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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781783081936 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Union Bridge Books |
| Publication date: | 06/30/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 302 |
| File size: | 709 KB |
| Age Range: | 18 Years |
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CHAPTER 1
Friday, May 7th 1915
Everything happened within those eighteen minutes. It began as the torpedo smashed into the ship's hull displacing water and debris into the air; to Captain Turner its explosive impact appeared little more than the heavy slamming of a large door in windswept conditions. Some of the passengers were even oblivious to it. However, the same could not be said for the second explosion. The Lusitania shuddered violently before conceding to her downfall. She began to pitch to starboard, defiantly ploughing her way through the water; her three powerful turbines propelling her at eighteen knots as her bow increasingly subsided, now on course to the bottom of the sea.
The Lusitania had left Pier 54 from New York on May 1st, making this her 202nd transatlantic journey. Any rumoured concerns of dangers from German submarines had been quickly quashed by the knowledge and assurance that the Lusitania's speed would outstrip these threats. The passengers, however, had not been informed that the ship's company had instructed Captain Turner to close down six of the ship's boilers, for reasons of economy. A sense of unease must therefore have pervaded the thoughts of those who worked down in the boiler room, as the stoker's mascot, a black cat named Dowie, had suddenly gone missing. The omens were evident: there for those who believed. Seafaring superstition could never be taken lightly by a true seaman.
The Irish coastline was within view as the panic intensified. Scrambling for survival, passengers searched with desperation for available lifeboats. The tilting of the deck beneath their feet hastened the frenzy of departure. The ship was now sinking quickly and the inability to safely launch the lifeboats only served to fuel the anxiety. As the little boats bashed against the portside, their escapees were littered into the cold sea.
Captain Turner stood there in shock. The Irish shore, although visible in the wake of such tragedy, could not save his passengers and his ship. Rising out into the air, the stern was now most visible. As the funnels collapsed, the boilers exploded and the Lusitania travelled to her resting place, 295 feet below the surface. The time now was 2.28pm: only eighteen minutes following the attack.
The survivors thrashed around looking for anything to hold onto. The ship had disappeared, but there was wreckage and carnage in its wake. Pieces of furniture, deckchairs and bodies appeared on the surface, as though being spewed from the guts of the liner. There was now no segregation for first, second or third class passengers. The living made no distinctions as they struggled to claim anything that floated, wrenching their bodies from the freezing water onto wooden crates, upturned lifeboats and other buoyant remains. Many gripped onto the sides of critically full lifeboats, some by nothing more than an outstretched finger. The only thing that mattered was to remain conscious and to cling to life. One second class passenger, Emily Taylor, in an effort to remain conscious, gripped onto a floating piece of wood and tried to remember her first voyage.
CHAPTER 2July 1910
Gripping the handrail with quiet determination, she peered down to the minuscule ant-like figures scurrying alongside the quayside; mixed emotions surged and swelled within her. Emily had never experienced such a powerful concurrence of excitement and trepidation. She glanced around at the fervent gestures of parting and only then did she decide to heartily join in and wave to the crowd below, even though they were all strangers. Far better, she thought, to behave like a seasoned traveller, rather than like a novice on her first voyage.
The Lusitania, at 785 feet, was one of the largest liners in the world and to those ant-like characters on the quayside, appeared truly gigantic and magnificent. Returning the frenzied gestures of waving, the onlookers appreciated that the passengers towering above them occupied an echelon dedicated to high living and luxury. However, the reality was that this floating building segregated passengers according to their ability to pay. First-class travel was secured by millionaires and successful business capitalists; second class by business travellers, teachers and middle-class emigrants; whilst third class hosted the better class of emigrant. Edwardian society existed on such maxims; a place for everything and everyone in their place.
The paper bill posted on the side of Emily's travelling trunk held the wording 'SECOND CABIN BAGGAGE,' ascribing her luggage to the hold and her to the opportunities which second class status afforded. First, Second or Third class, the status of travel was inconsequential to Emily. The qualities that mattered to her were human kindness and integrity: the reasons why she became a teacher.
Emily Taylor was a philanthropic headmistress who genuinely cared for the children in her school. Throughout her career, she had opened their minds to imagination, hope and to the possibility of escaping from the insanitary and dispiriting surroundings which many had been born into. She was the one who planted the seeds of success into their minds, whilst nurturing respect and love in their hearts. She was the one who used her own money to purchase shoes for those who came to school barefoot and she was the one who personally financed the outings that took these children away from their industrial slums.
At thirty years of age, Emily Taylor was a middle class spinster with a heart of gold. As a dutiful and hardworking daughter, her parents were eminently proud of her achievements and had regularly reminded her and those around them of her selfless devotion.
'Never was there such a natural-born teacher.'
'She is one who has responded to a professional calling.'
'Teaching is her life.'
With such accolades Emily was the perfect daughter: accomplished, respected and trustworthy. She was exactly the type of person to represent the family.
As the shoreline of Liverpool increasingly became a distant vision, Emily decided to locate her cabin and acclimatise herself to life on-board.
A Blue Riband winner, the Lusitania was elegance personified, exuding charm and sophistication. The finest oak and cedar woods, felled from some of the most ancient forests in England and France, had been transformed by skilled carpenters to adorn the liner's interior. English country style and French Renaissance styles blended together, furnishing the traveller with a mixture of European splendour, more in keeping with a grand hotel than on a transatlantic liner. The underlying result was that passengers enjoyed a type of ambience normally associated with terra firma architecture and conveniently forgot that they were at sea.
Life on-board also echoed life on land in terms of routine, as a steady flow of passengers made their way to the dining room. Emily was amongst them and, like the others around her, marvelled at the grandeur of the Second Class dining room. She was beginning to wonder what life could possibly be like in the First Class dining room when a waiter motioned to her to follow him to a table with seven diners already seated. A mixture of ages, the adults obligingly nodded and smiled as she took her seat.
A rather stocky, matronly-looking woman was the first to speak.
'Hello my dear. I'm Amelia Davenport. This is my son Jonathan, his wife Beatrice and my twin grandsons, Daniel and David.'
The boys stared goggle-eyed for some time at their new dining companion before blinking in unison. The act rather unnerved Emily, even though she was completely used to being stared at by children.
The woman continued. 'Obviously, identical in looks but would you believe also in nature? We sometimes have a devil of a job to tell them apart. Oh, and let me introduce you to Mr and Mrs Robinson. Recently married, they are on their honeymoon.' The couple smiled coyly and appeared ill at ease, as if preferring to have a quiet table by themselves. A small silence prevailed as each individual fixed a stare at Emily.
Again the woman intercepted. 'And you are?'
'Sorry, please forgive me, my name is Emily Taylor.'
'Are you travelling alone, my dear?'
'Yes, I am.'
'Well, let's hope not for long. I see you wear no wedding ring. I'm certain there'll be a number of single young men aboard.'
'Mother! Please forgive my mother's impertinence. She is an incurable romantic and thinks everyone is the same.'
The woman may have been incorrigible, but Emily found her nosiness rather refreshing, particularly after experiencing years of everyone assuming that Miss Taylor, a highly respectable teacher, was exempt from ever being interested in the opposite sex. At last, it appeared that there was someone who thought it might just be feasible. As the diners began to immerse themselves in the selection of dishes on the menu, Emily found herself beginning to relax for the first time since leaving home and allowed a wry smile to run across her lips.
It transpired from the ensuing conversation that the Davenports were immigrating to America, to begin a new life abroad. At times, Emily felt that Jonathan Davenport would have happily preferred to have taken leave of his mother in England but she, as an elderly widow, (albeit a robust and occasionally outspoken one) relied upon him and he understood the notion of being a dutiful son. His wife Beatrice obligingly followed his wishes and seemed to accept her mother-in-law with good nature.
'So my dear, may I call you Emily? Tell me, what is the purpose of your journey?'
Amelia's question seemed to instantly irritate Jonathan as he closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.
'I'm going to America to attend a family wedding.'
'A wedding! How exciting. Where in America?'
'Long Island,' came the reply.
'You have family in Long Island?' Amelia Davenport's excitement could barely be contained.
'Yes, my aunt, who is my mother's sister, married into a family over there.'
'Which one?'
'My mother has only one sister.' 'No, no, I meant which family?' 'Mother, does it really matter?' Jonathan was clearly finding that his mother's inquisitiveness had gone too far. However, the diners around the table were now all silently waiting for Emily's reply, their eyes avidly fixed upon her.
'The Verholts.' The name alone warranted no further questioning. As descendants of one of the original Dutch families to have moved into the Hudson River valley, the Verholts were seriously wealthy bankers who needed no introduction. For once Amelia Davenport was silent, her mind busily contemplating how this middle class acquaintance would survive the Gold Coast experience.
CHAPTER 3Emily Taylor had always prided herself upon being a good judge of character. At the heart of every good school were outstanding teachers and she knew that her staff was of this calibre, because she had chosen and appointed them herself. She ran her school with an unblemished record, as she strove for the very best in her pupils, her colleagues and not least, herself. She would not tolerate her code of decency being broken and anyone who dared to transcend these boundaries could expect appropriate punishment. It was for these very reasons that she felt an overwhelming bout of nauseous disgust weighing heavily in the pit of her stomach.
Why had she deluded those people into believing that she was related to the Verholts, one of the wealthiest families on Long Island? Was it for self-gratification? No. Was it for social standing or the need to impress? No. Was it to break out of the boundaries of convention and confront the unknown? The answer to this was uncertain. That frightened her.
Emily had rarely told a lie in her life and had grown up to be a highly respected member of the local community. But, as with all things in life, a counterbalance had always prevailed. The more that Emily had been hailed as the dutiful daughter, the more wayward and unruly her sister had become. Olivia was her senior by five years and it was of some astonishment that she had ever acquired a sibling. Friends, neighbours and relatives all sympathised with the parents of the strong-willed girl. A miracle had occurred when God had granted them a second child and it seemed to everyone that He had tried to compensate for the first.
Surprisingly, Emily had never experienced resentment from her sister. Olivia may have found Emily's dedication to her studies boring and her aptitude to see the best in everyone annoying, but she had never directed any jealousy towards her younger sister. At least her parents were grateful for that.
Olivia had always been surrounded with such a wide circle of friends that she had never required a close relationship with Emily. As she became older, her friends numbered more males than females and her parents knew that there were no chaperones present to ensure propriety. Their fears for disgrace thankfully never materialised, as Olivia managed to provide some respectability by earning a living as a milliner, an occupation which suited her and she enjoyed, before attracting the attention of a decent young man who had recently proposed to her. It seemed as though the 'worm was at last turning.' Emily just hoped that the same adage could not be said for her. She hoped that when she opened her eyes in the morning, the respectable Miss Taylor would stare back at her in the mirror with reliable conviction.
The next morning at breakfast she found herself alone at the table. None of her dining companions had appeared; their table settings lay undisturbed, and she soon began to question whether they were all refusing to associate with a delusional fraudster. She hated herself for not having made the situation clear. Normally a person of utter clarity, she always avoided ambiguity. In an attempt to see whether her companions were seated elsewhere, she quickly swung around in her seat, narrowly missing a waiter hurriedly passing by.
'I'm sorry, please forgive me. Do you know where my dining companions are?' The waiter shrugged his shoulders and before he could reply a lady passenger on an adjacent table approached Emily.
'I take it you haven't yet heard? The old lady apparently suffered a heart attack during the night.' Emily tried momentarily to voice a reply but the words failed to materialise. Finally she tried again.
'A heart attack, you say? How is she now?'
'I really don't know. Her cabin is situated next to mine and I just overheard the stewards talking this morning.'
Emily now fully appreciated the agony which her pupils had to endure when waiting outside her office to be reprimanded. Time definitely did stand still. Should she knock or just wait until one of the Davenport family appeared? She didn't want to appear intrusive, but then again she didn't wish to be seen as uncaring. There was a muffled conversation from within the cabin, which good manners and decency prevented her from listening to. The dilemma of the situation had made Emily totally oblivious to the man standing behind her.
In a soft Irish accent he leaned forward and gently whispered into her ear, 'Why don't you knock? I'm certain she'd love to see you.'
Not used to being told what to do, Emily could have viewed the incident as impertinence, but turning to face the owner of the provocative voice, she could do nothing but forgive his intrusion when she saw his eyes, the like of which she had never seen before. The intensity of the rich emerald green dazzled her into staring for longer than was normally acceptable. Not only were the eyes mesmerising, but the smile also ensured that he had the upper hand. His presence had thrown her off course and she didn't know how to react.
'Err, yes, um, I was about to.' Emily had just become as flustered as any of her pupils.
She tapped at the door with caution before being invited in by Mrs Davenport's son and daughter-in-law. Behind them, she saw Amelia Davenport, beaming back to the man standing behind her.
'My saviour,' she said as she outstretched her arms to him. 'Goodness me, what have I done to deserve this?' she said, as she realised that she had more than one visitor. The soft Irish accent again prevailed. 'Short visits are just what the doctor orders.' The tone in which the sentence was delivered promoted a degree of sauciness which Amelia Davenport seized upon.
'Of course doctor, I promise to be a very good girl with you around, or should I say bad girl?' Although the light-hearted banter was proving to be of great medicinal value, the looks upon Jonathan's face indicated embarrassment. The severity of what might have been presumably kept him silent.
Emily, mindful of the doctor's words, comforted the patient with kind words of concern and gratitude. She offered to be of assistance to Jonathan and his wife and then left. Although she had only made their acquaintance the previous evening, and thereby knew them only in passing, the impact of this news had shocked her. Perhaps it made her think of her own elderly parents and the probability of encountering such news again in the future. Or perhaps the shock emanated from other emotions?
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Deep Within A Woman's Heart"
by .
Copyright © 2014 Joanna Joslin.
Excerpted by permission of Wimbledon Publishing Company.
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