I wish Mrs. Landers hadn’t reminded me that there is nothing but ocean for an entire week! Tomorrow, I will teach the girls how to put on their life jackets, and we will practice daily, until we sight land again.
This has been a wonderful day…I have been treated like a person and not like an ignorant, untrained girl, constantly in need of reproof! I pour myself a cup of cocoa and nibble a jam-filled biscuit, remembering Mr. Briggs’ advice: “If the weather is rough, Gardener, eat nothing but an apple for breakfast and a small digestive biscuit. Then, take a brisk walk on deck.”
Rough? I can barely feel the throb of the engines. The ship moves as smoothly as if it were a toy boat, adrift on the lake in Hyde Park.
“Are you dreaming, Gardener?” Hart asks. I have not seen her since before lunch. She comes in, flops down in the other armchair, takes off her shoes, and flexes her feet. I jump up, pour out a cup of cocoa, and bring it to her.
“There’s no need to wait on me, Gardener, I’m sure you are as tired as I am. What a long day it’s been. I would have been back earlier, but Lady Milton forgot to take her fan in to dinner. Our steward said eleven courses are served in the first-class dining room! Her ladyship sometimes feels faint, if she has to stand or sit for too long. I ran down to D deck to take her the fan. Luckily Lady Milton had not yet left the white paneled reception room. I waited behind, so I could take a quick peek at the dining room. It is beautiful beyond words, Gardener: sparkling silverware, gold-rimmed wine glasses on snow white linen tablecloths. The crew must be busy day and night. Every table is laid to perfection, with arrangements of fresh flowers and candles. The fruit bowls just spill over with oranges, grapes, peaches, and plums. I wish Mr. Briggs could see that room. Even he could not fault anything.
“Seating is at round tables for six to eight guests, and there are romantic alcoves for two or four. And the orchestra plays during dinner!”
I like listening to Hart talk–she does not put on airs, even though she is Lady Milton’s personal maid. I was afraid she might resent having to share a room with me!
“Lady Milton is pleasant to work for,” Hart continues. “It’s natural with the baby coming that she tires more easily. I am so relieved to be sharing with you. I must admit, Gardener, I was not looking forward to rooming with Nanny Mackintosh! Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against her. I know she is very experienced and a good nanny, but–” She raises her eyebrows, and we smile at each other. Nanny is a tartar and everyone knows it! It is kind of Hart to make me feel at ease.
“I admit I was afraid of sharing with you, Hart, but not anymore,” I say, losing my shyness.
“I’m glad to hear that. Did you think I’ve always been a lady’s maid, Gardener? I started out when I was twelve years old. My first household had a cook, a maid, and no other help. I never stopped running from morning to night. They gave all the worst jobs to me. That was twelve years ago, and I’ve been with Lord and Lady Milton for five years. It took me a while to work myself up! But you are going to get on. I can see that Lady Milton has taken a liking to you!”
Now I feel shy again. “Hart, do you eat in the dining room, after the lords and ladies have left?”
“No, the first-class maids and valets eat in a saloon, next to the doctor’s office on C deck. It’s like the servants’ hall, except that it’s all new. We are waited on by stewards and are served the same food as the second-class passengers. That’s five courses–a good variety and more than I can manage.
“I was thinking, you should have a bit of time for yourself of an evening. You might like to meet the servants or take a walk on deck. I don’t mind watching the girls for an hour, once her ladyship has gone to dinner. She won’t be back until late. She’ll take a stroll, have coffee in the reading room, or attend a concert.”
“Thank you very much, Hart. I’d love to take a walk after the girls are asleep.”
“One or two of the valets are very nice-looking. You should come into the saloon,” she teases.
“Are the valets as handsome as Mr. Harris is, Hart? I can tell he likes you!” I say.
This conversation reminds me of Kathleen and me, whispering in our bedroom at home so as not to wake up Emily.
“I know,” she sighs. “But it won’t do. It always causes friction in the household, and the other servants gossip. Mrs. Ransom and Mr. Briggs would not approve if we started walking out together. And I want to keep my place. I know when I’m well off.
“There’s a lady in suite 52–3–that’s the biggest suite on B deck–with its own private promenade deck! She brought fourteen trunks on board, can you imagine? And we know who had to pack them–her maid! The lady is a tyrant, not a bit like Lady Milton. And I’ve seen the maid tremble whenever her mistress speaks to her. Shouted at and berated from the minute she gets up, I should think. No, I intend for things to stay just the way they are.”
“But what if you were to get married?” I ask, hoping she won’t think I am impertinent.
“I don’t know, though I admit Mr. Harris is nice. And how about Mr. Phipps, then? I’ve noticed him looking at you. He’s a bit smitten, I think.” I can feel myself blush and change the subject.
“Mrs. Landers said if we put our shoes in the corridor, the night steward will brush them. I’ll take them now.” I go out hastily, hoping Hart has not noticed my hot cheeks.
I wake up early next morning. For a minute, I don’t know where I am. Last night I thought I’d never go to sleep, but the hum of the engines and the gentle motion of the ship soon had me drifting dreamlessly. I jump out of bed and open the door just wide enough to pick up our shoes, shined to perfection. Hart is already up. I hurry to dress before Mrs. Landers comes in. I have just finished braiding my hair when she knocks on the door and brings our early-morning tea. Hart pours it.
“I still have ten minutes before the dress bugle sounds. I shall have to watch that I don’t get too used to being spoiled like this! What a lovely change, being brought our tea instead of having to carry up the morning trays,” Hart says, biting into a scone.
“Gardy?” Miss Alexandra is always the first one in the morning to call me.
“Is that what they call you?” Hart says. “Nanny Mackintosh does not approve of pet names, but I think it’s nice. It shows the children have taken to you.” She straightens her cap and cuffs and hurries out, just as the bugle sounds.
Our breakfast of porridge, bacon, eggs, sausages, toast, butter, and jam arrives. Miss Portia asks, “Is it Sunday?” Bacon is a rare Sunday treat in our nursery.
“No, it is Thursday, but you may have sausage or bacon when you have finished your porridge. I do believe that Chef thinks every day is Sunday!” I say, enjoying the delicious food as much as the children.
“I shall ask Papa if we may live here forever,” Miss Portia says.
I remove a sausage from Miss Alexandra and remind her, “Porridge first!”
After breakfast is over, I look out the window at perfect blue skies. “We musn’t waste that lovely April sunshine. As soon as we have tried on our life jackets, we will go and explore the ship. We have lots more things to see,” I say.
“Don’t want to,” Miss Alexandra says, pushing away the cork jacket I hold ready.
“It is too hot.” Miss Portia turns her back to me. Not for nothing have I helped Mother with Emily and my brothers!
“What a pity,” I say. “I was hoping to tell Captain Smith that you can put your life jackets on faster than anyone on board!” The thought of my speaking to this grand bearded gentleman, in his gold braided uniform surrounded by officers and admiring passengers, makes me quake. Luckily the girls do not know that!
Before I have time to count to three, they are scrambling to push their arms through the jackets. Miss Portia manages to tie hers up while I fasten Miss Alexandra’s.
“Close your eyes and open your mouths,” I whisper, and pop two of the sugar cubes I’ve saved for this occasion into their mouths. Sometimes bribery is justified. If Nan
ny Mackintosh was ever to find out about my method of child-rearing, I have no doubt I’d be dismissed on the spot!
“You may take off the jackets now. We shall play this game every day, and each time, you will have a sugar lump. Now we are going to explore. Mrs. Landers told me about an alleyway the crew use to get from one end of the ship to the other. None of the passengers knows about it. The crew are as quiet and invisible as little mice, I’m told.”
In the lift, I ask for E deck.
“If you are wanting the swimming bath and Turkish baths, miss, you will find them on F deck!” the lift boy says, about to press the wrong button.
“No, E deck, if you please,” I repeat.
The boy blushes. Oh, dear, I did not mean to sound cross.
“I beg your pardon, miss,” he says. He must think I am a difficult passenger!
“I have to deliver a letter, you see, to a member of the crew,” I explain.
“Certainly, miss, my mistake,” he says, not looking at me, and presses the correct button.
The alley is a long plain corridor, with walls tiled in white from deck to ceiling. Every few yards are iron staircases. I have no idea where they lead to. How am I going to find Patrick? I don’t know if I will even recognize him. I have only met him once!
Suddenly the girls let go of my hands, rush forward, and kneel down beside a cat.
“Cat, good kitty,” they croon. I crouch down beside them, and we stroke the plump gray creature that has appeared so mysteriously.
“Wherever did you come from?” I say.
A voice above me says, “I might ask you the same thing, young ladies. Have you lost your way?”
I jump up, straightening my skirts. A young man wearing a long striped apron over his uniform looks down at us. Flustered, I try to explain. “I am looking for someone, a Mr. Patrick O’Connor. I have promised to deliver a letter to him from my sister.”
Two stewards glance at us curiously as they pass by, their arms full of neatly folded linen. A sailor clambers up one of the iron staircases–it is busier down here than on the Grand Staircase!
“Never heard of him, miss, but that’s not surprising. We are a crew of 685. Which department does he work in?”
“He is a stoker,” I reply.
“No one is allowed down there, miss. It’s hot and dangerous, with the furnaces blazing and sparks flying. Tell you what, give me your letter and I’ll do my best to make sure he gets it.
“Now then, our Jenny…” He picks up the cat and talks tenderly to her. “You should be getting back to your quarters. The boys will be looking for you, worrying about you. Miss Jenny will have kittens any day now. That’s considered a lucky omen on a maiden voyage,” he says.
“And now, ladies, you must excuse me. This alley is only for the crew. I’ll walk you back to the lift.”
A white-coated waiter with a laden tray hurries past us. “Chef told me to send you straight back. He’s running short of glasses,” he says.
“I am sorry,” I say. “I did not mean to get you into trouble, but I promised my sister.” Why can’t I ever learn my place? Miss Portia fondles Jenny’s ears, and the cat purrs loudly.
“Is Jenny your cat?” Miss Portia asks. “In a manner of speaking, Jenny belongs to all of us–she is the ship’s cat. You need a cat on board to keep the mice and rats away.
“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 d
on’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!
13
Sunday, April 14
Our 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.
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