‘Go on, dear girl,’ Mrs Shaw urged.
‘And I saw people jumping into the water from a big ship. They were screaming too, just like the factory women.’
Mrs Shaw and Beatrice exchanged looks. Beatrice folded her hands on her breast. ‘Thank the Lord,’ she said, ‘the chile’s memory is come back.’
‘Not yet,’ Mrs Shaw said, ‘but it’s a good start.’
After they left, I slid down under the bedcovers and tried to remember the details of the dream. The ship must have been the Titanic – Mrs Shaw had told me about the sinking when I was still in the hospital – but this was the first time I’d had an actual image of it. It could have been something I’d made up, of course, but I knew in my heart the image had been real. It was my first memory of that night.
A cold fear came over me. What if I remembered who I was, and it was someone awful? What if I was an escaped prisoner, a murderer, or worse, a prostitute? No, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that. What if, on the other hand, I was married or had a child? What if I had left a poor, helpless infant somewhere? Was someone looking after it, or was it left defenceless? Was it even still alive? What if I had a husband desperately searching for me? What if my family was destroyed with grief thinking I had died? What if they were poor and penniless and depending on me to help them? In my fear, I fervently prayed that my memory would come back soon.
For the next few days after my nightmare, I refused Mrs Shaw’s invitations to join her on one outing or another, afraid that something else would spark my memory. But my boredom grew, and I began to overcome my fear. I was delighted then when Mrs Shaw announced that her nephew and his friend were coming to visit.
‘Sinclair and his friend, Ben, are just a couple of years older than you, my dear,’ she said, ‘so you should all get along well. It will be nice for you to have young people around for a change.’
My heart jumped when she told me the news. I was even more delighted that it was two fellers who were coming. Two girls would have been all right, but two boys would be much better craic. I was dying to ask Teresa what they were like, but she and I hardly said a word to each other now, ever since the ‘stray’ comment.
I passed the time until they came making rosettes for Mrs Shaw’s group – I’d finally learned how to pronounce the word ‘suffragette’. When I got bored, I began picking out what dress I would wear and fiddling with my hair so that I would look my best when they arrived. I also practised extra hard on my table manners and my accent – I didn’t want them thinking I was a poor Irish country girl just off the boat.
I heard a car tearing up the driveway even faster than Mrs Shaw ever had and swerve to a halt in front of the house. I ran to my bedroom window, anxious to get a gander. There was a handsome blond feller behind the wheel. He must be Sinclair. He leaped out of the car and I saw he had long legs and a lean build. He took off his cap and gloves and ran his fingers through his hair. When Mrs Shaw came out to greet him, he grinned, showing lovely white teeth. I was in love just at the sight of him. The other feller, Ben, was short and dark, with a pleasant face and a loud laugh. Mrs Shaw hurried over and hugged Ben but gave her nephew only a stiff handshake.
The Teresa one ran out, all smiles. I was sure she had a notion for one or the other of them. Sinclair gave her his bag to carry, while Ben waved her away and picked up the rest of the luggage. They all disappeared into the house, and I had to hold myself back from racing down the stairs. The polite thing, I realized, was to wait to be called. I paced the room on pins and needles until Mrs Shaw knocked on the door. I took my time going to open it.
‘They are here,’ she said with a bright smile, ‘and anxious to meet you. Come downstairs when you are ready, dear.’
I counted to one hundred, smoothed out my dress, patted my hair, took my time going down the stairs, and sauntered into the dining room. Sinclair Shaw, Ben and Mrs Shaw stood in front of the fireplace, sipping sherry. Mrs Shaw looked relieved when I appeared.
‘Let’s sit down, shall we?’ she said, pointing to the huge dining table.
I could hardly take my eyes off Sinclair Shaw. He was even more handsome up close. Teresa served the others politely but glared at me as she slammed the dishes down in front of me. I supposed she was jealous, and I didn’t blame her. I’d have felt the same way in her place. I ignored her slights. I was so wrapped up in watching Sinclair Shaw’s every move that I almost forgot my new table manners. I had to remind myself to cut the cold roast beef into tiny slices before eating it, but when Sinclair turned to smile at me, I spluttered some sherry onto the tablecloth. He raised an eyebrow and I must have turned the colour of a turkey cock. I began coughing to cover my embarrassment. I set down the glass and dabbed my lips with my serviette as I had often seen Mrs Shaw do.
‘Do excuse me,’ I said politely, ‘I’m not used to sherry. Normally, I never drink at all.’
I gave Sinclair a shy smile and lowered my eyelids. Ah, but who could blame me for looking at him? He was gorgeous, so he was. His hair was the colour of straw and his eyes as blue as cornflowers. When he smiled, two deep dimples creased his cheeks. I forced myself to look away from him and concentrate on Ben instead. He was a nice lad with an easy-going manner. He was easy to talk to and, for a while, I almost forgot Sinclair was there. But then I felt his eyes on me and, while I tried to ignore him, I lost the thread of what Ben was saying altogether. He must have thought I was an eejit because he turned away from me and started talking to Mrs Shaw.
When lunch was over, we all stood up. I wasn’t certain what to do next but, suddenly, Sinclair was beside me, towering over me.
‘Would you care to accompany me on a walk through the garden, Miss er . . .’
My cheeks reddened. Fortunately, Mrs Shaw came to my rescue. ‘I told you, Sinclair, that the dear girl still can’t remember her name,’ she said. ‘The trauma of what she’s been through has taken her memory. But we hope that it will all come back to her soon. Don’t we, my dear?’
She looked down at me and I nodded.
‘Oh dear, I forgot you told me that, Aunt. Well, we must call you something,’ Sinclair said, laughing. ‘I shall invent a name for you. Let’s see now. You’re Irish and you came out of the sea onto land just like seals were said to do in Irish mythology. They shed their skins to sun themselves, but men often fell in love with them and hid their skins so they couldn’t go back into the sea. What about Selkie? It means “seal” in Irish.’
Something in the word Selkie struck a distant chord. Where had I heard it before? Or had I?
‘But you cannot name her after a seal, Sinclair!’ said Mrs Shaw. She seemed very put out. ‘If you insist on being clever, at least call her Grace – after Grace O’Malley, the sea pirate.’
Sinclair shook his head. ‘No, Aunt Felicity. I still think Selkie is much more apt.’
At that moment I didn’t care if he named me after the divil himself. He was paying attention to me, and that was all that mattered. He reached out his arm to me.
‘Shall we take that walk, Selkie?’
I slipped my arm into his and began to walk as if my feet were not even touching the ground.
We sat down on the garden swing where I spent so many afternoons. Silver came running over and jumped up on my lap. I began to stroke her but suddenly she stood up, the hair rising on her back. She bared her teeth and let out a hiss so loud it would have wakened the dead. Sinclair jumped to his feet.
‘Get that thing away from me,’ he shouted. ‘I loathe cats.’
I grabbed Silver and carried her out of the garden and set her down near the house. When I turned back, I saw Sinclair in the distance, brushing off his trousers, such a scowl on his face I was almost afraid to go near him. I crept over.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Silver never acted like that before. I had no notion—’
‘Just keep her out of my sight,’ he said, interrupting me. ‘Or it will be the last time she’ll hiss at anyone.’
The brightne
ss of the day seemed to dim a bit just then, and a wave of queasiness made my stomach clench. But Sinclair was smiling down at me now and, slowly, my bad feelings went away.
We left the swing and strolled on through the garden, my arm still tucked through his. He began telling me stories of his past adventures – the scrapes he and Ben often got themselves into. He was so charming it was as if the Silver business had never happened.
‘Mrs Shaw’s husband and my father were brothers,’ he said in answer to one of my questions. ‘Unfortunately, my father and mother are dead, and so is Mrs Shaw’s husband. So, you see, I am all alone in the world. Have you brothers and sisters?’
‘I can’t remember,’ I said. ‘Right now, the only person I can almost call a relation is your aunt.’
The words surprised me. At what point had I decided that?
‘Not such a bad relation to have.’
‘I suppose not.’
It was late afternoon when we got back to the house and I followed Sinclair into the library. Ben looked up from a book.
‘Well you two seem to have had a fine walk,’ he said, winking at Sinclair. ‘Wasn’t sure if you’d ever come back.’
‘I wasn’t sure we would either, my friend,’ said Sinclair. ‘Selkie here is wonderful company.’
I blushed to the tips of my ears. When I’d first gone downstairs to meet Sinclair, I’d thought I looked well in the pretty white dress with a pattern of red flowers all over it, and my hair nicely curled. I wasn’t as buxom as I once was, although I didn’t still look like a scarecrow. But the minute I saw him I began to doubt myself. After all, he must have dozens of girls after him, and all of them pretty. Well, he’d said I was good company at least, so maybe there was hope.
I knew the polite thing would be to excuse myself and leave them alone. But I couldn’t tear myself away, so I just stood there like a spare dinner, not knowing what to say or do. I was saved when Beatrice came in and said she’d laid out a light supper for the two of them.
‘Mrs Shaw said you’d be on your way soon. No sense going anywhere on an empty stomach,’ Beatrice said.
Ben got up from his chair. He turned to me and smiled. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Selkie,’ he said. ‘I hope to see you again soon,’ and went out to the dining room.
I nodded, disappointed at the news they were leaving so soon. Sinclair lingered after Ben left. ‘I’m sorry we have to leave,’ he said, ‘but we have an engagement in the city.’
I realized then I’d been showing my feelings too much, so I gave him a wide smile. ‘It was lovely meeting you and Ben,’ I said. ‘I hope you will visit again soon.’ I reached out my hand to shake his, but he ignored it. I wondered if I’d made another mistake – did young ladies shake hands with gentlemen they’d only just met? I was busy scolding myself when he bent down and kissed me on the cheek.
‘The pleasure was all mine,’ he said softly. ‘And I intend to visit you again very soon.’
It was all I could do not to hide the excitement that filled me. I managed a shaky ‘Goodbye, then’, before I walked, weakkneed, out of the library, defying every instinct in me to clutch him and kiss him back.
In the days after Sinclair left, I hardly knew what to do with myself. I spent long hours watching out the window, hoping for a glimpse of the blue roadster roaring up the driveway. I didn’t want to ask Mrs Shaw when he was expected back, for fear she’d think me too forward. Besides, I didn’t want to give away my feelings for him.
I went back to my usual habit of spending time in the garden every afternoon with Silver. At first, she wanted nothing to do with me, running away every time she saw me. But, after a while, she began to sidle up beside me as I walked, and then one day she jumped back on my lap, purring louder than ever. I knew she was afraid Sinclair would be with me, and even though I’d tried to put that memory out of my mind, deep down inside me, it still bothered me. What was it that made her hate Sinclair on sight? I shrugged. Sure, how would I ever know what was in a cat’s mind?
One day, not long after Sinclair left, Mrs Shaw announced she was having a tea at the house for her friends from the suffragette movement. When she asked me to join them, I was pleased – anything to break the monotony. Besides, I had taken a liking to them.
They arrived in the afternoon, bustling into the hall chirping like birds and removing their hats and capes. It was late summer, but the day was chilly just the same.
‘My dear, would you mind helping Teresa with the hats and capes?’
I’d made a point of avoiding Teresa as much as I could, so I wasn’t too happy with Mrs Shaw’s request. But I could hardly refuse her. I stayed in the hall and took the ladies’ capes, while Teresa took their hats. One lady gave me an old-fashioned shawl to hang up alongside the capes. It was a lovely mauve colour, soft as a lamb’s coat, and edged with a fringe. I held it in my hands for a moment and looked at the woman who had given it to me. She was about Mrs Shaw’s age, but struck me as so delicate she might crumble at any minute.
‘I know it’s not fashionable, but it’s lovely, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘My daughter made it for me because I so admired one she made for herself.’ Her pale eyes misted over. ‘She died not long after she finished it.’
I stared at her with my mouth open. My feet were suddenly rooted to the ground. Teresa was nudging me to get on with it, but I ignored her. My head throbbed, and I was afraid I might faint. I shoved the shawl at Teresa. ‘I’m so sorry, I think I’m going to be sick. Tell Mrs Shaw I’m sorry.’
Teresa rolled her eyes at me and started to say something, but I turned away from her and fled up the stairs.
In the safety of my room, I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. As soon as I saw that shawl, I remembered. There was a young woman who had tried to help me in the lifeboat . . . She’d been wearing a mauve shawl. I could see her clearly. Her hands gripped my arms and her voice was gentle as she tried to coax me down off the seat where I stood. I remembered her scream as I fell backwards into the water. The images were sharp and clear in my mind. I wondered if she’d been this woman’s daughter, but surely she would have said if the girl had drowned. Besides, there must be a lot of women with mauve shawls. I shivered. It was eerie just the same.
As I lay there, more images came – the posh women in the lifeboat refusing to let more women in even though there was still room; the boat tilting and scraping the side of the ship as the seamen lowered it into the water; the ice-cold wind as we floated on the black sea. I shivered, remembering how desperately cold I’d been. The images were as clear as if they’d happened yesterday and a terrible fear came over me. It was as if the ice had broken on a river and I had fallen through, water crashing over me in all directions. My throat tightened and my breath came in short spurts. My heart hammered in my chest and I felt panic rising in me – the same panic I had felt that night. Then everything went black.
It was dark when I awoke. Mrs Shaw hovered over me. ‘How are you feeling, dear? We’ve all been worried about you.’
I tried to smile. ‘I’m all right. I had a dizzy spell and I felt faint. I’m sorry I missed the tea.’
She patted my hand. ‘You mustn’t be sorry. It could not be helped. And, besides, I believe we missed you more than you missed us. Young Martha, remember you marched with her in the protest, is especially fond of you. She sends her regards.’
I tried to raise myself up from the pillow, but I hadn’t the strength. My head sank back down, and I let out a groan. Mrs Shaw looked at me in alarm.
‘Oh my dear, I think you had more than just a dizzy spell. I fear you might be coming down with something. You must rest. I will ask Beatrice to bring you up some soup.’
After she left, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. But more images kept coming. I was running, holding onto a young man’s hand as we raced up one staircase after another. Someone behind us was calling after me. It was a girl, but I couldn’t turn around because the people behind were pushing me forward. When w
e got to the top deck there was a crowd of people. They were going mad, shouting and screaming, while seamen were lifting women into a lifeboat. The young man pushed me towards the boat and disappeared. I remembered hanging back, calling for the young woman who had followed us. ‘Delia!’ I called. ‘Delia!’ Then a seaman pushed me into the lifeboat.
I tossed from side to side in the bed like someone in a fever. I wanted the images to go away and give me some peace. But they wouldn’t. They kept playing over and over. I took deep breaths and tried to calm down. Mercifully, sleep began to take over. As I drifted off, I whispered the name ‘Delia’. Who was she?
After that first night, a flood of memories came thick and fast. I took advantage of Mrs Shaw’s insistence that I stay in bed. I wanted to be alone while all this was happening. Mrs Shaw and Beatrice came in and out to make sure I was all right. Teresa, though, was spitting nails. She accused me of play-acting.
‘I’m on to you, miss,’ she said. ‘Sick indeed. ’Tis lovesick ye are over that feller Sinclair.’ She laughed. ‘As if he’d give you the time of day!’
I ignored her. The truth was I hadn’t given Sinclair a second thought since these visions had started. I slid down under the covers and went over the new memories in my head. I had remembered who Delia was. She was the fair-haired girl I had seen in my dreams and I wondered how I knew her. I had visions of my journey to the Titanic – they came like jagged pieces of glass which didn’t fit together now, but I knew were part of a whole picture. I saw myself in a horse and cart driving down a rutted lane with green hills on either side, and in a train compartment where I was talking to a lad and a young girl. The fair-haired girl called Delia was there as well. Was she a friend, I wondered, or a stranger? Then I felt crowds of young people pushing in on me on a dock where an enormous ship loomed above us.
I wondered at times; was I making these images up? Was I going mad? Or was I about to die? They say your life passes in front of you when you’re ready to die. Sweat ran down my neck and chest and I wanted to cry out.
The Titanic Sisters Page 11