The Captain's Daughter (2 page)

Celeste had treasured her mother’s lively letters, with all their news of the cathedral, the clergy and the Theological College scholars’ antics. They’d been such a precious link with home. Then the handwriting had begun to crawl, roaming carelessly across the page, and her father had taken to writing, explaining that her mother was not feeling well enough to lift the pen, hinting it was time their daughter came home before the illness took its inevitable toll.

I didn’t say goodbye to you
, she had cried every night since her return. Now there would be some comfort in this service. As a bishop’s daughter, Louisa would be given every dignity and honour and would be interred in the grassy mound close to the cathedral.

But
where
will I mourn you when I return home?
Celeste wondered sadly.

‘I am the resurrection and the life . . .’ The soothing words boomed out as she clutched her father’s hand and tried not to weep.

Why have you left us? How can I do my duty without your strength and love to guide me?

Later, when it was all over and they had sipped tea and nibbled cold meats in the refectory of the Theological College, Celeste returned with her brothers to Red House, their home in Streethay It was here their father made his announcement.

‘Now you’re all together, I want to tell you that I’m not going to stay here. There’s a place for me in Vicar’s Close. I want to be near your mother and closer to the town, too, to be of service.’

‘We can’t stay here without you,’ said Selwyn, a lawyer, who travelled into Birmingham each day.

‘Of course you can. One day you’ll marry and your wife won’t want an old man to look after. Bertram’s at university, he needs a billet in the vacations, and Celeste too if she ever manages to bring her family to visit,’ he said, looking to the smiling picture of his grandson Roddy, which took pride of place on the mantelpiece. ‘Your mother loved that photo,’ he said softly. He shook himself from his reverie and continued, ‘Celestine, my dear, you must take some of her things back with you.’

Celeste was in no mood for dismantling the home, with all its sacred memories. There would be a time for that.

Her father carried on, though, unaware of her distress. ‘You must take her table linen,’ he insisted. ‘Your mother embroidered so beautifully. She would want you to have it.’

With tears in her eyes, Celeste fingered the tablecloth, now covered with vases of flowers and condolence cards. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘But not now.’

At last her father caught her mood and held her hand. ‘Don’t worry, your mother is always in your heart,’ he comforted her. ‘She’ll never leave you. You’ll all carry on as she would have done, I’m sure. She taught you well. And you have the joy of a loving family to return to, my dear.’

He was right. She had been taught well and knew that duty and others must come first before selfish needs. So she swallowed back her tears and stared out of the window onto the lawn in its first flush of green. If only Lichfield didn’t look so beautiful at this time of year . . . She should have spoken out then, but always something held her back. This was no time to burden an old man with her troubles. No matter how terrible they might be.

Her first sight of London and its magnificent buildings filled May with awe. She stared up at Big Ben with disbelief and caught a glimpse of the Tower of London from the bridge. They stayed overnight in a boarding house close to St Paul’s that was none too clean. One look at the landlady’s grubby face and May immediately turned over the mattresses to inspect them for bugs. Ellen couldn’t settle in the strange surroundings and they had a restless night. If this was what it was going to be like, May said, it would be one hell of a long sea voyage. They’d be wrecks by the end of it. Joe laughed and whirled her around the room in excitement. She couldn’t help but laugh back up at him. His spirit and enthusiasm were infectious.

Early the next morning, they treated themselves to a cab to Waterloo Station, sending postcards to friends at the mill before they left. May stared in wonder at the queues of omnibuses, horses and carts, and men pushing barrows. She had never seen such a huge city bustling in the early morning light. Where did all these folk come from?

To think, the next big city would be New York!

When they finally reached Waterloo to catch the boat train, May didn’t think she had ever seen such a crush of humanity – men and women carrying suitcases and bags, small children lagging behind. She desperately clung onto Joe and Ellen for fear of being separated. The smoke, steam, soot and noise swept them along into the waiting carriages bound for Southampton. Tired, dishevelled, one among hundreds, May felt a familiar surge of pride that Joe had enough about him to want more for his family than the backstreets of a cotton town.

But as the train rattled on the tracks, taking them further and further from everything they had ever known, she felt uneasy again. How would they fare in a strange country? What would the weather be like? Would they fit in? What if the baby got sick? It was all such a risk. As the train drew into Southampton harbour she saw the grey sea and glimpsed the tall ship with the White Star ensign flying on its mast. It rose high above the trees and houses, and her heart thudded. There was no turning back now. They must trust themselves to the ship’s crew to carry them across the ocean and to their new life.

When they reached the docking shed May saw the
Titanic
’s great bulk, its four funnels rising above them, and an involuntary shiver crept down her spine. The funnels were painted cream, tipped with black rings and crowning a wall of cast iron a hundred feet tall, rearing up like a steel mountain.

‘How on earth can that thing float?’ she croaked as they joined the embarkation queue making its way onto C Deck. She was so in awe of the scale of the vessel that would be their home for the next week that she stumbled over the skirt of the woman in front, who turned round and glared.

‘Had a good trip?’ Joe laughed, but May wasn’t amused.

‘My feet don’t want to board this ship,’ she whispered.

‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Joe replied, reading her mind. ‘God himself couldn’t sink this ship!’

‘I hope you know what we’re doing, Joe. It’s such a long way to go.’ She pulled her coat around her tightly.

‘Just look for yourself, the water’s deep enough to hold her up. The
Titanic
’s brand new, and we are lucky to be sailing on her. The papers say her Third Class is as good as First on other ships. They say she has every safety feature known to man. She’s unsinkable. Don’t go worrying, May.’

Their tickets were checked off and they were inspected for signs of fever and lice by a man in a white coat and spectacles, which May found utterly shaming. They could strip her down to her chemise and not find anything but clean Lancashire cotton.

Guided by stewards, they followed the queue onto C Deck. Despite herself May felt a shiver of fear as they descended lower into the ship along a narrow warren of corridors. She’d never liked the water much, not even a ride on the boating lake in Queens Park, though Joe had made her learn to swim up at the reservoirs at Belmont. He’d taught her a half-decent breast stroke one bank holiday at the Blue Lagoon. Splashing and protesting, she’d hated feeling the water up her nose and in her eyes, and had strained to keep her head out of it.

Down in the bowels of the ship they were directed to a neat pine-panelled cabin with bunks, one of many along a linoleum-tiled corridor with steel walls now as wide as a high street. The passage was crowded with noisy families, racing children excitedly calling to one another in a babble of foreign languages. The air was filled with strange aromas: spices, tobacco smoke, sweat, all mixed with the smell of fresh paint.

Inside the cabin May sat down on the bunk and instinctively tested it for size. ‘A proper mattress this time,’ she noted. Everything was new: the sheets, the towels, the flooring. ‘I can’t breathe in here,’ she said. ‘It’s clean but . . .’ She couldn’t imagine how she’d spend seven nights cooped up in this wooden box of a room, clean as it was. It smelled like a coffin. She shuddered again and then looked over at Ellen, who was crawling around the floor, exploring. Another one with a thirst for adventure. She needed to pull herself together. At least they weren’t forced to share with strangers.

‘Right then,’ she rallied herself, ‘let’s get on deck. I’ll feel better when I get some fresh air.’

Weaving in and out of a maze of passages and stairs, May eyed the ship’s quarters with wonder, almost forgetting her misgivings. ‘It’s like a town all of its own,’ she exclaimed, peering into every open space. There was a huge dining room with long wooden tables and solid captain’s chairs like the ones in the church vestry. The floors were laid with patterned lino that smelled new and gluey. There was a room for smokers somewhere above but here was a large saloon with comfortable armchairs and a piano in the corner. Everything was polished and sparkling, with framed pictures on the walls and pot plants standing in corners. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be found. It was all most satisfactory and yet . . . She couldn’t help feeling it was far too big and they were accommodated far too low in the water.

Joe carried Ellen down corridors and up stairs in search of some open space on deck where they could look at the seagulls. ‘It won’t be long now before we’re off,’ he shouted, and May saw the genuine excitement etched on his face. She turned and watched other passengers hugging their relatives, saying goodbye, with something close to envy. She and Joe had hardly one blood relative between them. All their hopes were pinned on ‘Uncle’ George in Idaho. As happy as their little family was, it would be wonderful to have a sense of belonging to something bigger.

It was strange to think they might never see England again, never see the Union Jack flying or hear good Lancashire voices calling to one another on the pavements. Where would she find a decent cup of tea? She’d heard they only drank coffee in the States. Joe was pointing out ships on the other berths to Ellen, hanging over the side and watching a crane hoist up a beautiful black and gold saloon car. There was such wealth on board higher up in the First Class apartments though May knew the likes of them would be kept well away from such important passengers. They would be living on board in two different worlds but she didn’t care as long as they all arrived safely in New York.

May turned towards Joe and felt the breeze on Ellen’s cold cheeks. Time to go indoors. She didn’t want to watch the ship sliding away from her homeland or see the teary farewells from relatives pausing for one last glimpse of their loved ones. It had been a long day and she wanted to explore further below deck. If she got lost there were stewards to help her and she’d memorized their cabin number. Depending on the weather there would be seven nights to endure, she thought with a sigh. She hoped she could hold on until Wednesday.

Later that evening Joe was pacing up and down the little cabin, impatient. ‘Why do you huddle in here like a hermit crab when there’s so much to explore? There’s a piano playing, and singing, we can listen to the orchestra, have a bite to eat. I’ve never seen so many choices on the menu: pies, pastries, salads. We should fill up our bellies while we can,’ he advised.

‘You go on,’ May replied, groaning from her bunk. ‘My stomach’s not up to it. I don’t fancy moving about. It’s thronged with people now. We don’t know anyone and half the people I’ve seen don’t speak a word of English since we picked up that lot at Cherbourg. What a racket they make.’

‘We’re all in the same boat, love,’ Joe smiled. ‘Everyone’s wanting to make a fresh start in the New World. Don’t begrudge them their chances.’

‘I’m not, it’s just I feel safe here. I can’t explain it but I just feel safe with all my things around me.’

‘No one’s going to steal anything.’

‘You never know.’

‘Oh, May, you are funny. Here we are on the high seas – where would they run to? And what have we got to be stolen?’

‘There’s those lovely sheets I was given,’ she argued, knowing she was being a worry guts.

‘With our initials on them? Don’t be daft! They probably have far nicer ones of their own. Come on, let’s give Ellen some fresh air before we turn in for the night.’

‘I’ve had this funny feeling in the pit of my belly ever since I saw the size of the
Titanic
,’ May argued. ‘I can’t shift it. You go and let me rest.’

‘Now you’re being morbid; that’s not like you,’ Joe replied. ‘Fresh air will do you good.’

‘I suppose you’re right, lying here won’t change anything, but I wish I didn’t feel so worried.’ May put on her woollen jacket and muffler and pinned on her beret with the pompom on the top, tying Ellen into her plaid shawl.

‘That’s better. Let’s go and see the stars and make a wish.’ Joe took her hand.

May smiled up at her husband. She must trust in Joe’s good common sense. He was the sort of man that was handed nothing but blows in life, no parents, no money, no education. Now he was going to make something of himself, no matter what. How could she not love a man like that?

Despite her misgivings May slept well on that first night out at sea. The meals in the dining room were delicious and settled her stomach. It was such a treat to be cooked for and waited on, and it gave her and Joe a chance to wander round on deck and let Ellen toddle between them. After they docked in Ireland, there’d be nothing but the grey open sea between them and their final destination. She must try to relax and enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime voyage.

It was cold and she was glad of her thick jacket and Joe’s overcoat. Ellen had layers of knitted wool with a felted coat, bonnet and firm leather boots given to her by a neighbour for when she started to walk properly. It was strange to think she’d spend her first birthday thousands of miles away from the place where she had been born.

May looked up with wonder at the stars stretched across the sky. Where would they be this time next week? ‘Do you think we’re doing the right thing?’

Joe nodded and smiled, dismissing her edginess. ‘It’s been a smooth ride so far. We’re in safe hands.’ He pointed up where the captain, with his distinctive white beard, strode on deck inspecting his crew, then watching over them from his perch. ‘He’s the best captain or he wouldn’t be steering this ship on its maiden voyage, now, would he? Enjoy it, we won’t be doing this again in our lifetime, will we?’