Voyage in Time: The Titanic (Out of Time #9)

by Monique Martin

  She started to walk over to him, but he turned and paced away from her.

  “I know we must keep Bohr safe. Even more lives than these depend on that, but …”

  His shoulders rose and fell as he took in and let out a deep breath, then turned to face her. “But I don’t want yours to be one of them. I can go—”

  He held up a hand to stave off her coming argument. “Hear me out. I can go and make sure he survives—”

  “You’re not going alone.”

  Simon sighed and weighed his words, although she knew what he was going to say before he said it.

  “If we’re there and the ship is sinking, and it’s a choice between you and—”

  They’d had this argument countless times before. “We’re in this together.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t understand. You’re too … good.”

  There was something in his eyes she hadn’t often seen in them. Fear. Genuine fear.

  “If there is a choice,” he said, his voice deep and rough, “a choice between saving him and the millions he helps or you … God help me, Elizabeth, but I would choose you. I would let history change. I would let the outcome of wars change. I would—”

  She put a hand on his chest. “You wouldn’t.”

  She knew he wouldn’t. If the choice came, he would do what was right. “I know your heart’s telling you that you would, but you wouldn’t. I’m sure.”

  His eyes were filled with emotion as he looked down at her. “I’m not.”

  “And so if I’m not there, you don’t have to choose?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t come to that, right?”

  “Elizabeth—”

  She reached up and cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand. “Together. One way or the other. Together.”

  He covered her hand with his and then slid her palm to his mouth and kissed it.

  “And besides,” she continued, “you know just about everything there is to know about the Titanic, right? Where to be, where not to be, when it happens.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know everything.”

  “You know a lot, though. Enough to give us a better chance than anyone else, right?”

  He nodded thoughtfully and she could see him working it through. “First Class does fare far better than the rest. Sadly. Only a handful of the women in First didn’t make it. Something like 97% survived.”

  “Those are better odds than we’ve had before,” she said, then put her hand on his chest again. “We’ll make it.”

  He looked unconvinced.

  “I’m not just saying that to reassure you, you know? I believe it. I believe in us, and I believe in what we’re doing. It’s dangerous. I know it is. But it’s right.”

  He smiled sadly, then nodded. “All right. We’ll go on one condition. You’ll have to listen to what I say. I’m serious, Elizabeth. When I say it’s time to go, you go.”

  She promised, although she had no plans of leaving if he wasn’t with her. In the end, though, she believed they’d be safe. She and Simon and Niels. They would find a way. They always did.

  “Now, come to bed,” she said as she rubbed her arms. “I’m freezing.”

  He smiled and the light went on again in his eyes, but she knew he’d be troubled by this all night. It would haunt him until the moment came and they would find out how lucky they really were.

  Chapter Six

  NO MATTER HOW HARD Elizabeth looked, she never could find Platform 9 3/4. She did, however, find Platform 12 at Waterloo Station and stood there with the morning throng while Simon argued with someone over their luggage. Various valets and other servants stood back and watched with a mixture of awe and confusion as he saw to their trunks’ disposition himself.

  Whenever he felt out of control, he did the only natural thing and tried to control everything down to the smallest detail. There was type A and then there was type Simon.

  Leaving him to it, she wandered over to the newspaper stand to see if there were any magazines that might help pass the time as they took the boat train down to Southampton. She picked up a copy of Punch and the latest issue of The Strand with a new story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

  The big red board showed their departure time as 9:45, and the enormous four-sided clock dangling from the ceiling gave them a half hour to go yet. So, she wandered around the large central kiosk looking at the headlines and trying to forget she’d be part of one soon enough.

  She saw a rack of snacks and sweets. A Cadbury chocolate bar or three sounded awfully good. She turned to reach for one when she bumped into someone.

  “Oops,” she said and looked up to see who she’d smashed into. She came face to face with Mr. Personality. He wasn’t any better looking up close.

  She started to mumble another apology and step away, but he grabbed her by the arm, yanked her close to him and punched her in the stomach. Or tried to. Or something.

  Luckily, she’d decided to go with her hand-tooled leather purse today instead of a flimsy reticule or crocheted something or other, and the heavy, thick bag took most of the blow. But it still took a bit of breath out of her.

  Strangely, he seemed as surprised as she was and glared down at her purse. Then he tried to pull it away from her, but she held on tight.

  “Sie werden nicht so viel Glück beim nächsten Mal,” he said, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  Elizabeth gasped and caught her breath. It was more from the shock than the blow. He really hadn’t hit her that hard, which was strange. She looked down at her bag and realized why. He hadn’t hit her, or tried to at all. A short knife stuck out of her leather purse. He’d tried to stab her.

  Quickly, she turned the purse around and tried to pull the knife out of the leather, but it was good and stuck. She looked around, but no one seemed to have noticed what happened.

  She took a few steps and saw the man at the far end of the platform, hurrying toward the exit. She let out a breath and looked for Simon. He was standing near the big board, looking for her.

  Sure to keep the knife side of her purse turned inward, she hurried over to Simon. If she knew her husband, and she did, he was not going to handle this well.

  “Have you seen Niels?” she asked.

  “He got on board just a moment ago,” he said. “At least we don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Or do we?”

  She turned her purse around and flashed him the side with the knife still stuck in it.

  “Before you say anything,” she said, “I’m fine.” She shivered at the thought of what might have been. “Mostly.”

  He looked her up and down to see for himself and then scowled at the knife. Then he led her to a more secluded section of the platform and took the purse from her and glared at it again, turning it over in his hand. The knife’s blade had just pierced the other side.

  He looked around for Mr. Personality but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “He left, I think,” she said.

  “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

  She nodded. “Close call, though, huh?”

  Simon grunted and then with a great deal of effort pulled the knife from the leather. He inspected it carefully as if he could divine something from its mere presence. He couldn’t.

  “What should we do with it?” she asked.

  His look told her what he’d like to do with it, and it wasn’t pretty. He tightened his jaw and took out his handkerchief. Carefully, he wiped it clean of their fingerprints and tossed it into a nearby waste bin.

  He took her by the elbow and started them toward the train. “Another inauspicious beginning.”

  “Better that than an ending.”

  ~~~

  The train ride to Southhampton was happily uneventful. The rhythmic sounds and swaying motion of the train as it moved along the winding tracks toward the ocean were soothing. After her little adventure at the station, Elizabeth was glad fo
r the respite. It and another one of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk bars had done the trick. For her at least. Next to her Simon was wound as tightly as ever.

  “More tea, sir?” one of the waiters asked.

  Simon grunted and gave him a curt nod.

  He filled Elizabeth’s cup and then Simon’s.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She was going to tell Simon not to worry, but it was silly. He would, and he had good reason. Whoever wanted Niels out of the way was willing to remove them from the picture to do it.

  And Elizabeth really liked being in the picture. She took a sip of tea and looked around. Despite where they were going, it was an awfully nice picture to be in.

  The Pullman cars for the First Class passengers were cozy and classy at the same time. Large, oval etched-glass windows and rosewood dividers helped make the cars feel smaller and more intimate. Oversized, plush wingback chairs and white linen-covered tables set with silver and glassware made sure no passenger felt like they were traveling with anything other than the very best.

  She looked around the car, but didn’t recognize anyone. She guessed Simon probably did. A slew of rich and not-so-rich were all going for the voyage of their lives.

  After a few hours, the train pulled into the Southampton station, which was really just a terminal for the port. This was where all the major shipping lines sailed from. But today it was all about the Titanic.

  She tried to see it as they got off the train, but they were on the other side of the large terminal building. Simon helped her off the train and onto the platform.

  He spoke briefly with one of the train’s stewards to whom he handed money, and then he spoke to a station agent who gestured upstairs.

  “Boarding for First Class is on the second the floor, sir,” he said as he handed Simon back his boarding pass and tipped his hat.

  They entered the terminal. It was crowded with people. Thousands had shown up. Even though only about 1300 passengers would board the ship that day, several thousand more showed up to see her off. They’d even sold tickets to see the great ship’s maiden voyage.

  She and Simon climbed the stairs to the second level and found the First Class boarding area. Elizabeth peeked out of the windows, but couldn’t see much of the ship yet.

  A steward checked their papers again and let them out into a sort of two-story jetway-like thing that jutted out of the building and onto the dock toward the ship. They climbed yet another set of stairs, but from here Elizabeth was able to start to see things. Beneath them the dock was teeming with people. There were two other gangways slanting up into the ship. One had a long line of people queuing up at a small table where they were checked in and then given a quick physical examination: teeth, hair and eyes.

  “What’s that all about?” she asked.

  “So they don’t infect the other classes,” Simon said.

  “Lovely.”

  “Don’t be too hard on them. Lice and the rest were very real problems.”

  Elizabeth still didn’t like it, but it was a minor thing in the face of what lay ahead.

  Once they reached the second story of the structure, they walked out onto the gangway proper and Elizabeth got her first real look at the ship. It was enormous. She knew it didn’t compare to modern cruise ships that could be two or three times as big, but being there, it was impressive. She could just make out the huge smokestacks towering above the top deck. Along the edge several large lifeboats sat waiting.

  To either side, white and black steel plates seemed to stretch out as far as she could see along the port side of the ship. Row after row of massive rivets bubbled along the surface. It looked as unsinkable as it was claimed to have been.

  They entered into an empty antechamber and went through two sets of double doors that led onto the main entryway. This was the Titanic. The famous grand staircase curved up to A Deck and down to C and beyond. She walked over to the edge of the gallery and looked up at the glass dome above. The oak paneling was intricately carved. Big bronze cherubs held lamps on the middle railing as the two sets of stairs curved out to the next level.

  Simon handed their papers to a steward who bowed slightly and gestured toward a set of green baize-covered doors. “This way, Sir Simon.”

  He pushed open the door and let them precede him into the hall. They were ready to walk down it when he merely stepped inside and gestured to his immediate left.

  “This is your suite, sir. B51, 53 and 55.”

  “Suite?” Elizabeth asked.

  “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it in style,” Simon said.

  The steward reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of large skeleton-like keys. He chose one and put the rest back. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, then handed Simon the key.

  Elizabeth peeked around Simon’s shoulder. In style was an understatement. The sitting room was exquisite—beautiful white paneled walls, elegant brocade furniture, and even a marble fireplace.

  The steward opened an interior door. “The first bedroom. The second, bath and wardrobe are just beyond. Your trunks will brought here and unpacked, if you desire.”

  He closed the door and walked over to another on the other side of the table and opened it. “Your private promenade.”

  Elizabeth poked her head out. It was a long enclosed patio with wooden decking and wicker furniture and even a few potted plants.

  “Thank you,” Simon said as he handed the man a tip. “We’re traveling without servants. I assume your staff will be able to meet our needs as they arise.”

  The man bowed again. “Of course. Either Mister Hewett or Mister Penrose are at your complete disposal,” he said, gesturing to a button on the wall.

  “Very good.”

  “Welcome aboard, Sir. Madam.”

  Chapter Seven

  IT WAS MORE THAN a little surreal standing on the Boat Deck of the Titanic as it set sail. Every instinct in her body told her to get off, to slide down one of the ropes to the dock, if necessary, and yet there she stood. It was what they had to do, she told herself. Niels Bohr had to survive the trip. Tens of thousands of lives, millions of lives, could be at stake if he didn’t. As frightening as the prospect of sailing on the Titanic was, what would happen if they didn’t was far worse.

  They’d make it. Simon knew every detail of the ship and that fateful night, just five days away. They’d always be one step ahead and that would keep Bohr, and themselves, alive.

  Next to her Simon craned his neck to scan the passengers lining the railing on the port side of the ship as it prepared to get underway. Bohr was here somewhere. Although, a part of her wished he wasn’t. If he’d managed somehow to sneak away and get off the ship, they’d both agreed they’d do the same. Elizabeth reflexively reached up to her neck and fingered the thin chain that held the watch key. They might not be able to use it on Bohr, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t use it to save themselves. Travers had at least assured them that, for the duration of their trip, the tracker would be off. If Niels wasn’t sailing, they’d agreed to use the watch and key to relocate to dry land. They could travel a few minutes into the past and put themselves safely on the dock and find his trail again. If he hadn’t sailed.

  Knowing they had the watch and the key, if worse came to worse, was a comfort. Although Elizabeth swore she wouldn’t leave Simon or Niels behind, like Simon she wasn’t sure what she’d do when the moment came. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to find out.

  Of course, first, they had to find Bohr she reminded herself as she joined Simon’s search along the deck. The Boat Deck and A Deck below were crowded with passengers eager to be part of the historic maiden voyage. Little did they know.

  The railings were several people deep in parts. Finding Niels among the crowd would be difficult.

  “We might as well watch it happen,” Simon said, his expression dour.

  “It is kind of exciting.”

  He didn’t seem convinced, but they found an empty
spot along the railing and joined to watch.

  The gangways were withdrawn and the giant ropes that moored the ship to the dock were dropped. Hundreds of people lined the dock below and the windows of the station. They waved and cheered as the mighty ship slowly began to ease away from the dock.

  The crowd on land moved along with the ship, hoping to watch it as long as possible as it began its voyage out of the quay and onto the river toward the ocean.

  The Titanic turned left, slowly, ponderously, as the tug, dwarfed by the enormous ocean liner, pulled her along.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” a man to Elizabeth’s right said.

  She had to admit it was. “Very.”

  He smiled amiably and took off his hat. “Harry Kimball,” he said.

  He was pleasant looking, average. Brown hair and eyes, nondescript really, except for his smile. She liked it, very much.

  “Elizabeth Cross.”

  “You’re American?”

  “I am,” she said.

  Kimball looked at Simon and smiled.

  “I am not,” Simon replied. He held out his hand and introduced himself.

  Kimball laughed. “Gotcha.”

  He shook Simon’s hand then put his hat back on, shaking his head in wonder. “How did they make it all so big? Never seen anything like it.”

  Elizabeth agreed. It towered above the other ships it passed.

  “So,” Kimball said, “are you leaving home or going home?”

  “A little of both.”

  “Not me. Going home. Been here far too long.” He looked apologetically at Simon. “Not that there’s anything wrong with England, mind you. Great country.”

  “Thank you,” Simon said dryly.

  Elizabeth fought down a smile.

  “But a man misses home. His own bed. His own way of doing things.”

  Elizabeth glanced at his hand to look for a wedding band before remembering that most men didn’t wear them. “Are you married?”