The White Empress

by Lyn Andrews

  ‘Why? Is it that bad, Shelagh?’

  ‘I’m . . . I’m in the club!’

  The fact that she was pregnant did not give Cat the shock she thought it would, she had expected something far worse. ‘Oh, Shelagh, you fool! Who’s the father, won’t he marry you?’

  Shelagh gnawed at an already bitten-down thumbnail.

  ‘Don’t you know who the father is?’

  ‘No, and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Maisey will throw me out! Everyone will laugh and point and call me names! Where will I go? I’ve got to get away! It would have been alright, in the end I mean, if Ma had lived, but . . . now . . .’

  Understanding dawned on Cat, with such clarity that for a few seconds she was bereft of speech. Her eyes narrowed and her hatred of her sister was so great that she had to clasp her hands tightly together for fear of lashing out. ‘You selfish bitch! So that’s why you were in such a state when Ma died! It wasn’t grief at all! You felt nothing for her, it was because you knew you were pregnant! You knew if she had lived you could have stayed with Maisey, once the gossip had died down things wouldn’t have been so bad! You never even thought of what your condition would have done to Ma! You heartless bitch! Now, when Maisey finds out, she’ll throw you out! That’s why you were crying and wailing, not because of Ma, but for yourself!’ She gave a caustic laugh. ‘And I thought you’d changed, I really did! But you’ll never change will you, you’re just like Pa! You always were!’

  ‘How did you expect me to feel? I’ve been a fool, I know that now!’ Shelagh cried, still clinging to Cat’s arm.

  Cat shook off the grip, her disgust and anger blazing in her eyes. Still no word of regret for her mother.

  ‘You’ve got to help me. Cat! You’ve got to! Maisey will drag me round to Father Maguire and it will be back to that Home and I’d sooner die on the streets than go back there! Oh, God, you’ve got to help! I’ll be out on the streets, I’ll starve!’

  Cat’s cold, contemptuous gaze swept over the desperate, cringing figure of her sister. If Shelagh had only uttered one word of regret, one word of true sorrow, then maybe . . . ‘I can’t!’ she snapped.

  ‘You won’t! That’s what you really mean! You’ve got money, I know you have! I won’t need much to go away somewhere, somewhere where no one will know me . . . You won’t be bothered with me again . . .’ she babbled on, the tears flowing freely. She wiped her running eyes and nose on the sleeve of her coat, despite her handkerchief. Disgust showed clearly on Cat’s face.

  ‘No! You’ll get nothing from me, Shelagh Cleary! You’re right, you’ve been a fool! A cheap, common whore! And I’m glad Ma’s not here to see your shame! I never thought I’d have cause to say it, but . . . but I’m glad she’s gone! You never cared about her, not the way I did. You never did anything to make her happy, just kept heaping on more worries, more shame! Even now, not one word of regret . . . I won’t help you! I’ve worked too hard, suffered too much and mainly at your hands! Time and again you’ve humiliated me! You used to enjoy it, jeering and mocking, do you remember that night in Ma Boyle’s? Go back to your friends, you were always boasting how your friends thought you were so wonderful, such a good laugh. Go and see if they’ll help you, because I won’t! In fact if I never see you again I won’t worry about it! Now get out!’

  Shelagh’s face contorted with rage, fired by despair. Gone was all her pleading, despairing attitude. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have expected anything from you, except abuse! May the Divil blast you, Cat Cleary! I’ll get even one day, wait and see! I’ll treat you the way you’ve treated me, no matter how rich and respectable you become, you’ll never find happiness! Never! I’ll make sure you don’t! I’ll make you sorry you turned me away when I needed help!’

  Cat flung open the door. ‘Get out of this house before I get Mr Gorry to throw you out! You slut! You whore! You’ve got a nerve coming here! Go on, get out!’

  Shelagh stormed past her and up the hall, but Cat darted in front of her and pulled open the front door. Shelagh turned. ‘The Divil’s curse on you, Cat Cleary! I’ll get even one day!’

  She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, trembling with the force of conflicting emotions. She didn’t fear Shelagh’s threats, but the knowledge that her sister’s grief had been only for her own predicament filled her with hatred. She never wanted to set eyes on Shelagh ever again.

  The Empress of Britain sailed on the morning tide, leaving Liverpool in the grip of what promised to be a long, hard winter. Making her way along the coast she headed for Southampton, there to take on passengers bound for New York.

  Cat was not sorry to leave Liverpool, the place looked as desolate as she felt. She’d left an allotment of a few shillings for Eamon, to be drawn by Maisey and only Maisey. She hadn’t seen David during her leave, but he had telephoned and Marie had told him of the death in the family. A large bouquet had arrived the following day with a card bearing the simple message, ‘With my deepest sympathy, David’.

  Some of her depression was dispelled when she found she would be working on B deck and the full opulence of the ship was enfolded before her eyes. The Salle Jacques Cartier dining room occupied the full width of the ship on D deck and had been designed, as had the two smaller, private dining salons, by Frank Brangwyn, who had also designed the cold buffet which rose in tiers from the floor to the ceiling of the enormous room.

  On the lounge deck was the Empress Ballroom with its huge domed ceiling on which was painted a mural of a representation of the sky on the night the ship was launched. The Mayfair Lounge had been designed by Sir Charles Allom and the walls were panelled in polished woods of varying hues, all blending and merging, adding a depth of warmth to the Palladian Lounge. At the forward end was a large tapestry panel that covered the entire wall, depicting the hunting exploits of the Emperor Maximillian. In the Cathay Lounge, which was also the smoking room, Chinese lacquer vases and motifs and rattan furniture lent it an Oriental theme.

  At the head of the wide, deeply carpeted, main staircase was an enormous painting by Maurice Griffenhagen, RA of Champlain Bringing his Wife to Quebec. The Olympian Pool, the largest swimming pool on any Liner, was at the after end of F deck. Water poured into the pool from a large turtle carved from Portland stone and the pool itself was inlaid with blue mosaic and illuminated from below. Alongside were Turkish baths and massage rooms. On B deck there were squash and tennis courts. There were numerous other bars and lounges, including the Knickerbocker Bar, a cocktail lounge in very modern taste.

  The first-class passengers had the choice of six deluxe suites which included a vestibule, sitting room, double bedroom, bathroom and small dressing room, all furnished in pastels and prints. And there were the spacious two berth cabins or fourteen special state rooms. Such unimagined opulence took Cat’s breath away. The lustre of polished woods, the soft plush and velvet upholstery, the crystal chandeliers, the long balconies with their exquisite fretwork, the sweeping staircases, the gilt-framed mirrors, the ornately framed pictures. It was a floating palace. She also learned the origin of the word ‘posh’. It was made up from the first letter of each word of the phrase ‘port out, starboard home’.

  In one of the state cabins, she smoothed the satin coverlet with gentle reverence. Its delicate shade of turquoise-blue matched the rest of the furnishings and toned with the pale, cream-coloured carpet. The rosewood furniture gleamed. So this was how the fabulously wealthy lived and travelled! Helping themselves from the range of exotic culinary delicacies arranged with cunning artistry on the cold buffet; being served dinner on fine china; wine in crystal glasses, coffee from solid silver services. Fresh flowers on the crisp white tablecloths, seated in velvet upholstered chairs with carved gilt frames. Indeed it was another world. A world she had never, even in her wildest flights of imagination, ever envisaged. She glanced around. Soon the wardrobes would be bursting with expensive gowns from exclusive shops. The dressing table would be covered in bottles of French perfume and cosmetic
s. Flowers would fill the room. She could almost smell the perfumes, hear the sounds, the tinkling laughter, taste the wines. Oh, one day she would travel like this. In sheer, abandoned luxury. She gave the coverlet a last pat and came back to reality. Not yet. Not for a long time yet. There was still work to be done.

  She found Anne’s comments on the nature of the rich and famous to be mainly true. There were few sharp rebukes, no constant complaints, no petty requests. The ladies she attended, bringing fresh towels, changing the flowers, laying out their clothes, serving them breakfast and afternoon tea, were pleasant but not patronising and she therefore found her work less physically and nervously demanding.

  They made the crossing in record time for the Empress of Britain was the biggest and fastest ship of her day. Within a matter of days Anne was dragging her up on deck for her first view of New York. If her first sight of Canada had enthralled her, then her first sight of New York amazed and overawed her. There was no need for Anne to point out the Statue of Liberty or Ellis Island, where so many of her own countrymen had landed, destitute, and had risen to wealth. The grey winter twilight was a backcloth for the myriad of lights on the horizon, reaching into the sky itself as Anne pointed out the Empire State Building and the skyscrapers of the Rockefeller Centre, like diamond-studded candles rising into the sky. As they drew closer the panorama widened. The spark of excitement Cat had first felt had turned into a blaze.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m just . . . speechless!’ she stammered.

  The tooting of the Staten Island Ferry heralded their approach and was taken up by the tugs and other shipping and again the great White Empress gracefully received the salutations of her peers as she entered the Hudson River, to be guided into Pier No. 7 where the longshoremen were waiting for her.

  Anne turned away, complaining of the cold for it was a sight she had seen before, but Cat remained, gazing at the spectacle of twinkling lights that stretched before her. She felt as though she were dreaming, that in reality she was two people. One half of her was the wide-eyed waif, the other the confident young woman. ‘You’ve come a long way, Cat Cleary,’ she whispered aloud. ‘Whoever would have believed that you, a Dublin slummy, could ever have come so far? To see such a sight. To be part of such a welcome. To be part of such a ship.’ She smiled to herself as she turned to follow Anne below.

  There wasn’t much time ashore but David duly escorted her around some of the sights. Times Square and Broadway. Central Park. Fifth Avenue and Madison Avenue where she drooled over the stores. She found New York a bustling, abrasive, exhilarating city and was disappointed when they returned to the ship for the last time.

  She had found herself trusting David more and more, for he was fun to be with, he made her laugh and forget the more serious thoughts that troubled her. Yet he was thoughtful, buying her the odd trinket, the single flower, presented with such theatrical flourish that she found she could only laugh and not suspect any ulterior motives. In fact they spent so little time together that there wouldn’t have been much time for anything else, she mused.

  ‘We’ll have more time to explore when we get back, we’ll be lying up for a week before the next onslaught, then we’ll really be able to “go on the town”,’ he had promised.

  She tickled his cheek with the bunch of violets he had bought her. ‘I’ll probably be too exhausted to do little more than sleep.’

  ‘Well then, I’ll have to make sure we both put our time ashore in the Caribbean to good use.’

  She laughed. ‘Can there be anywhere as exciting as New York?’

  ‘A million and one places and we’ll see them all, I promise!’

  ‘All at once?’

  ‘No, you sweet, silly fool! Next year we’re going on a world cruise and then “the world will be your oyster, M’am!”’ He swept her an exaggerated bow which made her laugh again.

  ‘Oh, be serious, David! I’ve only just got used to the idea of visiting places like Cuba, Jamaica, Haiti! It’s like taking a trip straight out of an atlas, except that instead of pictures I’ll be able to see them, hear the sounds, smell the exotic perfumes . . .’

  ‘Some of the perfumes are far from exotic, I can assure you!’

  ‘Oh, don’t be such a killjoy!’

  He pulled her close and kissed her. ‘I’ve seen them all before, Cat, but it will be fun exploring them all again with you.’

  She didn’t pull away from him. ‘Do you really mean that?’

  ‘Of course I do! You are a joy! You see everything through eyes that are not jaded or sceptical. Your bubbling enthusiasm is catching, you’re . . . You’re so sweet!’

  ‘I’ve never been called that before!’ she laughed. ‘When I first met you you said I was independent. Did I give you a false impression?’

  ‘You did. I never expected that beneath the cool, elegant and rather superior woman, there was a charming, sweet, bubbly girl!’

  ‘So you think I’ve changed?’

  ‘No. I think you were always like that. Miss Prim and Proper was just a façade to hide behind, but what you were trying to hide I don’t know!’

  Her smile faded, remembering her childhood and her desperate and determined obsession to overcome those handicaps. ‘Perhaps you’re right, David, but I still have my ambitions. I’m still a very determined person!’

  ‘And so am I,’ he murmured before he kissed her goodnight.

  As they were not sailing far enough south to cross the Equator she was saved the usual horseplay that accompanied ‘crossing the line’, although Anne warned her that she wouldn’t escape forever and after listening to the tales of the drenchings and duckings of the other stewardesses, Cat was greatly relieved.

  The weather grew steadily warmer as they sailed south, leaving behind the dismal skies, the rain and the wind, and, whenever time permitted, she went up on deck to savour the warmth of the sun. The night sky had changed, too. It was now of sapphire velvet, studded with stars that seemed bigger and brighter than those further north. The breeze was warm and perfumed, sighing as it rippled through her hair. The sea was changing colour. A vivid aquamarine by day, a deep purple at night. The ripples from the bow wave like the undulations of a satin gown.

  She was enjoying her work now and the pace seemed slower. There was no constant ringing of bells in her ears, for the demands made on her by her passengers were small, compared to her first trip. Their first port of call was Havana, Cuba, and when work was finished they were allowed four hours ashore, which, as Anne commented drily, was just enough time to have a drink and buy the traditional cigars for your dad. As Cat had not the slightest intention of buying anything for her father and had a slight headache, it was with some reluctance that she was persuaded to go ashore.

  ‘What’s the matter with you? You’ve got to come, make the most of it, see everything! I thought you were bursting with excitement?’

  ‘I am, but—’

  ‘Oh, I see! You’d sooner Mr Barratt take you ashore?’

  Cat shrugged. ‘He can’t get the time off.’ Anne had accurately hit upon her lack of interest. She had been disappointed, then depressed when she had received the message. Their first port and she had wanted to see it with him. These days she seemed to want to share all her new experiences with him. He was so unlike any man she’d known before. He was handsome, intelligent and oh so charming. He made her feel she was someone very special and no one had ever made her feel like that.

  ‘So you’re going to sit here and mope? Get your bag, you’re coming with us!’

  She had enjoyed it more than she had expected. The company of the other girls lifted her spirits and the city was bustling and very Spanish. They had a long, cool drink in a café within a courtyard where the tinkling of water splashing from a stone fountain had a soothing effect, a vivid contrast from the bustling street outside. There were flowers everywhere: bouganvillea, trailing wisteria, begonias, jasmine and Spanish moss hanging in misty shreds from the trees. The breeze rustled the fronds of the palms and
palmettos. She accompanied the others on a rather frenetic shopping spree, governed by the time. In the narrow streets and alleys of the older part of the town she had bought a lace evening shawl, so fine it looked and felt like gossamer. It had cost one hundred pesos, but the others assured her that had she bought it in one of the elegant shops the price would have been treble. They catered for the tourists.

  ‘Where am I going to wear it?’ she wailed in mock despair.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure our Mr Barratt will find time to take you somewhere very chic!’ Anne teased.

  She wore it on the first night ashore on Haiti. David was taking her to the Hotel Excelsior for dinner. He had hired a horse-drawn cab, explaining that it was better to see and smell the sights and sounds of Haiti than from an enclosed taxi cab, whose owners were notorious for their erratic driving.

  She had glimpsed the white pavilions of the presidential palace as they had sailed past La Gonave Island, but was looking forward to seeing them at close quarters. As they turned from the Rue Roux into Grande Rue, they entered the main stream of traffic. Everything from limousines to donkey-carts passed them but she noticed, too, that there were many beggars and cripples thronging the wide concourse.

  They passed the Café Savoy-Vincent and at last pulled up outside the colonial, two-storeyed, white portals of the Hotel Excelsior. David paid the driver and escorted her along the pathway flanked by a riot of perfumed shrubs and flowers. The reception hall was magnificent, the floor of cool green and white marble, the furniture copies of French Louis XIV. Flowers filled huge marble urns and palms were grouped together in corners, providing secluded niches. The dining room was in true Creole style and David assured her that it was finer than many he had seen in France. A Haitian orchestra sat on a raised dais flanked by palms and flowers. A handsome mulatto waiter ushered them to their table.

  The meal was unlike anything she had ever tasted: crayfish in wine sauce, turtle eggs, seafood in parcels of light, puff pastry; mangos, breadfruit, papayas, all washed down with a heady wine, followed by a cocktail of white rum and fresh fruit juices. When they had finished and the dishes had been removed and the coffee set before them, Cat’s mind went back to the Salle Jacques Cartier dining room on the Empress. Now she felt like her passengers, surrounded by such luxury, cossetted, tempted with exotic meals and wines. She fingered the solid silver coffee spoon. She wanted to stretch like a pampered cat, it was such sheer bliss. She could quickly become accustomed to a life like this. Instead she sipped her coffee from the bone china cup.