Sophie stared at her mother. “You were arrested, too!”
“That was necessary for us to get the publicity we require for our movement,” Amelia Bronson lectured. “It was a calculated decision made long before that policeman arrived on the scene. What you did was dangerous and unnecessary. It added nothing to the cause. And it will be very difficult for you to post my bond when you, too, are in a cell.”
Sophie shut her eyes and held her tongue. To the rhythm of the hoofbeats on the cobblestones, she counted the days until April 10, when she would finally get her mother out of England. She could never have imagined how difficult it would be to keep Amelia Bronson free of trouble without Father on hand. The only thing that kept her going was the anticipation of the exciting trip home. In less than two weeks, they would be sailing on the newest, largest, and most spectacular ship in the world, the RMS Titanic.
CHAPTER THREE
SOUTHAMPTON
SUNDAY, MARCH 31, 1912, 9:40 A.M.
Posters of the Titanic adorned all four walls in the offices of the White Star Line — every conceivable image, from photographs of the shipbuilding process, through artists’ renditions of glorious ballrooms and dining saloons, to advertisements boasting of the luxury brand of soap used in the first-class water closets.
With the maiden voyage a scant ten days away, the place hummed with activity. People thronged the third-class ticket desk in search of last-minute passage, and the chatter of different languages filled the air as foreigners struggled to make themselves understood.
At the opposite end of the building, White Star officials were hiring hordes of waiters, stewards, maids, and laundry and kitchen workers. The Titanic offered features that had never been dreamed of on other ships. Employees were required to perform dozens of onboard functions, like trainers for the gymnasium and attendants for the swimming pool and Turkish bath. When the great ship set sail on April 10, she would carry nearly nine hundred crew members, most of whom would have nothing to do with the nautical operation of a ship.
One visitor, though, had business completely unrelated to the pride of the White Star Line. He was the youngest person in the office, thin and round-shouldered, practically swimming in a worn overcoat with patched elbows and frayed cuffs.
Fifteen-year-old Alfie Huggins stood at the paymaster’s wicket with his certificate of birth unfolded on the counter.
“According to company records,” said the clerk, looking down at him through thick glasses perched on the end of his nose, “your father’s pay goes to” — he squinted at the ledger in front of him — “Sarah Huggins.”
“That’s my ma,” Alfie explained, pointing out the name on the certificate.
“Well, just send her around and she can sign for the money.”
Alfie’s face fell. “I can’t.”
“Why not? Is she ill?”
“She’s gone.”
“Gone? You mean dead?”
“Gone. And she’s not coming back.”
It was a tough thing to admit. Who knew why his mother had married his father in the first place? John Huggins was a stoker for the White Star Line. His wife was dreamy and silly and romantic, and her husband was away at sea all the time, leaving her with a young son to raise.
“And what’s your name again?” the clerk prompted.
“Alfie — Alphonse.” He indicated the paper once again. Ma was exactly the kind of person to name her only child after the hero in one of the French penny novels she loved so well.
And where is she now? he wondered wistfully. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to stay mad at her for deserting him. For some reason, he pictured her crossing the continent on an exotic and glamorous train. The truth was probably more like a milliner’s shop in London, trimming hats with artificial flowers and braid. Whatever it was, he hoped she was happy.
The clerk’s voice interrupted his reverie. “I’m sorry, lad. Your name isn’t anywhere on these instructions. I can’t pay you.”
Alfie swallowed hard. “But how am I to feed myself, sir? I have no money at all.”
The clerk was sympathetic but firm. “It says here that your pa is signed on to the Titanic. Several of the Olympic’s engine crew are laying over in Belfast until the new ship is ready to sail. He should be here on Wednesday.”
Three days! Alfie’s heart soared. Of course, he would be proper hungry by then. But at least Da was coming home.
Still, if he was now part of the Titanic’s crew, he’d be gone again — Alfie checked one of the posters — on April 10.
And this time I’ll be alone like a dog in the street.
His eyes fell on the line of hopefuls waiting to be interviewed for the Titanic jobs.
When the solution came to him, it seemed so obvious it was a wonder he hadn’t thought of it sooner.
How do you stay with a seafaring father?
By sailing the same seas on the same vessel.
He folded up his certificate and stuffed it far into his pocket. Now all he had to do was lie a little about his age ….
CHAPTER FOUR
BELFAST
TUESDAY, APRIL 2, 1912, 3:30 P.M.
It had once been a printer’s shop — the ink-stained tables, metal rollers, and loose type attested to that. But to Paddy and Daniel, it was home.
This was not due to the comforts — there were none. It was because the missing bricks in the wall outside provided the footholds to climb to the fire stairs, which rendered convenient access to the loose board covering what had once been a window. The Palace Gate, they called it. The shop was no palace, but it was shelter from cold and damp weather. And it was a place of their own, which was more than two destitute street youths had any right to expect.
One feature of the print shop was a large stack of paper, very dusty, but only slightly yellowed. Daniel was always sketching. In a different world, Paddy was certain, his friend would have become a famous inventor or designer.
Right now, Daniel was completely focused on his promise to Thomas Andrews. He was going to dream up a way for the unsinkable Titanic to sink — or he was going to die trying. For the past five days, he had thought of little else. At eight o’clock tonight, the great ship was scheduled to leave Belfast for Southampton, England, the starting point of her much-anticipated maiden voyage. Mr. Andrews would be sailing with her. In all likelihood, if Daniel could not come up with something before then, he would never see the man again.
Paddy could not quite grasp what fascinated his friend to the point of obsession. “It’s a boat, Daniel. If you put a hole in the bottom, it’ll sink.”
“Are you forgetting the watertight compartments?” Daniel challenged, reaching for one of the many drawings that covered the old editor’s table. This one showed Titanic’s long hull divided by fifteen transverse bulkheads. “It doesn’t matter where the breach is. The captain has only to close the two doors around it to contain the water. Mr. Andrews said she could stay afloat with any four of those compartments flooded.”
Paddy shrugged. “It seems simple to me. Flood five.”
Daniel shook his head. “It would never happen. A steamship isn’t like a locomotive that can travel sixty miles an hour.” He indicated another sketch, this one of the Titanic striking a sister ship broadside. “Even a full-speed collision with another vessel would flood only one compartment — perhaps two.”
Paddy looked thoughtful. “Maybe your precious Titanic isn’t the one doing the hitting. What if some other big boat runs into it?”
“Her,” Daniel corrected. “It would be the same. The other ship’s prow would damage one, maybe two compartments, but no more.” He looked frustrated. “And there’s a double hull. Even if a boiler explodes, it wouldn’t break through both of them. A fire on board might do a lot of damage, but it wouldn’t burn through heavy-gauge metal.”
Paddy put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “If it was easy, your friend Mr. Andrews would have thought of it already. But you’re smarter than any starched-up dandy. You�
�ll figure it out. Now, let’s go put our bellies around some food. The meat pies should be going onto the sill at O’Dell’s just about now.”
Not even the promise of a savory meal could wrest Daniel from his sketching. “I’ll go later,” he said absently. “And remember, don’t spend those banknotes.”
Paddy cast him a cheeky grin. “Spend? When’s the last time you saw me pay for what I eat?”
And he was over the sill and out the window.
It almost didn’t count as stealing with Mrs. O’Dell anymore. Ever since Paddy had chased that huge rat out of her larder, she’d looked the other way every time he helped himself to one of her Cornish pasties. If he ever got rich, he would pay Mrs. O’Dell back for every single one he had nicked.
He walked along St. Bart Street, gazing idly into the shop windows and licking his fingers. Daniel didn’t know what he was missing. Who would pass up a full stomach to spend the day staring at diagrams of a boat? Sometimes the smart people seemed more stupid than the dullards. But, he reflected with pride, if anybody could come up with a way to sink Thomas Andrews’s unsinkable boat, it would be Daniel.
Walking past the window of a stationer’s shop, he saw a gorgeous milk-white drawing pad with a complete set of pencils, ink pens, and charcoals of every imaginable thickness. Why, armed with this, Daniel could design a way to scuttle the entire Royal Navy!
A small card beside the display announced that the price of this kit was three crowns sixpence. It was more money than Paddy had ever touched in his life — except for the gold clip he’d taken from the man in the houndstooth cloak. Why, with that windfall, he could afford a dozen of these kits, and have change left over!
He was on the point of running back to where they’d stashed the gold clip when he stopped in his tracks. Daniel had made him promise not to spend any of those banknotes.
But what was the point of having money if you could never spend it? No point at all. And Daniel would forgive him when he saw the wondrous gift he was getting.
Paddy ran to the hiding place and found the stash safe and sound. He plucked a single crisp note out of the clip and knew a moment of temptation. If it was a good thing to purchase this for Daniel, perhaps it made sense to buy each of them a new suit of clothes. If they weren’t dressed so shabbily, no one would be suspicious of the money they spent. And they could get closer to a better quality of pocket if they weren’t always being chased away as ragamuffins.
No, he decided. Just buy the kit. Leave the rest of the money here.
He headed back toward the stationer’s.
As morning became afternoon, Daniel began to regret passing up the meat pie. A fellow couldn’t very well think on an empty stomach. The lines of his Titanic drawings were starting to unravel and dance before his eyes.
It was not going well. Either that, or Mr. Andrews really had designed an unsinkable ship.
Daniel reached for a fresh pencil, accidentally scraping his arm against a patch of splintered wood on the old table.
“Ow!”
He examined the damage. An angry red scratch stretched from his wrist to his elbow.
Suddenly, the answer was right in front of him.
He was assuming it would take a spectacular crash to sink a mighty ship like the Titanic. But maybe he was approaching the whole problem the wrong way. His skin had barely touched that splintered wood, and yet it had left a wound along the entire length of his forearm. Could the same thing happen to an ocean liner? Not a devastating collision, but a sideswipe that opened a long breach extending through several of her watertight compartments. She could float with damage to four. But what if it was five? Or ten? Or all sixteen?
She would sink, that’s what!
He began to sketch with a new energy and excitement.
When he was finished with his diagram, he wrote his name and the date across the top. He couldn’t wait to explain his theory to Paddy. Yet the urge to show it to the designer of the Titanic himself was almost a physical pain.
He had to get this drawing in front of Thomas Andrews before the shipbuilder’s magnificent creation bore him halfway around the world.
CHAPTER FIVE
BELFAST
TUESDAY, APRIL 2, 1912, 4:15 P.M.
The stationer regarded Paddy with suspicion at first, but the freshly printed one-pound note was as good as a letter of introduction from King George himself.
At last, the man said, “I’ll be needing to send my boy to the bank with this note, to make sure it’s authentic.”
Paddy nodded, uncertain whether or not he should be offended. He’d never tried to spend paper money before. Perhaps this was standard practice. He sat awkwardly on a small wooden stool while the stationer wrapped his purchase in butcher paper.
“It won’t take long, lad. The bank is just around the corner.”
The man was right. It didn’t take long. The boy was back within five minutes. Directly behind him was an all-too-familiar man wrapped in a houndstooth cloak.
Paddy’s heart turned over. He was caught. Caught! And all because of his own stupidity! Daniel had warned him not to spend those notes!
The stationer addressed the newcomer. “As soon as I saw that quid, I thought this was sure to be one of the little scoundrels you’ve been looking for.”
“It is, indeed,” the man confirmed in a gruff voice. “Your help is appreciated, Finn.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gilhooley.”
Paddy’s jaw dropped. “Gilhooley?” Everyone recognized that name. James Gilhooley was the gangster who ran the waterfront district and half of Belfast beyond that.
“I see you’ve heard of my brother,” the newcomer growled. “And now you’ve met me. The name’s Kevin Gilhooley, and you’ll not be wanting to forget it.”
Paddy could not believe how quickly their good fortune had turned to dust. Just a few days earlier, they had landed a king’s ransom, and had been treated as equals by Thomas Andrews himself. Well, when something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. They had stolen from the notorious Gilhooleys. And everyone knew the Gilhooleys never forgave anything. If you sinned against them, you were paid out many times over without exception.
Paddy decided there was no point in trying to lie. “If we’d known it was you, we never would have done it, Mr. Gilhooley. We’ll return your money, every farthing, and you’ll not have trouble with us in the future.”
“Now, that warms my heart,” Kevin Gilhooley replied. “When I look at a thieving little wharf rat like you, I’m reminded of myself as a lad. But you stole from the Gilhooleys, boy, and we can’t allow word to get around saying that’s an acceptable state of affairs. We have to make an example of you — you and your partner. Now, where would we be finding him?”
Paddy decided, right then and there, that he might have to take his lumps over this, but he would not set these thugs on Daniel.
“We don’t need him,” Paddy promised. “I’ll take you to your money.”
Gilhooley’s face darkened, and his bushy eyebrows came together to form a single black line. “I was wrong. You’re nothing like I used to be. I would have sold out my friend in a heartbeat to save my own skin.” In an almost businesslike manner, he removed a brass knuckle-duster from his pocket and slipped it over his right hand. “Take a good look in the pier glass, boy, because you won’t recognize yourself when I get through with you.”
If Paddy had been the kind to give in to bullies, he would have stayed in the village with his stepfather. But how was he to get away from Gilhooley? The gangster was blocking the doorway.
The man took a menacing step forward.
Paddy jumped up and grabbed the stool he’d been sitting on, brandishing it like a shield.
Gilhooley laughed a cruel laugh. “You’ll have to do better than that, boy.”
In a split-second decision, Paddy reared back and hurled the stool, not at Gilhooley, but at the shop’s front window. The glass shattered into a million pieces, raining down on the pavement o
utside. Paddy was through that window while the shards were still falling. And once his feet made contact with the cobblestones, he was gone.
He darted around corners, down lanes, and through back gardens, employing all the escape skills he had refined over the past year in order to stay alive. He made at least a dozen turns before even considering starting for home. Daniel had to be warned that they were being hunted by the worst gangsters in Belfast.
He scrambled up the wall to the fire stairs, then squeezed inside the loose board.
A stage whisper: “Daniel!” No answer. The abandoned print shop was empty. Daniel had probably gone out in search of food.
Further investigation revealed another detail. All of Daniel’s Titanic sketches were gone. The surge of excitement almost erased Paddy’s fear of the Gilhooleys. Daniel must have taken them to Mr. Andrews! He had solved the puzzle of how to sink the Titanic!
But that also meant he was out in the city with no idea that he might be in danger.
Paddy climbed back down to the lane and started at a run for Queen’s Island. The streets were crowded, but most people gave him a wide berth. A ragged street boy on the run usually had someone’s purse in his possession.
Just outside the entrance to the shipyard, he spied Daniel’s slender figure marching along purposefully, the papers rolled up in his hands. Paddy raced to pull alongside him.
“Daniel! Daniel, thank the Lord I’ve found you!”
Daniel was glowing. “Come with me to see Mr. Andrews! I have the answer!”
“Daniel, listen to me!” Paddy exclaimed. “The twelve pounds in the money clip! We robbed Kevin Gilhooley! That’s James Gilhooley’s brother!”
“How do you know?” Daniel hissed. “You tried to spend one of the notes, didn’t you?”
“Never mind that now!” Paddy pleaded. “They want to use us to show all of Belfast what happens to people who cheat the Gilhooleys!”
Daniel looked thoughtful. “Maybe Mr. Andrews can help us.”
“How? He’s a shipbuilder, not a copper! And anyway, half the police are on Gilhooley’s payroll!”
Unsinkable Page 2
