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Chapter Sixteen

The following two days I manage to avoid being alone again with Cavill, for I have already said too much.

My focus is Lester now and I set my mind to my mission with a renewed sense of purpose.

I’m not here for me. I’m here for him . Therefore, I make sure Mrs Brown is with me, or Ruby, or Josephine, or even Mrs Norris and Isabella.

We remain in a tight group, clinging to one another for solace, grateful to be alive but mourning those hundreds who were not so fortunate.

At last, on the second evening, I seize the opportunity to speak with Lester alone.

It’s sunset. The sky is streaked with pink and orange, the water glistening beneath it like ink.

He’s standing on deck, leaning on the railing and smoking a cigarette, deep in thought.

His face is serious, his hat pulled low over his worried brow.

I suspect he doesn’t want to be disturbed, but I need to talk to him.

There’s nowhere we can be private, but there are quiet places where we won’t be overheard.

This part of the deck is one of them, for it’s fiercely cold and windy, and few passengers want to be outside.

They are desperate, sick of the ocean and waiting impatiently for dry land.

I walk up to him, wrapping my coat tightly about me. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it,’ I say, turning my face to the setting sun.

He nods dolefully. ‘The dogs bark and the caravan moves on,’ he says flatly.

‘Are you all right?’ I ask him.

He sighs. ‘There’s always going to be a degree of guilt for having survived when so many drowned.’

‘You have nothing to feel guilty about. You were lucky. And you were brave,’ I tell him. ‘You didn’t deny anyone a place on a lifeboat. Mr Pengower told me.’

He nods again and says nothing.

‘How did Glover get into a lifeboat and not you?’ I ask.

He hesitates, losing his gaze on the foam frothing below us. ‘I gave him my coat, scarf and hat, and told him to pretend he was me. I wanted to save him, Connie.’

‘I see.’

A muscle throbs in his jaw. He takes a long drag on his cigarette.

I sense he’s uncomfortable talking about Glover.

I don’t imagine I’m going to get the full story.

He’ll fob me off with something close to it, I suspect.

After all, he knows that Constance doesn’t approve of his valet.

‘Glover and I had a disagreement earlier in the evening,’ he tells me.

‘I left him in my cabin and went up to dinner. After the ship hit the iceberg, I went into the smoking room with the intention of drinking myself into oblivion. I thought I’d wait it out.

I didn’t realise it was serious, you see.

Then they were allowing only women and children onto the lifeboats, and I knew that Glover …

’ He looks at me steadily, his gaze intense.

‘Joe,’ he adds with emphasis. He waits for my reaction, but I remain impassive.

‘I knew that there was a good chance that Joe wouldn’t get a place.

So, I went to find him. I wasn’t going to leave him on the ship.

Judge me as you see fit, Aunt Constance.

You will never understand. I wasn’t going to let him drown.

’ His shoulders stiffen defensively. ‘He had a brief opportunity when a woman refused to board without a man. He took it. Good for him, I say. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be here now and I’d have no one to press my clothes.

’ He chuckles bitterly at his lame joke and draws again on his cigarette.

‘Do you want one?’ he asks, reaching into his coat and taking out a blue enamel cigarette case. He studies it pensively. ‘This is all I brought with me. All I have left.’

‘I won’t, thank you,’ I reply.

He frowns. ‘How unlike you, Aunt Constance, to refuse a cigarette. I would have thought that now more than ever you needed one.’

‘You only have a few left. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of one,’ I say. I can’t bear the taste of cigarettes.

There’s a long silence as he chews the inside of his cheek and stares thoughtfully at the sea.

At last, he lets out a puff of smoke and takes a sharp breath.

‘What you saw on the Titanic …’ His voice trails off.

He doesn’t know how to word it. I try to imagine what Constance would say.

I know she and I would likely differ very much in our opinions of sexuality, and I must stay true to her.

‘You know you’re going to have to dismiss him, don’t you?’ I say.

Lester looks at me. He blows smoke out of the side of his mouth as he considers my question. I wait for him to reply, but he turns away and casts his eyes onto the water.

‘You can’t marry Esme and carry on with Glover,’ I tell him. ‘You’re playing with fire. You’re putting yourself in his power. That’s imprudent. Surely, you realise that? A man in your position—’

‘It’s none of your business, Aunt Constance.’

‘Oh, I think it is every bit my business. Esme loves you and trusts you.’

‘And I will be a good husband to her.’

‘With Glover lurking like a shadow in the background? I think not. Besides, you have the reputation of your family to consider. Your mother, me …’

Lester’s face turns from thoughtful to furious in a moment. ‘I will not speak of this any more,’ he snaps.

I have touched a nerve. ‘Very well.’ I pat his arm in a maternal way and lower my voice.

‘You are lucky it was only me. Imagine if Esme catches you like that. What then? It cannot happen. You know that, don’t you?

It must not. Society doesn’t allow it. One day, I hope, it will, but right now it’s too dangerous for you, Lester. You could lose everything.’

He snatches his arm away and tosses his cigarette into the water, then stalks off in a huff, leaving me standing there in the wind, wondering where those words came from. I don’t even believe them. But they are the sort of words Constance might say, and I must try to stay in character.

The Carpathia arrives in New York on the evening of the 18th of April.

The Statue of Liberty comes into view, shining brightly in front of the twinkling lights of Manhattan.

It’s a reassuring sight after the loneliness of the Atlantic and many people break down and cry.

I’m standing beside Mrs Brown. ‘It’s going to get nasty now,’ she says, shaking her head portentously.

The quay is crowded with people and members of the press, eager to get the first testimonies from survivors.

‘I wouldn’t want to be Bruce Ismay,’ she says, referring to the chairman of the White Star Line who is the highest-ranking official to make it off the Titanic .

‘I think he’ll wish he’d gone down with the ship like poor Captain Smith. ’

‘I think many will be made to feel guilty at having survived,’ I reply diplomatically. Although I don’t imagine Glover will feel remotely guilty for anything.

‘Ismay has been hiding out for the last three days in the bowels of the ship, but he’s going to have to break cover now.

Can’t you just see the headlines? He’s going to be called a coward for having abandoned the ship when there were still plenty of women and children on board. He’s going to be hounded like a fox.’

‘I feel sorry for him. I’m sure, if I were in his position, I’d have saved myself as well. It takes a lot of courage to turn down the chance of survival.’

‘He should have taken it like a man,’ Mrs Brown replies obstinately. I imagine, if she were Bruce Ismay, she’d have thrown herself into the sea without a thought.

We say goodbye to each other and to our fellow passengers.

I am sad to part with Mrs Brown, but feel privileged to have spent time with such a legendary figure.

Shame I won’t be able to boast about it in the future!

I embrace Josephine tightly and feel a sudden pang of regret.

We have grown close over the last few days and I’m loath to part with her too.

I don’t imagine I’ll see her again. She, on the other hand, is confident that I will.

‘We will call on you as soon as we can,’ she says.

I suppose society in New York is small, therefore she and Constance are likely to find themselves in the same circle of friends.

I envy Constance that. I will slide back and she will live on in this time, with these people of whom I have grown so fond, who I will have to leave.

I want to embrace Cavill too, but I have to conduct myself in the manner of an Edwardian lady, with moderation.

‘Goodbye, Mr Pengower,’ I say, and give him my hand. My heart weighs heavily in my chest, for I know this is the final time I will lay eyes on him, and I can’t bear it.

He takes my hand and gives a formal bow. There’s no hint of regret or sorrow in his eyes. He, too, is sure our paths will cross again. But he cannot imagine the century that will separate us. ‘I hope you settle into New York,’ he says. ‘The Aldershoffs will look after you well.’

‘I’m sure they will.’ I search his face for a trace of the intimacy we’ve shared, but there’s nothing but politeness.

‘Until we meet again,’ he says, and we join the throng of passengers walking down the gangplank.

Lester and I are met by Walter-Wyatt Aldershoff himself in a chauffeur-driven racing-green motor car with huge round headlights that resemble a pair of giant frog’s eyes.

It stands out from the crowd like a diamond among stones.

Ruby and Glover are to travel behind in another car of the same make and colour.

Besides my Ouija board, we have no luggage.

Neither Lester nor Constance have met Walter-Wyatt before. From Constance’s diary, I know that Lester’s engagement to their daughter, Esme, was overseen by William-Wyatt’s sister, Hope Willesden. Lester is meeting his soon-to-be parents-in-law for the first time.