by Kim Izzo
“I’ve met him once or twice,” Sydney admitted, knowing where the conversation was heading. She looked at Hannah who was playing her favourite music with verve. She couldn’t disappoint her. “Perhaps I could ask him to listen to Hannah play.”
Walter handed the magazine back to Gladys. Frederick tried to grab it but the older woman snatched it out of reach.
“Did you hear that, child?” Gladys called out to Hannah. “Mommy told you that I’d get you an audition with Mr. Frohman.”
Walter and Sydney exchanged looks and smiled. “Perhaps the ship’s concert on Thursday night would do,” Sydney suggested.
Gladys clasped the magazine to her chest. “I don’t know what to say.”
She strutted away, no doubt bound for the ladies’ lounge to regale anyone who would listen about her daughter’s future.
“How about ‘thank you,’” Walter said.
“If you’re a rich girl then why are you down here with us?” Frederick asked.
Walter elbowed him.
“I wanted to spend time with different types of people,” she explained, not wanting to get into her family woes.
“Well, we’re glad you did,” Walter said warmly.
Sydney got up from the table and went to the piano and sat beside Hannah. The girl finished her song and looked at Sydney.
“Mommy said you’re very rich,” Hannah said.
“I’m afraid so.” Sydney smiled.
Hannah contemplated this. “Do you live in a castle?”
Sydney laughed. “Not a castle. But it is a very nice house. Now, Hannah, what is it you want to play for Mr. Frohman?”
The girl bit her lip, thinking on the matter. “Mother wants me to play Mozart or Beethoven. But I want to sing and dance too.”
“I think that’s a fine idea,” Sydney said. Gladys might have wanted a concerto but she knew that a Broadway producer would want something more accessible. And besides, Hannah needed someone in her corner. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t I play piano for you and you can sing and dance. I’m not as good as you but I’ll do. We should rehearse between now and Thursday if we want to impress him. I’ll invite my friends Walter and Frederick to be the audience.”
Hannah leapt off the piano bench and stood at the ready as Sydney took her place. “Ready, Hannah?” she asked.
The girl stood poised, her brow furrowed in concentration, and nodded. Sydney took a deep breath and brought her fingers down onto the keys.
MAY 4
Isabel
The newsagent had shown better judgment that morning and had not teased Isabel about beaux or any frivolous matter. Her stern expression must have thwarted the old man’s usual cheeriness. She paid him for the papers and made her way home, dreading another day unfolding as slowly as yesterday. She was only a few feet from the boarding house when she saw Mildred waiting for her outside the gate to the front walk. Isabel stiffened and attempted to march past her, but it was no use. Mildred leapt in front of her and blocked the path.
“We need to talk,” Mildred said.
Isabel glared at her. “I have nothing to say to you,” she answered, and placed her hand on the gate.
“You’ll want to hear what I have to say,” Mildred insisted. “If you value your job as much as you say you do.” Something about how Mildred looked at her gave Isabel pause and she let go of the latch.
“But not here. Let’s go for a walk,” Mildred said. “Is there a park nearby?”
They found an isolated bench beneath a willow tree and sat down. Isabel didn’t know what to make of it. They hadn’t uttered a word on their way there and now Mildred sat silent.
“What is it you want? To gloat?” Isabel asked.
Mildred smiled. “I want you to help me,” she said.
Isabel flinched. “Me help you? Are you daft?”
Mildred lifted her chin. “I’m nothing of the sort. Would a daft girl have manipulated things as good as I have?”
Isabel breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. “So you admit you are trying to ruin my life? Again?”
“I didn’t ruin your life in Oxford. You did that. All I did was be honest. And I’ve been honest with Mrs. Burns,” Mildred said. “I’ve never lied, Isabel.”
She had no response. In this regard Mildred had a point. “But you didn’t have to tell Mrs. Chambers or Mrs. Burns. You could have minded your own business.”
“I was sick of you getting special treatment,” Mildred snapped. “That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?” It was. But hearing her admission wasn’t as satisfying as Isabel had once thought it would be. “Mr. Chambers treating you like a pet. What about me? I am every bit as pretty as you and yet . . .”
Her voice trailed off into silence. Isabel watched the spindly bows of the willow bend in the breeze above them. “And yet he chose me.”
“You might have asked me if I wanted to learn to type and do secretarial things,” Mildred said. “But once you were with him you didn’t even hardly speak to me.”
Isabel was affronted. “That isn’t true. We were never friends, Mildred. We worked together, that is all.” Mildred stood up and paced back and forth in front of the bench. “If that’s all you have to say then I’m done listening,” Isabel said, losing patience.
The dark-haired girl stopped pacing and sat down again. She smiled at Isabel. “I want a job in Room 40. Like you and the other girls have.”
“What?” Isabel gasped. “After what you did? Having me suspended? You expect me to put in a word for you?”
“You will, Isabel,” Mildred insisted. The smile was gone from her face. “If you get me a job as a clerk then I will go to Mrs. Burns and say that I was mistaken in my accusations. She will restore your position.”
“How dare you!” Isabel said.
“I know how much the job means to you,” Mildred continued, completely ignoring Isabel’s horrified reaction. “I also know that having the respect of those men means even more. Right now only Mrs. Burns and Henry know about your affair with a married man. But if you won’t get me a job then I will tell all of the men in your precious Room 40 about your past.” Isabel stood this time. But she didn’t pace. She was as rigid as the statue of Nelson in Trafalgar Square. “I’ll tell them that all your plainness is an act. You’re really a tart on the hunt for another man.”
Isabel stared down at Mildred, whose smile had returned. “What makes you think I can get you a job?”
“Those men respect you, for now,” she said. “Especially that Mr. Denniston. And Room 40 needs more help. Henry said they were looking to hire more girls.”
“So why don’t you ask him then?” Isabel asked. Mildred cast her gaze to the ground.
“Henry didn’t think it was wise to have us work together,” she admitted sourly. “Besides, you’re more motivated to help me.”
At this Isabel couldn’t help herself and she laughed. “Motivation? Is that what you call this? Blackmail is more like it.”
Mildred stood up to face Isabel. She was a few inches shorter and had to lift her chin up to meet Isabel’s eyes. “I don’t care what you want to call it. But you must do it or else.”
Isabel didn’t answer. Mildred seemed to take her silence as acquiescence. “The men will be at the pub tonight. It’s your chance to speak to Mr. Denniston and tell him what an excellent addition I will be. Then tomorrow I will go to Mrs. Burns on your behalf. See, we both win.”
She smiled at Isabel again and, not waiting for a response, strolled away. Isabel sat back down on the bench. There was much to think about.
Edward
I love my sister and want her to be happy.” Brooke was seated across from Edward. He had come to apologize for his behaviour last night. He expressed to Brooke his regrets at making a public display and causing her embarrassment; however, the sentiments he had spoken to their companions, he meant. She was not happy and had not accepted his apology. “You gave those people the wrong impression, that you prefer Sydney to me.”
Edward chose this moment to stare at his oxfords. Maxwell had done his usual exceptional job brushing them to a shine. Without looking up he said, “What she said about Georgina made sense.”
This seemed to soften Brooke. She was smiling at him now. “Sydney assumes all women are miserable and need to be emancipated,” she explained. “And once she educates them they will rise up together. But it’s just not the case with all women. Your sister will be happy with us at Rathfon. It’s her home.”
Edward was confused. Sydney had made sense. But so did Brooke. He would have her speak to Georgina. Let his sister decide. “Am I forgiven?”
Brooke stood and crossed the few steps to him and held out her hand. He took it and she squeezed his. He felt no rush of relief, no sway of emotion at her touch.
She dropped his hand and moved to a mirror hanging on the wall and examined her reflection, smoothing her hair with her fingers and turning her face left and right, studying herself, smiling faintly as she did so, pleased with her own beauty. Her behaviour was odd to Edward. Such prolonged preening was considered unbecoming. It brought to mind an article Georgina had read to him from a ladies’ magazine about something called gargoyling. He remembered one particular line: Fascination springs from the hidden depths of character. It will never be gained by face-posturing before the looking-glass. At the time he and Georgina had had quite a laugh; now it seemed prescient. Brooke was a gargoyle and such fixation on her looks was in stark contrast to her sister. Standing with him on the bow that first day of the voyage Sydney hadn’t given a damn how she looked, her hair a mess of waves and loose strands. Edward had drunk in the sight then and the image excited him still. Even when she had cut off their talk with a sharp reminder of his upcoming marriage he hadn’t stopped thinking her one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. He started at the sound of Brooke’s voice.
“Before we sailed I instructed Mr. Garrett to buy stock in Bethlehem Steel. It’s a Pennsylvania company that manufactures armour plate and large-calibre guns for the British navy,” she said, turning back to him. “I thought you should know since you’re to be involved in running things once we’re married. It seemed smart business.”
“You can’t mean to profit from the war?” He was aghast. He couldn’t tell her that he knew from his military connections that the Lusitania carried in her cargo hold approximately twelve hundred cases of shrapnel from the very company she named, as well as aluminum powder and ammunition. Though, given her view of things, perhaps the thought of reams of explosives deep within the ship wouldn’t alarm her.
She sat back down and sighed impatiently, looking at him as if he was an upset toddler who needed soothing. “Darling, it’s part ownership in a steel company that produces ammunition that will be used against the enemy. Loads of Americans are making money this way. It’s not our war, remember? Besides, Rathfon Hall needs the money.”
“Surely there’s another way?” The idea of her wealth, and his once they were married, growing larger from the deaths of thousands sickened him.
“Think of it this way, Edward. I’m helping England win the war,” she said sharply.
“To make money from the war is unethical,” he said.
“My dear, this is something you will have to learn when you’re helping manage the finances,” she said. “Ethics and business don’t mix.”
Edward couldn’t respond because Brooke was right in one vital way. His marrying for money was no different than profiting from bullets. The truth rattled him. He was caught between ideology and tradition, needs and wants, morality and duty. His honesty, however, was not for sale.
“Do you think we are making the right decision?” he asked after a long pause.
“About what?” she asked, though from her face she seemed to know.
“Our marriage.”
Brooke’s flared nostrils were the only discernible reaction. The rest of her expression remained soft and pretty. “Did Sydney tell you to ask me that?”
“What on earth makes you say such a thing?” Edward said as blandly as he could. “The answer is no.”
Brooke smiled. “I was teasing you, Edward. I’m going to send her a note. We’ve been invited to dine at the captain’s table tomorrow night and I want her with us.”
“Do you think she cares about such things?” he asked, doubting an honour even such as dinner with the elusive Captain Turner would hold much sway with Sydney.
“I’ll tell her Lady Mackworth will be there. She’ll come if she thinks she has a like mind in her camp.” Brooke stood and walked to a small writing desk. She sat down.
Edward thought more about his time with Sydney. How easy it was for him to tell her about his dreams. It was worth a try. “Brooke,” he said. “I’m thinking of learning to fly. Perhaps for the war effort. What do you think?”
She looked at him as though surprised he was still in the room. “I think you should focus on the field commission, Edward. Flying doesn’t suit you. That sort of thing is for harder men.” Brooke picked up pen and paper and began to write to her sister, no longer interested in Edward and their conversation.
Sydney
The innards of the ship seemed designed to discourage land-loving passengers. Tight corridors, minimal lighting and loud echoing chambers were built for efficiency and speed and were part of the Lusitania’s engineering marvel, but for a person not familiar with each cavernous turn or staircase she was a labyrinth. Sydney, Walter and Frederick walked as stealthily as possible but Sydney’s small heels clanked loudly on the metal steps and she had resorted to walking on her toes. They hadn’t gone far when they heard something fall to the ground ahead. Whatever it was clanged and crashed down the metal steps until it landed far beneath with a dull thud.
“What the devil?” The shocked voice belonged to a crewman working below. “What are you doing here, lass?” He spoke gently.
Curious to learn who else had snuck into this part of the ship, the three of them poked their heads over the stairway railing to find a little girl cowering on the steps below.
“Hannah,” Sydney whispered. Walter placed his index finger over his lips to silence her.
“Let’s see what the bloke does,” Walter said quietly. “It’s a nice distraction for us.”
“I lost my shoe,” Hannah said matter-of-factly to the crewman.
“Aye,” the crewman said. “Nearly brained me with it too.”
Hannah stood up, her left foot bare. “My mom will be angry.”
The crewman pondered this a moment. “We can fix it so she won’t. Let’s say we go down and get the shoe for you? But then you must promise to never come down here again,” he said sternly.
Hannah nodded. The crewman took the girl’s hand and they walked down the steps. “The shoe is just outside the cargo hold,” he explained. “Just a few steps down and we can get it back on yer foot.”
Sydney perked up at the mention of the cargo hold. “This is our chance, Walter,” she murmured. This was even more fun than the women’s rally. Perhaps she’d be arrested again. She smiled at the idea.
“A wise man would quit now,” Frederick whispered. “Before being detected, and go back to where he belonged.”
Sydney and Walter glared at him. “There’s little to be gained in being a coward,” Walter said. “We can use Hannah to get access.”
“How?” Frederick asked, skeptical.
“Watch me,” Walter said, then called out, “Hannah?”
The crewman looked up and saw the three of them. “Oi! What are you lot doing in here? This area is forbidden for passengers,” he snapped.
“I was looking for the kiddie,” Walter explained. “Her mum is awfully worried.”
The crewman looked to Hannah. “Are these people your family?”
Hannah shook her head. “They’re my friends.”
Sydney guessed what Walter was up to and was the first to run down the steps to Hannah. “What are you doing down here, Hannah?”
&nb
sp; The girl made a face. “My mom wanted me to practise Mozart so I’m perfect for Mr. Frohman. But I didn’t want to so I hid,” she said reasonably.
“She prefers to sing and tap dance than play the piano,” Sydney said, as though that clarified the matter.
The crewman scowled. Walter glanced down the remaining flight of stairs and saw the tap shoe resting upside down against a heavy metal door. He nudged Sydney.
“Say, where’s that door go to?” Walter asked innocently enough.
The crewman followed his gaze. “That’s the baggage room. Also off limits. If you need something of yours tell a steward but I can’t let you three scamper about in there.”
“Can you give us a tour?” Sydney asked the stunned crewman. “Your yelling frightened Hannah, and seeing other parts of the ship might get her mind off being lost and then scolded for it.”
The crewman looked guilt-ridden. “I didn’t mean to frighten the wee thing.”
Walter winked at Sydney. Impressed with her tactic. But the crewman seemed to come to his senses regarding the rules and shook his head. “That would be impossible, Miss.”
Any further argument was prevented by the sudden arrival of a ship’s officer and a man of about fifty. It was only two more people but in such a cramped space they made Sydney claustrophobic; she felt a pang of mal de mer.
“What goes on here, crewman?” the officer asked. Before the terrified crewman could respond, Sydney stepped forward.
“And you are?” Sydney returned confidently.
“I’m Officer Sloane, the junior assistant purser,” he said, sounding indignant. “And who might you be?”
The gentleman beside him grinned knowingly. “That, Mr. Sloane, is Sydney Sinclair, one of New York’s wealthiest young ladies.”
Mr. Sloane and the crewman appeared chagrined. Sydney held out her hand. “We’ve not had the pleasure, Mr.—?”
“Mr. Charles Cheever Hardwick,” the man said. “Also from New York. I’m in importing and manufacturing. Assistant Purser Sloane here is giving me a tour of the ship.”
“Junior Assistant Purser, Mr. Hardwick,” the officer corrected politely. Hardwick’s grin widened.
