Orphan of Angel Street (34 page)

A smartly-dressed ship’s officer stood at the top to welcome them all aboard. James had booked her a fine room – a second-class state room on C-deck just for Stevie and herself so she would not have to share with a stranger. It was close to the Nursery and Children’s Dining Room.

‘Oh look, Stevie! All for us!’ she gasped with delight when she saw it.

It was like a little house all in itself: two beds, one on each side of the room, a table and two chairs, a little cupboard, a basin and her own WC . . . Her luggage, which they’d sent in advance, was already waiting for her in the middle of the floor. She put Stevie down and the two of them scurried round, looking at everything. Soon after there was a knock at the door.

‘Ah – this looks very good,’ James said. Margaret followed him into the room. She steadied herself against the wall for a second, then sank down abruptly on one of the beds, her face nearly as white as the paintwork.

‘Whatever’s the matter, dear?’ James peered at her, concerned by the pallor of her face. He sat down beside her and took her hand. Mercy went and knelt on the floor beside her.

‘You feeling poorly? Must be all the travelling. Takes it out of you, doesn’t it?’

Margaret leant dizzily against her husband, who removed her hat and helped her loosen the neck of her blouse.

‘It’s been getting worse all morning – I feel so faint and hot . . .’

‘Put your head down.’ James and Mercy helped her lower her head between her knees, Mercy fending off Stevie who was all for tugging at her hair. Eventually she sat up, her complexion a little pinker.

‘Oh dear,’ she smiled weakly. ‘Perhaps I’d better go back to our room and have a little lie-down. I keep feeling so strange.’

James helped her to her feet. ‘I’ll take her to rest,’ he told Mercy, ‘and then come back here. We’ll be off fairly soon. It’d be a great pity not to be up to see it.’

James Adair pulled back the silky eiderdown in their sumptuous first-class stateroom and helped his wife ease herself on to the bed. She looked very pale and shaky still. The brass bedstead creaked gently as she settled herself down and closed her eyes.

‘Shall you be ill, Margaret, d’you think?’

James stood over her, eyes on her plump face, concerned but not without a little exasperation. He didn’t want anything to mar this precious journey – Cunard’s very first passenger voyage with the
Mauretania
since the War!

Margaret opened her eyes, a half smile on her lips. ‘Darling, it’s early days – I’m not sure, but I think we might soon be giving Stevie a little companion.’

‘Oh, my dear!’ A glow came into James’s eyes and he knelt down beside her. ‘You think – it’s possible – again?’ They had taken so terribly long to conceive Stevie.

‘It seems very like it to me – I feel even more ill than last time.’

He leant over, overjoyed, newly powerful, and kissed her cheek.

‘Then we must take the very, very best care of you. Should you like something to eat or drink?’

‘Just a little water . . .’ Margaret seemed mown down by exhaustion. ‘Food . . . perhaps later . . .’

‘You’ll miss the departure,’ he said, standing up. But she was already lost to sleep.

He would go and fetch Mercy and Stevie. Who better to share this experience with than his son – and Mercy with her naive enthusiasm for life? She mustn’t miss it. He went to the little bathroom and looked in the mirror, ran damp hands over his hair and straightened his tie. He could feel that illicit, eager excitement rising in him at the thought of being with her, standing close to her, giving her a new experience in life. How he had worked to avoid the lure of her presence through the winter months! There had of course been moments of temptation, of huge intensity of feeling. But he had plunged into his work. He had been strong and controlled, even averting his eyes at times when coming upon her so as not to disturb his thoughts.

But now he would be alone with her. His pulse quickened. He could feel himself beginning to slide, surrender to the force of it. Of course though, he wouldn’t be alone with her, he reassured himself. There would be crowds up there . . . His behaviour was perfectly within bounds.

Mercy took Stevie up to the first-class promenade deck, where James said they should join him as they’d have a good view. Stevie was bright and frisky after his long sleep on the train and toddled along, wanting to run off here, there and everywhere.

‘Here – let me take him!’ James picked him up and strode off, his unbuttoned camel coat sweeping behind him.

Mercy was glad of a few moments’ respite from Stevie. There were already a lot of people waiting out on the deck, and Mercy felt overwhelmed by the opulence of the furs and jewels she could see displayed around her. Once again she was humbly aware of the simplicity of her blue wool coat and little cloche hat – she’d taken off the one with the brim. Her clothes were respectable enough and new, the hat even rather fashionable, but she still felt drab.

‘Am I allowed up ’ere?’ she asked.

James turned, looked tenderly at her. ‘Of course. You’re with me.’ As if reading her thoughts he lowered his voice and said, ‘Don’t you worry – you look lovely. Not like some of these overdressed peacocks.’

Mercy blushed at this personal remark. She had been confused by his behaviour towards her of late. In front of the other servants he addressed her as one of them, which was of course what she was. When she was alone with the Adairs he had previously been more relaxed, brotherly almost and teasing. But recently he had been home so little, forever working, only appearing for dinner, and then he had often seemed remote, if not actually cold. When Margaret insisted she join them for dinner, which she soon realized made things easier for Margaret – it made the two of them make an effort together – he confined his conversation with her to questions about Stevie. Mercy had almost forgotten his former friendliness, the cycle ride. But it had relieved rather than troubled her. He was her employer after all and she knew where she stood.

But now the light-hearted, friendly Mr Adair of last summer was resurfacing, now he was not so preoccupied with work. He seemed younger, a spring in his step.

‘Come – let’s find a space where we can see.’

Still carrying Stevie, he led Mercy to the rail. They were so high up! As they nudged into a space there came the brisk sound of a bugle, though it was hard to tell from which direction.

‘Ah look.’ James freed an arm and pointed. She saw an orderly flurry of activity as a group of men hurried down the last remaining gangway. ‘Those’ll be the chaps who work on shore.’

Mercy knew he loved all this, relished telling her about it. He leant over, supporting his little son between his chest and the rail, and pushed his brown trilby on harder. ‘Don’t want to lose it,’ he smiled at her.

The last gangway was being pulled into the ship.

‘Bang on.’ Once more James pulled out the well-polished gold watch. The two hands were exactly on the twelve. A few moments later they heard the bugle again. The tugs had already cast off. There came a great, soulful burst of sound from one of the funnels and James laughed as Stevie’s head shot round, his eyes peering upwards, astonished.

‘That gave you a shock, didn’t it?’

The ship eased itself away from the dock, girded by its tugs. There was much waving and calling out to the crowd below.

Mercy looked down at the dark water. It was astonishing to think that all the way to America, for days and days, would be water. She thought of little Amy Laski, so small she would barely have been able to see over the rail as their ship bound for Canada slid out of Liverpool harbour. Where was her sweet friend Amy now?

The people, then buildings, wharfs, cranes, docks, began to fade, blur and lose colour until even squinting Mercy couldn’t make out their shape. As the view faded a quiet fell over the passengers. With majestic lack of haste the
Mauretania
nosed along Southampton Water and they began to feel the wind quicken on their cheeks. She was bound for the short call in at Cherbourg before turning west across the Atlantic.

There came a sudden release of tension, of anticlimax, as if separation from the land was a trauma now passed through and they were free to get on with everything else.

James straightened up, taking in deep breaths of air. Stevie kicked his legs against his father’s stomach. ‘Marvellous, the sea – gives you an appetite. Time for lunch, I’d say. How would you like to join me?’ he asked her recklessly.

‘I don’t think – not with him,’ she said, uncertain, holding out her arms for Stevie.

James’s face fell. ‘Ah no, perhaps not. Silly of me. Look, I’ll accompany you down.’

‘How’s Mrs Adair? Will she want anything to eat?’

‘She said all she wanted was sleep, thank you,’ James said. They went down the first-class staircase to B-deck where he drew her aside. ‘Look – you’ll have to know soon enough. The fact is—’ – He seemed hugely embarrassed suddenly, covered in blushes – ‘Margaret is, in fact . . .’ What on earth? Mercy was thinking. Surely he wasn’t going to tell her that Mrs Adair had her monthly at the moment? She wouldn’t know where to put herself.

Mr Adair seemed to be struggling for words. ‘She – well, soon, quite soon, you, er – you’ll have more than one little one on your hands.’ He was red to the ears.

‘Oh! She’s having another babby?’

‘Ssh!’ He looked round as if he were imparting state secrets.

‘Sorry,’ Mercy whispered, beaming at him. ‘That’s wonderful news, Mr Adair! I’m ever so happy for you both. And it’ll be lovely for Stevie to have a brother or sister.’ She shifted Stevie on to her left hip, balancing him with one arm. ‘Won’t it, pet?’

James smiled bashfully, thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘There’s something about this kind of news. Makes you want to tell someone. I know some women are superstitious about it – in case, you know, but I can’t think of anyone better to tell than you, Mercy.’

‘No – well I’ll be the babby’s nanny, I mean—’ – it was her turn to blush – ‘that’s if you think . . .?’

He looked deep into her eyes. ‘Of course I think.’

On impulse he took up her spare hand and pressed it to his lips. She felt them, warm on the back of her hand, and the slight prickle of his moustache. She was touched, but very embarrassed. What was he doing! She had no idea what to say.

He was also overcome by confusion again, dropped her hand and became abrupt all of a sudden. ‘Come this way,’ he said, striding off along the corridor. ‘I’ll show you where Stevie can be fed.’

*

He knew when he left Mercy that he should go and see how Margaret was, but he was too agitated, full of a restless desire to walk, to be out on the promenade deck in the fresh air. He returned to A-deck, nodding to a few other passengers on the way, but walking briskly to avoid any attempts at conversation. A coastline was still visible, the green and chalk white of the Isle of Wight, like a hazy mirage in the distance.

‘Help me, oh Lord, to do what’s right.’ He leant looking out, his lips moving in a childlike chant. ‘Help, oh Lord . . .’

What in heaven had he kissed her hand for like that? She must have thought him so peculiar, unbalanced even. Yet he wanted so much more of her! And hadn’t he seen an answering warmth in her eyes – surely that was what it was?

At home his feelings had seemed monstrous. It was unthinkable that he should harbour such intentions, such a force of desire for anyone but his wife, and towards a servant at that . . . Away from home, even now so freshly cut loose from the coast, he felt altered, freer. As if, even with his wife and son on board he was – could be – a different man. Images he had for so long tried to keep at bay flooded through him. Mercy’s parted lips moving to meet his, her eyes languid with need of him, his hands removing her clothes, peeling open to reveal what he had until now only imagined, her shy, eager, wanting . . . His fancy drove him on to caress her white thighs, the wet, silky opening between them parting for him . . .

He put his hands over his face, afraid that anyone passing should read in his expression the content of his thoughts.

I will ask her, he resolved, to dine with me tonight. The boy would be asleep by then and could be left. With us – quickly he corrected himself – with us. For surely Margaret would be recovered by then? This fact came to him like a chill shower of rain.

‘Hello again.’

Mercy turned, closing the door of her room very quietly. She had finally lulled Stevie to sleep. The ship had left Cherbourg and was picking up speed, and she had to brace her legs so as not to lurch across the corridor.

For a moment she didn’t recognize him. A tall man stood in front of her in working-man’s overalls smeared with grease, and his hands and face were blacked with it too. But the smile was familiar, and the voice.

‘I – er – your hat, on the gangway. Remember?’

‘Oh yes!’ Mercy laughed. ‘I didn’t know you for a minute. Whatever’s happened to you?’

He joined in her laughter, ruefully. She saw him keep looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was coming. Most people were already at dinner.

‘I shouldn’t be seen up here in this state, of course. We’re supposed to clean up down there but I forgot to take a set of clothes to change into. I haven’t got into the swing of it all yet.’ He held his hand out. ‘Paul Louth – oh!’ He withdrew the hand. ‘You can’t really shake that, can you?’

‘I’m Mercy Hanley.’ The ship rolled and she found herself lurching towards him. Paul instinctively put a hand out to steady her, catching her by the wrist and leaving a black oil smudge on her sleeve.

‘Oh my goodness, I am sorry!’ He looked perturbed. ‘How ridiculous of me.’

‘No – you’re awright.’ Mercy smiled. ‘It ain’t – isn’t – the end of the world, is it? The pattern hides it and it’ll wash out.’ She held her hands behind her back as if to give him permission to stop worrying about it. ‘How did you get in that state then?’

‘I’m a student, in London – Imperial College. Well, I’ve nearly finished there actually. Engineering. I was lucky enough to get the position – experience the working of a real ship. So I’m spending a lot of the time seeing her in action, learning on the job.’ As he spoke his eyes flickered towards her and away repeatedly, his expression serious, earnest. He rubbed nervously at the oil on his hands.