Touched by Angels (16 page)

He didn’t see them conferring, and several minutes later, the crack of iron on flint was heard, though he barely heeded it. He ambled on, with the vague intention of having a word with Mr Parsons, to see if he could help, though he knew that even he despised him.

When he drew level with the tool shed though, hands came from everywhere, and his scream was muffled abruptly by a huge one across his mouth. King’s body began to shake out of control, nausea making him fall. Through bulging eyes he saw the boy Mr Flint had thrashed in the boys’ canteen getting closer.

“You like pricks, don’t ya, yer queer bastard? ’Ow d’ya like
this
one?” he said, flourishing a long needle before his eyes, not unlike the one Mr Parsons used to prick boils. The tip glinted wickedly.

He stabbed him in the arm and a squeak came from under the hand. He stabbed him all over and only stopped as King momentarily lost consciousness. Then, as he opened his eyes, he saw the boy holding a poker, and it didn’t take much working out to wonder where
that
was going, as they bent him over.

***

Mr Flint was set upon in the children’s canteen, while Miss Beckersdeth was cornered in the laundry. A dozen of the bigger boys held his head under the sickening broth in the huge tureen, until he nearly drowned.

Then they knocked him to the ground and laid into him with a couple of the long canes he had been so fond of using, until he was covered from head to toe in red weals and cuts. He screamed and howled for mercy, while Mrs Scantleberry cowered in the corner, snivelling.

***

As Mr Flint was trying to crawl away from the kicks, Miss Beckersdeth shook, paralysed with fear, as a bunch of women, with Mrs Inkpen to the fore, advanced upon her.

Miss Beckersdeth held the strap she had spanked Mrs Inkpen’s seven-year-old daughter with, for playing up when the time had come to have a boil lanced. She swung the stout piece of baked leather back and forth half-heartedly, knowing she didn’t stand a chance.

She managed to gasp, “Get away from me,” before being struck dumb with terror. Some of the women carried rolling pins, while others had bars of soap wrapped in towels. One even had a broom. Others had their only their nails.

They charged. Beckerdeth’s screams were drowned in the clatter of clogs.

Thirty-eight

The next morning was a sunny, cheerful day, with the bloom of spring in the air.

Lil told Robert she had a surprise; this on top of the leviathan they were to sail the ocean upon. The only clue she gave was that they would not be travelling by train from St. Pancras after all.

“Can you guess?” she asked, as she stood behind him, brushing his hair.

His shoulders dropped in frustration. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come on,” she told him, picking up the suitcase, “it sounds as though it’s here.”

She opened the door to reveal the bellboy, who she had already tipped off, lest he should spoil it all by loud announcement.

“There,” she told him, when they reached the hotel steps. She had told him to close his eyes before venturing outside.

He fell back with shock when he opened them. The rear door, held open by a grinning chauffeur, was that of a sixteen foot, dark green, Rolls Royce Silver Ghost. The interior was no less plush, with green leather upholstery, topped with lace napery and walnut, silver and gold surround. There were even wool twist carpets on the floors.

The entire staff of the hotel were there to wave them off.

Later, as Alistair King’s last words begging for mercy were being muttered, the car was pulling up alongside the ship that was even bigger than it had featured in Robert’s grandest imaginings.

Part Two

Thirty-nine

Lil had been so anxious to get out of London, she had paid scant attention to any of the minutiae surrounding the ship. Affairs of the sea had never held much interest for her. All she knew was that today was Titanic’s maiden voyage.

Now though, she couldn’t stop staring, and nor could Robert, and nor could anybody else. The dock was heaving with people. It seemed the whole of Southampton had turned out.

Wisps of smoke trickled lazily into the blue sky from one of the four funnels, which looked as big as a mountain. Everywhere, parents fought to keep their children together, as the gangways for the first, second and third class passengers were sought. People and luggage swarmed from a train that had just arrived, while scores of porters dashed about.

Gentlemen from the press were everywhere, fighting to get the best shots of dignitaries, there both to board the ship, or to wave loved ones off. Some didn’t care about the famous. It was the ship, the biggest in the world, that they wanted to photograph.

A Daimler landaulet touring car came to a stop a hundred yards further down, and a man and woman climbed out, with three children and their governess. Lil watched as the woman embraced the man, before he hugged the sobbing children in turn. She heard the woman say, tearfully, “Write to us, Bruce,” as he made his way to the ship with his staff and luggage-laden porters in tow. She blew him a kiss. He blew it back.

A man with a black cloth covering his head slowly turned the handle of a movie camera from a raised plinth, taking in, not only the ship, but her and Robert too, as a brass band belted out
Rule Britannia
.

As ecstatic as she was though, Lil wanted to board as quickly as possible, knowing Bride might have made his way here, and could be loitering in the shadows, ready to pounce.

***

She had booked an outside stateroom, that although in first class, was on the port side of the ship, facing away from the dockside.

They spent some time, though, simply gazing over every inch of the room, with their mouths hanging open. It was ornate almost to a ridiculous degree, with virtually everything edged in gilt.

The carpets were soft, thick twist wool. The sheets on the beds were gold silk and lace. There was even a teak writing desk, and a marble fireplace with a large oval mirror above.

Robert was soon drawn to one of the square portholes, each side of the dressing table, having heard muffled shouts, brass bands and the sounds of engines. From somewhere came the chirp of a mouth organ. He saw a tug, with
Vulcan
on its side, pulling them away from the quay.

It was absorbing enough, but he wanted to go on deck instead, and be part of the real excitement.

Lil dashed it immediately, by snapping, “We’ll not venture out, not ’til we’re far out to sea, and that’s final! I
have
explained.”

She was looking at herself in the mirror as she pulled her gloves off.

“But we’re leaving port. Even if he
is
there…”

“They have a wireless on board. If the police are with him, they may be able to communicate with the ship and get us that way, as they did with Dr Crippen.” She started brushing her hair.

Robert was silent as he continued to gaze out at the broad stretch of water. Across the water, they could see a smaller ship with the name
New York
on its side, its decks crowded with spectators. As they drew closer, there were barely eighty feet between them and Robert said, “Mum, look!”

When she looked closer, she felt frightened all over again. The little ship was moving quickly towards them, stern first, drawn by the wake of the much bigger liner they were part of.

They heard sounds like gunshots, which were its mooring ropes snapping.

The ship came so close, she found herself pacing backwards, certain they would collide.

Soon, they passed into the English Channel, making for Cherbourg in France to pick up more passengers, many of them American.

Only then did they make their way to the poop deck at the stern, where they stood for a long time, feeling the wash of the salty wind against their skin. Lil’s hair streamed out behind in hues of gold, as they watched the Isle of Wight melt into the haze.

Groups of children were playing nearby, with one boy yanking a string to set a top spinning. Robert grinned as he watched and clapped when he finally succeeded. The boy bowed to him like a matador.

As they dressed for the evening though, Lil’s imagination took flight. She could not dispel the thought of that wireless. In her mind’s eye, it took on the form of a mind-boggling beacon of communication, decades beyond the primitive, unreliable thing she had read that it really was.

What, she wondered, if there were also private detectives on board, disguised as guests? Thinking of Sir Rupert and Alistair King, she saw very clearly the huge reward promised for their capture, even at this late hour. For all she knew, the Kings might even have sufficient clout and funds to have the ship do an about turn, as
had
happened with Crippen. She knew her only hope was to embellish her new role as Mrs Brookes. After all, they only had to get through the next few days, and then they would be free.

She sat Robert down and told him that not only were they Mrs Frances Brookes and her son, but that they were travelling, ultimately, to Boston, Massachusetts, to be with her husband, who was a wealthy investment broker.

They were considering a permanent relocation to America, to make life easier for
him, and had been on a horse-buying trip in Hampshire, where he had contacts in the know, because he had insisted that English thoroughbreds were the best.

It was, quite deliberately, a simple enough yarn with not too much to remember, and she was sure Robert would be able to stick to it. She made him repeat it back to her several times, to be sure.

She went through it one more time, as she stood on the poop deck, in a dress of glimmering jade chiffon, with a necklace of gleaming emeralds around her neck.

“Now remember,” she said, as she turned the doorknob, “speak nicely, and only when spoken
to
.”

He nodded.

Forty

They ate in the first class dining saloon, while a string quintet rasped away in the middle, sitting in one of the Jacobean-style alcoves, with a mixed bag of Americans and English.

All, without exception, were completely unlike the staid, priggish stereotypes of her imagination. Indeed, the huge American man sitting opposite, next to a handsome, uniformed officer, wasted no time introducing himself.

“Isidor Straus, at your service, Ma’am,” he said with a flourish and Lil started a little at the accent she had never heard before. “And you most certainly
are
, may I tell you,
the
most delectable dame aboard, ’cept
for
my Ida here of course.” He laughed and beamed across his big sweating face.

Lil was about to speak, when Ida, an attractive woman herself, who Lil guessed to be in her forties, rebuked quietly, “Isidor, rein in that wicked tongue o’ yours! The young lady is bashful.”

Lil felt a faint flush cross her cheeks.

“See how you have made her blush? You know how reserved the English are. Now you leave her be.”

She smiled apologetically.

As they ate their first course, of cream of barley soup, any remaining ice was broken when Robert asked the officer, “How do you steer a ship this big? With a wooden wheel like Nelson?”

The question attracted good natured laughter from all and Ida clapped her hands saying, “Isn’t he just a dear?”

“Yes, in a way, we do,” said the officer. “It’s attached to a bronze pedestal, called a telemotor. It’s linked hydraulically with the steering mechanism in the stern. This in turn, steers the rudder.”

He turned his attention to Lil, and said, “He’s a bright young man… Oh, please forgive me. Joseph Boxhall, Fourth Officer.”

He took her hand, and shook it gently.

“Mrs Frances Brookes,” she replied.

Straus asked, as he cut the tip off a huge cigar with a silver cutter, “Where d’you hail from?”

Ida gave him an acid stare, but this time, he ignored it.

By now, all ears were tuned in, as she relayed the story she and Robert had rehearsed.

Straus nodded and said, “Uh-hu,” a few times, as he lit the thing, before blowing a thick stream of blue towards the ornate ceiling. Then he threw his shoulders back and started talking about horses too.

Several tables heard how his Daddy had been a rancher down in Texas, and how he had ridden his first pony at four, even learning to fire a Winchester rifle from one, without the kick knocking him off.

“Why, by the time I was your age, boy, I could hit a circle on a barn door two feet across, from more than thirty yards!”

By this time, Robert was all ears, leaning over the table, completely absorbed. Lil began to sweat, thinking he would start asking questions she would be ill-equipped to answer, but luckily, Robert came to the rescue once more, by asking, “Do you live on a ranch too?”

Straus looked a little embarrassed, as he replied, quietly, “Hell… no, son. Cain’t ride at all n’more, on account o’… well…”

“He gets the sneezes, the poor dear,” Ida said primly, and Isidor choked on his cigar and turned the colour of a ripe tomato.

Now the laughter roared, and Isidor wheezed, “Oh honey! Our secret an’ all. Cain’t a man have
some
pride?” He dabbed his watering eyes.

When the laughter had died down, the attention focused on Boxhall, and he was flooded with questions.

“How much does the ship weigh?” Robert asked.

“Forty-five thousand gross tons, half as big again as Cunard’s
Lusitania
, and a hundred feet longer, at eight hundred and ninety feet.”

“What about the anchors?”

“Two of them, at fifteen and a half tons each.”

Straus whistled and asked, “How in the name of damnation did they get
them
to the ship yard? I saw one when we boarded, hanging beneath the forecastle deck – it looked like a kid’s toy.”