Chapter Four
April 8th 1912
We were crowded in one of the cabins on B Deck, Cissie showing us the correct way to tuck bed sheets, as though we hadn't been doing it since we were little girls. I tugged at the collar of my uniform, because twenty or so stewardesses cramped in a suite built for two made for a very stuffy room. Violet stood next to me, looking bored, but politely following Cissie with her eyes. I made a noise between a sigh and a groan as Cissie folded the corner sheet under the mattress to create a tight crease. The demonstration was boring beyond comprehension and I could tick off a number of things that would be less painful. Eviscerating my organs, for one. I could give them to John to serve alongside the soupe au pistou.
"Be sure to pull the wrinkles out of the duvet," Cissie was explaining, "They've already been pressed but we don't want our passengers faced with rumpled bed sheets after a long day of traveling, do we ladies?"
"No, ma'am," we all said in unison as Cissie placed the pillows neatly on the bed. I wanted so badly to fling myself on the duvet, just to rest my feet for a moment. Even without passengers boarding we were hard at work in preparations, and the bed beckoned me with its downy appearance. The warm room wasn't helping my exhaustion either.
Cissie explained that the stewards had brought up linens for the beds and had placed a set in each of the cabins. We were to make up all the beds in our respective rooms, which amounted to over twenty beds a stewardess.
"Any questions?" Cissie finally said.
I would slap the girl that was stupid enough to ask something. I wanted desperately to get out of that stifling cabin and I had no problem grappling with the stewardess that stood in my way.
"What should we do with the extra linens?" Mary asked.
I glared at her, reaching up and flicking the back of her head with my fingers.
"Ouch!" she squeaked and reached behind her, rubbing the tender spot. She glared at me but I studiously ignored her, watching our matron as intently as if Cissie were preforming a fan dance with a lettuce leaf. She turned forward again. Beside me, Violet gave me a firm look.
"Extra linens go in closet. There should be about two sets per cabin." Cissie replied, and when no one asked anything else, she clapped her hands and said, "Right! Off you go now!"
We turned and filed out of the cabin, Violet and I paring off and walking forward towards our cabins at the front of B Deck.
"You probably know by now that your little stunt with the officers yesterday have made the rounds on the ship four times over. Everyone's heard about your blunder. I'm surprised Cissie didn't release you this morning before breakfast."
I turned around to see Mary walking after us. My stomach knotted apprehensively. Of course she would feel the need to taunt me about my faux pas.
"Who told you?" I snapped.
"Does it matter?" Mary replied. "Either way I fully expect you to be back on terra firma permanently by the end of the day."
She brushed past us and made for the stairwell that lead to C Deck. I followed her, stopping at the top of the steps as she descended.
"You're not going to tell Cissie, are you?" I asked. If Cissie, or Mr. Andrews, or any other superior caught wind of my misconduct, I'd be sacked. Harry, on the other hand, would likely get a slap on the wrist then ordered to go back to work—the benefit of being a man. I had no such luxury, and thus was genuinely concerned for my standing on the ocean liner. I couldn't afford to miss this crossing to America, and being put on probation was a perfect way for me to do just that.
"I won't have to. She'll find out soon enough, if she hasn't already. Need I remind you that behavior like that is strictly prohibited of a White Star Line employee?" Mary asked, not bothering to turn around and face me. She dropped to the bottom step and disappeared past the ebony wood walls of the C Deck corridor.
I grit my teeth and wheeled on Violet, who had been watching the whole exchange quietly.
"It's not prohibited, just frowned upon!" I hissed and stalked past her towards our cabins.
"I know," Violet said wearily and followed.
"Why does Mary hate me so? She hasn't liked me since the Oceanic, and I haven't done a thing to her," I said and opened the door to our fist cabin. Resting on the bachelor's chest was a stack of white linens, a duvet, and pillow covers. We set to work outfitting the beds, Violet taking one side and me taking the other.
"Maybe that's just it. Maybe she thinks you don't like her because you never try to talk to her," Violet reasoned.
"I don't talk to her because I don't like her," I said and Violet gave me a steady look. A similar look a mother would give to a mouthy child.
"What I'm saying is that you have a strong personality, Lucy. You tend to rub people the wrong way. Perhaps she just got the wrong impression."
"So it's my fault?"
Violet tucked the excess fabric of the bed sheet and we moved on to stuffing the pillows in their cases, careful not to snag the elaborate silk embroidery.
"No, but that's exactly what I'm talking about," Violet replied. "You can be crass and wily and people pick up on those kind of things. Mary's hardworking and rather straightforward. She's a no nonsense person and you are all nonsense. You should try talking to her, being more amiable, I'm sure she'll come around. She's a rather interesting person when you get to know her."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I should have known that asking Violet for advice would lead to a lesson in being charitable. Violet was a good person, perhaps a little too good.
I fell silent, trying not to let her words get to me, but finding myself annoyed at the terms Violet used to describe me. I know she was just being honest, but did she have to be so blunt? I wasn't oblivious. I knew that I said all the wrong things and I always stumbled over myself, but I tried to be a likeable person. For some reason I always fell short.
Ever since my first ship I had watched the first class ladies I waited upon, trying to pattern my behavior after them. They always moved gracefully, but effortlessly, like they were delicate marionettes on strings and God was their puppeteer. Their voices were quiet, ladylike, and they spoke of pleasant things like the new fiction story they had read or the type of tea that was best used as a sleep aid. I tried doing the same by smiling more and being less obtrusive, but it never lasted. My old self that I worked so hard to bury away would claw her way to the surface and the guise was ruined. That's the thing about people, they can pretend all they want, perhaps even convince some people, but all they'll ever be is a liar and no one likes a liar.
Arthur always said I was hopeless excuse for a lady. As much as I hated the man, he was right.
It had been days since Arthur entered my mind; I had been too preoccupied with other things to bother. I remembered a time when I couldn't go more than a few hours without thinking about him. I felt uneasy remembering him again, but he grew like a parasite once he entered my mind and I suddenly couldn't stop thinking about his red hair and his temper and the delicious tension I used to feel between us. I wondered about him now, whether he was looking for me or not, if he had found some other poor girl to deceit, if he was angry at Charles and I or if he even cared…
"Lucy?"
I looked up at Violet, who was watching me curiously. It was then that I noticed that my hands were fisted around a feather pillow, practically squeezing the life out of it. I quickly loosened my grip and muttered an apology, banishing thoughts of my old life. I set the pillow down and we moved to the next cabin, letting my thoughts go anywhere but where they were.
I opened the door and grabbed the sheets off the dresser, unfolding one over the bed. Violet moved to the other side and we set to tucking the corners, when movement outside the cabin caught my eye. I looked to see a uniform, dark and heavy and lined with gold, stride past the open door, then retreat back to the threshold. I smirked and Violet stopped working long enough to look at the officer that had appeared at our cabin door.
"Excuse me ladies," Charles said with a dip of his head towards Violet. "I was wondering if I could have a private word with Miss Fairchild?"
Violet looked at me and I looked back, giving her a small, reassuring smile, despite my own confusion.
Charles had made it very clear we were not to speak with or see each other on this crossing. We both decided that it would be best if we just kept our distance. Breaking this agreement was something I was likely to do, not Charles, so whatever he needed to speak with me about must have been serious. I noticed that he kept his eyes on Violet, avoiding my gaze. His expression was soft, calm, but the muscle in his jaw pulsed and I knew something was bothering him. Charles had always been a serious man, with cultivated character and a quiet demeanor, but I had known him long enough to know the tall tale signs.
Violet's dark eyes flickered between us before she finally nodded. I turned to follow Charles, glancing over my shoulder at her. Her eyes widened slightly, and I knew I would have some explaining to do once this conversation with Charles was over.
He led the way out of the room, with me not more than a few steps behind him wondering what this was all about. As soon as we cleared the threshold and were out of sight, Charles turned and took hold of my upper arm, dragging me down the hallway. Normally I would object, but this was Charles and he did what he wanted. He ducked down the nearest corridor, one that ended in a large window that over looked the port side of the ship, yanking me along. He turned me to face him, hand still firm on my arm as he braced me against the wall.
Charles was never rough, but whatever he was worried about had him clutching my arm like a lifeline. His fingers dug into the skin, the pressure dull but effective.
Not wanting to hear whatever bad news was waiting for me, I sidled the conversation as best I could.
"Good morning love," I cooed, "Breaking the cardinal rule are we? You must be desperate."
"Don't get cute with me Lucy," Charles said and I should have known better than to try and distract him with shrewd words, "You know I wouldn't be here if it wasn't serious."
He finally dropped his hand and I absent mindedly rubbed my arm. He lifted his peaked cap and raked his fingers through his short brown hair. He glanced out the window towards the port, Southampton seeming miles away through the smog and noise of the port. He looked down at me, then took a step back. He was fidgeting, which was completely unlike him. He either didn't know where to begin or was having a hard time finding the words. I sobered up to listen, knowing that what he was about to say was serious.
"Harry threatened me last night at dinner," he finally said, struggling to keep his voice even. "Seems James said something to him about us. Told me to stay away from you."
I blinked slowly as I registered what Charles was saying to me. I shook my head in disbelief.
"He…what?" I asked.
"Why didn't you tell me you knew Harry?" Charles asked. "This changes everything."
I pushed myself away from the wall, brushing past Charles. I pressed my hand to my forehead as I paced the narrow length of the corridor, feeling his eyes on me as I walked. "It changes nothing," I said, rubbing my fingers along my temple. "I read the crew list the night before we boarded. I didn't say anything to you because I was trying to avoid the boat deck specifically to avoid seeing Harry. I didn't plan on running into him yesterday morning…it just happened."
"I asked around," Charles replied, "The stewards said you had a rather…unforgettable reunion."
For the largest ocean liner in the world, gossip traveled quickly on Titanic.
"It was a gut reaction," I groaned and finally stopped pacing.
Charles shifted the sleeves of his uniform and crossed his arm, leaning against the wall. He frowned. "How do you two know each other?"
"We grew up together in Barmouth," I muttered.
"Harry was furious for some reason last night. I tried to reason with him but he wouldn't listen, just left in the middle of dinner without an explanation. What happened between you two? Did you say something about us?"
I turned to Charles, narrowing my gaze accusingly. He knew me better than to think I would run off and tell Harry about what we had done. I thought we had more trust than that.
"Of course not," I spat. "I was angry with him yesterday, but he wouldn't take that out on you."
"If you didn't say anything to him then James must have."
I snorted. "Please, James know as much about us as anyone else."
The lines on Charles' face softened and a flicker a worry danced behind his blue eyes. I took a step closer to him and he dropped his chin slightly to look down at me. "We need to be more careful," he continued, "Harry knows something about us that he's not letting on. Something that's got him sullen. You need to talk to him, tonight, since he doesn't seem too keen on talking with me."
"I will," I agreed.
He fell silent for a moment, his eyes flickering over my face. He gave a halfhearted smile, which practically read as elation on a quiet man like Charles. He reached up flicked the bottom of my chin with the hook of his finger.
"What are we going to do now?" he asked.
"Nothing," I replied. "Continue with the plan like before. Harry is only a minor nuisance."
Charles sighed and I turned away from him, putting space between us. I leaned against the wall, hands folded behind my back. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette, rolling with between his fingers.
"Do you still have it?" he asked.
"In my trunk, under my bed," I replied automatically.
"Do you care?" Charles asked and indicated to the cigarette in his hand. Charles didn't smoke often but he was restless with everything going on, and I knew that a smoke would do him good.
In fact, it would do me good too.
"By all means," I said with a dismissive wave of my hands. "But if the stewards find you smoking in the corridor, they'll have a fit."
He lit the cigarette and sucked in a deep breath. "I will rest so much easier once we're on open water. I'm constantly feeling apprehensive sitting in port. It makes me anxious."
"Me too," I said and beckoned with my two fingers at his cigarette, hoping to bum and smoke. He passed the cigarette to me and the moment the smoke hit my lungs and warmed my chest, I felt a sense of relief. I gave it back.
"How are you really?" Charles asked. He looked down at me with hooded eyes, lips pursed. He knew I hated that question, because when people asked that question, they never expected a truthful answer. I could never say that I constantly felt like I was drowning in a sea of emotions, or that I was sick to my stomach for an entirely different reason than being at sea. They only wanted to hear that I was doing perfectly well, thank you very much. This time though, I was grateful for his concern, even if I still settled on the lie I told everyone else, including myself.
"I'm capital Charlie," I replied.
He searched my face for honesty but I knew he wouldn't find it. I learned from the best, after all. Dishonesty was second nature to me. He eventually nodded and straightened from his lax position against the wall. I followed suit, brushing my hands over my pinafore, noting that that gesture was quickly becoming a nervous habit of mine.
"Tonight," Charles reminded me. "Harry is down in the cargo hold with Joe right now. Find out how much he knows. I'll have a chat with James."
"Be nice to him," I warned.
"No promises," Charles replied. "Try to keep your head down for the rest of the voyage. I know understated is not your forte but we can't risk any more slip ups."
"Aye, sir," I mocked.
He didn't reply, obviously not finding me as humorous as I did. He took another drag on the cigarette then strode to the end of the corridor peering around the corner. He glanced over his shoulder at me, "Take care of yourself, love."
He was the one mocking me now and I couldn't help but grin. He strode off down the hall, leaving me standing alone in the skinny corridor. I sighed and moved to the brass framed windows, peering out over the port. It was another grey day, but not nearly as chilly as it had been. Dock workers shuffled around the wharfs, their skin and clothes black with coal and dirt. Smoke like ribbon rose from a pub across the way, and could hear the gears of a crane shift as it loaded cargo. Gulls cried, their sporadic screaming rivaled only the sound of the water tumbling over itself.
I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the cool glass, realizing too late that the oil from my skin would leave prints on the window and I would have to clean it again.
I didn't know what I was going to say to Harry. I should have known that his presence on Titanic wouldn't be a subtle one. He was too much of a hot head to quietly sit back and leave things as they were, and James gossiped more than any woman I knew, and together they were trouble. It was all happening too fast. I wanted to by myself some time to think things over, but Charles and I couldn't afford that right now. I had to see what Harry knew about us, what had him so riled up, and then I needed to find a way to fix it.
I sighed and dragged myself away from the window, using the crew elevators to take myself as far as F Deck. From there it was another flight of stairs down, but I made a wrong turn and had to back track. In the three days since being on Titanic, I had become fairly familiar with the ship, though I obviously needed to explore the lower decks more before we left port. I found my way again, walking all the way forward until I reached the cargo hold.
The hold was cold and damp and smelled of sawdust. Light poured in the open hatch above, where the larger cargo was being lowered. Crates and boxes sat stacked on top of each other, outfitted with netting to keep the cargo in place. Men paced about moving supplies and I pressed myself against the steel bulkhead to keep out of their way. I spotted Harry talking with an older officer at the far end of the hold. I waited until he looked up from the manifest and spied me from over the tops of the boxes. He turned and said something to his companion, then maneuvered his way around cases of rubber, lace, tea and bulbs as he came towards me.
My heart pounded at the sight of him. I still couldn't believe he was here, with me. A bittersweet sensation filled my chest as he approached. I knew so much about him from our younger years together and yet he seemed like he was a complete stranger to me. He was the same Harry I knew before he left, but now there was a mysterious part to him that I wanted so badly to understand. He was nostalgic and new at the same time.
He stopped in front of me and the smell of sandalwood wafting off him was familiar.
"You shouldn't be down here."
"I shouldn't do a lot of things," I replied cheekily, looking up at him. "Can you spare a moment? I need to talk to you."
"That depends, are you going to slap me again?"
There was the Harry I knew.
"I'll try to refrain," I said dryly.
Harry looked at me steadily and I shifted under his gaze. A shipman passed by us and Harry reached out a hand and grabbed the man by his uniform. The poor bloke looked puzzled as he said, "Sir?"
"Tell Officer Boxhall I'll just be a minute," Harry said, keeping his eyes on me. I turned to look around the cargo hold, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "Remind him about that note I made on the manifest for Arnold and Co. and the lashings needs to be tighter over the barrels of cork from Welles Fargo," he finally looked at the man, "Yes?"
"Yes sir," the shipman replied and Harry released him. He weaved around the supplies towards the other officer to relay the message, but not before shooting Harry a dirty look over his shoulder that did not go unnoticed by me.
"Make it quick," Harry said to me and raised his arm to guide me out of the cargo hold. His fingers were a whisper on my back, but I still felt them through the material of my dress and chemise and corset. A tingle ran down my spine at the close contact.
Once we were out of the cargo hold, and a respectable distance away from invasive eyes and ears, Harry turned to me and waited.
I bit my lip.
"I suppose an apology is in order," I said.
"I suppose it is."
He stood rigid, the features on his face hard to understand. I never had that problem with Charles. He was always careful to appear calm and collected, but little habits gave him away; the clench of his jaw, licking his lips, fidgeting, his eyes always told a different story than what his tone did, and of course, pulling out a cheap cigarette when he was troubled. Harry was different. He was guarded and still. Whatever he was thinking, he didn't want me or anyone else to know. He had always been like that, difficult to read, and standing here trying to gauge what was on his mind was like trying to understand a foreign language. I was reminded of how much that use to irk me when we were children.
I sighed, "Don't be cross with me Harry. I didn't mean for that to happen. I was just shocked when I saw you and when you didn't immediately recognize me…"
"You've changed," Harry muttered, "A lot."
"Well you haven't changed a bit," I replied and something passed over his face, quick as a wink. "You have the same eyes as your mother, did you know that? When I was looking at you all I could see was her and then it all came back to me—how sad I was the day you left, and how angry it made me, and how lost I felt afterwards," my voice caught and I hastily finished to keep from getting too emotional, "You abandoned us, Harry, you deserved a smack across the cheek."
"I suppose I did," Harry replied without a shred of remorse in his voice and I realized that I've made him more upset.
"You're here now," I said, trying to undo the damage, "And I'm here now, and that's all that matters, right?"
He didn't answer me. Just crossed his arms over his chest, peering at me beneath his peaked cap. He looked awfully handsome in his uniform, and even though there were a dozen other things on my mind, his intimidating appearance pushed its way to the forefront. How I had missed staring into his dark eyes. As a teenager he had been a bit awkward, crooked teeth and a nose that was too big, but the promise of a fine face had always been there. It just took a few years for Harry to grow into himself.
"What's going on between you and Lights?" he finally asked.
I lifted my shoulders in a pitiful shrug, suddenly feeling very weary. I was tired of this talk about Charles and Harry and myself. I just wanted my old friend back. I wanted to make jokes that Harry would roll his eyes at, or get into mischief and watch him talk his way out of trouble. It had been years since we had seen each other, and yet all he wanted to do was talk about things that I didn't have an answer for. I wanted to know where he had been since Barmouth, why he never wrote me, if his favorite thing to eat was still roasted hazelnut. There was so much that had to be said between us, and yet we were stuck talking about Charles.
"Can we not do this now?" I sighed.
"I thought you wanted to talk."
"I do, but not about this and certainly not here," I replied, my voice on the brink of begging.
"Fine," Harry said and for a moment I thought that was the end of our conversation and that he would walk away. He didn't. "I'm off for a few hours tomorrow night. Meet me at the gangplank? We could get off this damned ship and talk and see the town."
"What's there to see? It's Southampton."
Harry sighed as he fixed me with a tired stare. "Alright," he said gruffly, annoyed, and this time he did turn away and walk back towards the cargo hold.
I cursed my loose tongue and went after him. Why did I always have to say things that drove people away? I should have just kindly accepted his offer like I wanted to, instead of being snippy like I was. "Wait, I'm sorry," I said and reached for his hand to keep him from getting away from me. "Please. It's a lovely idea."
Harry turned and glanced down at my hands clasped around his wrist, then up at my face again.
"Eight o'clock then, on the gangplank."
"Eight o'clock," I repeated and I couldn't help the smile on my face.
"Now off with you," Harry said and nodded down the corridor, "Stewardesses shouldn't be down here. It could be dangerous."
I finally dropped his hand and nodded, turning to go back to the upper decks. I paused at the stairwell and looked over at Harry as he walked back to the hold, and I could have sworn I saw a hint of a smile on his face. I grinned to myself, the prospect of spending time with Harry too exciting to contain myself. A night out to reacquaint ourselves and before saying goodnight I could ask him what he knew, and with any luck I'd be one step closer to mending this prosperous circumstance I found myself in.
I took the steps two at a time, one hand on the rail, the other lifting my skirt to free my legs enough for the long strides. I stuck with the stairs this time to get back to B Deck, and by the time I reached D Deck, I was out of breath and panting. I hurried up the next flight of stairs, knowing that I had been away from Violet longer than I initially intended. If we were to finish the beds in any sort of a timely manner, we would have to work twice as fast. When I reached B Deck, I was out of breath and my hair hand come loose from its pins. I tucked the stray strands behind my ear, checking each cabin as I walked the length of the deck trying to find Violet. I stopped at room B59, on the starboard side of the ship, where Violet was finishing with the bed.
"V," I panted, "I'm sorry that took so long. I lost track of—"
I stopped short as I entered the room, seeing Annie Robinson on the other side of the bed, helping Violet. They pulled the folds out of the duvet and Violet gave me a scathing look as Annie went to set the pillows on the bed.
"Where have you been?" she asked, "I did eight beds by myself! The rest of the stewardesses finished their cabins and I had to ask Annie to come help me."
She had her arms crossed over her chest, her face pinched with a mixture of irritation and exhaustion. I looked at Annie, who kept her head down and pretended not to listen, though I knew she was likely hanging on every word. Her face was pink with embarrassment.
"V, I'm sorry," I said again.
"Cissie asked where you were. I didn't want to tell her that you went off to talk with the second officer, so I said you were in our berth cabin because you were feeling dizzy. I told her that you just needed sleep and to not bother you."
I felt a wave a guilt rush over me. Violet was devotedly religious and I knew that she was against dishonesty of any sort, especially to a superior, but she still lied to keep my reputation intact. I was grateful for her loyalty but ashamed that I had taken advantage of it. I felt terrible. Violet was a better friend than I ever deserved. How could I have been so insensitive? All thoughts of her and our responsibilities as stewardesses had vanished from my mind the moment I saw Charles. I didn't mean to leave all the work for her but I had been so selfishly preoccupied with my own troubles, I completely forgot about the trouble I caused for her.
"I am sorry," I tried again. Violet stalked past me, Annie following close behind and giving me a sympathetic look as she passed. I trailed after them as they exited the cabin and moved down the hallway to the next room. "Let me do the rest of the beds," I said, trying to fix my mistake. "It wasn't fair of me to run off like that."
"No it wasn't," Violet remarked as she and Annie unfolded the linens.
"What can I do to make it up to you?" I asked.
Violet glanced at Annie.
"I think it would be best if you just went back to our bunk," Violet said. "Annie and I only have a few more beds before we're done and that way you legitimize my story."
"But—"
"Just go Lucy," Violet said firmly. Her voice wasn't harsh or angry, more disappointed if anything, and I felt the bitter bite of guilt again. It would have been better if she just yelled at me, told me I was selfish, and made me finish the rest of the beds by myself, but Violet was a decent person and wouldn't stoop to my level. I nodded and quietly left the room, crossing the deck to the port side where our berth cabin was. I slipped inside and went to my bed, laying there for the next few hours and wallowing in regret and self hatred at the way I had acted towards my friend.
I kept telling myself that tomorrow would be better. I would apologize again to Violet, and perhaps talk John into letting me have a bit of bakers chocolate to give to her as an apology, then Harry and I would spend the evening together and I would finally know where my friend had been for the past fifteen years. We would share a few laughs like we used to, talk about old Mr. Walcott and his raspberries, or reminisce about taking the dingy out into the bay with George. I would reassure Charles that our secrets were safe and we could continue on like normal. Everything would be made right, I was certain of it.
Violet entered our cabin a bit later. She didn't talk to me, just quietly said her prayers and went to bed. I rolled over and tried to sleep, repeating the same word over in my head.
Tomorrow.
