Read Online Titanic by Ellen Emerson White - Free Book Online Page B

against the far wall. The panelling is a glossy dark chestnut shade that matches the wardrobe exactly.
    I have the porthole opened slightly, to get the air. It is dark, so there is nothing to see, but the breeze is welcome. Otherwise, it feels a little stuffy to me. There are numerous small lamps on the walls and tables, but I like keeping the room somewhat dim and mysterious.
    Someone is knocking on my door – I wonder why? I have only just returned from walking Florence, so surely it is not Mrs Carstairs telling me she needs to go again.
    It was Robert, with hot chocolate, some biscuits and a bright red apple.
    â€œI thought you might want a snack before retiring, Miss Brady,” he said. “Most of my passengers do.”
    I realized that a snack would, in fact, be a welcome treat. “Thank you very much for thinking of me,” I said. “It should never have occurred to me to bother you.”
    His eyes twinkled. “I must say, you are not my most difficult passenger, Miss Brady.”
    I imagined not, since I heard bells in all of the nearby cabins summoning him constantly. “I would be very pleased if you would call me Margaret,” I said.
    He hesitated. “We are supposed to treat our passengers with the utmost respect at all times.”
    â€œI will keep your disgraceful breach of protocol to myself,” I said.
    He laughed, and then looked a little tired as two bells chimed simultaneously out in the corridor. “I must bid you good night then, Margaret,” he said, and left the room, still smiling.
    I finished every bite of the apple and all three biscuits, making my hot chocolate last the entire time. While I ate, I read the Henry James novel I had borrowed from the ship’s huge library after breakfast this morning. I also have some Ralph Waldo Emerson essays and a collection of Emily Dickinson poems waiting by my bed.
    Frankly, I never want to leave this ship; it is the most wonderful place on Earth.

Friday, 12th April 1912
RMS Titanic,
Somewhere at sea
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    I have now discovered that when one is aboard ship, there is a whole new vocabulary to learn. I got Robert to explain some of it to me this morning, when he arrived with tea, toast and jam. “Port” is left, and “starboard” is right. I think. It is hard to keep all of these new words straight in my mind. The “bow” is in the front of the ship, and the “stern” is in the rear. When people say “amidships”, they seem to mean the middle. “Aft” is somewhere behind you. Corridors are “alleyways”, the kitchen is a “galley”, and walls are “bulkheads”. And never, ever, ever would you call the Titanic a “boat”. She is a “ship”. Why ships are called “she”, rather than “he”, has not yet been satisfactorily explained to me. Tradition, perhaps.
    Mrs Carstairs has found a group of avid bridge players, and they spent most of today playing in the lounge. I watched for a while, but found the intricacies of the game quite dreary.
    With Mrs Carstairs occupied, I had plenty of time to explore today. Her only firm request was that I be certain to come to her stateroom before meals to help her dress. That sounds foolish, but with all of her corsets and petticoats and elaborate dresses, she seems to need an extra pair of hands. She changes before every single meal, and I have yet to see her wear the same outfit twice. This variety seems to be very important to the women on the ship, although for the life of me, I am not sure why. It seems a great waste of time to worry so about fashion. I even grow impatient during the time it takes to comb my hair. Mrs Carstairs is disturbed that a young man is serving as our cabin steward, and says she is tempted to request a stewardess instead. I quickly promised that she could depend on me to assist in any way she desires, and reminded her of the lovely job Robert had