Seven Days in May

by Kim Izzo

  The lift doors opened to reveal Sydney. Edward had never seen anyone more beautiful. Her dress was the colour of honey, which perfectly suited her golden hair. The soft pink roses that adorned it were strategically placed across the bias, which accentuated her curves. And around her long neck was a double string of gold pearls that fell below her breasts. Her gloves were a delicate pink satin that matched the roses. But of all the things remarkable about Sydney it was her large hazel eyes that took Edward’s breath away.

  “Sydney,” he said politely, almost indifferently, as he stepped forward and offered his arm. “What a flattering colour your dress is. It nearly matches your eyes.”

  “Oh good heavens, Edward,” Brooke said. “Her eyes are brown.”

  Edward held his tongue as he led Sydney toward her. The sisters kissed each other on the cheek, as Brooke’s own eyes glared as though Sydney, not genetics, was to blame for her hazel eyes.

  “I’m so happy to finally join you for dinner,” Sydney said.

  Brooke was smiling but it was clear she was still very angry with her. “Nothing pleases me more than your happiness.”

  They strolled to the captain’s table, a sister on either side of Edward, a gloved hand each holding on to an arm. The other passengers tried not to stare at the beautiful new arrival. There were murmurs and whispers as they passed several tables. Even some of the stewards took notice of Sydney. Brooke sighed heavily at the attention her sister was receiving.

  “I see you decided to wear the dress I bought you,” she said coolly.

  “You were right about it,” she answered. “It does suit me. I never thanked you properly for it.”

  Edward knew he was at least partially to blame for the tension between the sisters. Maxwell had been right. He should not have pursued Sydney into third class and hovered over her like an aspiring Byron. Brooke had hardly spoken to him all last evening. The sympathy he’d received after his apology for his previous transgression was gone and replaced with an icy politeness. Edward knew he was fooling no one, least of all himself. He was drawn to Sydney, more than he’d ever been to Brooke. And what was worse, perhaps, he feared it would always be so. Rather than deal with the matter he had spent much of his time today in the gentlemen’s lounge playing cards and avoiding being taken advantage of by several superior players.

  Then by mid-afternoon his fiancée had informed him that Sydney would be joining them for dinner. He thought the matter resolved. Yet she was giving her such a chilly reception. Was there no pleasing the woman?

  They arrived at the table where Lady Mackworth and her father were seated alongside several other passengers. Captain Turner stood as Edward made the requisite introductions.

  “Welcome,” Captain Turner said. He was solemn, yet at the same time appeared slightly bored, as though he wished to be called away on urgent ship business. The rest of the dinner party included Mr. Michael Papadapoulos, a Greek carpet magnate and his Italian wife, Angela; Mr. and Mrs. Harry Keser—Mr. Keser was the president of the Philadelphia National Bank; and Mrs. Jessie Taft Smith, an American who was travelling to England to join her husband, John. He had designed aeroplane engines for the French that were being used in the war effort and was currently working out plans to do the same with the British. Mrs. Taft Smith let it be known she was carrying the blueprints for the famous Smith engine in her stateroom. Edward would have been enthralled with conversation about aircraft but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

  “My, my, Edward, how did you ever choose between two such handsome women?” Mr. Thomas teased. Edward swallowed uneasily as the other guests looked from Brooke to Sydney as though to compare. The sisters smiled demurely at the compliment.

  “Indeed. Sydney looks like a film star,” Lady Mackworth gushed. “Beauty and brains are a deadly combination.”

  With an unsubtle roll of her eyes Brooke picked up the menu. “It’s always so complicated,” she complained. “So many dishes to choose from.”

  “The chef has printed a sample menu with suggestions as to what goes best with what,” Captain Turner pointed out.

  “That is very helpful, Captain,” Brooke said sweetly. “You must be thrilled to be in charge of such a ship.” He grimaced and turned to Mr. Keser. Brooke shrugged. “Edward, be a dear and order for me.” She then gave her attention to Angela Papadapoulos and began to discuss the ship’s speed for the day’s betting pool.

  Edward pretended to study the menu and as he did so he glanced at Sydney, hoping to catch her eye. But she seemed determined not to meet his gaze. He felt a hand on his arm and saw that Lady Mackworth was leaning in closely like she was about to divulge a secret.

  “I’d say there’s a sibling rivalry brewing,” Lady Mackworth whispered. “Be careful not to get in the middle of it.”

  Edward had no appropriate response and he could hardly own up to the truth, which was he was already very much in the middle.

  The arrival of Alfred Vanderbilt at the table provided a much-needed injection of levity. Captain Turner sprang to life and was almost jovial as Sydney and Brooke embraced Alfred like a brother. He fawned over Sydney and lightheartedly chastised her about her third class folly, which she defended eagerly. He sat down beside her and they immediately launched into an intimate chat. The sound of their gaiety made Edward squirm. How he envied their ease with each other. Then Alfred grasped her hand and held it for a moment and she smiled. Edward was jealous. There was no other word for the rotten sensation in his stomach.

  “Edward, darling.” Brooke’s voice shot right through him. “Order the wine. I’m dying of thirst.”

  He forced himself to look away from the joyfulness that was occurring across the table and turned to the wine list. But another outburst of laughter made concentration impossible.

  “Alfred!” Edward shouted at the millionaire, who finally turned his attention away from Sydney.

  “Yes, Edward?”

  Edward saw with some alarm that everyone was looking at him. Captain Turner’s eyes were slits. He hadn’t meant to shout. “Alfred, I’d like your opinion with the wine. Would you mind studying the menu and giving me your suggestion?”

  Alfred grinned. “I’d say it’s up to Captain Turner to choose,” he said. “Our wish is yours to command, sir.” The other guests chuckled. Even Turner smiled and called a steward over so he could order the wine. Edward continued to watch Sydney until, after an eternity, she looked at him. He smiled and waited for a sign of the shared intimacy that had passed between them during their conversation days before. But she had already turned her attention to Mrs. Taft Smith.

  Dinner had been unbearable. Edward was largely ignored. He had sat through the meal listening to Sydney discuss horses with Alfred, that is, when she wasn’t engaged with Lady Mackworth on women’s politics. The two suffragettes had spent a great deal of time comparing notes on how their two countries addressed the women’s movement. Particularly how England’s Mrs. Pankhurst and her militant tactics worked and didn’t work. Her group, the Women’s Social and Political Union, which Lady Mackworth belonged to, had halted all activities when the war began in order to support the British government’s fight against the Germans, and had encouraged her followers to do their part. On the opposite side of the table Brooke continued to punish Edward by being entirely captivated by Mr. and Mrs. Papadapoulos.

  So Edward was immensely relieved when their party eventually made its way into the lounge. The orchestra was already playing a waltz when they arrived. The ladies caught sight of Charles Frohman and hurried over to him.

  “Why Sydney Sinclair,” he gushed, and shook her hand. “I was beginning to doubt your existence.”

  “I’ve been keeping to myself. Seasickness,” she explained.

  “I told you she’s a sensitive creative,” Brooke added.

  “I have a favour to ask, Charles,” Sydney said. “I’m wondering if you wouldn’t mind listening to a young girl perform at tomorrow night’s concert.”

  “Is
she talented?” he said, and smiled. He was always on the lookout for the next big thing.

  “Very,” Sydney said. “She sings and dances. You won’t be disappointed.”

  Edward watched Brooke. She wasn’t amused by Sydney’s line of conversation. Perhaps it reminded her of this afternoon’s rehearsal.

  “The child is from steerage,” Brooke said.

  Everyone looked at Brooke, who smiled sweetly. Frohman chuckled. “If she’s got talent I don’t care if she’s from Queens.” They all laughed at his joke, even Edward who had no idea why it was funny.

  Frohman excused himself and the ladies took up residence on one of the sofas to listen to the orchestra. A steward was passing around glasses of port and Edward took one from the tray. Alfred joined him on the periphery of the dance floor as passengers swirled around them. He shouldn’t resent Alfred’s relationship with Sydney. The man was married and was a lifelong friend of the Sinclairs. No, it wasn’t Alfred he despised but his own cowardice. Duty to family was paramount. But how could he not admit his true feelings before his marriage took place? The Sydney he had spoken with so openly days before would want him to, wouldn’t she? The ship was on international waters; surely that neutralized his Englishman’s sense of propriety.

  “I could use something stronger,” Alfred said as he sipped the port. “A brandy would do the trick.”

  “Make it a double and I’m in,” Edward said.

  Alfred chuckled. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Alfred stepped away. Edward continued his thoughts of betrayal. Brooke was his fiancée. He had proposed to her at Rathfon Hall, its walls were sacred to him and he was a man of his word, or so he had always believed. His feelings, this conflict, were ludicrous. He hadn’t even met Sydney until a week ago. Yet how could he deny what this past week had meant to him?

  Alfred returned with two snifters of brandy.

  “Thank you, Alfred,” he said, and took a large swig from his. The warmth soothed him as it passed down his throat.

  “You’re welcome, old chap,” Alfred said with a smile. “Sydney looks lovely tonight.”

  Edward bristled. “Does she?”

  The orchestra began to play The Blue Danube. Edward polished off the brandy in one gulp and, to Alfred’s shock, handed him the empty snifter. “You ride to hounds, Alfred. Do you know what we English call a shot of brandy before the hunt?” Edward asked. His eyes locked onto Sydney who was sitting beside Brooke.

  “A cup of courage,” Alfred said.

  “That’s it,” Edward said, and marched toward the ladies. Brooke forced a smile as he approached. Sydney continued to chat with Lady Mackworth, completely ignoring him. His hand came up before his words could and he stood before them like a ballroom beggar, waiting for a handout. Sydney stared at his outstretched arm, a look of embarrassment on her face. Alfred walked up behind Edward and also offered his hand. “Sydney, would you care to dance?” he said. “Edward wants to waltz with your sister but I didn’t want you left on the sidelines.”

  The men exchanged looks. “That’s very thoughtful, Alfred,” Edward said, and adjusted his position so that there would be no doubt his intended partner was Brooke. “My dear.”

  Grim-faced, Brooke allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor. Sydney followed with Alfred and the two couples began to waltz gracefully to the orchestra’s playing. Edward silently twirled Brooke around the floor, but it wasn’t long before Alfred and Sydney interrupted them.

  “Shall we switch partners?” Alfred suggested with a knowing look at Edward.

  Edward was stunned. He needed to give the man more credit.

  “Only if my fiancée will release me. Brooke?” Edward said, careful not to display any emotion.

  “I’d love to dance with Alfred,” Brooke answered. But as they switched partners Edward was struck by how much Brooke resembled a gorgon when she was annoyed. He didn’t let her stony face bother him too long once he had glided Sydney off in the opposite direction. But he noticed at once that her usually lovely face was troubled.

  “I’m not that bad a dancer, surely,” he teased. “I can prove it.” Taking a firmer hold of Sydney’s waist, he swept her across the floor in the long, flowing steps of the foxtrot that Hannah had taught him. It was similar enough to the waltz that he could guide her around without crashing into other dancers. Although everyone on the floor appeared alarmed, including Sydney.

  “Edward,” she said, looking around the room at everyone staring at them. “Waltz properly.”

  Obediently, he slowed their steps down to the three-quarter time signature required by The Blue Danube. “Aren’t you tired of not having any fun? You’ve been hiding away all week,” he said. “This is the Lusitania, the grandest ocean liner in the world, and you should be enjoying yourself.” Her face said she didn’t agree but he wasn’t going to give up. “Where’s my black sheep? If you don’t smile soon I will bleat until you do.”

  “Don’t make jokes, Edward,” she said. “What are you trying to do? You’re engaged to my sister yet you act like a bachelor at a speakeasy.”

  “A what?” Edward said, astonished by such a comparison.

  “You heard me,” she answered harshly.

  He didn’t know how to respond but he didn’t care because she was finally looking at him. “It’s only a dance, it’s not like I kissed you,” he said cheekily. “Or is that why you’re upset? You want me to kiss you.”

  No amount of willpower could prevent her smiling. “Just shut up and waltz,” she said.

  They continued to dance in silence. She was right to chastise him. But it didn’t seem to matter that he’d met Brooke months before and Sydney only days ago. He had tried with Brooke in England, New York and on the Lusitania, yet despite his best efforts he felt nothing for his fiancée. It was this creature in his arms who was tugging at every emotion and it was time to tell her, no matter the consequences. “May I be honest with you, Sydney,” he said, the teasing tone gone from his voice.

  He saw a flicker of unease cross her lovely face.

  “Of course, Edward.”

  “I will be going to France next month and I may die.”

  “Don’t say such things,” Sydney said.

  “I must say it because of you,” he said. His words had the intended effect for she was gazing into his eyes now. “If death comes to me in the next few months I want to know I’ve lived every moment.”

  The music rose to a crescendo and he swept her up in his arms before she could respond. They circled and twirled amongst the other dancers until the music steadied and he brought them to a slow swirl so they were barely moving. “If I am killed, I want to die knowing the woman I love is my wife.”

  Her eyes widened. “What are you saying, Edward?”

  “You know I don’t love your sister. Nor does she love me.”

  “Please don’t say that. Even if you mean it.” She looked around, searching for her sister. Edward followed her gaze and he too saw Brooke, with Alfred, still dancing, oblivious to the conspiracy he was launching against her.

  “But I do, Sydney,” he continued.

  “But you wanted the arrangement. Both of you did. You can’t pretend otherwise.”

  “I hadn’t met you,” he explained earnestly. “You weren’t the American who came looking for an aristocrat with a title.”

  “You make it sound vulgar,” she gasped.

  He was pushing her toward a truth neither wanted to face but to his delight she wasn’t running away. She remained firmly in his hands and he would keep her there as long as it took him to confess it all.

  “It is,” he responded with a light laugh. “And I was willing to go along with it for my family, my home, all of it. I thought it was noble to sacrifice love for those things.”

  “Well, maybe it is,” she said. She was shaking. He knew he didn’t have long before she would turn and run back to the comfort of political talks with Lady Mackworth and then his chance would be over forever.

/>   “It’s not noble. It’s idiotic,” he said, his smile gone. “I want to break it off with Brooke,” he added bluntly, his hand clasping hers tighter and tighter. “I want to be with you.”

  Sydney concentrated on the dancing and would not look at him. “Edward, you must stop this,” she hissed.

  “Am I wrong to think you feel the same about me?”

  Her hand went limp in his, her back stiffened in his arms.

  “If I’ve given you the wrong impression you must forgive me,” she sputtered. “I think we must stop dancing. I’m feeling flushed.”

  “Do you feel nothing for me?” he pleaded. It was the last thing he had in his arsenal. It was everything.

  She looked at him closely, longingly. It gave him hope. “How can you ask me that?” she responded quietly, and walked away. He had no choice but to follow. They headed back to the sofa where Brooke and Alfred had also returned and were watching them.

  “You two looked like you could dance all night,” Brooke said with a tight smile.

  “It’s a fine band,” Alfred said, trying to keep the peace. “Sydney, would you care to get back out there with me? Let the betrothed couple have a turn about the dance floor?”

  But Alfred was looking at Edward as he spoke.

  “I can’t—” Sydney shook her head. “I’m not feeling well. I must go. Good night.” Sydney then turned and fled the room. Edward was going to go after her but someone had grabbed his coat sleeve. It was Alfred. The men stared at each other a moment and Edward knew he was right to stand him down. Edward gave a subtle nod and Alfred let go of his sleeve.

  “Goodness, I hope she’s not going to be seasick,” Lady Mackworth offered.

  “There’s no need to worry about Sydney,” Brooke purred. “She’s had too much dancing for one night. More than is good for her.” She turned to Edward. “Come, darling, my turn.”

  MAY 6

  Sydney

  It was six a.m. when Sydney stepped onto the Promenade Deck and was greeted by raised voices and the banging and clanging of metal. She had barely slept and for a moment doubted her own ears. But as she reached the port side and looked up she saw the source of the noise. Crewmen were in the process of swinging out the lifeboats, all of them. It appeared to be a tough and frustrating exercise. She watched as teams of six or more wrestled with the davits and the heavy ropes, the men heaving and pulling and swearing as they worked until the boats hung suspended over the sea. Sticking out from the sides of the ship the lifeboats seemed precarious and fragile, like eggs perched on the edge of a nest, not vessels of safety. The noise had been loud enough and went on long enough that several of the first class passengers had come outside to see what was going on. Like Sydney, they watched in fascination but at the same time it was a solemn event. The reality of the waters the ship had entered made this activity a necessary precaution. But instead of being reassuring, it instilled a sense of anxiety.