Grace scribbled frantically in her notebook as she read Maggie’s words, the detail and ideas rushing at her faster than she could capture them on the page, anxious to get them written down before they slipped away again. She reworked the notes then into legible, ordered paragraphs, mindful of the journalistic mantra of story first, detail later as she mapped Maggie’s revelations into words which flowed as easily as the water she had sailed over.
The rain was still falling and the early light of dawn was spreading from the East when she eventually turned out her light.
PART III
'Leila safe and well cared for. Edgar missing'.17 April 1912
Marconigram message sent from Leila Meyer, Carpathia to Saks & Co., New York. Edgar Meyer was married to Leila Saks of Saks & Co., New York. He was lost when the Titanic went down.
CHAPTER 15 - R.M.S Titanic, 13th April, 1912
Harry laughed as he closed the gates behind her. She was a stunning girl with a sense of humour to warm a man’s heart and a smile to melt it.
‘You make sure that gate is good and locked now Lucky Harry,’ she shouted back to him, descending the stairs to the Third Class cabins with her friends Maggie and Katie. ‘We don’t want any o’ those First Class folk comin’ down here botherin’ us with their shiny jewels and fine shoes, givin’ us some posh disease with a fancy name now, d’ye hear?’
The girls giggled at Peggy’s joke. They were in fine mood after another hearty meal served in Titanic’s dining room and were looking forward to the post-dinner singing and dancing deep in the bowels of the ship.
He drew the gate across the top of the stairwell, as was the regulation, and called after the girls. ‘But what if some of those rich American bachelors want to come down Miss Madden?’ he called back down to them. ‘What should I do then?’
Peggy turned at the bottom of the stairwell, placing her hand on her hip, an expression of mock consideration on her face. ‘Well, then tell ‘em that they should ask for a Miss Peggy Madden on arrival in New York where she would be delighted to accept their offers of marriage. Now, please excuse us, we have to show these borin’ folk from England how to sing a decent song.’
Returning to his own dormitory, Harry lay on his narrow bunk bed, his hands behind his head. He had been on his feet since 6am that morning. It was now nearly 11pm and he was exhausted.
His thoughts turned to home, wondering whether his father was feeling well enough yet to return from Devon and how his mother was coping without them both. He imagined her sitting quietly in the living room, reading a newspaper or listening to the wireless, getting up every few minutes to adjust the tablecloth or straighten a cushion or poke the fire. His mother was a restless woman and without her two men to fuss over she would be finding small, insignificant ways to occupy her time. Harry knew that she was always anxious when he was at sea. No matter how many times he sailed, she was always fretful until he walked in through the front door again, safely back in the family home. He imagined she would have been to church to pray for his safe voyage; lighting a candle as she knelt at the altar.
For all her annoying mannerisms, he was very fond of his mother. She’d had a huge impact on his life, always there for him, always supporting him, always waiting for him to come home. She often teased him about getting married and getting out from under her feet to set up a nice place with his wife. ‘I’m sick and tired of picking up after you and washing your filthy socks, Harry Walsh,’ she would chide, but he knew she didn’t mean it. He just laughed at her and said that she would most likely be washing his socks for the rest of her life because no woman would ever be good enough to marry her precious son.
‘Quite probably,’ she replied. ‘But maybe if you sail far enough on those ships of yours, the world might just reveal a woman good enough for you Harry Daniel Walsh.’
As he laid on his bed now, the sound of Titanic’s twenty nine massive engines droning in the background, sending the now familiar vibrations through his spine, he wondered if he might have found her after all, a woman who was good enough for him and his mother. At least he’d found out her name now, Peggy Madden, and he knew that she was going to stay with her sister in St. Louis, Missouri. He also knew that she’d bought her new hat and gloves especially for the journey and that she liked it when he admired them. He had three, maybe four more days to get to know her a little better, to impress her and possibly pluck up the courage to ask her to take a stroll with him on the promenade deck between his shifts; either that or he’d have to be making a trip to St. Louis, Missouri himself, wherever that might be.