The Light in the Darkness 1

by Carla Louise Robinson

  “And you have the nerve to call me dramatic, William? Unseemly women and heart episodes, my word. God, you’re ghastly sometimes. Of course we will make Mr Henry’s acquaintance, but surely you must understand that Mama and Papa are not stupid. They’ll know it’s a swindle, and they will not be pleased, and both of you need to heed my warning, as mine’s the only one that comes from personal experience. Celia, you may have been privy to it, but it’s not quite the same as experiencing it, and William, dear, you may have been everything they resented, but it was I who had to make the choice whether to choose you or them. It’s by the luck of God that Mama persuaded father to change his mind about the whole affair, and accept you willingly –”

  “I think willingly’s a bit generous.”

  “– They also have a strict contractual arrangement with the Vanderbilts, and the Vanderbilts won’t take you if your reputation is scorned,” continued Georgiana, ignoring her husband. “You know it’s different for us women, Celia, you must know that. You know we aren’t afforded the same luxuries or opportunities as men. You know that we don’t get second chances; we belong to the whim of the men who own us. Currently, that is Papa. Soon it will be your husband. Make sure you’re certain of the man you’re marrying, because it’s his will you’ll be abiding til the end of his days. Or yours; whichever may come first.”

  “That doesn’t sound terribly romantic, Georgie,” grumbled Cecilia.

  “It isn’t meant to, Celia. It’s meant to shine a light on the harsh reality you are to face, with the knowledge this journey will not be an easy one for you. Be by and sure that Mama won’t necessarily take your side, either; at least not the way she did mine. She’ll be terribly hurt you aren’t with someone titled, even if it means you’ll remain in England.”

  “Do you really have to be so morose?”

  “Yes, Celia, I do, because someone has to. You and William oft think it’s easy, that the world can live on love, and everything can fall by the wayside. And it’s not. It’s not even close. Do you think I cared at all about having slightly less money by William’s side?”

  Cecilia paused, clearly thinking. She bit her lower lip and looked quizzical. “I had not given it any thought. I guess I must’ve assumed so, though. Or, at least, I must have assumed you thought of it.”

  Georgiana could feel the ship beginning to slow; they must be close to the coast of Ireland, readying to anchor off the coast of Queenstown, which was vastly approaching, turning from a lump of grey nothing, to green mountains and a busy harbour.

  “It wasn’t money, Celia,” Georgiana said, with as much feeling as she could muster. “Of course it wasn’t money. William has more than enough money, and honestly, as his estate’s smaller, so too seem to be the taxes and liabilities, caring for an entire earldom. And I knew I loved William with all my heart, I really did. I knew he was my soulmate, almost from the moment I laid my eyes on him. I wanted nothing more but to elope, forsaking everyone and everything to be with my beloved. But I didn’t.”

  When Georgiana didn’t continue, Cecilia asked, “Why?” She wasn’t just annoyed her sister had forced her to ask; she was annoyed she was interested in the answer.

  Georgiana’s face softened. “Because this is my family, Celia. Not seeing Eliana? George? Primrose and Master Albert? Mama and Papa? You? I mean, you would have to have known Mama and Papa would have forbidden my contact with you, which would rest solely on your new husband’s desires. It could be years before I’d see you again, and maybe then not ever, and Eliana would relish my banishment. I do not say this to be ghastly, or horrid, or cruel. I say this because I love you.”

  “I know, Georgie,” responded Cecilia. “But I don’t know if I can spend another night on this ship without at least speaking to Henry. He’s different. I don’t think he cares for titles or money, not the way we do. It’s refreshing. I feel different, Georgie. It’s like my entire body is on fire, and my heart can’t stop racing, and I keep hoping every stranger’s face is Henry’s. And I have a desperate urge that I should re-read all of Jane Austen’s novels – at least her finer ones – because they’ll matter more now there’s Henry.”

  Georgiana sipped the rest of her water slowly, contemplating what to say next. She knew she’d long lost her sister to the madness of love, and she wasn’t sure she could fault her.

  “Well, like I said, we’ll make Mr Henry’s acquaintance, and invite him to join us in the Verandah Café for light refreshments, but it’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Celia, and I do hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sunday, April 21st, 1912

  Howard

  The debris field was miles long, surrounded by large, glistening icebergs in every direction, that created a beautiful diamond-prism effect, which was unsettling at a mass gravesite. To Howard, it felt as if God’s hand was shining down, as He had after the Great Flood, his warning clear: the fate of men were held at God’s whim, and He did not care for those who flaunted their arrogance in his face. After all, one should not worship false idols; how many had worshipped the Titanic? He’d heard rumours it hadn’t been properly Christened, sighted in the name of God; there were even murmurs Titanic’s hull carried the numbers of the devil. Or was it the engines? Howard wasn’t sure, but the rumours of Titanic being cursed were running rampant now, with many different stories emerging. Howard knew they couldn’t all be true, yet they left him with a feeling of uneasiness. In Howard’s long years, he had learnt an uncomfortable truth: Among most rumours, there was a nugget of truth. Where the truth was and where it lay were two entirely different things, but rumours had an uncanny way of being based on fact.

  At first, when they started nearing the bodies, Howard had wondered why so many seagulls were bobbing in the water, especially so far out to sea – the swells were intense, making anyone not a seasoned sailor nauseous – before Howard realised, with explicitly emotional clarity, that they were not seagulls, fighting for food in the Atlantic ocean: They were Titanic’s floating victims, bobbing in the water, looking as if they were made of white wax, their faces bleached from the exposure to the harsh sun, ice crystals clinging to their skin, sewing their eyes closed.

  Amongst the bodies, Howard caught site of varying pieces of the ship’s furniture – door frames, paintings, and deck chairs which had inevitably been thrown into the sea as a last attempt effort to save the lives of those who were already doomed – as well as papers, broken frames, and general ruin, signifying the ship’s foretold ending.

  The victims were all grouped together, as if they had clung to the desperate hope that whoever they held onto would save them from the agony of freezing to death in the perilous waters, though none was more significant than a large group, clinging to a giant wooden staircase. It wasn’t until the Mackay-Bennett approached the area closer that it dawned on Howard what he was likely seeing: Part of the Titanic’s grand staircase, the one that had been adorned in all the brochures, had become dismantled, floating to the top. It was mostly weighed down from the victims that clung to the rails, to the sides, to the stairs – to those in front of them – in a desperate attempt to escape the hell they had endured. The sight of one man, frozen in prayer, haunted him. Even God had not felt fit to answer the man’s prayers.

  Howard wondered if the survivors in the lifeboats knew that so many people were clinging to the staircase for survival. Did they know they could have saved them, had they circulated, looking for survivors? Why had Godly men and women forsaken the dying? They had to have heard the screams. Even if they could not see the way, these people would not have gone quietly. Howard knew the pain the ocean brought; it would be below freezing, though the salt would ensure it didn’t freeze, though it would make the water colder. The person’s body would react as if it had been stabbed a million times over, and if cold enough, the shock could cause the victim to lose consciousness. Motor function control dissipated in less than five minutes, rendering the victim hel
pless. The thought of what the passengers had suffered, especially in their last minutes, chilled Howard far more than the sight did; it would be a long, vigorous day; he knew he was here doing God’s business, to ensure the dead had a proper Christian burial, but that did not make him eager for the day’s tasks. The sea was filled with mostly men, but there were plenty of women there, and children, too. Howard knew it was part of God’s plan to take children, but still, it burnt him so.

  Captain Larnder ordered the preparation of the woodcutter boats, so that the men could ferry out to the ship’s victims, before bringing them onboard for identification, while John Snow, the chief embalmer, prepared both his table and his assistants for the embalming process. In a way, Howard was glad to leave the boat; he found the whole embalming process ghastly and believed he would fare better in body recovery. Snow seemed unreasonably comfortable with it.

  As soon as the small woodcutter hit the ocean below, it was forcefully pushed by the giant swells, creating colossal amounts of foam, obscuring some of the damage the Titanic had left behind. However, it wasn’t the swells battering him and the other seamen that bothered Howard – he’d been on Arctic shipping lines since he was a boy – but he quickly realised the body recovery would not be as easy as he assumed it would be. Spending his life on boats, death and the rotten smell of meat was a scent that lingered with him, and he had seen more than one man lost to scurvy; but the sight before him was different.

  An older woman clung to her large dog, who was twisted and distorted from the pain it must have experienced even during its final moments of death, women and children in nightclothes, and countless men. At first, Howard’s worst moment was the image of a young woman, clutching a small baby to her frozen breast; until he came across a young boy, who couldn’t be older than three or four.

  He was alone, or at least appeared to be. There was no way to identify the boy’s parents amongst the dead – not with ease, and he was not a first-class child, his tattered, brown clothing making him appear to be one that belonged in steerage. It was likely his entire family had perished; he would not be the child that would make the papers, the way the two French boys had. Howard wasn’t a fool; a nameless boy with a likely deceased family would have no one to weep for him, for that was how it was for the poor. Whilst many of the passengers looked peaceful, as if they’d all been sleeping, many possessed visible injuries. There was a crush victim disfigured so severely that, as Howard and Roy dragged his hefty, sea-soaked laden frozen corpse into the woodcutter, knew he would be given a sea burial. He appeared to have been struck by something – guessing by the fact that half the man’s face was removed, Fitzwilliam supposed it likely occurred when he either fell or jumped from the ship, his head striking something during the fall, killing him instantly. Had the man known the excruciating death that was awaiting him in the ocean, he probably would have counted his blessings.

  After the men had gathered as many of the bodies as they could, they rowed back to the Mackay-Bennett, where the man waiting on board struggled to lift the lead-laden victims onto the boat. It was cumbersome work, and Howard found himself sweating despite the freezing wind, though the sea air would lash violently against his face, making the experience a wholly unpleasant one.

  “This is hell,” murmured Jones.

  “Aye,” the captain agreed, staring at the small boy’s body, before flickering amongst the other victims. “I thought they said the women and children all made it. I thought we were coming here just for the men. I mean, I expected a few women … but this …”

  Howard privately concurred.

  “I thought we were comin’ for the Astor pay check,” someone grumbled, though the captain didn’t hear – which was probably fortunate for the man that spoke – and Howard wasn’t a snitch, even if he didn’t think the man could have a soul for saying such a thing. He tried not to judge the man’s callousness; everyone dealt with the macabre situation in their own way, and no one had seen such a wreck before. Howard could not really recall a more significant loss of civilian life. Of course, boats went missing and men died – notably, the Terror and Erebus a few years prior, their stories an essential part of his town’s history.

  “I guess they were mistaken, Captain,” Snow replied, staring at the bodies that lay before them. So far, they had assembled thirty victims – the men in the woodcutters would work until dusk – but they had so far collected two women, two children, and twenty-six men. Snow looked out at the vast remains – far more than the Mackay-Bennett could hold, and far more than the boat had been prepped for. Howard himself had pulled two women – both young – the little boy who was not yet two, as well as several crew members as part of his haul. He had almost wept into the little boy’s stiff, frozen arm, but managed to restrain himself.

  “There’s more people here than they said there would be, and we knew the numbers were high. It’s … we won’t have the capacity for all these people, Sir.” Howard thought that was plain for any man to see, but perhaps it wasn’t what the Captain wished to believe. Even John Snow’s demeanour had changed visibly; he no longer appeared eager for the task.

  The captain nodded. “We’ll still follow the system that was set forth. We’ll identify what we can from each body – everything, gentlemen. Everything will be marked and noted, and each body will be assigned a number. The bodies that cannot be returned to their families will be buried at sea, but all valuables will be kept, attached to the identifying information and corresponding corpse. This will be a tedious process, men, but it’s one we are burdened with. We have been tasked with the duty to reunite as many victims with their families as we possibly can, and that is what we will do. Every minute, the bodies drift further apart. They’ve already moved several miles since we stopped for the night, and the current will continue to take them. This means that we must move quickly. Does anyone need any clarification about the process of today?”

  No one in the crew raised their hand. Most of the men were staring at the small boy, as if they, too, could not fathom how a small boy was left to die. A few eyes lay upon a beautiful blonde woman – she had been identified by one of Snow’s assistants, though Howard did not know her name – as men appeared to be entranced by her beauty. It reminded Howard of the nursery story his mother used to read to him nightly; it had long since slipped his mind, but it had something to do with an apple, an evil witch, and a talking mirror. He’d lost his mother to childbed fever he was nine, though a younger sister had been borne in wake of his mother’s death. He loved his baby sister, even if he never made the time to call on her and her husband.

  “Okay. I hope that we can continue this endeavour as dignified men. I hope the sight of these women and the young babe stir each and every one of you as you remember why we’re here. It’s not for the Astor boy’s pay check” – Howard felt someone shuffling nervously near him – “but for these people, who have been lost and need to find a way for salvation and God. We cannot imagine the horrors they faced, but these men, women and children deserve our upmost care and honour. I expect that you shall all grant them that privilege. I believe freezing to death in the open sea grants one of that right. And if there’s nothing left to ponder, let us say the Lord’s prayer before we begin. Reverend Hind?”

  The reverent smiled at the captain. “Thank you, Captain. Let us bow our heads in silence, making the sign of the cross, in the name of the father, son, and the Holy Ghost. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

  The men unanimously repeated both the prayer and the salutation, before waiting in silence for the reverend’s next command. Howard, who had closed his eyes and bowed his head in welcome prayer, opened them to see if the ocean had calmed some. It had not; but perhaps the day after would ease, if the men kept up with their pr
ayers, perchance God would be mollified and take mercy.

  “Thank you,” the reverend said, after a moment had passed. The men resumed their activities, and the pastor resided over each sea burial, administering last rites before a prayer followed the victims to the bottom of the ocean, their feet heavily weighted down with iron. Other victims, which Howard could not help but notice were mostly the wealthier victims, were being prepped for embalming, their valuables being meticulously sorted, with many men letting out a heavy sigh for each body they recovered that was not yet Astor’s. Howard did not judge these men; the boy, Vincent, was distressed so at his father’s passing, and last word was that, if his father’s body was not recovered, he planned on raising the wreck. God knew, the boy had the money to do so; though Howard wondered if Mr Astor’s body would bring his son the closure he was so clearly seeking. These men, unlike the Godless one who had spoken earlier, shared the son’s sadness at the grim task he was endeavouring. Perhaps there was something to the boy’s claim; perhaps raising the wreck would provide closure for all the families, not just the ones that had the money to raise a ship from the depths of the Atlantic.

  Though as Howard resumed his duties in the small woodcutter, he wondered if God would ever allow man to search for what he felt fit to take. Perhaps the Titanic belonged to Davy Jones’ locker; she wouldn’t be the first ship that could not be found. Even man’s money could not buy God’s will. Howard, looking for more victims to recover for burial and embalming, returned to the wreck site, continuing the dreary task of collecting the Titanic’s dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Thursday, April 11th, 1912

  Georgiana

  After fastening a large hat to her head, Georgiana, William and Cecilia made their way to the boat deck, hoping for the opportunity to see the mostly third-class passengers arrive, as well as the beautiful coast of Ireland, and the ships that were carrying mini pop-up stalls. The deck was filled with jubilant first-class passengers, lured by a variety of distinctive stalls; some of the women were gossiping nearby at the “shabby state” of the “steerage Italians” (whilst Georgiana was certain the majority of people boarding from Queenstown were, indeed, Irish, Italian was used to describe foreigners who were vulgar and emotive, qualities that the British aristocracy detested); others, like Georgiana’s friend Madeleine, were pointing frantically at the diverse stores they could reconnoitre.