by Jina Bacarr
They stood at the rail for a long time, Mr Brady with his arm around her and her praying to Our Lady for guidance when—
‘Look!’ someone cried out. ‘Another lifeboat!’
Ava jumped out of her skin, her pulse racing so fast she couldn’t stand it. Were her prayers answered?
‘Buck… Buck!’ she called out, all in a stew. She’d not give up hope of finding him.
Trey pulled her back away from the rail, so excited she was, as if she could fly over it without wings.
‘Ava, wait!’ Trey was shouting now. ‘Buck didn’t get into a lifeboat.’ He held onto her, but she wouldn’t have it. She wrenched free.
‘I’ll not let my heart rot with wondering, Mr Brady. I have to find out for myself. I have to know!’
Ava dropped the blanket and raced along the deck. As before there was a great rush to the rail when a lifeboat showed up on the horizon, each passenger hoping to find their husband or father or brother.
She raised her hand to her breasts, but it trembled, as did her whole being. Mr Brady was close behind her as she ran full out to the other side of the ship, neither of them exchanging another word. She didn’t know if she was feeling anger or relief that he’d tried to save her from suffering all over again the loss of his lordship.
It didn’t matter.
She couldn’t stop herself from joining the other women staring at the sea below. The lifeboat overfilled with passengers pulled up to the ship, the pulleys let over the side so they could climb aboard with the rope ladders or be hoisted up.
Ava was brazen, utterly brazen as she watched each one come up. No longer worrying about anyone recognizing her. She’d grieve as hard as any saint who’d lost their halo if that was how it had to be… but not if there was still hope Buck was alive.
She watched as cold, weary women in wet clothes were hoisted up… then an older man… a ship’s officer… stokers and firemen… then a man semiconscious came up the rope ladder.
Ava tried to get through the crowd of women, but they blocked her way.
‘Can you see who the man is?’ she asked them, hoping.
‘He’s dressed like a gentleman,’ a woman told her.
‘Half out of his mind he is,’ said another. ‘Poor devil, he’s not wearing a lifebelt.’
Ava turned away. Her chin down. She didn’t want to look, telling herself it couldn’t be Buck. He was wearing a lifebelt when last she saw him.
What good would it do to pain her sorry soul with false hope?
Her shoulders slumped, she pulled the shawl tighter around her. The morning had a frosty bite to it and the feel of despair was everywhere she looked.
She walked but a few steps when she heard a familiar voice calling out to her—
‘Ava… Ava!’
A strangled cry it was, so filled with disbelief as it shot through her that her heart stopped.
She turned around, her mouth open.
Could it be his lordship calling her?
Would the saints send her weeping again or had the heavens rained with joy?
Tripping over her shawl, Ava pushed through the onlookers to where they’d laid the man down. She creaked her neck, looking hard, but she couldn’t see his face clearly in the heavy mist. She pushed closer, then she saw something that made her heart almost cease to beat. His eyes, already wild and fierce, flared at her, widening in disbelief.
Her heart soared. Holy Father, it was his lordship. Alive. Not the swollen face of death staring at her, but the strong-jawed, handsome man she loved so much. Yes, he was ghostly pale and his sea-drenched body tested beyond human endurance, but he was here on deck. Come to her.
Looking upward, she blessed herself.
A miracle it was.
A bloody miracle.
‘Ava, Ava…’ he muttered again, and then reached out for her. He kept trying to get up but couldn’t. Even in his weakened state, she could feel his strength and determination to reach her.
‘Buck!’ she called out, moving as fast as her feet would let her. She sucked in a breath when she saw him collapse on the deck, the steward wrapping him up in blankets, but not before she had the compelling urge to hang what anyone thought and sank to her knees beside him.
Her arms went around him and she pulled him close to her. She held his head tightly against her breasts and rocked him back and forth whispering, ‘Buck… oh, my dearest Buck… you’ve come back to me. May all the saints be praised, I’ll never leave you again.’
‘Ava… my lady,’ was all he said, his voice so low no one could hear him but her.
Then with a smile on his lips, so blue they were it pained her, he closed his eyes and his head drooped onto her chest.
She was so weary and sick of heart it took her a moment to realize he’d gone limp in her arms. She stared at him, not believing his face looked so colorless.
Oh, dear God, what darkest blasphemy was this?
Was he—
No, no! She tried to swallow, couldn’t, her throat was so tight. She shook her head in denial. He was cold, so cold.
Tears streamed from her eyes, then dropped down her cheeks and onto his hair, melting the ice crystals nestled among the dark strands. Oh, if only she could warm his heart as easily.
She wanted to die.
The sight of him lying so still was so painful she couldn’t stop the tears. Him leaving her she could accept, him angry with her she could live with. But taking him from her like this, so cruel it was, as if she was living in hell, and that she wouldn’t accept.
She held him tighter, hugging him close to her, and all the while she screamed in her mind:
Oh… no… Holy Mary, Mother of God… no!
Bring him back to me, please.
30
Aboard the Carpathia
18 April 1912
He was gone. His cot empty. Blankets askew.
Ava gasped loudly when she returned to the ship’s dining saloon with hot coffee. She tossed the blankets aside with abandon, her heart pumping wildly in her chest. Again, panic filled her as it had when Buck lost consciousness after they pulled him up on deck from the lifeboat, his body burning not with fever, but with cold. Filling him up and getting so deep inside him, he no longer had the strength to fight it.
So pale she had refused to leave his side. She’d checked his pulse with her cold, shaking fingers as many times as there were beads on her rosary.
Buck was in the last lifeboat brought aboard. He’d spoken her name, then pressed his hard, cold body against hers before he’d passed out.
She had made a spectacle out of herself again.
She still felt embarrassed. No one held it against her, she had been as distraught as every other woman on board. Wild-eyed and haggard, the women’s sobbing didn’t stop. Who could blame them? There was an edge to their despair that made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Nothing was more heartbreaking than when the Carpathia had made a huge circle around the area where the Titanic sank to look for more survivors.
Not even a ripple appeared on the sea to mark its grave.
Only when the ship blew her whistle and set course for New York had Ava let her tears flow. She would never get over losing the countess.
Ava wasn’t alone in her grief.
A gale had come up that first night, making the seas stormy and tempers short. Ava had huddled in her blankets on the floor in the saloon near his lordship.
Though she had ached to feel his arms around her, they had to be careful, mindful that even on the rescue ship carrying the survivors of the Titanic, the rigid structure of the British upper class still prevailed. Whatever his feelings were for Ava, in the eyes of everyone on board, she was the Countess of Marbury and engaged to Trey. Only when no one was looking had she wrapped his arm around her while he was sleeping.
She wanted so much to stay by his side, hellbent on being with him wherever he went. Deep in her heart, she knew they had yet to speak about what would happen when they reached New Yor
k. She’d have to face that eventually, but until they docked, there was only the two of them. She had not shared her feelings with him. Nor had he with her. Which made her all the more nervous.
Especially when she found his blankets empty.
What was he about this evening? Running off like that with the Carpathia set to dock in New York Harbor in a few short hours.
Taking his exercise in this murky, foggy weather, was he?
Ava peered through the porthole, her face reflective. No other gentleman but Buck would have saved the Irish girls, nor pulled himself up the rope ladder after thrashing about in the cold, black sea. The heavens had let go with buckets of rain for days, and if she didn’t know better, she’d have believed the water falling from above were the tears of Himself grieving with the ladies on board. So distraught they were, their minds went blank and they kept to themselves.
Except one.
A pompous first cabin lady had made it her business to keep her eye on Ava. She’d lost no husband, she’d informed the captain, but she’d left a small fortune in jewels in the purser’s safe and intended to make a claim.
She treated the sinking as a misadventure where she alone was a victim. She’d prance up and down the rows of sick passengers lying on blankets, stroking the matted fur of her small dog, boasting how she was helping collect funds for the Titanic survivors.
Ava ignored her and did her best to nurse Captain Lord Blackthorn back to health after his ordeal. She hadn’t left his side, spending every waking moment with him in the makeshift emergency ward after refusing the private quarters offered to her.
She never tired of looking at him, his eyes closed, but his chest moving up and down in a steady rhythm, his pulse normal. His square jaw set in a determined line, his long angular nose that gave him a regal look along with his strong chin.
For three days, he had been all hers.
Until now.
‘If you’re looking for his lordship, Countess, he left in a hurry when a steward came to fetch him,’ said the busybody. She pulled on the double strand of pearls around her neck, her diamond rings dulled by the lack of light in the over cramped saloon, but impressive nonetheless. ‘Perhaps he’s with Mr Brady, your fiancé.’
She emphasized the word in a disapproving tone, poking her nose around like a dog looking for a place to hide its bone. The woman was waiting for her to speak. Ava said nothing. She reminded herself the woman didn’t know she was of the lower class and believed her to be an equal.
If there weren’t enough unhappy souls aboard this ship, this woman claimed to make it so. She’d wasted no time spreading gossip among the first cabin ladies about Ava’s behavior with Captain Lord Blackthorn. Nasty gossip. She was jealous of the countess with two men at her side, as if it were a stigma they survived.
Mr Brady confirmed her suspicions.
‘Unfortunately, Ava, society women like her expect young ladies to behave in a proper manner and not allow their name to be mentioned openly with a gentleman of Buck’s reputation,’ Trey said, urging her to step out onto the deck where they could be alone. The saloon was filled with passengers lying about on beds made from blankets, while other survivors slept on couches in the lounge and steamer chairs on deck. ‘Be careful. If she makes too big a fuss, it could spell trouble when we land in New York.’
‘I understand that, Mr Brady, but his lordship needs me.’ Ava stared off into the horizon. The rain had stopped and a cold wind had come up. It cut right through her.
‘Call me Trey, not Mr Brady,’ he said, smiling at her.
‘That I can do,’ she said, nodding. She pulled her blanket tighter around her. ‘But it don’t solve my problem.’
‘No, but I did fix one thing for you.’
‘And what is that?’
‘I explained to the purser Ava is your middle name and you and Buck have been friends since childhood.’
‘Impressed I am, Mr Brady… I mean Trey, with your glib tongue and fancy words.’
‘Thank you, Countess,’ he said, then set his mouth in a hard line. He had something on his mind. ‘I don’t see any way out of this mess, Ava, except for word to get around that you broke off our engagement.’
‘I have a better idea, Trey,’ said a deep male voice behind them.
Ava spun around. Jesus, it was his lordship, sneaking up on her like a disapproving archangel.
‘Spying on me, are you?’ Ava said, surprised.
‘No, Ava, just thinking,’ Buck said. ‘About you. About us.’
Ava met his eyes. Darker and deeper than she’d ever seen them, a blackness that fixed on her but told her nothing. For a heartbeat she dared to believe he would say what she wanted to hear. About the two of them being together.
He didn’t.
She let her breath go in a long sigh.
Instead, he turned to Trey, telling him they hadn’t much time. The Carpathia was set to dock in New York tonight and they must have their plan in place by then. All the while acting like she wasn’t standing there, shivering. It had suddenly gotten very cold.
‘I’m certain my idea will work,’ Buck continued. ‘Everyone on this ship, including the first cabin ladies, believes Ava is the countess.’
Ava nodded. That was true. No one who had seen her locked up in steerage answered at roll call. Her heart saddened when she realized Mr Moody was among the victims, as well as the other seamen. The Irish girls were so grateful to be alive, their smiles told Ava they’d never give her away. Even the stewardess, Marta Sinclair, had addressed her as her ladyship when they met in passing.
‘What are you suggesting, Buck?’ Trey asked in a cautious tone.
‘Nothing will bring Fiona back,’ Buck said.
Was that a slight tremble she heard in his voice? She’d never forget the tears he had choked back when she’d told him the news. He hadn’t let on how deeply the countess’s death had hurt him. Instead he’d touched her cheek with his hand. It was icy cold. Then he’d gone off on his own to stare at the sea, his shoulders slumped, his fists clenched at his side.
She had made no move to interfere.
‘I never should have left her,’ Trey said, his look grim.
Buck grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Fiona wouldn’t want you to keep blaming yourself, Trey. I’m certain she’d wish for you to go through with the marriage.’
Ava couldn’t speak. What insanity was this?
‘Are you crazy, old boy?’ Trey said, astonished. ‘With Ava? A lady’s maid? We’ll never get away with it.’
‘What you mean is my speech and manners ain’t – aren’t that of a lady,’ Ava interrupted, hands on her hips. She was shaking inside. There, she could speak proper when she wanted to. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
Buck smiled, impressed with her efforts. ‘You’ve got an ear for language, Ava, and I can teach you everything else you need to know to become a countess. I’ve traveled in the circle of aristocratic ladies and attended their dinners and balls. I know the tricks of their trade.’
Did he mean this mysterious Lady Pennington she’d heard the countess speak about? Ava wondered with dismay.
‘I have no doubt I can turn you into a lady.’ His lordship’s eyes bored into hers. She didn’t understand this fierce determination of his to marry her off.
‘Why would you want to do that?’ Ava refused to show him how disappointed she was.
‘Because, Ava, I’m the second son of a duke. I have no lands, no fortune. Trey can offer you a life I never could.’
What blarney was this? Who cared about lands or fortunes? What about the two of them?
‘It’s true you’re an aristocrat,’ she stated boldly. ‘I’ll not hold that against you.’
Buck grinned, amused at her brashness. ‘I’m also a gambler who lives by his wits, Ava, and where I go, you can’t.’
‘Oh, that’s gibberish. Where is that?’
‘The gentlemen’s clubs where I ply my trade don’t allow women to pass through their portals.
’
‘Mind you, I’ll wait outside them fancy houses with a cuppa tea and a warm heart to soothe you.’
‘It won’t work, Ava. All my winnings were locked up in the purser’s safe and what money I had on me was lost at sea. I’m back where I started. Penniless.’
‘It don’t matter to me, Buck, I… I… ’
What was she going to say to the man, that she loved him? And look as foolish as a plucky pig with its arse stuck in a fence? She’d told him how she felt on the ship and he paid her no mind.
No, there was something else.
Something he wasn’t telling her.
But what?
31
The telegram from Lady Pennington upset Buck more than he realized.
Damn the woman.
Her most recent ploy was an obvious trick to make certain he hadn’t forgotten her, but stirring things up like she did was downright unconscionable. Leaking hints about their affair to the press who were hungry for any news of Titanic survivors was an ugly thing to do.
It started when the captain of the Carpathia sent a list of the first-class passengers who survived the tragedy to the New York Times on Tuesday. The London papers picked it up soon after.
That was when his troubles began.
What else did he expect from a woman who was as provocative as vintage champagne, taunting him as she pranced around in her red satin corset covered with French Chantilly lace? Only he knew her spine was forged with cold, blue steel.
Did the woman possess no morality? Over fifteen hundred lives were lost in the disaster and she could think of nothing else but using him to further her own personal interests.
He crumpled up the telegram and tossed it into the sea. His stature as a British peer dictated he be given his telegrams first before the other passengers. The others wouldn’t receive theirs until the ship was steaming into New York Harbor.
He had received only one.
From Lady Irene Pennington.
She was beautiful, blonde and as spoiled as a Persian queen, and he had no intention of falling under her spell again. The lady had other plans. Plans to trap him and he didn’t like it. He was so angry she made him forget he was a gentleman and somewhat civilized. That wouldn’t stop him from telling her what he thought of her silly shenanigans and be done with her.
