“Atrocious timing, isn’t it? But as I told you, I had bad feelings about this scheme from the beginning.” Remy sighed. “Yes, it appears that the Titanic is sinking. And it seems the only way I can board a lifeboat is if I accompany a child. So I’m afraid as the ship goes down, mon belle, you go with it.”
He kicked out his foot. It landed in the middle of my stomach, sending me reeling backward. I plunged again into the freezing water—the shock of Gerard’s action compounded by the shock of icy-cold water.
I flailed about wildly and tried to right myself in order to swim, but the current dragged me away from the stairs back down the corridor. Because of the tilt of the ship, the farther down the passage I was carried, the higher the water was to the ceiling. I wasn’t even trying to swim at this point—I was just grasping about in the dark water, trying desperately to cling to anything I could grab.
The back of my wrist slammed against a hard metal surface. I reached out with my other hand and took hold of what I quickly realized was the rung of a ladder up to the next deck. My strength was all but gone; still, I clung with what little I had left.
Looking up through the opening in the deck floor, I could see people rushing about, but all I could hear was the roiling water, now rising faster than ever. There was no way I could pull myself out of the portal. I let out one final scream—a choking inhuman sound that I knew no one could hear over the turmoil.
I felt all the fight slip out of me. I closed my eyes in exhaustion and surrender. As I let go of the rung, a hand suddenly plunged down and roughly took hold of my forearm. In spite of the numbness coursing through my body, a shot of pain ripped down my arm from where the hand gripped me with astonishing strength. For a moment I tried to fight it—by now I wanted to let go.
But my eyes flew open and through my tears and the stinging salt water I saw a face looking down at me.
It was Nigel Bowen.
Chapter 28
Celia Bowen
Atlantic Ocean
Monday, April 15, 1912, 1:55 AM
“How…how…” I tried to speak but was overwhelmed by cold and fatigue. Nigel seemed to be dragging me up several decks, one after another, but I was completely disoriented as to where we were. I just knew that the tilt of the passage was getting steeper and steeper.
“How did I find you?” Nigel asked as he pulled me along. “I heard your scream. I’d only heard it once before—but I knew I’d never forget it.”
“Nigel…I have so much to tell you,” I gasped. “That girl who was murdered—Gerard and Basil framed you!”
I could feel the shock run through his body. “What! But why?”
“She double-crossed Gerard. And they wanted to stop you from helping me.”
“Dear God! It was the shock of my life when I found that poor girl in my room—I’m still amazed I escaped the police,” Nigel said bitterly. “But there’ll be time to clear everything up, Celia. Right now we need to get you to a lifeboat.”
“But Arthur! Gerard has Arthur!”
We came out on the Boat Deck on the starboard side. The bitter night air was startling—but that surprise was nothing compared to seeing the front of the Titanic almost completely under water. The bow lights remained lit underneath the seawater, casting strange reflections and shadows over the gathered crowd. Out in the dark ocean I saw seven or eight lifeboats that looked like little more than faint white dots bobbing in the blackness. Incredibly, there was indeed an orchestra on the deck briskly playing what now sounded like a waltz. The musicians wore strained smiles that made the surrounding confusion that much more frightening.
I was still trying to process how any of this was possible when I saw Phil arguing with Emily in front of what seemed to be one of the few remaining lifeboats. The Vogels stood next to them and were having what appeared to be a similar disagreement. Nigel steered me toward them.
“I’m not getting in!” Emily was insisting hysterically. “Not without my father and certainly not until Arthur is found! And—and not without you!”
Phil turned to us with a pleading look. “Mr. Bowen! Please talk some sense into her and Mrs. Vogel. So few boats are left!”
Nigel took both Emily and Mrs. Vogel’s arms.
“Ladies, you must get in,” Nigel said forcefully. “And I humbly ask you to tend to my wife.”
“Listen to him, my dear,” Mr. Vogel begged his wife.
“How can I?” she cried in utter despair. “I don’t know where my son is!”
I turned to the Vogels, Phil, and Emily. “You’re all to get into the lifeboats. Nigel and I will find Arthur. It’s our responsibility.”
I looked at Nigel, and though he began to protest he stopped himself and simply took hold of my hand. He raised it to his mouth and kissed it.
“See here,” Phil protested. “I can’t agree to that. Why—”
“Nigel and I are thieves,” I blurted out with exasperation. “I stole your gold watch and he took your bag, Miss Moore. We’ve cheated at cards and robbed other passengers. And I could have stopped the kidnapping of Arthur but I didn’t. Nigel and I have much to atone for. So I beg you all—please get in the lifeboat!”
Their astonished expressions quickly gave way to further arguing.
Finally, the officer loading the boat brusquely commanded the ladies to either get in the boat or step away from it. Mr. Vogel pressed Phil’s hand.
“Please, Mr. Colley,” he said. “You’re young and perhaps even in love. And the greatest gift you could give me is the peace of mind of knowing my wife is safe and in good hands while I search for our son.”
The officer gave the signal to start lowering the boat, so with a look of pained acceptance, Phil deftly jostled the still-protesting ladies into the craft. Once they were seated, the boat descended and Phil raised his hand in sad farewell. Just before the vessel vanished into the darkness I saw Mrs. Sedgwick staring up at me. There were tears in her eyes.
“Remy!” Nigel shouted.
I turned to see Gerard at the far end of the deck waiting to board a lifeboat—Arthur still in his arms. Mr. Vogel cried with joy at the sight and began running toward them. He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a slim brick of bills. He waved them at Gerard.
Nigel and I ran after him but two officers who were trying to separate women and children from the men blocked our way. At the sight of Mr. Vogel’s money, Gerard pivoted toward him and grabbed the bills. Mr. Vogel used his other hand to reach out for Arthur, but in the entanglement of arms Gerard elbowed Mr. Vogel in his chest. The poor man went reeling backward and fell against the listing rail. He teetered there for a moment, then plunged over into the black ocean.
I screamed in horror.
Gerard gave me a startled glare, then jumped out of the boat line and bolted toward the nearest deck entrance. But just then, a swarm of passengers up from steerage came rushing out. In frustration, Gerard flung little Arthur directly into the mob and began running the other way.
“Get Arthur!” I implored Nigel as I ran after Gerard.
I saw him head up past the fourth funnel, clearly heading for a lifeboat on the port side of the ship. He leapt across a rope piling but his foot caught a loop and he fell onto the deck. I threw myself on him.
We struggled and rolled across the floor. All the anger and hurt of the years with him seemed to bubble up inside me and gave me strength I didn’t know I had. Taken aback by the ferocity of my attack, he fought me viciously. He straddled my torso and put his hands around my throat. I pounded on his chest and clutched at his clothing. And suddenly I felt the hard metal of his gun in his side coat pocket.
I yanked it out.
As I attempted to take proper hold of the pistol, he tried knocking it out of my hand with his knee. Meanwhile, he increased his brutal choking. I twisted and flailed and felt I was beginning to lose consciousness. But just then I heard a great hissing sound. My eyes flew open, and above his head I saw a distress flare soar gracefully up into the night sky,
then explode into a shower of sparks. Startled by the noise and sudden light burst, he involuntarily dropped his guard and looked up.
I shot him squarely in the face.
Chapter 29
Nigel Bowen
Atlantic Ocean
Monday, April 15, 1912, 2:05 AM
Celia had disappeared into the shadows before I could stop her. I turned and shoved my way through the mass of terrified people. It was like battling a tidal wave, especially as we were all fighting the tilt as the ship’s front sank lower and the stern began to lift. People were falling and rolling about the deck; I was knocked down and trampled. I had to shove a screaming woman off my pinned leg in order to pull myself to the interior wall.
It was there I saw Davies—and he was clutching Arthur.
The old man was angrily shouting at the people around him—mostly immigrants who probably understood little to no English. “I have a child here! I must get him to a boat!” he roared.
I pushed and fought my way through the crowd. Arthur was red-faced and wide-eyed—but not crying. I wondered if he was in some kind of shock.
“Bowen!” Davies cried. “Take the boy. Get him to a boat—they’ll let you on if you are with the child!”
“We can both take him,” I protested, as I scooped Arthur into my arms.
“Don’t be a bloody fool!” Davies swore. “I’m an old man. I already got my death sentence today in a telegram. But that doesn’t matter. I’ve lived my life—make sure this boy gets the chance to live his!”
His tired eyes beseeched me. “And if you do truly love your wife, you won’t give up your own life without a fight!”
I put out my hand and he grasped it firmly, then used our clasp to push off from me. Almost immediately, the now thoroughly panicked crowd swallowed him.
Holding Arthur as firmly as possible, I made our way toward the stern. I saw that no boats were left on this side of the ship, so I began making my way over to the other side.
“Where’s mommy and daddy?” Arthur asked, sounding both scared and sleepy.
“Your mother is in one of those lifeboats out there,” I said as matter-of-factly as I could manage. “So we must get you in one so you can join her when another ship comes by to pick us all up.”
I climbed up to the compass platform, which gave me a view of the entire ship; it was now more than halfway under water. And only one lifeboat was left, just past the fourth funnel. I started making my way toward it.
“Nigel!”
Celia staggered out of the shadows. She reached out to help me hold up the now-sleeping Arthur. There was blood matting her beautiful golden hair.
“You’re bleeding!” I cried.
“It’s Gerard’s. He’s dead,” she said breathlessly. “It doesn’t matter—we must get Arthur to that boat!”
Celia hopped down onto the Boat Deck and took Arthur from my arms. The last small craft was near overflowing. It contained mostly women, though there were two or three men in it with their children. On deck, a group of men—some terrified, some stoic—were standing by as the officer in charge made one last call for women and children.
“Here!” I cried as I guided Celia and Arthur through the men. Celia halted and pushed Arthur back into my arms.
“You take him,” she said desperately. “They won’t let you on otherwise!”
She started to back away but I grabbed her. “Celia, that’s absurd. You must take him to his mother!”
The officer barked out, “Put the child in the boat! We must shove off now!”
Celia looked at me wildly and dug her hand into my arm. “Please do this for me, Nigel. I—I love you. I have from nearly the moment we met. But Gerard made me terrified of ever caring for anyone again. And so all I’ve done is lie, cheat, steal, and hurt people. Aside from loving you, my life has been worthless—let my death have some value.”
“Never! Darling, I can’t—”
Just then a great crashing noise split the already chaotic night; the funnels were collapsing under pressure from the rising sea. Everyone on deck began screaming and the officer shouted for the lifeboat to be lowered. Celia used the distraction to cut off my protest. Clutching me tightly, she kissed me with unbearably tender passion. Then without looking up, she shoved herself away from me and turned her body around to face the rail.
She dove off the side of the ship.
I bellowed in grief and fury and impulsively started after her, wresting my body toward the rail.
But I still had Arthur in my arms.
Utterly distraught, I started back toward the lifeboat—only to see that it had already lowered.
“Oh, my god,” I groaned. I looked around desperately, but I knew already that there were no boats. I had not only lost Celia but I had failed to save Arthur.
The remaining lights on the ship sputtered several times, then went out. I collapsed onto the darkened deck, spent and devoid of hope.
“Where is our boat?” Arthur asked through a yawn. “When do we sail?”
I looked directly into the child’s inquisitive eyes. “There are no more boats, Arthur. I’m so sorry, my boy.”
Arthur frowned, then looked around.
“Let’s build one!” he cried. “We’ll put all the deck chairs together and float away on them!”
His excitement broke my heart. He jumped up and began piling collapsed chairs on top of each other. I noticed a tarp that had covered one of the lifeboats lying to the side. The plan was doomed to failure, but I suddenly felt I had to at least try. I quickly gathered up the tarp and flung it over the heap of chairs. I used the ropes that threaded its side to bind the bundle together.
By this point the stern was rising rapidly; we would be pitched into the ocean at any moment. I pulled Arthur on top of the makeshift flotilla and pushed it down the deck to where the water was surging. It hit with a freezing spray, and jumping on top, I used my legs to kick us away from the deck.
The raft initially started to submerge but soon stabilized, and I was able to use a broken chair leg to paddle away from the ship. I rowed and rowed until my arms could take no more. I fell back in exhaustion and finally looked behind us.
I was just in time to see the darkened shell of the Titanic take its final plunge under the water.
Chapter 30
Nigel Bowen
Atlantic Ocean
Monday, April 15, 1912, 9:10 AM
In the dim morning, I at last saw a hulking gray rescue ship headed our way. I painfully lifted my arm and began waving.
But then I saw that it wasn’t a ship after all, just another small but bulky iceberg silently floating by. The ice field was now full of debris from the Titanic: clothes, planks, broken furniture, oil slicks, and frozen bodies.
In my desperation to avoid getting sucked under by the ship’s plunge, I had rowed us too far beyond the groupings of lifeboats. By the time I realized my mistake, the current had taken us out of their orbit.
Arthur was now curled in my arms, shivering uncontrollably. The tarp we sat on had gotten soaked through and was a sheet of ice. My legs were almost completely numb.
I couldn’t keep my head up any longer and looked for a way I might stretch out on our tiny raft. Something in the passing debris caught my eye, and I saw an enormous steamer trunk, half submerged in the water. Another dead body was flung across the top; the frozen hands looked like white claws clutching the sides. I then saw a faint puff of what looked like frosty breath over the person’s head. I peered closer. It wasn’t breath.
It was the smoke from a large freighter in the distance behind the trunk.
I lurched up, nearly upsetting the rickety raft. I quickly laid Arthur out and grabbed at a white steward shirt that was floating by.
“Ahoy! Over here! Over here!” I yelled as I began furiously waving the wet shirt. I yelled and yelled and finally—miraculously—the ship sounded its horn in acknowledgment. It turned slightly and began heading our way.
My whole body sagged
with exhausted relief and I pulled Arthur closer to me. His lips were blue and his skin had a shocking pallor. I leaned in and listened to his shallow breathing; it was clear he wouldn’t last much longer. The freighter stopped some distance off and I soon saw the crew lowering a small dinghy to retrieve us. I rubbed Arthur’s body as briskly as I could; he just needed to hang on for a little while longer.
I noticed the steamer trunk was now floating off in the other direction. One of the ghostly hands slipped down the side. It was a gruesome sight and I was about to turn away when the arm feebly lifted and sought a corner of the trunk. Incredibly, the person was still alive, if barely. They lifted their head slowly and turned my way.
My shock was equaled only by my joy.
“Celia!”
Her eyelids fluttered weakly; she seemed to be struggling to focus. Finally, her gaze locked with mine and she gave a tiny smile.
I set Arthur down as gently as I could and started frantically paddling the raft in her direction. But the current was far stronger than I had anticipated, or I had finally reached my limit; either way, the raft seemed to hardly move while the steamer trunk drifted past at a gathering speed.
I anxiously looked over to the dinghy—it was directly between us but headed my way. It could conceivably intercept the trunk if I signaled for them to move in the other direction. But wouldn’t the delay almost certainly endanger Arthur, who was so desperately in need of immediate medical attention? How could I possibly choose?
Again I sagged in defeat. There was no choice. Arthur was a young boy with his whole life ahead of him. And Celia had made her decision.
I watched the trunk drift farther and farther away.
After what seemed like hours, the dinghy finally pulled next to us. Three people sat inside including two crewmen who reached out for Arthur. We made the transfer gingerly so as to not upset the raft. I was relieved to see that the other person in the tiny boat was a doctor. He instantly wrapped the child in a blanket and began tending to him. I turned and searched the area for a sign of Celia and the trunk but there was none.
Taking the Titanic Page 9
