Titanic by Ellen Emerson White Page B

not suffer from a delicate constitution, do you, child?”
    â€œI embrace culinary excess, sir,” I said, and he laughed.
    â€œSpoken like a true Edwardian!” Purser McElroy proclaimed, and more people chuckled.
    After that wonderful feast, I was content to read in my room, while Mrs Carstairs napped. Before it was time to dress for dinner, we went to the Purser’s Office, so that she could retrieve some of her jewels. Then we stopped by the wireless office, so that she could send a telegram to her son-in-law, to let him know that she might arrive earlier than expected. The young men working in the Marconi room must be somewhat overwhelmed with work, judging by the huge stack of messages that were waiting to be delivered.
    That evening, it took Mrs Carstairs much longer than usual to get ready. She wanted me to help her arrange a singularly intricate hairdo, but my efforts on her behalf were clumsy. In the end, she summoned a friend’s maid to assist her, all the while directing me to watch very closely so that I would be able to do it myself next time. I suspected that she was overdressed, but soon discovered that elaborate evening gowns with an abundance of accessories were the norm tonight. The men wore black dinner jackets and looked very debonair indeed.
    I was a little unsteady in my new shoes, but put them on to make Mrs Carstairs happy. My green silk dress felt very sleek. Mrs Carstairs also gave me an extra pair of her gloves, which reached almost all the way to my elbows!
    Anyone who had accused me of being hoity-toity at this particular moment would have been absolutely correct.
    When we walked into the Reception Room for pre-dinner cocktails, the sight of my fellow passengers decked out in their very best was impressive. Trains and bustles, stylish jackets and stoles, furs and pearls, lace and satin, gold and emeralds, each more decorative and festive than the last. Tonight is an extra-special occasion as people will be concentrating on their packing tomorrow.
    Mr Hollings fetched Mrs Carstairs a glass of wine, and me some mineral water. When it was time to go in for dinner, his stodgy young friend, Mr Kittery, glanced over, looked again, and then offered his elbow to me. This gave me the sense that my appearance – or at least the quality of my silk dress – was moderately successful tonight. Mrs Carstairs reminded him, sharply, that I am only a young girl, and he should behave in a gentlemanly manner. Since all he wanted to do was share yet another series of tales about his many polo exploits, I think her concern was misplaced.
    Everyone in the dining saloon seemed to be in high spirits, and animated conversations raised the usual noise level. I tried a raw oyster for an appetizer, and found its salty intensity a bit much. The next course of cream of barley soup was more to my liking. No sooner had I laid down my spoon or fork than my plate was swiftly taken away and replaced by a fresh one.
    The stream of silver platters borne by restaurant stewards came at a steady pace. Among other treats, I enjoyed roast duckling, château potatoes, and creamed carrots. For dessert I selected a chocolate éclair with vanilla ice cream. By now, I was quite satiated, and saw no need to avail myself of the traditional cheese-and-fruit course.
    After a repast like that, it was almost surprising that any of us were able to walk. Some of the passengers seemed rather tipsy, but it was all in the spirit of celebration and good fun. Tonight’s concert by the orchestra was even more stirring than usual, and I sipped a raspberry cordial throughout.
    It had become so cold that I took Mrs Carstairs’s advice and wore my pink coat when I walked Florence. It may have clashed with my gown, but there were very few people outside to notice. As a rule, there are many affectionate couples strolling about, but tonight, the frigid temperature seemed to have dissuaded most of them, and I often had full