The Golden Prince (53 page)
Authors: Rebecca Dean
With the firm ground under their feet, Marigold looked up at the great black sides of the ship to the point on the first-class deck where she had left Zac Zimmerman.
He was waving to her, not angry, but smiling, and as the
Titanic
gathered speed, heading in the direction of the English Channel, those nearest to him heard him shout, “What a gal! God in heaven!
What a gal!
”
Five days later
the first news of the sinking arrived by wireless at the
Daily Despatch
office. At first the only information was that the
Titanic
had struck an iceberg and had called for aid.
There was no way of double-checking, and Hal held the story. Then came news that reporters in New York were storming the White Star Line offices at Nine Broadway for further news.
Before he pitched in to what he suspected were going to be the busiest few hours he’d ever experienced, Hal telephoned Rose.
“The
Titanic
has hit an iceberg and is in trouble. Get over here fast. I want you working in the office with other reporters. You’ve been aboard her. They haven’t.”
The next wire said that White Star’s vice president, Philip A. S. Franklin, had made light of the reports that the ship was in trouble. “Even if the
Titanic
had hit ice, she could float indefinitely,” he was reported as saying. “We place absolute confidence in the
Titanic
. We believe that the boat is unsinkable.”
Hal was no longer so sure. The silence after the first wire saying that the ship had called for aid was too long. His fingers itched to be the first British newspaper to publish the banner headline of the year—but he couldn’t risk issuing it without confirmation.
“What are the American papers saying?” he demanded of his staff. “What headline is the
New York Herald
running with?”
By wireless he learned that the
Herald
had run with:
THE NEW TITANIC STRIKES ICE AND CALLS FOR AID
.
VESSELS RUSH TO HER SIDE
The
Evening Sun
had run with:
ALL SAVED FROM TITANIC AFTER COLLISION
.
Hal chewed his fingernails, settled Rose at a desk with a typewriter, and took a gamble, deciding on the banner headline:
TITANIC SINKING. WOMEN AND CHILDREN
TAKEN OFF IN LIFEBOATS
Hours later, when confirmation came, his headline read:
TERRIBLE LOSS OF LIFE AS TITANIC SINKS
A horrified Marigold bought every newspaper she could lay her hands on. One report declared that out of a passenger list of 2,340, 1,500 had drowned. Another that 1,800 had drowned.
“But when are they going to publish a list of names of survivors?” she asked Theo. “How can we know if Zac Zimmerman has survived?”
“He was a first-class passenger, Marigold. He’s bound to have been shepherded into a lifeboat.” Theo didn’t at all mind her concern about Zac Zimmerman. If she hadn’t been concerned about him, he would have been very disappointed in her.
Rose relayed to them all the up-to-the-minute news. Only 4 first-class women passengers had lost their lives out of a total of 143. In second class only 15 had survived out of a total of 93.
“What about third-class passengers?” Theo asked Rose. “How many women in third class were saved?”
It was a moment when Rose knew why she liked Theo so much. “You are the only person I know who has shown any interest
in those who were traveling steerage. No one knows as yet how many of them drowned, but it’s a certainty it will be a far higher proportion than those traveling second class, or first class.”
The final published figures proved her right. Only 81 women in third class were saved out of a total 179.
“God alone knows the number of men in third class who died,” Rose said bitterly to Theo.
The figures showed that out of a total of 462 men, only 54 had been rescued.
When White Star published the complete list of survivors’ names, Zac Zimmerman’s was not among them. His name did, however, feature prominently in a survivor’s account of the sinking.
Miss Susie Durham had described her experiences to the American press:
The lifeboat I was in was one of the last to leave and because of the steep tilt of the ship it was very hard to get into. Mr. Zimmerman helped the crew pass women and children into it. Then a member of the crew said that one of the boys in the boat was too old to be counted as a child. His mother said he was only thirteen, and he looked to be younger, but the crew member said he had to get out of the boat as it was for women and children only. He did, and Mr. Zimmerman picked him up and even though the crew member had drawn a pistol and was threatening to shoot him if he did so, he put the boy back in the boat. Then he helped other crewmen lower the boat. If he’d wanted to jump into it, he could have, but he didn’t. I think he knew the boat might overturn if too many people were in it. The last I saw of him, he was standing on the deck in his evening clothes, smoking a cigar
.
Marigold had cried when she’d read Miss Durham’s account.
Theo had done his best to comfort her, putting his arms around
her and telling her not to cry for Zac Zimmerman, but instead to be proud of him.
She was—but she knew it would be a long time before she stopped thinking of the moment on the
Titanic
when she had been faced with the choice of sailing on her, or returning to London with Theo. What would have happened to her if she’d stayed? Would she have been one of the survivors, or one of the dead?
Terrible though the
Titanic
disaster was, Iris’s thoughts were centered almost entirely on the preparations for Rory and Lily’s wedding. The wedding itself was going to take place in the local village church; the reception was going to be held at Snowberry. Since Rose was in London, now fully on the staff of the
Daily Despatch
, and because Lily was too distressed that David was still writing to her believing they were going to be together forever, all the wedding arrangements had fallen on Iris.
She didn’t mind. It was the kind of thing she was good at. She was only a little disappointed that Lily wanted everything to be so starkly simple.
There were to be no bridesmaids. Lily didn’t want an extravagant wedding breakfast either.
“Watercress soup, for the first course, then?” Millie had said to her queryingly.
“I think so. Then salmon mayonnaise, followed by fillets of beef with appropriate vegetables.”
“To finish, a mousse of apricots and champagne-primrose jelly,” Millie had said. “This is a perfect time of year for primrose jelly. Who is going to do the primrose picking? You or me?”
“I will.”
“How many are we catering for?”
“Twenty. When Lily said she wanted the wedding to be small, she really meant it.”
The wedding cake, however, wasn’t going to be small. Millie
had made two wedding cakes, both for Lily’s mother. They had been five-tiered, and she wasn’t about to settle for anything less when it came to Lily. “White royal icing with touches of lemon,” she’d said when Iris had asked her about it. “With a traditional wedding couple on top of the cake, and lots of silver horseshoes and silver slippers for good luck.”
Though Iris had had only three weeks in which to do it, everything that had needed to be done had been done. It was the first of May and Lily’s wedding morning. Iris had decorated the church with vases of sweet-smelling lilacs, and Lily’s wedding bouquet of mauve beribboned anemones was on the hall table, just waiting for her to pick it up when she left later for the church.
Their mother, their stepfather, their two stepsisters, and Great-Aunt Sibyl were due to arrive at any moment. Marigold and Theo and Theo’s two sons were expected within the hour, as were Rose, Hal Green, and his daughter, Jacinta. It would be the first time Iris had met Hal and Jacinta, and it was something she was looking forward to nearly as much as she was looking forward to the wedding.
Other guests, guests who would be going straight to the church, included Toby’s parents, Daphne Harbury, and the artist Lawrence Strickland. Toby was best man. The sun was shining. Snowberry was looking its glorious best, and Iris was satisfied that everything was going well. Or she was until she walked into the drawing room and found Lily in floods of tears.
Appalled, she crossed the room to her, saying urgently, “Lily, you can’t cry! Think about how red it will make your eyes! You leave for the church in less than an hour!”
Lily, already wearing the dress she had chosen to be married in, gave a shuddering sob. There was a letter in her lap and the royal crest on it—David’s royal crest—was clearly visible.
“David says how much he is missing me. How he can’t wait to take me in his arms again. How he is counting the days until he leaves Neustrelitz.”
She handed Iris the letter, floods of tears falling down her face. “How can I give so much pain to someone I love with all my heart?
I can’t bear the thought of his dear face when he reads the letter I’m going to have to write to him after the wedding. It’s killing me, Iris. Truly it is.”
Iris looked down at the letter in her hand.
My own beloved darling girl
,
How I’ve been thinking of you tonight! I’m so longing to see you again, sweetheart. Württemberg was bad enough, but the court here at Neustrelitz is even worse. It’s so boring there are times when I quite literally think I’m going to go off my head. All Great-Aunt Augusta—I don’t know if she is my great-aunt, but she is my mother’s aunt and I call her great-aunt—does is go on and on about what a wonderful queen my mother is and what an awful lot I will have to live up to once my father dies and I’m King. How I long to tell her that the chances are it is Bertie who will be the next King! As I can’t, I just have to suffer it
.
I miss you so much, my darling, and just want to have you in my arms again! In another few weeks you will be, and then I’m never going to let you go. Not for anyone! Not for anything! Not ever! I have a calendar by my bed—and a photograph of you holding one of the buns—and I cross the days off every night. When I go to sleep, I dream of you and of how happy we are going to be, and when I think of doing no more prince-ing I’m happier than ever!
I’m going to have to finish now as I’m very tired. I’ve been out shooting all day with my cousin-of-a-kind Grand Duke Adolph. Don’t get upset, sweetheart. I didn’t want to go, and I tried very hard not to hit anything! And this is one more day gone until we are together again—never again to be parted
.
Goodnight my own sweet darling … your own very loving and adoring David
.
Somber faced, Iris handed her the letter back. She knew the last three weeks had been excruciating for Lily, who had not only
been receiving such letters on a nearly daily basis, but had also had to reply to them in a way that wouldn’t alarm David or make him suspicious.
She said quietly and with certainty, “You’ve been amazingly strong up to now, Lily, and for Rory’s sake you have to continue to be strong. David’s birthright is to be a Prince of Wales the country can look up to and see as a figurehead. He may think it is a role he can choose to abandon, but it isn’t. Think of all the people he would be letting down. A whole country—and not just this country either, but Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and India and goodness only knows where else. In marrying Rory before David tells the King he’s going abdicate his rights to the succession, you are doing the right thing.”
There came the distant sound of cars coming down the drive.
She put a hand under Lily’s arm, drawing her to her feet. “Come along, sweetheart. People are arriving. Go upstairs and wash your face. For Rory’s sake you must look a happy bride.”
The cars were nearer now—almost at the door.
Ashen faced, Lily nodded, and holding the letter close to her breast, she walked from the room.
She went to her bedroom and carefully put David’s letter in the box that held all his other letters, and then she went to the top of the house, to her studio. There was something she had to do before she left for the church. One final act before the life she had lived up to now—the life that had included David—was over, and her new life with Rory began.
The studio was full of sunlight. It fell in strong shafts over the bust she had sculpted nearly a year ago, when she had fallen so headlong in love with David and when everything—even becoming Princess of Wales one day—had seemed possible.
She stood in front of it and then, with her fingertips, she traced the contours of his dearly beloved face. It was the good-bye that she would never give him in the flesh. The good-bye that was being given because she loved him so very, very much.
She wondered how he would manage without her, and prayed that he would do so well. Then she removed a sheet that was covering a stack of prepared canvases and gently placed it over the sculpture she had so lovingly and skillfully crafted.
