No Moon (11 page)

She unbuttons her coat, takes it off, and holds it out. “This will keep you warm. April evenings can get cold. Go on, Lou, take it.”

“No, thanks, Kath, this is your new spring coat. You saved up so long for it!”

“It’s a loan–you’ll bring it back looking as good as new, I am sure. I want to think of my little sister strolling on the deck in the moonlight…sailing on the same ship as Patrick and wearing my new spring coat.”

“And suppose there is no moon?”

“No moon? There is always a moon. I wish I was
going with you!”

“So do I. And thanks, Kath, I’ll be proud to borrow your coat.” I hang it carefully over my arm. My sister shivers and squeezes my arm before she hurries home, away from me.

I’m worn out from running up and down stairs, summoned by Nanny, to listen to endless instructions, reproofs, and warnings! With every word, she makes clear how much she disapproves of my youth, my inexperience, and the imprudence of letting me take her place on the voyage.

If Nanny does not permit me to finish all I’ve yet to do, I have a mind to suggest that she let Phipps carry her back upstairs, so that she may personally fold each garment with her one good hand. And if I’m becoming waspish, it is her fault! Nanny means well, believing it her duty to instruct me, so I try to hide my impatience. Lady Milton has taken the children out, accompanied by Hart, to purchase new shoes for Miss Portia and Miss Alexandra. I had hoped to finish the ironing while they were absent.

Nanny goes on and on: “Routine, Gardener, establish your routine the moment you get on board ship, to the best of your ability.” Her lips tighten. “When you reach New York, discipline must be maintained. I have it on good authority that Americans are far more lax with their children than we are. We must
uphold our standards as best we can, trying circumstances or not.

“Lady Milton has arranged for you and the children to partake of your meals in your stateroom on board ship–a most appropriate decision. Let us hope the chef will see the children are not given rich food. I do not wish to have to deal with overindulged and spoiled girls on your return.”

Nanny lowers her voice as though fearing to be overheard. “I shall have my hands full as it is, what with another baby due later this year.”

I know better than to comment, but I had suspected from one or two remarks that I’d overheard Mrs. Porter smilingly make to Hart about untouched breakfast trays! I remember how Mother could never face anything more than a biscuit and a cup of tea before noon, when George was on the way.

“Yes, Nanny,” I say and turn to leave, hoping she’s finished. I’ve a dozen tasks waiting for me to do.

“One more thing, Gardener–remember your place!”
Now why does she think she has to tell me that? Does she think I am going to run off with a sailor?
“Passengers on board ship are inclined to be rather too friendly and sometimes do not make sufficient distinctions between…what I am endeavoring to say is, you are a servant. Conduct yourself accordingly and discourage familiarity of any kind!”

“I shall be far too occupied, Nanny Mackintosh,
making sure that Miss Alexandra does not try to climb over the ship’s railings, to have time to encourage any familiarity.” And this time I do go upstairs. One can only remain meek and silent so long!

On Tuesday morning, our last day before we are to leave, I go down to collect new cream-colored sailor frocks from Mrs. Wilson. She holds up the perfect small garments to show me before carefully draping them over my arm.

“I don’t hold with maiden voyages, myself. You would never catch me leaving dry land!”

I don’t reply, not having had a say in the matter and wishing only that I were not subjected to everyone’s opinions and warnings about the voyage. Lord Milton dotes on her ladyship and worships his daughters. He would never put them into danger.

“The dresses are beautiful, Mrs. Wilson. However did you manage all those pleats? Thank you very much for getting them finished in time,” I say.

“Turn round, Gardener. Those hems will need lengthening when you get back. It won’t take me a minute on the machine, not like the old days when we did everything by hand. It doesn’t do to show too much ankle.” She looks at me sharply.

What is the matter with everyone?
It must be Spring putting ideas into everyone’s head. No one is going to take any notice of me.

Croft pokes her head around the door. “I’ve made you a nice bacon sandwich, Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Porter says not to let it get cold and would you come into the servants’ hall, if you please.” She holds the door open for the old woman and motions me to wait.

“I’ve got something for you, Gardener,” Croft whispers. She hands me an envelope from her apron pocket. “I found it this morning, pushed under the back door. Got a young man writing to you, have you? I don’t know what a certain Mr. Phipps would say to that!” she says.

“Mr. Phipps? Whatever gave you that idea? And when would I have any time for a young man?” I say, knowing she’s only teasing me. “This is my sister’s handwriting. But thanks, Croft. I’ve got to go and finish my packing.” I hurry back upstairs.

Kathleen must have got up very early to get this to me before going to work. I glance at it quickly.

I do not mean to pry, but I can’t help seeing the few words written on the back of one of
Madame Claudine
’s cards:
I will be waiting for you when you come back in a fortnight’s time. Fondly, Kathleen
.

How hard can it be to find a member of the crew called Patrick O’ Connor?
I shall give him Kathleen’s note as soon as I am able. That’s the least I can do, when she was generous enough to lend me her smart new coat!

It seems I have hardly put my head down on the pillow when it is time to get up. The great dreaded day–Wednesday, April 10–has arrived!

I dress the sleepy children, coax them to eat a very early breakfast, and bundle them into their warm coats. Mr. Harris waits by the Daimler, ready to drive us all to Southampton, where we are to board the ship. The luggage was carried down last night. Lord Milton wishes to arrive at the dock before the arrival of the boat train, bringing most of the second-and third-class passengers. Croft helps Dean to stow the picnic hamper away. The household staff–all except for Nanny–waits outside to bid us bon voyage. Lady Milton is the last one to come down. Hart carries her furs and yet another hatbox.

I try to enjoy the beautiful spring countryside that greets us as we leave London behind. But not even the comfort of the dark blue leather upholstery nor
the excitement of the journey is sufficient for me to overcome my feeling of dread.

“It’s to test you, Lou,” Kath said.
What kind of test?
That’s what I’d like to know. Everyone made anxious–Lady Milton, Nanny Mackintosh–and for what?

I am fourteen years old, not a five-year-old making sand castles and losing myself in playing with sea-shells. As long as I have sufficient breath in my body, Miss Portia and Miss Alexandra will come to no harm!

I’ll get to know every inch of the ship, every nook and corner, and teach Miss Alexandra and Miss Portia to stop where they are if we should ever get separated. That way, I’ll be able to find them should they ever get lost, though I can’t think how that would happen as they are never left unattended! I’ll make sure that the girls are as safe and happy as if we were in our own nurseries at home…happier, because I am not going to find fault with them the second they look as if they are enjoying themselves. I am determined that this will be my last mean thought about poor Nanny Mackintosh.

W
e have arrived. Mr. Harris opens the door for us to alight. And there is the ship, about which I have heard so much! It is as tall as a mountain, with its shining black hull and its long white decks–rising higher and higher, like the tiers on a wedding cake–looming up against the sky. Then, higher still, so that I must crane my neck to see the top, four tall black funnels.
How did they ever build anything so large? And how can something so huge sail across the ocean in only one week?
I think of Patrick shoveling coal, helping the vessel to reach America.

I am dazzled at the sight of the
Titanic
. The great crowd of people, gazing up from the dockside, seem as much in awe as I am, all of us dwarfed by the vast ship. I never imagined it would be so overwhelming.

The wonder and the mystery frighten me, more so when I realize we are embarking on the ship’s maiden voyage.

The children, impatient to board, tug at my hands. We follow their parents, past the third-and second-class gangways to our first-class one, up and onto the ship. A white uniformed officer stands at the top. He checks his lordship’s boarding pass, hands it back, and says, “Welcome to the
Titanic
.” He points out the lift that will carry us up to our deck. I have never been inside a lift before. Lord Milton requests B deck, a button is pressed, and miraculously we are carried up.

The smartly uniformed lift boy, who does not look a day older than fifteen, informs us, “Captain Smith has given permission for second-class passengers to explore the ship before sailing.” He goes on to reassure Lady Milton and the other occupants of the lift: “Once we get underway, all classes will return to their own quarters, and it will be nice and quiet. We pick up our last passengers at Cherbourg today and from Queenstown tomorrow. In all, there will be three hundred first-class passengers aboard!” The lift stops, the door glides open as if by magic, and the children are as enchanted as I am by the smooth ride.

“Again, Papa, please,” Miss Alexandra says, but Lord Milton picks her up and carries her out of the
lift and along a carpeted corridor to a door marked 70–72.

“These are the staterooms reserved for Hart, Gardener, and the girls,” Lady Milton says. “My husband and I are nearby, in parlor suite 74–76. Hart will fetch you and the children presently, Gardener, to join us on deck to watch the departure of the ship.”

Hart, still carrying the hatbox, follows her and Lord Milton into their suite, further along the corridor.

I open our door, and the children and I go inside.
Can this really be for us?
The bedroom doors are open in welcome, and the luggage is already waiting for me to unpack. A beautifully arranged bouquet of flowers stands beside a basket of fruit on the round table in the sitting area. Everything looks brand-new, as though someone has just a moment ago placed it there. I must keep reminding myself that it
is
brand-new and that we are the first passengers to sail on the
Titanic
.

I almost expect to leave a fingerprint when I touch something. Compared to their plain nurseries at home, with furnishings chosen for children’s spills and sturdy wear, it looks like a palace. The girls wriggle and squeal with impatience to explore their new home.

“We must not touch any of these beautiful things until our hands are spotless. You never know if the captain will hold an inspection,” I say, doing my best
to look serious. I lead the way into a luxurious bathroom, with a large deep bathtub and a marble wash-stand. On the shelf below the mirror is an electric curling iron. I had expected a simple washbasin and jug, not these shining brass taps marked hot and cold, gushing out clear water the moment I turn them on! I roll up my sleeves and half-fill the basin. When I test that the water is the right temperature, I pick up a cake of soap. It is wrapped in paper embossed with a picture of the
Titanic
sailing through the waves. I shall save the wrapping of the fragrant-smelling Vinolia soap as a souvenir. For once, my charges endure being washed without complaint and dry their own faces and hands on the soft white towels.

I have never slept in a room with a carpet, or indeed in a new bed made up with brand-new linen. The room that Hart and I are to share has two brass beds, covered with lace bedspreads. We have two bedside tables as well as a marble-topped dressing table and a roomy wardrobe.

The girls have discovered their own bedroom and bounce up and down on the large brass bed.

“My sister Kathleen and I always share a bed at home,” I say. “It is much smaller than this lovely one.” The girls look at each other, and I notice a glint of mischief. Well, it won’t be the first time I have taken part in or had to stop a pillow fight!

Mr. Briggs has said that windows are called portholes aboard ship. I imagined they would be small and round, not at all like these, which are larger than our nursery ones and elegantly curtained in pink. I shall have so much to tell them at home when I return! There are pink-shaded lamps, an electric fire, a ceiling fan, a writing desk in one corner, and a small blue sofa with matching armchairs in the parlor.