That Fatal Night Page 7

  The first night on board I could not go to sleep. I had so many stories going on in my head, stories of Mill House and stories of home. But mostly it was the delicious feeling of being in between. I didn’t want to sleep and miss anything. I didn’t want to sleep and miss the pleasure of my secret bed-cave.

  I could still hear Miss Pugh sniffing and snoring, but at least I could not see her teeth.

  On the way to England I just hated Miss Pugh’s false teeth. She kept them in a glass of water on the washstand. I tried not to look at them but my glance just kept going there, the way you can’t help picking a scab on your knee. And even when the light was out I sensed them there, floating in the water, grinning. On the Titanic I made sure that I did not peek out of my curtain until I heard Miss Pugh up and about, with her teeth safely in her mouth.

  June 14

  Mother came in this morning as I was writing in this journal. She asked me how I was getting on. I said it was fine. Then she told me I had very nice penmanship.

  Something was up. Mother does not believe in praising children, for penmanship or anything else. She seemed awkward and if she had been a girl I would have said she was shy. She sat on the edge of the bed.

  Then she said, “We must have read your postcard a hundred times when we were waiting for news of you.”

  Truth was, I had forgotten the postcard. The first evening on board I wrote two postcards, to Mother and Father and to Grandmother and Grandfather, because Miss Pugh told me that they would take off the mail the next morning in Ireland and it would be our last chance to send it.

  Mother then went on to tell me what it was like when they were waiting for word of the ship. They woke up on Monday morning to the news. “We did not know what to believe,” she told me. The first edition of the newspaper said that the Titanic was in danger. The second edition said that everyone was safe. She told me that she and Father went down to the White Star offices to wait for information and they were told that the survivors would be taken to Halifax. At noon they heard that the Titanic was going to be towed. Then Mother said, “All the time we had just one question: Is Dorothy safe?” As the day went on the news got worse and worse and finally, late on Monday night, a rumour started that the Titanic had sunk, and then the rumour was confirmed.

  “We did not sleep all night,” said Mother. “The neighbours came over. We kept making pots of tea and not drinking them. Time stopped. And Asquith went out after dinner and did not come home. I got it into my head that if Asquith was safe, so were you, so I made Father walk around the streets with a piece of fish on a string, calling his name.”

  I was surprised. Mother often complains about Asquith’s fur and the way he scratches the furniture and the way he always wants to be in when he’s out and out when he’s in.

  So I just said it. “You don’t even like Asquith.”

  Mother laughed a small laugh and motioned me to come and sit beside her on the bed. “It was superstition. The worry of you was so big that I needed a smaller worry, a cat-sized worry. Father could not find Asquith anywhere. He was gone all night.”

  Then she told me that on Tuesday morning they finally got news that I was safe on board the Carpathia, which was on its way to New York.

  “As soon as we got the news, Asquith turned up again.”

  I asked Mother why she hadn’t told me all this before and she said that she didn’t want to remind me of things that I would rather forget.

  Then she remembered that she was a mother and commented on my inky fingers and hoped I wasn’t going to get ink on my sheets and, goodness me, look at the time.

  So it was just like England. The newspaper printed stories that weren’t true. Did the people who wrote those stories get in trouble later?

  Later

  Back to the ship.

  One of the pleasantest things about life on board the ship was that Miss Pugh left me alone to wander. On the morning of the second day she found a missionary lady from India to talk to and they spent most of the day together.

  It was very easy to get lost with all the alleyways and decks, but I have a very good Bump of Locality and it didn’t worry me because how lost can you get? That morning I found an enclosed area on C deck where there were a couple of toddlers playing with a top and some blocks. They were boys, as pretty as can be, with shiny brown curls. Even the older one couldn’t manage the top, so I sat down with them. Their father sat close and was very attentive but he didn’t actually play with the boys. The bigger boy was very kind to the smaller one.

  Usually children like me. I’m always happy to mind little ones. But these boys wouldn’t seem to talk when I asked them questions. Then their father said something to them and I realized it was French. I was so excited. Here was a chance to try out my French. And, luckily, I knew just the sort of questions you can ask little children, like “What is your name?” and “How old are you?” I even remembered to use “toi” because they were children. At first they giggled and hid their eyes behind their hands, so I decided to sing the one French song I know, which was “A la Claire Fontaine.” I just sang it very quietly, to myself, and soon they were cuddling up to me.

  From then on we were great friends and I found out that their names were Lolo and Momon and that they were three and one. Mostly our conversation was things like I would point to my hand and say “Main?” and Lolo would nod. We did this with all the body parts I knew. Then I started to do it wrong, pointing to my nose and saying, “Pied?” Lolo roared “Non” and then I said “Oui” and he said “Non” and then he started to laugh so hard he got the hiccups. One of the nice things about being with small children is that they think you are very funny.

  Their father smiled a bit but he didn’t say a word to me.

  Later that morning I took Marjorie back to that part of the deck. She hadn’t discovered it yet. By this time there were a number of other small children and when I started to talk to Momon and Lolo (well, if you can call it talking when all you do is point to your ear and say “Genou”) another French child came over, a little girl called Simone with a big bow in her hair. She found me funny as well. Her mother and baby sister were there, but again, the father of the boys didn’t talk to anyone. Maybe because there were no other fathers there. I think Marjorie was impressed by my skill at French!

  But she wasn’t so fond of little children so we went off to do more exploring.

  June 15

  That second day Marjorie and I decided to skip lunch so that we could watch everyone coming onboard at Queenstown in Ireland.

  More people, more baggage, more confusion.

  Mr. Chatty came by and told us that some Irish women had come out from the port to set up a market on the aft deck, so we made our way there. It was linens and lace and things. Many of the rich first-class people were very busy buying so I guess those Irish women were happy when they got in the little boats going back to the dock.

  When we departed from Ireland a man played the bagpipes on the aft deck. Bagpipes make a good kind of sad sound, like playing on the black keys.

  Then we went to search for the dog kennels, which we finally found behind the fourth funnel. We spent the afternoon visiting the dogs. (And also some chickens who were travelling as somebody’s pets. These were not as pleasant as the dogs.) A nice steward named Joe let us help walk them (dogs, not chickens!) and then he brought us some sandwiches because we were hungry, what with skipping lunch. Turned out that Joe was a pal of Beryl’s. They had been on several ships together.

  There is nothing quite as nice as a picnic in a dog kennel.

  June 16

  By Friday I felt as though I had been on the ship forever. Marjorie and I had explored all the places we were allowed and some that we weren’t. We had sorted out the room numbers. Joe had given us a glimpse into the galley. We knew all the different ways to get from here to there. We knew that the ship’s bugler was called Mr. Fletcher and that one of the passengers made the stewardess deliver special meals to her cabin fo
r her Pekinese dog!

  Mr. Chatty kept popping up everywhere, always with several facts. “Do you know how many sardines they loaded on? Twenty-five cases, that’s how many. What about cigars? What do you think, eh? How many? Eight thousand. Fancy that!”

  Marjorie understood completely how amusing it is to make up stories about strangers. For example, one of the couples we kept an eye on was a beautiful young French woman and her older husband. She spent a lot of time in the library playing Patience. He would look over her shoulder and whisper things in her ear and then they would giggle and he would sometimes kiss her on the neck. Marjorie said what if they were not married at all but just “living in sin.” I don’t know what living in sin means but I didn’t let on to Marjorie. It sounded wicked but interesting, a bit like D’Artagnan.

  I’m sure Miss Pugh would have thought it most unsuitable for Marjorie and me to talk about such things, whatever such things are.

  That was also the day that we got a glimpse of Captain Smith. Beryl told us that he did an inspection each day and that we might expect to see him in the second-class library sometime after ten-thirty. So we waited in the library playing tic tac toe on the stationery and trying not to giggle and, sure enough, he appeared. He was with other men in uniform and he looked splendid, with gold buttons and braid, white gloves, medals and a very tidy white beard and moustache. He seemed like a bishop, or maybe a king. I guess he was like a king, the king of the ship. Actually he looked a bit like King George on the stamps. At least the beard was the same.

  We followed the captain out onto the covered promenade deck. We tried to look as though we just happened to be going that way. The little children were there, as usual. He patted the head of the older of the little French sisters. I understand why because she had thick hair that looked bouncy. I had wanted to pat it myself. Then he said something to the other important men and they all gave little laughs. I guess if you are really important and you make a little joke, everybody laughs. I would like that. When I make a joke at dinner at home nobody pays much attention. Except at Grandfather and Grandmother’s house, where all the grown-ups paid attention to anything I said.

  Later I told Beryl that I would like to marry a sea captain because Captain Smith looked so clean and important. She laughed and said that that was a good plan because sea captains had lots of money and they were mostly away at sea and wouldn’t be much of a bother. Miss Pugh, who overheard this conversation, looked disapproving.

  There was also no escaping Mr. Chatty. He gave a lecture to some of the people in the library on how fast the ship was travelling. He said that there was a rumour that the captain was going to try to go very fast so as to make the fastest transatlantic crossing ever, and that on Sunday they were going to fire up all the boilers and make a dash for it. But he, Mr. Chatty, wanted to set everybody straight: Titanic was much slower than Lusitania and Mauretania and had no hope of setting a speed record.

  June 17

  What was the best thing about life aboard the Titanic? Lovely food? Fancy rooms? Being waited on? Glimpses of famous people?

  No. The best thing about the Titanic was Marjorie. She was an instant friend. It was as though we took weeks or months of becoming friends and fitted it into four days. She was fun and she had wonderful ideas and she understood completely about Miss Pugh.

  Miss Pugh did not approve of Marjorie. She thought she was forward and an unsuitable friend for me. “She has a defiant look on her face, that girl, and her family, well … ” I knew Miss Pugh wanted me to ask, “What about her family?” but I didn’t, because I did not want to give Miss Pugh the satisfaction of telling me, whatever it was. She was standoffish with Marjorie’s parents, which is the kind of bad behaviour that adults get away with.

  I was badly behaved. I admit it. I deliberately bothered Miss Pugh. I pulled faces at Marjorie in the dining room to make us both giggle. I sighed loudly when Miss Pugh corrected me. I stared at her mouth when she talked to me instead of looking at her eyes. Every night I drummed my knuckles softly against the edge of my bed to see how loud I could get before she scolded me. I didn’t care a button. I didn’t care a fig.

  Being on the ship, in that between world, I felt that I could get away with being disobedient, and I enjoyed it.

  I might have to tear this page out later.

  June 18

  On Sunday Marjorie and I got to see Captain Smith again because he took a morning service in the first-class dining room.

  Marjorie found out about the service and asked if she could come with me and Miss Pugh. I asked why she wasn’t going with her parents and she said it was a big secret but she would tell me later. “Just tell Miss Pugh that my parents are not able to attend.” So that’s what I told Miss Pugh. She wasn’t paying much attention because she and her friend were discussing which famous people they might see.

  I was surprised that a captain of a ship could take a church service. I didn’t know that a captain is like a vicar. There were lots of people there. Perhaps they all go to church every Sunday at home or perhaps the second-class passengers just wanted a good look at the first-class dining room. Mr. Chatty was there, sitting near us. “Largest room afloat in the history of the world,” he declared.

  It was certainly bigger than church at home, and a lot more comfortable, with big soft armchairs for everyone to sit in. And with a better view, through big windows out to sea.

  The view was distracting and so were the hats, which were much more splendid than the hats at St. Mark’s Church in Halifax. The hat ahead of me was as big as a soup tureen. It had wide green velvet ribbon around the edge and silk flowers and leaves sewn onto the ribbon. I spent some time memorizing it and wondering whether I would like to be a milliner. I would like to have all that velvet and silk to play with, but my sewing is not very neat.

  After the service Marjorie and I managed to stay around the dining room and watch the people leaving before we had to return to the second-class dining room for lunch. We played “pick the best beard” but we both agreed that Captain Smith’s was the nicest. Then Marjorie confessed her secret, in a whisper. (Marjorie likes to whisper.) The secret was that she is R.C., which means Roman Catholic, and that she and her parents had already been to mass earlier that morning, but she wanted to come with me to see the rest of the rich people. I was a bit shocked. I don’t know any R.C. people here at home and I wondered if it was right for an R.C. person to go to a Protestant service. But she was Marjorie, just as before, and she wanted to go and see if any dogs were being walked so we did that.

  Later I figured out that that was why Miss Pugh did not approve of Marjorie and her parents, because they were R.C.

  June 21

  I have not written in a few days because I don’t want to do this. But I will do it.

  Here is what I have not told anyone. I have not told anyone about the pureed turnips. The pureed turnips were the last straw.

  Dinner on that last night was lovely. I had turkey with cranberry sauce. It came with green peas and pureed turnip. I like peas. In fact, I like almost all things to eat. But I do not like turnip. Turnip smells like a lavatory. This is one of those true things that nobody says. I did not say this to Miss Pugh. I said, in a very ladylike way, that I did not care for turnip. Then she said that turnip was very good for me and that unless I ate it I could not have dessert. She was treating me like a five-year-old! Nobody has ever made me eat turnip. Mother says that the dinner table is not to be a war zone and that we are allowed to say “no, thank you” to anything. (Except cod liver oil, but that is just a trial to be borne.) The dessert was cocoanut sandwich, which sounded mysteriously good, and American ice cream, which was less mysterious but just as wonderful sounding.

  I did not eat my turnip and when the waiter came to take the plates and ask for our dessert orders I piped up quick-like and ordered ice cream. Miss Pugh looked furious but of course she did not want to make a fuss and call attention to us.

  Later, in our cabin, she gave me
a thorough dressing down. She told me that I was a wicked, spoiled, willful girl and that she expected that I would come to a bad end. I waited her out and said nothing. I blotted out her words by saying, inside my head, over and over, “Soon I will be home.”

  Then she said that she was going to go to the hymn sing and she expected me to be asleep by the time she returned. I said that I didn’t want to go to some dull hymn sing anyway and then I put on my nightgown in an angry sort of way. I didn’t brush my teeth.

  After she left I was furious. I just needed to do something dreadful. So I started throwing things around, clothes and shoes and bedclothes and books. I pulled her bed apart. I even emptied out the little bag she kept her curlers in. It felt good. Everything I had kept inside when she was saying how bad I was just came bubbling out.

  Then I climbed up to my berth, pulled the curtain across, turned out the light and went right to sleep. I did not hear her come back.

  The next thing I knew

  I can’t do it.

  June 22

  I would like to keep writing about the turnips. Turnips are from before the night of the disaster. The night of the disaster is a line, like the line in history between B.C. and A.D. or the fence around the edge of the graveyard. Everything before I went to sleep that night is before and everything from when I woke up is after. So I am going to write about everything that happened and I’m not going to stop until I am done, for if I stop I might not start again.

  I woke up on Sunday night to a crunching sound. It wasn’t a crash like when I crashed into a tree at the bottom of the toboggan run last winter. It was more like a shiver. I lay very still because I did not want to talk to Miss Pugh. I was still worried about the clothes strewn about. I listened and listened but I did not hear her moving, only that little strangled snore that she made. I needed to scratch my nose but I didn’t want to move. I think I must have slipped into sleep again. In that sleep I thought I heard some kerfuffle and a man’s voice but I didn’t really wake up.