Titanic Read Online Free Page B

subsisted on nothing more than hard biscuits and water the entire time.
    This gives rise to a bothersome notion. What if I get seasick, too? That would make me a rather unsatisfactory companion, I fear. Never in my life have I set foot on a boat – or even gone in the water, beyond wading in the Thames. However, I suppose worrying about it will not help. I shall simply have to wait and see – and eat sparingly the entire time, perhaps.
    Well, the morning will come sooner than I would like, so I will stop writing for this evening.
    Is there not some tradition of counting sheep in order to become drowsy? I think I just might give it a try . . .

Wednesday, 3rd April 1912
St Abernathy’s Orphanage for Girls,
Whitechapel
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    Today I went back into the city to meet my new employer again. This time, I was allowed to go by myself, although I was given many instructions by the Sisters, and warned to keep the small change they had given me hidden in different pockets, so I would be safe from knaves and thieves. I have a bit of experience with thieves, but am quite certain I have never known a knave – nor so much as seen one from a distance.
    The dress I wore was an unflattering cut, and an even worse shade of dull maroon. A postulant who did not do well in the orphanage atmosphere and was transferred to a more traditional convent had left it behind with a bundle of other unfortunate, but “earthly”, dresses. I do not remember her, but it was clear from the dimensions of the dress that she had been tall – and not slim. Sister Judith and Sister Catherine performed some necessary surgery with great handfuls of pins, and warned me not to move about freely, if possible.
    â€œBut, what if I meet a knave, and must take flight?” I asked.
    Their reignited concern about just that dreadful possibility eliminated the chorus of wry chuckles I had anticipated.
    So, it was off to Claridge’s once again. There might have been a more direct way to go, but I repeated our exact motor bus ride, in order to enjoy another walk through Piccadilly Circus. But I resisted buying any food, as I suspected plenty would await me at the hotel. After all, teatime approached.
    I had hoped we would meet in the foyer, so I could enjoy listening to that quartet again, but Mrs Carstairs had a servant downstairs awaiting my – slightly late – arrival. He escorted me up to her suite, where our tea was to be served privately. I was concerned that my table manners had not passed muster previously, but then caught sight of two fluttery young women clutching measuring tapes, pincushions and the like. I had, of course, forgotten that I was to be fitted with “appropriate garments”. Florence was stalking back and forth in front of the two women, letting out a fierce, if squeaky, growl every so often. This was making the women uneasy, to say the least.
    â€œHello, Florence,” I said.
    She wagged her tail at me, then resumed her feisty strut.
    I could not tell how large the suite was, because so far I had only seen the hallway, but it appeared palatial. Mrs Carstairs came bustling out, looking both more matronly and more unwieldy than I remembered. Judging from her widened eyes when she saw me and ran her eyes up and down my lumpy dress, I was more obviously working class than she had remembered.
    â€œGood afternoon, Margie,” she said, quite brisk.
    Margie? But I greeted her very pleasantly, regardless – and by the proper name, even.
    She waved her hand at each of the two pale, jittery ladies in turn. “This is Hortense, and Mabel. Please be most cooperative with them.” She turned to the women. “As you can well see, this is a dire situation.”
    I followed them into a sun-splashed sitting room, where a grand tea was spread out on a lace-covered table by the broad, sparkling windows. A man with sparse white hair, but thick grey mutton-chop whiskers, was seated at the table,