Titanic Read Online Free

of whether a child who was so ill could be brought in among the others, and then of whether, after all, they could do anything other than bring in such a child. The last thing I remember is a warm hand on my forehead, and then someone lifted me up and carried me inside the building.
    When I awoke, many hours later, I was in a bare white room with a strange, sharp odour. I found out later it was the infirmary. A lady in a big black cape was sitting by the narrow iron bed. Her clothes frightened me, but her face was kind. I remember that she spooned some beef broth into my mouth, and washed my face with cool water from a tin basin.
    I have been here ever since.

Monday, 1st April 1912
St Abernathy’s Orphanage for Girls,
Whitechapel
    Â 
    Â 
    Yet again, I cannot seem to fall asleep. So I am writing by moonlight. All day, I have been wondering how long it will take William to receive my letter. How surprised he will be! Postage is a luxury, so as a rule, we only exchange one letter a month. He is working very hard as a bricklayer, somewhere in the city of Boston. He lives in a boarding house run by an Irish immigrant lady in Charlestown, which he assures me is almost as fashionable a neighbourhood as Whitechapel. The mail can be so slow that it is actually possible I will arrive in the States before he even finds out that I am coming!
    Once I get there, I would like to keep going to school, but I know that will not be possible. I will have to work, to help support us. I am sure that, like London, Boston has factories, and public houses and rich ladies who need maids – so I should be able to find a job.
    I have not seen my brother since the summer before last, although it seems even longer. He must have grown a great deal by now, as he is almost sixteen. For all I know, he will scarcely recognize me, either.
    One of the reasons I miss him so is because I am afraid I have never been one for making friends. Not by design, mind you. It’s just that I have few talents in this area. It may be because I am loath to share my feelings. Also, I read too many books and speak, as I am often told, “like a right toff”. My not having the grace to be ashamed of this worsens the situation. Father always said—

Later
    Â 
    Â 
    I stopped writing for a while, as Nora was crying out in her sleep again. She is so small and alone that I always like to keep a special eye on her. She tends to follow me about a good deal of the time, but I find this to be a compliment, more than anything else, and slow my pace so she can keep up. At supper, she likes me to help her cut up her food, and butter her bread for her. She is an adorable child, and I am happy to do it.
    I sat with her for quite some time just now, talking softly so we would not wake the others in the dormitory, and trying to calm away her tears.
    â€œYou was down the ’Dilly?” she asked. Nora speaks in the very sweetest and pure Cockney. “And did you ’ave Rosy Lee?”
    I agreed that I had, indeed, been to Piccadilly, before having a scrumptious tea at the fancy hotel. I had brought her home a few petits fours and some smushed trifle, which she had eaten happily, without leaving the tiniest crumb behind. That only made me wish I had managed to set aside even more for her.
    Unfortunately, talking about this reminded her that I would soon be leaving for America, and she began to cry all over again. I promised – as I had several times already in recent days – that I would write her lots of letters and that someday, when we were both rich ladies, maybe we could visit each other. She found this to be scant comfort, so I changed the subject by telling her a very long story about cats, and Buckingham Palace, and an astonishing amount of sweets. This lulled her to sleep, finally, and now I am back up in my bunk, looking out of the window.
    There is no question in my mind that Nora and Sister Catherine are what I will miss most about