Titanic Affair (7 page)

‘Well! So she got the better of you, did she? I like her more and more,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘You’d better go find her straight away then. You can tell her you’re sorry for speaking to her like that, and I can say thank you to her before she gets off the ship.’

He put his hands in his pockets. Although he saw the sense of his mother’s suggestion, he wasn’t looking forward to speaking to Miss Cavendish. He was going to have to eat humble pie, and it wasn’t a dish he liked. But Miss Cavendish had helped his mother. He owed her for that. And whatever else he might or might not be, Carl Latimer was a man who paid his debts.

Emilia made an effort to put Mrs Latimer and the infuriating Mr Latimer out of her mind as she explored the ship. There was so much to see that she soon became engrossed as she wandered between decks, investigating as many rooms as she could before it was time for her to disembark. She was amazed to see that the accommodation in second class was almost as good as that in first-class, for although the carving on the woodwork was less ornate, it was still sumptuous. The dining saloon was panelled in oak, and the library was panelled in sycamore. There were bars in which the passengers could while away their time, and a barber’s shop selling pennants, postcards and other souvenirs of the voyage. She bought a postcard for her godmother, with a picture of
Titanic
on the front, and one for Mrs Wichwood. They had the White Star emblem in the top left hand corner, and across the top was written,
White Star Liner "Titanic
".

She caught a glimpse of several cabins through open doorways, and although they were not as large as those in first-class, they were still spacious and well appointed, with basins for washing and mahogany furniture.

She wandered on, storing everything away in her memory to tell her godmother, until she realized that her surroundings were becoming less sumptuous, and with a feeling of dismay she realized that she was lost. By the look of the cabins she saw through a few open doors she guessed she had wandered into third class, for the cabins were smaller, and bunks were provided instead of beds.

She went on, hoping to find her way to a staircase leading back to second class. She walked through a large communal room, panelled in pine. Instead of comfortable chairs, interspersed with potted plants as there were in first-class, there were only wooden benches, whilst exposed pipe work hung from the ceiling, but it was clean and fresh.

A number of people were talking or playing cards. Over in the corner a group of women, some wearing plain skirts and blouses, and others wearing dark coloured dresses over which they wore woollen shawls, were talking animatedly about the new life they hoped to find in
America
. Nearby, a group of men, coatless, with their sleeves rolled up and their braces stretched tightly over their rough shirts, were playing dominoes. Between the benches ran children, the girls in dresses with white aprons and the boys in knee length trousers with rough jackets, enjoying the relative freedom of the room after the confines of the small cabins.

As she had not come across a staircase, Emilia decided to ask for directions. She doubted if any of the passengers in steerage knew the way to first class, but if they could direct her to the deck then she could walk along it until she came to the first class section, and from there she could find her way back to her room.

She found the women friendly and they soon told her the way. Thanking them, she set off towards the stairs. But just as she turned a corner and came in sight of them she stopped suddenly and shrank back against the wall, her heart hammering in her chest. There, standing at the foot of the stairs, was Silas Montmerency’s henchman, Barker.

Her heart began to pound in her chest. What was Barker doing on board the
Titanic
? she wondered. He must have seen her get on board, and followed her. But how? He didn’t have a ticket, and he would not have had time to buy one. She had boarded the ship with only ten minutes to spare.

Her mind returned to more pressing concerns. She could go no further. If she continued on her way towards the stairs he would see her and it would be all over with her.

She began to back away, and had almost managed to slip round the corner, out of sight, when he turned round. She froze again, hoping the shadows would hide her, but it was no good. His eyebrows shot up, then his mouth curved into a crooked smile.

Their eyes locked for a tense minute, and then she turned and ran, neither knowing or caring where she was going, driven only by a need to get away from him.

She knew without looking that he was following her, for she could hear the steel caps on his shoes tapping on the floor as he ran after her. If she could just get away from him, then lose him in the labyrinthine passages of the ship, she might have a chance of escape. She had only to return to her stateroom and collect her luggage and then she could disembark. The ship would be docking at Queenstown in less than an hour. As long as he did not see her, the ship would be heading for
New York
before he realized she was no longer on it.

She threaded her way through the third-class passengers, past gossiping women and men playing fiddles, avoiding children’s hoops and balls, every few minutes glancing over her shoulder to see if he was still following her.

She could see no sign of him and stopped to catch her breath, but the tell-tale sound of steel on wood alerted her to the fact that he was near and she ran on again.

She was becoming afraid. She recognized none of the corridors. With their uniform doors they all seemed the same. She had hoped to be able to double back on herself, reaching the stairs once Barker had left them, but she had lost her sense of direction.

The further she went, the more lost she became. She threaded her way through a further maze of passages. One of the cabins had its door open. Inside, sitting on the bottom bunk, were two men playing cards.

‘Excuse me,’ she gasped, holding her side as she stopped for a minute to catch her breath. ‘How do I get to the deck from here?’

One of them muttered something unintelligible, waving his hands in the air. He must be Italian, she guessed. Her spirits fell. He had not understood a word she had said.

Clutching her side, she went on.

Further down the corridor she saw another cabin with an open door. Again she asked for directions, and again she was met by a torrent of some foreign language she could not understand.

She began to be seriously worried. The ship would be docking shortly. One way or another, she must find her way back to her stateroom.

The man continued talking and gesticulating, then, getting up, he pushed his way past her and went down the corridor.

She would just have to ask someone else.

The stitch in her side had started to ease and she was about to hurry on when a voice called, ‘Can I help you?’

Turning round, she saw the man from the cabin. Next to him was the man who had spoken English.

‘I’m Mr Müller, the steerage interpreter,’ he said. He was a fine looking man with an air of solidity about him. Although he spoke with a heavy accent she had no difficulty in understanding him. ‘Do you want something?’

‘Oh, yes, thank you.’ Emilia straightened up. She seemed to have lost her pursuer, and had finally found someone who could give her directions. Her fear began to leave her. ‘I have lost my way. I need to get back to first class. If you can tell me the way to the deck, I can find my own way from there.’

‘It’s quite easy,’ he said cheerfully. He gave her a series of instructions, finishing with, ‘then turn left, and you will find yourself at the stairs.’

She gave him a heartfelt, ‘Thank you.’

Hurriedly following his directions she found herself once more at the bottom of the staircase. And this time, there was no sign of Barker. Breathing a sigh of relief she picked up the hem of her dress and climbed up to the poop deck. Never had a sight been more welcome. Although heavy smoke from the funnels was blowing across it, she made for it eagerly.

She took in a deep breath as she emerged . . . only to see Barker scanning the deck.

There was no use hiding. He had already seen her. And she would have to catch her breath before she could run any further.

‘Well, well,’ he said, advancing on her. ‘If it isn’t little Miss Cavendish.’

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, backing away from him.

‘I saw you getting on the ship. A pretty thing it would have been if I’d let you get away.’

‘But how did you follow me? You didn’t have a ticket,’ she said in horror.

He grinned. ‘So what? Plenty of other people on the dock did, and they were all waving them round as they waited to get on board. All I had to do was stick a knife in someone’s ribs and take his ticket, then when everyone crowded round him to see why he’d collapsed I slipped through the crowd and onto the boat.’

‘No!’ said Emilia.

‘You didn’t think I’d let you go? Mr Montmerency would have had it out of my hide. He’ll be mighty glad to know you’re here, and he’ll pay me a fortune when I give you to him. It’s a pity I couldn’t get you off at
Cherbourg
. I tried, but I couldn’t get through to first class.’ He spat. ‘The stewards stopped me. Said I didn’t belong there. Escorted me back to steerage. I mustn’t look life a toff,’ he jeered. ‘But there’s no one to stop me now, and I’ll get you off at Queenstown instead. And then I can give you, right and tight, to Mr Montmerency.’

Emilia felt her stomach clench with fear. ‘Never,’ she said.

‘I don’t see why you don’t want him,’ he said. ‘He’s rich, and he’s besotted. He’ll give you everything you want. You might as well make up your mind to it, because one way or another he’s going to have you, and if you’ve any sense you’ll let him have you with a ring on your finger instead of making him take you without it. If he does that, you’ll end up in the gutter, so why not come quietly, and take him for everything he’s got?’

He reached out a hand and she dodged to the side, but in a whip-like movement he caught her wrist.

‘You and I are going to spend the next few days together,’ he said gloatingly, ‘and when Mr Montmerency meets us in Ireland there’ll be a tidy sum coming my way.’

‘Let go of me,’ she said, struggling to break free.

But he only laughed, catching her round the waist and pinning her arms to her side.

With only her legs free, Emilia stamped hard on his foot. It was enough to make him loosen his grip and she ran . . . but saw too late that she was running straight towards the railings at the back of the ship, beyond which was nothing but the ocean.

She heard his laughter behind her and her pulse started to race. She was trapped.

She looked round desperately for help but the cold wind had driven the rest of the third-class passengers below and the deck was empty.

Barker walked toward her menacingly.

‘Seems you’ve nowhere to go,’ he said. ‘Unless you fancy a jump into the blue yonder.’

She waited with heart hammering as he approached her, knowing she had only one chance of escape.

She waited until he was almost upon her, then darted past him, picking up her skirts as she ran across the poop deck, opening the gate that protected the top of the steps leading down to the aft deck and sprinting down them, then across the aft deck . . .

. . . and straight into the arms of Carl Latimer.

She had never been so pleased to see anyone in her life. Arrogant Mr Latimer might be, but his strong, powerful body offered her protection, and she gave a sigh of gratitude for his presence.

His arms closed around her, and to her surprise she felt a tingling sensation starting from her shoulders and rippling right down to her feet. It was not unpleasant but it was unsettling, and it made her step back. She looked up, and met his eye. Just for a moment it was though there was a connection between them. She felt powerfully drawn to him. So much so that she almost stepped forward, into his arms again.