A Dream Come True

CHAPTER ONE - 1913-1

CHAPTER ONE

-

1913“Do you, Serena Mary take this man – ”

The bride was beautiful and everyone in the Church agreed that she looked a picture.

Although not in the first flush of youth, her eyes sparkled as brilliantly as the magnificent diamonds around her neck.

Her oyster-coloured silk dress was both fashionable and flattering for a woman of her age. The skirt was fitted to the hips and then hung straight down. The top was long-sleeved and covered in expensive lace.

‘No! No!’ thought Lucia, as she watched the happy couple gazing into each other’s eyes and exchanging vows.

She had not wanted to come to this wedding and if there had been anything she could have done to prevent it happening, she would have.

‘Mama, how could you?’ she wanted to scream, trying not to cry. ‘Papa has only been dead for a year and that man – that man was responsible.’

There were a few in the Church that day who would have not agreed with the first sentiment, if not the last.

The people of Shilborough were conservative and were still strict in their observance of mourning rituals and Lady Serena Mountford had raised eyebrows when she had announced, barely eleven months after Lord Mountford’s sad demise on the maiden voyage of RMS Titanic that she would marry for the second time.

“She is not even out of mourning,” the villagers had gossiped, as she was driven past them in the family’s sparkling Rolls Royce, still wearing the black woollen coat that marked her out as a widow.

It had been Lord Mountford’s pride and joy – a Silver Ghost – and one of the latest models.

Lord Mountford’s Rolls Royce was one of the few motor cars to be found speeding around that part of Hertfordshire. Even more shocking, when alive, he had actually driven the vehicle himself, they muttered.

The Vicar continued the marriage ceremony and Lucia looked down at her bouquet of spring flowers that had been tied with a silk ribbon.

Had not they been quite content on their own without Sir Arthur McAllister?

She recalled the awful day when they had received the telegram from the family’s Solicitor in London telling them of the sinking of the White Star ship en route to New York.

Lucia had been in the garden admiring the sea of daffodils that grew in undulating drifts across the rolling lawns of Bingham Hall.

How she loved the spring.

It was a beautiful afternoon. The birds were singing and Lucia was just contemplating changing into her riding habit, when a terrible howling noise, like an animal in pain, issued forth from the French windows that led to the drawing room, where her mother was doing her embroidery.

“Mama!” whispered Lucia alarmed. She ran back across the lawns as fast as her fashionably fitted skirt would allow her and threw open the glass doors.

Lady Mountford was on the sofa, rocking and sobbing, a discarded telegram lay at her feet while Moston, the butler, looked on horrified.

“Miss Lucia, thank Heaven,” he murmured, as Lucia appeared.

“Mama! Mama! What is it?” she cried, throwing her arms around her mother’s neck.

Lady Mountford could scarcely speak for crying. She tried to cover her face and simply pointed to the telegram on the floor.

“Oh, no – ” muttered Lucia, as she picked it up.

“Please contact me urgently – stop – the RMS Titanic has sunk – stop – Lord Mountford not on first list of survivors – stop – Henry Urwin, it read.

Lucia’s blood had run cold when she read the words in the telegram. Mr. Urwin was a friend as well as their Solicitor.

Both Lucia and her mother had been reluctant to allow Lord Mountford to travel to New York. He had invested in some factories in New York State on the advice of Sir Arthur McAllister, a business acquaintance of his.

Little did Lucia know as she sat there with the telegram in her shaking hand, what further part Sir Arthur was to play in their lives.

“Mama,” she choked, trying to compose herself.

“Have you telephoned Mr. Urwin?”

“Oh, Lucia, I cannot! What if he has not survived?”

“Mama, Mr. Urwin says that his name is not on the first list of survivors – that is not to say he has perished.”

“Lucia, I had such misgivings about him going in the first place. It was as if I had a presentiment of disaster.”

Lucia swallowed hard.

She must screw up her courage and telephone Mr.Urwin. She had to.

“Moston, ask Bridget to bring Mama’s sal volatile at once,” she ordered in a clear calm voice. “Very good, miss,” he answered, unable to disguise his own emotions.

Moston had served Lord Mountford for many years and considered him a good employer.

What would this turn of events mean for the servants of the Hall?

Lucia paced the drawing room floor and waited for Bridget to appear. Very soon she came into the room, carrying the small bottle of smelling salts that had been her mother’s constant companion for many years.

Lady Mountford was of an extremely delicate constitution and it did not require much to induce a fit of the vapours. A sudden clap of thunder, a jolt of the carriage and even the servants had learned to make certain that she heard them entering a room, for fear of causing her to faint from shock.

Bridget fussed around her Mistress and talked soothingly to her.

“Come now, my Lady. Take a deep breath and inhale. You’ll soon be feeling much better.”

Lucia played with the tasselled ends of the lampshade and bit her lip. Could she summon up the courage to go into the hall and pick up the telephone?

She would have preferred to take the Rolls Royce to London to Mr. Urwin’s office to see him in person, but she could not leave her mother.

Long moments passed and Lucia tried to still her heart that was beating so fast she felt as if it was leaping out of her chest.

Then calmly she walked into the hall.

The telephone had just been installed at the insistence of her father, who was much concerned about her mother’s health and Lucia thought it ironic that it was now he and not her mother who was the source of concern. She picked up the earpiece, put it to her ear and after a short delay, the exchange answered,

“Yes, my Lady?”

“It is Miss Mountford here, Joyce,” she said quietly, having recognised the voice of the operator. “Would you get me Chancery 212, please?”

“At once, Miss Mountford.”

At last, she heard the voice of one of Mr. Urwin’s clerks on the other end.

“Hello,” she said loudly, as the line was a little faint. “Can I speak to Mr. Urwin, please? This is Miss Mountford of Shilborough calling.”

The clerk put down the receiver and she waited anxiously until at last Mr. Urwin picked it up.

“Hello, Miss Mountford.”

“Mr. Urwin. We received your telegram. Papa – ”

“I am so very sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Miss Mountford. The first word we had of it was when we heard that they had sounded the Lutine Bell at Lloyd’s. I expect there will be reports of it in the newspapers tomorrow. Terrible, terrible tragedy!”

“You said that Papa was not on the first list of survivors. Is there any further news?”

“I have one my staff at the offices of the White Star Line now. He will come straight back as soon as there is anything to tell you. They are issuing lists of survivors as more reach dry land. He says that relatives have besieged the offices. Heaven only knows what it will be like by tomorrow when the reports hit the newspapers.”

“But Papa – ”

“My dear, there is every chance that he is safe. It would appear that what casualties they might be were largely crew and those who were in steerage and Second Class. The first survivors so far are nearly all First Class passengers.”

Lucia hesitated – she had been on steam ships before and she had read stories of disasters at sea. Was not the cry women and children first?

“Were there any male survivors in the first bulletins?” she asked hesitantly.

There was a long pause and Lucia’s heart was gripped by a black fear. Her throat contracted.

Finally Mr. Urwin replied,

“Very few. I did not wish to alarm you unduly but, at the same time, I wished you to know before you read it in the newspapers. It is still morning on the East coast of America and no doubt we shall hear more later on.”

Lucia thanked him and put down the receiver, a million thoughts teeming through her head.

‘If anything has happened to Papa, I shall never forgive Sir Arthur McAllister for sending him to his doom,’ she decided, as she walked to the drawing room.

Her mother was lying on the sofa propped up with pillows. Bridget was fussing over her still and trying to get her to drink a glass of brandy.

“Just a nip, my Lady. It will help to soothe your nerves.”

Lady Mountford opened her eyes and saw Lucia in the doorway.

“Lucia!” she cried, “what did he say?”

“There is no news of him, Mama. But Mr. Urwin says that not all survivors have reached land yet. As soon as he has any news, he will be in touch.”

“I do not think I would survive the shock if he has – ”

“Hush, Mama. While there is no definite news, there is hope.”

But in her heart Lucia felt nothing.

She knew in her bones that her father had perished.

*

There had followed agonising weeks while Lucia tended to her prostrate mother and they waited anxiously for news. And then, on April 30th, Mr. Urwin made the journey from Holborn to Shilborough to deliver the sad tidings.

“He died a hero,” he said, as Lady Mountford dissolved into tears comforted by a weeping Lucia.

“It appears that Lord Mountford had given up his place on one of the lifeboats in order that a Second Class woman with a child could take his seat. His body was recovered from the sea and identified through a letter in his wallet.”

“Will we have to travel to America to bring him home?” asked Lucia, composing herself whilst her mother wailed beside her. “Mama would not hear of him being buried in an American cemetery. There have been reports in the newspapers that some are to be buried in Nova Scotia or at sea.”

“The body will be shipped back to England in the next few weeks,” advised Mr. Urwin, his face as grey as ash. have arranged for a hearse to transfer the coffin from Euston Station to the Hall at my own expense. As a mark of my respect, I will not hear of you putting your hand in your pocket on this occasion.”

Mr. Urwin had been as good as his word. A few weeks later, Lord Mountford arrived back home at Bingham Hall.

At the funeral, some days afterwards, Lucia stood mute before the same altar where she now stood, watching her mother marry the man whom she held responsible for her father’s untimely death.

‘I hate him! I hate him!’ she told herself, as the Reverend Brown concluded the service. ‘If it were not for him and his stupid schemes, Papa would be alive today.’

“I now pronounce you, man and wife.”

Sir Arthur leaned forward and kissed his new wife on the cheek. The organ swelled into life, but Lucia was not listening.

She simmered with resentment as the new Lady McAllister walked down the aisle smiling and happy.

Lucia could see that some of the congregation were far from smiling. Many of the relatives who now gathered in the Church had disapproving looks on their faces. Could they, too, be remembering that it was only the previous year that they had gathered here to witness her father’s funeral?

‘Surely Mama could not have forgotten Papa already?’ thought Lucia, as they emerged into the spring sunshine. ‘We are but a few steps away from his grave.’

But the new Lady McAllister did not cast so much as a glance at the imposing tomb to the right of the Church door

‘I wish it had rained,’ she fumed, as her mother and stepfather approached the immaculate Rolls Royce specially decorated for the occasion.

A new chauffeur, Briggs, held open the door for them and saluted as they climbed in.

‘And all these new staff,’ she groaned. ‘There was no need to employ a chauffeur. Jack, the head groom, is perfectly adequate.’