As Catherine was well aware, having overheard many a conversation in the Walker-Brown household, Vivienne was greatly interested in anything European, finding the ladies so elegant and the countries so interesting. ‘New York may boast the highest buildings and the finest jewellery store and department store in the world,’ she’d heard Vivienne proclaim over tea one afternoon, ‘but that is nothing compared to the beautiful, cobbled streets of a mediaeval Italian town or the frescoes on the Sistine chapel. So much more culture. So much more elegance than this stinking hell hole.’
Vivienne was a well-travelled, well-connected young lady who had educated herself in European culture and prided herself on the fact. She found most of New York’s other society ladies dully misinformed and tired easily of their endless talk of millinery and couture. These things interested Vivienne as a passing amusement, but they didn’t engage her for long. When the chance of a winter in Italy came along, she grasped the opportunity with both hands and literally dragged her fiancée to the docks to board their steam liner.
According to Mrs Walker-Brown, whose conversations Catherine also frequently overheard as she went about her business in the house, the studio had contacted Vivienne by telegram recently, stating that they required her back in America to start filming her next movie as soon as possible. With her holiday cut short, Vivienne was preparing herself to be mildly annoyed when the opportunity arose to travel back to New York on the White Star Line’s new ship, Titanic, and on her maiden voyage nonetheless. This was an opportunity to mingle among America’s richest and most influential businessmen and was not to be missed.
Robert had booked their first class tickets immediately; they would travel from Cherbourg in France along with their colleagues the Astor’s and the Guggenheim’s who had also been vacationing on the continent. They had sent a telegram home immediately informing Mrs Walker-Brown of their plans to return home and boasting of their having secured tickets for Titanic, nonetheless.
‘
Imagine it,’ Mrs Walker-Brown declared as she’d recounted the story to one of her luncheon friends. ‘They will be the first to ever sail on Titanic, and amid such luxury! They say her bedrooms are finer than the Waldorf-Astoria and that she has the finest of modern conveniences with electric ovens and a heated bathing pool and six course dinners every evening. The ladies are even permitted exclusive use of the gymnasium for several hours a day; I fear Vivienne may have cause to visit the gymnasium if she is dining so well for seven days at sea!’
Anyone who was anyone in New York society was talking about Titanic that week. With so many influential businessmen and so much wealth sailing aboard, it was very much a case of feeling distinctly envious if you were not among it and distinctly delighted if you were.
For herself, Mrs Walker-Brown was enjoying the opportunity to boast of her daughter’s participation in Titanic’s maiden voyage, making reference to it at every possible opportunity; while lunching with the ladies, while having her hair styled, while paying for her groceries and while informing her domestics of their duties for the day. Catherine Kenny had heard so much about this magnificent ship, relayed through Vivienne’s telegrams to her mother and, in turn, through her mother’s incessant gossiping; had heard all about its fancy trimmings and its important passengers that she almost felt she was sailing on it as a first class passenger herself. She had ventured to tell Mrs Walker-Brown that, as far as she was aware, her own sister Katie was also travelling on the ship, along with thirteen others from her home town in Ireland.
‘
Oh, that’s nice isn’t it,’ her employer had responded, barely acknowledging the fact. Catherine suspected Mrs Walker-Brown felt that there was little comparison to be made between the luxury in which her daughter would be surrounded during her journey on Titanic and the distinct lack of luxury surrounding her sister’s own Titanic experience.
Catherine knew that Emily Walker-Brown was extremely proud of her daughter’s achievements and hoped that she and Robert would settle on a date for their wedding soon after returning to America. Vivienne was Emily’s only daughter and she was so thrilled about the impending wedding that she’d already settled on the hat she would wear as the mother-of-the-bride. She’d shown it to Catherine in the pages of Harper’s Bazaar magazine. It was in a photograph of the First Lady, Helen Herron Taft. She was wearing the hat on the occasion of a cherry blossom tree planting ceremony in Washington. She was pictured planting one of the three thousand trees which had been donated to the city by the Mayor of Tokyo, the blossom petals falling around her as she elegantly placed some soil around the foot of the tree.
‘
Isn’t it wonderful,’ Mrs Walker-Brown had enthused in a rare moment of personal communication with her employee. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hat quite as exquisite and all that blossom falling around her reminds me of confetti. As soon as I saw that picture I knew that it was this very hat I would wear at Vivienne and Robert’s wedding.’
True to her word, she had tracked down the designer and all the necessary details and had ordered the exact same hat. It was waiting for collection in Bloomingdales. All she needed now was the occasion to wear it and it was her intention that before the summer was out a date would be fixed and before the year was out, the hat would, finally, be introduced to her head.
She had kept her domestic employees busy all that week and with Vivienne sending a message to inform her mother that they now expected to dock in New York in just two days’ time, the house was a hive of activity.
Being a widow, Emily placed more emphasis than perhaps some other mothers would on her daughter’s presence in the family home and she busied herself now, planning for welcome home parties and bridge evenings with the ladies and dinners for the studio executives and their wives. Having been socially dormant over the winter months, there was a renewed vigour to her which ensured that after a days’ work, her home was left gleaming and her employees where left exhausted.
Before she finished up for the day, and sensing that her employer was in more jovial mood than usual, Catherine decided to ask Mrs Walker-Brown’s opinion about a suitable birthday gift for Katie. ‘I’m thinking it would be nice to buy her something small from Macy’s,’ she explained. ‘This being her first time in New York, and it being the largest department store in the world. But I was wondering, since you have such impeccable taste yourself, what you might suggest as a nice gift for her.’
Clearly flattered, Emily Walker-Brown suggested gloves. ‘No lady should be without a decent pair and Macy’s has a wonderful selection of the finest styles. You are aware, of course, that Isidor and Ida Straus are traveling on Titanic also.’ Catherine looked blankly at her, having no idea who Isidor and Ida Straus were. ‘The owner of Macy’s department store and his wife!’ Emily Walker-Brown continued, condescendingly. ‘So, I think, considering that your sister will have celebrated her birthday aboard the very same ship that the owner of the store is sailing on himself, a gift from Macy’s would be entirely appropriate. Entirely appropriate indeed. Yes, I should settle on gloves.’
Catherine resisted the temptation to inform her employer that she was sure Katie couldn’t care less whether the owner of Macy’s was sailing on Titanic or not, and thanked her for her advice before requesting permission to leave for the day. It was given.
Despite her exhaustion, Catherine set out in the direction of 151 West, 34
th
Street. A short while later, she emerged from the store, delighted with her purchase of a pair of white, cotton gloves, elegantly presented in the traditional Macy’s packaging; a white box with a red star in the centre.
Katie Kenny looked at her dinner plate, admiring the White Star Line emblem in the centre of the plain, white plate; a red, swallowtail flag with a white star in the centre. The same, by now familiar, detailing appeared on her coffee mug and soup bowl. It was little things like this which continually surprised and delighted her; the logo of the ship’s owners stamped onto every knife, fork and spoon, the woven blankets on their beds – red with white detailing and the distinctive White Star Line star and lettering in the centre. It was a level of attention to the absolute last detail which she had not encountered before and had certainly not expected on a steerage ticket.
As Peggy started up another chorus of ‘Happy Birthday to You’ encouraging half the passengers to join in (having done the same at breakfast and lunch), Katie smiled, delighted at the fuss and attention she was getting. She’d already had a good gawp at the First Class passengers and some of their fancy rooms and Harry had brought a tray of cakes to the cabin a little earlier, the like of which
Katie had never seen before, all fancy little tarts and buns and delicate slices of madeira cake.
‘
They were for some fancy woman’s afternoon tea,’ he’d explained, clearly delighted with himself. ‘They were sent back to the galley
because the lady isn’t partial to these particular types of cakes.’ His exaggerated, upper class accent had sent the girls into a fit of the giggles as they scoffed them all in a hurry and then felt sick.
And yet for all the day’s amusement, and the plans for dancing and singing that evening, Katie wished that her family was there to celebrate with her. She thought of her family back in Ireland, her Mam and Da and her brother William and wondered how it must have felt to watch them all leave a few mornings ago – such a sight they must have been clattering out of Ballysheen. She thought of her sister Catherine, waiting for her in New York and wondered how she would look after all these years of city living. She had heard that it can turn your face pale, what with sitting indoors a lot of the time and the fumes from the motor cars making you cough.
If she knew her sister at all, she imagined that she would be happily occupying herself getting ready for her arrival. She would have the house spotless from top to bottom and would no doubt have taken to getting extra pillows and bedding for her comfort after this strenuous journey stuck on board a stuffy ship with barely a board to sleep on.
How she’ll laugh
, Katie thought to herself,
when I tell her of the luxury we have known, of the knives with the flags emblazoned on them, the electric lighting and fresh running water in our cabins and the hand towels with the hand stitched words ‘White Star Line.’
Katie’s stomach flipped slightly at the thought of seeing her sister in just a matter of days.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Peggy who was fussing at her to hurry up and eat her dinner.
‘
For the love of God Katie Kenny, would you ever stop daydreamin’ and eat that bloody corned beef and cabbage. We’ve a party to be havin’ and we can’t start it until you’re there, what with it being for your birthday an’ all.’
Katie laughed. She was so fond of her friends Peggy and Maggie and was so glad of their company. It had made the journey so much easier travelling all together. ‘Right so, I’m hurryin’. Oh, and will we be expectin’ the pleasure of young Lucky Harry for the hoolie tonight?’ she asked, winking at Peggy, fully aware of the affections she had formed for the steward.
‘
Might be,’ Peggy replied coquettishly, ‘Might not. I might have other men asking me out tonight for all you know. I saw that rich millionaire one lookin’ at me upstairs!’
The girls laughed then as they finished their meals and rushed off to wash before starting their evening’s merriment.
‘
D’y know what girls,’ Katie added as they neared their cabin. ‘I think this is my favourite birthday ever. I’ll never forget this day as long as I live.’
CHAPTER
20 -
Private journal of Maggie Murphy
April 14
th
, 1912,
Day 4 at sea
2.30pm
Katie is having a fine birthday altogether what with Peggy singing endless rounds of ‘Happy Birthday’ and Harry bringing posh cakes and showing us the First Class decks and now we’re just back from another huge lunch. Lord my stomach aches - I think Mr Durcan was right about the forty tonne of spuds being on board – I feel as if I’ve ate half of those for lunch alone.
It’s a clear, bright day so we’ve all come up on deck to walk off some of the food and get some wind in our cheeks. I’m sitting on a chair looking at nothing but endless ocean as far as my eyes can see. The seagulls are screeching above my head. Peggy and Katie are leaning over the white, iron railings around the side of the ship. They like to look over the edge and try to catch the spray on their faces. I daren’t at all, it makes me feel dizzy being so high up and it’s such a long way down and with the waves crashing and booming against the ship it’s enough to scare the life out of you just looking. I don’t even want to think how far down that ocean goes, it sends a shiver down my spine.
Katie was fretting for a while earlier when she thought she’d lost the piece of string which she’d used to take the measurement for little Nora O’Donoghue’s finger. She’s
promised to send a ring back from America to Nora and was careful to measure her finger with a piece of string before we left home, so she could be sure of the correct size. The string turned up under her mattress of all places. Peggy had her on that a rat must’ve taken it and was intending to use it to make its nest in her bed. Peggy is so wicked sometimes.