The Sins of the Father

6

‘SEBASTIAN ARTHUR CLIFTON,’ said Emma, handing the sleeping child to his grandmother.

Maisie beamed as she took her grandson in her arms for the first time.

‘They wouldn’t let me come and see you before I was packed off to Scotland,’ said Emma, making no attempt to hide her scorn. ‘That’s why I called you the moment I got back to Bristol.’

‘That was kind of you,’ said Maisie, as she stared intently at the little boy, trying to convince herself that Sebastian had inherited her husband’s fair hair and clear blue eyes.

Emma sat at the kitchen table, smiled and sipped her tea: Earl Grey, how typical of Maisie to remember. And cucumber and salmon sandwiches, Harry’s favourite, which must have emptied her ration book. As she looked around the room, her eyes settled on the mantelpiece, where she spotted a sepia photograph of a private soldier from the first war. How Emma wished she could see the shade of his hair, hidden under the helmet, or even the colour of his eyes. Were they blue, like Harry’s, or brown, like hers? Arthur Clifton cut a dashing figure in his army uniform. The square jaw and the determined looked showed Emma that he’d been proud to serve his country. Her gaze moved on to a more recent photo of Harry singing in the St Bede’s school choir, just before his voice broke, and next to that, propped against the wall, was an envelope displaying Harry’s unmistakable hand. She assumed it was the last letter he had written to his mother before he died. She wondered if Maisie would allow her to read it. She stood up and walked across to the mantelpiece, and was surprised to find that the envelope hadn’t been opened.

‘I was so sorry to hear you had to leave Oxford,’ Maisie ventured, when she saw Emma staring at the envelope.

‘Given the choice of continuing with my degree or having Harry’s child, there was no contest,’ said Emma, her eyes still fixed on the letter.

‘And Sir Walter tells me that your brother Giles joined the Wessex regiment, but has sadly been-’

‘I see you had a letter from Harry,’ interrupted Emma, unable to contain herself.

‘No, it’s not from Harry,’ said Maisie. ‘It’s from a Lieutenant Thomas Bradshaw who served with him on the SS Devonian.’

‘What does Lieutenant Bradshaw have to say?’ asked Emma, aware that the envelope hadn’t been opened.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Maisie. ‘A Dr Wallace delivered it to me, and said it was a letter of condolence. I didn’t feel I needed any more reminders of Harry’s death, so I never opened it.’

‘But isn’t it possible that it might throw some light on what happened on the Devonian?’

‘I doubt it,’ Maisie replied, ‘after all, they’d only known each other for a few days.’

‘Would you like me to read the letter to you, Mrs Clifton?’ Emma asked, aware that Maisie might be embarrassed by having to admit she couldn’t read.

‘No, thank you, my dear,’ Maisie replied. ‘After all, it’s not going to bring Harry back, is it?’

‘I agree,’ said Emma, ‘but perhaps you would allow me to read it for my own peace of mind,’ she said.

‘With the Germans targeting the docks at night,’ said Maisie, ‘I hope Barrington’s hasn’t been too badly affected.’

‘We’ve escaped a direct hit,’ said Emma, reluctantly accepting that she wasn’t going to be allowed to read the letter. ‘Mind you, I doubt even the Germans would dare to drop a bomb on Gramps.’

Maisie laughed, and for a moment Emma considered snatching the envelope from the mantelpiece and ripping it open before Maisie could stop her. But Harry would never have approved of that. If Maisie were to leave the room, even for a moment, Emma would use the steaming kettle to unseal the envelope, check the signature and make sure it was back in its place before she returned.

But it was almost as if Maisie could read her thoughts, because she remained by the mantelpiece and didn’t budge.

‘Gramps tells me congratulations are in order,’ said Emma, still refusing to give up.

Maisie blushed, and began to chat about her new appointment at the Grand Hotel. Emma’s eyes remained on the envelope. She carefully checked the M, the C, the S, the H and the L in the address, knowing that she would have to keep the image of those letters in her mind’s eye, like a photograph, until she returned to the Manor House. When Maisie handed little Sebastian back to her, explaining that sadly she had to get back to work, Emma reluctantly stood up, but not before she had given the envelope one last look.

On the way back to the Manor House, Emma tried to keep the image of the handwriting in her mind, thankful that Sebastian had fallen into a deep sleep. As soon as the car came to a halt on the gravel outside the front steps, Hudson opened the back door to allow Emma to get out and carry her son into the house. She took him straight up to the nursery, where Nanny Barrington was waiting for them. To Nanny’s surprise, Emma kissed him on the forehead and left without a word.

Once she was in her own room, Emma unlocked the centre drawer of her writing desk and pulled out a stack of letters that Harry had written to her over the years.

The first thing she checked was the capital H of Harry’s signature, so plain and bold, just like the H in Still House Lane on Maisie’s unopened envelope. This gave her confidence to carry on with the quest. She next searched for a capital C, and eventually found one on a Christmas card, with the bonus of the capital M of Merry: the same M and the same C as Mrs Clifton on the envelope. Harry must surely be alive, she kept repeating out loud. Finding a Bristol was easy, but England was more difficult, until she came across a letter he’d written to her from Italy when they were both still at school. It took her over an hour to neatly cut out the thirty-nine letters and two numbers, before she was able to reproduce the address on the envelope.

Mrs M. Clifton

27 Still House Lane

Bristol

England

Emma collapsed exhausted on to her bed. She had no idea who Thomas Bradshaw was, but one thing was certain: the unopened letter propped on Maisie’s mantelpiece had been written by Harry, and for some reason, best known to himself, he didn’t want her to know he was still alive. She wondered if he would have thought differently had he known she was pregnant with his child, before he set off on that fateful voyage.

Emma was desperate to share the news that Harry might not be dead with her mother, Gramps, Grace and of course Maisie, but she realized she would have to remain silent until she had more conclusive proof than an unopened letter. A plan began to form in her mind.

Emma didn’t go down for dinner that evening, but remained in her room and continued to try to fathom out why Harry would want everyone except his mother to believe he’d died that night.

When she climbed into bed just before midnight, she could only assume that it must have been for what he considered a matter of honour. Perhaps he imagined, poor, foolish, disillusioned man, that it would release her from any obligation she might feel towards him. Didn’t he realize that from the first moment she’d set eyes on him, at her brother’s birthday party when she was only ten years old, there was never going to be another man in her life?

Emma’s family had been delighted when she and Harry became engaged eight years later, with the exception of her father, who had for so long been living a lie – a lie that wasn’t exposed until the day of their wedding. The two of them were standing at the altar, about to take their vows, when Old Jack had brought the ceremony to an unrehearsed and unexpected close. The revelation that Emma’s father might also be Harry’s father didn’t stop her loving Harry, and it never would. No one was surprised that Harry behaved like a gentleman, while Emma’s father had remained true to his character, and behaved like a cad. One stood and faced the music, while the other slunk out of the back door of the vestry and hadn’t been seen since.

Harry had made it clear, long before he asked Emma to be his wife, that if war was declared he wouldn’t hesitate to leave Oxford and join the Royal Navy. He was a stubborn man at the best of times, and these were the worst of times. Emma realized there was no point in trying to dissuade him, as nothing she could say or do would have changed his mind. He had also warned her that he would not consider returning to Oxford until the Germans had surrendered.

Emma had also left Oxford early, but unlike Harry, she hadn’t been given a choice. For her there would be no chance of returning. Pregnancy was frowned upon at Somerville, and even more so when you weren’t married to the father. The decision must have broken her mother’s heart. Elizabeth Barrington had so wanted her daughter to achieve the academic accolades that she had been denied for no other reason than her sex. A rare glimmer of light appeared on the horizon a year later, when Emma’s younger sister Grace won an open scholarship to Girton College, Cambridge, and from the day she’d arrived in that seat of learning she had outshone the brightest men.

Once it became obvious that Emma was pregnant, she was whisked off to her grandfather’s estate in Scotland, to give birth to Harry’s child. Barringtons don’t produce illegitimate offspring, at least not in Bristol. Sebastian was crawling around the castle before the prodigal daughter was allowed to return to the Manor House. Elizabeth had wanted them to remain at Mulgelrie until the war was over, but Emma had had more than enough of being hidden away in a remote Scottish castle.

One of the first people she visited after returning to the West Country was her grandfather, Sir Walter Barrington. It had been he who had told her that Harry had joined the crew of the SS Devonian, and planned to return to Bristol within the month, as he intended to sign up as an ordinary seaman on HMS Resolution. Harry never returned, and six weeks went by before she learned that her lover had been buried at sea.

Sir Walter had taken it upon himself to visit each member of the family one by one, to inform them of the tragic news. He’d begun with Mrs Clifton, although he knew she had already heard what had happened from Dr Wallace, who had passed on Thomas Bradshaw’s letter. He next travelled up to Scotland to break the news to Emma. Sir Walter was surprised that his granddaughter didn’t shed a tear, but then Emma simply refused to accept that Harry was dead.

Once he’d returned to Bristol, Sir Walter visited Giles and told him the news. Harry’s closest friend had sunk into a desolate silence, and there was nothing any of the family could say or do to console him. When Lord and Lady Harvey heard the news of Harry’s death, they were stoical. A week later, when the family attended Captain Jack Tarrant’s memorial service at Bristol Grammar School, Lord Harvey remarked that he was glad Old Jack had never found out what had happened to his protégé.

The only person in the family Sir Walter refused to visit was his son, Hugo. He made an excuse about not knowing how to get in touch with him, but when Emma returned to Bristol he admitted to her that even if he had known, he wouldn’t have bothered, and added that her father was probably the one person who would be pleased that Harry was dead. Emma said nothing, but didn’t doubt that he was right.

For several days after her visit to Maisie in Still House Lane, Emma had spent hours alone in her room endlessly considering what she might do with her new-found knowledge. She concluded that there was no way she could hope to discover the contents of the letter that had rested on the mantelpiece for more than a year, without harming her relationship with Maisie. However, Emma resolved not only to prove to the whole world that Harry was still alive, but to find him, wherever he might be. With that in mind, she made another appointment to see her grandfather. After all, Sir Walter Barrington was the only person other than Maisie who’d met Dr Wallace, so he must surely be her best chance of unravelling the mystery of exactly who Thomas Bradshaw was.

7

ONE THING Emma’s grandfather had instilled in her from an early age was never to be late for an appointment. It gives the wrong impression, he told her; that is, if you want to be taken seriously.

With that in mind, Emma left the Manor House at 9.25 that morning, and was driven through the gates of Barrington’s shipyard at exactly eight minutes to ten. The car parked outside Barrington House at six minutes to ten. By the time she stepped out of the lift on the fifth floor and walked down the corridor to the chairman’s office, it was two minutes to ten.

Sir Walter’s secretary, Miss Beale, opened the door of his office as the clock on his mantelpiece began to chime ten. The chairman smiled, rose from behind his desk and walked across the room to greet Emma with a kiss on both cheeks.

‘And how is my favourite granddaughter?’ he asked as he guided her to a comfortable chair by the fire.

‘Grace is just fine, Gramps,’ said Emma. ‘Doing brilliantly at Cambridge, I’m told, and sends her love.’

‘Don’t get cheeky with me, young lady,’ he said, returning her smile. ‘And Sebastian, my favourite great-grandson, how’s he coming along?’

‘Your only great-grandson,’ Emma reminded him as she settled back into a deep leather chair.

‘As you haven’t brought him with you, I assume you have something serious to discuss.’

The small talk had already been dispensed with. Emma knew that Sir Walter would have allocated a certain amount of time for the meeting. Miss Beale had once told her that visitors were granted fifteen minutes, thirty minutes or an hour, depending on how important he considered they were. Family were not exempt from this rule, except on Sunday. Emma had a number of questions she needed answered, so hoped he’d allotted her at least half an hour.

She sat back and tried to relax, because she didn’t want Gramps to work out the real reason she wanted to see him.

‘Do you remember when you kindly travelled up to Scotland,’ she began, ‘to let me know that Harry had been killed at sea? I’m afraid I was in such a state of shock that I didn’t take it all in, so I hoped you might tell me a little more about the last few days of his life.’

‘Of course, my dear,’ said Sir Walter sympathetically. ‘Let’s hope my memory is up to it. Is there anything in particular you want to know?’

‘You told me that Harry signed up as the fourth officer on the Devonian after he’d come down from Oxford.’

‘That’s right. It was my old friend Captain Havens who made it possible, and he was among the few survivors of the tragedy. When I visited him recently, he could not have spoken more warmly of Harry. He described him as a courageous young man, who not only saved his life after the ship had been hit by a torpedo, but sacrificed his own when he attempted to rescue the chief engineer.’

‘Was Captain Havens also picked up by the Kansas Star?’

‘No, by another ship that was in the vicinity, so sadly he never saw Harry again.’

‘So he didn’t witness Harry being buried at sea?’

‘No. The only officer from the Devonian who was with Harry when he died was an American, called Lieutenant Thomas Bradshaw.’

‘You told me that a Dr Wallace delivered a letter from Lieutenant Bradshaw to Mrs Clifton.’

‘That’s correct. Dr Wallace was the chief medical officer on the Kansas Star. He assured me that he and his team did everything in their power to save Harry’s life.’

‘Did Bradshaw write to you as well?’

‘No, only to the next of kin, if I recall Dr Wallace’s words.’

‘Then don’t you find it strange that he didn’t write to me?’

Sir Walter fell silent for some time. ‘You know, I’ve never really given it any thought. Perhaps Harry never mentioned you to Bradshaw. You know how secretive he could be.’

Emma had often thought about it, but moved quickly on. ‘Did you read the letter he sent to Mrs Clifton?’

‘No, I didn’t. But I saw it on the mantelpiece when I visited her the following day.’

‘Do you think Dr Wallace had any idea what Bradshaw had written in that letter?’

‘Yes. He told me it was a letter of condolence from a fellow officer who had served with Harry on the Devonian.’

‘If only I could meet Lieutenant Bradshaw,’ said Emma, fishing.

‘I don’t know how you’ll manage that, my dear,’ said Sir Walter, ‘unless Wallace kept in touch with him.’

‘Do you have an address for Dr Wallace?’

‘Only care of the Kansas Star.’

‘But surely they must have stopped sailing to Bristol when war was declared.’

‘Not as long as there are Americans stranded in England who are willing to pay through the nose to get home.’

‘Isn’t that taking an unnecessary risk, with so many German U-boats patrolling the Atlantic?’

‘Not while America remains neutral,’ said Sir Walter. ‘The last thing Hitler wants is to start a war with the Yanks simply because one of his U-boats sank an American passenger ship.’

‘Do you know if the Kansas Star is expected to return to Bristol in the near future?’

‘No, but I can easily find out.’ The old man heaved himself out of his chair and walked slowly across to his desk. He began to flick through page after page of the monthly timetable of dockings.

‘Ah, here it is,’ he eventually said. ‘She’s due out of New York in four weeks’ time, and is expected in Bristol on the fifteenth of November. If you’re hoping to get in touch with anyone on board, be warned, she won’t be hanging around for long, as it’s the one place she’ll be vulnerable to attack.’

‘Will I be allowed on board?’

‘Not unless you’re a crew member or looking for a job, and frankly I can’t see you as either a deckhand or a cocktail waitress.’

‘So how can I get to see Dr Wallace?’

‘You’ll just have to wait on the dockside in the hope that he’ll come ashore. Almost everyone does after a week-long voyage. So if he’s on the ship, I’m sure you’ll catch him. But don’t forget, Emma, it’s more than a year since Harry died, so Wallace may no longer be the ship’s medical officer.’ Emma bit her lip. ‘But if you’d like me to arrange a private meeting with the captain, I’d be happy-’

‘No, no,’ said Emma quickly, ‘it’s not that important.’

‘If you change your mind-’ began Sir Walter, suddenly realizing just how important Emma considered it to be.

‘No, thank you, Gramps,’ she said as she rose from her place. ‘Thank you for giving me so much of your time.’

‘Not nearly enough,’ said the old man. ‘I only wish you’d drop in more often. And make sure you bring Sebastian with you next time,’ he added as he accompanied her to the door.

Sir Walter was no longer in any doubt why his granddaughter had come to see him.

In the car on the way back to the Manor House, one sentence remained etched in Emma’s mind. She played the words over and over, like a gramophone needle stuck in a groove.

Once she had returned home, she joined Sebastian in the nursery. He had to be coaxed off his rocking horse, but not before a few tears had been shed. After lunch he curled up like a satisfied cat, and fell into a deep sleep. Nanny put him to bed while Emma rang for the chauffeur.

‘I’d like to be driven back into Bristol, Hudson.’

‘Anywhere in particular, miss?’

‘The Grand Hotel.’

‘You want me to do what?’ said Maisie.

‘Take me on as a waitress.’

‘But why?’

‘I’d prefer not to tell you.’

‘Do you have any idea how hard the work is?’

‘No,’ admitted Emma, ‘but I won’t let you down.’

‘And when do you want to start?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’

‘For how long?’

‘One month.’

‘Now let me try and get this straight,’ said Maisie. ‘You want me to train you as a waitress, starting tomorrow, and you’ll be leaving in a month’s time, but you won’t tell me why?’

‘That’s about it.’

‘Are you expecting to be paid?’

‘No,’ said Emma.

‘Well, that’s a relief.’

‘So when do I start?’

‘Six o’clock tomorrow morning.’

‘Six o’clock?’ repeated Emma in disbelief.

‘This may come as a surprise, Emma, but I have customers who need to be fed by seven, and at work by eight, so you’ll have to make sure you’re at your station by six – every morning.’

‘My station?’

‘I’ll explain if you turn up before six.’

Emma wasn’t late for work once in the next twenty-eight days, possibly because Jenkins tapped on her door at 4.30 every morning, and Hudson dropped her off a hundred yards from the staff entrance of the Grand Hotel by 5.45.

Miss Dickens, as she was known by the rest of the staff, took advantage of her acting skills to make sure that no one worked out that she was a Barrington.

Mrs Clifton showed Emma no favours when she spilt some soup over a regular customer, and even less when she dropped a stack of plates that shattered in the middle of the dining room. The cost would normally have been deducted from her pay packet, if she’d had one. And it was some time before Emma got the knack of using her shoulder to barge through the swing doors that led in and out of the kitchen without colliding with another waitress coming from the opposite direction.

Despite this, Maisie quickly discovered that she only had to tell Emma something once, and she never forgot it. She was also impressed how quickly Emma could turn a table round, although she’d never laid one before in her life. And while most trainees took several weeks to master the skill of silver service, some never managing it, Emma didn’t need any further supervision by the end of her second week.

By the end of her third, Maisie wished she wasn’t leaving, and by the end of the fourth, so did several regulars, who were insisting that only Miss Dickens must serve them.

Maisie was becoming anxious about how she was going to explain to the hotel manager that Miss Dickens had given in her notice after only a month.

‘You can tell Mr Hurst that I’ve been offered a better job, with more pay,’ said Emma as she began folding up her uniform.

‘He’s not going to be pleased,’ said Maisie. ‘It might have been easier if you’d turned out to be useless, or at least been late a few times.’ Emma laughed, and placed her little white cap neatly on top of her clothes for the last time.

‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Dickens?’ asked Maisie.

‘Yes please,’ said Emma. ‘I need a reference.’

‘Applying for another unpaid job, are you?’

‘Something like that,’ replied Emma, feeling a little guilty that she wasn’t able to take Harry’s mother into her confidence.

‘Then I’ll dictate a reference, you write it, and I’ll sign it,’ she said, passing Emma a sheet of the hotel’s headed notepaper. ‘To whom it may concern,’ Maisie began. ‘During the short time-’

‘Could I possibly leave out “short”?’ asked Emma.

Maisie smiled.

‘During the time Miss Dickens has been with us at the Grand’ – Emma wrote ‘Miss Barrington’, but didn’t tell her – ‘she has proved hard-working, efficient and popular with both the customers and staff. Her skills as a waitress are impressive, and her ability to learn on the job convinces me that any establishment would be fortunate to have her as a member of their staff. We will be sorry to lose her, and should she ever want to return to this hotel, we would welcome her back.’

Emma smiled as she handed the sheet of paper back. Maisie scribbled her signature above the words Restaurant Manageress.

‘Thank you,’ said Emma, wrapping her arms around her.

‘I have no idea what you’re up to, my dear,’ said Maisie, once Emma had released her, ‘but whatever it is, I wish you luck.’

Emma wanted to tell her, I’m going in search of your son, and I won’t return until I’ve found him.

8

EMMA HAD BEEN standing on the dockside for over an hour when she spotted the Kansas Star nosing its way into port, but it was another hour before the ship finally docked.

During that time, Emma thought about the decision she’d made, and was already beginning to wonder if she had the courage to go through with it. She tried to dismiss from her thoughts the sinking of the Athenia a few months before, and the possibility of never even making it to New York.

She had written a long letter to her mother, trying to explain why she’d be away for a couple of weeks – three at the most – and only hoped she would understand. But she couldn’t write a letter to Sebastian to let him know that she was going in search of his father, and was already missing him. She kept trying to convince herself that she was doing it as much for her son as for herself.

Sir Walter had once again offered to introduce her to the captain of the Kansas Star, but Emma had politely declined, as it didn’t fit in with her plan to remain anonymous. He’d also given her a vague description of Dr Wallace, and certainly no one who looked remotely like that had disembarked from the ship that morning. However, Sir Walter was able to pass on two other valuable pieces of information. The Kansas Star would be departing on the last tide that evening. And the purser could usually be found in his office between the hours of two and five every afternoon, completing embarkation forms. More important, he was responsible for the employment of non-crew members of staff.

Emma had written to her grandfather the day before to thank him for his help, but she still didn’t let him know what she was up to, although she had a feeling he’d worked it out.

After the clock on Barrington House had struck twice, and there was still no sign of Dr Wallace, Emma picked up her small suitcase and decided the time had come to walk the gangplank. When she stepped nervously on to the deck, she asked the first person she saw in uniform the way to the purser’s office, and was told lower deck aft.

She spotted a passenger disappearing down a wide staircase, and followed her to what she assumed must be the lower deck, but as she had no idea where aft was, she joined a queue at the information desk.

Behind the counter stood two girls, dressed in dark blue uniforms and white blouses. They were attempting to answer every passenger’s query while keeping smiles etched on their faces.

‘How can I help you, miss?’ one of them asked when Emma eventually reached the front of the queue. The girl clearly assumed she was a passenger, and in fact Emma had considered paying for her passage to New York, but had decided she was more likely to find out what she needed to know if she signed on as a member of the crew.

‘Where will I find the purser’s office?’ she asked.

‘Second door on the right down that companionway,’ replied the girl. ‘You can’t miss it.’

Emma followed her pointing finger, and when she reached a door marked Purser she took a deep breath and knocked.

‘Come in.’

Emma opened the door and stepped inside to find a smartly dressed officer seated behind a desk that was strewn with forms. He wore a crisp, open-necked white shirt which had two gold epaulettes on each shoulder.

‘How can I help you?’ he asked in an accent she’d never heard before, and could hardly decipher.

‘I’m looking for a job as a waitress, sir,’ said Emma, hoping she sounded like one of the maids at the Manor House.

‘Sorry,’ he said, looking back down. ‘Don’t need any more waitresses. The only available position is on the information desk.’

‘I’d be happy to work there,’ said Emma, reverting to her normal voice.

The purser gave her a closer look. ‘The pay’s not good,’ he warned her, ‘and the hours are worse.’

‘I’m used to that,’ said Emma.

‘And I can’t offer you a permanent position,’ continued the purser, ‘because one of my girls is on shore leave in New York, and will be rejoining the ship after this crossing.’

‘That’s not a problem,’ said Emma without explanation.

The purser still didn’t look convinced. ‘Can you read and write?’

Emma would like to have told him that she’d won a scholarship to Oxford, but simply said, ‘Yes, sir.’

Without another word, he pulled open a drawer and extracted a long form, passed her a fountain pen and said, ‘Fill this in.’ As Emma began to answer the questions, he added, ‘And I’ll also need to see a reference.’

Once Emma had completed the form, she opened her bag and handed over Maisie’s letter of recommendation.

‘Very impressive,’ he said. ‘But are you sure you’re suited to being a receptionist?’

‘It was going to be my next job at the Grand,’ Emma said. ‘All part of my training to be a manageress.’

‘Then why give up that opportunity to join us?’

‘I have a great-aunt who lives in New York, and my mother wants me to stay with her until the war is over.’

This time the purser did look convinced, as it wasn’t the first time someone had wanted to work their passage in order to get away from England. ‘Then let’s get you started,’ he said, jumping up. He marched out of the office and led her on the short journey back to the information desk.

‘Peggy, I’ve found someone to replace Dana on this voyage, so you better get her started straight away.’

‘Thank God for that,’ said Peggy, lifting a flap so Emma could join her behind the counter. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked in the same almost impenetrable accent. For the first time Emma understood what Bernard Shaw had meant when he suggested that the English and the Americans were divided by a common language.

‘Emma Barrington.’

‘Well, Emma, this is my assistant, Trudy. As we’re so busy, perhaps you could just observe for now, and we’ll try to fill you in as we go along.’

Emma took a pace back and watched as the two girls handled everything that was thrown at them, while somehow managing to keep smiling.

Within an hour, Emma knew at what time and where passengers should report for lifeboat drill, which deck the grill room was on, how far out to sea they had to be before passengers could order a drink, where they might find a partner for a round of bridge after dinner, and how to get to the upper deck if you wanted to watch the sunset.

For the next hour, Emma listened to most of the same questions being asked again and again, and during the third, she took a step forward and began to respond to the passengers’ queries herself, only occasionally needing to refer to the other two girls.

Peggy was impressed, and when the queue had dwindled to a few latecomers, she said to Emma, ‘Time to show you your quarters and grab some supper while the passengers are having a pre-dinner drink.’ She turned to Trudy and added, ‘I’ll be back around seven to relieve you,’ then lifted the flap and stepped out from behind the desk. Trudy nodded as another passenger came forward.

‘Can you tell me if we have to dress for dinner tonight?’

‘Not on the first night, sir,’ came back the firm reply, ‘but every other night.’

Peggy never stopped chatting as she led Emma down a long corridor, arriving at the top of some roped-off steps with a sign declaring in bold red letters, CREW ONLY.

‘This leads to our quarters,’ she explained as she unhooked the rope. ‘You’re going to have to share a cabin with me,’ Peggy added as they walked down, ‘because Dana’s bunk is the only one available at the moment.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Emma.

Down, down and down they went; the stairwells becoming more cramped with each deck. Peggy only stopped talking when a crew member stood aside to let them pass. Occasionally she would reward them with a warm smile. Emma had never come across anyone like Peggy in her life: so fiercely independent, yet somehow she managed to remain feminine, with her bobbed fair hair, skirt that only just fell below the knees, and tight jacket that left you in no doubt how good her figure was.

‘This is our cabin,’ she said finally. ‘It’s where you’ll be sleeping for the next week. I hope you weren’t expecting anything palatial.’

Emma entered a cabin that was smaller than any room at the Manor House, including the broom cupboard.

‘Ghastly, isn’t it?’ said Peggy. ‘In fact, this old tub has only one thing going for it.’ Emma didn’t need to ask what that might be, because Peggy was only too happy to answer her own questions, as well as Emma’s. ‘The male to female ratio is better than almost anywhere else on earth,’ said Peggy, laughing, before she added, ‘That’s Dana’s bunk, and this is mine. As you can see, there isn’t enough room for two people in here at the same time, unless one of them is in bed. I’ll leave you to get unpacked, and come back in half an hour to take you down to the staff canteen for supper.’

Emma wondered how they could go any further down, but Peggy had disappeared before she could ask. She sat on her bunk in a daze. How could she get Peggy to answer all of her questions if she never stopped talking? Or might that turn out to be an advantage; would she, given time, reveal everything Emma needed to know? She had a whole week to find out, so felt she could afford to be patient. She began to stuff her few possessions into a drawer that Dana had made no attempt to empty.

Two long blasts on the ship’s horn, and a moment later she felt a little shudder. Although there was no porthole to look through, she could feel that they were on the move. She sat back down on her bunk and tried to convince herself she’d made the right decision. Although she planned to return to Bristol within a month, she was already missing Sebastian.

She began to look more carefully at what would be her residence for the next week. On each side of the cabin a narrow bunk was attached to the wall, whose dimensions assumed that any occupant would be below average height. She lay down and tested a mattress that didn’t give, because it hadn’t any springs, and rested her head on a pillow that was filled with foam rubber, not feathers. There was a small washbasin with two taps, both of which delivered the same trickle of tepid water.

She put on Dana’s uniform, and tried not to laugh. When Peggy returned, she did laugh. Dana must have been at least three inches shorter and certainly three sizes larger than Emma. ‘Be thankful it’s only for a week,’ said Peggy as she led Emma off for supper.

They descended even further into the bowels of the ship to join the other members of the crew. Several young men and one or two older ones invited Peggy to join them at their table. She favoured a tall young man who, she told Emma, was an engineer. Emma wondered if that explained why it wasn’t only his hair that was covered in oil. The three of them joined the queue at the hotplate. The engineer filled his plate with almost everything on offer. Peggy managed about half, while Emma, feeling a little queasy, satisfied herself with a biscuit and an apple.

After supper, Peggy and Emma returned to the information desk to relieve Trudy. As the passengers’ dinner was served at eight, few of them appeared at the desk, other than those who needed to ask for directions to the dining room.

During the next hour, Emma learnt a great deal more about Peggy than she did about the SS Kansas Star. When they came to the end of their shift at ten o’clock, they pulled down the grille and Peggy led her new companion back towards the lower deck staircase.

‘Do you want to join us for a drink in the staff canteen?’ she asked.

‘No, thank you,’ said Emma. ‘I’m exhausted.’

‘Do you think you can find your way back to the cabin?’

‘Lower deck seven, room one-one-three. If I’m not in bed by the time you get back, send out a search party.’

As soon as Emma had entered her cabin, she quickly undressed, washed and slipped under the single sheet and blanket provided. She lay on the bunk trying to settle, her knees almost tucked under her chin, while the irregular bobbing of the vessel meant that she couldn’t remain in the same position for more than a few moments. Her last thoughts before she drifted into a fitful sleep were of Sebastian.

Emma woke with a start. It was so dark she had no way of checking the time on her watch. At first she assumed the swaying was caused by the movement of the ship, until her eyes focused and she was able to make out two bodies in the bunk on the other side of the cabin, moving rhythmically up and down. One of the bodies had legs that stretched far beyond the end of the bunk and were braced against the wall; it had to be the engineer. Emma wanted to laugh, but she just lay very still until Peggy let out a long sigh and the movement stopped. A few moments later, the feet attached to the long legs touched the floor and began to wriggle into some old overalls. Not long afterwards, the cabin door opened and closed quietly. Emma fell into a deep sleep.

9

WHEN EMMA WOKE the following morning, Peggy was already up and dressed.

‘I’m off for breakfast,’ she announced. ‘I’ll see you at the desk later. By the way, we’re expected on duty at eight.’

The moment the door closed, Emma jumped out of bed, and after she’d washed slowly and dressed quickly, she realized there wouldn’t be any time for breakfast if she hoped to be behind the information desk on time.

Once she’d reported for work, Emma quickly discovered that Peggy took her job very seriously and put herself out to assist any passenger who needed her help. During their morning coffee break Emma said, ‘One of the passengers asked me about doctor’s surgery hours.’

‘Seven to eleven in the morning,’ replied Peggy, ‘four to six in the afternoon. In case of an emergency, dial one-one-one on the nearest telephone.’

‘And the doctor’s name?’

‘Parkinson. Dr Parkinson. He’s the one man every girl on board has a crush on.’

‘Oh – one of the passengers thought it was a Dr Wallace.’

‘No, Wally retired about six months ago. Sweet old thing.’

Emma asked no more questions during the break, just drank coffee.

‘Why don’t you spend the rest of the morning finding your way around, so you know where you’re sending everyone,’ Peggy suggested once they’d reported back to the desk. She handed Emma a guide to the ship. ‘See you for lunch.’

With the guidebook open, Emma began her quest on the upper deck: the dining rooms, the bars, the card room, a library, and even a ballroom with a resident jazz band. She only stopped to take a closer look when she came across the infirmary on lower deck two, tentatively opening the double doors and poking her head inside. Two neatly made, unoccupied beds stood against the wall on the far side of the room. Had Harry slept in one and Lieutenant Bradshaw in the other?

‘Can I help you?’ said a voice.

Emma swung round to see a tall man in a long white coat. She immediately understood why Peggy had a crush on him.

‘I’ve just started on the information desk,’ she blurted out, ‘and I’m meant to be finding out where everything is.’

‘I’m Simon Parkinson,’ he said, giving her a friendly smile. ‘Now you’ve found out where I am, you’re most welcome to drop in at any time.’

‘Thank you,’ said Emma. She quickly stepped back into the corridor, closed the door behind her and hurried away. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had flirted with her, but she wished it had been Dr Wallace. She spent the rest of the morning exploring each deck until she felt she’d mastered the ship’s layout and would be able to tell any passenger where everything was with more confidence.

She was looking forward to spending the afternoon testing out her new skills, but Peggy asked her to go over the passenger files in the same way she’d studied the ship. Emma sat alone in the back office, learning about people she would never see again in her life.

In the evening she made an attempt to eat supper, beans on toast and a glass of lemonade, but she was back in her cabin soon afterwards, hoping to catch some sleep in case the engineer returned.

When the door opened, the light in the corridor woke her. Emma couldn’t make out who it was that entered the cabin, but it certainly wasn’t the engineer, because his feet didn’t reach the wall. She lay awake for forty minutes, and didn’t get back to sleep until the door had opened and closed again.

Emma quickly became accustomed to the routine of the daily work followed by the nocturnal visits. These visits didn’t vary greatly, only the men, although on one occasion the amorous visitor headed for Emma’s bunk and not Peggy’s.

‘Wrong girl,’ said Emma firmly.

‘Sorry,’ came back the reply, before he changed direction. Peggy must have assumed she had fallen asleep, because after the couple had made love, Emma could hear every word of their whispered conversation.

‘Do you think your friend’s available?’

‘Why, have you taken a shine to her?’ giggled Peggy.

‘No, not me, but I know someone who’d like to be the first man to unbutton Dana’s uniform.’

‘Not a hope. She’s got a boyfriend back home in Bristol, and I’m told even Dr Parkinson didn’t make an impression on her.’

‘Pity,’ said the voice.

Peggy and Trudy often talked about the morning that nine sailors from the Devonian had been buried at sea before breakfast. With some subtle prompts, Emma was able to gain information that neither her grandfather nor Maisie could possibly have known. But with only three days left before they reached New York, she was no nearer to discovering if it was Harry or Lieutenant Bradshaw who’d survived.

On the fifth day, Emma took charge of the desk for the first time, and there were no surprises. The surprise came on the fifth night.

When the cabin door opened at whatever hour it was, a man once again headed for Emma’s bunk, but this time when she said, ‘Wrong girl,’ firmly, he left immediately. She lay awake wondering who it could possibly have been.

On the sixth day, Emma learnt nothing new about Harry or Tom Bradshaw, and was beginning to fear that she might arrive in New York without any leads to follow up. It was during dinner that night that she decided to ask Peggy about ‘the one that survived’.

‘I only met Tom Bradshaw once,’ said Peggy, ‘when he was roaming around the deck with his nurse. Well, come to think of it, he wasn’t exactly roaming, because the poor man was on crutches.’

‘Did you speak to him?’ asked Emma.

‘No, he seemed very shy. In any case, Kristin didn’t let him out of her sight.’

‘Kristin?’

‘She was the hospital nurse at the time, worked alongside Dr Wallace. Between them, they undoubtedly saved Tom Bradshaw’s life.’

‘So you never saw him again?’

‘Only when we docked in New York, and I spotted him going ashore with Kristin.’

‘He left the ship with Kristin?’ said Emma anxiously. ‘Was Dr Wallace with them?’

‘No, just Kristin and her boyfriend Richard.’

‘Richard?’ said Emma, sounding relieved.

‘Yes, Richard something. I can’t remember his surname. He was the third officer. Not long afterwards he married Kristin, and we never saw either of them again.’

‘Was he a good-looking man?’ asked Emma.

‘Tom or Richard?’ asked Peggy.

‘Can I get you a drink, Peg?’ asked a young man Emma had never seen before, but had a feeling she would be seeing in profile later that night.

Emma was right, and she didn’t sleep before, during or after the visit, as she had something else on her mind.

The following morning, for the first time on the voyage, Emma was standing behind the information desk waiting for Peggy to appear.

‘Shall I prepare the passenger list for disembarkation?’ she asked when Peggy finally arrived and lifted the counter flap.

‘You’re the first person I’ve ever known to volunteer for that job,’ said Peggy, ‘but be my guest. Someone has to make sure it’s up to date in case immigration decides to double-check any of the passengers’ details once we’ve docked in New York.’

Emma went straight through to the back office. Putting aside the current passenger list, she turned her attention to the files of past crew members, which she found in a separate cabinet that looked as if it hadn’t been opened for some time.

She began a slow, meticulous search for the names Kristin and Richard. Kristin proved easy, because there was only one person with that name, and she’d worked as a senior staff nurse on the Kansas Star from 1936 to 1939. However, there were several Richards, Dicks and Dickies, but the address of one of them, Lieutenant Richard Tibbet, was in the same Manhattan apartment building as Miss Kristin Craven.

Emma made a note of the address.

10

‘WELCOME TO the United States, Miss Barrington.’

‘Thank you,’ said Emma.

‘How long do you plan to be in the United States?’ asked the immigration officer as he checked her passport.

‘A week, two at the most,’ said Emma. ‘I’m visiting my great-aunt, and then I’ll be returning to England.’ It was true that Emma had a great-aunt who lived in New York, Lord Harvey’s sister, but she had no intention of visiting her, not least because she didn’t want the rest of the family to find out what she was up to.

‘Your great-aunt’s address?’

‘Sixty-fourth and Park.’

The immigration officer made a note, stamped Emma’s passport and handed it back to her.

‘Enjoy your stay in the Big Apple, Miss Barrington.’

Once Emma had passed through immigration, she joined a long queue of passengers from the Kansas Star. It was another twenty minutes before she climbed into the back of a yellow cab.

‘I require a small, sensibly priced hotel, located near Merton Street in Manhattan,’ she told the driver.

‘You wanna run that past me again, lady?’ said the cabbie, the stub of an unlit cigar protruding from the corner of his mouth.

As Emma had found it difficult to understand a word he said, she assumed he was having the same problem. ‘I’m looking for a small, inexpensive hotel near Merton Street, on Manhattan Island,’ she said, slowly enunciating each word.

‘Merton Street,’ repeated the driver, as if it was the only thing he’d understood.

‘That’s right,’ said Emma.

‘Why didn’t you say so the first time?’

The driver took off, and didn’t speak again until he’d dropped his fare outside a red-brick building that flew a flag proclaiming The Mayflower Hotel.

‘That’ll be forty cents,’ said the cabbie, the cigar bobbing up and down with each word.

Emma paid the fare from the wage packet she’d earned while on the ship. Once she’d checked into the hotel, she took the lift to the fourth floor and went straight to her room. The first thing she did was to get undressed and run herself a hot bath.

When she reluctantly climbed out, she dried herself with a large fluffy towel, dressed in what she considered a demure frock and made her way back down to the ground floor. She felt almost human.

Emma found a quiet table in the corner of the hotel coffee shop and ordered a cup of tea – they hadn’t heard of Earl Grey – and a club sandwich, something she’d never heard of. While she waited to be served, she began to write out a long list of questions on a paper napkin, hoping there would be someone living at 46 Merton Street who was willing to answer them.

Once she’d signed the check, another new word, Emma asked the receptionist for directions to Merton Street. Three blocks north, two blocks west, she was told. She hadn’t realized that every New Yorker possessed a built-in compass.

Emma enjoyed the walk, stopping several times to admire windows filled with merchandise she had never seen in Bristol. She arrived outside a high-rise apartment block just after midday, unsure what she would do if Mrs Tibbet wasn’t at home.

A smartly dressed doorman saluted and opened the door for her. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’ve come to see Mrs Tibbet,’ Emma said, trying to sound as if she was expected.

‘Apartment thirty-one, on the third floor,’ he said, touching the rim of his cap.

It was true, an English accent did appear to open doors.

As the elevator made its way slowly up to the third floor, Emma rehearsed some lines she hoped would open another door. When the elevator stopped, she pulled back the grille, stepped out into the corridor and went in search of number 31. There was a tiny circle of glass set in the middle of the Tibbets’ door, which reminded Emma of a Cyclops eye. She couldn’t see in, but she assumed the occupants could see out. A more familiar buzzer was on the wall beside the door. She pressed it and waited. It was some time before the door eventually opened, but only a few inches, revealing a brass chain. Two eyes peered out at her.

‘What do you want?’ asked a voice that she could at least understand.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs Tibbet,’ said Emma, ‘but you may be my last chance.’ The eyes looked suspicious. ‘You see, I’m desperately trying to find Tom.’

‘Tom?’ repeated the voice.

‘Tom Bradshaw. He’s the father of my child,’ said Emma, playing her last door-opening card.

The door closed, the chain was removed and the door opened once again to reveal a young woman carrying a baby in her arms.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said, ‘but Richard doesn’t like me opening the door to strangers. Please come in.’ She led Emma through to the living room. ‘Have a seat while I put Jake back in his cot.’

Emma sat down and glanced around the room. There were several photographs of Kristin with a young naval officer who she assumed must be her husband, Richard.

Kristin returned a few minutes later carrying a tray of coffee. ‘Black or white?’

‘White please,’ said Emma, who’d never drunk coffee in England, but was quickly learning that Americans don’t drink tea, even in the morning.

‘Sugar?’ enquired Kristin after she’d poured two coffees.

‘No, thank you.’

‘So, is Tom your husband?’ asked Kristin as she sat down opposite Emma.

‘No, I’m his fiancée. To be fair, he had no idea I was pregnant.’

‘How did you find me?’ asked Kristin, still sounding a little apprehensive.

‘The purser on the Kansas Star said you and Richard were among the last people to see Tom.’

‘That’s true. We were with him until he was arrested a few moments after he stepped on shore.’

‘Arrested?’ said Emma in disbelief. ‘What could he possibly have done to get himself arrested?’

‘He was accused of murdering his brother,’ said Kristin. ‘But surely you knew that?’

Emma burst into tears, her hopes shattered by the realization that it must have been Bradshaw who’d survived, and not Harry. If Harry had been accused of murdering Bradshaw’s brother, it would have been so easy for him to prove they’d arrested the wrong man.

If only she’d ripped open the letter on Maisie’s mantelpiece, she would have discovered the truth and not put herself through this ordeal. She wept, accepting for the first time that Harry was dead.