Catherine knew she had several hours to wait before the expected arrival of the rescue ship, but she didn’t care. She didn’t feel the wind or the pouring rain. She didn’t worry about catching a chill. ‘I’d rather stand in a blizzard than spend any more time alone in this blessed house,’ she’d told her neighbour who had called in earlier that day to enquire as to whether there was any further news of Katie. ‘I’m walking in and out of the guest room like a caged tiger,’ she’d explained. ‘I’ve spent weeks preparing for my sister’s arrival and now I don’t know whether the bed will ever be slept in. I stand and stare at those pillows and wonder whether they’ll always remain as smoothed and plumped as I have made them with all my fussing and ironing. I would give anything to have Katie’s beautiful head to rest upon them and mess them all up again.’
She hadn’t been to work that day, or for the several days since news of the Titanic disaster arrived. Her heart was so full of despair it was hard to summon up the energy to wash and dress on a morning, let alone travel across the city and wash Mrs Walker-Brown’s endless floors.
As it transpired, one of the other employees at the Walker-Brown residence had called to Catherine’s door to pass on a message from Mrs Walker-Brown that Catherine’s services wouldn’t be required for the time being. Mrs Walker-Brown had apparently taken to her bed with grief for her daughter who, despite being listed as one of the survivors, appeared to be returning on the rescue ship without her fiancée. Mrs Walker-Brown was unable to bear the thought of her daughter having suffered such horror and could not imagine what terrible conditions she was travelling in on the rescue ship. She was distraught to learn that Robert had, most probably, perished when the ship went down and was inconsolable, refusing to eat and not wishing to see anyone until her daughter was safely returned to the family home.
According to the young kitchen maid who visited Catherine, Vivienne Walker-Brown’s pet dog Edmund was also listed among the survivors. She assumed the officials had considered ‘Edmund Walker-Brown’ to be the lady’s son, and not just a dog. Catherine had seethed with anger when she heard this, unable to comprehend how a dog could be permitted to survive when so many had lost their lives.
Now, as she walked along the wharf, oblivious to the steadily falling rain, she wandered past the yellow taxicabs and limousines which cast their lights onto the rain-soaked pavement, reflecting the sights of the dock buildings and freight cranes at her feet. She could barely register the absurdity of the situation which would permit some survivors to walk off the Carpathia into immediate luxury while others would undoubtedly arrive without a cent or a pair of shoes to their name.
Alongside Pier Fifty Four - the Cunard pier - the lines of ambulances waiting to ferry the shaken and injured survivors to hospital reinforced the severity of the situation and the scale of the tragedy. It struck Catherine for the first time, that even arriving safely in New York would not be the end of the ordeal for these poor people, many of whom would still be far from their final destination.
As she walked, she caught fragments of conversation which shocked and scared her all over again.
‘Not enough lifeboats by far they’re reporting. There wasn’t a chance for half of the passengers. It’s a disgrace. Probably saving room for some more mahogany panelling for the First Class Staterooms.’
‘It’s my fiancée I’m waiting for. We’re to be married next month. I didn’t see his name on the list, but I had a dream that he survived. He has to have survived.’
‘Mammy and Da and mi four little brothers were sailing. Only Mammy survived,’ a young girl sobbed. ‘It was their first time coming over. We was all planning a life here together.’
It was unbearable to hear.
Catherine walked past large groups of Salvation Army and Sheltering Society volunteers, dressed in their uniforms, ready to act and provide assistance wherever possible, serving hot coffee and sandwiches to the waiting relatives and to the dozens of dock workers who had arrived of their own will, keen to help in whatever way they could.
A dozen or so black-robed Sisters Of Charity stood in quiet prayer, awaiting the rescue ship’s arrival alongside representatives from the Pennsylvania Railroad,ready to provide assistance and tickets to those trying to travel onwards to Philadelphia or points west of there. It was a rescue and humanitarian operation the scale of which Catherine had never seen before and it moved her immensely.
‘You’re doing a wonderful job,’ she remarked to a Salvation Army volunteer who offered her a cup of hot coffee. ‘It is much appreciated.’