No Moon (18 page)

“And we had waited so long that we were one of the last boats to leave the ship!” Hart’s cheeks are flushed with indignation. And the worst of it is, there would have been room for some of the gentlemen! I hear Lord and Lady Duff Gordon, who left in one of the earliest boats, were two of only twelve passengers
and crew–all those seats left empty! There will not be many ladies ordering new gowns from
Madame Lucile’s!
Yes, that’s who Lady Duff Gordon is–the owner of
Madame Lucile’s
–and to think Lady Milton orders some of her gowns from her salon! I heard someone say that her husband persuaded the crew not to row back for survivors, he was so afraid of being swamped! Wicked and selfish, I call it.”

“It may not be true, Hart. When I first came on deck with the girls, many of the ladies refused to enter the lifeboats, thinking it was safer to stay on board. At first, I thought the same thing. And I am sure I saw Lady Milton speaking to that lady this evening,” I say.

“That’s because her ladyship will not turn her back on a friend,” Hart says. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Gardener: Someone will have to answer for what happened on the
Titanic
. All those families left without fathers, husbands, sons, and daughters…babies drowned! I’ll never forget the cries of those people sliding or jumping from the deck, disappearing like ants down a hole.” Hart blinks away tears.

“I know. Later that night, when I came out of the gymnasium where I had taken the children to warm up, I saw that only a few boats remained. Men were held back by the crew, and there were long lines of women and children. You could see that not everyone would get a place on the lifeboats, Hart. I kept
thinking, over and over,
don’t let it happen again, don’t let me lose another one!
I had to make sure the girls were safe. Why build a fine boat like the
Titanic
and not make room for enough lifeboats?” I ask her.

“That’s no big secret, Gardener. The White Star Line wanted more room for first-class passengers to promenade. It’s always been like that–the rich come first!”

Hart stretches out her hand to me. “Tell me, Louisa…well, that’s your name, isn’t it? What did you mean by another one?”

I take her hand. We are friends now. “When I was four, maybe five, Mother told my sister Kathleen and me that we were to watch over our little brother. It was our first time to play at the seaside. I made shell patterns in the sand. Kath and I forgot about Johnny…he slipped away and drowned. I’ve been frightened of the terrible power of the ocean, of water, ever since!”

“Do you know what you are, Louisa Gardener? A real heroine, that’s what, and I am proud to be your friend. Now go to sleep, it’s over.” But it isn’t over.…

The storm begins in the early hours of the morning and rages on and on. Thunder, lightning, wind, and fog. We can scarcely keep our balance. Each time the foghorn blows her warning dirge, I think of those who are not with us anymore.

At roll call, we listen, horrified, to the absence of name after name.
Will Mother and Father believe I have drowned, too?
And Kathleen’s Patrick–I shall have to tell her!

Hart says, “Lady Milton has cabled home and asked Mr. Briggs to let your family know you are safe.”

For the remainder of the voyage, the weather is too fierce for us to go out on deck. I am at my wit’s end keeping Miss Portia and Miss Alexandra occupied. The worst has happened and may happen again, but my fears are buried at the bottom of the sea. Only a great sadness remains to haunt me.

On Wednesday morning, April 18
^th
, the
Carpathia
sails into New York harbor. In spite of the cold and rain, passengers gather on deck in their borrowed clothes, anxious to be on dry land once again.

Crowds, hushed, under their umbrellas, are gathered to greet us as we step onto the gangway. The family is immediately ushered into a waiting area, where friends and relatives wait for news. Lady Milton falls into her sister’s arms, whose husband, Lord Fenton, bends down to embrace the girls.

“Where is Papa?” Miss Alexandra asks.

Lord and Lady Fenton lead us away from the cries of joy and despair all around us and into a waiting automobile. Hart nudges my elbow, pointing to where Roberts, holding baby Trevor, is posing for newspaper photographers. No doubt she has told
them how she “saved” the baby. Loraine’s name and those of her parents are not on the list of survivors.

Three days after we reach New York, Lord Milton’s body and that of Colonel Astor are found by the
Mackay
-
Bennett
. The ship was sent out from Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, to recover bodies from the
Titanic
.

Early in May, we sail home on the
Adriatic
. Hart says she thought she glimpsed Mr. Ismay, managing director of the White Star Line, come on board. If she did, we never saw him. He must have stayed in his cabin for the entire voyage. Ashamed to face us, no doubt! His manservant was not on the list of survivors….

I
t is good to be back again at Chesham Place, even under such sad circumstances. Mrs. Ransom distributes black armbands, as Lady Milton does not wish the staff to be in full mourning.

Hart and I are given new uniforms, sewn by Mrs. Wilson. Lady Fenton has provided us with day and afternoon wear, bought ready-made from one of New York’s department stores. Mrs. Wilson does not approve of them. “They’ll not last a month!” she says.

Mr. Briggs hands us envelopes, in addition to our month’s wages. “Lady Milton wishes you to replace any personal items lost in the sinking,” he says. It is kind of her to think of us in her grief. I find five new one-pound notes in mine, which amounts to six months’ extra wages. I’ll give Kathleen two pounds
to replace her spring coat, an extra pound for Mother, and save the rest.

I have been given Saturday afternoon to go home. Mrs. Ransom says that I may return half an hour later than usual. It’s hard to wait even one more day to see my family again! I warn Miss Portia and Miss Alexandra ahead of time. They are afraid to let me out of their sight since the disaster. I explain that I have not seen my parents and brothers and sisters for almost a month.

“I promise I will look in on you when I come home, but you must promise to be good girls and go straight to sleep,” I tell them.

Nanny Mackintosh is quick to interrupt me: “Since when does one give explanations to children of one’s presence or absence, Gardener? Is this some new method of child-rearing that you have acquired in America?”

“No, Nanny Mackintosh.” I can see by her expression that I am to be put in my place once and for all.

It began with a battle over the night-light. We arrived home late yesterday, sad and tired from our journey. Miss Portia continues to have nightmares, but I have found a night-light to comfort her. I dared to suggest to Nanny that the child be allowed this for a while longer.

“Indeed, Gardener? In my experience, I have yet to meet a nursemaid capable of making useful suggestions, let alone decisions!”

“I beg your pardon, Nanny Mackintosh, I thought–”

“You are not paid to think, Gardener, but to obey my instructions! Giving in to Miss Portia’s fears solves nothing. It is obvious that the girls have been thoroughly indulged! The sinking of the
Titanic
and the sad loss of their father must not be made an excuse to give in to their every whim.”

How can she be so hard?
It is not so long ago that she lost her own father. Nanny no longer frightens me with her scolding.

“Nanny Mackintosh, I would be very much obliged if you would permit a night-light, at least until after Lord Milton’s funeral. In New York, both Lady Milton and Lady Fenton gave their approval for Miss Portia to have one.” I wait for another of Nanny’s homilies, but to my surprise she concedes.

“Very well, Gardener, a few days more!”

The next day, she is occupied with making a list of requirements to replenish the children’s wardrobe. She shares Mrs. Wilson’s opinion of the clothes Lady Fenton has bought them. She decides to send me to the park with the children without her this afternoon.

“I trust you will refrain from discussing any private matters pertaining to the family, Gardener,” Nanny says.

It is a relief to leave both Nanny and the house on such a warm and beautiful spring day. Hart had warned me that I’d find it hard to return to being just an extra pair of hands for Nanny. I did not anticipate how much I would object to her constant disapproval.
Was she this critical before our departure? Or have I changed?
If it were not for my great affection for the children, my respect for Lady Milton, and Hart’s friendship, I might think about seeking employment elsewhere. But I suspect that other nurseries would not be so very different. Nanny Gilbert says she discharged her new nursemaid for insolence. Poor thing, she probably had the temerity to venture an opinion!

I reply briefly and politely to the nannies’ questions about the
Titanic
, and we leave the park earlier than usual. I am uneasy and suspect we are being watched. The newspapers do occasionally write of child kidnappings!

There are footsteps behind us. I look over my shoulder.
Is that man following us?
I can’t be sure, but I hurry the girls along, frightened now. There isn’t a constable in sight. I pick up Miss Alexandra, and we run the rest of the way home.

All three of us are hot and breathless when we get to the back door. I close it behind us and wipe the children’s faces and my own with cool water at the scullery sink, before going into the kitchen.

Mrs. Porter looks at my flushed face and invites us to sit down and rest before we go upstairs. “Croft, fetch three glasses and a pitcher of lemonade from the larder, please. Hot, isn’t it, Gardener?” She offers a ladyfinger biscuit to the girls.

They beam at her, as if she had presented some precious gift. They consider sitting down at Mrs. Porter’s kitchen table to be a great treat. Miss Alexandra drinks the entire glass of lemonade without spilling a drop.

Miss Portia asks, “Is it a party? I wish our papa was coming too!” Croft turns away, and it is all I can do not to cry. Before we can pull ourselves together, there is a loud knock at the back door.

Croft answers it and returns quickly. “Please, Mrs. Porter, it’s a gentleman from the
Daily Sketch
newspaper. He wants to talk to Gardener about the
Titanic
and to take a photograph of the children. What am I to tell him?”

“Nothing, Croft, I’ll deal with him,” Mrs. Porter says, looking grim.

“A man followed us here from the park, Mrs. Porter,” I whisper.

She rolls down her sleeves, smoothes her apron,
and picks up her rolling pin. Her voice carries, and we manage to hear every word.

“You are to leave the girl alone. Lady Milton does not permit interviews! Photograph? I have never heard of such impertinence. How dare you intrude at such a time! Be off, before I call the constable and have you arrested. You are trespassing! No hawkers or circulars!” The outside door slams shut.

Mrs. Porter marches back into the kitchen, rolling down her cuffs. “If he shows his face here again, he’ll feel the weight of my rolling pin!” she says indignantly.

“Please, Mrs. Porter, may Alexandra and I feel the rolling pin, too?” Miss Portia asks. Croft puts her hand over her mouth, and her shoulders shake. I burst out laughing, and Mrs. Porter joins in. The door opens, and Nanny Mackintosh appears, looking as if she is about to have apoplexy.

“Is there something you require, Nanny Mackintosh?” Mrs. Porter asks. “It will soon be time to bring up your tea–there’s a nice jam sponge cooling in the larder.”

Nanny Mackintosh ignores her, turning her wrath on me. “Have you completely taken leave of your senses, Gardener? Take the girls upstairs immediately and change them for tea!”

“Thank you very much for the lemonade, Mrs. Porter. Come along, Miss Portia, Miss Alexandra.” I
walk out wishing that Nanny Mackintosh might get a taste of Mrs. Porter’s rolling pin! Upstairs, I settle the girls in the bedroom with their dolls and wait.

Nanny storms in. “Explain yourself, Gardener.” If she brings out the castor oil, I’ll refuse to take it. “Don’t keep me waiting,” she says ominously.

“We were hot, Nanny Mackintosh. Mrs. Porter kindly offered us lemonade. It was a treat for the children.”

“Eating with servants, in the kitchen, is never a treat, Gardener–it confuses the children. There must be a line that they may not cross. Kitchen gossip is not fit conversation for Lady Milton’s daughters to listen to!”

“But, Nanny, we are servants too. We eat with the children at every meal, and they are in my company all day long.”

“You are either stupid or deliberately impertinent! I shall have to discuss the matter with Mrs. Ransom. She will make the decision whether to trouble Lady Milton at this difficult time. I have made excuses for your inexperience for too long!”

I make no reply. Thank goodness tomorrow is Saturday and I can go home!