by Kim Izzo
Edward sat on the bed, the champagne in one hand and the scarf Georgina had made in the other. He didn’t even lift his head when she opened the door.
“Edward?” she said, and closed the door behind her.
He smiled faintly. “I can’t help but wonder what Georgina will think of me when I break the news to her.”
Sydney swallowed. “Is she close to Brooke?”
Edward chuckled. “No, not especially. It’s just that I’m her older brother and she thinks I’m perfect. Not a Lothario that travels the world falling in love with women he hardly knows and breaking off engagements. It’s not very English.”
“Have you changed your mind?” The question had sprung from her lips against her will.
He didn’t answer straightaway. His silence was like a knife through her chest. Maybe he was a Lothario. He had taken advantage of her and was going marry her sister anyway. It was like Alfred said, she was a mere dalliance. The joke would be on her because she could never tell a soul. My God, Edward was a cad and a villain.
“Never,” he said. He stood and went to her, lifting her hands in his. “Never will I change my mind. But I never thought I was capable of betrayal. I suppose I didn’t know my true character until now. And I’m not sure I like the discovery.” Sydney studied him. He was saying the right words and she should be relieved. But she sensed remorse. Sensed it and echoed it. Could anything good come of their union? Edward smiled reassuringly. “If I can’t live up to my little sister’s image of me then so be it.” He draped the scarf around Sydney’s shoulders. “Take it.”
She took it off. “I can’t. Georgina made it for Brooke.”
He shook his head. “Brooke despises it. And don’t try to tell me otherwise. It’s not her style.”
Sydney gripped the scarf tightly. “We should return to the party. I think Brooke wants to make some sort of announcement,” she explained. She opened the door and walked out still holding the scarf in her hands.
When they returned to the parlour she found Brooke standing off to one side with Alfred. The sight of them huddled so closely made Sydney nervous that they were talking about her. When Brooke saw her, her eyes popped. Sydney remembered Georgina’s scarf; she had forgotten to leave it in the bedroom. But Brooke didn’t come near her. Instead she climbed on top of the coffee table and clinked her glass with a spoon several times. The guests looked on, startled by the sight of a refined lady standing above them like a high priestess addressing her subjects. A few laughed awkwardly. Sydney knew Brooke’s extreme behaviour was for her benefit, a way of showing her who was in charge. “Attention! Attention please!” she shouted, and the room hushed. “I think we’ve all had enough talk about the war and submarines.”
A collective “Hear! Hear!” erupted.
“What we need is to bring a bit of excitement and joy back to this voyage. And to do that I’ve decided to invite each and every one of you to attend my wedding tomorrow, on board the Lusitania at sunset.”
Edward froze. The guests applauded madly, which made Brooke beam. Her eyes locked with Sydney’s and her smile grew wider.
“Captain Turner will officiate,” Brooke continued, encouraged by the reaction. “I haven’t asked him yet, but trust me when I tell you nobody says no to me.” Again she stared at Sydney. Everyone turned to Captain Turner, who couldn’t help himself and grinned.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Brooke smiled. “Now, where is my fiancé? Come here, darling.”
Sydney had no choice but to watch Edward inch his way toward her sister. Brooke grabbed his hand and held it tight. Sydney clutched the scarf just as tightly, as though it was the only thing that held them together.
“We were to marry at Edward’s estate in a couple of weeks but you know how it is when you’re in love.” Brooke stole a moment to take pleasure in Edward’s stony face as the irony of her words sank in. “Two weeks can feel an eternity. And I think a wedding celebration will cheer everyone up immensely.”
“Hear! Hear!” The shouts rose once again from the crowd.
The guests rushed to the couple, excited about the wedding. Sydney glanced around the room and her eyes landed on Alfred. He shrugged and went to congratulate them. There was little else for her to do but to give them her own good wishes.
Edward
You might have discussed this with me,” Edward whispered in Brooke’s ear.
“Oh darling, don’t be a bore,” she answered, a wide smile planted firmly on her face. “You must marry me despite how you feel about my sister.” Edward recoiled. “And don’t try denying it. You act like a man in love. I know the look. I’ve seen it many times, usually pointed in my direction.”
“I wasn’t going to deny it,” he said plainly.
“That is a relief,” she said. “Does she love you?”
He hesitated. It was all Brooke needed. “Then I have my answer.”
“You can’t force me to marry you,” he said.
“Don’t be absurd,” she said. “Of course I can. You must realize that if you leave me for Sydney you’d ruin all your plans.”
Edward was seething but he listened. “How do you mean?”
“Sydney is only twenty-one. She won’t inherit any of our father’s money until she is twenty-five, which means she can’t help you in time to save that precious pile of stone you’re so mad about. But I can.”
Without a word Edward stormed away, brushing past Alfred who stood behind them, his hand outstretched to congratulate the happy couple.
MAY 7
Sydney
The lights of the ship were extinguished and the windows blacked out, turning the Lusitania into a ghostly mirage. The crew manoeuvred around the decks like nocturnal predators. Darting here, marching there, performing tasks expertly as though illumination was an unnecessary invention. It wasn’t the same for the passengers who were navigating the ship like the newly blind. The men and women cast nervous glances over the railing at the dark sea, or up at the night sky, hoping that the answer lay with the stars. Some paced back and forth anxiously, as though news would arrive at any second, while others seemed to float along the deck like spirits, whispering to one another, to calm themselves, that this was routine.
Fear has a way of provoking the unthinkable. Many passengers remained dressed in their day clothes, bundled up in topcoats and hats and scarves. Some walked the decks until they could hardly keep their eyes open and exhaustion forced them to return to their berths. Others made the decision to eschew a warm bed entirely and instead took up residence on deck chairs, determined to spend the night outside and ready for anything that might happen.
The threat of torpedoes wasn’t what kept Sydney awake as she walked in solemn step behind the others like a funeral procession. Brooke had played her hand and won the tournament. And rightfully so. She deserved punishment for falling in love with Edward. What sort of sister was she to let that happen? But I love him. Brooke was there first, she was his fiancée, shouldn’t she get what she wanted? But I love him.
She walked on, Georgina’s scarf wrapped around her shoulders as an extra layer of warmth. A crewman stepped out of the ship’s interior right in front of her and she jumped.
“Apologies, ma’am.”
“That’s all right,” she said, taking a deep breath to calm down. “Can you tell me the time?”
“It’s quarter after midnight,” the answer came as the crewman brushed past.
“It’s too late for you to be out walking the decks like an elegant spectre.” The voice belonged to Alfred, who quietly fell into step beside her.
“Good evening, Alfred. Or should I say good night?” She wished he hadn’t found her. She wanted to be left alone in her misery.
“I’m sorry about what happened tonight,” he said sympathetically.
“I had it coming.”
“Had you?” he asked.
She hesitated, unsure how much she should divulge when none of it mattered any longer. “My dalliance, as you cal
led it, is the reason behind Brooke’s sudden inspiration to marry at sea.”
“So you’re in love with Edward and he’s in love with you and she knows all about it,” Alfred said matter-of-factly. “But Brooke isn’t so fond of the idea and is determined to marry him anyway. I think I said as much to you earlier.”
“I guess I am transparent,” she said dejectedly.
“Like freshly blown crystal,” he said.
“And you don’t hate me? Or Edward?”
“Sydney, I’m hardly someone to judge a man’s romantic entanglements,” he said. “But unlike me, Edward’s not in a financial position to do what he wants.”
“That’s not true at all. If he married me he would still have the money to save Rathfon Hall. I’m as rich as Brooke.”
“Is that so?” Alfred asked.
“You know that, Alfred. Why do you sound doubtful?” she asked. His tone was so strange. He’d known her and Brooke since they were children. He had done business with Augustus. The Sinclair fortune was hardly a secret to anyone in New York society and to an insider like Alfred it was known on practically intimate terms.
“But isn’t your money tied up in a trust until you turn twenty-five?” he asked. The air had taken a sudden turn and was crisp and cold and the wind had picked up.
“What gave you that idea?” she asked.
“Brooke.”
“I don’t understand. Why would Brooke tell you such a thing?”
“Not me,” he clarified. “Edward.” When he saw Sydney’s alarmed face he continued. “She told him loud and clear that your share of the fortune wouldn’t be yours until you reached twenty-five.”
The cold wind did nothing to cool the rush of heat that shot through her. Her heart was pounding. She felt sick as though the mal de mer had returned for a final farewell.
“I need to sit,” she gasped. They had come to a pair of vacant deck chairs and sat down. Alfred’s hands atop his walking stick, hers hidden beneath the many layers of wool and the scarf—the beautiful scarf handmade by a girl who might have been her sister. “Why would she tell him that?”
“You’re a smart woman, Sydney. Why do you think?”
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could make out his features now. His expression was sympathetic. There was only one reason Brooke would say such a thing. It was her final card. She knew Edward needed money for Rathfon Hall or else it would be lost. He couldn’t afford to wait until she was twenty-five. It would have been sold by then. And despite Edward saying it didn’t matter and that he loved her more than his ancestral home, Sydney knew that her sister was banking on his promises to his family and to her. She felt her body tremble against the cold.
“It isn’t true,” she said. “I received my inheritance last fall on my twenty-first birthday.”
Isabel
It was half past midnight. Isabel had spent the evening typing up transcripts between the Admiralstab and the Ottoman Empire. The Gallipoli Campaign had begun and Room 40 was overrun with intercepts about the battles. The Allied offensive was failing to open up the strait into the Black Sea. After the naval campaign had failed in March, the Allies sent in ground troops from Britain, Australia, New Zealand and Newfoundland; the troops had trekked down from Egypt. Casualties were heavy and the information flowing through Room 40 indicated that despite Turkish ammunition shortages they were holding off the Allies.
Isabel wasn’t the only one who had stayed late. Most of the men had stayed on and joined the night shift to keep up with the extra work. It had so far proved a quiet and long evening. Isabel considered going home until Norton dashed across the room to Commander Hope. She saw that he held a fresh wireless transmission in his hand. “Sir! This just arrived from Queenstown.”
Everyone stopped their work and watched anxiously. Few things got Norton excited. Whatever he had in his hand it was incendiary. Commander Hope took the telegram. It was from Vice Admiral Sir Charles Coke, the man in charge at Queenstown, a small port village on the south coast of Ireland. The vice admiral regularly sent transmissions to the Admiralty in London but rarely did such communications raise an alarm. She watched the commander closely. Too closely apparently. Dorothy, who had also volunteered to stay late, gently kicked her foot under the table.
“It’s okay to listen but at least pretend to be doing your job,” she whispered to her.
Her eyes studied the deciphered code in front of her but her ears were trained in the direction of Commander Hope.
“Denniston, come read this. You too, Rotter, Curtis.”
The men formed a close circle and the message was passed along.
“At least we can confirm its location,” Curtis offered grimly.
“We should get this to Fisher immediately,” Denniston stated.
“What should I tell Queenstown?” Norton asked, his voice sharp.
Isabel could hardly stand it. Why were they being so furtive? Everyone in Room 40 knew what was happening in the war. Surely they didn’t need to keep the contents of a wireless message from the rest.
“Isabel!” Commander Hope called out to her. His voice seemed to echo in the hushed room.
Isabel shot to her feet, sending her chair crashing to the floor. This created a chain reaction whereby Dorothy jumped out of her skin, scattering the pile of transcripts that had been stacked neatly in front her. “Yes, sir!” Isabel answered, her voice on the brink of shouting.
“Type two copies and see if Lord Fisher is still in his office,” he ordered, and held out the message. “If not then we shall telephone him at home.”
Isabel ran over and he handed the paper to her. The men dispersed and returned to their duties. She picked up her chair and sat down. Dorothy leaned over. “What’s it say?”
Isabel placed the telegram on the edge of her desk so they both could read it.
The steamer SS Candidate shelled by submarine this morning off the coast of County Wexford, Ireland. Crew abandoned ship. The Candidate lost.
“Another one?” Dorothy whispered. “Isn’t that close to where the schooner was sunk on Wednesday?”
“Too close,” Isabel confirmed. “According to the date on the telegram, ‘this morning’ was actually yesterday. But we’re only receiving the news now.”
County Wexford was on the south coast of Ireland. She was glad that the crew wasn’t lost with the steamer but it was disturbing that a second ship had been sunk by a submarine in as many days. Again her mind flooded with images of the Lusitania. “It’s Schwieger again.”
“Is that what Commander Hope said?” Dorothy asked.
“I’m saying it,” Isabel retorted. “It’s him.”
Isabel marched toward the First Sea Lord’s office, the copy of the message in hand. She passed the hallway that led to the Lord of the Admiralty’s grand office and thought briefly of taking it directly to Mr. Churchill. But his office showed no sign of life. He lived at Admiralty House, which was steps away but she dared not set foot near there. She continued on her way to Fisher’s office, but it was Churchill’s letter that rolled over in her mind. It is most important to attract neutral shipping to our shores in the hope especially of embroiling the United States with Germany . . . For our part we want the traffic—the more the better; and if some of it gets into trouble, better still.
Why had she read it? The Lusitania was a passenger ship, surely even a German submarine captain, even one as ruthless as Schwieger, was more man than monster. He had allowed the crews to abandon ship, hadn’t he? She hesitated and stared at the message. You’ve only just got your job back. Don’t be a fool. Do as you’re told.
The grim-faced secretary was long gone for the day but to Isabel’s surprise there was a light coming from beneath Fisher’s door. She knocked.
“Come in!” Fisher shouted.
Isabel opened the door and wasted no time with small talk. “This just arrived, sir.”
He took the telegram from her. She remained there as he read it. His face scrunche
d up in concentration. Try as she might Isabel couldn’t discern from his expression what his next move would be.
“Can I relay a message back to Commander Hope, sir?” she offered.
He ignored her and rubbed his chin, his eyes never leaving the telegram. It felt like an eternity to Isabel. The Lusitania was well inside the war zone now; time was not on their side.
“Follow me,” Fisher said, and stood up and marched out of his office.
Isabel had to practically jog to keep pace. Fisher was a small man but he could move like a hare. “Where are we going, sir?” she asked.
“We’re going to send a message to Queenstown and to every merchant vessel in the area,” he said firmly.
Sydney
Someone was touching her but she couldn’t see who it was. The hand felt like a paw. It was powerful and she could swear whoever or whatever it was had claws that were digging into her flesh. The longer it grasped her the more she wanted to scream. She tried but no sound came. There was only a muffled gurgle where her call for help should have been. Then suddenly she was awake.
“I’ve been looking for you all night.” It was Edward. His eyes were raw as he smiled at her. She was so bundled up she couldn’t move and had to be content to remain prostrate on the deck chair.
“What time is it?” she whispered, her voice raspy from a night outside in the damp.
“It’s nearly six thirty,” he said. “Your face was covered up. I didn’t realize it was you until the sun began to rise and I recognized the shawl.”
“There’s so much fog,” she said. The air was choked with the stuff.
“It’s thick all right,” he answered, and cast his eyes around them. “We should sail out of it soon.”
Before she could respond the Lusitania’s foghorn blasted from above.
“What’s he doing?” Sydney asked, alarmed by the deep-throated growl. “The captain must stop it.” Another blast blew into the air. This time it made a slightly different but equally terrifying sound. “The Germans will know where we are!”
She wasn’t the only one who was concerned. Other passengers had begun to emerge from their cabins to investigate the blaring foghorn that was preventing them from sleep.
