Forget Me Not (3 page)

For him perhaps, but not for me. I grunted.

“Walk with me, Eve. The people are very friendly.”

“I’m content here,” I replied, not taking my eyes from the English coast.

With a sigh, Thomas left.

Not long after Father joined me, standing with his back to the ocean. “Look there, Eve. That chap to your left,” he said. “That’s Mr Beesley, a schoolteacher. He’s going to live with his brother in America, just like us.” When I didn’t reply he tapped my arm. “And, according to that man in the bowler hat, the second-class facilities are every bit as good as first class on other ships. I wish you’d seen your brother’s face when he heard that.”

“Oh,” I said.

Father sighed and turned to face the shoreline. “I understand this is hard for you, Evie.”

A thick lump clogged my throat again.

“I know how cruel this sounds, but you will make new friends, just as true as Mary-Jane and Clara.”

A tear slithered down my cheek.

“You three will remain in touch, always.”

“I know.” My voice was shaky. Father placed his hand on my arm. “Da,” I said, using the name I used to call him before Mother made me stop. “It’s more than that. I’m … This ship fills me with dread.” I whispered to the ocean below.

“Ah, so there lies the problem.” Father’s voice was gentle.

“I’ve had such horrid dreams – of Bea falling overboard and of the ship sinking. Then when that boat slipped its moorings, I ….” I bit my lower lip, wishing I hadn’t been so honest. Father had looked forward to this trip with such anticipation, I feared he would be furious.

He placed his arm around my shoulders. “Evie, we’re all anxious about the journey and the move.”

I shook my head. “No – you are excited, and Thomas–”

“Don’t believe Thomas’s bravado for a moment. He is as nervous as I am.”

I looked up at him. “But you seem so calm. So sure.”

“Well, what sort of example would I be setting if I acted otherwise?” Father reached into his pocket and pulled out his closed fist. “I have something for you.” He opened his fingers one at a time. A plaited gold bracelet with a delicately patterned clasp lay on his palm.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

“My father made this for my mother as a wedding gift.” He lifted the bracelet and draped it across the back of his hand. “When you were born, he asked that it be given to you when you were old enough, to remind you of your grandparents and their courage. You know the story of how they rebuilt their lives after the fire that destroyed everything – their home and business.”

I nodded. Father had first told me the story when I was Bea’s age.

“Wear this to remind you of their courage and strength, Eve.” He fastened the bracelet around my wrist. “And remember you are every bit as determined and brave as they were.” Father squeezed my hand. “There is nothing wrong with feeling fearful, Eve. Just don’t let fear overtake you.”

I searched my brain for the right words to express my gratitude and delight. “Father … this is … thank you.”

He gave me a brief hug. “Let’s keep this between us for now, eh? Your mother thinks you’re too young to own it.”

So much for Father’s courage. “It’s our secret.” I tugged my sleeve over the golden bracelet.

Thomas strolled to where we stood. “Mother’s on her way.”

Father took a slow deep breath.

“Eve, your sister needs to take the air.” Mother’s voice sounded across the boat-deck. “A walk will improve your humour as well.”

I lowered my gaze and swallowed the words I wanted to say.

“Head up, Eve,” said Mother. “I shall retire to the library.”

I took Bea’s hand.

“There are two girls about Bea’s age playing around the other side,” said Thomas. “This way.”

“Eve,” said Father, his voice gentle. “Remember, nothing is ever as bad as we fear.”

Thomas, hair slicked in place and dressed for dinner, rapped on his mother and sisters’ closed cabin door. He flung it open without waiting for a response.

“Thomas!” scolded Mother. “Must you be so unruly?”

“Sorry Mother, but we have reached Cherbourg and dropping anchor. I thought Eve and Bea might like to see.”

“Can we go, please?” asked Eve.

Eve’s eagerness surprised Thomas.

“But the three of you are dressed for dinner,” said Mother.

“We’ll stay clean, Mother. I promise,” said Thomas.

Mother sighed. “You will go to the dining room the moment the bugle sounds.”

Margaret, one of the stewardesses who would be looking after them during the journey, had explained to Mother that a bugler would summon diners to meals.

“The minute we hear that bugle,” said Thomas, “we’ll rush to the dining room.”

“Don’t let Bea run – her chest!”

“No, Mother.”

“You know where the dining room is?”

“On the same deck as our cabin,” said Eve, reaching for Bea’s hand.

Thomas added “D deck” before their mother could query the answer.

“Your father and I will meet you there,” Mother said.

“Yes, Mother.” Thomas opened the door.

“One moment!” Mother thrust a scarf at Eve. “Wrap this around Bea, and if she wheezes or coughs, come straight back.”

“Yes, Mother.” Eve tucked the scarf around Bea’s neck and led her to the stairs.

“I wish she wouldn’t fuss,” said Bea, wriggling the scarf loose.

“It’s what she does best,” said Thomas.

“That may be so, but her carry-on is suffocating. Can you imagine being confined in such a small space with her?” said Eve.

Thomas decided to enjoy his sister’s return to her old self and not add a comment in case she became fretful again.

On the promenade deck they joined other travellers at the ship’s rail. Two large boats crammed with passengers steamed towards the
Titanic
.

“Why aren’t we going into port?” asked Eve, watching the sailors buzz around below.

“The Cherbourg port isn’t deep enough,” answered a man with a handlebar moustache. “So the passengers and their luggage are brought to the
Titanic
in tenders.”

“Thank you,” said Thomas.

The gentleman extended his hand. “Percy Taylor, London.”

Thomas shook his hand and introduced Bea and Eve.

“Where are you travelling?” asked Thomas.

“There and back again.” When Eve frowned, Mr Taylor chuckled. “I’m with the ship’s orchestra.”

Eve raised a gloved hand to her lips, before speaking. “Have you been on other journeys?”

“Not with the
Titanic
of course, but I have travelled aboard the
Olympic
–
Titanic
’s sister ship. A fine vessel, but nowhere near as luxurious as this one. The second-class lodgings here are every bit as fine as the
Olympic
’s first.”

“So we hear,” said Thomas, wondering at Eve’s sudden interest in ships.

“Mr Taylor, do you believe the
Titanic
is safe?”

Anger flared through Thomas. How could she ask such a question?

“My dear girl, this is the safest vessel ever built. Unsinkable. And so steady on the water.” Mr Taylor flipped open his fob watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m due in the first-class dining room.” He bowed to Bea and Eve and shook Thomas’s hand.

Thomas scowled at Eve.

“What?” she asked.

“Must you make us seem so ignorant?” He turned away from his sister, ignoring her hurt expression. “Bea, can you see the children on the tender below?”

Bea leaned over the edge of the ship. “Are all those people coming to America too?”

“I believe so,” said Eve. Her face flushed and she stepped away from the rail. Thomas looked from Eve to the tender. A boy older than him smiled up at them.

The bugle sounded for dinner.

“Come on,” said Thomas. “If we’re late, Mother will flay us alive!” He smiled as Eve watched the tender for a moment longer before moving.

Thursday, April 11, 1912
DAY TWO

When rocks and hills divide us
And you no more I see
Just take your pen and paper
And write a line to me
.
Miss Anna Quinn, Southampton, 5/04/1912

When I awoke the distant drone and the gentle motion surprised me, then I remembered where I was – lying on the top bunk in our saloon deck cabin on the
Titanic
.

I hadn’t expected to catch a moment’s sleep, not with the hum of the engines and Bea’s wheezy breathing as a lullaby, and certainly not with my thoughts wheeling like the seabirds that followed the Cherbourg tenders. Like the birds, my thoughts dipped and dived from sorrow at leaving Mary-Jane, Clara, Dash and our home, to fear of the journey. That boy’s face, the one I had watched alight from the tender, bobbed between each thought.

I noticed him after Thomas’s cruel comment about me making us seem ignorant. The boy stood out amongst the parade of hats and coats pouring onto the deck. He appeared to be a little older than Thomas and had hair the colour of coal. Before I could look away, he looked up and smiled, which made me scuttle away from the rail to a position where I could watch him without him seeing me. I was relieved not to see him at dinner, yet somehow disappointed too.

As I lay awake, the boy’s face flickered in the light from the porthole, playing across the ceiling. When I squeezed my eyes shut to push him away, pieces of that night’s dream flooded back. Dozens of boats floating on the still ocean and that boy with the black hair reaching out his hand to me.

Frustrated, I rolled onto my side and watched Bea whose breath was steady.

“You’re awake.” Mother’s voice from the bunk beneath me pounded the walls. “Up and dressed, Evelyn. It’s time for breakfast.”

With Mother directing my every move, there was no time to ponder and no room for the boy’s face. When we arrived at the second-class dining room for breakfast, it was more crowded than the previous evening. I scanned tables for the boy, but didn’t find him.

Mother insisted I sit between her and Father. The night’s sleep had done little to calm my nagging fears, nor had it improved Mother’s mood. Throughout breakfast she picked at Father, just as she had the previous night.

“Edward, must you slurp you tea? … Wipe your moustache, Edward. You have crumbs.”

As far as I could tell, Father was eating the same way he always had. It was a fortunate thing that I’d decided to hide the bracelet amongst my clothing in the cabin rather than wear it under my shirt sleeve. I could imagine Mother’s reaction if she saw me wearing it.

The moment I’d finished my grilled ham and fried eggs, I pushed back from the table and folded my napkin “Would you excuse me?” I asked.

“Where are you going?” asked Mother, over her cup of tea.

“Remember how our steward, William, explained that the tenders from Queenstown would bring passengers and mail to the
Titanic
, and then take letters and mail to be posted back to shore? Well, I should like to write to Clara and Mary-Jane. To thank them for my gift,” I added, knowing that would soften Mother.

“Where will you write?” she asked.

“William said the library had paper and desks.”

Mother nodded. “Very well.”

“Give them my best,” said Father.

“Oh, and Evelyn,” added Mother. “Do you intend to carry that infernal book everywhere with you?”

I tightened my grip on the autograph book. “Indeed, I do.” I stalked away before she could reply. In my rush, I bumped into the back of a gentleman about to be seated for breakfast.

“I’m terribly sorry,” I stammered. “I …” My words faded when he turned to face me. It was the boy from the Cherbourg tender. His eyes were a startling green and his teeth were perfect.

“Not at all. I beg your pardon.” Even though he sounded grave, laughter sparkled in his eyes. He bowed. “Hugh Worthington and this is my sister Meggie.” He motioned to a pretty girl with a pouty mouth and curly hair. “And my parents.”

Like Hugh, his father had dark hair and an open face. Mrs Worthington’s eyes were as green as Hugh’s but where his sparkled, hers cut through me.

“Miss Evelyn Gilmore. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I said, hoping I sounded more sophisticated than I felt. “I’m on my way to the library.”

“To read?” Hugh Worthington’s voice held a hint of an American accent.

I stood straighter. “To write. To my friends in Southampton, before we reach Queenstown.”

“Don’t let us detain you.”

“Thank you.” I darted out of the dining room, stopping only when I reached the stairwell. Why had he made me feel so awkward? And what had he found so amusing?

I decided Hugh Worthington was impertinent and best avoided.

I climbed the stairs to the library where I sat at a writing desk away from the door. On notepaper printed with RMS
Titanic
, White Star Line and the company red flag logo, I began writing to my friends.

Thomas leaned forwards on the deckchair, his legs either side of the footrest. His right foot tapped the ship’s deck. Here he was, aboard the most impressive ocean liner ever made and what was he doing? Caring for Bea. It was infuriating.

In front of him, Bea kneeled with the girls she’d met yesterday, their dolls and Bea’s teddy between them. Mother and Father sat on a bench at the end of the promenade, talking. Well, as far as Thomas could see, Mother was talking and Father was listening.

Four people strolled around the corner. They looked so similar that Thomas knew at once they were a family. The mother and father’s arms were linked. The girl, a little younger than Eve, walked with her brother who Thomas recognised as the boy with wavy hair on the Cherbourg tender.

Thomas watched the boy and his sister, happy in each other’s company. Not so long ago, before Father announced the move, he and Eve had been like that, sharing jokes and stories.

Thomas was surprised when the brother guided his sister in his direction. Before Thomas could decide whether to speak to them or not, the boy stopped in front of him.

“Fine ship, isn’t it?” said the boy. The sea breeze ruffled his hair.

“It is indeed.” Thomas wondered at his accent. “Built in Belfast.” He hoped the reference to Ireland might flush out the boy’s nationality. “I’m Thomas Gilmore, jeweller apprenticed to my father.”