“Call on me?”
“Yes. We could … we could meet up and discuss my cine machine. I could teach you how to crank it, for a jaunt, if you’d like.”
Cecilia wondered if she imagined the desperation in his voice, as if he were simply hoping she would agree to anything; perhaps he hadn’t been humouring her.
Perhaps that was her own projection.
Perhaps, he, too, felt the gentle nudge of God’s hand, as if he were slowly whispering to them, This is the person I created for you, the way I created Eve from Adam’s rib.
“I would like that, very much. My suite is with Lord and Lady Gresham, in B-53. If you send me a note with a steward, I’d be glad to meet up with you after luncheon, but I really must dash. You must ensure the note is sent specifically to me, and not my parents. My parents will be angry with me if I don’t, and I’ve already incurred their wrath thrice this morning. I would hate to vex them again by merely being late.”
“Well, I would hate to be the cause of any more trouble,” he said, his handsome smile revealing crooked bottom teeth. “Goodbye, Lady Cecilia. It was my pleasure to meet you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Wednesday, 10th April, 1912
Cecilia
“Oh, darling, you look beautiful!” Lady Eleonora exclaimed, as one of the waiters pulled out the plush crimson, Georgian-decorated chair for Cecilia, who was sitting across from her sister; their father was at the head of the table, her mother sitting opposite him. Papa and George stood in unison at Cecilia’s arrival, and did not reseat until Cecilia sat.
“And pray, where have you been?” Lord Albert asked.
“I took a stroll, that is all, Papa,” Cecilia lied smoothly, taking a sip of the chilled, fresh water – garnished with a slice of lemon – that the waiter had poured. “I was on the promenade deck. It’s quite beautiful, looking over the ocean.”
“Unchaperoned?”
“Albert!” chided Eleonora.
“I was perfectly fine, Papa,” Cecilia said, reaching over the table to kiss her father’s cheek, mollifying him. “Eliana, where’s Primrose and Master Albert?”
“They’re with Nanny,” Eliana said. “She’s taken them to the Dining Saloon. It’s more family-friendly there, and I’m in urgent need of rest. I’ve been feeling ill at ease since we boarded this ship.”
“That’s not true, Eliana,” mused her husband, George. “You’ve been feeling ill at ease for some days now.”
“Is that true, my dear?”
“It’s not untrue,” Eliana appeased her mother, while shooting a glare at her husband. “I’m rather certain it’s nothing, but if the feeling doesn’t dissipate by Friday, I promise I’ll see the ship’s doctor.”
“I heard he’s quite good, dear,” Eleonora posed. “I met this young lady, Mrs Vera Dick – her husband is an absolute frightful man, I overheard them arguing, if you can imagine it – and she said a young steward told her he’s one of England’s best surgeons.”
“Arguing? Are they common, or American?” Eliana quipped, though only George laughed, and Cecilia frowned.
“American, I think. They sounded it, at least, though I thought their accent more refined. I don’t think the young girl is cultured at all.”
Cecilia glanced up, ignoring the conversation between her mother and sister, as the waiter asked to take her order, removing her white gloves and placing them beside her white napkin. “I think I’ll have the consommé fermier.”
“Would the lady like a white or a red to accompany it?”
“Red, if you would,” Cecilia said, flashing the Italian waiter a grin, of which the young man returned, to her father’s apparent disapproval.
“He’s Italian,” her father hissed, as if being Italian was unseemlier than him being a servant. The waiter, who overheard her father’s rude comment, remained stoic, his face refusing to betray his inner emotions. Cecilia flushed red with humiliation and tried to catch the waiter’s brown eye in way of apology, but he refused to meet her eyes.
After all the waiters had taken the orders of the Gresham party for the first course, they scampered off, returning every time a member of the family sipped from a glass, in eager form to ensure their drinks never ran the risk of running dry.
The consommé was delicious, as delicious and fine as Mrs Tweedy’s was, her parents’ chef, and it reminded Cecilia – sadly – of the home she was leaving behind, and the future her parents were forcing her into. She thought of Mary, her maid, and the friendship they’d developed over the years. She knew Mary was close with Wilson, her mother’s lady’s maid, but she knew Mary had never divulged any of Cecilia’s secrets.
If she had, someone would have long learnt of Eliana’s love affair with the simple stableboy.
“I – I met someone up on the promenade deck,” she began.
Silence descended upon the family. “What do you mean, ‘you met someone’?” grumbled Lord Gresham, signalling for the waiter to take the table’s next order.
“The grilled lamb chops – not mutton, rare, with a rosemary and red wine jus,” Cecilia said absently, already largely full from the soup she’d just consumed – though the luncheon would be nothing compared to the night’s extravagant dinner they had planned, once Georgiana and William joined them at Cherbourg.
“I asked, what do you mean you ‘met someone’?” inquired Lord Gresham once more.
“Simply that, Papa, and please calm down,” whispered Cecilia, sipping her red wine. “There was a young man on board, and he had a special type of cine box. It makes cine-film; it was fascinating, that’s all.”
“Really?” George responded, and Eleonora cleared her throat, preparing herself for her husband’s tantrum. George, at least, genuinely appeared interested. Cecilia wasn’t surprised; George was not only easily pleased, but he found constant delight in developing technologies. He and Eliana had ordered a fridge before her parents had.
“Was that entirely appropriate, Cecilia?” Eliana stated, almost as a taunt.
“What is inappropriate about it, Eliana?” Cecilia bit back. While Cecilia loved her elder sister, she disliked her sister’s frequently extreme mood transitions and her predilection of dampening everyone’s spirits, seemingly finding the “bad” in everything and everyone. At times, Cecilia felt that Eliana sometimes liked to be displeased, as if she needed reasons to be in a constant stage of annoyance. “I happened upon a young man that had an apparatus I’ve never seen before; one I didn’t know even existed. I was curious, and so I asked about it. He was very kind, answered all of my nosy questions, and then assisted me here, so that I would not remain unescorted, before ushering himself to the Dining Saloon.” Cecilia knew she sounded defensive; and worse still, the lie she told by omission felt like ash in her mouth. But truthfully, what was more for her to say? Was it really a lie to hide from her family her feelings? And if it was a lie, would that be so terrible?
Even if she tried, she knew her father wouldn’t understand the lure of the camera, nor the liberty she had felt, singing the lullaby while dancing softly, imagining she was a beautiful siren, luring Henry in. They, instead, would hear the scandal Cecilia’s behaviour could bring about; the risk Cecilia’s practice already proposed to her engagement. She would never hear the end of “who could have seen” and “who might tell” the Vanderbilts. Cecilia gave silent prayers the Vanderbilt cousin had cancelled his trip last minute; otherwise, she’d have other problems to contend with.
And her family would not want to, let alone care to, listen to the fact that she had, unintentionally, met the man she knew she was destined to be with.
Cecilia liked corresponding with Thomas; he was kind, and she found him a sweet confidante. He told her of his days, and how he’d earnt himself a business degree, so that he could better understand the business his grandfather had created. He talked fondly of a place called Newport, which is where they would likely reside after they wed. Thomas discussed novels he’d read and enjoyed her recommendat
ions. At first, he had been hesitant to read Persuasion, but she had managed to convince him.
However, he’d never once appeared to want her in his letters; his letters spoke often of himself, not his unruly adoration for the woman he was about to marry. He asked her mandatory questions, of course; what her favourite colours and foods were, what hobbies she liked, if she were fond of dogs, of which he had many. She’d answered all his questions pleasantly, and he’d seemed happy with her answers, but not enamoured. In his most recent letter, after reading of Cecilia’s deep unhappiness at leaving the family retrievers, Asher and Nefetari, he had bought her a beautiful tan and white King Charles puppy, whom he’d pre-named Dash. The gesture alone had melted her heart, and she felt honoured by Thomas’ kindness. Cecilia thought it was sweet that Thomas had placed so much devotion on ensuring she would feel welcomed when arriving in New York – and admittedly, she could not wait to cuddle Dash; she imagined sleeping with her puppy every night – but she did not feel as though he wanted her there.
Yet, despite his kindness and the affection he was so willing to display, even though Cecilia knew Thomas would be a good and kind husband, she did not feel as she had when she had met Henry, just over an hour ago, as if she’d known him forever. Her heart didn’t flutter when the Butler brought Thomas’ letter to her; her hands didn’t tingle as she read through his words, her fingertips tracing his letters, learning his words, the way she imagined she might do if Henry sought to call upon her, like he had asked.
She did not feel as though her heart was linked with Thomas’, the way she now believed was connected to Henry’s.
“Well, that does sound like it would have been interesting,” Eleonora, ever the peacemaker, soothed. While it had always been Eleonora’s role to intervene when their father, a punctilious man, became overbearing, her mother did sound as if she did not quite approve of her daughter’s behaviour. “I think your father is right to be concerned about how it might appear, though, my dear. Sometimes I think you don’t understand the ramifications for public misbehaviour.”
“Yes, Cecilia. You could end up ruined, dying alone as a spinster.”
“Eliana! What is wrong with you today?” snapped Albert.
“Sorry, Papa.”
“Your sister’s not wrong,” Albert responded, shooting a dirty look at Eliana, where she had the decency to look abashed. “The courtship between you and this Vanderbilt boy is essential. His great grandfather would be all but American royalty, if they knew what such a thing was. But his family has more money than the Crown, and you would not offend the King or Queen, would you?”
“No, Papa.”
“Then, please don’t be unchaperoned with any young man again for this journey, unless it’s a family member. I do not wish to see this family end up as destitute as some of the other noble houses.” At this pointed remark, George flushed; Albert frequently reminded everyone of George’s father’s mistakes, and he did so freely, unabashedly.
Cecilia sighed, knowing that, for now, the battle was lost. Her family was now so entrenched in the delicious meal that had been prepared for them – her father had ordered corned beef; her sister mutton with baked and fried jacket potatoes (no wonder her stomach was looking more pudgy by the day); George had ordered a veal and ham pie; and her mother, Eleonora, had ordered roast beef, cooked rare, with an Italian cheese and tomato salad she ordered especially (one of the many perks of dining in the exclusive A La Carte Restaurant) – that Cecilia had, deliberately, failed to answer her father’s request. It wasn’t as though she was trying to be devious, Cecilia thought, but it wasn’t a lie if she remained silent. If she didn’t say a thing, she could not be held responsible for disobeying her father’s command. Or, at least, she would argue that she had never consented.
The conversation soon progressed – her father discussed playing a game of squash with George before the luncheon, explaining both men’s flushed-red faces, and confessed his eagerness to later retire to the Smoking Room for “a few drinks and cigars” with a few gentlemen he’d met down at the courts. Eliana lamented that she might retire to the suite, to lay down, and send for some ale to soothe her nauseated stomach, which she bemoaned had become treacherously violent in response to the ship; and Eleonora stated that she’d met a few friends on board, and that she was planning to join them for an afternoon tea in the Verandah Café.
Cecilia remained silent on her plans; she felt that if she abided by the “ask me no questions, and I shall tell you no lies” proverb, she could at least not be chided for lying. She tried her best not to appear too anxious about returning to her suite, where she wondered if she might find a note from Henry, calling on her as he’d promised.
Chapter Fourteen
Wednesday, 10th April, 1912
Cecilia
Cecilia retired to her room, under the guise of wanting a rest, though she didn’t necessarily think it was untrue – she was exhausted from her father’s demands, and felt that her mind, at least, required respite; she just hoped that there would be a message waiting for her, from Henry.
She immediately took off her white gloves and removed her hat and hairpins, allowing her curly brown hair to fall in long, loose spirals around her shoulders. She was contemplating whether to throw herself down on her double-sized bed, or whether she should summon Aiobheen to re-style her hair – her Mama would murder her if she roamed the ship with her hair down, as if she were a common movie star, or worse, some bohemian traveller – when she heard a short, three-rap knock.
“Yes?” she called, and Aiobheen entered.
“M’lady,” she said, nodding her head slightly, looking befuddled.
“Is anything the matter?”
Aiobheen shook her head. “No, m’lady, not at all. I hope this isn’t too bold of me, but a young gentleman, a Mr Henry Hamilton, made claim he had your permission to call on you. He left the note with one of the senior stewards, but when he saw my name next to yours as your requested maid, he passed Mr Henry’s message along with me.” Aiobheen handed her a small, silver platter, with a tiny, folded note – with the White Star Line watermark – which Cecilia opened, immediately, her hands trembling with excitement.
If you’d still like to, I’d love to meet you after luncheon in the Reading Room. I’ll wait for you until five. – H.M
“Oh my goodness!” flushed Cecilia, who was filled with both ardour and trepidation as she held the ivory note, now partially rumpled, in her petite hands. “Thank you, Aiobheen.” She grabbed the stewardess’s hand, leading her to her bed, where they both sat. “I’m so glad that you agreed to wait on me for this voyage, and I’m ever-so-grateful for you to bringing this directly to me. The thing is – well, what Mr Henry said was true, I did permit him to call on me.”
Cecilia felt the crimson flush heat her cheeks, though Aiobheen remained silent, as if unsure whether she should comment or not. Cecilia could not help but wonder how much she should confide in Aiobheen.
“The thing is – we are friends, are we not, Aiobheen?” the small girl looked at Cecilia and nodded; Cecilia beamed, childlike. “The thing is, Aiobheen, my parents would not be pleased if I was to meet with him.” She waited, assessing the maid’s response.
“Would you like me to send a message to the purser that you would no longer wish to receive correspondence with Mr Henry Hamilton?”
“No!” cried Cecilia, and Aiobheen looked at her in shock, as if she hadn’t expected such a high pitch in Cecilia’s tone. Neither had Cecilia, who had been caught off-guard by her ostentatious reaction. “Sorry. I mean to say, that is, I do want to see him. I was hoping that you would maybe cover for me. No! I don’t mean lying,” Cecilia quickly added, understanding the look on Aiobhen’s face.
“That’s good, m’lady, because I will not tell a lie. Lying’s a sin, so my Ma has always said, and a sin’s a sin, all worthy of equal punishment under God’s law. Ma says God’s law is of more importance than man’s. And I can’t be losin’ my job, my lady.
Serving first class is a dream, miss. I can feed my entire family back home in Ireland with my monthly tips.” Cecilia wondered what it must be like, depending on a daughter’s tips for one’s survival.
“No, not a lie,” Cecilia said, though she was surprised at the fervency in the girl’s voice about her religious beliefs, though she felt momentary shame at not considering the servant’s future. Cecilia couldn’t help but suspect, from her devout sentiments, she was likely a Papist, which caught her off guard. Papists were not just uncommon in England, but many felt their behaviour treasonous, as their beliefs went against the Commonwealth and the Crown. And, with all the problems England had suffered from Ireland, she knew her father despised Catholics, frequently blaming them for the world’s problems. “Just be coy about my whereabouts. Or be general. Like, I’m in the Reading Room, but as far as you’re aware, it’s just me.”
“That’s what one calls a lie, miss.”
“I’m just saying … could you please just omit any information about whom I may or may not be seeing? They’re going to be asking for my whereabouts, and they’re not going to ask if I’m with Mr Hamilton. And anyway, is it a lie if you’re meant to by my confidant and friend? My old maid, Mary – she’s not with me, because she preferred to stay behind in England, though it was wretched for both of us to say goodbye – was my only remaining confidant, save for my sister, Georgiana, who is yet to board. And my dear Mama, I suppose; in a way, she’s the closest person in my life, even if I don’t always understand her.”
Cecilia could see that Aiobheen’s will was bending; she was hesitating, and Cecilia seized her chance to manipulate her friend’s trust further. She knew it was cruel, to manipulate the young girl via pity, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t true. She already cared for Aiobheen and wanted her to be her friend. “It would be nice to know that I had a friend on board, someone that I knew I could trust, depend upon.”
The Light in the Darkness 1 Page 9