Sheltering Angel: A Novel Based on a True Story of the Titanic by Louella Bryant

Author:Louella Bryant [Bryant, Louella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Rose Writing
Published: 2023-07-26T22:00:00+00:00

Margaret Tobin Brown, 45,

Joins the Greatest Ship’s Maiden Voyage

Denver Star, April 10

Andrew stood at the serving board, close enough to Stead’s table to overhear the conversation.

“Is it not poor timing to talk of death when we’re in the middle of an ocean, Mr. Stead?” Duff Gordon sneered.

Stead pointed a finger at him to drive home his point. “I have been speaking of the afterlife, which is very much alive.”

What was very much alive for Andrew was the pain in his hip that ran down to his knees and back up to his neck. His body wanted sleep but more than that, it needed food. The smell of the roast beef was driving him mad. Since breakfast he hadn’t had a chance to eat, and he was ravenous. When he looked down at his hands, he saw a spot of blood on his index finger. At first he thought he had cut himself, but the liquid was brownish—jus from the meat, most likely. Luckily he hadn’t gotten any on his white jacket or he’d have to soak it in peroxide to get the stain out. He had to be more careful.

The meaty aroma raised saliva under his tongue. He swallowed and checked around the dining saloon. Maybe he could sneak a lick of the jus from his finger and savor its gaminess, but he dared not chance such a crude gesture. Not that anyone was watching—or even acknowledged him except to ask for second helpings. He could probably shove a sliver of beef into his mouth unnoticed, but he had learned to be disciplined. Even on this new ship he played his part like an orchestra cellist, no deviation from the score, coming in right on cue.

Taking a linen towel from the table, placed there in case of a mishap in serving, he wiped his finger.

From another table, Margaret Brown signaled for more roast beef. She was sitting with the Carters, the Wideners, and First Officer Murdoch. Andrew had arranged the place settings around the table at equal distances from each other, a little over fifty centimeters from the center of each plate lest diners be vexed with insufficient elbow room. Water glasses farthest from the utensils, red wine goblet closer in, and white wine closest. White wine the smallest, red larger, water the largest goblet. Mrs. Brown was drinking white wine from her red wine goblet. Now it was Andrew who was vexed.

He sliced from the rarest section, settled the meat on a silver platter, and delivered it to Mrs. Brown’s table.

“That a boy,” she said, helping herself to a hefty portion. A diner’s elbow position suggested class. Hers were pinned to the table.

“Thank you, steward,” Mrs. Carter said quietly as if correcting Mrs. Brown’s manners.

When eating, slouching was unacceptable, not even for soup that threatened to drip. Mrs. Brown hunched over her plate, going off about ancient Roman society around bites of roast beef. Andrew recognized his signal to retreat, at least until he was needed again.

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