THE ATLANTIC OCEAN.
APPROXIMATELY 750 MILES WEST OF SOUTHAMPTON.
SATURDAY, APRIL 13, 1912. 4:15 P.M.
Titanic steamed across the Atlantic, the ship’s hull cleaving a path through calm, azure waters. Smoke spilled from its stacks, leaving a misty trail above its wake. On the ship’s top deck, open to the sun and clear blue sky, children shouted and laughed, having the times of their lives.
Nannies waltzed some of the wealthier boys and girls through their afternoon strolls, positioning parasols so they wouldn’t be exposed to the bright sun. On the ship’s starboard side, a small crowd of children gathered outside the gymnasium. Even though they had already taken their appointed turn inside, they eagerly crowded near the door for another glimpse of the exotic rowing machines, bicycles, and mechanical horses.
Below, on Deck C, still more children turned up in the barber shop with shiny coins in their fists, anxious to purchase a souvenir of their trip. Teddy bears, dolls, penknives, and official ribbons embroidered with the name RMS Titanic were popular ways to spend pocket money.
Passengers on the decks below were less well-dressed but the children had no less fun. Some boys swung from the baggage cranes, while others chased rats down hallways and out of stairwells. The howling lads seemed as if they would give chase till the rodents ran right off the edge of the ship.
Lou would have preferred to chase rats with the boys. But her mother wouldn’t stand for such activities, and Lou was fairly certain the boys wouldn’t be keen on having a girl join them. Boys were like that. So instead, she made do with a dull group of girls about her age in the third-class common room, pretending to make tea for rag dolls and providing make-believe medicine for their tummy aches. Lou’s mother, satisfied that the girl had learned her lesson about talking to strange gentlemen, went to the library to write letters to family.
Lou listlessly dressed and undressed a rag doll, looking for something, anything else to occupy her time. Thinking her mother would be safely occupied in the library for at least an hour, Lou took a stroll to see what she could find. She noticed a sign that read “Squash Court Observation Deck” and decided to have a look.
These people dress better to watch a game than I do to go to Sunday church, Lou marveled, surveying the gathered crowd. Even the players on the court were dressed smartly in spotless white shorts and shirts. A quick, guarded smell of her dress confirmed that she didn’t stink; she hadn’t changed clothes since their first day on board. Her mother was saving her other good outfit for when they arrived in New York.
Lou was thrilled to spot Lady Cardeza, hair and all, chattering not far away. Few in the room were paying the woman much attention. They seemed more interested in squash than gossip. With a sniff, Lady Cardeza announced loudly, “I have multiple concerns to attend, unlike those who have nothing to do but play silly games!” Then she left. Lou imagined “multiple concerns” meant changing into a new dress from one of her fourteen trunks.
“Say,” one man next to Lou said, “who’s up next?”
His companion, a man with an enormous walrus mustache, replied, “Thomas Andrews and Fred Wright.”
“Who’s Andrews? A professional as well?”
“Hardly. He designed Titanic. That’s him over there.”
Andrews stood off in a far corner, frowning at a piece of trim above the observation window. He started writing in a small pad of paper.
“He’s going to take on Fred Wright? That little fellow doesn’t stand a chance!”
“I hear Andrews is an accomplished player, but agreed. Wright will wear him down.”
Lou watched as Andrews put away his notebook and made his way to the court to warm up for the match. He darted this way and that, provoking laughter from the two gentlemen. Lou thought he looked agile and quick. Wright, practicing his powerful shots, seemed like a statue by comparison.
“Hey mister,” Lou said. “My money would be on Andrews.”
The two men turned, surprised to hear a young girl putting forth a challenge. The first chuckled under his breath. “A proper lady doesn’t gamble,” he chided. “Besides, you don’t look like you’ve got anything to bet with.”
Lou felt her ears get hot, just like when the boy tried to take her corner for selling papers. She drew herself up. “Oh I’ve got money, sir, my word on that. How much you want to make it? Say a shilling?”
The man with the walrus mustache laughed loudly. The first man gripped the lapels of his jacket. “If you want a wager, young lady, I deal by the pound.”
“A pound it is then,” Lou said, sticking out her bottom lip.
The man with the mustache was beside himself with laughter. “What kind of sport are you, taking a pound from a child?” He pointed down to the court where Andrews was shaking hands with his much taller and brawnier opponent. “Look at the difference between them.”
Lou gulped at the disparity. She was on the line for six months’ wages.