Chapter Eight
Lizzie
9 April 1912, Southampton Docks, ENGLAND
As Lizzie stood outside the station in the gathering dusk with the last of her train’s passengers, she watched as a handsome young man from her carriage approached a middle-aged wagoner. From where she stood, she couldn’t hear what they said, but at the end of the conversation, the smile the young man gave the wagoner was breathtaking, even from a distance. White teeth shone against olive skin, in a grin that split the cold perfection of his features and warmed them to something far more appealing.
She could see that the wagoner was caught in the same spell as she, and it pleased her to know she was not the only fool to be so influenced by a simple smile. When the young man had moved off in long, energetic strides in the direction the older man had pointed, she gathered her wits about her enough to work out her own plan of action. Picking up her small overnight case, having been assured by the stationmaster that her luggage would be conveyed directly to the White Star Docks along with others in the morning, she set off to find a cheap but reasonably priced hotel nearby.
Her first few stops proved to be fruitless and she started to grow concerned as the evening set in. So many places were already full up for the night. It was, she was told, a very important day tomorrow. People had come from all over the country to see the Titanic on its way. She would be lucky to find clean and pleasant accommodation anywhere this late in the day.
In the end, she did find a little Bed and Breakfast several streets back from Canute thanks to the kind assistance of the motherly owner of another establishment who could see her delicate condition. She settled into an airy bedroom on the second floor of the recently renovated Victorian home and breathed a sigh of relief.
Removing her large, black hat, Lizzie sat in the window seat and looked down on the darkening residential area below. Even with the windows closed, she could smell the sea, and an uncharacteristic frisson of excitement darted through her. Several days ago, she had been booked on the Adriatic and worried that her plans might be waylaid by the coal strike, which was crippling transport around the country. Then, with her good luck still running hot, she had received word that she had been reallocated a berth in second class on the Titanic. And from everything she had read since, the standards for second class on this new ship were equal to first class accommodation on any other liner. The idea that she was travelling on the maiden voyage of such an amazing craft only added to her sense of dazed awe.
The last month had flown by in that kind of wonderful daze. Instead of being numb with her ever-present grief and fearful of what would become of her, now she was energised by her new life as a recently widowed mother-to-be travelling to the other side of the world. And thanks to her progressing pregnancy, she no longer suffered the distress of morning sickness or the dizziness of too tightly cinched stays. Life was certainly looking up.
Her new name was Mrs Anthony Jones, the bride of a Welsh soldier who was killed during a mishap in training only a few months ago. Just before his letter had arrived, so she had informed Bertie. The marriage had been hasty and secret, because her employer did not engage married women. However, she had planned to assume her married name once she finished up at the Peabody’s and settled into a soldier’s family billet. Then, of course, poor Anthony had died and she had been left in dire straits, until her brother came to her timely rescue.
It was a flimsy story, which she planned to correct once she had time alone with her brother. But until she was sure he wouldn’t reject her, she would stick to the fabrication she had come up with and brazen it out. The fact that she had been forced to buy all black clothes, as befitted her grieving state, was not a hardship. In many ways, she still felt she was grieving her parent’s death. She even wore a Victorian mourning brooch for her mother, pinned to her black woollen, mutton-sleeve jacket.
Would she be troubled by seasickness? She had been listening to weather reports for the Atlantic and the forecast was for clear skies and smooth waters. There had been mention of ice flows moving further south than usual this year, but she assumed the Captain would know where they were and avoid such impediments. After all, with Marconi’s invention, no ship needed to travel blind any longer. Those who ventured first could pass back valuable information by wireless to those who followed behind.
Reaching over to remove the information and tickets she would need the next day from her large reticule, she read again, for the hundredth time, the instructions for departure. The information was quite detailed. She would need to make her way to the White Star dock and be prepared to board approximately one hour before the departure time of twelve – midday. Once at the dock, signs would indicate where second class passengers were to muster in preparation for boarding. Her luggage, all but her hand luggage, which she would carry on board with her, needed to be marked for the cabin or the hold. As she only had sufficient possessions for one steamer trunk, it was an easy matter to choose to place a ‘Cabin’ sticker on it.
She would board via the C or Shelter Deck. Stewards would meet passengers there as soon as they arrived and guide them to their cabins. She was sharing stateroom D 53 with another married lady travelling alone. She knew nothing else about the woman other than her marital status, and she only hoped that she proved a friendly and patient sort. It would be nice if she could make a friend, but it would be enough if they could simply share their space in polite conviviality.
More tired than she expected, she washed her face in the small basin in her room, tidied her hair and made her way downstairs to the dining room for supper. Feeling as she did, her plan was to eat a hasty meal and turn in for an early night. She only hoped the excitement wouldn’t keep her from her much-needed rest.