‘I’m so sorry, sir,’ Pitman began, turning to Fortescue. ‘This little ruffian has been causing trouble all over the ship.’
Billy clutched at Fortescue’s elegantly tailored black jacket.
‘You get your filthy hands off the gentleman!’ the maintenance man exclaimed and Pitman went to pull the kid away.
Fortescue raised a hand. ‘Stop,’ he commanded. ‘It’s quite all right.’
Both men froze and Pitman gave Fortescue an odd look. ‘Sir, I don’t think you fully under—’
‘Of course I understand, Mr Pitman, but I can vouch for this young chap.’
The maintenance man pulled back, his arms folded, and Pitman simply stared at Fortescue. ‘Vouch, sir? The little brat shouldn’t be outside the Third Class area. I need to take this up with the boy’s parents and perhaps even the captain.’
‘There will be no need to trouble yourself, Mr Pitman. By the way, the boy has a name. It is Billy O’Donnell. He is travelling with his uncle and aunt. I invited him to First to run me a few errands. It is regrettable that he has caused trouble.’ He looked down at the scruffy kid. ‘What do you say, Billy?’
The boy was quick to react. He doffed his cap. ‘I’m most sorry, sir,’ he said to Pitman.
The officer turned to the steward. ‘Smalles… bugger off!’ The steward spun on his heel. Pitman simply glared at the maintenance worker. He got the message and retreated without a word. ‘This is most irregular, sir,’ declared Pitman.
‘The boy has apologized, Pitman,’ Fortescue retorted. ‘I shall not let him out of my sight until I return him to Third. For your part, I would like you to let the matter drop. Now, does that sound reasonable?’
‘Very well, sir. But, I’m afraid if I see this young man around these parts of the ship at any time between now and our docking in New York, I will have to go through the company procedures.’
‘Quite so,’ Fortescue said. ‘You hear that, Billy?’
The boy looked at Fortescue then at Pitman and nodded.
‘Good. Now, Mr Pitman, if you will excuse us, I shall take the boy directly to Third.’
‘You’ve no need, sir,’ he said. ‘I can take him there.’
‘I actually have some business with his guardians, Mr Pitman.’
The officer touched his cap and took a step back as Fortescue encouraged Billy to walk on towards the door to the outside.
During the past few hours, the weather had changed. It had grown colder thanks to a strong breeze coming down from the icy wastes in the north, and Fortescue pulled his flimsy jacket close about his chest.
‘I need to tell you something, Mr Wickins,’ Billy said, the sound of his voice tossed around in the air.
‘What’s that, Billy?’ Fortescue asked, crouching as they headed aft at a brisk pace.
‘Need to tell you something.’
‘Not now, young fellow. Too cold. Tell me a bit later…’
They reached a flight of stairs down to E-Deck and descended the steps, turned 180 degrees and proceeded along a narrow passage to a doorway. A sign above it said ‘F-Deck’. Through the door they took another flight of stairs, Fortescue leading the way.
‘Which cabin are you in, Billy?’
‘You don’t need to go any further, Mr Wickins. I won’t trouble you again. A promise is a promise.’
Fortescue stopped and turned. He bent down and held Billy’s skinny shoulders. ‘I would like to speak to your uncle and aunt.’
‘But I said I wouldn’t.’
‘Not about that nonsense, Billy,’ he nodded towards the bow. ‘I would like to talk to them about your astonishing ability.’
The boy looked panic-stricken. ‘But you said that would be when we docked.’
‘I think I should bring it up before then.’
‘But they won’t understand, Mr Wickins. They’re not the sort—’
‘Billy please leave the discussion to me. I’ve talked to lots of parents before now.’ And he gave the boy a reassuring smile. Billy did not return it but gazed down at his shoes.
‘They won’t listen,’ he mumbled.
‘Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?’
The advertisements for the White Star Line boasted the merits of the Third Class accommodation aboard Titanic, but even so, the difference between Third and First was startling.
Billy led the way along a narrow corridor, down a short, dark staircase to one of the lowest decks of the ship. Everything here was smaller, narrower, shrouded in shadow and illuminated with dull light. The rooms off these corridors were almost at the waterline and many did not even have the benefit of portholes. There were no liveried staff, no plush carpets. The walls were painted a rudimentary pale green; the metal floor in the public areas was often left bare or covered with inexpensive and hardwearing carpet.
The boy stopped outside a room marked G10 and tapped quietly. The door opened and they saw a thin, callow-eyed woman, her bony fingers encircling the edge of the door. A musty, sweaty odour emanated from the room. Fortescue could hear at least four voices all talking at once, the cry of a young child.
‘Billy.’ The woman peered suspiciously at Fortescue.
‘Aunt. This gentleman is Mr Wickins. He’s a teacher.’
‘What’s up, Mary?’ A gruff baritone came from the room. The door opened wide. A short, pugnacious-looking man in a stained black suit stood just inside the cabin.
‘You weren’t at chapel, me lad,’ he said to Billy and then lifted his black eyes to Fortescue, looking him up and down. And you are?’
Fortescue extended a hand. The man looked at it then back up at his face.
Fortescue straightened his back. ‘You must be Mr Spindle. I’ve just brought Billy here back from First Class.’
The man produced a mocking laugh. ‘The little bastard causing trouble again? Upsetting the toffs?’
‘I was wondering if I might talk to you about Billy.’