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

by Monique Martin

  She started to look worried. “Maybe I should just stay in the stateroom.”

  “If only you would,” he said.

  She put her arms around his waist again. “If only.”

  “Your hormones are in overdrive.”

  She nodded.

  He was tempted. He was always tempted with Elizabeth. But the dangers of coffee and liquor paled in comparison to what she faced while she was still on this ship.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He pulled back and wiped the tear from her cheek. “Whatever for?”

  “Because we’re here.” She looked around the room. “If I’d known before …”

  The weight of it, the truth of their circumstance, pushed down on him. His pregnant wife was on the Titanic.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. How this miracle had come didn’t matter to him, but making sure his wife and child were safe did. “You are the only thing that matters. You and our child.”

  His eyes grew moist as he said it, the wonder of it eclipsing everything else for one blissful moment. The only thing he wanted to do was to hold her and never let her go. How cruelly ironic that it should be the same moment he would send her away.

  “Do you remember the promise you made me before we came on board?” he asked.

  She frowned in thought.

  “That you would listen to me,” he continued. “When I said it was time to go—”

  She shook her head. “I’m not leaving.”

  “A promise is a promise, Elizabeth.”

  He touched her cheek, then walked into the bedroom. She followed him in as he went to her jewelry box.

  “I can’t leave you,” she said.

  “You can and you will.” He opened the lid of the box. It was empty. A sickening feeling took hold in the pit of his stomach. “Where is it?”

  “What do you mean?” She came to his side and looked into the box. “It was here. It was—Everything’s gone.”

  All of her jewelry was missing, but only one piece mattered—the key. Without it, Elizabeth was trapped on board. Elizabeth and his child.

  He picked up the box again as if his will could make reality change, but it was still empty. He tossed it aside and rummaged through the few things on top of the dresser. Nothing.

  “No.” He refused to accept it.

  He looked behind the dresser, beneath it, all around it, anywhere it was even remotely possible for a key to have to fall. With every passing second, with empty space, the truth became painfully clear.

  He searched the rest of the room, but he knew it was no use. They key was gone.

  The jewel thief must have stolen the only thing that had kept Simon from losing his mind. He’d relied on it, on its presence, on its escape. He hadn’t told her, but he’d always planned on her using it.

  And now it was gone.

  The joy he’d felt moments ago crashed around him. He’d been so sure. He’d been such a fool to think things would happen as he needed them to. Now, Elizabeth and his child were trapped on this godforsaken ship.

  “Dammit.” He slammed his hand down on the dresser so hard Elizabeth jumped.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay.”

  He could see the fear in her eyes, of him, for him, for herself, he didn’t know, but he wanted to make it go away. He couldn’t. He’d brought her here and now she was—

  “We’re gonna be okay,” she said. “Key or no key.”

  She took his arms and squeezed them. “We know what to do and we have each other. We’re going to survive, we’re going to save Niels, and we’re going to have a baby,” she said, her voice cracking.

  He pulled her into his arms and held her. He didn’t know how long they stood there in each other’s arms, but the rising panic began to wane and he felt himself again. In the way only love and trust did, she renewed him. Her strength gave him his own back. He kissed the top of her head.

  “We are,” he said.

  She looked up at him and he was struck again by how very beautiful she was and how very much he loved her.

  “We’re going to have a baby,” she repeated.

  His heart stuttered with joy and fear, and he kissed her forehead. He would do whatever he had to to make sure she lived. Whatever he had to.

  “We still have to find our mystery man first, though,” she said.

  He nodded. The sooner they figured out who the threat was, the sooner he could be disposed of. That would, at least, be one less threat to her.

  “Promise me you won’t take any unnecessary risks.”

  “Just the necessary kind then?” she said, but there was no wry smile to go along with it. They both knew there was danger around them no matter what they did.

  He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “Just be careful. More so than usual. Please?”

  She nodded slowly, her eyes growing large and dark. She laid her hand on his chest. “I promise.”

  “We should report the theft. It’s possible they might catch the thief and …”

  She nodded and then her eyes narrowed as she looked past him.

  “My flowers.”

  She took a step back toward the dresser and bent down to pick something up off the floor.

  “What flowers?”

  She held up a small bouquet of tiny blue flowers. “The ones you left.”

  Simon tensed. “I didn’t leave you any flowers.”

  She wiggled them in the air.

  “I didn’t give you those,” he said, his fear giving way to anger.

  She frowned in confusion. “You didn’t?”

  “No,” he said. “Was this before or after the theft?”

  “Before, I think. This morning. When I came out of the shower, they were there.”

  Simon clenched his jaw. Someone had come into their suite while she was—He rolled his shoulders.

  “If it wasn’t you?” she asked.

  “Carrillo.”

  “He wouldn’t,” she said, then thought about it. “He might.”

  “If he was here and is the one who stole the key—” Simon said.

  “He’s a victim, too, remember? He might be a womanizer, but he’s not a thief.”

  Simon had forgotten that. Dammit. It had felt good to be angry at someone. He wasn’t ready to let go of it quite so easily. Not to mention, he still had plenty of reason to be. “Nonetheless, I’m going to have a little talk with your admirer. The thought of him in this room—”

  “Don’t,” she said. “I’ll talk to him. He probably just paid a maid to leave them.”

  Simon had to allow that was possible and a little more of his anger seeped away. “Still, giving a married woman flowers.”

  “We have more important things to worry about,” she reminded him.

  He nodded, although finding and hitting Carrillo right now was tempting, she was right, they did have more important things to worry about.

  “All right. We’ll make our report. Then we need to find out who is in league with the German. Preferably before they realize we’re looking.”

  The German had been more than willing to kill them, Elizabeth in particular, to get to Niels. Simon doubted his partner would be any less ruthless. The sooner they found him and took care of him, in whatever way necessary, the better.

  ~~~

  “Halloas rám!”

  The elderly countess pushed herself off Carrillo’s supportive arm and slammed her hand down onto the desk in the purser’s office.

  Simon’s hand clenched at the sight of the man. Elizabeth sensed his anger and squeezed his arm and shook her head.

  “She wants you to listen to her,” Carrillo translated.

  “I assure you—”

  “Követelem, hogy hiva a rendörséget!”

  The helpless purser looked to Carrillo for translation.

  “She wants you to call the police.”

  The purser smiled patiently. “As I told madam, we will send a report
to the proper authorities in New York via radio telegram this evening,” he said as he gestured toward a pneumatic tube that Simon assumed took messages to the radio room. “And, of course, we will conduct our own investigation—”

  “Idióta!”

  Carrillo started to translate, but the purser held up his hand. “I think I understood that one. Would you please tell the Lady Trauttmansdorff that we are doing everything we can to find the thief and recover her jewels.”

  The countess mumbled something unintelligible then.

  “I probably should not repeat that,” Carrillo said.

  The purser nodded unfazed, clearly used to the abuse.

  “I understand.” He noticed Simon and Elizabeth. “May I help you? I hope.”

  “We appear to be another victim of the same crime,” Simon said.

  The purser sighed.

  Carrillo turned to them, his eyes barely skimming over Simon before landing heavily on Elizabeth.

  “Say it is not so.”

  “It’s so.”

  He stepped closer to her, his eyes unabashedly looking her over. “You were not hurt?”

  Simon clenched his jaw and stepped forward, putting himself between them. “No. Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

  “Of course.” He shook his head and tsked. “Such a pity. But your beauty needs no embellishment.”

  “Antonio!” the countess snapped as she shuffled toward the door.

  He looked over at her and then back with a rueful smile. “Unlike some.”

  He bowed deeply at the waist, gave Elizabeth a rather cheeky smile and left.

  “I hate that man.”

  Elizabeth smiled up at him. “I know.”

  They made their report, for all the good it would do, and went back up to A Deck where they mingled with passengers in the lounge, trying to gently steer the conversation toward recent travels. It wasn’t difficult. Everyone and their uncle was happy to tell them, in minute detail, of every aspect of their journey. The only saving grace was that slideshows weren’t possible. He shuddered to think of the endless parade of photographs of Mrs. Eldsworth “taking the waters” in Bulgaria.

  “And I could feel the healing powers surging through my body,” she said, tilting her head back in remembrance of ecstasy. “Surging!”

  Elizabeth nearly lost her composure, but managed to swallow her giggle.

  “It sounds stimulating,” she said, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

  “Very.”

  “Well,” Simon said as he stood, hoping to make a retreat from this subject, “I’m sure a turn in the ship’s baths could help your, um …”

  “Sluggish digestion,” she supplied.

  Elizabeth did laugh then but covered it with a cough.

  “Right.” Simon held out his hand to help Elizabeth up.

  “Would you excuse us, I see some friends we’re supposed to meet.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Eldsworth said before turning to Mrs. Duncan. “The doctor said he’d never seen such an obstinate colon as mine. Quite extraordinary really.”

  Elizabeth giggled under her breath as they walked.

  “Dear God in heaven,” Simon said softly as they made their escape and headed toward the Rivets and Dr. Hass.

  Hass, as one of the few Germans on board, was a prime suspect, and the Rivets, well, they were French, reason enough to suspect them.

  As they approached, Mrs. Rivet sat on the edge of her seat, her back ramrod straight, her head held high.

  “Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, that my keen knife see not the wound it makes, nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark to cry ‘Hold, hold!’”

  Dr. Hass clapped appreciatively. “Wunderbar!”

  Simon joined in. “Brava.”

  Mrs. Rivet looked up in surprise and then inclined her head, accepting his praise.

  Rivet and Hass rose from their chairs.

  “Macbeth,” Simon said.

  “Lady Macbeth,” she said with a wry smile.

  “Of course.”

  The doctor extended his hand toward two unoccupied chairs. “Would you like to join us?”

  “Thank you.”

  Once Elizabeth took her seat the others followed.

  “That was very good,” Simon said, and it wasn’t an idle compliment. Even in those few words, she’d captured all of the character’s ambition, cruelty and brutality.

  She accepted the praise as one used to receiving it did, unsurprised, but still pleased.

  “My wife is very talented,” George said.

  “You’re an actress?” Elizabeth asked, although she knew very well she was.

  Henrietta only arched a very sharp eyebrow in reply.

  “And a very good one,” Dr. Hass said. “Going to be on your American Broadway, I think.”

  “At the Opera House. For the season, and beyond that we shall see.”

  “Are you an actor as well?” Simon asked her husband.

  He laughed and slouched back in his chair. “No. I am a journalist.”

  “His family owns the newspaper,” Henrietta clarified. “He is idle.”

  Rivet shrugged, unmoved by her characterization. “I enjoy life.”

  He tapped the edge of his cigarette, a Gauloise, in an ashtray and picked up his glass of champagne. He lifted it in salute before taking a drink.

  Mrs. Rivet wasn’t amused and her husband sat up. “Oh, I am sorry. Would you like some?”

  He turned to summon a waiter.

  “A bit early for us.” And that was an understatement; it wasn’t even noon.

  He shrugged again and took another sip before putting his glass aside.

  These two were definite suspects. Aside from the fact that they came from France, and George smoked the right cigarettes, they were both unpleasant. Simon secretly hoped this was their man, although Rivet seemed awfully indolent for a spy. His wife, however …

  “So, tell me, Mr.—”

  “It’s Sir actually, but I don’t require it among friends.”

  The corner of Henrietta’s mouth turned up. She clearly enjoyed a little verbal jousting.

  “That is right. I heard you were a … baron?”

  “Baronet.”

  She laughed lightly. “Minor nobility, but noble nonetheless.”

  “I like to think so.”

  There was an awkward silence and then Elizabeth shifted in her seat. “Sooo, Dr. Hass—”

  “Gunther, please. We are among friends,” he said, with a small chuckle. He’d clearly enjoyed the little show.

  “Gunther,” Elizabeth continued. “Why are you traveling to America? Do you have family there?”

  “No, I am …” He struggled with what to say and even seemed to blush a little. “I am going to your West. I want to see the O.K. Corral.”

  He tugged on his ear. “I read stories when I was a boy. Jesse James and Kit Carson. We have nothing like this in Germany.”

  “I love Westerns,” Elizabeth said.

  “You do?”

  “I’m from Texas!”

  Dr. Hass smiled delightedly. “Davy Crockett!”

  “He’s from Tennessee, but close enough.”

  “Yes, of course. Have you been to the Alamo?”

  Simon managed to catch Elizabeth’s eyes and remind her why they were there and it wasn’t to share fond memories of the Alamo.

  “I have,” she said, “but I always wanted to travel around Europe. I suppose you’ve seen all of that, though. Things like the Eiffel Tower must be old hat for you?”

  “That atrocity?” Henrietta said. “They should have torn it down with the rest of the exposition.”

  “I think it is a marvel,” Hass said and then turned back to Elizabeth. “Like an artist married to an engineer. The best of both.”

  Henrietta pushed air between her lips in that condescending way the French had. However, neither Hass nor Elizabeth paid any attention to it or to her and continued their side conversation, l
eaving Simon to the Rivets.

  He tried to deftly pry anything useful out of them, but he quickly realized it was a futile endeavor. If they were working with the German, they certainly wouldn’t let anything incriminating slip. Although, a few more drinks in George and that might be possible. He’d have to try again tonight, if he could stomach it.

  The woman was beautiful, but only on the outside. She was the worst sort of insufferable snob. And as he sat there, smiling, occasionally sparring, he grew to dislike her more intensely. Her veiled and not so veiled insults toward Elizabeth did little to quell his growing animus.

  And then there was Elizabeth. She was even more distracting than usual. Knowing what he knew, it took a herculean effort on his part not to simply stare at her while the others prattled on.

  Finally, he was rescued when Edmund and Niels arrived. As politely as he could, he extricated himself from the conversation and practically dragged Elizabeth away.

  Over lunch the four of them compared notes and, as they did, the ugly truth of it became clearer and clearer. Half of First Class had been to Paris recently. Far too many people had access to Gauloise cigarettes. Their one clue was a complete and utter dead end.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I AM RESTLESS,” NIELS said as the four of them walked along the upper promenade on the Boat Deck.

  Their one lead had fizzled and with nothing else to go on, all they could do was wait. And walk.

  “I know what you mean,” Edmund said.

  Elizabeth felt the same way. Even though the ship was enormous and well-appointed, she was starting to feel trapped, antsy.

  “You could always work off some of that in the gymnasium.” Simon nodded toward a long room behind them.

  They all walked over to peer into the tall arched windows. Inside, several men and even one woman worked out. There were the usual stationary bicycles, pulley-operated and free weights, and a rowing machine. There were also two very odd looking machines—one that looked like a horse saddle and rocked back and forth in a vague imitation of a horse’s gait and a taller one with a long neck for the rider to hold onto like a camel.

  The woman on the horse seemed to be enjoying herself.

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Elizabeth said and started to walk around to the front to inquire, but Simon took her arm.