Fleming, Leah - The Captain's Daughter

by The Captain's Daughter (mobi)

  nessed on the ship? He couldn’t even be bothered to meet me off the rescue ship and I’ve discovered he hides my mail.’

  Harriet paused at the door. ‘I see. I’m glad we’ve had this chat, Celestine. Good day. I’ll tell everyone you’re indisposed.’

  Celeste sensed they would never talk of this again. Harriet had been shamed, her own secret humiliation discovered. If only they could join forces, there might be hope of recon-ciliation. What am I thinking of? Celeste sighed. Nothing I can say will change Grover. But my actions just might make him think again.

  29 July 1914

  It was a struggle for May to find a vantage point. The Lichfield crowds were out to see the Mayoral procession wending its way down Bird Street from the Guildhall to Museum Gar-dens for the unveiling of the statue.

  The town crier was in his top hat, his mace and sword glinting in the July sunlight, and a motley crew of the Court of Array in medieval costumes slowly filed past the curious crowds. Next came the Mayor and Sheriff, sweltering in their scarlet and fur and tricorn hats heading up the dignitaries and guests dressed as befitted such a civic occasion, some in sombre blacks, others in muted silks, their skirts rustling with braided hems to brush away the dust.

  A fanfare of scarlet-coated buglers heralded their arrival, striking a grand note as the parade filed into Museum Gardens where naval officers stood guard over the shrouded statue. There was a shuffling into appointed positions before the proceedings began.

  May hid herself from view. She couldn’t hear most of what was said, and Ella was squirm-ing in her pushchair, more interested in the ice-cream vendor on the corner, who was doing a roaring trade amongst the crowd who’d gathered to see what was going on.

  She noted with pride how white the clergymen’s robes were that she’d helped launder, starch and iron that very morning. They were ranked in order of importance around the bish-ops, in their gold stoles and mitres. It was a theatrical pageant perfect for a cathedral city.

  ‘Who’s being done?’ said a man in a cloth cap, dripping ice cream from his cornet down his whiskers.

  ‘It’s the unveiling of the captain’s statue, Captain Smith,’ May offered. ‘Oh, him, the one who sank the Titanic! What do we want a statue of him for?’ ‘He was a brave man, a very brave man . . .’ she snapped, unable to contain her vexation. ‘What do you know?’ he argued, eyeing her up and down. There wasn’t much of her to at-

  tract attention, she reckoned; just a young woman in a grey loose dress, pinched in the face, hair the colour of wet sand scraped into a bun under a straw boater. With one cutting word about being a Titanic survivor she could’ve shut him up but she bit her tongue and edged away. She wanted to hear what the Duchess of Sutherland had to say but she caught only snippets of her speech as a woman pointed out another young lady in a grey flowing dress.

  ‘That’s Lady Scott . . . widow of Captain Scott, the great explorer . . . she made the statue,’ whispered the lady standing next to her. ‘Now there’s someone who deserves a bronze likeness. A hero among men, he was.’

  It was evident Captain Smith was not among friends here. May wondered why they’d even bothered to turn up. It was the talk of the city that no one wanted this statue in Lich-field; a petition with seventy signatures had been sent to the Council in protest at having it erected.

  If only she could speak out on his behalf. Then she caught the duchess’s final words. ‘Don’t, my friends, grieve . because Captain Smith lies in the sea . the sea has swal-

  lowed silently and fearfully many of the great and many of those we love . . .’ You can say that again, May sighed under her breath, not wanting to listen any more.

  There were too many memories rising to the surface with those words. Now there was talk of war and men taking up arms again. How many of them were also

  destined for the deep?

  May’s eyes were drawn to the slender figure of a girl in a white dress and picture hat, her dark hair falling down to her waist. The captain’s only daughter, Helen Melville Smith, who was going to unveil her father’s likeness. Her mother was seated close by, anxious as the girl tugged on the sheet to reveal the broad-shouldered figure of a naval officer, his arms folded as he looked far, far across the assembled crowd, far beyond the three spires of the cathedral and the museum dome, and out into the distance. The crowd clapped without enthusiasm.

  Here he was, stuck on a post as far from the sea as it was possible to be, landlocked in a lukewarm Lichfield, deaf to all the speeches from the great and good of the county. It had been the talk of Cathedral Close for weeks who would be attending this show: Lady Diana Manners and her sister, the Marchioness of Anglesey, Sir Charles Beresford, the MP, and more. Everyone had wanted to make speeches but there were rumblings of dismay espe-cially when the vicar of St Chad’s stirred up the protest in the newspaper. Many worthies had stayed away, making lame excuses not to attend.

  May tried to view the seated guests. Among their ranks were the captain’s relatives from the Potteries and officials from the White Star Line, as well as survivors like herself. She’d like to have given them her public support but she knew she had to watch from a safe dis-tance.

  It was a great turnout, despite all the fuss, and a comfort to his family, she hoped. Her eyes were fixed on his widow, Eleanor, as she placed a wreath of red and white roses at the foot of the plinth. How she’d borne her cross with dignity over these past two years. What must she be thinking now?

  The sun was in May’s eyes. They were hot and crushed, and Ella was fractious. ‘Ducks . feed the ducks,’ she demanded. May hoped to get a closer view of the statue when the crowd dispersed. She pushed her back towards the shade of Minster Pool so they could feed the ducks as she’d promised.

  The procession receded, the cadets and naval reserves fell out of line, people shuffled past the cordon to take a closer look and read the plaque.

  ‘Ducks . . . feed the ducks,’ Ella insisted.

  What a hoo-ha there’d been about this inscription! She’d heard the canons arguing over their port and the students in the college debating it over their cocoa before compline, and she was curious to see for herself what had been chosen.

  Now the show was over, the seats emptied and the crowds strolled into the park, crowding into pubs and tearooms to cool off. Only then did May wheel the pushchair to-wards the statue for a closer inspection. No one here had a clue about her connection to this famous man, and reading the plaque she could have wept. There was just his name, rank and dates with a nondescript flowery epitaph:

  BEQUEATHING TO HIS COUNTRYMEN

  THE MEMORY AND EXAMPLE

  OF A GREAT HEART.

  A BRAVE LIFE AND A HEROIC DEATH.

  BE BRITISH.

  How dare they not mention that he was the captain of the Titanic. Canon Forester had been right when he said the aldermen would ‘fudge the issue and damn the man with faint praise’.

  May hadn’t wanted this reminder on her doorstep but now she felt she must stick up for its presence. Here in the pram was living proof of his valour. If Helen Smith was his real daughter, then in a strange way Ella was the captain’s daughter too, born of the sea.

  If only Celeste were here. She must write again, telling her all about this ceremony and sending the local paper to furnish her with all the details.

  May looked up at those stern features, the sadness in those faraway eyes. The sculptor had caught something of the man, she was sure. She sighed as she turned, shaking her head. Captain Smith was not the only one to lose his life or his reputation on that fateful night.

  Later, in the sultry heat of her bedroom, she dreamed the same dream again, thrashing in that black endless sea, crying out when the fickle frozen water, swayed by moon, wind and tide, sucked down all she loved into the deep. Sometimes she woke with relief thinking it all a nightmare until she looked at the wooden cot, saw Ella’s curly head and knew it for real. Who was this stolen child?

  Was the price of the comfort she was
giving to her an eternity of secrets and silence? What else should she have done? You survived. She survived. That is all that matters now. Did I do right? Oh, please, give me a sign that I did right . . .

  Dearest May

  Thank you for your description of the unveiling ceremony I wish I could’ve been there but my mind has been occupied. I have done a terrible thing, or it will be terrible if my husband ever finds out. You know how much the Titanic Survivors’ Committee work means to me. Well, I made an important decision to sell off a few bits and pieces of jewellery Grover has given me over the years, stuff I never wear. I call them blood gifts. I went to Cleveland in secret and got a good price for them. It felt so liberating to have real money of my own and to be able to give a decent donation to our cause. For months now I’ve found it increasingly difficult to live in useless splendour, and selling these trinkets felt good. I have a little money left to me by my mother

  which I call my ‘rainy day money’.

  I can’t believe I’m writing this but there is no one else to trust with my decision. As you may have guessed from my silence on the subject of my marriage, it has not been a happy one. I

  can no longer bear what must borne. I know I promised under God to honour my vows but I fear there is no marriage left to honour.

  I am sorry to burden you with this knowledge. I hope it explains why my letters of late have been full of frantic busyness. When I am busy, I do not think. Please don’t be shocked.

  You have had to work so hard for everything while I can sit sewing in comfort. You have lost your life’s companion while I am wishing to shed mine. How strange and unfair life can be.

  Don’t worry about us. I am making plans of which I can say nothing yet. It is imperative you tell no one at home about my troubles. Please send your next letter to the post office. I shall wire to you later. As you will have guessed, Grover did not approve of our correspondence so we must go behind his back.

  You may not hear from me for a while. It is not neglect on my part but because I am trying to alter our sorry situation with plans of my own.

  Yours in desperation,

  Celeste and Roddy

  Celeste waited until Grover was out before she found the key to his walnut bureau where all their documents were held. All she wanted was her birth certificate, and Roddy’s. She had been priming him for weeks that it was time to take Roddy and Susan for a trip to the coast, to sail his boat and get some fresh sea air. They would spend a few days in a hotel and travel by rail car to see the Great Lakes on the way home. She’d bought a new sailor suit for Roddy, a fresh straw boater for Susan’s uniform and some pretty silk dresses for herself.

  For the first time in months, she felt alive with anticipation. Susan would have to come with them or she might raise the alarm. She was trustworthy up to a point but she had her

  own family to support in Akron. It might not be wise to persuade her to cross the border in-to Canada. According to the New York papers, things were increasingly serious in Europe after the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo. There was talk of war with Germany. She must get out now before borders were closed.

  If Margaret Brown and Alice Paul had taught her anything, it was not to sit around being passive, waiting to be rescued but to seize the day and take her future in her own hands. She must go north into British territory, claim her birthright and take Roddy across the sea where Grover could never reach them.

  It was time she saw her own family. If there was a war, her brothers would want to fight and Father would be bereft. It was her duty to see them and introduce her son, before he forgot he was ever half English himself.

  The excitement was hard to contain. But then one night Grover came home saying he’d be joining them for a week in August, and her heart sank with disappointment. These plans must be delayed for a few days more. He’d be coming to check that they were where they said they were, up the coast in Maine, as close to the Canadian border as she dared.

  She’d hinted she’d like to pay her respects to the Titanic victims buried in Fair Lawn Cemetery in Halifax, and for once he’d not protested. He was still being nice to her after the latest beating. He must have known his mother had seen her bruises.

  Now Celeste prayed everything would go smoothly. She made a false lining in the bot-tom of the trunk in which she hid her dollars and papers. She must appear calm and sub-missive in his presence but the enormity of this deception sent her heart racing. The thought of the ocean voyage was terrifying. Surely lightning couldn’t strike twice?

  It would be high summer in England. She had scoured the papers for lists of transatlantic crossings, finding Halifax, Nova Scotia was as good as any. It would be a last-minute flee-ing from Halifax and she would take any passage across the Atlantic she could find.

  At night she lay awake terrified of what she was planning. The escape must be foolproof. She would send Susan back on some pretext so the poor girl would not be subject to Grover’s wrath when he found out he’d been duped.

  If she escaped there’d be no more insults and violence, and no one could separate her from her son. The thought of seeing her family once more – May and Ella, too, rekindling old friendships back home – gave her the courage to stay calm and composed. Soon she would see them all but until then no one must even suspect any of these plans.

  When May’s letter arrived with news of the unveiling, it was a relief to Celeste to break her silence and prepare her for what was to come. She smiled to herself, thinking how soon she would be seeing them in the flesh.

  Roll on August vacations, she smiled. We’re coming home! 7 August 1914

  Angelo stood in the small side chapel of the cathedral waiting for his bride to arrive. There was just the priest with a smile a mile wide, some girls from the linen shop and a line of Bar-tolinis in their best finery. How different from the simple wedding in Tuscany with Maria, a lifetime ago. He hoped she didn’t mind this desertion so soon after her loss.

  ‘You do well to start again. Kathleen is a good girl. She will give you back a home and family,’ said Father Bernardo. ‘You were sent to each other.’

  ‘What do you want to marry Irish for?’ his gaffer had said at work. ‘She will take the pants off you.’

  ‘I like her,’ said Anna, the first night he brought her home. ‘You will have beautiful ba-bies.’

  He thought of Alessia and the feeling that never went away that she was out there some-where . He’d kept the shoe in the hope that one day he’d find her, but as the years went by he sensed it was a lost cause.

  There was a stir and the congregation rose. Kathleen was coming. He turned and through his tears saw a vision in a lacy cream dress floating in his direction. Don’t look back, look forward, his heart whispered. Ghosts will not warm your bed at night but here’s someone who will.

  There was a section of Fairview Lawn Cemetery in Halifax, Nova Scotia, set aside for the Titanic victims whose bodies had been collected from the sea. Over a hundred small granite cubes lay side by side, tended with flowers. Already some had names and the numbers of when they were gathered up by the salvage boats: a terrible harvest for the sailors who’d brought them in. Perhaps May’s husband lay unclaimed, unrecognisable amongst them? Celeste sighed, clutching a bunch of violets as she strolled along the paths while Roddy skipped ahead.

  It was a peaceful resting place. She searched out the little stone plinth dedicated to an un-known child, which had caused so much concern in the newspapers that a subscription was raised to bury him with all due dignity. Celeste shuddered, knowing this might have been Roddy if she’d taken him with her. He was so full of life among the dead. How could she be thinking of risking another ocean crossing? But what choice did she have?

  There was a ship leaving tonight, according to the newspaper listings. She’d wait and give Susan her fare home, make some excuse about finding out about

  May’s husband and then make for the dock and book her passage. She’d done a secret recce aroun
d the port, where she’d seen a bustle of marching soldiers

  embarking on a troopship. The talk of war in Europe was on every billboard but she hadn’t wanted to think about that yet. Time enough when they were safely on board.

  Her heart was pounding with the enormity of her actions but it was now or never. It was time to buy their tickets. The money was burning a hole in her secret pocket. They were to travel Second Class so as not to draw attention to themselves. She’d make sure their depar-ture was not easy to discover.

  An idea had grown from the scandal on the Titanic , when it was discovered that many passengers had travelled under false names. She thought of that French family aboard the ship, a Mr Hoffman, who had stolen his sons in France to bring them to New York. It wasn’t exactly false, but she would modify her own name. Her maiden name, Forester, was close to Forest and another name for ‘forest’ was ‘wood’. Celestine was too unusual, but why not use her second name, Rose? Rose Wood might help cover her trail.

  She took leave of the cemetery with a heavy heart. How many lost hopes and dreams lay under that soil? Now it was her turn to be strong and resolute. She’d been given life and strength to do what was right for Roddy. There was no going back.

  First she must let Susan go. She was standing watching the tall sailing ships on the har-bour. It was hard to look calm. They were watching the soldiers lining up to embark and Roddy was jumping up and down pointing at them. ‘Soldiers, look!’

  ‘It’s time for you to catch your train,’ Celeste smiled, pointing to the station. They walked Susan back in that direction but suddenly she was reluctant to leave. ‘I ought to stay, ma’am. Mr Parkes said we were to stay together at all times.’ ‘I know, but here’s a letter explaining everything. I did tell him I wanted to pay respects

  in Halifax and see how they are trying to identify victims. We’ll be following on in a few days She tried to sound casual and not raise Susan’s suspicions further.