Eliana was not fool enough to make herself her father’s target.
A man Eliana didn’t recognise – but introduced himself as Major Archibald Gracie, as if that should be meaningful to her; he was American, and the only war she could really remember America having was their civil dispute that lasted years. Childish, really; the South seemed to be full of people who had … crueller life ideals than the British. Britain had long since abolished slavery; the idea was absolutely horrendous. Regardless, Eliana had been forced to listen to Gracie’s annoying comments, a deep Southern drawl painting an unfavourable picture in Eliana’s mind of what type of man Gracie was, before he joked to Eliana’s father, “We’ll have to reschedule a squash match, old man.”
Eliana had decided to focus on the band playing, as opposed to her father’s answer, before an officer came forward. She didn’t care for squash, and she doubted the American had anything of interest to say. Americans seldom had anything interesting to say at all.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the officer called, before waiting a spell and calling again, “May I please have your attention, ladies and gentlemen.” The man was calm, tall and broad, projecting a safe confidence Eliana enjoyed. “If I could please ask you to move to the Boat Deck, we will be begin boarding the first lifeboats soon. We are already starting to fill lifeboats seven and five on the starboard side, so if you’d kindly make your way there, the Captain would greatly appreciate it. We will, of course, be boarding women and children first, though I would not expect any gentleman to object to such an order.”
Several men surrounding her nodded in agreement – a few Americans shouted “hear, hear” (what was with Americans?) – and Eliana realised that Andrews had exited the gymnasium, and her father did not look pleased.
“Should we head out?” Eliana asked, turning to her father, trying not to hold her breath.
Albert looked around, listening to the passengers’ laughter. Hardly anyone had left the warmth and comfort of the gymnasium, with many passengers resuming their conversations as if the officer had not spoken aloud. Eliana watched as her father considered his next words carefully. “I do not think it’s necessary just yet, Eliana, but you can if you will. I think we will bide our time a little longer; perhaps, with a touch of luck, the Captain will forgo this madness, and we can return to our suites.”
Eliana smiled dutifully, as she reached for a glass of champagne a waiter was holding out, taking it, sipping it softly, deciding that she would make the most of the late night, especially if she were to spend some of it in a small wooden boat. “As you wish, Papa,” Eliana replied. As Georgiana shivered in the cold, Eliana couldn’t help but sneer, “Well, it’s not my fault you didn’t take the time to dress properly.”
Georgiana did not meet her sister’s eye, and a pang of remorse filled Eliana’s abdomen.
She wished she wasn’t always so vile, but it wasn’t her fault that Georgiana vexed her so.
And it certainly wasn’t Eliana’s fault that her sister had not been bright enough to change into warmer gear.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Adene
Many of the steerage passengers lined the hallways with their luggage now, sitting calmly, waiting. Adene wanted to scream at them – did they not feel the ship was sinking? Did they not see the flickering lights, or hear the water rushing around them? Did they not feel the list? The list had been growing steadily more prominent, and occasionally it felt as if the ship were tipping from side to side, though she could not be sure.
Did they not care that the water was rising in some corridors, even if it wasn’t taking them all?
Adene looked up at the white pipes lining Scotland Road; she was trying to work out where she was. She had seen a door the other day labelled ‘Emergency Exit’, but she could not remember where it was.
I must find Isla, Adene prayed. She couldn’t leave the ship without her daughter; she wouldn’t.
Adene stopped as she saw Abigail, her daughter’s porcelain doll, and most prized possession. Adene and Robert had bought it for Isla’s fifth birthday, saving the entire year to afford it. Isla didn’t go anywhere without Abigail, especially since her father’s death. Adene’s body froze in terror; she watched as water lapped around the doll, the hair collecting seawater. She grabbed it, clutching it to her breast as if it were Isla herself, and opened the door to a room she’d never seen before, wondering what she might find, if Isla had somehow ended up here.
The water was two feet deep in the room, and already Adene’s feet were somehow both numb and burning with pain; it felt as if she’d walked through both fire and shards of glass simultaneously. The ship lurched again, rolling port; the door of the cabin slammed shut, and the small porthole, partially submerged, burst open. Icy cold water embraced Adene, pulling her down into the abyss. She ached to breathe, her lungs bursting; it was all she could do to fight the spasms in her chest as her body contorted, desperate for air. She fought to the surface of the room, managing to gasp a small breath, before the icy water dragged her down again. Adene did not know how to swim; she’d never had the opportunity to learn, and she did not fancy finding a proper swimsuit to find out how to swim.
Though, as the cold pierced her body, she could not help but wonder if swimming lessons would prove valuable. Already, the cold was seeping through her, making her tire.
Adene prayed her daughter was safe, somewhere with Claire, and that Claire would take care of her; she knew she could not hold her breath any longer. Her chest ached, her head felt cloudy, and black spots were already clouding her vision.
Adene, embracing her end, thought of her darling Robert, and her heart swelled at the thought that, soon, she would be reunited with him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Barrett
“Get those bloody manhole covers open, now!” shouted Harvey, as soon as Barrett had returned to the stokehold with the lamps he’d collected from the engineer’s room; he’d also bought with him at least forty firemen and trimmers, ready to serve their duty. Barrett wiped cold sweat from his blackened brow; trying to gather his breath. The engineers were running all around him now; the stokers, still fanning the coals, were working tirelessly against the rise of the water; the engineers held thick pumps, designed to pump the ocean water back out.
But will it be enough?
According to Barrett’s watch, it was only quarter past midnight; the Titanic had collided with the iceberg only half an hour past, and he could already feel the list in the ship. There was a sharp slope towards the bow now, and walking to the stern was as if one were walking up a cliff that only appeared small; however, once you began the journey, your thighs ached as you wondered how such a thing could be so deceptive. When he proposed to Mary, all those years ago, he’d walked her to the top of a grassy knoll, that hadn’t seemed steep when he’d first decided to picnic there. Mary’s feet had ached by the end of the journey, though once he proposed, she forgot about all her aches and pains. She had embraced him with a tender, passionate kiss that the pair had never before shared. Barrett had felt Mary’s desire as much as he’d felt his own.
He missed Mary.
“Keep on raking, men!” Barrett ordered; the ship would be doomed if a boiler exploded. Even now, he was by and sure they were fighting a losing battle. He knew Bell and the engineers did not think so – they seemed to think the Titanic could be salvaged, if they worked tirelessly enough – but Barrett was starting to feel like the ship was fucked, and it was just a matter of time before the rest realised it, too.
Barrett wondered if it were God’s sick sense of humour that he’d taken his job to leave Mary for some time – not officially, but so that he could have some space, before they worked on their marriage – and now the very ship he was serving might mean he would never lay eyes on his wife again. He’d never get the opportunity to tell her just how much she meant to him, and that he was sorry for eve
r making her feel less than perfect. Barrett loved the sea, but he loved his Mary more.
His body ached; she had been an unfaithful wife, and he a bad husband. If the gods make this right, and I survive this night, I pray that I can be with Mary again, show her the love and affection she has so longed for. Barrett shook his head, which was now dripping with water. He used a crowbar to pry the manhole cover open – a necessity, for the pumps. As the water combined with the hot embers, more steam began to fill the boiler room, creating a sauna.
The steam and sweat burnt Barrett’s brown eyes, but he ignored it; he had a job that needed completing. A moment later, he heard someone shout, “Where’s all this bloody water coming from?”
Though he couldn’t see who he was shouting at, he replied sardonically, “From the ocean, I expect. Where the fuck do you think it’s coming from, you dumb curd?”
“Oh, fuck off, mate,” the man retorted, though Barrett could tell from his voice he recognised Barrett as much as Barrett recognised him.
Barrett squinted through the haze, sure a figure was running toward him and therefore the open manhole he’d just been ordered to open, but before he could be sure, nor warn the man, he fell into the opened hole, and let out a shriek that pierced even through the noise of the boilers and rising steam. The man’s scream echoed through Boiler Room 6, and a few men ran to the injured man’s cry.
“For God’s sakes, help me!” the man wept, and Barrett immediately dropped down, water lapping around his body as he reached to look down into the well; Harvey ran beside him, dropping beside Barrett.
“Oh my god, it’s Shep,” Harvey cried. “Shep, it’s me, Herbie. Me and Fred are gonna get you out, mate.”
“I fucking broke my leg, Herbert,” Shepherd sobbed. Barrett stared at the young man, a junior engineer, at the bottom of the six feet footwell. He liked Shepherd, making the daunting realisation all the harder to bear. “Broken” was an understatement; the shin bone had penetrated the Shepherd’s skin and pants. “I don’t want to die, Herb, I really don’t.” He was crying now, blinking repeatedly as the water spilling into the well hit him in the face. Barrett had never seen a man grown cry before. He tried not to turn away; he knew Shepherd needed someone brave, not a craven man who cared more for his own skin.
If the only solace Barrett could offer Shepherd was false hope, Barrett would offer it.
“We’re not leaving you, Shep,” vowed Harvey. “Fred and me are gonna get you out, you here? You’re gonna be alright.”
Barrett admired Harvey’s steely determination but found the endeavour fruitless. He didn’t want to leave Shepherd below – he would never dream of abandoning a man to suffer such a death, with the water slowly swirling around him, taunting him of his awaiting fate – but surely Harvey had to know how empty his promises were. The only way Shepherd wasn’t going to die was if the ship didn’t sink. As the slant seemed to grow ever so slightly every few minutes, Barrett doubted it would be likely they’d save the liner, no matter how obstinate the men were. He knew enough to know that his chances of making it to a lifeboat were slim, if there were even lifeboats left by the time he made it to the Boat Deck. Barrett wasn’t a fool; ships never carried enough lifeboats for all the passengers and crew. In times past, before Barrett was ever at sea, ships that were lost were lost too quickly. The idea of a lifeboat was absurd. Now, ships were all but sinkable, especially the grand passenger liners. That meant that the Titanic, unique in her technological advancement, would not have near enough. Barrett knew bureaucrats; he had worked to avoid them his whole life. They wouldn’t want extra lifeboats, because the deck would be too cluttered. He knew that Andrews had designed the Titanic to be its own lifeboat, so there wouldn’t be any consideration in adding extra lifeboats.
Which meant that, if Barrett, a perfectly able lead fireman, was unlikely to survive, what chances did a man with a broken leg have? It wasn’t that he didn’t care.
He genuinely liked Shep.
And while terror and dread hadn’t seized Barrett’s heart – nor had it the men around him, who were working, shouting to each other over the thumps, bumps and hisses – it wasn’t because he was unaware of what they were facing. It was because they had a duty to do. Their duty was to pledge fealty to the ship; they would not abandon their effort to save the Titanic, even if it likely cost them their lives. However, he could not deny the cheerfulness of some men; he thought them fools, trusting too much in the safety that technology always appeared to offer.
“How are we going to lift him out, Harvey?” Barrett whispered. They ignored the fury of the other workers; some had been taken from boiler rooms one to four, where they hadn’t realised the ship had struck ice – one man had come in and said, “I thought we’d hit bloody Newfoundland. We was laughing about it, we were, about how the landlubbers couldn’t wait to reach America, so’s they hit the rocks. Didn’t realise there was real trouble” – and others had been roused from their slumber. Regardless, each fireman, stoker, trimmer, and engineer, irrespective of rank or position, was fighting to keep the ship afloat.
It was fortitude, of course, and sheer determination; but it was more than that. Each man working knew that they were the only hope the ship had. If they failed, the vessel would founder; if the ship foundered, they would have no chance of survival. Even the most cowardly of men – though Barrett had yet to meet one under his command – was wise enough to know that their survival was linked to that of the ship’s they served.
“Alright, Fred, you’re gonna go get some rope, and I’m going to climb down there –”
“Don’t you dare, Herb!”
“– and then I’ll help lift him out, with the rope attached to the other side. You can pull Shep, keep him steady. I’ll then climb out after him.”
“What about his leg?” Harvey frowned at Barrett’s question.
“Find something – anything – you can, to splint it. It’s a long way up. We can carry him, but it’ll be too hard without a shunt. Find something that’ll hold until he can see the surgeon.” Barrett nodded in reply; Harvey didn’t seem to share Barrett’s fears the vessel wouldn’t hold. Perhaps I’m the fool, Barrett though. He wasn’t an engineer like Harvey and Shep were; maybe he didn’t know what calamity the liner could recover from. He’d never served such a large vessel before, unlike both the men before him. Barrett knew from conversations they’d shared the two men had served together on the Olympic, which explained the general affection and comradeship the pair shared. It hadn’t been fostered over fourteen days, but rather closer to two years.
“Herb, just leave me, hey. Don’t come down here.” The water, which was slowly trickling down, was now at Shepherd’s ankles. Despite the man’s solemn conviction, terror waived his voice, his fate already written in his eyes.
“Don’t be stupid,” responded Barrett; he was going to take Harvey’s attitude. The ship wouldn’t sink, he wouldn’t let it; he had to return to his Mary. “We’re getting you out, Shepherd. We aren’t leaving you below. You’re not destined for a watery grave.”
Barrett turned on his heel, trying not to think, not yet, at least.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Cecilia
“Henry?” whispered Cecilia, searching for the light switch. Not only was Henry’s room smaller than Cecilia’s suite, it was designed differently. Cecilia found the right wall and reached for the light switch, turning it on – this time hissing Henry’s name – only for the light to reveal his single bed was empty, the covers thrown over, as if he’d exited in a hurry. Cecilia frowned, moving closer to Henry’s bed, wondering where he’d gone.
Doesn’t matter, she told herself firmly; she had come here for her comb, not Henry. If someone discovered it in Henry’s possession, she would be a ruined woman, and she would not even have her good name to cling to. On top of which, her sisters would be affected by the scandal; even though they’d married, rumours would circulate, and like with Madelei
ne, Georgiana and Eliana would be shunned in some circles. If they became truly ruined, her sisters would not be able to return to court, affecting their social standing for some time. Cecilia could not afford to allow that to happen, especially not to her sisters.
No one would believe she were still a virgin, because the evidence against her would be the comb. What virginal woman let her hair down in the presence of a man that was not her brother or husband? And she’d been fool enough to forget wearing gloves to Henry’s room, an issue inexcusable on any occasion. Not wearing a hat drew derision in and of itself. Cecilia was standing in a man’s room, all but naked, wearing scant more than her nightclothes, her hands bare, and her hair, loose, tousled and untamed. She had not taken the time to think and dress appropriately; but she had not also expected so many passengers to be roused, filling the corridors. She assumed she’d be able to run downstairs and back in a matter of minutes; but it had taken at least twenty for her to reach Henry’s room, if not longer.
Focus, she told herself, trying to remind herself she had a time limit. Cecilia needed to return above before her family noticed her absence; she had not expected it to take as long as it did to arrive at Henry’s suite. Perhaps she had been overly cautious, too incensed with not being noticed; she should have hurried. She hurried over to Henry’s wash bin, to see if he’d put it on the side, or against the stand near his bedside. Both areas were empty, at least at first glance. A sudden, sharp knock came at the door, startling Cecilia so much she almost yelped.
“Anyone in here?” called a steward’s voice, and Cecilia held her tongue, despite her body’s natural urge. The steward would have the call roster, which registered the room to a Mr Henry Hamilton, would know Cecilia immediately did not belong here. If he recognised her at all, the gossip would be spread about by the ship before morning, especially on a night such as this, where all anyone would have to distract them was the disintegrating lives of others.
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