by Kim Izzo
So it was a woman who called on her. It must be Mildred. Come to gloat. She walked to the sitting room. Mrs. Ogilvie sniffed loudly. “Don’t be long, Isabel. I want to listen to the wireless when I do my knitting.” Mrs. Ogilvie stomped upstairs to her own room. “There’s nothing sickly about that girl,” she muttered.
Isabel smoothed her hair, took a deep breath and entered the living room. She gasped with a mix of surprise and relief at the sight of Dorothy.
“Isabel, so good to see you.” Dorothy leapt to her feet and hugged her. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright.”
Isabel regained her composure. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“I took the afternoon off. Was up all night working and needed to get home. Give it a rest for a bit. Shall we sit?”
Dorothy moved to the sofa and Isabel sat beside her. She never used the sitting room and had not noticed before how pleasant it was. The sofa was a soft velvet damask in faded gold. The curtains matched and were drawn wide, letting in a wash of spring sunshine. The tables were a dark walnut. The bookcases that were built into one side of the wall were filled with books that appeared well-read and well-loved. It was a comfortable room. Who knew Mrs. Ogilvie cared for such an atmosphere? Sitting on the mantel were two large photographs: one of her husband who had died five years ago and another of her only child, a son, Gerald, who was somewhere on the Western Front and, hopefully, very much alive.
“You know, I’ve never seen your hair like this,” Dorothy said. Her words jolted Isabel who grabbed a big strand and twirled it nervously between her fingers. Her loose hair made her feel naked. “It’s lovely. You should do it that way more often. And that dress. I almost didn’t recognize you.” Isabel felt her face flush with embarrassment. “Oh don’t be self-conscious. You’re a pretty girl. Who knows why you hide it so much?”
“Thank you, Dorothy. It’s a nice surprise seeing you.”
“I thought I’d check in. I’d heard you were taken ill. We all did,” she said. So her suspension hadn’t made its way round the Old Admiralty Building after all. Then there was hope that Mrs. Burns was considering letting her remain on staff.
“Yes. A migraine,” Isabel said softly. She hated lying to Dorothy. But there were more important things on her mind, more vital than her own troubles. “What’s happening at work? Did they alert the ship?”
Dorothy looked confused. “What are you going on about, darling?”
“The Lusitania. Did we tell the captain about U-20?” Her voice rose in irritation. “The submarine that was headed toward Ireland.”
The severity of Dorothy’s glare made Isabel stop talking. She was being stupid. The sitting room in Mrs. Ogilvie’s rooming house was not secure and they could both be sacked or worse for discussing their top secret work here. “It’s my headache . . .” she said, to make an excuse. “I’ve been reading the papers and was asleep when you came. I must be confused.”
“So when are you coming back?” Dorothy asked. “We are feeling rather short-staffed without you.”
Isabel smiled, flattered and relieved that she was missed, but there was no answer she could possibly give.
Sydney
The evening air was warm enough that a woman didn’t need more than a shawl to be comfortable on deck. Sydney wore an aubergine wool wrap that matched closely the deep purple dress she had chosen. Her pre-dinner strolls had become a habit. She liked to walk at least ten times around the deck each day, saving two turns for the dinner hour. She had completed the ninth when she reached the locked Bostwick gate and paused. She hadn’t been able to get the conversation with Edward out of her mind. He had surprised her. She had pre-judged him before ever meeting him, and upon meeting him had judged him further. It wasn’t until this morning that she’d had an inkling of the real man that lay beneath the stiff upper lip and fine tailoring. He had listened to the story of her mother’s passing and how it had motivated her to help other women escape the same fate and he had shown warmth and sympathy. He understood her and what her work meant to her more than Brooke or Mr. Garrett ever had. But their parting was regretful. She had pushed him away in order to defend her sister. Was that really it? Or had she pushed him away for another reason she couldn’t bear admitting?
Sydney stood just behind the Bostwick so those in first class passing by on the other side couldn’t see her. It was a good vantage point to observe the saloon passengers undetected. As expected at this hour, the main entrance was packed with elegantly dressed couples and families heading into the dining saloon for yet another multiple-course dinner. The men strutted in black and white as the women paraded their style in a wave of feathers and sparkling jewels, velvets and silks, reds and greens and every imaginable shade. The gossip flew as swiftly as a seagull diving for scraps.
“Did you see what she’s wearing this evening? It’s the same gown as the first night.”
“At least she had the good taste to leave the ruby necklace in her stateroom.”
“I hear her husband has been spending a good deal of the voyage in second class with a woman who is not known to any one of us.”
“No!”
The ladies’ voices were drowned out by a group of gentlemen who had entered the space.
“Why don’t we play in the ship’s pool? I’m going to wager we will sail six hundred and fifty miles today.”
“That seems unlikely. Yesterday we only travelled about five hundred. Seems slow for twenty-five knots.”
“We certainly haven’t made top speed so far. I dare say we’re going as slow as twenty knots.”
“I don’t mind an innocent wager but I’ll be damned if I’m getting tricked by some seafaring gambler. These ocean liners are beacons for card sharks that take advantage of passengers’ boredom to earn a tidy sum. Have you read all the cautions in the Cunard’s handbook for passengers?”
Sydney listened to these tidbits of conversations with amusement. The fascination with each other’s secrets and with the ship’s speed was no different in steerage. She was about to move off when she heard the unmistakable flutey sound of her sister’s voice. Sydney froze.
“She’s been a great deal of trouble to me ever since Father died,” Brooke said with a touch of self-pity.
Sydney felt a flutter in her chest and leaned closer to the gate for a look. Sure enough, there were Brooke and Edward standing at the entrance with people she didn’t know. There was an older man and a woman of about thirty, who could be his daughter. Then there was a very well-dressed couple; the husband held his chin up like he was sniffing the air while the wife wore a diamond necklace the size of an anchor. Sydney had never seen any of them before.
“Grief does terrible things,” the diamond lady said.
“I wish it were that simple,” Brooke retorted. “But my sister has caused me embarrassment quite a few times.”
Sydney’s eyes widened. She leaned back against the wall out of sight. How could her sister say such a thing, and to strangers?
“Perhaps, my dear, ‘embarrassment’ is too strong a word,” Edward said solemnly.
Sydney risked discovery to peer around the corner and through the gap in the gate to see Edward standing beside Brooke, his posture rigid but his expression carefully bland. She watched Brooke’s face harden.
“What word would you choose, darling?” asked Brooke, her jaw set.
“I think you are new to marital peace, sir,” the husband of the diamond lady said to Edward. “You will quickly learn that a husband must never defend nor criticize his wife’s relations.”
Brooke laughed stiffly at the man’s attempt at humour. “What Edward doesn’t yet comprehend is how difficult it is to be Sydney’s sister. Her actions bring great shame to our family name.”
It was like being stabbed through the heart: the pain, the shock and anger. It took all Sydney’s resolve not to rattle the gate and scream.
“I take offence at such an opinion of Sydney,” Edward responded. Sydney pressed her nose to the gate so
that it touched the cold metal. “In fact I would say quite the opposite,” he continued. “She’s to be admired for living her life as she is, true to her desires and beliefs.”
Brooke’s mouth pursed tightly. Sydney recognized the expression. Her sister was furious and would erupt any moment. But it was the diamond lady who struck first.
“I’m afraid I agree with your fiancée, Edward. To hear her tell it, her sister’s behaviour is shameful. Marching in protests and talking about things such as . . . I can’t even say the words, they are too crude. Then to speechify down in third class, why those poor souls have a dreary enough life without being lectured to.”
Brooke demonstrated a remarkable restraint, happy to let the other woman speak for her. Edward was beaten. It was then that the other woman, the daughter of the older man, spoke; she had a Welsh accent. “Then you must think me shameful and embarrassing as well. For I was a fervent member of the Women’s Social and Political Union even when it became a radical group. I didn’t really think their arson campaign was the right way to approach getting women the vote but I did manage to be involved in blowing up a postbox,” the woman said to the utter dismay of her companions, except for her father, who looked proud, and Edward, whose smile had returned. “I went to prison, of course. But they released me when I went on a hunger strike. They didn’t want a woman from my class to die in their atrocious jail.”
It was Sydney’s turn to smile. Brooke would be regretting this woman as a dining companion.
“Lady Mackworth, you too are to be admired,” Edward said. He turned to the woman’s father. “Mr. Thomas, I’d say you have a very clever daughter.”
“Indeed I do,” Mr. Thomas agreed.
“But Edward,” Brooke insisted. “What you don’t seem to understand is how spoiled Sydney is. Our father saw to that. He indulged her. The only reason she behaves as she does is because she wants attention. It’s foolishness and all it’s doing is ruining her reputation, and mine too if she isn’t careful. She’s really a mess of a girl.”
Sydney had never heard Brooke speak about her like this. It was as though she was in the audience of a Broadway play and what she was hearing was playacting about some other family. Edward stepped away from the group in protest.
“I won’t hear another word against Sydney. She’s a bright and strong woman who knows her own mind and her heart,” he said sternly. “You would do well, Brooke, to emulate your sister’s example more often. Now let’s go in to dinner.”
He strode away, leaving Brooke seething; anyone could see that. The diamond lady placed a silk-gloved hand on her arm. “There, there,” she said soothingly. “Men can’t think straight with the war going on.”
The group slowly made their way into the saloon. Sydney was dumbstruck. She was touched by his defence of her. Perhaps she was forgiven for her hurtful words on the deck. But she also felt bad for Brooke. Edward didn’t understand the complex emotions between sisters. Brooke was only lashing out to protect what was hers as was her habit. The simple fact was that the two girls didn’t want the same things. They didn’t see eye to eye. They fought. They stung each other with words. But they were still the Sinclair sisters and would always look out for each other. That didn’t mean Sydney forgave Brooke for her insults, only that it had always been this way between them and always would be. Sydney wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and headed to the third class dining room.
It was after dinner as Sydney sat with Walter and Frederick. The other passengers at their table, an English couple, Albert and Agnes Veals and her brother, Fred Bailey, had gone to find a game of cards. She had sought their company for the meal; they were amusing and full of stories. She learned that before the war started Walter had big plans to better his circumstances in America. Painting and wallpapering were only the beginning, and his own home was the starting line. He had scooped up leftover materials from the grand houses—including William Morris & Co. Leicester print wallpaper—to renovate his modest home. He explained to her that Lowell was a manufacturing town and it was bustling with people wanting to move in to take up one of the many jobs on offer. Eventually those workers would want to own their home and when they were able to afford it, he’d sell his at a tidy profit. Buy a house in a better class of neighbourhood. More fresh paint and paper and anything else that needed bettering and then on to the next. Boston wasn’t so far away. By the time his daughter, Muriel, was of age she would be attending a school in the city. She could study dance if she liked. Or piano. There would be decent young men for her to meet and one day marry. And there would be other children besides Muriel to benefit from his plan.
Sydney enjoyed hearing Walter speak so excitedly of his baby girl, who would be turning two on May 11. He was going to stop in Liverpool for a present. He also spoke of his wife, Alice, who worked as a buyer for ladies’ fashion at a department store in England before their move to Massachusetts. “She turned down an offer from Selfridges after I proposed,” he boasted. Walter had commented on Sydney’s fine clothing and how Alice would be able to tell where it came from. Sydney sensed that Walter knew her dresses were expensive, more than the average steerage passenger could afford but he never addressed it directly.
As she listened to Walter she noticed several disapproving glances from the women who had been in the ladies’ lounge yesterday when she’d attempted to sway their opinion. It was this type of reaction that embarrassed Brooke. Should I be embarrassed? Sydney watched how the women were gossiping feverishly about her, even pointing and sneering. They were not a pretty sight. No, I am not embarrassed.
Walter and Frederick’s conversation drifted to the voyage and the war. Sydney, though interested, found her thoughts straying to Brooke’s insults (she could handle those), but Edward’s praise? She replayed his words over and over and each time her smile grew wide until this too troubled her. It’s wrong of me to enjoy how he spoke about me. She realized that if she felt odd about his misplaced gallantry she knew that Brooke would be outraged by it. Then again maybe he was only being a well-bred gentleman, wasn’t that what her sister coveted so badly? But it was more than that. She and Edward had made a connection. He was accepting of her world view and she understood and accepted his. She shuddered once more, recalling the aeroplane insult she had left him with. She would have to make amends on that front.
“Say, Sydney, you think we’ll get to Liverpool on time?” Walter asked, drawing her back into the conversation.
Sydney welcomed the distraction. “I expected us to move faster. Then again I’m not sure what fast feels like. This is my first voyage.”
“And you still don’t. She ain’t moving at full speed,” Frederick said.
“Shut your gob,” Walter said.
“What do you mean, Frederick?” she asked.
“One of the seamen was smoking a cig with us up on deck. He told us they only got three boiler rooms in service. Doubt she can go more than twenty-one knots.”
She was taken aback. “I understood there were four boilers. Is the captain saving it up for when we’re in the war zone so it will be full steam ahead?”
Walter bit his lower lip. “According to the crewman the Lusitania has been down to three boilers for several crossings. Conserving coal for the war,” he said. “Orders of the Admiralty. The ship is technically under Admiralty command, so Cunard has to do what it’s ordered to do.”
All thoughts of Brooke and Edward had vanished. “Why hasn’t the captain or one of the officers told us about the low speed?” she asked. “And what else do these orders include?”
Frederick shrugged. “You know those types. They keep themselves to themselves and things close to their chests. They don’t care much for the likes of us.”
Walter and Frederick exchanged looks. Sydney narrowed her eyes. “What?”
Walter leaned across the table and spoke in a hushed tone. “Freddie and I are thinking of investigating a little. See if we can’t get below decks and sneak into the cargo hold, see if
there is any truth to the rumours about carrying ammunition,” he said.
Sydney was stunned. “That seems dangerous. What if you’re caught?”
Frederick shrugged. “We play dumb.”
“Look at his face, Sydney,” Walter said. “That won’t be tough to believe.”
Frederick elbowed Walter and they all laughed. “Don’t worry about us, Sydney. It’s not a matter for a lady. We shouldn’t have said anything about it.”
She stopped smiling. “Why should the fact I’m a woman stop me from caring about the contents of the cargo hold?” The men looked surprised. Their reaction amused her. “I’m up for a bit of an adventure if nothing else. If you two are going to explore the ship, then I’m coming with you.”
Walter and Frederick stared at each other a moment, then as Walter opened his mouth to respond Hannah’s mother flew to their table, her face streaked with excitement.
“I know who you are!” Gladys boomed.
In the background Hannah sat down at the piano and began to play ragtime. But her mother was too focused on Sydney to object to her daughter’s musical choice. She had the page of an old magazine open and was shoving it under their noses.
“You’re Sydney Sinclair,” she gushed.
“I told you I was,” Sydney answered grimly. The magazine was Vanity Fair and inside was a photo of her and Brooke at the opening of the opera season. The caption clearly identified them as society girls and heiresses to a vast fortune. She wanted to disappear.
“But you didn’t say you were that Sydney Sinclair.” Gladys continued to wave the photo around. “Someone left this magazine in the ladies’ lounge and I happened to pick it up.”
Walter grabbed it and he and Frederick stared back and forth between Sydney and the photo until she blushed. “Is this really you?” Walter asked, holding on to a sliver of doubt.
“Guilty,” she said.
Gladys clapped her hands. “Then you must know Charles Frohman,” she said, getting to her point as quickly as possible.
