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Chapter Ten

RMS TITANIC

I close Constance’s diary. That was her final entry before I slipped back in time. There’s no point in my writing in her place because this book might very well go down with the ship. Everything will go down with the ship. Besides, I couldn’t for the life of me emulate her writing.

On a positive note, I think I have worked out who Orlando is.

Constance gives her lovers Shakespearean names.

Therefore, this mysterious man must be Mr Rowland, for that is the name of Orlando’s father in As You Like It .

Orlando is also Italian for Rowland. I remember that from my English literature class at school when we studied that very play.

It’s too much of a coincidence that both names are in the same play, and Mr Rowland was once again beside Constance at the card table when I arrived and possessed her last night.

He’s also American and is very friendly with Lester, which he would be being related to Esme Aldershoff.

Now, of course, I’m in a quandary. I love Cavill.

I want to seek him out, talk to him, spend time with him.

But Constance has her heart set on Mr Rowland and I must do right by her .

I can’t ruin things for her by cold-shouldering him.

I must encourage him as she would do. I’m not here for me.

But how I wish I could forget my duty, my purpose, and indulge my own desires!

I allow my gaze to wander over the deck.

There are couples promenading arm in arm, and the odd dog trotting contentedly over the decking on a lead.

An old man leans on the railing and looks out to sea.

A small girl plays with her rag doll, a couple of boys with a ball.

In a way it’s a privilege to slide back in time and see how people lived, how they dressed, how they behaved.

There’s no point in returning to my cabin as I’ll discover nothing in there, so I decide to go to the Café Parisien and see if I can find Lester.

He must be my focus. I have to try to sweep all other distractions aside.

Time is running out and I must do my best in the limited hours that remain to find out what could possibly have happened to Lester that causes his tormented soul to create havoc in the Aldershoff Hotel. And that is all.

The café is very much like a café in Paris and just like Constance described in her diary.

The walls are white with real ivy climbing up the trellising and a green carpet covering the floor.

It’s light and airy, and full of people sipping tea and coffee and eating cake and éclairs.

I’m amazed at how quickly one gets used to things that only a short while ago were strange.

It doesn’t surprise me now to see women in elaborate hats, lace blouses and long skirts.

Some are wearing dresses that we, in our time, would consider too smart even for a ball.

The men are in suits with stiff collars and polished shoes.

I’ve never liked a moustache. I’m glad they’re not fashionable where I come from.

They’re much too fashionable here! Even young men who can barely grow facial hair are cultivating them.

Teeth are a major difference too. We take our dentistry for granted, but few people here have straight teeth and many old people have none at all!

It makes me laugh to think of those historical dramas on television where the actors have perfect white smiles. That is not the reality at all!

I’m relieved to find Mrs Brown at the corner table.

She’s sitting with two women I haven’t met before.

I assume they’re mother and daughter. Both are plump with auburn hair and white, freckly skin.

The mother’s lips are thin and downturned, whereas the daughter’s are pink and pillowy – life has not yet disappointed her.

Mrs Brown waves me over with an enthusiastic flick of her bejewelled hand.

I smile, feigning confidence I don’t feel because I have no idea whether or not Constance knows them.

As I’m about to introduce myself, the mother says, ‘Your nephew is creating quite a stir among the ladies, Miss Fleet.’ She gives a disapproving sniff.

So, we are acquainted. I smile back at them, raising my eyebrows in mock exasperation at my ‘nephew’s’ antics, then sweep aside my long skirt and sit down. ‘Oh, really?’ I reply. The women are American, like Mrs Brown.

I notice the younger woman’s cheeks burning at the mention of Lester. The older woman continues in a hard and strident voice. ‘If I were Miss Aldershoff, I would be nervous indeed.’

I laugh to play for time as Mrs Brown calls over a waiter and orders a fresh pot of tea. ‘I don’t think Miss Aldershoff has anything to be nervous about,’ I say. ‘My nephew’s heart very much belongs to her.’

I spot the younger woman’s smile falter slightly and I sense that she rather fancies Lester herself. Well, he is handsome – there’s no doubt about that.

Mrs Brown chuckles and pops into her mouth a glazed cherry from the top of her slice of sponge cake.

‘Lester is spoilt for choice, that’s the trouble,’ she says, chewing with pleasure.

‘He’s rich and titled, with the face of a Greek statue.

If I were a young woman, I’m sure I would lose my heart to him too.

Why is he marrying so young, Connie? A man of five and twenty shouldn’t be tied down, but out playing the field with all the other young bucks! ’

The older woman flicks open her fan and waves it vigorously in front of her face.

She looks at me expectantly, hard eyes brimming with condemnation.

I try to think of how Constance would reply.

She’s a straightforward, straight-talking woman who rather enjoys being unconventional.

What would she say? I’m about to cobble together some sort of reply when Mrs Brown comes to my rescue.

‘Just because he’s marrying young, doesn’t mean he’s retreating into retirement, Mrs Norris. Miss Aldershoff is going to have to learn to turn a blind eye.’ Ah, so she’s Mrs Norris and her daughter must be Isabella who tried to make contact with her dead father via Constance’s Ouija board.

‘Mrs Brown!’ Mrs Norris exclaims, horrified. She turns to her daughter and a look of concern darkens her face; it’s clear she would rather her child did not hear such things. ‘That’s hardly the behaviour of a gentleman,’ she snaps.

I cut in. ‘Oh, I’m afraid I think that is exactly the behaviour of a gentleman – at least, an English gentleman.’

Mrs Brown smiles at me in agreement and those black feathers on her hat give a little flutter.

‘That is the problem with arranged marriages,’ she says.

‘We in America marry for love while you in England marry for estates and titles and money. Therein lies the fault. I wouldn’t trust a handsome young aristocrat as far as I could throw him, unless I was absolutely certain I had his heart. ’

Mrs Norris purses her lips. ‘Isabella, don’t listen to these two. They’re joking, of course.’

Isabella gazes at me with wide, innocent eyes. She knows nothing of the freedoms we women in the modern age enjoy. I appreciate more than ever women like Constance Fleet and Emmeline Pankhurst who fought so hard to win them.

‘It’s a man’s world,’ says Mrs Brown.

‘Not for long,’ I say. ‘We suffragettes are making great progress in England fighting for women’s rights.’ I can’t resist, so I add, somewhat rashly, ‘One day we’ll have a female prime minister, you’ll see.’

I see Mrs Norris is one of those women who are happy with the status quo, like Bertha Ravenglass.

‘I can think of nothing more alarming than a woman meddling in politics,’ she says with a derisory sniff.

‘Men are much better equipped both intellectually and physically to run a country. I know where my duty lies.’

I’m sure Constance would have much to say about that, but I decide not to challenge her. I’m not here to change her mind.

‘What is Miss Aldershoff like?’ Isabella asks in a quiet voice, and I realise that this is the first time I’ve heard her speak. I don’t imagine, with an assertive mother like Mrs Norris, that she gets many opportunities to be heard.

‘She is charming and beautiful,’ I respond, recalling her description from Constance’s diary.

‘With a backbone of steel, I hope,’ interjects Mrs Brown.

She arches her eyebrows. ‘With a husband like Ravenglass, she’s going to need all the strength she can get.

’ Isabella frowns and Mrs Brown answers her silent question.

‘My dear child, if you were to marry an English aristocrat with a large estate full of servants you must manage, and customs and traditions you know nothing about, you would need a backbone of steel too. The English are not like us Americans at all. We simply share the language. They have a formality that we don’t care for, and they’re completely tied to their history and habits, and are most inflexible.

Poor Miss Aldershoff is going to have to learn a great deal, as well as suffer the inclement weather.

I can’t think of anything worse than presiding over a shooting weekend in November, and very likely in the rain! ’

By the soppy look on Isabella’s face, I sense that for Lester, she would give anything to be presiding over a shooting weekend in any weather.

‘Isabella will not marry an English aristocrat if those are their morals,’ says Mrs Norris.

‘She will marry a man who respects and cherishes her, like her sisters have done. Besides, I couldn’t bear her to live across the sea.

That would be too much. I haven’t endured the vicissitudes of motherhood only to send my daughter to the other side of the world! ’

‘She’s a treasure, Mrs Norris,’ says Mrs Brown kindly. ‘You keep her close.’