Читать книгу Love...Maybe: The Must-Have Eshort Collection - Julia Williams, Beth Thomas, Beth Thomas - Страница 9

Gerda stood on deck to watch the view as the Lusitania steamed down the Hudson River, coloured flags streaming from the masts and a choir singing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’. She had lived in Brooklyn for five years but had only travelled into Manhattan a handful of times and had just seen the brand new buildings thrusting up into the clouds – ‘skyscrapers’, they called them – from a distance. She especially loved the Woolworth building, said to be the tallest in the world, its windows glinting in early afternoon sunshine on this fresh spring day. As the ship passed the harbour bar, she could smell the ocean. She knew rivers and sea mingled here because not far up the East River she liked to swim in a floating pool, where the water had a slightly salty flavour.

Gerda had mixed emotions about the trip: she longed to see her sister Thomasine and meet her new niece and nephew, to feel part of a family again, but at the same time she dreaded those familiar questions – ‘Is there not a beau? Someone special perhaps?’ – and the sense of failure they induced. At the age of twenty-nine, she was firmly ‘on the shelf’ and had no idea why it had turned out that way because, she yearned for a husband, someone to love who would stop her feeling so alone. She was pretty enough, with blonde, blue-eyed, Norwegian looks from the country of her birth; she was a talented seamstress who dressed well, given her limited means; and she lived in a respectable house, with no slur on her good name. She met gentlemen from time to time – nice gentlemen, with decent jobs – and they called on her for a while and then stopped, either saying they were ‘too busy’ or simply drifting away without explanation.

‘You’re too direct,’ her friend Charlotte told her. ‘You come across as too keen.’

‘I don’t know what you mean. How do I act differently from anyone else?’ She’d watched other girls, noted their jocular repartee, their bright smiles, the hand placed lightly on a man’s forearm, and she tried her best to emulate them, though it made her feel false.

‘Do you remember when Mr Taylor, the jeweller, began to call on you? You barely knew him and yet you asked about the extent of the accommodation above his shop, as if you were interviewing a potential husband.’

‘I was curious – that’s all.’

‘And with Mr Eliot, a highly eligible bachelor, you asked if he would consider pruning his whiskers …’

Gerda wrinkled her nose; she could see that had perhaps been indelicate, but his facial hair was so overgrown a small rodent could easily have nested therein.

‘You need to stop yourself blurting out personal questions. Be mysterious. Try to act as if you have dozens of gentlemen callers, as if you are the kind of girl who receives proposals every day of the week but will only accept if you meet someone exceptional.’

Gerda mused on this but still couldn’t imagine how she would follow it. If she play-acted too much the man might fall in love with the person she was pretending to be and she’d have to maintain the act throughout her marriage. Perhaps some women did that, but she feared she wasn’t a good enough actress.

Two young boys were running along the deck twirling hoops on sticks, and when she turned to watch, she caught eyes with a dark-haired man standing ten feet away. He wore a trilby and a nice suit: single-breasted, decently tailored, expensive cloth. He smiled and she smiled back instinctively.

A minute later he appeared at her elbow. ‘I didn’t like to disturb you as you seemed lost in thought. I hope you are not melancholy to be leaving New York City.’

He was English, with a northern accent and friendly eyes. ‘Not at all. I was simply admiring the view.’

‘Aha! Do I detect a hint of a Geordie accent?’

‘Actually I’m Norwegian, but my sister and I grew up in South Shields … And you?’

‘Manchester. T’other side of the Pennines. The name’s John Welsh. But friends call me Jack.’

‘Gerda Nielsen.’

He touched his hat. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Nielsen.’

‘What brought you to America, Mr Welsh?’ she asked, wondering if he might be one of those men who came out to the New World to make their fortunes then returned home to collect their wives or fiancées once established.

‘I’ve been in Honolulu working for the Marconi radio company, but I got homesick for the old country. Now I want to go home and settle down, taste Ma’s hotpot and drink a decent cup of tea … What about you?’

‘I’ve been working in a dressmaker’s in Brooklyn but I’m on my way back to visit my sister.’ America was now a hazy mass on the horizon and all around them was dark choppy water with sunspots dancing on the surface. She felt a warmth about this man. He seemed open and genuine, with no edges to speak of.

‘It’s hard being a traveller,’ he said. ‘You make friends in one place, build a life for yourself, but all the while there’s a tug from your roots. I know folks who travel to and fro, year on year, but I don’t want to end up like that. Ma isn’t getting any younger and I should be there to look out for her.’

She smiled. ‘That’s nice.’ It sounded as though there wasn’t a wife involved, but maybe he was just omitting mention of her for now. She wished she could ask but guessed it was the kind of question Charlotte had warned against.

After a while they found some deckchairs and swapped stories. He told her that as a boy he’d liked to discover how things worked; his mother bought him an old alarm clock that he spent hours taking apart and putting together again. After finishing school he studied mechanical engineering at college before getting into telephones and travelling all over America with his work. She told him that her father brought her and her sister to England after their mother’s death then she decided to try her luck in New York after her father died. ‘We were very close,’ she said, her voice catching. She told him of the family friend with whom she lodged in Brooklyn, of her work, of a life that seemed settled yet had an impermanence at its core.

I like this man, she thought. He was easy to talk to. You didn’t have to work to come up with new topics of conversation because he listened to what you said and asked relevant questions and somehow the words just flowed.

The gong rang for lunch, delayed because they’d sailed more than two hours late.

‘Might I have the honour of sitting with you?’ he asked, rising to his feet and offering his arm.

‘I’d like that,’ she said, trying not to let him see the smile that tickled the edges of her lips or sense the leap of her heart.

*

The third-class dining room was grand, with polished-wood panelling, long pine tables and individual chairs for each diner, unlike the benches they’d had on the Mauretania when Gerda sailed out five years earlier. They sat with a family called the Hooks, and a woman called Mrs Williams who was travelling with her six children, and all introduced themselves as waiters brought steaming plates of roast pork with vegetables, rice and bread. The dishes and cutlery bore the Cunard insignia of a crowned lion holding the globe between his paws.

‘Were you nervous about taking this crossing, my dear?’ Mrs Hook asked Gerda. ‘I must say, I would worry if I were travelling alone.’

She was puzzled. ‘I’ve sailed alone before.’

‘I meant because of the German Kaiser’s threat.’ Gerda looked blank. ‘He warned that any ships crossing the Atlantic into the war zone are a fair target for U-boats, whether they are military or not.’

Gerda turned to Jack, her eyes wide. ‘I didn’t know about that.’

He rushed to reassure her: ‘There was a notice in the newspapers a few days ago. It said those who travel in a war zone do so at their own risk, but it’s simply posturing. They wouldn’t dare attack a civilian ship, especially one with Americans on board, because they’d risk dragging America into the war.’

Mrs Hook started listing the famous Americans said to be on board: millionaire Alfred Vanderbilt, the fashion designers Carrie Kennedy and Kathryn Hickson, theatrical impresario Charles Fröhman, all of them in first class.

Gerda was silent and Jack seemed to sense her concern. ‘It will be fine. If there are U-boats in the area, British warships will radio our captain and he will take evasive action. The Lusitania is much faster and nimbler than a hulking great sub. She can make twenty-five knots without straining, while U-boats only do around thirteen. We’re in the fastest ship on the high seas.’

‘That’s why the crossing is only seven days, I imagine. I’ll be glad when we dock in Liverpool, though.’ Gerda shivered.

Jack smiled, looking right into her eyes. ‘If the worst comes to the worst, I’ll look out for you,’ he promised. ‘We can sink or swim together.’

She felt herself fill up with happiness. Did it mean he had taken a fancy to her? Oh, she did hope so.

*

That evening Gerda and Jack strolled on the decks, under an inky black, star-spattered sky.

‘I’ve given so little thought to the war,’ she confessed. ‘My sister writes that all the young men back home are signing up, and women are having to work in the shipyards and coalyards to keep industry going. Yet in Brooklyn, the only concern of the ladies who visit my shop is that they can’t get imported French fashions any more and they want us to make replicas of their favourite Parisian styles.’

‘It’s not just the women who are out of touch. The American lads I worked alongside couldn’t see why Britain went to war just because the Kaiser’s troops marched into Belgium. One asked me’ – he imitated an American accent – “Who even knows where Belgium is?” He laughed, hoarsely. ‘There are many things I like about America, the land of opportunity, but it’s become very insular, despite the people of different races who mix in its cities.’

Gerda didn’t know what ‘insular’ meant, but was too self-conscious to say so. ‘Where I live, they don’t mix so much; they all have their own neighbourhoods. I like listening to Italians on one block then crossing the road and hearing French ladies chattering, or a broad Irishman cursing.’ She blushed. ‘I don’t mean I like cursing – just that it’s colourful.’

Jack laughed. ‘You won’t get that in South Shields, I suppose.’

As they walked, they passed other couples strolling arm in arm and Gerda wished that Jack would slip his arm through hers, but he didn’t seem to think of it.

‘Will you be called up to fight in the trenches?’ she asked, wondering what age he might be. He looked over thirty, but you never could tell.

‘I’m most useful to my country as an engineer. Mr Marconi has arranged a job for me in a lab developing new types of portable field telephones. I start next week.’ He grinned, boyishly. ‘Don’t get me going on the subject or I’ll bore you to tears. I’ve been working on something similar in Hawaii where the technology is leaping ahead. Soon we’ll all be able to make telephone calls to anywhere in the world, whenever we like.’

She watched him as he talked, the words about transmitters and electromagnetics going right over her head. She liked his passion but worried that he was too clever for her. Her conversation about fur trims and tango frocks would never interest him. He’d admired her violet taffeta gown with the spiral-draped skirt, but she hadn’t told him it was based on a Poiret design because somehow she doubted he had heard of Poiret. Perhaps they didn’t have enough in common.

She realised he had paused, waiting for her reaction to something he’d said, something she hadn’t heard.

‘I wish I’d been able to telephone my sister from Brooklyn,’ she said. ‘I’ve missed her while I was away.’

‘You’ll see her very soon, pet,’ Jack said in an exaggerated imitation of a Geordie accent that made her giggle. He was good at accents.

*

Gerda was sharing a four-person berth with just one other passenger, Miss Ellen Matthews, a sour-faced Liverpudlian girl who’d been working in service in Chicago. The cabin was smart, with freshly laundered white sheets and towels bearing the Cunard crest, a washbasin and mirror squeezed between the two sets of bunk beds, and a cupboard with hanging space for gowns, but Ellen wasn’t impressed.

‘I’m sure I’m not going to sleep a wink on these beds. They’re narrow and hard as ironing boards’ … ‘Why was there no fish course at dinner? I’m used to better’ … ‘I asked a steward to fetch me a cup of tea and he said I’d have to fetch it myself from the ladies’ waiting room. Have you ever heard the like?’

Gerda unpacked a few essentials and changed into a nightgown, slipping it over her head and unfastening the hooks of her brassiere, corset and suspenders beneath its tent-like cover. She cleaned her teeth with cherry tooth powder then unfurled her hair and brushed it out before pinning the curls in place to set them overnight.

‘Is that your sweetheart, the man I saw you with tonight? Are you two engaged?’ Ellen asked.

‘He’s a friend,’ Gerda replied, suddenly unwilling to admit she’d known him for only a few hours.

‘You want to watch it.’ Ellen narrowed her eyes. ‘Folks are already talking about how much time you’re spending together, like a pair of lovebirds. You don’t want to get a bad name.’

Gerda was annoyed. ‘It sounds as though you’re jealous,’ she said, making Ellen huff indignantly and clatter her bedpan, muttering under her breath about decency and respectability.

Gerda clambered into bed, pulling the sheet up to her chin. Her toes pressed against the wooden board at the end; at five foot six inches she was taller than average. Jack was a couple of inches taller than her and she worried he wouldn’t sleep well in such short bunks. She closed her eyes and waited for Ellen to finish her preparations and turn out the light before she let her thoughts wander freely.

Jack still hadn’t said if there was a girl waiting for him back home, but surely if there was he wouldn’t be spending so much time with her? It wasn’t fair to give someone the wrong idea. She knew what that was like from bitter experience. But he seemed nicer than Alan Slaven … much nicer.

Everyone had assumed she and Alan were engaged. They met when she was eighteen and stepped out together for the best part of two years, going for long coastal walks or visiting tearooms on his days off. She assumed they’d be wed after he finished his apprenticeship as a butcher, but in fact the long-awaited proposal never came. When rumours reached Gerda that he’d been seen dancing with another woman – a very pretty woman, according to her informant – she was simply surprised. It seemed incongruous. Alan had never struck her as a ladies’ man, with his ruddy face, thinning hair and big-knuckled hands. He’d seemed like a safe bet.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said when she raised the subject. ‘I’m very fond of you, Gerda; you’re a nice girl, but I don’t love you the way you should love someone you’re planning to spend the rest of your life with.’

‘What on earth does that mean? You’re just looking for pastures new. You’re a charlatan.’ The anger erupted out of her and she kept berating him until he picked up his hat, apologised one last time and disappeared.

‘What will folk say?’ Thomasine worried. ‘You’re tainted goods; all the time you’ve spent together without a chaperone and now he’s gone and taken up with someone else. He’s ruined you.’

Wherever Gerda went, she saw people gazing at her with undisguised sympathy, or whispering behind their hands. It will pass, she thought; but six months later when Alan married the ‘other woman’, the gossip started again and this time she’d had enough. To be thrown over by any man was bad enough, but to be thrown over by someone as unappealing as Alan Slaven had spoiled her chance of finding a decent husband in South Shields. She thought of going to America then but her father got ill and she couldn’t bear to leave and miss the time he had left. It was only after he died, when she was twenty-four, that she travelled to New York to lodge with her mother’s old friend Else Gabrielson. It was to be a fresh start in a country where no one knew her, a place where she could find a husband who didn’t know she was so-called ‘tainted goods’. Perhaps she had left it too late because, five years on, on the 1st of May 1915, here she was on the Lusitania, heading home again without a man. The neighbours would look at her ringless hand and sigh. Unless …

How could she tell if Jack Welsh was sincere? He seemed to enjoy spending time with her and they conversed easily, but what if it was simply a shipboard dalliance for him, a way of making the voyage pass more quickly? How could she ever be sure? And then she remembered him saying they would sink or swim together and thought what a chivalrous thing that was to say. She hoped to goodness he had meant it.

*

Next morning, Jack was waiting when Gerda entered the dining room for breakfast and he came to sit by her, enquiring how she had slept and asking if her cabin was comfortable. She found herself telling him what her cabin-mate Ellen had said about folks calling them lovebirds, and was interested to find it did not bother him in the slightest.

He chortled: ‘So we are to be the on-board entertainment, are we? We should put on a good show in that case.’ With a wink, he reached over to squeeze her gloved hand.

Gerda giggled and turned her face away so he couldn’t see she was blushing.

‘I like that smile,’ he said. ‘Your secret smile.’

After breakfast, there was a church service conducted by Captain Turner in the second-class lounge, which had mahogany tables, armchairs and settees on a plush rose carpet, and long windows looking out to sea. Jack sang the hymns enthusiastically, if a little off-key. Gerda mouthed the words from the sheet, unfamiliar with the Anglican service, and glanced round at the smart outfits of the first- and second-class women: she spotted the designer Carrie Kennedy wearing a fur-trimmed red velvet suit, and her sister Kathryn Hickson in an elegant grey suit with seven-eighths jacket. Afterwards, she and Jack wandered out on deck and stood at the rail, gazing across the vastness of the ocean.

‘Do you think there will be any icebergs?’ she asked, her mind on the sinking of the Titanic three years earlier. She’d pored over every single news report of the tragedy, and bought whole magazines devoted to the subject. Mrs Gabrielson accused her of being obsessed, but surely it had struck a nerve with anyone who ever crossed the Atlantic.

‘We’re a few weeks later than the Titanic sailed and we’re on a much more southerly route, so there’s nothing to worry about from icebergs,’ Jack told her.

‘Did you read much about the Titanic? I often wondered what I would have done if I was there. The people in third class had such a terrible time.’

‘Things have changed a lot since then: we’ve got enough lifeboats for all the passengers, to start with.’ He pointed to one swinging on davits above. ‘But what I learned from it is that in any emergency you have to act fast: find a life jacket, get yourself up to the boat deck and make your way into a lifeboat.’

‘But it was women and children first. It was much harder for men.’

‘That’s as it should be since we’re the stronger sex. But still, many more Titanic passengers could have been saved. The real tragedy is all those half-empty lifeboats that didn’t go back to pick up people in the water. I wonder how their occupants live with themselves?’

Gerda was musing on what he’d said about being the stronger sex. It seemed men were stronger in their emotions as well as in their physique. She wished she could peer into Jack’s head and find out what he thought of her. For the last day they’d spent all their waking hours together so it must mean that he at least enjoyed her company. They never ran out of things to talk about. But had he taken a liking to her? Was he thinking of her as a possible future wife? She had no idea and itched to ask him.

Suddenly they heard a scream and looked up. Two young children, a boy and a girl of maybe six or seven years old, had somehow climbed onto the outside of the railings surrounding the second-class promenade and were edging their way round, feet on a narrow ledge above a fifteen-foot drop. A woman had just spotted them and was rushing towards them shrieking.

Jack sprinted across the deck so he was right below and shouted up: ‘Stay calm! Don’t startle them.’

Ignoring him, the woman grabbed the boy’s arm and began to yank him over the rail. ‘What have I said to you about running off and leading your sister into trouble? I’ll box your ears, so I will.’

At that moment, the girl’s grip loosened. She fell backwards without a sound, her skirts billowing. Jack caught her, staggered under the impact then fell onto the deck. The girl was uninjured, her fall cushioned, but she burst into tears of shock.

Gerda hurried to help her to her feet. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked Jack and he nodded, brushing himself down and rising gingerly. She soothed the girl: ‘There, there; you’re fine. We’ll take you back to your mother.’

‘She’s not my mother,’ the girl cried. ‘She’s my governess and I hate her.’

‘That’s as may be, little lass, but she knows what’s best for you. You listen to her next time instead of following your naughty brother.’ Jack spoke kindly, with a twinkle that made the girl stop crying. ‘Here’ – he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a couple of toffees wrapped in paper – ‘one for you and one for your brother. Try to be a good girl now.’

He lifted her across the barrier on the stairs between second and third class, into the arms of the governess who instantly began to scold her and didn’t so much as thank Jack for catching her.

‘How rude!’ Gerda exclaimed when they were out of hearing. ‘You saved that girl from a broken leg at least, possibly worse.’

‘We’re in third class,’ Jack said, ‘not worthy of her notice. I often find the staff are bigger snobs than the masters.’

‘You were good with the girl, though. Do you like children? Do you plan to have some of your own one day?’ The questions slipped out before she had time to censor herself. It was exactly the kind of query Charlotte had warned her against, and she could have kicked herself.

‘I’d love to,’ Jack said with conviction. ‘I love children.’ Then he paused and asked ‘How about yourself?’

‘Yes, I’d like it very much,’ she answered, honestly, turning her face away so he couldn’t see her blushes. His bravery in saving the girl had made her heart swell and now she knew for sure she was falling for him. It was important not to do anything stupid; she must be careful not to scare him off.

*

They whiled away the days playing quoits or shuffleboard on deck, or gin rummy in the dining saloon, and soon became relaxed enough to tease each other.

‘You are so competitive!’ Gerda remarked after he won yet another hand of cards. ‘It’s only a game, not life or death.’

‘Now you tell me!’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I thought you were going to make me walk the plank.’

Sometimes she teased him for using big words like ‘acoustics’ or ‘devaluation’ and even pretended to yawn when he got too technical in talking about his work.

He called her Snow Maiden and teased her for the way she was always impeccably dressed – ‘We’re in a ship, not a royal palace, pet’ – but there was affection behind it. She knew he liked her looks because there had been lots of compliments: he liked the way she did her hair, he liked her smile, he thought she had particularly dainty ankles and feet …

Mrs Hook nudged her one evening at dinner and whispered, ‘You’ve got a good ’un there.’

‘He’s not … we’re just friends,’ Gerda stammered.

‘My eye! Look at the way he goes all goggle-eyed and melty when you’re around; and you’re not fooling anyone with that Scandinavian coolness. It’s lovely to watch you both together. Makes me feel young again.’

Her words made Gerda’s insides twist with nerves. Their courtship was so public that everyone would witness it when he threw her over, when he realised she wasn’t good enough for him, as he surely would. Just as Alan had, and all the others in between.

The romance was intensified by them spending all their time together. Already, within five days, she’d spent more time with him than she might in five months with a beau on shore. To lose him now would be agony. What was he thinking? If only she could find out, have some forewarning of what would happen next.

*

On Thursday evening, as they got within a couple of hundred miles of the west coast of Ireland, the talk at dinner was all about the threat from U-boats. That morning, the lifeboats had been swung clear of the railings and were dangling by the ship’s sides. Notices had circulated, warning passengers that all portholes must be closed and outside lights extinguished after dark; men were even forbidden from smoking on deck. Everyone assumed that if there were to be a U-boat attack it would come that night and some ladies announced they were too nervous to stay in their cabins but would sleep in the public rooms.

‘Don’t be surprised if you wake in the night to feel the ship zig-zagging,’ Mr Hook warned. ‘That’s what captains are instructed to do if there’s any German activity in the area. It stops U-boats fixing their sights on you.’

‘Surely the Royal Navy will send us an armed escort? I was positively assured they would,’ Mrs Williams said.

‘I still refuse to believe they will target a civilian ship,’ Mrs Hook averred firmly. ‘Now stop it, dear. You’re upsetting Miss Nielsen.’

Gerda smiled to show she didn’t mind; what was churning her up was the thought that they would dock in Liverpool the following night, to disembark on Saturday morning, and she had no idea if she would ever see Jack again. Might he simply say ‘Goodbye, nice to have met you’ and leave without so much as exchanging addresses?

The same thing seemed to be on Jack’s mind too, because as they strolled on the blacked-out deck that evening, he asked, ‘Do you think you will stay long in South Shields?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s just … there’s something I have to tell you. I didn’t like to mention it earlier in the voyage lest it made you fret, but German Zeppelins dropped bombs on South Shields back in April. The town’s bound to be a target because of the shipyards and I couldn’t bear you to get hurt.’

‘In April?’ Gerda cried. ‘Might my sister have been hit?’

‘The news report said a woman and child in Wallsend were injured but no one was killed. They don’t live in Wallsend, do they?’

‘No, thank God.’

‘But I don’t like to think of you going there, because the Zeppelins are sure to return.’

‘Where else could I go? I have no other family.’ She turned to him and noticed a strange expression on his face. Even in the dim glow of the stars, she could see he was biting his lip, fidgeting with his fingers.

‘That’s just the thing … If you would permit it, I’d like to be your family. What I’m trying to say is that I have fallen for you, Gerda. I’d be honoured if you would consider accepting my hand in marriage.’

Her mouth opened but she couldn’t speak, overcome with emotion.

Taking her silence for hesitation, he continued: ‘Granted, we haven’t known each other for long, but we get on well, you know we do. If it’s money you’re worried about, I have several thousand dollars saved from my work in America, enough for a nice house and a bit put aside as savings. I’ve got a good job and after the war there’s bound to be work in telephones. I would make sure you had every comfort.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, I would like to marry you.’ Tears flooded her eyes, spilled down her cheeks, and he took her in his arms and pressed her against him as she cried. For so long, she had wanted a husband, someone to whom she could belong, and now it was offered all she could do was sob.

‘I’m sorry, Snow Maiden. I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he chuckled, hugging her tight.

*

Jack and Gerda told the Hooks and Annie Williams of their engagement next morning at breakfast, and no one seemed remotely surprised.

‘Look at you two, you’re made for each other,’ Mrs Hook beamed. ‘I’m only surprised it’s taken you six days to pop the question!’

‘It’s so romantic,’ Annie cried. ‘Oh, isn’t that lovely!’

The delight at their announcement mingled with a general sense of euphoria that the Germans hadn’t attacked the night before. Now it was daylight, all they had to do was sail round the southern tip of Ireland and up the Irish Sea to Liverpool.

‘Where will you get married?’ Mrs Hook asked, and they caught eyes and smiled: they hadn’t got round to discussing such details yet.

Suddenly a deep, mournful sound reverberated round the dining hall and everyone jumped, spilling cups of tea and dropping egg-laden forks to the floor.

‘It’s the ship’s foghorn,’ Jack assured Gerda. ‘It’s a foggy morning.’

‘I don’t like the sound; it’s eerie. If there are U-boats in the area won’t it alert them to our position?’

‘I’m sure the captain knows what he’s doing,’ Jack replied. But when they went up on deck later and peered out into the dense swirling mist, he frowned and seemed about to say something before stopping himself. They were travelling slowly, with visibility of just a few yards.

The foghorn kept blasting until around midday when sun burned through the mist revealing a view of emerald coastline speckled with fishermen’s cottages. The sea was a smooth dark navy.

‘Oh, isn’t that a lovely sight!’ Gerda cried.

Passengers flocked on deck and the relief was palpable. They were almost home. Everyone was smiling, and even those who’d kept themselves to themselves so far had a cheerful word with their neighbours.

At one o’clock Gerda and Jack went down for the second sitting of lunch and they chatted about what they would do on disembarking: he wanted her to come and meet his mother, then they would travel across to South Shields to see Thomasine. They agreed to send her a telegram explaining that Gerda would be a week late. She couldn’t wait to share the news that she was coming home with a husband-to-be – and not just any old husband, but a clever, brave, kind one, who had money and who made her laugh. She must write to Charlotte and to Else Gabrielson in Brooklyn.

‘My ma’s going to adore you,’ Jack was saying, when suddenly there was a sound like a door being slammed hard and the ship gave a huge jolt. Plates and glasses flew off tables and shattered on the floor.

‘What the …’ Jack stood up, looking around. There was a deep rumbling sound now and the ship seemed to be shuddering. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, Gerda!’ He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come quickly!’

‘What is it?’ Her throat was tight. No one else seemed to be reacting as they sprinted out of the dining saloon and down the staircase towards their cabins.

‘We’ll get your life jacket first, then mine,’ Jack said.

‘Have we been hit?’

‘It looks that way. Either that or we’ve collided with something.’

In her cabin, Jack pulled the bulky cork life jacket from the top of the wardrobe and showed Gerda how to slip it over her head and tie the cords around her. The floor felt odd beneath her feet and she realised it was tilting. She held onto the door frame to steady herself.

In the corridor some women were hysterical. ‘What shall we do?’ one cried and Jack yelled at them to get their lifejackets and make their way up to the boat deck. The whole time, he didn’t let go of Gerda’s hand; he was holding it so tightly that she didn’t feel afraid, even though they could smell smoke drifting down the passageway.

Once Jack had his life jacket they climbed the main stairs; they were at an odd angle so she had to cling to the banister. ‘We’re listing to starboard,’ Jack said, and Gerda felt reassured he knew this term. She saw a steward’s trolley rolling along a corridor then hitting a wall and overturning with a clatter.

They were both out of breath when they emerged through the main entrance onto the boat deck. The air was thick with glowing cinders floating in the breeze. A column of black smoke was rising from a funnel right in the dead centre of the ship.

‘Was it a torpedo?’ Gerda could hardly make herself heard against the fierce roar of escaping steam coming from the engine room.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Jack said. He peered over the railings at the side. ‘The lifeboats are hanging alongside the Promenade Deck. ‘Come on, we’d better go down.’ He pulled her towards the stairs again.

‘Are we going to sink?’ Gerda started to ask, just as all the lights went out and her words were drowned by the screams of terrified passengers. She knew the answer anyway. How could a ship survive this level of damage, tilting so far onto its side? She remembered reading that the Titanic had been listing, but not as much as this, not so quickly. It was still less than ten minutes since the explosion.

On the Promenade Deck, there was utter confusion, with people pushing past each other in the search for lost children or spouses, struggling to pull on the cumbersome lifejackets, seeking crew to beg for help. One group of passengers climbed into a lifeboat and sat down, but Captain Turner himself came charging over and ordered them out. Gerda couldn’t hear why.

‘I don’t think they’ll manage to get the lifeboats lowered on this side,’ Jack said, leaning over the railing. Gerda looked down and could see his point: the ship was listing so badly that they would have to bump down the ship’s side to reach the water. Still, there were folk piling into them as soon as the captain’s back was turned, staking their claim to a space. While they were watching, a couple of seamen tried to lower one lifeboat, cutting the restraining ropes and straining to jerk it outwards and down, only for it to get snagged on some rivets protruding from the ship’s side.

‘Let’s try the starboard,’ Jack suggested, pulling her by the hand. They ran down the promenade to the stern and all the way round.

A young woman in a fur coat was sobbing by the barber’s shop and she grabbed Jack’s sleeve. ‘Please help, sir. I couldn’t find my life jacket and now it’s so dark inside I’m scared to go back to my cabin. Could I possibly have yours? I can pay you for it.’

‘Jack …’ Gerda tugged his arm, wanting him to refuse. It wasn’t fair.

He looked at her with a slight frown then, without a word, started unfastening the cords.

‘You’re very kind. Thank you, sir.’ The woman opened her reticule and pulled out some notes.

‘I don’t want your money, miss.’ Jack handed over his life jacket. ‘Good luck to you.’

Gerda didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop him, but fear gripped her and squeezed tight.

*

On the starboard side, the lifeboats hung seven to eight feet out from the deck, dangling precariously in mid-air because of the ship’s list. People were leaping across the gap, and each time someone landed in a boat it swung wildly, threatening to capsize. One man missed and fell to the ocean below with a yell of terror. Gerda rushed to the railing to see him bobbing in the water, arms flailing.

A seaman used a boathook to pull one lifeboat closer to the deck and helped several ladies to step across the gap. When all the seats were taken he cut the ropes by the davit and he and another seaman began to lower away. Just at that moment, the ship gave a sickening lurch, swinging all the boats sideways, and suddenly another lifeboat half-full of women and children appeared directly beneath. The seamen did their best but couldn’t stop gravity taking its course and one lifeboat landed on top of the other with an appalling crunch.

‘Don’t look,’ Jack instructed, pulling Gerda away. She was too horrified to look, too distressed to speak. Thank God for Jack. He knew what to do. She would be lost without him.

Further along the deck another lifeboat was being prepared for launch. A woman clutching a baby was waiting to board and Jack noticed she had tied her life jacket upside down.

‘Let me help you fix that, ma’am,’ he offered. Gerda held the baby, a tiny dark-haired mite who was sound asleep despite the commotion, while Jack showed the woman the correct way to slip the jacket over her head and retie it in place.

The lifeboat was filling up now. Jack took the woman’s hand and he and a seaman helped her climb up to the rail then step outwards across the gap. Gerda passed the baby to the seaman, who stretched as far as he could and passed it into its mother’s arms, whereupon it woke with an affronted wail.

‘Now you, my love,’ Jack said to Gerda, stroking her face quickly, tenderly. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

‘Do you promise?’ she asked. ‘Remember: we sink or swim together.’

‘I promise.’ His eyes were serious. ‘Hurry now.’

Gerda took his hand and leapt across the gap, turning her ankle slightly on landing. When she looked back she saw Jack deep in conversation with the seaman.

‘We’re going to lower the boat first,’ he called to her. ‘It will be safer. I’ll help with the ropes then I’ll join you when you’re down on the water.’

The lifeboat lurched violently and everyone screamed. ‘Come now, Jack. Please!’ Gerda yelled over the din. How would he get into the boat once it was in the water?

He didn’t seem to hear, busy tugging on a rope, leaning so his body acted as a counterweight. The two men tried their utmost but couldn’t hold the lifeboat level and its bow dipped abruptly. Gerda grabbed onto the sides and held tight. They dangled, almost vertical, for a moment then one of the ropes slipped and they were falling upright. There was a smash when the bow hit the surface, then the shock of cold water closing over her head, the sting of salt in her nose and roaring in her ears. She surfaced quickly, buoyed up by the life jacket, and looked back towards the ship.

Jack was still on the Promenade Deck, about thirty feet up, scanning the water. She raised her arm to wave and as soon as he spotted her, he climbed onto the rail, put his arms by his sides and jumped in feet first.

*

Jack surfaced a few yards away, spluttering and coughing, the wind knocked out of him. Gerda swam over and he clung to her, his weight pulling her lower in the water.

‘There’s something I forgot to tell you,’ he gasped. ‘I’m not a very strong swimmer.’

‘Don’t worry; I am.’ Gerda had grown up swimming with her father in the fjords of Norway and the sea off North Shields; she loved the water, and the sea temperature today, while cold, was not freezing. ‘Why don’t you take my life jacket?’ It would be tricky to transfer it from one to the other, but it made sense.

He wouldn’t hear of it though. ‘I’ll manage. We must stay close so we don’t get separated.’ All around them the ocean was teeming with people struggling and crying for help. ‘We should swim further out. I don’t think the ship’s got long to go and we don’t want to be sucked under when she goes down. That way.’ He pointed towards the horizon.

Gerda struck out, thankful the sea was so calm. The life jacket was bulky and obstructed her strokes but it would have been much harder battling through waves. A thought occurred to her and she called over her shoulder: ‘Might the U-boat captain still be out there, watching us?’

‘He’ll have got away. Wouldn’t want to hang about. A Royal Navy ship will be along soon to rescue us and they’d blow him out of the water.’

Before long, Jack was lagging behind so she stopped to wait, treading water, then let him rest awhile, holding onto her life jacket for buoyancy.

‘I’m going to unhook my skirt,’ she announced. ‘It’s weighing me down.’ She reached behind to locate the fasteners on her blue gabardine and wriggled it down her legs. This was no time for modesty.

Jack didn’t comment. He was looking back towards the ship, where there was a scene of devastation. The bow was almost submerged and people were either clinging for dear life to the railings, or hurtling, limbs flying, towards the churning water. One man was dangling from the side, holding onto a rope, when a propeller hurtled past slicing off his legs. They could see several lifeboats floating upside down but only one that had been launched successfully and it was packed full to bursting.

‘There must be more lifeboats. Keep your eyes peeled.’ Jack was shivering and Gerda put her arms round him and rubbed his back vigorously.

‘Please God we find one soon!’

And then there was a great roar, a sound of splintering wood, and the ship made a sudden plunge. The stern rose high in the air before sliding beneath the waves and it was gone in a matter of seconds. A gasp of despair rose from the souls in the water then a communal keening sound. There was a final explosion and a cloud of steam erupted from the deep, briefly marking the spot where the ship had been.

Gerda was stunned. ‘How could she have gone so quickly? It’s not even twenty minutes since we were hit. The Titanic stayed afloat for an hour and forty minutes.’

‘I s…suppose she was hit at a c…critical point.’ Jack’s teeth were chattering like castanets and Gerda hugged him again, rubbing his arms as hard as she could. She badly wanted to kiss him but couldn’t stretch far enough over the top of the life jacket to reach his lips.

Jack seemed scared now; all the confidence he had shown on board had evaporated in the cold water. No matter, because Gerda felt strong. She would take charge. She was the swimmer. She would make the decisions.

*

Before long, Jack was too weak to swim much, but they found that if he hooked his arm through the life jacket, Gerda could tow him along. She began to head back towards the spot where the ship had disappeared, hoping that’s where any lifeboats might be found. The water was littered with deckchairs, boxes, and folk desperately trying to clamber onto any object they could find. A badly mangled body floated past face down, the arm and part of the upper chest ripped away so it looked like a joint of meat in the butcher’s window. Gerda’s stomach heaved with the horror. All around, people were crying out, desperately asking for the whereabouts of loved ones: ‘Mary Steel? Have you seen Mary Steel?’ ‘John Adams!’ ‘He-e-enry.’ ‘My baby. Where’s my baby?’ One woman had placed an infant on a jagged sheet of wood and was swimming beside it, but the child was uncannily still and quiet and Gerda feared it was dead. Pushing obstacles aside, she scanned the horizon for a lifeboat. It was hard to see over the heads of the crowd, but at last she spotted one moving away from them into open water.

‘Hang on, Jack,’ she said. ‘Hold tight.’

She struck out with all her strength. It was hard to swim front crawl in a life jacket, but it was the fastest stroke and she needed to catch that boat. Its occupants were obviously trying to get away from the survivors in the water, probably scared of being overwhelmed and sunk, but it looked as if there was room for two more, if she could only reach them.

Gerda counted the strokes in her head, breathing in every fourth stroke, keeping her face above the surface so she could see the way. Jack’s weight pulling on the life jacket made it harder. For a while it looked as though the gap between them and the boat was widening, but then it seemed to slow and she realised she was catching up. She didn’t call out until they were close by.

‘Please let us on board. There are only two of us and my fiancé doesn’t have a life jacket.’

‘Go away,’ said a woman with an aristocrat’s vowels. ‘There’s no more room.’

Gerda reached the boat and hooked one hand over the side, which was just a foot above the water. She couldn’t haul them up by herself. She’d need help. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her knuckles as a man hit her with the side of an oar.

‘Get off!’ he yelled. ‘This boat is full.’ He raised the oar as if to hit her again and Gerda quickly let go.

‘There are only two of us. We’ll hardly take any space. Please help.’ She looked up at the man’s red, angry features then round at the other faces. Women turned away so as not to catch her eye.

‘You’ll find other boats over in that direction,’ one woman said, pointing back the way she had come. ‘We can’t risk you capsizing or sinking us.’

At least she sounded sympathetic, so Gerda swam round and held onto the edge of the boat alongside her. ‘Oh please reconsider,’ she begged, then howled in pain as the oar came down on her knuckles again.

‘Get out of here! Away!’ the man shooed, as if she were an irritating stray dog.

Gerda turned to Jack, surprised he hadn’t joined the argument or at the very least remonstrated with the man who had hurt her. His face was white, his eyes staring and his breath coming in quick short pants. His whole body was shaking convulsively and she realised he was showing signs of hypothermia. Her father had taught her to recognise such things.

‘My fiancé is dying. Does that mean nothing to you?’

‘Over there,’ a woman pointed. ‘I can see a boat that’s only half-full. I’m sure you’ll make it if you hurry. Good luck to you.’

Gerda looked in the direction she indicated and saw the silhouette of a boat. There was no arguing with these people, not with a man who was capable of hitting her with an oar. ‘Come, Jack,’ she said. ‘We’re not wanted here.’

As she began to swim off, Jack lost his grip on the life jacket and slid beneath the water. Instantly Gerda grabbed hold of him, pulling his head up. His hands were blue and swollen from the cold so she rubbed them to try and bring back some circulation. If only there was a way for her to take off the life jacket and tie it on him. Why hadn’t she insisted on doing that earlier? Now he had no strength left and would sink to the bottom if she let go for a moment. She would have to hold him with one arm and swim with the other.

Fierce anger with the people on the lifeboat gave her renewed strength. She turned Jack onto his back and slipped her left forearm under his chin, just as her father had once demonstrated, then she began to swim towards the boat with her right, using her legs to propel them. After a while she swapped over. Jack’s eyes were wide and staring, so at least he hadn’t lost consciousness; that would be the next stage. Strange that he had succumbed before her; perhaps it was because she had more flesh on her, Jack being very lean. She knew she had to keep moving, to keep her wits about her. Her limbs felt numb, but she hadn’t started the convulsive shaking yet.

Around her, it seemed more bodies were dead than alive. Some folk had drowned because they’d put their lifejackets on the wrong way and they bobbed along with their heads beneath the water. Those who floated face up had bewildered expressions, as if in their final moments they had been puzzled by their fate. There was a surprising number of children, their faces turned to the sky: had the Lusitania really carried so many youngsters? Gerda didn’t stop to check if they were dead. There was nothing she could do for anyone else. She couldn’t allow herself to help, couldn’t allow herself to feel fear or horror. She simply had to save Jack.

The sunshine reflecting off the water was blinding and she kept losing sight of the lifeboat she was heading for. Her throat was raw from swallowing salt water and her limbs felt as if they were weighed down by sandbags. That happened when swimming in the cold as blood was diverted to your organs. How long had they been in the water? Why was it taking so long to send rescue ships when they had surely been seen from the Irish coast? It had looked just ten or twelve miles away: too far to swim in the cold water, but no distance at all for a boat to cover.

There was a current now, pulling her slightly off course. She shifted Jack around, managing to kiss his forehead as she struck out with her right arm, kicking her legs wildly.

I will not lose him, she pledged, gritting her teeth. I WILL NOT. I WILL NOT.

Suddenly there was a lifeboat right in front and faces were peering over the edge.

‘Help us,’ she pleaded. ‘My fiancé can’t last much longer.’

There was a pause while they talked amongst themselves, then a lady replied: ‘We’ll take you, my dear, but there’s no room for men. Surely your fiancé can fend for himself?’

‘He can’t stay afloat. I’m the only one with a life jacket.’

‘I’m sorry, we can’t take you both.’

Gerda scanned the sea around them: there were no other lifeboats in sight. She looked into Jack’s face and knew he didn’t have long to live if he stayed in the water.

‘My name is Gerda Nielsen,’ she said forcefully, grabbing the side of the lifeboat. ‘I am twenty-nine years old and I’ve never had a husband. On the ship last night this man, Jack Welsh, proposed marriage to me, and I accepted. I love him and I must be married to him. I will not let him die.’ Her words were slurred because her tongue was swollen and her jaw frozen, but there was no doubting her passion.

She continued: ‘Jack gave his life jacket to a lady who did not have one, then he leapt into the water to be with me, even though he is not a strong swimmer. He is a good man and right now he is alive, but unless I get him onto your boat within the next few minutes he will perish. You must help me. Someone – anyone – give me a hand.’

It seemed to take ages but it must only have been a few seconds later when she felt her fingers enclosed in a man’s grip.

‘Give me yer man’s arm,’ he said, his accent rough. Someone else helped, and they dragged Jack on board with difficulty then reached down to haul her up, scraping her bare legs on the side. Her shoes and stockings had long since floated off.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, moved beyond measure. ‘God bless you.’

She removed the bulky life jacket and threw it overboard then huddled up with Jack in a space in the stern. She wrapped her body around him, cradling his head next to her own, breathing her warm breath across his face, rubbing his back and his arms. She could feel his heart still beating; there was a weak pulse in his neck, a tiny twitch, but his eyes were closed and his breathing shallow.

Seabirds squawked above but otherwise it was quiet. No one on the lifeboat spoke, all of them lost in a trance of shock and cold. Gerda couldn’t bear to look out at the debris in the water, at the bodies of all the folk who hadn’t made it. She concentrated on trying to transmit the warmth from her blood into Jack’s core. Her fingers and toes throbbed and her throat hurt but she knew she would survive. Please, God, let Jack make it. On board the ship she had worried that he was the strong one, he was the clever one, and she’d feared he would realise she wasn’t such a good catch. But it turned out she wasn’t useless after all. Please God. Please.

She had no sense of time – how long she had been in the water, how long in the boat – but the sun had begun to lower in the skies when they heard the unmistakable sound of a ship’s horn. Gerda raised her head and looked over the edge to see a fishing boat approaching fast. Sailors were waving at them.

She bent and kissed Jack full on the mouth, whispered in his ear: ‘We’ve made it, dear. We’re safe.’

His eyelids flickered and his lips moved. She bent her head close to his mouth.

‘Tell me again. I didn’t hear.’

‘I love you, Snow Maiden,’ he murmured.

This is a fictionalised account of a real-life couple, Gerda Nielsen and Jack Welsh, who met on the ship and were married on Thursday 13th May, 1915, just six days after the sinking, in a Manchester registry office. Of the 1,959 passengers and crew on board the Lusitania, only 761 survived.