Women and Children First (27 page)

Reg was astonished but pleased when he saw a story in the
New York Times
that Lady Juliette Mason-Parker and Mr Robert Graham had become engaged to be married after meeting on the
Carpathia
. He assumed that was the man she had been with in Central Park, the one who had given him ten dollars. It was less than two months since the
Titanic
sank so they hadn’t known each other very long but it was heartening to hear of love blossoming out of tragedy like that.

Theirs was the only good news regarding the sinking. The British Inquiry was now in progress and Reg was aghast at the testimonies that seemed to imply Captain Lord of the
Californian
had been told of a ship on the horizon firing rockets and had done nothing to ascertain whether they needed assistance. Surely he must be cast for ever as the villain of the tragedy? If he had only asked his radio operator to get out of bed and turn on his set, he would have heard the desperate distress messages the
Titanic
was firing out right up until power was lost around twenty minutes before she sank. He was close enough to have come alongside and saved every single passenger and crew member. He could have saved Mrs Grayling. He could have saved Captain Smith. He could have saved John. Reg was overwhelmed with fury when he thought about it. How could that man live with himself?

He would have liked to vent his rage by discussing it with the other waiters at Sherry’s, but he wasn’t very popular after announcing that he was leaving. Mr Timothy was understanding when he explained that he couldn’t afford to be out of work during the strike, and expedited his immigration papers so he could take them with him, but Tony implied that he was seen as something of a traitor among the ranks of the workers. Fortunately he only had to work a week’s notice, then he packed his few belongings and headed uptown to take up residence at Mr Grayling’s mansion.

Molly answered his knock at the back door and led him up to his room, chatting all the way. ‘We’re so glad you took the job. Me and Alphonse are dying to hear all about the
Titanic
. Mr Grayling doesn’t talk about it much, but Miss Hamilton sometimes spills the beans when you get her alone. She’s been shopping for all kinds of new clothes and jewels because she lost her old stuff on the ship. She’s having them delivered here and I get to unpack them. The material is out of this world – just wait till you see them.’

‘Why are they delivered here? Does Miss Hamilton live here?’

‘No, of course not.’ Molly rolled her eyes as if he had said something silly. ‘She lives in a hotel. She comes around here all the time, though. Mr Grayling’s been helping her get back on her feet. Well, that’s what he says. If you ask me, it’s really the opposite.’ She giggled at her own joke.

‘But isn’t it sad about Mrs Grayling? I’d have thought Mr Grayling would be in mourning.’

‘She was a good mistress and a nice lady, but we aren’t allowed to talk about her now. Mr Grayling’s orders. He’ll probably tell you the same thing. I better not say any more.’ She paused, and it was clear that not talking about something was difficult for her. She was one of life’s born talkers.

She watched as Reg hung his only spare shirt in the wardrobe, and put his one spare pair of socks in a drawer.

‘Is that all you got? You better buy some more clothes because Mrs Oliver only does the laundry once a week, on Mondays. I can show you the best stores for getting some cheap stuff if you want. Or I could even go and buy things for you.’

‘I haven’t worked out what I need yet, but thanks for the offer.’

‘Just let me know. I love shopping, especially with other people’s money. My sister and I always check out the new fashions on Fifth Avenue and then we go and find them cheaper someplace else.’ She chattered on about how much she liked nice clothes, and the best places to find bargains, as Reg opened the drawers and cupboards to see what was inside. There was a Bible in a chest under the skylight and a candlestick and candles by the bed, although there was electric light throughout the house, operated by switches beside the doors. The candles must be a precaution in case of power cuts.

‘Are you ready to come downstairs and meet Alphonse?’ Molly asked. ‘He’s from Provence. That’s in France. He can be a bit grouchy because that’s the way French people are, he says, but he’s a top-notch chef.’

Alphonse shook Reg’s hand, gave a quick nod of the head and asked if he would like something to eat. They’d already had lunch but there were some leftovers still warm. Reg was feeling a bit peckish so he said yes, and was served a portion of a delicious savoury tart made of eggs, cheese and leeks. It was as good as anything he’d had at Sherry’s, with buttery pastry and moist filling.

‘This is delicious,’ he told Alphonse.

‘Of course,’ came the reply. ‘It is my grandmother’s recipe.’

‘He’s been trying to fatten me up,’ Molly giggled, putting her hands behind her head and thrusting her hips to one side like a model in a saucy Victorian postcard. ‘A girl’s got to watch herself around here or she’ll get into
all
kinds of trouble.’ She was curvy, Reg noted, with a prominent bosom and hips that were verging on plump. He noticed Alphonse was ogling. Maybe it was a while since he’d had a girlfriend.

The butler, Mr Frank, came in to tell them that Miss Hamilton would be dining with them that evening, and when he saw Reg, he shook his hand and welcomed him to the house.

‘When you’ve finished eating, I’ll show you round and explain your duties.’

Reg ate his last mouthful of tart and leapt to his feet. ‘I’ll come now,’ he said, eager to get started.

First Mr Frank demonstrated how to use the dumb waiter that carried food from the kitchen up to the dining room above so it would be piping hot when served. Mr Grayling was most particular about his food being hot. He showed him the cabinets where cutlery, crockery and glassware were kept. It would be Reg’s job to set the table for meals, to serve and clear away, and between times to do any odd jobs Mr Frank requested, perhaps running errands out of doors, or helping Alphonse.

The public rooms were decorated in old-fashioned, dark fabrics and seemed gloomy, especially since the shutters were pulled across. Reg looked at the paintings – mostly landscapes and the occasional still life – and couldn’t see much of a woman’s touch in them. Nowhere was there a hint of Mrs Grayling’s influence. There were no flower arrangements, no photographs grouped on a side table, no shawls draped over lamps or decorative flourishes such as the women he’d seen in first-class suites on his voyages seemed to like. This house was plain and no-nonsense. On the first floor, he was shown Mr Grayling’s office, and Mr Frank pointed to a couple of doors that were locked, explaining those rooms were not in use at present.

‘Were they Mrs Grayling’s?’ Reg asked.

‘Did you meet her?’ Mr Frank asked, giving him a curious look.

‘Yes, I was very fond of her.’

Mr Frank nodded. ‘I was as well. But Mr Grayling doesn’t want the staff gossiping about her. He’s dealing with his bereavement in his own way and has asked for our discretion. I hope you’ll respect his wishes.’

‘Of course,’ Reg agreed.

That evening, he laid the table for two and was there to hold a chair for Miss Hamilton when she and Mr Grayling came in for dinner. She looked stunning in a slim black satin sheath, with diamonds dripping from her ears, looped around her slender neck and swathed around her wrist as well. Her copper hair was swept back from her forehead by a silvery headband, and Reg saw that her face was a near-perfect heart shape.

‘I’m so glad George managed to tempt you away from Sherry’s,’ she told Reg. ‘We
Titanic
survivors have to stick up for each other. We have our own private club.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Reg agreed. Her accent was plummy.
She’s probably from London or the Home Counties
, he decided.

‘What’s more, you and I can wave the British flag and gang up against these Yankees with their strange words and funny accents.’

‘I object!’ Mr Grayling cut in jovially. ‘You’re in our country now, so you’re the ones with the funny accents.’

‘Where are you from, John?’ she asked, and he had a moment of panic. If he said Newcastle, she would realise straight away he was lying, because he didn’t have a Geordie accent, but if he said Southampton, would Mr Grayling remember when he looked at his immigration papers and find him out in a lie?

‘I was living in Southampton before we sailed,’ he compromised. ‘But my folks come from the north.’

She was barely listening to his response, though, because all her attention was focused on Mr Grayling. He looked mesmerised by the sparkle of her diamonds and the perfection of her features, like a man in a trance.
He can’t believe his own luck,
Reg thought.
Neither can I. But then those diamonds can’t have come cheap.

Serving dinner to two people was easy work and Reg found himself hanging around a lot. After they retired to the drawing room, he went out to sit on the back door step for a cigarette and Molly came to join him.

‘Are you OK, John?’ she asked. ‘You seem down in the dumps. It must be really lonely for you, going through such a bad experience and then not having anybody you can talk to about it. I hope we can be friends.’

Her face was tilted towards him and she was staring straight into his eyes, her face just inches from his and her lips slightly pouted. Reg sensed she would have let him kiss her if he’d tried. She was pretty enough, and she seemed nice, but he was wary of getting into an awkward situation in such a small team as the staff at the house. Besides, the thought made him feel disloyal to Florence.

‘Yes, I hope so too,’ he replied. He finished his cigarette and ground it out under his heel before standing up to go back inside.

The morning of her departure for Saratoga Springs, Juliette woke with a sense of deep anxiety. When Robert asked how long she must stay with her relatives, she had blithely replied ‘Just till the autumn’ but in fact, the baby wasn’t due till the beginning of November and it was only mid June. That meant there would be five months before she would see him again; five months cooped up with her mother in a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. The prospect was unbearable.

‘I’ll write to you every day,’ Robert promised, and she said she would do the same, but she knew how much was left unsaid in letters. They could never be a substitute for nestling into his chest and inhaling the scent of him, for looking into his eyes and seeing his love and desire for her, which reflected her own.

He joined them for a farewell breakfast in the Plaza Hotel, at which Lady Mason-Parker chatted interminably about the wedding plans – the flowers, the hymns, details which neither of them cared about.

‘I wish you had let my chauffeur take you,’ he reiterated. ‘Ted’s a very good driver and I don’t want to risk any harm coming to either of you.’

They couldn’t accept his offer, though, because then Ted would report back that rather than staying in a large family home, they were in a tiny two-bedroom cottage on the outskirts of town that had the sole virtue of being close to a maternity hospital. Their subterfuge would be revealed.

‘I’m sure the driver our relatives send will be equally diligent,’ Lady Mason-Parker replied.

Juliette barely spoke over breakfast, afraid that her tears might start to flow. Robert held her hand and stroked it gently, sensing her emotional distress. It wasn’t just that she would miss his conversation and caresses; without him, she didn’t feel safe in this foreign country. Her mother would be useless if anything went wrong, while Robert was eminently capable. His calm pragmatism had helped her to recover from her severe shock on the
Carpathia
. Talking through the tragic events with him had helped her, if not to make sense of them, at least to come to an acceptance. She felt that with him by her side she could face anything; without him, she would feel vulnerable and lonely. And gradually, as her waistband grew, she was beginning to think about the fact that there was a baby developing inside her, and that it was going to have to come out somehow. Women died in childbirth, so the prospect was terrifying. She wasn’t sure if American doctors were as good as British ones. If only Robert could be nearby when the time came, rather than her mother. But that wasn’t possible. Of course it wasn’t.

Porters carried their bags to the waiting car, and Lady Mason-Parker tactfully went ahead to give them time for a last embrace.

‘Goodbye, my beautiful wife,’ Robert whispered to her.

‘I’ll write to you on arrival,’ she promised.

And then it was time to go and as their car pulled out into the New York traffic, Juliette gave in to the tears.

Lady Mason-Parker opened her handbag and passed her a handkerchief, then waited for the intensity of the sobbing to abate. ‘Now, now, you are a very lucky girl to have such a handsome fiancé to come back to. He’s a good man and I know your father will like him.’ She pulled an envelope from her bag and passed it to Juliette. ‘A letter arrived from your brother yesterday but I saved it to give you today as I thought you’d want some distraction on the journey. He will have heard the news of your engagement from the Marconi-gram I sent and I expect he wants to congratulate you.’

Juliette dried her eyes before tearing open the envelope.
‘Well, well,’
the letter began, in her brother’s large, untidy hand.
‘Who would ever have thought that my ugly big sister would find herself a husband? Seriously, Jules, I’m over the moon to hear your news. Bring him home for a visit and I’ll tell him all about what an annoying child you used to be.’

Her brother continued with news of the local cricket team, someone who had just been made partner at the law firm where he was taking articles, and about a party where a man she didn’t know had fallen into a fountain wearing a dinner jacket. He didn’t mention any new girlfriends on the scene, but he wrote about the woman who had broken his heart the year before. Juliette had met her through some horse-loving friends and felt guilty about the fact that she had made the introductions.

‘
Venetia’s been up to her old tricks. Did you know she was engaged to Lord Beaufort? Well, she disappeared two days before the wedding and hasn’t been seen since. All the wedding guests turned up, and until the last moment poor Harry thought that she would reappear so he stood like a lemon at the altar of some Italian church under the pitying gaze of the priest and their nearest and dearest
.’

‘I think he’s finally seen through Venetia,’ Juliette remarked to her mother. ‘She’s pulled the same stunt on someone else.’

‘Indeed, I heard about it from Lady Duff Gordon, because her fashion house made the wedding dress. Venetia is quite incorrigible. Her name is utterly ruined in polite society. She will have to dig deep to find any more poor saps prepared to put a ring on her finger.’ She glanced over with satisfaction at Juliette’s ring.

Juliette read on. ‘
When will you be back, old sport? I don’t understand why you have to spend quite so long there with some distant cousins I’d never even heard of before. Cut the visit short and bring Robert to Gloucestershire before the summer is over so I can challenge him to a tennis match and assess the cut of his jib. Love to Ma. Your brother, Wills.
’

Juliette passed the letter to her mother to allow her to read it and settled back to gaze out the window. They headed north on the same road she had taken with Robert for their trip to Poughkeepsie and she recognised some landmarks – a soda fountain with a huge ice-cream-cone sign; a police training camp where officers learned to ride horseback – but it was more than twice the distance to Saratoga Springs, and the driver warned them it would take about five hours. Once the initial tears had passed, she occupied herself by imagining how it would be when she introduced Robert to her father and brother, showed him round their family home (what would he think of the fact that they didn’t have electric lights?) and took him out riding in the English countryside. She imagined the house they would buy together in New York and wondered how many staff they would employ and what paintings they would hang. Might they own a Cézanne one day? She loved his work with its bright modern colours. And then she began to cry again, but quietly this time, because the pain of not being with Robert was so acute.

‘It will get easier.’ Her mother patted her knee kindly. ‘I promise.’

What does she know?
Juliette thought. It was impossible to believe that her mother, who cared about appearances and manners, could ever have experienced emotions of the intensity Juliette felt at that moment. Surely her mother had never been in love.