Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [47]
Sam chuckled and gave her a hug. ‘That’s better, sis,’ he said. ‘And don’t you worry, I’m not going to leave you. There’s too many men casting sly looks at you. I won’t let you out of my sight.’
The steerage passengers were housed right down in the bowels of the ship, and as if that didn’t make their humble position clear enough, there were metal grids preventing them from slipping into the first- and second-class areas.
As Beth and Sam made their way down the companionways, they caught glimpses of the rarefied world beyond the grids. Soft carpets and polished wood cabin doors with brass fittings; white-jacketed stewards carrying trays of drinks to the fortunate occupants, and well-scrubbed and beautifully attired children trying to escape from the clutches of their nursemaids.
As they reached the lower levels, the doors and floors became metal, the paintwork scuffed and grimy. Here there were people elbowing their way through the narrow corridors, their anxious and sometimes angry faces relaying the message that no steward was going to arrive down here with a cup of tea, a blanket for a child or even words of reassurance. The noise of the engines almost drowned out the sounds of babies crying and frantic mothers trying to round up their children, and Beth’s heart sank even further.
The single men were housed forward, single women in the stern, with families in the middle section. Sam had been making jokes for days about what steerage actually meant. Some said it was so called because it was where the steering mechanism was housed, but Sam was of the opinion it referred to steers, or cattle, for that was how they’d travel. But Beth, who had seen illustrations of how steerage passengers fared in the days of sailing ships, with four or five people to one bunk and the only sanitation a bucket, was relieved to see that the bunks were canvas, designed to be stowed away during the day to make more room, and that there were lavatories and washrooms in each section.
It was claustrophobic though, and very gloomy, and looking around her at her fellow passengers’ pinched faces and shabby attire, she was glad she’d acted on Mrs Bruce’s advice and sewn their money into their clothes, for instinct told her it wouldn’t be wise to trust anyone.
Yesterday Mr Edward had given them thirty pounds; he said they were to look on it as an emergency fund for use if they couldn’t get work immediately. This was on top of all the other things he and his wife had given them — luggage, two warm quilts, towels and items of clothing — and they thanked him with moist eyes.
As Sam put Beth’s valise down in the women’s section a stern-faced older woman in a grey dress advanced on them. ‘Out of here, young man,’ she said sharply.
‘I was just getting my sister settled in,’ he retorted.
‘She’ll be fine in my care,’ the woman replied. ‘I am Miss Giles, the matron. I do not allow single women to fraternize with the opposite sex. If you wish to see your sister during the voyage you must arrange to meet on deck.’
Sam looked incredulous and a couple of pretty young Irish girls began giggling.
‘I’ll meet you again in an hour,’ Beth said, anxious not to get on the wrong side of Miss Giles. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’
The realization that almost everyone was as apprehensive and scared as she was made Beth feel a little better. There were around twenty-six other girls in her section and the vast majority were under twenty, like her. Most were travelling with their parents and younger siblings and hated being separated from them, though there were four like Beth with older brothers. The remainder were either with a sister or a friend, and only one woman, one of the oldest, was entirely alone; she said she was joining her fiance´ in New York.
One of the many gifts Mrs Langworthy had given Beth was a new brown coat with a fur collar. She had almost new shiny buttoned boots and a brown wool travelling dress, and in comparison to the other women she looked rich. They clutched worn-looking shawls