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Esme Jackson couldn’t sleep. She’d retired to bed early to be fresh-faced and alert when reporting for duty the following morning. But with the pandemonium from the street revelry below her bedroom window, mixed with her own excitement, she’d found sleep elusive. Tomorrow marked the beginning of her new life, a life full of hopes and dreams. Hope for the future—she’d had precious little the past two years—and dreams of marriage to a wealthy, handsome, but mainly wealthy, young man. Today she was Esme, the wench and occasional good-time girl from the Belvedere Arms; tomorrow she would become Miss Esme Jackson, chambermaid, RMS Titanic.
Rising from her bed, she crossed to the window and looked down on the narrow, cobbled street below. A group of young men, all so drunk they couldn’t stand without help, were toasting one another and their new lives in America. Smiling, Esme looked skyward. Despite the lateness of the hour, the spring sky retained the dying embers of daylight: a distant glow on the western horizon, and here and there, a star sparkled in the darker sky to the east. Her father started her dreams of travel. He used to sit by her bed at night when she was no more than an infant, recounting tales he’d heard while working the docks. He unloaded ships from the farthest reaches of the Empire but always preferred to talk about the cruise liners sailing back and forth across the Atlantic. He always spoke to her of his dream of a better life in America, a dream he was never destined to fulfill.
Esme’s father died after a swinging crane struck him while unloading one of his beloved liners. He’d plunged into the sea, trapped in the vicious swirls between the ship and the wharf. When they eventually pulled Esme’s father from the water, he had already drowned. Now, whenever she missed him, Esme would look to the stars shining down on the world’s oceans and imagine him sailing the globe, living out his adventurous stories. Tonight, as she looked out towards the stars and thought about it being the eve of the maiden voyage of the world’s biggest liner, a liner she would be on as it set sail for America, she imagined she could feel her father’s presence.
“What is it, Esme? What’s going on out there?” Charlotte, Esme’s younger sister sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes.
“Just some drunken lads, all off to America. It got me thinking about Father and his crazy dreams, but just now they don’t seem so crazy anymore,”
Esme said, moving to the bed she shared with her sister, perching on the edge.
Charlotte hugged Esme and whispered, “He’d be right proud of you.” She felt the damp tears on Esme’s cheeks mingling with her own. Breaking away, Esme used the sleeve of her nightgown to gently dab the tears away. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her own emotions from revealing themselves in her voice, then added, “Anyway, it’s about time I had a room to myself, what with you coming and going all hours.”
Charlotte was going to miss her elder sister who, lately, had become her sole parental figure and closest friend. Following the tragic death of their father, their mother had sought solace in the bottom of a gin bottle and scarcely found time to acknowledge her daughters, let alone care for them or grieve with them. It was Esme who got a little job cleaning cabins after the cruise liner’s passengers disembarked, which was offered by an old drinking partner of their father, either out of kindness or because he had designs on his late friend’s widow. After much hard work, Esme secured a position with the White Star Line to work the Trans-Atlantic crossing. Meanwhile, she also found work as a barmaid at the Belvedere Arms, serving thirsty sailors eager to sup a beer, or a good deal more, with a beautiful young woman.
“Don’t you be getting too comfy. I’ll be back in a few weeks and might never get a second trip,” Esme told Charlotte. Although the tone of Esme’s voice was light and humorous, Charlotte detected an underlying tension. Esme made no secret of being unhappy at leaving her young sister at home with their gin-soaked mother, or of her own fear of failure. Esme paused for a short while, before adding, “Still don’t seem real.”
“It’s real alright, the Titanic, your job, everything,” Charlotte replied. Esme could see Charlotte’s eyes twinkling mischievously in the half-light.
“Why don’t we go down to the docks and sneak ourselves a peek? No one will mind, and she’ll be all lit up pretty.” Charlotte’s enthusiasm caused her words to come out faster and faster the more she spoke, “Please, I can’t sleep anyway, and you’re so excited I ‘spect you’ll never sleep again.”
Esme laughed aloud and nodded her acceptance of the younger girl’s plan. She sensed somehow, after tonight things would never be the same again, and this moonlit adventure would mark a watershed in their lives.
“Alright, but we can’t be out too late. We’ll just go down to the docks, have a quick look, and come back. No loitering, it’s no place for a young girl this time of night. Now get dressed quickly!”
Fifteen minutes later, the two young women walked briskly down the alleyway that ran along the back of their small terraced house, heading towards the main thoroughfare down to the docks. The sky had darkened, and although not cloudless, was clear enough to allow the pale moonlight to illuminate their way, not that they wouldn’t be able to find the route on the darkest of nights; they’d travelled it so often.
Esme pulled her woollen shawl up over her head before pulling it tight around her shoulders. “It’s a cold night, Lottie. Make sure you stay well wrapped up, I wouldn’t want you catching a chill.”
“I think you may have much colder nights to look forward to,” said Charlotte as they left the enclosed alley and turned onto the wide cobbled street. Even at this late hour of the evening, the road was busy. Men staggered home after drinking in one of the many dockside pubs, and young couples were out walking, no doubt taking the opportunity to view the unsinkable goliath moored alongside the pier.
As the sisters walked arm-in-arm past the open ground separating the narrow terraced houses from the large warehouses and shipping offices of the busy commercial dockyard, they noticed a small group of local children gathered around what appeared, in the monochrome moonlight, to be a large bundle of rags. The evening was quiet, and a gentle sea breeze carried the children’s excited voices to them, bringing with it a refreshingly clean salty tang which prickled their faces. The children, their voices raised and angry, were involved in a disagreement so intense and animated they didn’t notice the sisters who, attracted by the commotion, were now walking towards them; not, that is, until Charlotte hailed them.
Recognizing a few of the older boys, Charlotte picked on one in particular and shouted, “Billy Cooper! Does your mother know you’re running around making a nuisance of yourself?”
The boys, unsure who was approaching them, stopped their arguing and faced the women. As if on some unspoken command, they formed a semi-circle between the intruders and the pile of rags, like wild dogs protecting a prized carcass. Billy Cooper looked ready to protest his innocence until he saw Esme, who was by now close enough to fix him with the withering stare she usually reserved for rowdy dock workers or crapulent sailors.
“We ain’t doing nothing, miss.” Billy Cooper spoke to his well-worn boots, unable to meet the young woman’s stern stare.
“If that’s so, Master Cooper, then you must be doing something! What causes so much excitement you try hiding it, despite us being no more than ten feet away?” Esme’s voice was calm and authoritative, demanding an answer.
Billy, a snotty urchin about twelve years old, looked confused. He opened his mouth to answer her but his expression took on a perplexed stare, and after an awkward pause, he shut it again without uttering a sound.
“Does anyone care to enlighten us?” As Esme’s stare passed to the assembled children, mainly boys close in age to Billy, not one tried to either make eye contact or offer any explanation. After a short while, Esme lifted her long skirt to reveal her booted ankle. “Very well. I shall take a look myself, but if the devil has found work for idle hands, I shall ensure your fathers beat his evil from your souls.”
She walked around the line of boys carefully avoiding the muddier areas and approached the dark bundle. Her sister followed closely, stepping around the boys’ cordon with exaggerated importance.
Charlotte had always been in awe of her sister and was happy living in her shadow. Esme was charming, witty, and intelligent with all these qualities neatly packaged in a lithe, yet gracefully curved frame that disguised her strength. She disarmed men and women alike with her beauty, the shining emeralds in her eyes, highlighted by the soft, jet curls framing her face, captivating stokers and sea captains alike. So striking were her eyes most people, meeting her for the first time, couldn’t remember anything else about her countenance, which did her high cheekbones and delicate, slightly upturned mouth a huge disservice. Once a man had fallen under her spell, he would feel compelled to either spend a small fortune just to remain in her company, a situation favoured by the Belvedere’s landlord, or propose to her in an extravagant fashion. Some would do both before staggering back to their ship to sleep off the night’s excesses.
Esme got her first clear sight of the rags heaped haphazardly on the damp ground and put out a restraining arm to prevent her sister from advancing any closer. “Don’t look Charlotte. It’s not a sight to be filling a young girl’s head as it will summon the darkest of terrors and haunt her dreams. Please take the boys back to the road.” Esme pushed Charlotte away, propelling her in the direction of both the assembled boys and the main road.
“What is it?” Charlotte asked; Esme’s reaction had piqued her curiosity. She pushed back against her sister’s arm, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the hidden horrors her sister had witnessed, but Esme held firm, pushing Charlotte back. Charlotte finally accepted the inevitable and reluctantly walked away, signalling for the boys to follow.
Esme watched Charlotte walk away, the gang of boys trailing in her wake as she headed towards the warm yellow glow of the gaslights lighting up the thoroughfare. Then she turned her attention to the large pile of rags and the body concealed within.
