Her Last Verse

By Phoebe Smythe

When Elsie meets Beatrice on the RMS Titanic in April 1912, their destinies intertwine. They embark on a shared exploration of the ship and their dreams.

 

Through Beatrice's eyes, Elsie sees the world in a new light, igniting a flicker of hope for a brighter future. Together, they forge an unbreakable bond and they spend every moment on board together. But as their adventure takes an unexpected turn for the worse, Elsie must fight to navigate the chaos and reclaim her life.

 

A tale of hope, resilience, courage, and the enduring power of friendship that will live on in your heart, Her Last Verse is a hauntingly beautiful story of one girl's journey on the Titanic and the lasting impact it has on her life. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phoebe Smythe
• Release date: Jul 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223766612

Book preview

CHAPTER I

Elsie

Friday, 5th April 1912

In this expanse of green, there are more hues than anyone has ever named, yet here they are for any eye to see. The land spans as far and wide as it always has, as if time and space are one thing, that it rolls through the ages as much as the horizon does. Over it laid a path, one that branched through the open landscape. As Elsie Delisle and her brother, Claude, sat down to feast on the contents of their picnic hamper, they felt a frisson of euphoria for the future.

Weekends held a cherished place in Elsie and Claude's hearts, for it was during those precious days they embarked on delightful escapades in the vibrant heart of Paris. With a twinkle in their eyes and a taste for indulgence, they would traverse the bustling city, surrendering to the allure of pastries, luscious chocolates, and delectable sweets. Yet, amidst the hustle and bustle, they always found solace in the tranquil Parisian fields, where they savoured each morsel with an air of serenity before bidding goodbye to their sweet haven and returning home in time for supper.

Are you sure Papa won’t find out? he asked, worried that their father would scold them for their exploits. He’d be annoyed to find us here, Elsie. 

Of course not, Elsie assured, rolling her eyes. He never leaves his office.

Occasionally, their younger brother, Leo, joined them. However, Elsie and Claude preferred it when it was just the two of them and they could go to Paris and not worry about the consequences if Leo said anything. Elsie and Claude were close in age and could always confide in one another no matter what. Their conversations were lengthy but always held immense meaning and they spent evenings staring up at the night sky. In awe, they observed shooting stars tickling the flocculent lilac clouds.

I find space to be so calming, so profound, so mysterious... yet it holds the key to life and how we live it. Elsie turned her head back to the sky, her golden hair falling around her face as she extended her arm to point out a constellation. Do you see that, Claude?  He craned his neck to get a closer view of what his sister was pointing to.It’s Orion, Elsie explained. It’s best seen between January to April and it’s one of the most recognisable constellations in the sky. It’s named after a hunter in Greek mythology.

You know a lot about constellations, far more than I do. I wish I was as clever as you, Elle, he said, his blue eyes sparkling, admiring his sister's knowledge.

As she walked home from school that afternoon, the memory of his voice echoed in her ears, muffling all other sounds. It was a fond memory: one which she wished she could relive that evening. She inhaled sharply and reached for the door handle which swung open ominously from the other side. She gasped, the shock of the urgency constricting her.

I-I was told to go home from school immediately. What happened?

Hello, Elsie. Come inside, a voice said, ripping her from her racing thoughts. She looked up at the house and the curtains were drawn, shrouding her in darkness. She hesitated at the doorstep, wondering whether to follow the booming voice inside or not.

What’s going on? she asked, nervousness lacing her voice as she blankly stared at the man. It was Martin Dubois, a long-time friend of her parents, who urged her to come in.

Your parents are expecting you in the study, Florence ushered, taking her husband’s arm.

Elsie's gaze gently roamed the foyer, her eyes absorbing the familiar surroundings as she ventured further inside, closing the door with a soft click. With delicate grace, she slipped off her shoes, feeling the coolness of the sprigged rug beneath her toes, and carefully placed them beside the small table. The familiar scents of polished wood and vanilla lingered in the air, embracing her like a cherished memory.

In the presence of the Dubois family, Elsie followed their lead, her footsteps falling in sync with theirs. They made their way towards her father's office, where the weight of anticipation intertwined with a hint of nervousness. The hallway whispered with echoes of conversations and the creaking of ageing floorboards, underscoring the gravity of everything.

HAD THEY FOUND OUT about Paris?

Have I done something wrong, Florence?

Florence shrugged, I don’t have the slightest idea, Elsie. But I hope it’s nothing serious.

A voice bellowed abruptly, inviting the three individuals inside.

Francis. How may we help? Martin asked, stumbling inside behind Florence.

Sit down, please, he instructed, his voice firm and booming. Martin and Florence glanced at one another in confusion before perching on an armchair across from Marion and Francis: Elsie took the seat across from Leo, feeling a knot in her stomach.

Where’s Claude? Elsie asked as she sat down, settling into the seat.I mean, if this is so important he should be here too.

Francis shook his head, looking over at Marion before turning to pour a glass of whiskey.

Elsie, something terrible has happened to Claude, Marion disclosed, casting her eyes onto a flickering lamp in the corner. Elsie’s heart raced with fear as she imagined the worst. She could feel the blood drain from her face as her mother spoke the words she dreaded.

What happened to him? Martin whispered, his gaze darting from Elsie to Francis. Francis downed the sherry and slammed the empty glass on the table. His voice quivered with frustration as he implored Marion, his eyes filled with a mixture of anguish and anger.

Marion, please, you have to tell them, he pleaded, his trembling hand instinctively pushing his dishevelled hair behind his ears, a futile attempt to compose himself. Marion's heart raced with fear as she met Francis's gaze, her voice barely above a whisper.

Claude... he was... he was killed this morning on his way to school, she managed to utter, her voice quivering with both sorrow and apprehension as if the weight of the words threatened to shatter her fragile composure.

THE SILENCE WAS PALPABLE as grief strangled the house and Elsie sat there in shock, tears streaming down her face. As the weight of loss settled upon her shoulders, Marion found herself grappling with a curious emptiness. Society dictated that losing a child should be a mother's worst nightmare, but her own heart remained strangely unmoved. In a sudden revelation, she came face to face with a painful truth: she had never truly learned how to nurture and care for her children, for her own mother had neglected her in every way imaginable.

After a few moments of silence, Florence couldn’t take it anymore, so she broke the stillness.  How could this happen? He was just a child, she asked in a trembling voice, reaching out to hold Leo’s hand as he cried into her shoulder.

Marion’s eyes trailed across the room to where the quivering voice came from.

He was hit by a car, Florence. He was running late for school and woke up late. Elsie had already left and as he ran to catch up, I assume he forgot to look where he was going and was... hit, she paused to suck in a laboured breath.

How did you find out? Elsie asked, her voice shaking as she desperately tried to compose herself.

A police officer called us this morning. You should’ve waited for him.

Elsie looked down at her hands. She could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on her as she struggled to meet their eyes. She wished she could just disappear.

Either way, Francis interrupted. Claude’s funeral is on the ninth and the police are leading an investigation into what happened.

Elsie nodded, feeling the weight of her grief and despair crushing her.

I-I can’t be here right now, I  need some air. It’s all my fault.

Elsie's footsteps faltered as she walked out of the room, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within her. A profound realisation washed over her, a poignant understanding that she could no longer remain in this place of emotional desolation. As she reached the stairs, her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed, her body trembling with inconsolable sobs. The weight of her heartache poured out in a torrent, echoing through the empty hallways, as she allowed herself to finally grieve the losses she had endured and to acknowledge the painful truth that she needed to break free.

The night descended briskly across the house, cooling down the rooms that were once doused in sunlight, yet Elsie didn’t sleep. Instead, her sleep-ridden thoughts turned to Claude, laying lifeless in a casket, aged only twelve. He had so much potential that would never be fulfilled.

CHAPTER II

Beatrice

ISAAC AND KATHERINE Taylor and their daughters lived in a small terraced house in Surrey, England. On the fifth of April, like every other day, they sat in an uncomfortable silence at the dinner table.

Beatrice, at the tender age of seventeen, possessed a wisdom that surpassed her years. The plate of spaghetti laid before her remained untouched, as she idly twirled the noodles around the prongs of her fork, lost in her own thoughts. Across the table, her younger sister Lydia, only fourteen, sought to divert her attention by playfully nudging her with sporadic kicks beneath the table.

Lydia, stop kicking your sister please, Katherine said, trying to soothe the headache that was creeping up on her.

Sorry, Lydia replied, sarcastically. I’m just really bored.

Well, eat the spaghetti that your mother made for you then, Isaac muttered, peeking his head from over the top of his newspaper.

"I don’t want to. Besides, you haven’t eaten it either."

Isaac slammed his newspaper onto the table, startling the three people opposite him. He flashed an empty bowl to them, the cutlery clashing against its stoneware exterior as he slammed it back down beside the newspaper and barged out of the room.

Just— Katherine paused, pondering what to say to her daughters. She clicked her tongue and exhaled. Let him calm down for five minutes. He’s very temperamental. And please, eat your dinner, it’ll go cold very soon.

Katherine rose from