Envy the Wind

by Anita Davison

  “You ain’t his servant, he cannot make you go back.” Aoife’s gaze swept Grace's expensive wool suit, the string of freshwater pearls at her throat and the diamond ring on her finger.

  “There are different kinds of subservience.” Grace interpreted her look. “What if he’s painted me as some sort of incompetent, or worse a fugitive? The authorities might let this agent he mentioned take me away without an argument. I have no friends or connections to speak for me in Halifax. I’ll have to go somewhere Angus MacKinnon won’t find me.

  “Why don't you come to New Brunswick with me? They must have places there where the gentry live.”

  “I’m not gentry any more, Aoife, if I ever was, but I’m sure you’re right The Provinces are vast, so it’s not likely we would be neighbors in any case.” She returned the paper to her pocket.

  “No, thass true.” Aoife’s eyes welled. “I didn't think of it like that.”

  “I’m sorry, that was a harsh thing to say. You know I didn’t mean it.” Having cultivated few connections in her life, their short, unlikely friendship meant a good deal to Grace. Saying goodbye to Aoife would be hard, and she had no idea how to express it.

  “Course you didn’t.” Aoife nudged her, grinning. “What are ye going to do?”

  Grace sighed. “I really don’t know. Yet.”

  Chapter 3

  Grace glanced along the deck and stiffened at the sight of a young officer strolling leisurely towards them, pausing to exchange greetings with an elderly couple before moving on.

  “Get behind me, quickly.” She nudged Aoife with an elbow.

  “What?” Aoife followed her gaze. “Oh bother, where did he come from?”

  The officer nodded to the couple then moved on, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze settled on Grace, eyes widening in admiration.

  “Good afternoon.” His mouth quirked into a smile and he halted in front of them, an eyebrow lifted in enquiry. “Have you enjoyed the voyage, Miss?”

  “Thank you, I have. It’s been quite an adventure.” Grace didn't correct his address and looked away, hoping he might lose interest and find someone else to talk to.

  Where was Priscilla when she needed her?

  “Ah, I recall my first Atlantic crossing. London to New York five years ago.” He sighed, resting his forearms on the rail beside her, apparently in no hurry to move on.

  That’s all she needed, his life story. Behind her Aoife suppressed a cough.

  “How long will it be before we dock?” Grace asked, raising her voice slightly.

  “An hour or so, no more. We’re about to come up to the pilot station near Chebucto Head. There, the engines will be shut down and we’ll pick up a pilot boat to guide us for the last mile or so. I gather you’ve not been to Halifax before?”

  “Er-no.” Well, obviously. “I’m looking forward to finding out what it has to offer.” Not that she had any intention of staying there now Angus MacKinnon knew where she was.

  “I’m sure you’ll love Halifax, there’s so much to see. Are you visiting family or friends perhaps?”

  “Not exactly.” Grace’s smile wavered as the officer’s gaze slid to Aoife, who stood with her back to them.

  “Miss?” He frowned, his gaze sweeping Aoife’s shabby coat. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you on this deck before. Which stateroom do you occupy?”

  “She’s my maid,” Grace said before Aoife could answer. “I know she shouldn’t be up here, but I thought it wouldn’t do any harm. Not when we’re so close to arriving.” She summoned a flirtatious smile.

  “Even so, madam, third class passengers shouldn’t be-”

  “Is that quite right?” Grace directed his attention to another ship approaching from the east. “That vessel appears to be moving quite fast. Is that normal inside the harbour?” Grace gestured Aoife away with a discreet backwards wave.

  The officer’s attention went straight to the water, eyes shielded with one hand against the glare.

  “I agree, it is odd. She faced the other way a few moments ago. I expect, like us, she’s heading for the pilot station.”

  Aoife ignored the chance to slip away, her attention, like several other passengers nearby turned to where the ship moved steadily in their direction.

  “I expect he’ll change course any moment.” The officer said, for the benefit of the line of curious passengers who now studied the other ship. “Um- their captain probably mistook one of the buoys and took the wrong direction.”

  “It’s coming quite fast, whereas we don’t appear to be moving at all.”

  What began as a ploy to distract him turned into a real concern as the ship ploughed through the water towards them, its bow frothing the water into a sharp ‘v’.

  “Uh, that’s right.” The officer glanced up at the bridge, then back at the water, his jaw set. “We stopped the engines to take on the pilot boat.”

  A ripple of murmurs ran through the passengers crowding the rail. Even the boisterous young men fell silent.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Priscilla demanded, apparently annoyed to no longer be the focus of the young men’s attention. “What’s everyone looking at?”

  “That ship’s coming too close.” A man nearby pointed out what everyone else must have been thinking. “What the devil is that captain doing about it?” he demanded of the officer.

  “I don’t like it,” the woman with the irate gentleman said. “It’s going awfully fast.”

  “Why don’t they turn?” a grey-haired man asked.

  “As far as I can tell, sir,” the young officer replied, “the pilot boat has positioned itself too far away. It will have to steer back to us. I’m sure we’ll be on our way to the quay at any moment.”

  “I don’t mean the pilot boat, man!” the same passenger said. “I’m talking about that steamer out there.”

  “Grace.” Aoife grabbed her arm, her voice low, intense. “It’s coming straight toward us.”

  “I know.” Grace chewed her bottom lip, praying the ship would veer away any second. She stared up at the bridge, where scared faces appeared and fingers pointed.

  “Hasn’t our captain seen him?” A woman in a violet hat voiced Grace’s own thoughts.

  “I’m sure he has, madam,” the officer reassured her.

  Grace wasn’t convinced, confirmed by the fact the officer had apparently forgotten about Aoife.

  “We’re not in any danger, are we?” Priscilla clung to the officer’s arm and stared up at him as more murmurings circulated.

  ‘The name on the bow says she’s the Albano,” a man close to Grace said. “That’s a German vessel,” he added, indignant.

  Grace gripped the rail and took a deep breath, murmuring, ‘What difference does the nationality of a thousand tons of metal bearing down on us make?’

  ‘What did you say, Grace?” Aoife asked but Grace shook her head, her gaze still on the other ship.

  “Please, calm yourselves.” The officer’s gaze moved from one questioner to the next. “The other captain is bound to alter his course directly.” He attempted to disengage his arm from Priscilla’s clutches, but she wasn’t about to release her prize.

  “I feel much safer with you here,” she said feebly, fluttering her eyelashes.

  Behind the officer’s back, Grace rolled her eyes at Aoife, who sniggered.

  “It’s not turning away,” Grace said as the black hull loomed closer.”

  “I’m not sure,” the officer replied without looking at her. “The wind is light, there’s no sea running and no perceptible tide. She cannot be in difficulty,” he muttered, as if talking to himself.

  The accordion music cut off with a cat-like wail on the tween deck below them. The dancers stopped and drifted to the rail. Women covered their faces with their hands, or grasped children to their skirts, while others waved angry arms at the ship as if to signal it away.

  Grace jumped as three loud whistle blasts came from the other ship. She clasped one hand in t
he other to stop them shaking, her nerves shredded.

  “There!” The officer exhaled in obvious relief. “The Albano has signalled she’s going full speed astern.” He eased his arm firmly from Priscilla’s grip. “Their captain must have realized his mistake. Now he’ll reverse engines and steer the ship away.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here to reassure us.” Priscilla remained attached to his side, her chin tilted as she smiled into his eyes.

  An anticipatory hush settled over the deck, all eyes strained as they waited for the ship to change course.

  “Are you sure?” Grace swallowed nervously, the bow growing larger with each second. “She’s not slowing at all.”

  The officer’s knuckles whitened on the rail. “She’s not been put into reverse,” adding in a whisper, “if she hits the engine room amidships, we’ll go down for sure.” He pushed away from the rail and ignoring the barrage of frantic questions aimed at him, ran to the companionway leading up to the bridge.

  Panic spread as doors were thrown open along the deck from which several crewmen appeared, taking off at a run in all directions.

  Grace’s nerves tightened at the sight of their grim faces, her thoughts going to the fact everything she owned was contained in the two bags the steward had collected less than an hour before. Her letter for the bank manager, her mother’s jewelry and every shred of clothing she possessed as well as the money to pay her board for the next month; she would lose it all if they sank.

  She wasn’t much of a swimmer and, in her heavy skirts, she would probably drown. An hysterical laugh bubbled into her throat, and she fought it down. “I read somewhere that water at sub-zero temperatures can stop your heart in seconds.”

  Beside her, Aoife twisted the end of her shawl in her fingers, her frown deepening.

  Suddenly a rumbling came from below as the engines roared into pulsing life and the Parisian began to move.

  “What’s happening?” someone shouted.

  “There’s no cause for alarm.” The officer reappeared, his voice raised above the cries of dismay erupting all around them. “Captain Johnson has ordered full speed ahead, probably to put some space between us and the Albano so it will pass right by us.”

  “Can he do that in time?” Grace asked. Aoife moved closer, clutching Grace’s hand in a vice-like grip. “Why doesn’t the other captain turn his ship away?” A man in a fur hat pulled down to his eyebrows above a pair of terrified eyes asked.

  “Maybe his steering has gone?” the lady with him suggested.

  The Parisian surged forward about two hundred feet in an attempt to move out of the Albano’s way, but even Grace could see it wasn’t far enough. The sea boiled at the waterline and white topped waves curled outwards as the massive steel bow cut through the water, growing closer and more terrifying with every second.

  She bit her bottom lip. This could not be happening. No more than five minutes had passed since she used the approaching ship to distract the officer from Aoife.

  The passengers crowded to the starboard side, staring with disbelief as the painted name Albano came almost close enough to touch. Crewmen raced for the bridge or hung over the rail, waving frantically at the crew who stood, white faced on the deck of the other ship.

  “We won’t get out of the way in time!” a woman screamed as the black bow ploughed straight for them.

  “It’s going to hit us!” Aoife shouted, flinging her arms round Grace.

  * * *

  Grace gripped the rail until her fingers cramped and squeezed her eyes shut at the moment of impact. She gasped as a deafening, hollow clang came as the deck lurched, tilted then hovered for a heart-stopping second before it slammed back onto the surface of the water. A rush of spray climbed the starboard rail and rained down on the observers. A drawn-out screech of metal on metal followed as the two ships locked together, the forward momentum of the Parisian carrying the Albano alongside it through the water.

  Grace hurtled backwards into the man in the fur hat, Aoife ripped from her arms as they slid for a few feet before coming to a halt in a tangle of limbs. Passsengers lost their balance and stumbled into one another, some in danger of being trampled as they were thrown to their knees or into the rails, winches and davits that secured the lifeboats.

  Grace staggered to her feet, more shaken than hurt. She helped up the man had cushioned her fall and once reassured he wasn't injured, she clambered over and around people to where Aoife lay.

  “Are you hurt? Grace grasped her hand and dragged her to her feet.

  “Nah.” Aoife scrubbed a palm against her elbow. “Are we sinking?”

  “I don't know.” Grace wiped salt water from her face as she ran back to the rail, where passengers had gained their feet and crowded the rail to see the damage.

  The Parisian dragged the Albano for a hundred feet before shrugging her off with a juddering creak and a groan of metal. A gap rapidly formed between the two hulls and the German steamer dropped back, veering away in a sea that roiled with white tipped waves.

  “Is anyone injured?” A crewman helped up a man who careened over a winch, the question greeted by shaken heads and bewildered, stunned looks. A lifebelt came adrift from its hook and fallen onto one of the youths who taunted the steerage passengers earlier. Others clambered to their feet more slowly, calling out for friends, or to enquire if anyone needed help.

  Mothers searched for children and men separated from their wives called their names. White faces with strained expressions stared around in disbelief, but apart from the shock of impact, no one appeared badly injured.

  The Parisian had levelled out, the engines ratcheted up a notch, and plunged smoothly through the water straight for the quayside.

  “What happened?” A woman’s voice rose in hysteria from farther along the deck.

  “What do you think happened?” Aoife snorted. “That German boat bashed into us.”

  “Then why are we still going so fast?” The man in the fur hat demanded. “Is the ship out of control?”

  “That was quite some bang, but we appear to still be afloat.” One of the youths said as he disentangled his feet from where they had become entwined in the bottom rail.

  “Maybe not.” Grace pointed to the deck below them, where the stern dipped slightly on the port side. “We're listing, so there must be some damage below the water line. I cannot see properly from up here.”

  An officer who stopped to enquire as to injuries among the passengers was joined by another, who whispered something to him. The first man nodded, at which his colleague saluted and left.

  “What was that about?” Aoife asked. “Is there something they aren’t telling us?

  Grace shook her head to tell her she didn’t know, but hoped it wasn’t bad news.

  “Clear the boats!” The command came loudly from the bridge, sending crewmen running to lifeboat stations where they hauled at the tarpaulins.

  “Looks like the captain’s taking notice at last,” the fur hatted man grumbled, brushing down the sleeves of his overcoat with both hands.

  “There aren’t enough boats for all of us.” Aoife whispered, clutching Grace’s arm. “We'll drown.”

  “Now stop that.” Grace gave Aoife a tiny shake. “No one is going to drown,” she said with more confidence than she felt. There were over nine hundred people on board and less than a dozen lifeboats. Aoife was right, they wouldn’t hold everyone.

  “We must be sinking if they are lowering the lifeboats!” This call was taken up by several others and in seconds the crowd surged in that direction.

  “Stand back!” The young officer returned from the bridge and planted himself in front of the closest lifeboat, feet splayed and arms raised to hold them off. “It’s just a precaution, ladies and gentlemen. Stay where you are.”

  “Let us get aboard,” a woman with a whimpering toddler pleaded. “We’re wasting time.”

  “Can't you see the deck's listing?” A man forced himself to the front.

 
; “Be quiet!” The officer waved off shouts and tugging hands. “The engines would have to be shut down to load the lifeboats. Once stationary, the hold would rapidly fill with water. We're still a mile or so from the harbour, so our best course is to make for the pier at full speed. Captain Johnston knows what he’s doing.”

  “Rubbish, man,” a voice called out from the back of the crowd. “Get those lifeboats launched!”

  The crowd divided into those who agreed the ship must keep going and those who harassed the crew to release the boats.

  Voices were being raised in panic, and Grace anticipated a fight. Frantic, she looked around for a way out of the press of people, but she and Aoife were hemmed in on three sides, their backs to the rail. She searched the faces for Priscilla but couldn't see her.

  “Perhaps readying the lifeboats is only a precaution,” Grace whispered to a wide-eyed Aoife. “That officer is right. If we maintain this speed we'll reach the quay in minutes. It’s possible the damage isn't serious at all.” She tried not to look back to where the deck had dipped lower on one side and several passengers near the stern clung grimly to the opposite rail to stop themselves from sliding across the deck.

  “What the devil is happening?” A moustachioed man accosted another officer. “No one is telling us anything.”

  “If you'll all calm down, I'll tell you what I know.”' The officer waved both hands in a signal for quiet. “It appears the hull has been breached at number four hold abaft.” He waited for the ripple of dismayed shouts and an occasional gasp to subside. “Fortunately, Captain Johnston was able to pull us forward enough for the point of impact to occur behind the engines and not amidships. We're still afloat, as you can see. The captain has given orders for full speed ahead towards the quay.”

  “Can't they send boats out to fetch us off?” The man in the fur hat’s fear had turned to belligerence. “The harbour is only about a mile away.”