A Scalding Cup of Tea Part 2 (of 2)
April 1912
Ravenstone Abbey
Scotland
Steam curled from Mary’s teacup, fogging the rim as she sniffled and tried to steady her trembling hands. The tea scalded her tongue—Genevieve always brewed it too hot—but she welcomed the sting. It was something to feel besides sorrow.
Cicely slid an arm around her shoulders, the embrace smelling faintly of lavender soap and hearth smoke.
“Well,” she said gently, “at least be grateful you weren’t on the ship.”
Mary gave a weak laugh. “I suppose so.”
“Maybe it was a blessing from God that he turned out a rake and left you for that other girl,” Cicely added, shrugging as though trying to lighten the weight between them.
Mary pressed her lips together, but tears gathered anyway. Her fiancé—Peter—was gone now, likely resting at the bottom of the Atlantic.
“I was meant to be there with him,” she whispered. “Sailing for America. Leaving all of this behind.”
She gestured toward the garden, where the morning light gilded the hedges and sparrows sang as if nothing in the world had changed.
Cicely pulled her close again. “I know, love. But if you had gone, you wouldn’t be here now, feeling the sun on your face, listening to those birds. You’ve still got breath in your body. That counts for something.”
Mary managed a fragile smile. Cicely was right, of course. She always was. The two had grown close in recent months, tending to the Dowager Duchess together—though they came from different villages. Both sent what little they earned home to their families, both dreaming of better things.
It had been her Peter’s promise of America that kept Mary going—the thought of a new life beyond servitude, beyond the endless polishing of silver and mending of lace. But now he was gone. Gone with the woman he’d run away with, promising her the same bright future.
“Try not to dwell on it,” Cicely said softly. “It’ll only make you heartsick.” She took a cautious sip of her tea.
Mary nodded. “I know. It’s just… it’s awful to think of all those poor souls lost.”
“Aye, it is,” Cicely murmured, eyes dropping to her cup. She was biting back something—Mary could tell—but she let it pass in silence.
Since the tragedy, Mary found her chores harder to bear. Her hands trembled when she brushed her ladyship’s long, straggly hair or rubbed cream into her paper-thin skin. She bit the inside of her cheek raw to keep from snapping when her ladyship complained of trifles.
She should have been on that ship. She should have been gone from this life forever.
Instead, she was here. Alive. Still scrubbing, still serving, still bound by duty. Her family depended on her wages, and her younger sisters were far too young to take her place. There could be no escape now.
Mary drew a deep breath and finished her tea, letting the birdsong fill the silence. She tried—truly tried—to feel grateful. But the gratitude and the grief were tangled together like threads she couldn’t separate.
“Maybe I would have survived,” she said quietly.
Cicely looked at her, the hint of a smile curving her lips. “Knowing you, Mary, I’d wager you would have. You’re made of stronger stuff than most.”
Mary rose, smoothing her apron. “Come on then,” Cicely said. “Let’s get the day over with.”
The two girls stood and turned toward the house. Behind them, the birds sang on, bright and careless under the spring sun.
***
Before the sinking of the Titanic, Mary had hopes of sailing away to America.
Teacake Tidbits
1. The “Unsinkable” Ship
When the RMS Titanic launched in April 1912, she was hailed as unsinkable—a triumph of modern engineering. Built in Belfast by Harland and Wolff, the ship stretched nearly 883 feet long and weighed more than 46,000 tons. She carried some of the most advanced safety features of the time—but tragically, only 20 lifeboats, enough for barely half the passengers on board.
2. The Night of the Sinking
On the night of April 14, 1912, the Titanic struck an iceberg in the North Atlantic at 11:40 p.m. Just over two and a half hours later, in the early hours of April 15, she broke apart and sank beneath the waves. The ocean was below freezing—28°F (-2°C)—and most who entered the water died of hypothermia within minutes. Out of the roughly 2,224 people aboard, only 705 survived.
3. The Human Echo
In the days that followed, newspapers around the world filled with grief and disbelief. Survivors spoke of band members who played “Nearer, My God, to Thee” as the ship went down, of women refusing lifeboats to stay beside their husbands, and of third-class passengers locked below decks until it was too late. The tragedy sparked sweeping changes to maritime law, including the requirement that every ship carry enough lifeboats for all aboard.
