No Moon (13 page)

“These stairs are where your mama and papa will descend tonight for dinner,” I tell the girls. I try to imagine what it might be like if Kathleen and I were
two of the splendidly dressed ladies on board, sitting here and whispering secrets, or gossiping behind our fans!

We continue our walk down to the next landing. The girls trail their fingers along the wrought-iron swirls of flowers and leaves ornamenting the balustrades beneath the railings.

Afternoon sunlight streams through the glass roof, making the crystal chandelier beneath glisten and glitter. Brass and gold surround us. I would like to spend the next hour or two admiring the elaborate paintings, which are hung all along the paneled walls. The little girls, however, are more fascinated by a great clock, which forms the centerpiece of a wooden panel. I pick up Miss Alexandra, so she may look more closely at the two carved figures holding the clock aloft. A gentleman nearby explains to his two lady companions that each carving represents Honor and Glory and the clock symbolizes Time.

We continue down, right to the bottom of the staircase. Here, all three of us are enchanted by a bronze sculpture of a baby cherub. He stands with wings outspread, holding a lamp. But Miss Alexandra has had enough of being good, and we make our way back to the lift. The door opens, and several passengers emerge, among them the nanny I had noticed earlier. She is turned away from us, but I can hear
her admonishing the little girl in her care. She pulls the child’s arm roughly.

“Not kind,” Miss Portia whispers to me. “I don’t like Roberts.”

“This nanny is not Roberts,” I reassure her. “Look at her red hair. Let’s go back to our stateroom. Would you and Miss Alexandra like to draw a picture of the ship to send to your brother? I saw pencils and paper in the drawer of our little desk.” They are happy to do so.

I am certain this was the temporary nanny Mrs. Landers mentioned to me earlier!
But isn’t it odd that both Miss Portia and I noticed the resemblance to Roberts?

When their parents come in to say good night, the little girls are too sleepy to protest about going to bed.

Lady Milton looks beautiful–Hart has dressed her so elegantly for the first evening’s dinner. She wears a rope of pearls, drop pearl and amethyst earrings, and a tiara. Her gown is of shimmering blue velvet. I cannot imagine any royal couple looking finer than Lord and Lady Milton this evening!

After the children are asleep, I run a bath and luxuriate in taking as much hot water as I wish. There is no one to knock on the door to tell me to hurry up, or to remind me not to use up all the hot water!

When I emerge, Mrs. Landers is just bringing in a jug of cocoa and a plate of biscuits. “By this time tomorrow,” she informs me, “we will have made our last stop before we leave the Irish coast and head out to open waters. Your first sight of land, Miss Gardener, will be next week, when we approach New York. Sleep well, miss.”

I wish Mrs. Landers hadn’t reminded me that there is nothing but ocean for an entire week! Tomorrow, I will teach the girls how to put on their life jackets, and we will practice daily, until we sight land again.

This has been a wonderful day…I have been treated like a person and not like an ignorant, untrained girl, constantly in need of reproof! I pour myself a cup of cocoa and nibble a jam-filled biscuit, remembering Mr. Briggs’ advice: “If the weather is rough, Gardener, eat nothing but an apple for breakfast and a small digestive biscuit. Then, take a brisk walk on deck.”

Rough?
I can barely feel the throb of the engines. The ship moves as smoothly as if it were a toy boat, adrift on the lake in Hyde Park.

“Are you dreaming, Gardener?” Hart asks. I have not seen her since before lunch. She comes in, flops down in the other armchair, takes off her shoes, and flexes her feet. I jump up, pour out a cup of cocoa, and bring it to her.

“There’s no need to wait on me, Gardener, I’m
sure you are as tired as I am. What a long day it’s been. I would have been back earlier, but Lady Milton forgot to take her fan in to dinner. Our steward said eleven courses are served in the first-class dining room! Her ladyship sometimes feels faint, if she has to stand or sit for too long. I ran down to D deck to take her the fan. Luckily Lady Milton had not yet left the white paneled reception room. I waited behind, so I could take a quick peek at the dining room. It is beautiful beyond words, Gardener: sparkling silverware, gold-rimmed wine glasses on snow white linen tablecloths. The crew must be busy day and night. Every table is laid to perfection, with arrangements of fresh flowers and candles. The fruit bowls just spill over with oranges, grapes, peaches, and plums. I wish Mr. Briggs could see that room. Even he could not fault anything.

“Seating is at round tables for six to eight guests, and there are romantic alcoves for two or four. And the orchestra plays during dinner!”

I like listening to Hart talk–she does not put on airs, even though she is Lady Milton’s personal maid. I was afraid she might resent having to share a room with me!

“Lady Milton is pleasant to work for,” Hart continues. “It’s natural with the baby coming that she tires more easily. I am so relieved to be sharing with you. I must admit, Gardener, I was not looking forward
to rooming with Nanny Mackintosh! Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against her. I know she is very experienced and a good nanny, but–” She raises her eyebrows, and we smile at each other. Nanny is a tartar and everyone knows it! It is kind of Hart to make me feel at ease.

“I admit I was afraid of sharing with you, Hart, but not anymore,” I say, losing my shyness.

“I’m glad to hear that. Did you think I’ve always been a lady’s maid, Gardener? I started out when I was twelve years old. My first household had a cook, a maid, and no other help. I never stopped running from morning to night. They gave all the worst jobs to me. That was twelve years ago, and I’ve been with Lord and Lady Milton for five years. It took me a while to work myself up! But you are going to get on. I can see that Lady Milton has taken a liking to you!”

Now I feel shy again. “Hart, do you eat in the dining room, after the lords and ladies have left?”

“No, the first-class maids and valets eat in a saloon, next to the doctor’s office on C deck. It’s like the servants’ hall, except that it’s all new. We are waited on by stewards and are served the same food as the second-class passengers. That’s five courses–a good variety and more than I can manage.

“I was thinking, you should have a bit of time for yourself of an evening. You might like to meet the servants or take a walk on deck. I don’t mind watching
the girls for an hour, once her ladyship has gone to dinner. She won’t be back until late. She’ll take a stroll, have coffee in the reading room, or attend a concert.”

“Thank you very much, Hart. I’d love to take a walk after the girls are asleep.”

“One or two of the valets are very nice-looking. You should come into the saloon,” she teases.

“Are the valets as handsome as Mr. Harris is, Hart? I can tell he likes you!” I say.

This conversation reminds me of Kathleen and me, whispering in our bedroom at home so as not to wake up Emily.

“I know,” she sighs. “But it won’t do. It always causes friction in the household, and the other servants gossip. Mrs. Ransom and Mr. Briggs would not approve if we started walking out together. And I want to keep my place. I know when I’m well off.

“There’s a lady in suite 52–3–that’s the biggest suite on B deck–with its own private promenade deck! She brought fourteen trunks on board, can you imagine? And we know who had to pack them–her maid! The lady is a tyrant, not a bit like Lady Milton. And I’ve seen the maid tremble whenever her mistress speaks to her. Shouted at and berated from the minute she gets up, I should think. No, I intend for things to stay just the way they are.”

“But what if you were to get married?” I ask, hoping she won’t think I am impertinent.

“I don’t know, though I admit Mr. Harris is nice. And how about Mr. Phipps, then? I’ve noticed him looking at you. He’s a bit smitten, I think.” I can feel myself blush and change the subject.

“Mrs. Landers said if we put our shoes in the corridor, the night steward will brush them. I’ll take them now.” I go out hastily, hoping Hart has not noticed my hot cheeks.

I wake up early next morning. For a minute, I don’t know where I am. Last night I thought I’d never go to sleep, but the hum of the engines and the gentle motion of the ship soon had me drifting dreamlessly. I jump out of bed and open the door just wide enough to pick up our shoes, shined to perfection. Hart is already up. I hurry to dress before Mrs. Landers comes in. I have just finished braiding my hair when she knocks on the door and brings our early-morning tea. Hart pours it.

“I still have ten minutes before the dress bugle sounds. I shall have to watch that I don’t get too used to being spoiled like this! What a lovely change, being brought our tea instead of having to carry up the morning trays,” Hart says, biting into a scone.

“Gardy?” Miss Alexandra is always the first one in the morning to call me.

“Is that what they call you?” Hart says. “Nanny Mackintosh does not approve of pet names, but I
think it’s nice. It shows the children have taken to you.” She straightens her cap and cuffs and hurries out, just as the bugle sounds.

Our breakfast of porridge, bacon, eggs, sausages, toast, butter, and jam arrives. Miss Portia asks, “Is it Sunday?” Bacon is a rare Sunday treat in our nursery.

“No, it is Thursday, but you may have sausage or bacon when you have finished your porridge. I do believe that Chef thinks every day is Sunday!” I say, enjoying the delicious food as much as the children.

“I shall ask Papa if we may live here forever,” Miss Portia says.

I remove a sausage from Miss Alexandra and remind her, “Porridge first!”

After breakfast is over, I look out the window at perfect blue skies. “We musn’t waste that lovely April sunshine. As soon as we have tried on our life jackets, we will go and explore the ship. We have lots more things to see,” I say.

“Don’t want to,” Miss Alexandra says, pushing away the cork jacket I hold ready.

“It is too hot.” Miss Portia turns her back to me. Not for nothing have I helped Mother with Emily and my brothers!

“What a pity,” I say. “I was hoping to tell Captain Smith that you can put your life jackets on faster than anyone on board!” The thought of my speaking to
this grand bearded gentleman, in his gold braided uniform surrounded by officers and admiring passengers, makes me quake. Luckily the girls do not know that!

Before I have time to count to three, they are scrambling to push their arms through the jackets. Miss Portia manages to tie hers up while I fasten Miss Alexandra’s.

“Close your eyes and open your mouths,” I whisper, and pop two of the sugar cubes I’ve saved for this occasion into their mouths. Sometimes bribery is justified. If Nanny Mackintosh was ever to find out about my method of child-rearing, I have no doubt I’d be dismissed on the spot!

“You may take off the jackets now. We shall play this game every day, and each time, you will have a sugar lump. Now we are going to explore. Mrs. Landers told me about an alleyway the crew use to get from one end of the ship to the other. None of the passengers knows about it. The crew are as quiet and invisible as little mice, I’m told.”

In the lift, I ask for E deck.

“If you are wanting the swimming bath and Turkish baths, miss, you will find them on F deck!” the lift boy says, about to press the wrong button.

“No, E deck, if you please,” I repeat.

The boy blushes.
Oh, dear, I did not mean to sound cross
.

“I beg your pardon, miss,” he says.
He must think I am a difficult passenger!

“I have to deliver a letter, you see, to a member of the crew,” I explain.

“Certainly, miss, my mistake,” he says, not looking at me, and presses the correct button.

The alley is a long plain corridor, with walls tiled in white from deck to ceiling. Every few yards are iron staircases. I have no idea where they lead to.
How am I going to find Patrick?
I don’t know if I will even recognize him. I have only met him once!

Suddenly the girls let go of my hands, rush forward, and kneel down beside a cat.

“Cat, good kitty,” they croon. I crouch down beside them, and we stroke the plump gray creature that has appeared so mysteriously.

“Wherever did you come from?” I say.

A voice above me says, “I might ask you the same thing, young ladies. Have you lost your way?”

I jump up, straightening my skirts. A young man wearing a long striped apron over his uniform looks down at us. Flustered, I try to explain. “I am looking for someone, a Mr. Patrick O’Connor. I have promised to deliver a letter to him from my sister.”

Two stewards glance at us curiously as they pass by, their arms full of neatly folded linen. A sailor clambers up one of the iron staircases–it is busier
down here than on the Grand Staircase!

“Never heard of him, miss, but that’s not surprising. We are a crew of 685. Which department does he work in?”

“He is a stoker,” I reply.

“No one is allowed down there, miss. It’s hot and dangerous, with the furnaces blazing and sparks flying. Tell you what, give me your letter and I’ll do my best to make sure he gets it.

“Now then, our Jenny…” He picks up the cat and talks tenderly to her. “You should be getting back to your quarters. The boys will be looking for you, worrying about you. Miss Jenny will have kittens any day now. That’s considered a lucky omen on a maiden voyage,” he says.

“And now, ladies, you must excuse me. This alley is only for the crew. I’ll walk you back to the lift.”

A white-coated waiter with a laden tray hurries past us. “Chef told me to send you straight back. He’s running short of glasses,” he says.

“I am sorry,” I say. “I did not mean to get you into trouble, but I promised my sister.”
Why can’t I ever learn my place?
Miss Portia fondles Jenny’s ears, and the cat purrs loudly.

“Is Jenny your cat?” Miss Portia asks. “In a manner of speaking, Jenny belongs to all of us–she is the ship’s cat. You need a cat on board to keep the mice and rats away.