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Captain William Grafton had decided he and his wife should walk the short distance from the hotel to the White Star Pier because it was “the British thing to do.” He also secretly hoped the pleasant stroll would help digest the large breakfast he had devoured. After he finished his large breakfast, Captain Grafton ordered a second helping of bacon and a third of toast, which caused the already generous cut of his suit to feel uncomfortably tight. Casually, he ran his thumb around the waistband of his trousers just below his decidedly middle-aged belly, hoping to relieve the tightness of the waistband.
Captain Grafton waited in the hotel’s plush reception area for Bridget, who had ordered her lighter breakfast be sent to their room once she had bathed. In all his adult life, he had never been a man expected to wait. During his lifetime, people rushed to do his bidding, but having to wait on Bridget to finish her bath, dress, and have breakfast made him feel self-conscious sitting alone in the plush reception area. He made a mental note to speak to Bridget about her timekeeping, but that would have to wait until they were alone. Some things between a husband and wife were best resolved in private where the master of the house could wield his power, unhindered by moral indignation.
Bridget finally walked into the reception area, having kept William waiting for almost an hour. He glanced at his pocket watch, noting it was well past eleven o’clock. Bridget stopped to thank a few members of the hotel staff, another trait he found annoying. William hated the direction in which Edwardian society was heading. As he waited for Bridget to make her way towards him, he thought to himself that it was these people’s place to serve the upper classes, and they did not need fawning over. He was firmly of the belief young women had become far too opinionated with a tendency to be overly friendly with servants, and American women, in particular, were especially guilty of this.
William stood and coughed politely, signalling for his wife to join him. She walked towards him with a broad smile. He suppressed his anger and forced a smile in return before offering his young wife his arm. Together they walked out of the hotel; his grip on her forearm so tight she whimpered in pain.
Politely, through a false smile, William mumbled, “We need to hurry my darling otherwise we shall be late. I am sure White Star will not delay the ship’s departure, even for us.”
Bridget felt her arm going numb below the pinching grip of William’s strong fingers. She nodded in agreement. “I’m sure you are quite right, my dear. It was remiss of me to dally so long while dressing. I shall endeavour to be quicker in the future.”
William eased his grip, content he’d successfully made his point, and began marching down the road at a brisk military pace, which Bridget found hard to match. A few scruffy sailors, intent on getting one last drink before joining their ship, stumbled across their path. William smelt the beer oozing from their pores as they staggered out of his way, raising their caps in an exaggerated, drunken apology. One fixed Bridget with a leering smile which lasted too long for William’s liking, and he quickened his pace. He knew Bridget was a beautiful woman; he could see that for himself, and the polite attention she got from his gentlemen friends flattered him, but he didn’t appreciate some lower-class plebe openly lusting after her. If he had his way, the impudent imbecile would be beaten to within an inch of his miserable life, but again, the fine structures of Victorian society were gradually eroding away as the twentieth century gathered pace.
William settled for simply flashing a warning glare at the sailor who stumbled away, leaving William to almost drag Bridget across the road. He hissed menacingly at her to “Hurry up,” then added sarcastically “or would you prefer spending your time entertaining sailors for a penny a go?”
Bridget blushed, shocked at her husband’s suggestion and embarrassed by his behaviour, but most of all, she felt scared. William had changed almost as soon as the doors closed behind their last wedding guest. She mumbled another well-rehearsed apology; she was fast learning the privileged position of Mrs. William Grafton came with a heavy burden. As she hurried along behind her husband, she kept her eyes fixed demurely on the path in front of her, anxious not to draw unwanted attention and risk another of William’s little lessons in discipline.
William believed he did it for her own good, and she needed to understand that. It was important for a wife to support her husband, to look pretty and be entertaining without making him the object of ridicule. He was teaching her to be a better wife, a better person. She was lucky he understood she was young, and he was prepared to allow for that. She didn’t deserve such a patient and understanding husband, but it still hurt when he disciplined her.
Bridget didn’t lift her gaze from the port’s cobbled street until William led her into the White Star Line’s large reception building. As he presented their tickets and completed the formalities, she gazed out through the tall windows at the vessel towering above them. Even she couldn’t help feeling a shiver of excitement and expectation running up her spine. This was going to be something to tell her unborn child about. Subconsciously, she rubbed her belly, her thought momentarily drifting to idyllic dreams of motherhood.
“Are you alright, my darling?” She hadn’t noticed William approaching, a look of concern etched on his face. Bridget knew it was only for the benefit of the other passengers waiting to board. He was never this attentive when they were alone.
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Why do you ask?” Bridget smiled sweetly at her husband, playing along with his little act. She looked into his eyes, searching for any hint that he knew about her little secret: about her precious, unborn child.
“Well, my dear, you drifted off to another world, and you have rubbed your stomach several times since leaving the hotel.” Then smiling at two elderly ladies seated on a bench close by, he added, “And, as your husband, I am naturally worried.”
“Oh! I believe I may have eaten breakfast with too much haste, and I now have some trapped gas. Just like the Mona Lisa, my expression was enigmatic as opposed to distant as you implied.” A White Star employee arrived and ushered them towards the gangplank. Bridget added in the brashest American accent she could manage, and just loud enough for the two elderly ladies to overhear as she walked away, “Nothing a good fart won’t cure.”
The two ladies’ jaws dropped open in shock, one even went as far as placing her hands over her ears in case the uncouth American woman should continue her crass observation. William turned the colour of pickled beetroot as he tried to apologise for his wife’s comment before hurrying to catch up with her before she could embarrass him further. Bridget kept walking without so much as a backward glance at either of the two outraged women or William, who firmly grasped her arm as she stepped onto the gangplank. She knew he would take his revenge the moment they were alone but now, deep inside, she danced a waltz. She spun around and around in a giant ballroom celebrating her little victory, every turn getting faster and faster as her mysterious partner guided her around the floor.
As they stepped onto the ship’s deck, one of the ship’s officers welcomed them aboard before introducing them to the chambermaid who would show them to their cabin. Bridget noticed the chambermaid was a similar age to her with well-defined features and piercing green eyes hinting at wisdom far beyond her age. The left side of her face appeared slightly reddened, and her eyes looked puffy as if she had cried recently, but she smiled politely as she introduced herself as Esme before requesting they follow her to their Stateroom on A Deck.
As Bridget followed Esme along the wood paneled corridor with her obviously still furious husband bringing up the rear, Bridget felt like a condemned woman being led to the gallows thinking so much for the romantic fairy tale of marriage to a dashing army officer. If this was her honeymoon, she wondered what the rest of her life would be like. Would William continue to dole out punishments and discipline or would she, in time, learn to be the perfect, submissive wife he obviously wanted?
