Her nod was demure. She made no protest. A far cry from the woman who had snuck aboard ship at Southampton. Some dynamic seemed to have changed. What had transpired between them? Morgan tossed Doc a questioning look. Doc shrugged it off and returned his attention to Wells.
There was the slightest slant to the carpeted floor.
Wells said, “We need to get off this level. We need to be on the boat deck.”
They skirted the crowd by the elevator and began to ascend the stairs. Each of them carried a lifebelt by their side. Each wore a heavy coat. Kennedy had both copies of the journal folded in a pocket of his jacket. Morgan had also seen him slip the Colt into a holster on his belt.
Wells spoke softly, explaining as they climbed. “The first few lifeboats will be half-full. You may be out there for hours before the Carpathia shows up. There’ll only be a few blankets and provisions.”
“I’ll be warm enough.” Patricia wore one of Kennedy’s coats over her own. “I’ll be fine.”
On C deck a line had formed outside the purser’s office. Stewards bustled among the passengers, chiding their tardy patrons. There was no sign of panic. Had Wells stood here, journal in hand, in his twisted variation of this night?
He wasn’t looking at the queue now; his eyes were on the domed skylight. It soared above them to crown the stairwell. They continued upwards. More than once Morgan misjudged his step. He let his hand guide him along the wainscoting. There was no obvious list but he found his senses no more reliable than the stewards who worked their way past with reassuring smiles.
They encountered Crawford on the A deck landing. He gave them a quick once-over, smiling at Wells and lingering over Kennedy’s injury. He didn’t appear surprised at the company they kept. He directed a curious eye towards Patricia.
“Four guardians tonight, Miss Marie. I believe you may have set a new record for the Line.”
Catastrophe had reset her pale features in a new cast. Some inner glow burned there, fuelled by hope or despair. She returned his smile, bitter-sweet.
Hartley’s band had already assembled in the lounge. They played a lively ragtime tune. People stood around in various states of dress. Haphazard combinations of nightshirts and dinner jackets, evening gowns and robes; each outfit reflecting the individual’s level of alarm or credulity. Morgan wandered past the quick and the dead, the saved and the lost, ticking off their names in his head. One woman wore a thin cotton dress. Her stockinged feet were bare. He couldn’t place her.
Wells led them up to the boat-deck foyer. The linoleum floor was tracked with wet prints. The mirrored walls reflected a cheerful glow from the cut-glass light fixtures. Everything was a lie.
They went out into the darkness.
Only a hardy few had chosen to brave the cold. They huddled far from the railing, smoking and watching the crew at their work. There was little wind but the air itself was a barrier of ice. The quiet was torn by a fearsome howl as somewhere below the boilers vented excess steam. Kennedy shouted something that was lost in the roar. He gestured and they quickly entered the gymnasium.
People were clustered in small groups around the equipment. Protests vied with ridicule as they tried to make sense of it all. Morgan was thinking about those who were below decks. Too few would have the luxury of debating their alternatives. The occasional couple broke away, returning to the misleading warmth of the decks below. He had to resist the urge to try and stop them at the door.
A young man approached, eager to compare notes. “You seem prepared for an adventure,” he said, eyeing their outfits. He wore a light jacket over his night clothes.
They looked to Wells. He made a soft gurgling sound in Kennedy’s ear. Kennedy frowned.
The man’s smile faded. He stammered an excuse and returned to another knot of passengers who were sharing some joke.
Wells said, “Do you mind if I have a few words with your wife in private?”
Kennedy shook his head. He took Morgan and Doc aside, saying, “According to Wells, Murdoch will permit men into the boats. He’s loading the starboard side.” He spoke as if continuing a prior conversation.
“We’re getting off now?” Morgan tried to make the query sound casual. He didn’t know what he wanted.
“We can if we choose to.” Kennedy answered as if in a dream, as if he was already under water. With one utterance he finally relinquished command. “We’re finished here.”
“You could have chosen another turn of phrase,” Doc observed.
Kennedy didn’t smile. “If we divide up, it’ll be easier for us.”
Morgan asked, “What did you have in mind?”
“You and Patricia first.” He was talking to Doc.
“You got any reason for that particular combination?” Doc asked.
“Wells insisted that we get you both off the ship as soon as possible.”
“Why me?”
“He calls it payback.”
“And if I refuse?”
“You have to do it.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
“Why are we listening to Wells?” Morgan asked.
“Because he’s the only one here who knows how this ends.”
“I’m getting a fair idea of that myself,” Doc said. “How did he convince Patricia to leave?”
“He made the correct... diagnosis.”
Morgan looked across at Patricia and Wells. They were standing before a large map of the world, crossed by the shipping routes of the White Star Line. It covered the far wall. He was talking to her quietly.
“What’s wrong with Patricia?” Doc was staring at her now. His expression changed. He turned back to Kennedy and said, “Oh, Jesus.”
XXI
The first lifeboat was already in the water. Caught in the brilliance of the distress rocket, it was bared in a brief flash of light.
“See,” Wells said to Patricia. “Plenty of room.”
Its lantern had yet to be lit. Abandoning the penumbra of the Titanic’s glow, it faded from sight. She peered after it.
Wells examined his watch. It was ten to one. “Lifeboat five’s next, I think.” He urged the group towards the davits.
“It’s too soon,” Patricia said, hanging back. “You told me one of the lifeboats returns to the scene after the sinking. I’ll board that one.”
“That’s lifeboat fourteen. It’s one of the last to leave the ship, and only saves one person from the water.”
Patricia said, “One person is enough.”
Kennedy took her arm gently. “You’re going in this one. Doc will be right by your side.”
Wells caught Gershon’s look of dismay. He clearly took no pleasure in the arrangement. Wells had expected nothing less.
“The next few boats won’t be full,” Morgan said. “We’ll have plenty of time.”
Kennedy nodded firmly in agreement.
An officer prepared the boat. Passengers stood well away, eyeing the manoeuvres warily. Ismay stepped forwards and began berating the officer. The officer broke away from his activities to enter the bridge.
Wells said, “This won’t take too long. Smith will tell him to follow Ismay’s orders.”
Within moments the officer had returned. The lifeboat was swung out over the side and made ready for boarding. He called out, “Come along, ladies.”
Patricia turned to Wells and said, “How does it feel, knowing all this?”
“It’s like the closing night of a play I’ve seen all too many times.”
Couples strayed forwards. A small number overcame their reluctance and stepped aboard. Kennedy led Patricia towards the lifeboat. He beckoned to Gershon.
Gershon extended a hand to Morgan.
Morgan refused it. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”
Wells said, “So long, Dean.”
Gershon ignored him.
Kennedy and Patricia embraced. He whispered something in her ear. Gershon hung back beside Ismay, who was coercing a party of seven into the boa
t. Ismay called out, “Are there any more women before this boat goes?” He looked over at Patricia. “Any more women?”
She stepped forwards uncertainly. She was still holding Kennedy’s hand, dragging him forwards.
He brushed her cheek with a last kiss and said, “Remember.”
“I won’t need to,” she replied. “You’ll be there to take care of it.”
He helped her into the boat.
“Any more women?” Ismay spied a young girl standing among the crowd. “Come along, jump in.”
“I am only a stewardess.”
Wells told her, “Never mind that. You’re a woman, take your place.” He glanced at Morgan and said, “Does that count as interference?”
Ismay was already ushering her towards the boat.
Morgan said, “I’ll let it slide. I suspect it was a done deal.”
Gershon stood awkwardly by the lifeboat. He threw Kennedy an uncomfortable look. The officer herded him into the boat. He took the place by Patricia’s side.
Murdoch emerged from the bridge and called out to the officer, “You go in charge of this boat. Stand by to come alongside the aft gangway when hailed.” They shook hands. Murdoch said, “Goodbye. Good luck.” His face was impassive. He would have known that this was farewell.
He signalled the crewmen to lower away and the lifeboat began its descent.
Wells and Morgan made their way to the railing to join Kennedy. By the time they’d reached him the lifeboat hung suspended halfway down the steep hull. Patricia had removed one of her coats. It was draped over the stewardess’s shoulders. She looked up past Wells to catch Kennedy’s eye. She brought her fingertips to her lips and blew him a kiss before returning her attention to the stewardess. Gershon had his eyes directed to the water below. He didn’t look back.
“Nothing happens to the lifeboats,” Kennedy said to Wells.
“Nothing.”
“Good.” He stepped back from the davits and cast a glance towards the ship’s stern.
Wells followed his gaze. Hartley’s band had come up from the lounge. Further along the deck more people were lined up outside the raised roof of the first-class smoking room. He observed a woman standing slightly apart from the others. She wore a white shawl tightly about her head and neck. A fringe of auburn hair trailed her lined brow. He hadn’t spoken to her throughout the journey but there was a disquieting familiarity about her now.
He approached her with a sense of dread. Kennedy and Morgan were watching him closely. They didn’t try to stop him.
“Virginia?” He ventured the name as a hopeless whisper, praying he was wrong.
“Yes?” She looked up him expectantly. “Do I know you, sir?”
He felt hollow, a stand-in at his own performance, but there was no one else around to utter the lines. He asked, “Where is your lifebelt?”
“What is the urgency? Mr Murdoch told us that everything would be alright.” She stared up into his eyes. “Everything is going to be alright, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I don’t think so. Take this.” He handed her his lifebelt. “Get in the next boat.”
“Won’t you need it?”
Wells was already walking away.
“Was that in the script?” Kennedy asked him.
The question chilled him to the bone. He nodded his reply with horrifying certainty.
“There’s a few more things I need to ask you,” Kennedy said.
“I thought we were done here.”
“We are.”
“Then save it for the lifeboat.”
“That won’t work for me.”
“Really?” Wells liked the desperation in Kennedy’s eyes. It went some way towards assuaging his own fears. He asked, “Do I have anything to gain by this?”
“Probably not.”
He examined his watch. “Then you’ve got ten minutes.”
“The smoking room is close by,” Kennedy said. “We can talk there.”
Another lifeboat had been drawn out over the side. Officers were calling out to the passengers, cajoling them. No one moved forwards. Morgan’s attention was fixed on the proceedings. He turned back to find them moving away and stared with a mystified look. “We’re going back inside?”
“We are.” Kennedy indicated Wells with a nod. “You’re not.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Patricia and Doc are gone, Darren. Now it’s your turn. You’ve manned your post to the last, but that’s the way it goes. I told you, we leave the ship in stages.”
Morgan stared back at him blankly. “What about you?”
“I’ll see you on the Carpathia.” Kennedy made to walk away. Morgan caught his sleeve. Kennedy looked slightly surprised. “Don’t let this ship drag you down with it, Darren. Get into one of the boats. Go. I release you.”
Morgan’s eyes were imploring.
Kennedy placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “I release you.”
It was an incantation, a charm. The revocation of a spell that didn’t come lightly.
“Thank you.” Morgan’s reply was the soft est whisper. He turned and walked with heavy steps towards the officers’ promenade. The lifeboat, half-full, swayed at the Titanic’s side.
Kennedy strode the other way without a backwards glance. Wells hesitated before following him down the aft stairwell and into the smoking room beyond.
XXII
There were no more women around. No children in sight. Murdoch ordered some crewmen into the lifeboat. Fifteen of them piled in. There were at least twenty places to spare.
Murdoch levelled Morgan an impatient glare.
His legs betrayed him. He was walking towards the side of the ship, stepping over the railing and into the swinging boat. Other men had approached the barrier and were now climbing aboard. Morgan shifted aside.
Hey.
Morgan raised his downcast eyes.
Hey, bud. You brought me here, just like you promised.
The voice had always come from within, but there was no mistaking it. He told himself it was the cold, his maddening fright, that had congealed into some tangible mass, yet there was Hardas’s shifting eidolon, huddled among the occupants of the lifeboat. It seemed to gaze at Morgan broodingly. No one else gave it any notice.
You need to get out of this boat.
Morgan closed his eyes. Leave me alone.
All in good time.
Murdoch was calling for more passengers. A brief wail of venting steam drowned out his entreaty. Softer murmurs rose around Morgan. Prayers and curses, dovetailed with the dying screech of the boilers.
You’re condemning me to death.
There are things worse than drowning. Stay here and you’ll kill yourself within the year.
He knew it was delusion but there was no denying the impact of the words.
He released us from our duty, bud. Not our honour. He ain’t leaving the ship, and you know it. So how can you?
The morning’s paper had said that some children were lost. And your father would never leave a child behind, no matter what happened.
He had told Kennedy the wrong story.
“Excuse me.” Morgan rose from his seat. The other passengers stared at him in wonder.
He worked his way back to the lifeboat’s side, ignoring the hands that reached for him. Murdoch was signalling the crew to lower away. The lifeboat lurched and dropped a few feet.
Morgan leapt, gaining the railing. Murdoch reached a hand across and dragged him over the barrier. His expression was incredulous.
Morgan muttered, “I left something on the ship.”
“I fear it’s going to cost you.”
“You have no idea.”
Murdoch shook his head and walked away. Most of the remaining passengers had filed down to the aft lifeboats. The deck was bare.
Morgan looked down at the water. Hardas’s shade was dispersing in wisps. It might have been a cloud of escaping steam or the clotted respiration of
the saved.
So long, bud.
Morgan turned away.
XXIII
Four men sat playing cards at one of the tables. Cigar smoke coiled thickly above their heads. A few other men stood by the bar drinking. Everyone should have been in bed. Everyone should have been safe.
A silver-haired man seated nearby absently waved at some bottles that sat opened near several upturned glasses. Kennedy filled two glasses from a bottle of whisky. The alcohol splattered down the sides of the glasses and spilled onto the bar’s polished surface. The silver-haired man gave him a dark look.
Wells said, “Put it on my tab.”
The man took his drink and strode away.
There was a wooden box on a shelf behind the bar. Wells worked his way around the mahogany expanse of the counter and fished out two cigars. He bit off the tips of them both, and handed one across to Kennedy.
Kennedy said, “I don’t smoke.”
Wells produced an ornate lighter from below the bar. Kennedy cocked his head in puzzlement.
Wells raised his glass. “To fatherhood.”
Kennedy touched Wells’ glass with his own. He brought the cigar to his lips while Wells lit it carefully.
Wells lit his own, then said, “I made sure Patricia got aboard, and you helped clean the slate between me and Gershon. I’d say we’re even, so make it fast.”
Kennedy didn’t miss a beat. “What happens to Astor?”
Astor. When it came to the Titanic, the man’s fate was an invariable feature of most accounts. He was credited with enough acts of bravery, wit and style to fill any number of disasters. Wells somehow found the thought disturbing. He gave Kennedy the short version, between rapid puffs.
“Is that it?” Kennedy asked.
“That’s it. They found him in the water days later, decayed, his head staved in. They only recognised him by his shirt. His initials were stitched into the collar.”
“He goes down into the cargo hold in my world, as well,” Kennedy said. His expression was pensive.
“I guess he liked animals.”
“You were with him.”
“I was there?”
Kennedy nodded.
The Company of the Dead Page 67
