“That’s—that’s ridiculous!” I stuttered angrily. I tried to pull away, but he narrowed his eyes and held my hands more forcefully.
“I see you’ve suspected all along,” he said with a smirk.
I felt I could barely breathe. It didn’t seem possible. I knew Nigel was a thief and a cheat, but I couldn’t believe he was capable of being a killer. Then again, he was acting strangely nervous the morning we left. And he was awfully insistent about using the Bjornstroms’ name before we sailed, though he didn’t seem to give it a second thought once we pulled out of the dock.
Still, though it was true I did not know Nigel well, I did know Gerard Remy.
“You’re lying,” I said in a strangled whisper.
“Poor Molly.” He sighed with fake sympathy. “Now she doesn’t know whom she should trust—that nasty Mr. Remy or the mysterious Mr. Bowen. But don’t fret. You and your husband can continue to keep secrets from each other. Mr. Bowen need not be involved or know anything of our plot—if you help us. But if you do not, be assured that I will reveal his identity to the ship’s officers—if Basil doesn’t kill him first. Basil is rather a hothead, you know. At any rate, the choice is yours, ma belle.”
I pulled my hands from his, but he held them; squeezed them. I looked up and it was then I saw in his eyes the first honest expression he’d displayed: the cruelty I knew so well. He began crushing my hands until I was in agonizing pain and I fell to the floor. Just then, there was yet another knock on the door. He released me and, using his foot, shoved me toward the door.
Shaking with pain, anger, and humiliation, I got up and unlocked it.
It was Nigel.
“All right, my girl, I’ve had all day to think, and I’ve come to make up,” he said sheepishly. “Also, I must change my clothes. Young Phil’s not my size, and I’m beginning to smell like I’ve been shoveling coal in the engine ro—”
Before I could stop him, he walked past me into the room. Gerard was again sitting coolly on the couch. Nigel gaped at him for a moment, then whipped around to look at me with a startled and confused—and furious—glare.
“So it has been you and him all along!” he spat out.
I involuntarily started toward Nigel, but just then the great ship made yet another rocking motion. The movement gave me a moment to pause and think. Whoever or whatever Nigel was, I had recruited him in a plan to rob wealthy passengers, nothing more. It was my obligation to shield him from Gerard.
Gathering every bit of willpower I had, I went past Nigel to the couch. I lowered myself to the floor at Gerard’s feet and took his hand. Trembling inside, I looked up to Nigel.
“Yes, it’s been him all along, darling,” I said as flippantly as I could. “Maybe you can finally understand why your constant advances were so tiresome to me.”
I had to do it—I had to be brutal. And it worked. Nigel paled with hurt and fury.
“I don’t know what game this is or what you two are after,” he fumed savagely. “But I swear this: I will do everything in my power to ensure that it ends in disaster.”
With a bitter parting look, he slammed the door on us.
The Titanic dipped again, righted itself, and sailed on.
Chapter 22
Celia Bowen
Atlantic Ocean
Sunday, April 14, 1912, 6:00 PM
Though the sea had calmed, I still walked uneasily down the first class promenade—my legs wobbled as though we were sailing through a monsoon. Up ahead I saw Herbert and Violet Vogel and their son, Arthur. They were with Emily Moore, as I knew they would be. Earlier that day I had learned from the girl that she would be looking after young Arthur while the Vogels dined. The brightly dressed little boy jumped around excitedly—eager to start whatever fun and games Emily had promised him.
The weather had taken a chilly turn and everyone was bundled up. Not fifteen feet beyond the small group, I saw Basil half hidden behind a bulkhead, watching them. He looked up and gave me a curt nod. Despite the cold, I felt a hot flash of shame course through my body.
I slowed my approach—the last thing I wanted was interaction with Arthur’s parents. But Mrs. Vogel turned and, seeing me, gave a small, pitying smile. Leaving the others, she approached me.
“We’re so disappointed you won’t be joining our little dinner, Mrs. Bowen,” the dark-haired, petite woman said sadly. “But—well, your husband has explained the situation.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, and she must have read my confused silence as offense.
“I certainly don’t mean to pry,” she said hastily. “But I truly hope you two can work things out. Mr. Bowen has such kindness in his heart.”
She gave my arm a friendly pat and then turned back to her group. Just then Nigel joined them and I realized he must have made some dinner arrangement for us. Catching sight of me in the corner of his eye, he scowled darkly and led the Vogels away.
Emily grasped Arthur’s hand and the two began a little skip up the promenade. I hesitated, then glanced at Basil, who frowned and jerked his head in their direction. I forced myself to follow.
For a time, Emily and Arthur went up and down several decks and appeared to be playing some kind of chase game, but the older girl always kept a watchful eye on her charge. Basil remained just a few feet behind, silently goading me on. At one point they met up with Mr. Colley. He delayed them for quite some time—a flirtation had clearly sprung up between he and Miss Moore. While they were talking I was able to hide behind a group of walkers and move unseen past them. Positioning myself in a corner up ahead, I looked back and saw Arthur was insisting that they continue playing. Phil reluctantly moved on—with several glances back at Miss Moore’s retreating figure.
I turned so that I was facing three-quarters towards the sea. Without any pretending, my shoulders started to heave and a series of sobs broke out of me.
As I had planned—and feared—I suddenly heard: “Mrs. Bowen!”
I slowly turned and Emily was standing next to me.
“You poor dear! Standing out here shivering and sobbing—and all because of that awful man!” She fumed while still glancing toward Arthur who was now scrambling over a nearby deck chair.
Emily took hold of my shoulders and gave me a stern woman-to-woman look. “I’m only telling you this because I have heard the marriage is over: Mr. Bowen tried to make love to me our second day out! You are well rid of him!”
“Yes—yes…That’s what everyone says,” I said, weeping and for a moment unable to get any further words out. Basil walked by and gave me a threatening glare over Emily’s shoulder. She seemed about to turn away so I burst into fresh tears. “But—but still—I can’t help but…”
I fell into a kind of faint and Emily blindly reached out to stop my fall. She led me to an empty deck chair and helped me into it. Behind her I caught a lightning-quick glimpse of Basil grasping Arthur’s hand. I closed my eyes and an unplanned and uncontrollable wail poured out.
Emily looked at me with true alarm. “We must get you to the ship’s doctor at once! Let me just collect Arthur and we’ll—”
She looked around from one side to another.
“Arthur! Arthur!” she called out in annoyance. “He was right over there just seconds ago. Oh, dear. ARTHUR!”
I couldn’t go through with it. I immediately leapt up and ran in the direction Basil had moved. Surely I could still stop this from happening. “This way!” I cried to Emily.
Emily paused, confused and worried. “Are you sure? Did you see him?”
“No—I…” I stumbled. “Well, why don’t I go this way and you go the other? One of us is sure to find him!”
Emily instantly agreed and we parted. I hurriedly dodged my way through the crowds looking for any sign of Arthur or Basil.
After moving up and down endless corridors and decks in a desperate and increasingly pointless search, I eventually met up with the now truly alarmed Emily on the Bridge Deck. There was nothing to do but go to the Vogels’ r
oom in the hope—futile, I knew—that the boy had been returned there. In our panic we had forgotten that they were on their way to dinner, so after checking the dining saloon, we went to the Verandah Café and Café Parisien before finally locating them in the À la Carte Restaurant. I noticed that Nigel wasn’t with the party. Emily ran to them, just as a steward handed Mr. Vogel a piece of paper, which he read. He immediately turned ashen and started shaking.
I couldn’t go over there and pretend to that terrified and frantic couple that I didn’t know what was happening. After wavering a moment, I decisively turned and ran down the passage.
The plan was for me to return to my room where Gerard was waiting; I was to provide his alibi by calling in a steward who would see us together. Though I was deliberately kept in the dark about the details, I had overheard Gerard and Basil mention the mail storage room on one of the lowest decks as a possible ransom drop-off location. It was apparently a remote spot, and I gambled that Basil might be holding the boy somewhere nearby.
Making my way down was difficult; I had but a vague idea of the layout of the ship beyond first class. I only knew that the post office was toward the front on G Deck, directly below the squash court and barely above the water line. The mail sorting room was underneath the post office and would surely be deserted at this late hour. Twice I had to turn back when kindly stewards pointed me back toward my “appropriate” area.
Finally, after many dead ends, I came upon the darkened mail storage hold. It was terribly quiet, and my leather heels echoed loudly in the narrow passage. No one seemed to be about, and the sorting room door and the other nearby doors were all locked. As I turned to see if there was a back way into the hold, I was suddenly slammed against the wall.
My head hit the surface with a force that stunned me. I slid helplessly to the floor in a sort of whiplashed daze and dimly registered Gerard’s furious face. Though in a stupor, I still found myself wondering how he’d found me. Then I realized he’d known all along that I couldn’t go through with the plot and had obviously followed me. I must have momentarily blacked out, for the next thing I was aware of was being shoved into a darkened hold. I landed in a heap, my head pounding and the wind knocked out of me.
A small voice piped up out of the near darkness.
“Did you bring my dog, Ladybelle? That ugly man promised to take me to her, but I don’t see her anywhere…”
Chapter 23
Nigel Bowen
Atlantic Ocean
Sunday, April 14, 1912, 11:30 PM
I was beginning to wonder if it might not make sense to transfer my belongings out of Phil’s room and into the smoking room; I was certainly spending enough time there lately. I was supposed to have dinner with the Vogels, and had been on my way to the restaurant with them, but since Celia had revealed her true self, I didn’t very much feel like being around other people. I begged their forgiveness, claiming that I didn’t feel well, and after promising Mrs. Vogel that I would go see the doctor right away, I went back to Phil’s suite, where the events of the past five days finally caught up with me. I slept for several hours. When I woke up I had no other place to go, so I entered the smoking room for a drink. The first person I saw was Randolph Davies.
I’d managed to avoid him since the scene with Emily at the lower deck staircase. Now he was sitting alone at the bar and studying a telegram. After a moment, he placed it inside his coat pocket and then grimaced painfully, as though he’d poked a wound. Looking up, he gave me a strange half smile. I decided to meet matters head-on.
“Good evening, Mr. Davies,” I said formally. “No doubt you’ve heard that I’ve utterly failed in my attempts at sobriety—not to mention physical restraint—and that my marriage is at an end. On a positive note, I’ve saved you a great deal of money.”
To my surprise he gave a bitter chuckle—a slightly drunken one.
“My boy, I hope you live to be as old as I,” he said, sounding tired. “You’ll learn that money ultimately matters very little. I don’t know why you pretend to be a swine and I no longer care. But take my advice: Find your wife, kiss her with all the longing you so obviously feel, and to hell with all the rest of it.”
At that, he pushed himself up from the bar and staggered toward the door. My astonishment lasted only seconds as Mr. Davies’s exit coincided with the entrance of Herbert Vogel and a stricken-looking Emily Moore. Women were a rare sight in the smoking room so I immediately knew something was amiss.
“Mr. Bowen, we’ve been looking all over for you! I beg you to help us!” Vogel said desperately. His hands were shaking as he gave me a note. In deliberately crude block letters it read:
If you wish to see Master Arthur again, drop off $25,000 cash in a small suitcase outside the Marconi Office at 1:00 AM. If you fail or if you alert any authorities, Arthur will be tossed over the rail.
Of course my immediate thought was Remy and Celia. So this was it, the real reason they had boarded the ship. Despite my hatred of Remy and the disgust I felt at Celia for being involved in such a low operation, I had to acknowledge that theirs was a first-rate plan. They had all the cards. The child could be anywhere on the massive ship and could be disposed of in seconds if the need arose.
I shoved the note into my pocket and steered Vogel and Emily to the darkened side of the room. “I can’t go into how I know this, but you must trust what I tell you. The man who took Arthur is a Frenchman named Gerard Remy. He is being helped by—by…” I hesitated long enough for the two to look at me questioningly. “By a tall, bald Englishman named Basil. We have to search the ship from top to bottom.”
“Come now, Mr. Bowen! Surely we must alert the officers,” Emily said to me dismissively; she clearly still held a grudge. “How on earth can the three of us cover the entire ship?”
“If we go to an officer, I assure you these men will carry out their threat,” I said heatedly. She was, of course, right that we stood no chance of searching the whole of the Titanic. I looked around in frustration and spotted Phil coming through the entrance. His face lit up at the sight of Emily but just as quickly fell when he saw our grave expressions. After flagging him over, I quickly filled the young man in on the extraordinary developments. As he listened with amazement, Vogel spoke up.
“We will never find these kidnappers!” Vogel insisted, sick with worry. “And I have the money. Violet’s aunt gave it to us in London. She distrusts banks and insisted we take a large amount of cash to use for Arthur’s education.”
I wondered how Remy could possibly have known that, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it.
“You’ll pay only as a last resort. The money is the only leveraging power you have,” I warned. “For now, we search. Phil, you, and Miss Moore take first class. It’s unlikely they would hold Arthur so near his parents, but then again, they might just be counting on our thinking that. Vogel, you search the second class quarters. I’ll take steerage. If you see either of these men, do nothing except follow them. We’ll meet back here in thirty minutes.”
I hurriedly gave them more detailed physical descriptions of Remy and Basil. We then checked our watches and started out. But as I held open the door for Emily, something curious happened. A pronounced trembling suddenly ran through the ship. It started low and increased quickly in strength. The four of us looked at one another in puzzlement, and I had the absurd idea that the great liner had abruptly gone aground and run across a billion marbles.
As we stepped into the bitter night cold, I saw a man leaning over the deck rail excitedly pointing toward the front of the ship.
“We hit an iceberg—there it is!”
Chapter 24
Nigel Bowen
Atlantic Ocean
Sunday, April 14, 1912, 11:45 PM
I peered into the night and saw a large, dark shape. There was no moon, but by the dim light of the stars I was able to make out the floating mountain of ice.
“We went right up against it!” the man was yelling. “Ice fell on
the decks below!”
“An iceberg?” Emily said, squinting out at the sea. “But that’s ridiculous!”
“Actually, we’ve been sailing through fields of ice since this afternoon,” Philip observed with a touch of concern in his voice. He took Emily’s hand. “Perhaps you should go to your father, Miss Moore.”
“Absolutely not!” she protested. “It’s completely my fault that Arthur was taken, and I won’t rest until he is found!”
Curious passengers began spilling out onto the deck to see what the commotion was about, and nearly all seemed taken aback by the fierce cold.
“Maybe we can use this to our advantage if we act quickly,” I said. “Remy and Basil are bound to come out to see what is happening. Everyone search the outside decks of your assigned area!”
But just as we began to separate, something even more curious—and alarming—occurred.
The Titanic came to a complete stop.
Everyone milling about on the decks looked around in confusion. Excited and puzzled questions were met by shrugs and even tipsy laughter. But suddenly a deafening roar drowned the voices out. We all looked up to see the four massive funnels releasing great billowing clouds of steam into the still night air.
I didn’t take time to observe more. I hurried to the nearest crew ladder, as I guessed it would be the fastest way to get to the lower decks. As I dodged through the gathering crowds on the Bridge Deck, where most of the first class cabins were located, I nearly toppled a harried-looking woman wearing a heavy fur coat over a pink nightgown—Mrs. Sedgwick.
“Mr. Bowen!” she cried. “What in heaven’s name is this ruckus about? Why have we stopped?”
“There’s talk of an iceberg, Mrs. Sedgwick,” I said hurriedly as I tried to pass her. “It seems we might have brushed up against one.”
The older woman reached out and grabbed my coat. “What nonsense! I won’t stand for any kind of delay to our schedule. Just as I will not stand for your wife neglecting her obligation to me!”
Taking the Titanic Page 7
