hand and pulled her to his chest. “Keep your head up, love,” he’d said. “And know that America will be lucky to have you.”

  “I said you’ve been cleared,” the doctor said loudly, pulling Isabella out of her memory. He gave her a shove up the gangplank and she stumbled away from the lingering stench of his breath. “Now board.”

  Isabella held tightly to her ticket, the envelope, and her carpetbag as she moved up the gangplank in a throng of what appeared to be mostly Swedish and Irish families. She wiped her damp cheeks with the back of her hand and turned to look back at her parents one last time. They were leaning into each other so closely they appeared to be a single form. Her father coughed into his handkerchief, folding it carefully in a useless attempt to hide the blood. There was no disguising the severity of his illness—the small scrap of fabric had been coughed into so many times it was stained through. Ruth James stood stock-still next to her husband, shedding silent tears. It was clear from their faces that they didn’t want her to go. And yet …

  Isabella felt a tightening in her chest. If her parents sent her away, how could she be sure she would ever see her father again? Who would help her mother care for him? Who would be there for her mother if he passed?

  Beside her on the gangplank, a small boy clutched his mother’s hand. Behind her, a family spoke excitedly in a language she did not recognize. Caught in the crowd, Isabella had never felt so alone. She had never felt so heavyhearted. What would become of her, all by herself on the biggest ship ever built, without a single acquaintance?

  Blinking back more tears, Isabella boarded the F deck of the Titanic in a mob, turning back just in time to see the massive gangplank she’d walked up being pulled away from the side of the ship. There would be no going back.

  Her fate was sealed.

  “Hullo!” a young woman called to Abby the moment she entered the cabin. Abby was so surprised she nearly stepped back into the hall and closed the door. She’d assumed, foolishly she now realized, that she would have her own berth. What in the Lord’s good name had made her think that miserly Master Miles would pay for a servant to have a private room? She steadied herself and quickly scanned the compartment, her eyes coming to rest on the yellow steamer. It had been safely delivered as promised.

  “Cat got your tongue, has it?” her new roommate asked cheerfully. She was wearing sensible traveling clothes and had brown wavy hair that looked like it had been tucked into a tidy bun at one point, but was now struggling to break free … and succeeding. “Well, I’m glad you’re finally here! Can you believe how large this cabin is? I think we could easily fit a third berthmate!”

  In addition to the ample size, the furnishings were fine. Abby blinked at the mahogany bunk bed, floral curtains, and porcelain sink with running water.

  She coughed into her hand, grateful that her new acquaintance didn’t give her a moment to respond.

  “Well, welcome aboard! I’m Constance Gruenfeld, housemaid to the Litchfeld family. Though there’s not much for me to clean while I’m on board. It appears the Titanic has servants for everything … ’cept dressing. Only the lady’s maids and valets and nurses have to work, the poor things. Thank goodness I’m not …” She paused briefly, eyeing Abby’s black-and-white uniform.

  “Oh, sorry. Looks like this won’t be a holiday for you like it will be for me!” she barreled on. “I won’t have to work until we reach the other shore! This is my first crossing. How about you? Have you ever been aboard a ship like this?” Constance gestured broadly around the room.

  “No, I—”

  “What am I saying?” Constance answered her own question. “Of course you haven’t been on a ship like this! There’s never been a ship like this! She’s a one of a kind, she is.”

  Abby agreed. The Titanic was a marvel! But it was rather difficult to get a word in edgewise … even just to say yes.

  “Is that your trunk? It’s awfully large for a maid, isn’t it?” Constance babbled, raising her chin at the yellow steamer that had been left not far from the door. “Though I suppose it fits right in here, really. Everything on the Titanic is enormous!” She dropped her hands to her sides, suddenly looking a bit tired, perhaps from all her talking. But a moment later she started up again. “I’d wager these accommodations are as fine as any in first class on another ship …”

  Abby steadied herself against the partition between the small built-in couch and the door. She inched closer to the yellow trunk and discreetly made sure the tiny holes running along one side were out of her berthmate’s view.

  “So, are you going to introduce yourself?” Constance asked.

  Abby let out a small laugh and stepped forward. “Yes.” She held out a hand. “I’m Abigail O’Rourke. Please forgive my manners—I’m afraid I’m a bit overwhelmed! I got quite lost on my way here after having to unpack for—”

  “I know what you mean!” Constance interrupted while setting out her toilet kit. “I don’t know how I will ever find my way about!”

  “You might be able to join one of the tours on B deck,” Abby blurted, seeing a way to solve two problems at once.

  “Tours?” Constance echoed.

  Abby nodded. “There was one about to start when I left,” she said, and added on a whim, “led by a handsome steward no less.” It was a bit cheeky, but it did the trick.

  Constance set her hairbrush down on the vanity, her curiosity piqued. “Handsome, you say?” she mused. A sly smile spread across her face, lighting up her hazel eyes. “I suppose there will be time to settle in later, won’t there? Would you like to come along?”

  Abby shook her head, feigning disappointment. “I’m afraid I have just a few minutes to unpack myself before I have to get back to my mistress.” It’s not a lie, she thought.

  “And you have plenty to unpack!” Constance moved toward the yellow steamer to give it a thump, but Abby stepped protectively between the chatty girl and the trunk.

  “Sorry,” she apologized for her strange behavior. “I’m just rather sentimental. This trunk belonged to my dear departed mother.” Also not a lie, she told herself.

  Constance reached out a hand to touch Abby’s shoulder. “Oh, Love, I’m so sorry,” she said kindly. Then, in an instant, her eyes brightened again. “Well, I’d better be off if I’m to catch the handsome tour guide!” she chirped, giving Abby a wink.

  As soon as Constance was gone, Abby latched the cabin door and unlatched her yellow steamer, giving it four sharp knocks. In an instant, the lid flew open and a very small, very red-faced boy emerged.

  “Finally!” he hooted. “I’ve been in here for days!”

  Abby laughed and threw her arms around her younger brother in relief. It had only been hours—but to Felix, locked up in a steamer, it must have felt like days. Honestly, it had been an excruciatingly long period of time for her, too. But now he was on board, and he was all right! “It’s a good thing you’re small for your age,” she mused happily.

  Felix shook his head, rejecting this idea. His gray eyes were serious. “I’m not small, I’m seven.”

  Abby laughed. �
�Fine. It’s a good thing you’re seven and can fit in a trunk.”

  “A very large trunk,” Felix corrected. “That girl said so.”

  “Could you hear everything?” Abby asked.

  “Yes!” he cried excitedly, jumping out of the trunk and exploring the cabin. “Blimey, this room is fit for a king!” he cried as he opened the drawers next to the washbasin and turned on the faucets. “Cold and hot!” He switched them off and raced to the door. “Everyone is talking about how big the Titanic is,” he reported. “And how grand. I want to go on a tour, too!” He twisted the handle, but the door remained locked.

  Abby felt a wave of panic. She’d been so preoccupied with getting Felix on board undetected that she hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to keep him secreted away for a whole week. And with a roommate!

  “Just how big is the Titanic?” Felix persisted.

  “Enormous,” Abby replied. “But I’m afraid you won’t be seeing much more than these four walls.”

  Felix scowled and hopped up onto the couch. He turned his large gray eyes on his sister, looking utterly innocent.

  “Don’t give me that look, Felix,” Abby said firmly, though even as she spoke the words she wondered how she’d gone from playful sibling to responsible adult in the blink of an eye.

  That’s what happens when your parents die. The thought came so quickly it startled her with its brutal honesty. She pushed it away just as fast.

  “We can’t risk anyone finding out you’re on board. Not after all the trouble we went through to get you here. You did a good job keeping quiet and hidden in that trunk—and now you’re going to have to do the same in this cabin,” she explained. “That means no going out. That means not a peep when anyone else is about. Not even Constance, our new roommate, can know you’re here.”

  While she spoke, doubt began to swell in the pit of Abby’s stomach. Felix couldn’t sit still for five minutes. How was she going to contain him for seven whole days? And yet, what choice did they have?

  When Master Miles had first asked Abby to accompany the family to America on the Titanic, she had been thrilled. She’d long dreamed of a new life across the Atlantic—there were opportunities for a girl in America! But her excitement had vanished when she’d remembered her brother, whom she loved dearly and, without their parents, was solely in her care.

  James O’Rourke, their seaman father, had left on a cargo voyage just over a year ago and never returned. When they’d gotten the notice that he had died in a shipwreck, her mother, Maggie O’Rourke, had been devastated. They all had. But none of them could have known that Maggie herself would be gone less than a year later, leaving Abby and Felix alone in the world. They didn’t know how she died. There was no long illness, and no money for a service. There was just their tiny apartment in London, and a job in the Miles household for Abby if she wanted it.

  Abby had no desire to be a lady’s maid, or work for the Miles family. But again, what choice did she have?

  None. Nor did she have a choice about smuggling her little brother on board the Titanic. When she’d asked Master Miles if Felix might accompany them to America, he had laughed cruelly. “You expect me to pay for his passage?”

  “But where will he stay while I’m gone?” she’d asked pleadingly.

  “A workhouse, of course.”

  Abby knew perfectly well what the workhouses were like for young boys—the poor children spent their days breaking stone, or crushing bones. They passed nights crowded into dorms, sharing diseases. She’d heard that sometimes the boys were so hungry they’d fight over the marrow left in the bones they were meant to grind. After everything they’d been through, Abby couldn’t let that happen to her brother. She’d briefly considered going to Mistress Miles to ask if she could persuade her husband, but her mistress was weak and not likely to stand up to her husband, and if Master Miles found out she had gone behind his back, she would have been sacked for sure, and then what would they have done?

  As if Master Miles discovering that I’ve stowed Felix aboard won’t yield the same result! she thought.

  He won’t find out, she told herself. He can’t. We will make it to America. Felix just had to stay hidden for a single week so she could properly attend to the Miles women—a challenging task at best. It would not be easy, but it had to be done.

  “You need to climb up here and take a rest,” Abby said to Felix, who was pouting on the bench. She patted the upper bunk.

  “What do you think I’ve been doing in that bloody trunk all day?” he replied, annoyed.

  “Watch your language, Felix,” Abby scolded.

  “Sorry,” Felix replied. “But it was bloody awful.” He raised his eyebrows, realizing he’d said it again, and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he repeated, though it was muffled by his hand.

  Abby leaned in and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Please just stay here and stay quiet,” she instructed. “If you’re found out, they’ll throw us both overboard.”

  Felix’s eyes went round. “Really?”

  Abby nodded. “Really.” She slid the curtain closed and unlatched the cabin door. “Just stay put,” she said firmly as she pulled the door shut and stepped back into the corridor, nearly bumping into a young steward passing behind her.

  “Don’t worry, miss,” the steward said with a wink. “The cabins on the Titanic aren’t in the habit of wandering off.”

  Abby felt her cheeks flame, though whether it was because of her stowaway secret or the steward’s warm brown eyes and crooked smile she could not be sure. She nodded quickly and hurried away, praying that the young man hadn’t heard her little brother’s voice.

  “Doesn’t it all sound delicious?” Lucy looked over the food choices in the Café Parisien. Roast squab and cress. Chilled asparagus vinaigrette. Salmon mousseline. Her mouth watered and her eyes lingered on the chocolate éclairs listed near the bottom.

  “Look, Mother!” she pointed at the treat.

  Seated across from her, Elisabeth Miles looked less enthusiastic. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite,” she said with a weak smile. Lucy gave a slight nod of understanding and set down her own menu. She gazed out the windows. The café, which was adjacent to the à la carte restaurant, offered a magnificent view of the water through open windows along the length of one side. Trellises wound with ivy adorned the walls on the opposite side of the long room, which was furnished with white rattan tables and chairs and peppered with palms, creating the effect of a covered veranda.

  “My stomach is still in fits after that accident,” Elisabeth complained, oblivious to the charming atmosphere.

  “Near accident,” Lucy corrected gently. She stole a look at her father, who was holding his menu in front of his face like a wall, clearly not paying attention to the conversation. “We should feel comforted that our captain was skilled enough to steer us out of danger.”

  She smiled at her mother as if she hadn’t a fear in the world, though in truth the near collision with the New York had been more than a little unnerving. They had only just left the dock and were maneuvering out of the harbor, which was unusually crowded with moored boats due to the coal strike, when the New York was pulled into the great ship’s wake. The suction force of the Titanic was so powerful it snapped six of New York’s hawsers and pulled it within two feet of the huge liner before it was edged away by a tug at the last possible second. Lucy and her mother had watched the whole thing from the deck, and Lucy felt her shoulders clench at the memory of the near accident.

  “And what would have happened if we’d collided?” her mother asked.

  “Stop fussing, Elisabeth,” Phillip snapped, apparently listening after all. “You heard Ismay say it would take more than a gash in the flank of his prize beast to even slow her down.”

  It was true—J. Bruce Ismay, manager of the White Star Line and overseer of the Titanic’s construction—was not only on the maiden voyage of the ship but also on deck during the close call. He�
��d comforted the passengers with his confident assurances about the ship.

  “And who would know better than Ismay?” Phillip asked, setting down his menu and raising a hand to summon the waiter. Before Lucy could even offer a word about what she wanted, he had ordered for all three of them. There would be no éclairs, apparently.

  Lucy let out a tiny sigh. He’d selected consommé for her mother, which might settle her stomach, but he was so surly she didn’t dare request what she wanted. At least everything on the menu was appealing! Additionally, it struck her as a terrible waste to be grumpy on such a beautiful day … on such a grand ship … on the eve of adventure!

  It hasn’t even been a day yet, Lucy reminded herself. It might take him a while to unwind. She tried to think back to a time when she’d known a more relaxed and smiling version of her father, but found nothing in her memory. Had he always been so sour and consumed by business? Was a happy father something she had ever seen? Well then, now was the time. It truly was Lucy’s fondest wish for the trip—to be a happy family, all of them—and she was determined to keep that dream afloat.

  Abby took a bite of lamb with mint sauce and chewed, closing her eyes and savoring the flavor. She could not remember the last time she’d had food so warm and delicious, and served on shiny new china by a uniformed White Star Line steward no less! Master Miles would cringe to see the royal treatment she was receiving in the servants’ dining salon. The only significant difference between the dining room where maids and valets ate and the regular second-class dining room was that the servants ate at long shared tables, and Abby’s silver napkin ring had been stamped with the word servant.

  “Now this is food!” Constance whispered, leaning across the table. She speared half a roasted potato and stuffed it into her mouth. For a moment she was quiet while she chewed, but the silence did not last long. “Can you imagine what they’re serving in first class?” she asked through her bite.