I looked up at him, trying not to notice the hurt in his eyes. ‘I’ll leave as soon as I can make arrangements.’
I could feel his eyes on me as I left the room. Out in the hallway I caught sight of Kathleen hurrying down to the kitchen. She had been eavesdropping. I wanted to confront her, but what was the point?
For weeks after I confessed to Aidan, he hardly looked at me and, when he did, his mouth was drawn into a grim line. Kathleen grinned in my face as if enjoying my discomfort. Mrs Donahue looked at me with pity and sighed but said little. Her rejection of me hurt my heart. But what hurt most was the sad look on Lily’s face, and the tears that floated in her eyes each time she saw me. Aidan had most likely told her I would be leaving. It was Lily I had hurt most of all and I would never forgive myself.
While I had told Aidan that I was going back to Donegal, when it came down to doing it something in me rebelled. I had escaped that life once. How could I possibly go back there again? Maybe I could find another job and stay in New York. But God was having none of it. He blocked me at every turn – doors closed in my face when people heard my brogue, other, more kindly, people said the position was already filled. It turned out that girls were arriving from Ireland every day looking for work and the competition for even lowly servant jobs was fierce. It was as if God was saying ‘You had your chance, girl, and you destroyed it. Now you must step aside and give some other girl the chance.’
At last, defeated, I went to the White Star Line offices and booked third-class passage back to Donegal.
NORA
After a while, my thoughts turned to Sinclair. What would he think when he found out I was just a farmer’s daughter from Donegal without a penny to my name? He wouldn’t want anything to do with me. As I turned this over in my mind, a plan came to me. What if I told him and Mrs Shaw some of my memories had returned, but I made up some of the details? I would say that I remembered my journey on the Titanic. I would mention I was from Donegal but, instead of the farm, I would make up something grander, like a manor house. I had a good imagination; I was sure it could all be sorted out.
Satisfied that I had solved my problem, I settled in for the first good night’s sleep I’d had in a while.
The weather turned colder, and time seemed to stand still. Autumn came, or ‘fall’ as they called it here, and a rainbow of orange, brown, red and yellow leaves covered the trees. I wrapped up warm for my walks. Silver followed me faithfully wherever I went and, as usual, jumped up on the garden bench beside me. Ever since Mrs Shaw brought her to my bedroom when I was sick, we’d been inseparable. I was grateful for her company; she eased the loneliness.
I still hadn’t remembered my name. I told Mrs Shaw that I had finally remembered all the details of my voyage on the Titanic and the night the ship sank. I told her it was her friend’s mauve shawl that set the memories off and I recounted how a young woman wearing a shawl just like it had tried to stop me from falling overboard.
‘Do you think it could have been that lady’s daughter?’
‘No, dear, it couldn’t have been. Mrs Henry’s daughter died from the flu over two years ago – long before the Titanic ever sailed.’
I shrugged. ‘I thought myself it was probably too much of a coincidence.’
‘Unless it was that young lady’s ghost,’ put in Beatrice, who had been listening. ‘Mm-hmm, sent by the Lord to save you!’
I smiled. ‘’Tis a lovely idea, Beatrice, but I don’t think I was ever that special to the Lord.’
‘You might be surprised, chile.’
Every now and then Mrs Shaw asked me if anything else had come back to me, but I said no. I was afraid of letting too much slip. I shooed away the thought that my parents still thought I was dead.
Sinclair Shaw finally showed his face at the end of November. Mrs Shaw was hosting a dinner to celebrate ‘Thanksgiving’, an American holiday I had never heard tell of. He came on his own this time, without Ben. I must say Mrs Shaw didn’t look too delighted to see him, but he paid little mind to her. He just sat down at the extra place Teresa had quickly set for him at the table and began to charm everyone. Some of Mrs Shaw’s friends were there, including the young Martha who I had marched with in New York, and they all seemed delighted with him. Not as delighted as I was, though I tried hard not to show it too much.
‘I’ve come to ask you something, Selkie,’ he said, turning to me just as dinner was coming to an end. ‘Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to a Christmas Eve ball being thrown by the Van Clines?’
I must have looked at him like an eejit. My mouth fell open and I turned red in the face. ‘Who?’ I choked.
He took my hand. ‘The Van Clines, my dear Selkie. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of them, but they are among the richest families in New York. Their house is obscenely opulent, and they are famous for their parties.’ He looked at Mrs Shaw. ‘You know them don’t you, Aunt Felicity?’
Mrs Shaw nodded while the other guests whispered to one another.
‘I know the granddaughter,’ Sinclair went on, turning back to me. ‘It should be capital fun, Selkie. And they’ll be fascinated to hear that you fell off the Titanic.’
After Sinclair and the guests had left, I was giddy with excitement. ‘Oh, what’ll I wear, Mrs Shaw? I’ve never been to the likes of anything such as that in my life! What do they do at those things? Can you believe Sinclair has asked me, when he could have picked from a million other girls?’
Mrs Shaw stood up from the table, took me by the arm and led me into the library. We sat down on either side of the fireplace. She looked at me for a while as if making up her mind what to say.
‘I know you are thrilled, my dear,’ she began. ‘I certainly would be in your shoes. But . . .’ She hesitated, and I sensed caution in her voice. ‘But I feel I must warn you about something. As you know, Sinclair is my husband’s nephew, and I have known him for a long time. He is a high-spirited young man, and charming. You saw it yourself this evening. But he has a streak in him that I find . . .’
‘What is it, Mrs Shaw?’
‘I find him somewhat insincere. In short, he uses people for his own amusement and, when they no longer please him, he abandons them. I’ve seen him do it time and time again.’ She leaned towards me. ‘I don’t want to see you hurt, my dear. Go with him to the party and enjoy yourself. But don’t misread his intentions.’
I knew she meant no harm, but I felt my anger rising. She’d assumed I was just like other girls, but she didn’t know me. She didn’t know that I was always the belle of the ball and that men fell over themselves to be with me. I wouldn’t have known this either had my memory not come back. I remembered how Ma had filled my head with such notions from when I was a child, and every time she was proved right my confidence grew.
I shrugged my shoulders and stood up. Sinclair Shaw wouldn’t be abandoning me anytime soon, I was sure of that.
Christmas Eve night arrived, and I felt like the cat’s meow. Mrs Shaw, who confessed she was not up on the latest fashions, had asked young Martha to help. Now I was rigged out in the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen. The bodice was pale blue with a low neck and wee shiny beads all over it. A broad silver ribbon was wrapped high around my waist. The skirt was the same blue as the bodice and fell to my ankles. It hugged my hips and had a slit up the front which, I was told, was so your legs could be free to dance. I had matching silver shoes with shiny silver buckles. And, to top it all off, Martha suggested a silver headband. She said headbands were becoming all the rage, and I would look very up to date.
As I paced back and forth, admiring myself in the mirror, I was glad I hadn’t put much weight back on. I remembered that I’d always been big and curvy, but when I came out of the hospital I was like a skeleton. I’d filled out since then, but only enough so I no longer looked like a stick. I tossed my long black hair, running my hand through the waves. Martha had insisted that all the modern young women had short hair, but I refused to let go of mine.
Anyway, I’d rather be different.
Finally, Martha arranged tall blue feathers into the back of the headband. She stepped away, admiring her handiwork, and said I would be the belle of the ball. I laughed. Mrs Shaw sighed and told me I looked beautiful. I saw tears in her eyes, and I went over and hugged her.
‘Thank you, Mrs Shaw,’ I whispered. ‘For everything.’
She nodded just as the blare of a horn sounded outside.
I heard the noise long before we even arrived at the Van Clines’ house. Orchestral music filled the night air, along with blaring car horns, shouts and cries of laughter. As we drew closer, I saw tiny lights strung between all the trees across a huge front lawn. There were Christmas lights too, all around the roof and windows of the house, making it look like a fairy castle. When I looked up at the house itself, it took my breath away. Sinclair had said it was ‘obscenely opulent’ – words I’d never heard before in my life – but now I saw what he meant. It was as big as a castle, and the roof rose and fell in peaks of different heights and shapes. There were windows everywhere, some floor to ceiling, some tiny ones beneath the roof line. A man with the same colour of skin as Beatrice, dressed in a white shirt and grey jacket, helped us out of the car and then drove it away.
I put up my hand to make sure my feathers were still in place, slipped my arm through Sinclair’s, and let him lead me to the front door. At the entrance a waiter in a black jacket stood with glasses of champagne on a tray. Sinclair took two and offered one to me. I was relieved that I had come to learn what champagne was. I sipped it gingerly and felt the bubbles on my tongue. I had never been so happy.
The door led into a wide hall with white marble floors. We had no sooner set foot in there when a tall girl, about my age, came rushing towards us.
‘Ace, darling,’ she said, throwing her slender white arms around Sinclair’s shoulders. ‘So wonderful to see you.’
Who the feck is Ace? I wondered.
She turned to me. ‘Ah, is this the Titanic girl you told us about? She’s charming. Come on now, everyone’s here!’
Without waiting for us to say anything, she turned around and hurried back up the hallway.
‘That was Caroline,’ said Sinclair, ‘the Van Clines’ granddaughter. Come on, the ballroom’s this way.’
‘Ace?’ I said.
‘Oh, just a nickname,’ he said, smiling.
As we stood in the doorway to the ballroom, people turned to stare. I knew then that we were the most handsome couple there. Sinclair was gorgeous in his black tailcoat, white waistcoat and white bow tie. And my dress was as fine as any in the room. I said a silent prayer thanking Martha. As we stood, Ben, Sinclair’s friend, hurried up to us.
He took my hand and kissed it. I blushed. No man had ever done that before. ‘You look beautiful, Selkie,’ he said, nodding towards Sinclair. ‘I do hope you’ll save a dance for me.’
He disappeared into the crowd. I thought again what a nice feller he was – nowhere near as handsome as Sinclair, of course – but lovely all the same. After that, so many people pressed in on us that I was beginning to get dizzy. I noticed, though, that many more women than men were greeting Sinclair. I supposed it was to be expected – after all, he was the handsomest man there. I tightened my grip on him and smiled at everybody.
Martha had taught me all the modern dances – the one-step, the two-step, the foxtrot, the Argentine tango, and the one with the silly name of The Castle Walk. When the band started up, I was anxious to show off. Sinclair danced the first few numbers with me, but then excused himself to go and get a drink.
‘I’m not a great one for dancing,’ he said as he released me, ‘I’ll find Ben and send him over.’
I wasn’t happy to be left standing in the middle of the floor, but I fixed a smile on my face as some of the women stared. Thank God Ben showed up quickly and swept me up in the tango.
After a while I excused myself from Ben to go and get a glass of water. I looked around for Sinclair and finally saw him in an alcove off the ballroom. He sat playing cards with some other men, a pile of money on the table, and a couple of women draped over him. When I approached, he looked up. ‘Oh hello, Selkie. Having a good time?’
‘Marvellous,’ I said, imitating the other women I’d heard. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Oh, just a little game of poker.’
‘That’s why we call him “Ace”, honey,’ said one of the women in a throaty drawl. ‘He loves his card games.’
I sipped my water. Up close, the two women were much older than I’d first thought. Their heavy powder had begun to crack, showing fine lines around their eyes and lips. The one who’d spoken to me held a cigarette in a long, thin holder, gripping it with fiery, red nails that reminded me of lobster claws.
‘Say, are you the girl who fell off the Titanic?’ said the second woman, her voice as deep as a man’s. She looked me up and down. ‘Ace has told us all about you. He said you were Irish, and you were probably travelling in steerage when you almost drowned. And he said that when you woke up, you’d forgotten who you were, so his aunt took you in. What a story!’
I winced. I’d never told anyone about travelling in steerage. Sinclair couldn’t have known, which meant he made it up. He’d belittled me in front of these disgusting people. Is this what he really thought of me?
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said. ‘I almost drowned and then I lost my memory.’ I tried my best to sound polite, even though these two were starting to annoy me and I was furious with Sinclair. I felt like an act in a carnival. I shrugged and went back to the ballroom. The band had taken a break, and a man at a piano was playing Christmas carols along with some popular tunes, while the guests sang along. I sat in one of the chairs that lined the wall, watching the people come and go. As I sat, my annoyance grew. How could Sinclair bring me to such a grand event and then leave me sitting like a spare dinner? Mrs Shaw’s caution about how he often abandoned friends crept into my head, but I shook it away.
When the dancing began again, I was relieved when one young man after another came over and asked me up onto the floor. To hell with Sinclair, I thought, I don’t need him. But as I was dancing with a tall, dark-haired feller, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Sinclair tugged me roughly away from my partner and tried to pull me off the dance floor. There was an ugly look on his face, and the smell of whiskey was all over him.
‘Go back to your cards,’ I said angrily. ‘I’m having a fine time without you.’
I looked around for my dance partner, but he had disappeared. People were beginning to stare. I took a deep breath, shrugged Sinclair off me, and walked as steadily as I could to the edge of the ballroom. I asked for directions to the powder room and hurried down the hall. I could feel Sinclair close behind me.
‘Don’t run away from me, you slut!’ he shouted.
The tips of my ears burned with embarrassment. He was closing in on me as I pushed open the powder room door and tried to close it behind me. But he wedged his foot in it to keep it open. He put his hands on my shoulders and forced me backwards into the room, kicking the door closed behind him. He began pulling at my dress, forcing the bodice down off my shoulders. He grabbed at my breasts and forced his mouth down on mine. He was pawing at me the way young lads had done back home in Kilcross. I tried to knee him in the groin as I had learned to do with them, but it only made him angrier. He let go of my breasts and reached his hand up my dress, his rough fingers poking at me, trying to drill inside me. I tried to push him off, but my strength was no match for his. I raised my hand to his cheek and dug in my nails, drawing blood from his temple to his jaw. He pulled back from me, his hand on his face, a wild look in his eyes.
‘You little bitch!’ he cried. ‘You’ll pay for that!’
I began to scream. There was a sudden pounding on the door, and I screamed louder.
‘Help me! Dear God, somebody help me!’
Sinclair growled like a rabid animal and started towards me again. ‘I know
you want it. You’ve been making sheep’s eyes at me ever since we met. Come on, Selkie, let me give you what you’ve been asking for, I—’
I don’t know where I found the strength, but something in me snapped and I pushed him, hard, sending him reeling to the floor.
The door swung open and there stood Ben, a horrified look on his face. In one glance he took in my torn dress and Sinclair’s bleeding face.
‘Get away from her now, Sinclair!’ he shouted.
I stepped over Sinclair and made for the door but, before leaving, I turned back.
‘My name is not feckin’ Selkie!’ I shouted. ‘My name is Nora Sweeney!’
I pushed Ben aside and ran out of the powder room, down the marble hallway and outside into the freezing night air. I bent over to catch my breath which was coming in spasms. My head spun, and I thought I might collapse. And when I looked down at my tattered dress – my lovely dress – I began to sob.
Panic set in. How was I going to get back to Mrs Shaw’s? I had no money, no transport. All I knew was that I had to get away from this place. In my dazed state, I kicked off my silver shoes with the shiny buckles and began to walk.
I hadn’t gone very far when a car drew up beside me. ‘Selkie? I mean, Nora. Come on, get in or you’ll freeze to death.’
We drove in silence. Ben wrapped me in a blanket, and I slid down in the seat, trying to blot out the world.
Mrs Shaw ran out of the door as soon as Ben stopped the car in front of the house. It was as if she knew something was wrong.
‘Ben? What’s happening? Where is Sinclair?’ Then she turned to me. ‘Are you all right, child?’
I hadn’t the strength to answer.
‘Let’s get her inside, Mrs Shaw,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll explain shortly.’
The Titanic Sisters Page 14