Chapter Seventy-Nine
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Ismay
Ismay walked as if he were in a dream and acted as if something had possessed his body. Every word he spoke surprised him, as if someone had stolen his voice and had not told him. People, particularly the Carpathia’s crew, kept pestering him. He understood of course; everyone wanted to know what had happened. Despite seeing the wreckage site with his own eyes, it was difficult to comprehend what had happened.
Last night, he had heard the screams and wails of the damned, knowing he would be damned, too.
He knew the questions would not stop; everyone would want to know how the Titanic, equipped with the world’s best technology, designed to be entirely water-tight in case of collision, sink halfway through her maiden voyage?
But the problem was, Ismay did not know why his ship had sunk. Andrews had explained that too many compartments had breached, but he could not fathom why it meant the demise of the ship. When the Olympic had collided with the Hawke, the damage she had received was catastrophic. Yet, she recovered; she was a success to the White Star Line’s superior technology.
And somehow, an iceberg had felled her.
He knew the answers laid with him. He knew he would be expected to answer everything that laid before him, but he could not. He owned the ship; he had not built it. That had been Andrews’ job. Smith’s job had been to avert disaster.
Ismay closed his eyes, remembering the iceberg warning they had received. He could not remember what he had done with it; he remembered feeling anxious when Smith had presented it to him, but then he had bumped into Mrs Thayer. A delightful woman, she had the ability to make the rest of the world disappear. Ismay had eventually returned the iceberg report, but it had been later than he had once intended.
Was the iceberg warning, the one he had held tightly in his left palm, the iceberg that struck his ship?
Had he unwittingly held the very thing that could have averted disaster?
Ismay’s stomach lurched.
He could not bear the idea.
He raised his hands to his face, crying into his palms. He had hated his father and hated it even more so when he became the owner of the White Star Line. He had been planning to retire the year after the next, to spend more time with his wife and children.
Now, Ismay was the man responsible for the deaths of thousands of people. That had been what Andrews had said, “There’s not enough boats for but half,” he told Ismay, in a tone that suggested he was thinking of the heated debate they had had over the quantity of lifeboats. Andrews, Ismay remembered, had been in favour of fitting the Titanic with lifeboats to cater to every person aboard the vessel, passenger and crew member alike.
Ismay had vetoed the idea, declaring that he’d instructed Andrews to build the water-tight technology that had been an instrument in saving the Olympic from foundering. And, of course, there had been the Republic, the White Star Line that had sunk during Ismay’s father’s reign of the company, saved by the heroic young Marconi operator, who had been able to signal for a ship to transfer the passengers across. Ismay couldn’t remember the gentleman’s name, but he knew he was quite popular. He was sure the White Star Line had even offered him placement on the Titanic, but he refused.
Perhaps that was for the best, considering, Ismay thought. Had the boy agreed, it would be another death that tainted Ismay’s hands.
How many more could have been saved? Ismay had wanted the lifeboats fuller; he had not cared if husbands and fathers joined their wives and children. What harm was it, when so few were boarding?
But, for the most part, the Captain had not conveyed the seriousness of the matter to all of his senior officers; only those of the highest rank knew the truth. Smith had declared it so that panic would not seize the passengers once they learnt that some of them were sentenced to death.
Ismay’s door knocked. “Yes?” he whispered; his tone curt.
The door opened, and Ismay recognised the officer’s Cunnard uniform. “Mr Ismay, Sir, I was wondering if there was anything that we could be of assist for? Captain Rostron wants to ensure your upmost comfort for the remainder of the journey. He will, of course, check in on you throughout. At the moment, he’s still helping the victims board the ship.”
Ismay smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “I do not need anything,” he said, his tone light. “If I could please be left in much silence as possible for the remainder of the journey, I would be quite grateful.”
The officer nodded. “Of course, Mr Ismay, Sir. I’ll relay your message to the Captain, so he knows not to call upon you too often. I’ll leave you be, sir, but please do not hesitate to use the call button if you require any assistance.”
Ismay jerked his nod in agreement, waiting for the latch sound of his cabin door closing. Not interested in facing another second, Ismay climbed into his berth, pulling the blankets over his face, shoving the woollen blanket in his mouth, so that he could cry loudly and freely.
Chapter Eighty
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Eliana
“There’s plenty of passengers being assessed by the surgeons,” Eliana told her mother, who had adopted a pose where she didn’t speak and acted as if she could not see or hear anything around her, or cried silently, inconsolable, refusing any help or service. “Just because we haven’t seen Celia or Georgie yet doesn’t mean they’re not on board. The same goes for Papa and George. And William, of course.” If her family survived, Eliana was going to make it a habit of trying not to forget William so easily.
She wondered if she believed her own words, as nothing made sense anymore. Eliana was still struggling to reconcile with the idea she was currently on the Carpathia, not the Titanic, and instead of eating a fresh, custom-made-to-order breakfast in the Café, she was waiting to hear if the rest of her family had lived or not.
Eliana was waiting for George to emerge, where she could apologise for her ghastly behaviour, and tell him that he was the love of her life, for now, forever and always. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry she hadn’t considered his feelings, that she could be cruel and thoughtless, and she was so damn grateful that her parents had insisted on the marriage. Eliana wanted to tell him that, despite her own desires, George had become the love of her life, and she did not know if she could live and function without him by her side. The children were off with the Nanny – Eliana couldn’t handle them and their pertinent questions, and she was by and sure if she heard “Where’s daddy?” again, she would not be able to keep herself together by any measure of the word.
Captain Rostron, who had previously introduced himself and had been making himself helpful among the passengers, cleared his throat, calling everyone to attention. It wasn’t hard – with the exception of many of the Titanic passengers, some of whom were inconsolable with their grief, the ship was solemn and quiet.
“For now, we’ve constructed a list of passengers and crew that we have rescued,” he began, his voice hoarse, his tone laced with devastation and disappointment. “It is a shorter list than some of you may care for. I ask that we have silence as the list of survivors is read – it will be posted with the notices for all to see – and then, if it would please you all, to have a prayer for those who have passed and joined the Kingdom of Our Lord and Saviour.”
Survivors. Sure, the Captain had mentioned that the list was shorter than they’d care to like, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t hope. They were separated, the boat deck was in disarray, and the woman who’d been hoping she was a widow had learnt that her husband was alive. Eliana hoped that God would be merciful on the women who hadn’t been so callous towards their supposed loved ones.
Rostron informed them that the names of the survivors would be called in alphabetical order, not station, and that it was possible that the list was yet not properly completed.
“Abbott, Mrs Rhoda Rose. Abelseth, Miss Karen Marie. Abelseth, Mr Olaus Jørgenson …”
/> He continued, and while she heard Cecilia and William’s names, she did not hear George, Georgiana’s or her father’s. Her mother was weeping uncontrollably – both for Cecilia, who they had yet to find, and for Georgiana, who appeared lost.
Georgiana is dead because of me, Eliana thought, her body shaking. And George died thinking I never loved him.
“Mama, please,” begged Eliana. She wasn’t ready to be the responsible one; she had servants who managed her daily routine, organising everything from what she wore to what she ate. With her mother sobbing beside her, Eliana was as lost and frightened as a day-old foal. “The Captain said the list wasn’t comprehensive. Cecilia and William are on the list; there’s no reason to think that Papa, George and Georgiana didn’t board. After all, William would never enter a lifeboat without Georgie, would he? Her name was accidentally left off, that’s all. Please don’t fret. Please, Mama.” And when Eleonora’s sobs became louder, Eliana whimpered, “Mummy?”
I cannot do this alone. I do not know how to fend for myself. George took care of everything, of me, of the children. My children can’t be orphans. They just can’t.
And Georgiana could not perish. She was a woman, after all. Captain Rostron had been very clear that only a few women, four or five at the most, from first-class, had perished. Women in first had survived almost exclusively, which forced Eliana to wonder why the Captain had mistakenly forgotten Georgie’s name. Perhaps she was injured, and she’s just been lost in all the fuss, Eliana decided.
She tried not to picture George’s warm face, smiling in front of her; her chest ached and her stomach, likely poisoned by morning sickness and distress, desired to lurch once more.
Eleonora nodded gently, though it didn’t stop her tears flowing. Eliana looked around helplessly, hoping to find a servant to attend to her mother’s needs, when she caught sight of William. He’d clearly been in the water at one point, with ice frozen to his dark hair. He looked weaker than he had yesterday, and somehow gaunt and thinner.
Eliana rushed forward, hugging her brother-in-law, for the first time grateful for his presence. She could ask him where her sisters were, what he knew. She needed to know where George and her father were.
“Eliana, Eleonora,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Where’s Georgiana?”
Chapter Eighty-One
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Adene
“Claire!” Adene cried, finally reunited with her friend. Nora, who had spent the entire night crying after Claire’s quick departure, had straddled herself to Claire’s hip. Adene was surprised to see Cillian, no worse for wear, standing beside her. “Cillian,” she added, though she did not embrace him, even though she wanted to. The sinking had not erased all sense of decorum.
“Oh, Adene!” the Irish girl cried, her tears wetting Adene’s nightdress from the night before. Plenty of men and women had not had the time to change and the Carpathia passengers only had so much they could offer. While Adene was likely to receive a change of clothes before they reached New York – whenever that would be – others had far less. Many of the men had spent the night in the water; stokers were in light clothing, not suitable for the harsh Atlantic temperatures.
“How could you have left?” Adene all but shouted, and Claire flinched.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her almond-shaped brown eyes flooding with tears. “I didn’t realise … I didn’t think we were in danger.”
“Well, we were!”
“Obviously,” Claire muttered, digging her hand into her skirt pocket. “I couldn’t leave without my Ma’s hat. I was worried something would happen to it. And I was right to think such a thought, now, wasn’t I? The ship jolly well sunk! Anyway, I saw Robert’s photo. I grabbed it on my leave.”
This time it was Adene’s turn to cry. That stupid, foolish girl, Adene had cursed all night: And yet, in the girl’s idiocy of returning to a foundering ship, she’d still thought of Adene.
“Thank you,” was all Adene managed. Photographs were rare; if it had not been for her husband’s involvement in the Russo-Japanese War, she would only have been able to commit Robert’s features to memory; a memory that was already fading before her. How quickly those we loved faded from our minds, Adene thought. She stared at Robert: He was so handsome and young; he’d barely turned thirty at the time of the photograph. “Thank you.” Adene repeated, clutching Robert’s picture to her heart. There wasn’t anything left to say; she could not repay Claire’s debt, no matter what she said. She hoped her actions, not her words, bestowed Claire with her gratefulness.
“Let us get a warm drink,” Adene said. “We’ll find a hot chocolate for the girls, and we’ll watch them. They both need some sleep. We sang hymns all night, trying to keep warm. Nora would not stop crying for you.”
Claire nodded, tears forming in her almond eyes. “It was fool of me to leave her,” she whispered.
“It was, but at least you are Cillian are well. I was not by and sure I would see either of you again.”
Claire and Cillian nodded, already appearing to be a married couple. They looked in tune with each other, the way Robert and Adene had once been.
At least some good came from all this evil, Adene mused. She had not expected Cillian to survive, but seeing him standing by Claire’s side, as if he were her husband, made her heart warm.
Claire and Nora would never be alone, she knew, not with Cillian by their side. And by the look he wore upon his handsome, rugged face, Cillian had no intention of leaving his newfound family.
Adene tucked Isla into the makeshift camp bed on the Carpathia’s floor. There wasn’t enough room for all the passengers, and those in steerage had been segregated immediately, according to US Immigration Law. Many were dispersed to the common rooms, where linens could be laid to give those from third-class as much of a bed as possible. Adene didn’t mind; she and Isla had faced worse.
“Sing me a song, Mummy,” Isla whispered, her eyes bright.
“Okay, my little monkey,” Adene purred, rubbing her finger through Isla’s dark brown hair. Adene began singing – offkey, the only way she knew how:
“Five little monkeys jumping on the bed,
One fell down and bumped his head …” as she watched Isla slowly fall asleep.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Cecilia
Cecilia saw William first, and her heart almost burst with joy. If William had lived, that meant Georgiana had, too. There was no way William would have left the ship without Georgiana by his side; Georgiana was William’s entire world. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t sacrifice for his wife, and that included his life.
She caught sight of her mother, who was crying and waving her hands, and Eliana, who looked dazed and shaken, a ghost of the person she had once been. She didn’t see her father, George, or Georgiana there; nor Henry, not that she had expected to see him by her family. He would make himself scarce, Cecilia tried to mollify herself. But where was her sister? Where was Georgiana?
Cecilia rushed toward her mother, crying openly, and hugging her. She could not entirely make out precisely what was said, and she doubted she was saying anything intelligible. Cecilia could not read the look on William’s face, but Eliana had begun crying, muttering that she had thought Cecilia dead. Cecilia didn’t quite understand what her sister meant; surely William had told them that she had escaped the ship safely?
“Celia, Celia, oh Celia, oh my baby, I thought – I thought – ” Eliana screamed, and the noise would have scared Cecilia if Eliana wasn’t one of hundreds of women screaming, crying and wailing over their losses – though none were louder than the Italians, who seemed determined, even know, to show that they suffered more, that they had loved more.
That they had lost more.
“I am fine,” Cecilia finally managed, wiping the tears from her face, forcing herself to address William, and not her mother. “But where is Georgiana?”
; Cecilia’s questioned had an immediate effect; her mother’s blue eyes, so alike her sister’s, welled with tears; Eliana paled; William turned away.
“Where is Georgiana?” she asked again, her voice higher.
Still no one answered her.
“Where is Georgiana?” she whispered, hoping someone would tell her something. How had William survived, and Georgie had not?
“William,” she cried, turning to her brother-in-law, pulling his shoulder so that he faced her. “Where the hell is my sister?”
She noticed silent tears were leaking out of the sides of William’s brown eyes.
“I don’t know,” he finally managed. “After you left, Celia … things happened very quickly. Soon after we managed to pass the crowd to the Boat Deck, we were heading to one of the collapsibles that Lightoller was assembling.” Cecilia didn’t know who Lightoller was, or why he was relevant to this story. Where is Georgiana? She wanted to scream.
“And?”
“Celia, please,” her mother begged, but Cecilia wanted to hear it for herself. Georgiana’s name hadn’t been listed as a confirmed survivor, but the captain hadn’t finished preparing the Carpathia yet. He was talking with Ismay, apparently, and the captain from the small steamer that had passed by. It was hidden behind a few icebergs and hadn’t been visible until it began moving. There was talk it may have been able to rescue passengers. Others whispered it had laid silent in the night, refusing to come to the Titanic’s aid. Cecilia hoped this was not true; she could not fathom how anyone could have listened to the night’s piercing screams and lived with themselves.
Cecilia ignored her mother’s pleas. “Tell me,” she said firmly, not allowing William to flinch away from her
“We were on the Boat Deck, and there weren’t any boats left. Not ones fitted into davits, anyway. Just the collapsibles.” Eleonora breathed in a shaky breath and Eliana turned away. Cecilia realised this was the second time he’d told the story. “The list port was so bad – Georgie couldn’t move by herself. We took off her fur coat, placing her life vest securely to her nightgown, and then I placed the brown fur over her shoulders. It was weighing her down, and if something happened, I wanted the vest to be attached to her. The coat could fall freely.”
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