Forget Me Not (12 page)

“Enough of this nonsense, Eve.” Mother was out of bed now. “I will not have you upsetting Bea.”

There was a sharp rap on the door and a steward entered our room.

Mother gave a startled cry and stood behind me. “I am in my nightgown!”

“Excuse me, ladies, but the captain requires that you dress and report to the boat-deck.”

The steward’s arrival confirmed what I knew – something was dreadfully wrong. “What has happened?”

“Nothing serious, miss.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. “But make sure you wear life jackets.”

“We’ll do no such thing,” said Mother, holding a shawl to her chest. “My youngest daughter’s health is too fragile for her to be traipsing around in the freezing night air for nothing serious. Leave us at once, young man.”

“Madam, it’s Captain’s orders.”

“I don’t care whose orders they are. My daughter will not be going into the freezing night. Now leave us,” said Mother, her voice sharp. “And know that I shall be making a formal complaint at breakfast.”

The steward’s face paled. “As you wish.”

The moment he left our cabin, I turned to Mother. “Mother we need to do as he says.”

Bea started to whimper.

“Evelyn, go back to bed and stop this fanciful nonsense!”

Father knocked on the closed cabin door. The door flung open, startling Thomas.

“Look here, young man.” Mother sounded very angry. “My daughter is too unwell …” Her voice trailed off. “Edward, Thomas, thank goodness. Come in and talk some sense into Eve.”

Eve stood by the washbasin, fully dressed. She held three life jackets to her chest. Stacked beside her on the bottom bunk were folded blankets and coats.

Mother glared at her. “She’s panic-struck.”

“I am nothing of the sort,” said Eve.

Father frowned and held out his hand. “Evie, the life jackets.”

Thomas thought Eve might cry. “But Father–”

“Eve, now.” She passed them to Father. “Thank you. Now, Alice you will dress and put this on over your coat. Thomas, Eve, assist Bea.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Edward,” screeched Mother. “This ship is unsinkable. What need do we have for life jackets?”

“Mother–”

“Enough of your bold tongue, Evelyn.”

Thomas jumped into action, pulling back Bea’s quilt. “Come along, Bea. Eve and I will rug you up. This will be such an adventure.”

Eve laid out Bea’s clothes on the end of her bed. “See, Bea, I told you.”

Mother pushed between them. “We will not be leaving the cabin.”

“Alice, stop this at once.” All three children jumped. Thomas couldn’t remember a time when his father had spoken so harshly to any of them.

Mother stepped back, startled. “Edward–”

“Alice, there is nothing to discuss. Thomas and I are going to collect our coats and life jackets. You will all be ready when we return.” With that he stalked to the door, followed by a grim Thomas.

Thomas and Father had only been in their own cabins for a minute when a steward entered. “Excuse me gentlemen, please put on your life jackets and make your way to the boat-deck. Immediately, if you please.”

“We are on our way,” said Father, who was buttoning his coat.

“Very wise to dress warmly, sir.” The steward nodded and left.

“Father, forgive me, but may I ask why you followed Mr Andrews up the stairs?”

“Mr Andrews said something which worried me…” Father stood still a moment, staring at the cabin wall. “Thomas, Mr Andrews said there aren’t enough lifeboats for all the passengers aboard the
Titanic
.”

“But how can that be? There are so many on the boat-deck.”

“According to Mr Andrews, there are only seats for about half the ship’s passengers.”

Thomas slumped against the bunk. His belly felt as cold as the ice he’d seen scattered on the deck.

Father placed a hand on his shoulder. “We need to keep a stiff upper lip, Thomas. For–”

Thomas straightened up and looked at Father. “Let’s get Mother and the girls to the boat-deck.”

Live for those who love you
For those whose hearts are true
,
For the heaven that smiles above you
And the good that you many do
.
Kathleen Hyland, schoolmate,
Southampton, 9/04/1912

Bea snuggled into Father’s shoulder as he hurried along the passageway. Mother, Thomas and I trailed behind, carrying the blankets I’d folded earlier.

Around us passengers in night attire and others dressed in evening clothes made for the stairs. We passed more stewards and stewardesses than I had seen for the entire journey. Some headed back the way we’d come, others bustled along with the passengers, encouraging everyone to put on their life jackets.

“I wonder what is really going on,” I whispered to Thomas.

“I thought you knew, being dressed and all,” he said, his voice low.

“I woke with a fright and noticed the ship had stopped. When I went to investigate, there were steerage passengers playing soccer with ice, and sailors gathered on the forward starboard side. Do you know what is happening?”

“The
Titanic
stuck an iceberg. She’s sinking.”

I stopped at the foot of the stairs. Mother crashed into my back. “For heaven’s sake, Evelyn, now what is wrong?”

I pinched the fleshy skin between my thumb and forefinger to gather my wits. “Sorry, Mother.”

“Move along. The sooner we reach the boat-deck, the sooner we can all go back to bed.”

I realised Mother had no idea our situation was so perilous. I adjusted my life jacket, which dragged on my shoulders, and hurried to catch up with Thomas. “You’re certain? About the ice.”

“Hugh and I saw it.”

“Hugh! Is he–”

“He and his father went to collect Meggie and Mrs Worthington.” He lowered his voice and leaned towards me. “Evie, you have to hurry. There aren’t enough lifeboats for everyone.” He pushed me forwards.

My heart thudded against my ribs. Surely, Thomas was wrong; of course there were enough lifeboats. I’d seen them every day since we left Southampton.

On the boat-deck the icy air wrapped around me. My breath escaped in puffs of vapour. People milled by the doors muttering about inconvenience and discomfort, others chatted as though nothing unusual was happening. All of them were so calm. How could they remain so when the
Titanic
was sinking? And then I realised: they must not know the severity of the situation.

To my right a lifeboat already bobbed on the black ocean, its oars reaching out like octopus tentacles. Most of its seats were empty.

A rocket shot into the sky, accompanied by gasps.

“This way,” said Father, weaving through the crowd to the port side where another lifeboat was being loaded. We passed the staircase we had climbed to the gymnasium. Ahead of us lifeboat six was being swung out and lowered until level with the ship. An officer wearing a navy jacket over a cream pullover, stood in front of it. “Women and children only. This way please. Women and children first.”

Sailors busied themselves with ropes at either end of the boat.

“Come on, now. Step lively,” continued the officer.

A lady with diamonds and pearls around her neck, dressed in an elegant black evening gown tapped the officer on the shoulder. “Mr Lightoller, I simply refuse to enter that boat without my husband.”

“I’m sorry, madam. My orders are women and children first.”

“But we are first-class passengers. We have staterooms. We have a right to enter the lifeboat together.”

Mr Lightoller grimaced. “Captain’s orders, madam – women and children only.”

“You’ll need men to row,” said an older man who I assumed was her husband.

“I have allocated sailors to do that. The matter is not open for discussion.” Mr Lightoller bellowed into the frigid air. “Last call for this lifeboat. Women and children.”

“Not likely,” said another lady. She wore a blue silk evening gown with lace trim. “I’d rather take my chances on the ship than in that little thing.”

“Right lads, that will do. Lower away,” yelled Lightoller, ignoring her. He spread his arms wide and directed the sailors to release the ropes and lower the boat. I didn’t know how many people could fit in a lifeboat, but that one did not appear to be full either.

“Did you see the dog in the lifeboat?” said Bea, as the boat disappeared. “You were right, Evie, there
are
dogs on board.”

I tried to make my smile genuine. Bea, like so many other people around us had no idea of the danger we faced. Why should she feel as wretched as I did?

Father hurried us to the next lifeboat. “Alice, take the children with you.”

“But you’ll be coming too,” I said.

“Yes, yes, in the next boat,” said Father. “I need you to look after Bea and Mother.” He squeezed my hand.

“Women and children to the lifeboat, please,” bellowed Mr Lightoller, his words becoming like a chant.

Mother, face haggard and white, watched sailors help women into the boat.

Mr Lightoller reached out to her. “Come along, madam.”

“My children,” she stammered.

“If you enter, they will follow.” Mr Lightoller’s voice was calm and light.

A sailor took Mother’s arm and guided her to a seat.

“Take Bea, Thomas,” said Father. He kissed both Bea’s cheeks and hugged her before handing her to Thomas.

“But Father–”

“No buts, Thomas. Board the lifeboat. Mother, Eve and Bea will need you.”

A lump clogged my throat. I bit my bottom lip.

Thomas nodded and, holding Bea, stepped towards the lifeboat.

“Hold on there, lad. Women and children only,” said Mr Lightoller.

“But he’s my son,” wailed Mother, now sitting on the lifeboat’s middle bench seat. “He’s just a boy.”

Lightoller looked away from her. “I’m sorry, madam. I have my orders. This lad is too old.”

Panic filled me from head to foot. What was Mr Lightroller saying?

Mother stood and yelled. “He’s a child, a boy, you simply must let him into the boat.” Tears flowed down her face.

“I’m sorry,” said Mr Lightoller. The sailor, who had helped her aboard, guided Mother back to sit on the bench. She slumped to the seat.

My heart felt like a lump of ice.

Thomas kissed Bea on the cheek and handed her to the sailor.

Thomas’s brain filled with a buzzing sound. If he was too old to board the lifeboat, that meant … He pressed his thumbs into his thighs. He couldn’t think about it. He needed to be brave for Mother, Eve and Bea. And Father.

Thomas watched the sailor pass Bea to Mother who was sitting stiffly in the boat, surrounded by other women. Thomas had never seen such a strange collection of costumes on ladies – some wore nightgowns with rugs over their shoulders, others were in evening finery of feathers, jewels, lace and satin, and others still, like Mother, wore coats, hats and life jackets.

The women were in varying emotional states too. A few were racked with grief, sobbing into handkerchiefs, others looked bored and inconvenienced. Mother’s face was grim. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

Thomas tore his eyes from the lifeboat and turned to his sister and father.

“Look after Mother and Bea, Evie,” said Father, kissing Eve’s forehead. “Rug her up in those blankets. We shall be a few boats after you.” He crushed Eve to his chest and after a moment, released her.

Eve nodded, her lips pressed together. “Make sure you tie up those straps on your jacket, Da.”

She turned to Thomas. “Are yours tight? They’re dashed uncomfortable, but I suppose they are necessary.”

The cry “Women and children first,” hung in the air above them. Eve threw her free arm around his neck and squeezed. “Thomas …”

“Come on, miss, into the boat,” said Mr Lightoller. “Hurry up.”

Thomas pushed Eve towards him. “Keep Bea warm and take no notice of Mother’s nagging.” He winked. “Father, Hugh and I will be on the next available boat.” Thomas took the blankets from Eve and handed them to a sailor.

Eve chewed her bottom lip and took the sailor’s other hand. She clambered into the seat beside Mother and Bea and busied herself wrapping blankets around her weeping mother.

“Move back, thank you, sirs.” Mr Lightoller turned to the lifeboat and stretched his arms wide to direct the lowering as he had with the previous boat. “Steady as you go, lads.”

Thomas and Father stepped away from the edge of the ship. Father waved. Thomas clasped his hands behind his back and pressed his thumbs together.

“Thomas, make sure Hugh wears a life jacket,” called Eve.

Thomas nodded.

Eve wrapped Bea in the blankets. The boat shifted and jerked. Bea’s squeal stood out among the other cries.

Thomas tensed, ready to rush to her side.

“That jolt would have given them all quite a turn,” said Father, still waving.

Bea squirmed free of the blankets and Mother’s arms. She scrambled to the edge of the lifeboat.

“Teddy. I need Teddy,” she bellowed and kicked. “Teddy.”

Thomas rushed to the edge of the
Titanic
. “I’ll bring Teddy with me,” he yelled. “I promise. I’ll go fetch him now.”

“Thomas and I shall take good care of Teddy until we see you later,” said Father, now beside Thomas. “There’s a good girl, Bea.”

Mother lurched to hold Bea. The lifeboat rocked. The passengers screamed and clung to the sides.

“Contain that child, Madam,” yelled Mr Lightoller.

The crew member manning the lifeboat leaned forwards to restrain Bea. Eve was quicker and wrapped Bea in her arms, whispering something in her ear. Bea stopped yelling and squirming and rested her head on Eve’s shoulder.

Thomas felt his shoulders slump in relief.

The sailors on the winch began winding again, lowering the boat towards the black ocean.

Eve rebundled her sister in the blanket, kissed the top of Bea’s head and placed her on Mother’s lap. Eve looked straight at Thomas and Father.

Thomas began to wave, but his hand froze in the air.

Eve launched herself and jumped for the ship’s deck.

“Stop lowering,” bellowed Lightoller.

Again screams filled the air.