Love and Other Misgivings

2

Word spread swiftly among first class passengers onboard. It was a chilly evening, just

after the ship left Cherbourg, when Mrs. Ardmore entered her husband’s cabin for a brief

discussion of the next day’s schedule, and there they were: Wilfred Ardmore in topcoat and tails

—minus his trousers—and the silly, hair-brained maid, Ellen O’Mara, sitting on his lap, giggling

and kissing him in places Mrs. Ardmore never had, and certainly never would.

Mrs. Whitney’s maid proclaimed it the worst disgrace in many a year, one that entailed

the further problem of finding a new chambermaid for the Ardmores. The intricacies of familial

bonds and shared experiences among the servants of first class might have allowed for a

shuffling of duties, but no one aboard could be spared and no lady’s maid would volunteer to be

demoted to dusting and cleaning the bedrooms. Luckily the ship would dock one last time before

embarking on the final leg of its journey to New York and Tess Murphy delicately informed her

lady, Mrs. Prendergast, whom she had served nearly seven years, that she could fetch the perfect

girl in Queenstown if Mrs. Ardmore wished her to do so.

Two mornings later, with money tucked into her stockings, Tess and sprinkling of other

passengers and maids disembarked the ship. Many of the others might have wished to take a

walk around the picturesque harbor, but were disinclined because of the vagaries of the current

government. Few knew the difference between a Black and Tan and the I.R.A, but all were clear

about what their Irish servants referred to as “the troubles” and knew it could be unsafe.

3

The sun sparkled across the harbor rocks like tiny bits of diamonds as Tess fled the ship,

skirts flying in the omnipresent wind. She passed the line of excited emigrants waiting to board

and smiled thinking of her own first trip to America.

Failing twice to hire a carriage, she ran through the cobblestone streets, up past the pubs

and the grocery and the ancient spires of Saint Colman’s to a large white house overlooking the

sea. Admitted by the back door, she informed the scullery maid and the cook of her business and

waited for her niece, Maeve, to appear. A few minutes later, her arms overflowing with dirty bed

linen and flushed from rushing down the stairs, a startled young girl arrived in the kitchen.

“Auntie Tess? What…”

“Tis a miracle, girl, If you’re bright enough to see it,” said her aunt by way of a

greeting.“Do you want to spend the rest of yer young life here or come with me to the States

right now?”

    Maeve gasped. “America? Today?”   

A taciturn girl of seventeen, not quite pretty or plain, Maeve had wisps of gloriously

blonde hair stuck to her face and looked younger than her age, but her eyes were observant and

green as the hills of Ballyhea where her family had farmed land they did not own for two

centuries.

When the famines came, long before she was born, and many were left to starve, her

great-grandfather moved his family to the port city of Queenstown and took a job as a cobbler’s

apprentice. Three generations later, the family remained and held various jobs, but everyone—

including Maeve and her six brothers—worked to keep food on the table and a roof over their

heads..

4

“There’s no time to think, darlin’. We must do, Tess continued. “The ship leaves barely

three hours from now and Mrs. Wilfred Ardmore wants for a chambermaid. She’ll pay yer

passage and a first class cabin right next to hers, which you’ll share with her lady’s maid. If it all

works out well, it means a job in the New York household as well. Tis all velvet, Maeve.”

  “But, I’ve only been a maid six months! And what about papers? ”

“Have ye not cleaned the rooms and seen the missus bein’ laced into her corset? Do ye

not know how to wash sheets and empty the children’s chamber pots? You can do it. As for any

papers, you’ll be Ellen O’Mara ‘till we reach New York. Come, we’ve no time to fritter away.”

Maeve prayed nightly to Saint Theresa to find a way out of her life. Ten minutes earlier

she had been upstairs pulling sheets from the master’s bedroom and looking out the nursery

window toward the harbor with its crystal gray waters. The sky was dense blue, crisp and

cloudless, and there was the ship anchored off Roche’s Point like a giant white pelican dipping

its bill in the harbor and dwarfing the other ships with her magnificence. Ten minutes ago, going

to America had been a fragile dream as she fluffed the pillows and swept the white ash from the

fireplace. Now it was upon her: to go or stay. She felt as if a fire had just rolled through the

kitchen and singed her all over.

There was nothing to keep her in Queenstown, or even all of Cork. Nothing for any poor

Irish girl other than mind-numbing work in someone else’s home, marriage and an endless series

of babies, or the everlasting stillness of the convent—and each worse than the other. In America,

she might become anything; in America there would be fresh dreams and unheard of luxuries.

She shrieked. “What about Mam? She’ll think I’ve been carried off by the Sinn Féiners!”

“I’ll write her a letter. What say ye, Maeve, are ye coming’?”

5

“Aye,” she said, dropping the dirty sheets on the kitchen floor. “Let me get a few

things.”

“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph,” said the cook. “What’ll I be tellin’ the missus?”

“Tell her one Irish girl is the same as another,” said Tess. “She already believes it

and won’t trouble herself much findin’ another one.”

***

As they boarded the tender that would take them out to the ship, Tess put an arm around

her niece. “Don’t be worried, Darlin’. Life is waiting for you, with all its glory and happiness

and troubles.”

“I am not frightened,” said Maeve, though she was. “I was thinking about the trees and

the birds. Look over there.” She pointed to a line of the alders on the shore, their branches

dancing in unison, and thought of the enormous bird cherry her Protestant employers had in their

yard back in the house she no longer worked in. She might never see its beautiful white petals

again, or watch the thrushes descending in frenzied glee as they consumed its sour fruit.

Tess sighed. “Well, darlin’, you can say goodbye to all that. You’ll not be seeing many

in New York. Not in Manhattan or the family cottage upstate, but just like life, there are other

things to be discovered, new birds and trees. Blue jays and yellow and red birds.” She shook her

head thoughtfully. “I never did stand with birds being unlucky. Tis a lucky day seeing a beautiful

one, and more again the next, is what I say.”

They heard the bells of Saint Colman’s ringing in the distance as the tender drew closer

and closer to the big ship. Maeve could not read or write English, but she could see the railings

6

on the upper decks as vividly as the steeple of a holy shrine, and the portholes of the ship itself,

big as a city and letters in the ghostly white paint: RMS Berengaria.

“I feel like the luckiest girl in Ireland,” Maeve shouted over the noise. Aunt Tess laughed.

“And to think it is all because Ellen O’Mara is such a fool. Poor thing. It’ll be the laundries for

her now, when her father finds out.”

“Who is Ellen O’ Mara?”

“Oh, Maeve, the Lord does work in mysterious ways. “Tis her name but your ticket now,

and you have never been a fool a day in your life. Since first you looked at me, a wee babe ye

were, so serious and sweet. When we get aboard, I’ll tell you the whole messy business, but for

now say nothing and ask no questions. Just smile sweetly and remember to tell Mrs. Ardmore

you’ve been a chambermaid for two years. This’ll be no time fer checkin’ references.”

***

Genevieve Ardmore was a tall woman of forty-two, attractive in a conventional sense and

generally calm as sunset. Until now she had led the untroubled life of a woman born to a wealthy

family and shielded from the coarseness of life outside pleasant society. Already thin as the

wings of a dragon fly, she had barely eaten or slept in two days and her eyes were clouded with

grief. For the first time she was finding it difficult to maintain her dignity, something that had

had never eluded her.

Once she believed she had made a good marriage. Once. And there were still the

children: her seventeen-year old daughter, Catherine, and baby Lloyd, aged ten, awaiting her

7

return, but everyone around her was talking about the incident with the maid—that cheap little

baggage she put off the ship with a day’s wages—and the sympathetic looks from her friends

were almost harder to bear than the discreet snickers of strangers.

Wilfred being unfaithful was not the point. She was not so naïve as to realize men could

be vile in that way, but he had embarrassed her in front of society and the servants. It was

unthinkable that she should be put in such a position. She must consider seeing the lawyers when

she returned, and she would consult Papa right away and inform him of the whole sordid mess.

Wilfred, of course, she would never address again. Not if his shirt were on fire, and she held the

last bucket of cold water in the world, would she tilt her arms to extinguish the flames.

When Tess Murphy appeared with the new girl, Genevieve examined her guardedly.

“Mrs. Ardmore, this is my niece Maeve Buckley,” said Tess.

Mrs. Ardmore looked the girl up and down. Small, but with strong arms and legs, she

thought. A mousy face, but alert green eyes and a smile that made her appear almost pretty.

“Have you much experience?” she asked

“Yes, mum. Two years as a chambermaid.”

Tess interrupted. “She is of good character and a hard worker. And she does fine wash as

well. Lace collars and the like.”

“Yes?”

“Oh, yes,” Maeve breathed easily, for this was the truth. She had washed the children’s

Sunday clothes and the missus’ lace collars for months. “I am skilled with needle and thread, too,

Mum.”

“She is a bit young,” said Mrs. Ardmore, addressing Tess.

8

“Aye, she’s only seventeen, but she’s a smart girl, and I will be happy to give her further

instruction about her duties, if Mrs. Prendergast gives me leave.”

“Indeed?” Genevieve Ardmore almost smiled. “I will speak to Lavinia Prendergast and

arrange for your time Tess. Now, Maeve, I cannot promise you that after we dock in New York

you will still have a position, but if you work out well, we may have something for you in our

home in New York. Would that be all right?”

“Oh yes, mum,” said Maeve.

“Very good, then. You’ll meet the housekeeper, Mrs. Grunewald when we get home and

we will sort this out. For now Tess, show your niece to the cabin … the cabin the previous maid

was assigned and then, if you wouldn’t mind, please return. I would like to send a wireless to

New York and there is no one else to carry it for me at present.”

“Yes, Mrs. Ardmore.”

“And Tess, I shall be having tea with Mrs. Prendergast at four o’clock. Find Maeve a

uniform and have her back to straighten up by three. Jenny will serve, but I suggest Maeve stay

and watch. That will be all.”

“Yes, Mrs. Ardmore,” said Tess.

“Yes, mum,” said Maeve, with a brief curtsy.

***

Tess led her to a cabin, four doors down from Mrs. Ardmore’s own private quarters. She

glanced about the room as if in a trance and made the sign of the cross. Maeve had never seen a

room so pretty, with its cream colored walls and dark wood furniture. There were two beds and

everything smelled fresh and clean. A small writing desk with a sewing kit and a crystal jar of

9

red tulips rested in the corner. Her bed table had an electric lamp, something she’d never used;

even in the big house in Queenstown, they still lit the gas lamps every night.

“You’re coddin’ me, Tess. I couldn’t possibly sleep anyplace this grand,” she said

loudly.

“Shhh… someone will hear ye. Now, drop your bundle. What have you in there,

anyway?”

“My rosary, five schillings, and an extra pair of drawers from the cook.”

“Bleedin’ pathetic. Well, come on. Pull your socks up, girl. We’ve work to be done. I’ll

see if I can find one of Ellen’s old uniforms. I’ll take ye to the servants laundry, but mind ye,

they’ll not be terribly friendly, the others. Not even Jenny, who’ll be sharin’ yer room.”

“Why is that?”

“You’re new and you are too young. They will not trust you and you cannot gossip with

the other maids or ever mention Ellen.”

“Oh, I know that.”

“And ye cannot get too close to the family, either, because you’re only a servant.”

“What about your missus Prendergast?”

“What of her?”

“Why should she let her maid fetch me in town and run all over this grand ship and show

me my duties? Is missus Ardmore her family?”

“Lavinia Prendergast is putty in the hands of Mrs. Wilfred Ardmore. Don’t worry about

that, darlin’.”

“Doesn’t your missus need you to dress her for tea?”

10

“I will be able to do that and guide you as well. A lady’s maid can do many things, but

every lady is a little different to dress. Not today, but later on, watch your missus and watch her

maid. See how Mrs. Ardmore treats Jenny. Dressing for tea is easy. They like their comfort at

tea, they do, but dressing’ for dinner, that’s the mettle. Gettin’ her into a satin coutil and pinning

up her hair, now that takes time to learn.”

“And your missus won’t mind that you are spending so much time with me when she

needs you?”

“Twas Mrs. Prendergast sent Ellen O’Mara over from her kitchen last year to Genevieve

Ardmore’s home,” said Tess, with a rueful chuckle. “She’ll not be givin’ us any trouble. Not

today or ever.”

***

Ellen’s uniform was too large for Maeve, so she was pinned and aproned the first

afternoon. She surveyed herself in the mirror and twitched from the pins, which were

uncomfortable.

Tess studied her niece. “Twill have to do for now,” she said, with a sigh. “We can alter it

later tonight.” The excitement of the day was beginning to settle in and the realization of all that

had happened made her fretful. “Yer mother will be plenty angry at us not sayin’ goodbye, and

someone has probably told her by now where you are and who you’re with. I expect she’ll be

cross with me,” she said.

“Oh, Aunt Tess, I…”

11

“No girl. I’ll be havin’ to write her a letter me self. Tis bad enough I’ve taken her only

daughter off to America, I cannot let her read about it in a letter from a cousin. A blessing I can

write at all. I expect you’ll be learnin’ proper English when we…”

“Where are Aunt Pegeen and Bridget? They got on in Queenstown didn’t they? ”

“With the rest of the Irish, three decks below.”

“Can we go visitin’?”

“Later, child. Sunday when we go ta Mass. I’ll be explaining’ it to them first—how you

got on board—so they don’t get a shock when they set eyes on ye. They weren’t expectin’ any of

this, but then only the lord knows how it will come out in the end.”

***

On Sunday morning, after she dusted and changed the bed linens, Maeve was given the

rest of the day off.

“You’re doing rather well, Maeve,” said Mrs. Ardmore. “Just see if you can’t get the bed

sheets a little more even,” she added. “And Mr. Ardmore’s room looks quite clean,” she added.

Maeve beamed at the praise; her previous employers seldom spoke to her directly. It was

“Have the girl do this,” and “Tell the girl the children will be back in the nursery at quarter past.”

“Yes, mum,” she said, dropping to curtsy.

Mrs. Ardmore laughed and a bit of the sadness disappeared from her eyes. “You needn’t

curtsy to me, Maeve. I am an American woman without a title. Go on and see your family

downstairs. You needn’t return until evening.”

12

After Father Myles said the Mass in Third Class, Maeve spent some time with Aunt

Pegeen, who was her mother’s youngest sister, and Aunt Tess’s as well. She was not much older

than Maeve and already had a husband and a baby.

“Darlin’,” said Pegeen, with a twinkle in her eye. “How does our cabin compare to yers?”

She stammered. “Oh, well, I …um…”

Pegeen thumped her arm good naturedly. “Tis all right, love. We’re the dustbin for sure,

but nobody’s begrudging' you yer good luck. Just remember us all when you’re hangin’ lace

curtains in the parlor.”

That afternoon Maeve was free to explore the ship. She got lost twice and ended up in

one of the kitchens where someone tried to put an apron on her thinking she’d come to fill the

cream jars. Finally she found a stairway to the top deck and stood near the railing on the

starboard bow. To keep out the chill, she had been given a woolen shawl from one of Aunt

Tess’s friends, but she kept a strong grip on the rail due to fear of the water. No other ships nor

even a tiny spec of earth were visible, only the black-green water. It was a dead calm, but she

could tell the temperature was dropping and guessed it would be near freezing within a few

hours.

What were they doing back home, she wondered? Back Home. She let it sink in, that she

was going to a new home and Ireland was simply the native soil she’d left behind like thousands

before her. Armed with only a rosary and a pair of borrowed knickers, she was venturing to the

new world, and all she had given up came back to her in a rush. She felt a pang of loneliness

thinking of her parents and the only bed she had ever slept in: small and lumpy, but familiar. Her

brothers—Michael, Billy, Jack and Tommy—and Mam’s porridge. Sunday suppers, and the way

the air smelled on Christmas Eve. The crumbling wooden bridge she crept across six mornings a

13

week on her way to work, and back again in the gloaming, afraid each time it might collapse and

send her tumbling into the brackish river. After three days of constant activity and excitement, all

that was lost assailed her like an unexpected blow to the heart.

***

That night she lay in her cabin unable to sleep while in the other bed Jenny snored,

oblivious to the world. She said her prayers—adding special thanks to Saint Christopher as she

had every night—but still could not close her eyes—and was awake when Aunt Tess knocked on

the door a little before eleven.

“What is it?” Maeve whispered, as she opened the door.

“Pegeen’s come to fetch me,” said Tess. “Paddy's heavin’ and the baby won’t stop cryin'.

I’m off down to the depths, darlin’.”

“See you in the morning, then,” Maeve replied. After nibbling some biscuits saved from

tea she finally fell into a restless sleep, twitching like a hound dreaming of the hunt. Sometime

later a commotion in the hall awoke her. She heard low voices and footsteps, the sound of other

doors being knocked on and sharp male voices. Just as she was about to go and ask what was

happening, Mrs. Ardmore came in through the door adjoining her room. In the semi-darkness,

her thin face reminded Maeve of a scarecrow.

“You must get up and dress. We are going to the top deck,” said Mrs. Ardmore.

“Why Mum?”

“The captain has ordered a life boat drill.”

“What time is it, Mum?”

“After two. We must… Mr. Ardmore is waiting for us.”

14

Puzzled, Maeve dressed and followed Mrs. Ardmore into the adjacent sitting room.

“Bring a coat, Maeve. We may be there for a while.”

Wilfred Ardmore was standing near the door of the cabin smoking a cigar; he said

nothing, and looked neither at his wife nor at Maeve.

“I have only a shawl,” she said.

Mrs. Ardmore pointed to the armoire. “Then take one of my coats. The blue wool should

do. Come, child. Jenny is already up top.”

Maeve retrieved the coat then darted back into her room and grabbed her rosary beads.

By the time she returned, Mrs. Ardmore was twisting her hands into a fur muff and staring at her

husband, whose back was turned. Wordlessly, the three of them walked into the chaos of the

hallway.

On the “A” Deck, Mrs. Ardmore did not speak to her husband, who was watching several

crewmen untangle a lifeboat. The women stood shivering, not knowing what to do. There were

people milling about with glasses of brandy and others straining to hear words of direction.

Through the leaded glass doors, Maeve saw passengers who had decided to wait inside where it

was warmer. Mrs. Ardmore’s wool coat was much better than a shawl, but it was still bitter cold

on her face and ears and she didn’t really understand what was going on.

“Why are we here, Mum?” she asked quietly.

“Captain’s orders are that ladies and children should stand by the boats,” said Wilfred

Ardmore, speaking for the first time. “Genevieve, please follow orders. I am assured you need

not actually get in the boat.”

An officer approached them, reiterating what Mr. Ardmore had said. “Ladies, line up by

the next boat,” he said, tersely. “We need to count passengers and make sure each has a space.

15

So put on your lifejackets, but do not worry about actually being lowered into the sea. The

gentlemen will be going last.”

Mrs. Ardmore turned to Jenny and Maeve “This is all because of Titanic. I am told the

captain lost many friends among the crew and wants to make sure everyone can fit into the

lifeboats. It is inconvenient, but not dangerous, I assure you.”

A crowd of well-dressed passengers, many complaining loudly about being awakened,

lined up in front of the various lifeboats. Mrs. Ardmore, Jenny and Maeve were the first to stand

parallel to boat number seven, followed by two oarsmen and one of the junior officers. Other

women came in dribs and drabs, several with young children, governesses, and maids. A

steward came by with pen and paper and counted the passengers and seats. “Excellent,” he was

heard to mutter as he walked toward boat number eight.

In the darkness Maeve felt Mrs. Ardmore’s moist breath and watched as she gazed at her

husband, wearing his topcoat and hat, rigid as a sentry. Wilfred finally turned and their eyes met.

He studied his wife with a look Maeve could not discern and began to walk toward the stern of

the ship. His wife followed his movements until he faded into darkness, smaller and smaller,

eventually no larger than a river reed swaying in the distance.

Time passed as the ship’s officers rounded up the passengers standing inside the dining

room and the first class lounge forcing them to don life jackets and stand on the deck. Several

men protested the inconvenience, but none refused a direct order. As the last boat was lowered—

empty but steady—and the third class men were counted, the Captain came down from the

bridge for a final inspection.

“Missus Ardmore! I am very cold and frightened of the sea, of all water. I cannot bear

standing here much longer,” Maeve said through chattering teeth.

16

“I am sure many others cannot swim. Just don’t look down at the sea. Direct your eyes

elsewhere. In any case, we will be back in our cabins within a few minutes.”

“Good,” said Jenny, speaking for the first time all evening. (Jenny, Maeve had learned,

was not much of a talker. She had barely spoken to her since she arrived to share her cabin.)

A few minutes later, the three women became aware of a commotion. Stewards were

running and a woman’s voice was heard to scream “Oh no!”

“Man overboard!” someone shouted, and bells were rung on the starboard side of the

ship. A life preserver was thrown into the water, but the man did not appear to be able to grab for

it. Many ran toward the commotion, but Mrs. Ardmore did not move. Darkness engulfed the

woman and the young maid and once again, all Maeve could think about was the water, cold as

the darkest heart and sharp as a blade poised at the edge of the world. She gripped the rosary she

had slipped into her pocket and began praying silently: Hail Mary Fullofgrace...

The previous evening, fireworks burst off the deck. Now as they stood by the lifeboats

Mrs. Ardmore realized Maeve was the same age as her daughter Catherine, and though a virtual

stranger to her, keeping Maeve safe reminded her of who she was. A mother. A married woman

from a good family. An American woman who should not be freezing near a lifeboat in the

middle of the North Atlantic, her fingers frozen inside her gloves, her unfaithful husband, who

was probably drunk by now, sitting somewhere in another part of the ship contemplating his fate.

But he wasn’t. It was Mr. Ardmore who had fallen over and was now floating lifelessly, a frail

look of surprise permanently affixed to his face.

Genevieve stroked the hair of the frightened girl and gazed down at the black waters,

wondering if Persephone might be lurking under the ship, biding her time before rising up

17

suddenly to drown them all so she might have company in her to eternal prison under the glacial

seas. It would not have surprised her in the least.

Soon the women were all told that they could return to their cabins and later, when

Maeve fell asleep and dreamed she was back in Queenstown, in her own room. She could almost

smell the carriage horses, hear the barking dogs in the next house, and see the automobiles whose

numbers increased weekly on the town streets, but when she opened her eyes there was a

stiffness in her neck and her hands and feet felt numb. She didn’t know what to feel, so she lay

there saying nothing, just thinking of the arms of Mrs. Ardmore that had kept her safe. Thin as

twine though they were, those arms were something to cling to. Tangible proof of her new life.