On a Cold Dark Sea

by Elizabeth Blackwell

  Impulsively, Esme said, “Come with us.”

  Charlie looked perplexed. “To Philadelphia?”

  “To New York. We’re booked on the Titanic—no one will think twice if you change your plans because you want to sail on the new ship. You’re due back in a few weeks anyway, aren’t you?”

  “Are you that fond of me?” he asked. His voice had shifted from its usual joking tone.

  “You fool. I’m desperately in love with you.”

  Esme meant to laugh, to lighten the weight of what she’d said. Instead, she had to scrunch up her face to keep in the tears. Only Charlie’s gentle kisses could convince her to open them, and then they didn’t speak for a long time.

  Esme had intended to be good. She thought she’d be satisfied with a few kisses on a deserted deck at night; she pictured a bittersweet yet decisive goodbye. But Charlie was like a sickness to which he was the only cure, infecting her until she was listless with anyone but him. The first night aboard, when Hiram said he was ready to retire at nine o’clock, Esme told him she’d made plans to play bridge in the Café Parisien. The lie slipped out so easily that she didn’t feel even a twinge of guilt. On her way out, she stopped in the adjoining maid’s room and told Sabine she’d be visiting a friend in stateroom 34, down the stairs on C deck.

  “If my husband wakes up, come fetch me,” Esme said.

  “Yes, madame.” If Sabine suspected what Esme was up to, she was clever enough—and loyal enough—not to let on.

  And so, that first night, Esme snuck to Charlie’s stateroom, terrified she’d pass someone she knew. But she didn’t—proof, perhaps, that her escapade was meant to be. Charlie opened the door as soon as Esme knocked, and she reassured him by hiding her own nervousness. She turned off the light, and the darkness made it easier for them to move from kisses to touches to clothes strewn across the floor. Despite uncomfortable thoughts of Hiram that lurked in the background of her consciousness, Esme didn’t believe what she was doing was wrong, because her senses responded to Charlie in a way they never had to Hiram. This was the man she should have married, her body told her. The man she was meant to be with forever.

  Esme came to Charlie the next three nights, confiding thoughts in the dark she’d never revealed to anyone else. The nighttime hours passed dizzyingly fast; the daytime hours were misery. Esme made polite conversation with Charlie when they passed on the deck, as she would with any other acquaintance. But it seemed half of Philadelphia society had booked passage on the Titanic, and Hiram insisted they dine with the Thayers and the Wideners, well-connected couples who would further his career. Beneath her cheerful smiles, Esme wanted to scream. She’d be seeing these same people at dinners for the next thirty years; why couldn’t she spend these hours with the man who meant more to her than anyone else? She and Charlie tried to arrange meetings when they could, but there were always other people nearby, potential eavesdroppers who would notice any untoward behavior.

  Once, they managed to sneak a few touches in the library, as Charlie pretended to recommend a book and intertwined his fingers with Esme’s when he passed it to her. She shifted closer, until her hips pressed against his legs, dizzy with the urge to kiss him. From the corner of her eye, Esme noticed an old woman leaning forward in her chair, watching them. Esme leisurely stepped backward, not wanting to look suspicious by moving too fast.

  Charlie whispered “Later” to Esme, and walked away, giving the curious woman a bright smile as he passed.

  “On your honeymoon, are you?” the woman asked.

  “How did you know?”

  “Oh, I can always tell. You look so happy together.”

  Esme couldn’t help smirking. She was on her honeymoon, and she was happier than she’d ever been—with a man who wasn’t her husband.

  “Aren’t you kind,” she told the woman. And she decided to wring every drop of happiness she could from these last days, without regret.

  That Sunday night, after the engines had stopped, Esme snuck into her cabin to find Hiram gone. It was the first time he hadn’t been in bed, asleep, when she returned. Esme knocked on the door to Sabine’s room, then opened it when there was no response. Her maid had dozed off in bed, still dressed.

  “Sabine,” Esme whispered. “Where’s Mr. Harper?”

  Sabine blinked her eyes open and sat up, disoriented. “Madame?”

  “Mr. Harper. He’s not here. Did he go out?”

  Sabine shrugged. “I am sorry . . .”

  “Never mind.”

  Esme closed the door and returned to the stateroom. Hiram’s book was on the nightstand, but his bathrobe was missing from the hook on the back of the door. She went out to the hall, where she heard voices and footsteps on the stairways, noises all the more prominent in the unusual silence of the ship.

  Esme walked down to the reception room at the foot of the Grand Staircase, where knots of people had gathered. Hiram was talking to one of the dining-room stewards, looking like an eccentric grandfather in his robe and slippers, and Esme felt the urge to turn away before he noticed her. How could she be chained to such an old fussbudget for the rest of her life?

  Hiram caught sight of Esme and waved.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, rushing toward her. “You said you’d be in the café.”

  Esme dodged the question. “What’s going on?”

  “We seem to have scraped past an iceberg.”

  For the rest of her life, Esme would cringe when she remembered the relief that swept through her. In that moment, she was thrilled the ship had run into trouble, because it would distract Hiram from wondering where she’d been.

  “Scraped?” Esme asked.

  “There’s a man in the smoking room who grabbed a piece of ice for his drink.”

  “The ship’s all right, though?”

  “I expect the captain’s checking her over. He’s an old hand at Atlantic crossings—he’ll have it worked out soon enough.”

  Esme glanced at the groups lingering around them, men and women in a full range of dress, from formal gowns to pajamas and shawls. Charlie wasn’t there. A man wearing a dark-blue officer’s uniform walked halfway up the stairs to address the room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Captain Smith has ordered all passengers to put on their life belts.” As voices rose with questions, he insisted, “Only a precaution, I assure you.”

  “What’s going on?” demanded a stern older gentleman. Some captain of industry Esme had been introduced to, though she couldn’t remember his name.

  The officer repeated stiffly, “All passengers are to retrieve their life belts and report to the boat deck.”

  The announcement caused a flutter of reaction, more of complaint than concern. Esme followed Hiram back to their stateroom, where he secured Esme’s life belt before putting on his own. He rapped on Sabine’s door and told her to put one on as well.

  “Wait for me in the lounge,” Hiram told Esme. “No sense standing outside in the cold until we know what’s what.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the smoking room. See if anyone’s heard more news.” He handed Esme the fur coat he’d bought for her at Harrods. “Take this with you.”

  The lounge was half full, and Esme strolled across the room, looking discreetly for Charlie. Acquaintances greeted her with smiles and tips of the head. It was all very polite, like a formal reception, with everyone making an effort to appear unruffled.

  An officer appeared in the doorway. “All women and children to the boat deck. We are loading the lifeboats.”

  The curt order shattered the room’s calm. The disparate groups of people melded into a single mass as they followed the officer up the stairs that led outside, their voices ringing out in sharp bursts.

  “What does he mean?”

  “What’s happened?”

  “I’m not going anywhere without my husband.”

  But Esme stayed put. She had to find Charlie. They might not be able to converse in priv
ate, but just seeing him, in the midst of all this confusion, would steady her. Motioning Sabine to hurry, she looked upstairs in the Palm Court and smoking room, then hurried up to the gymnasium, where two men were riding the stationary bicycles with forced enthusiasm. A long-faced man—Mr. Astor?—was sitting with his wife; he’d cut open a life belt and was showing her the cork inside. Esme walked out to the boat deck, bracing herself against the cold. In the distance, two levels down, she saw figures shuffling across the outdoor space reserved for third-class passengers. A few were throwing something back and forth, and Esme realized it was a piece of ice. There were chunks of it littering the deck. A girl whose kerchief barely covered her tumbling red hair shrieked at one of the men, who shouted back, and they both erupted into cawing laughter. All very juvenile, but Esme couldn’t help thinking it also looked like fun.

  “Esme!”

  Charlie ran up to Esme, panting and flushed, his lopsided hat covering one eye. The sight of him dissolved the worry she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying, leaving her wobbly with relief.

  “Are you all right?” Charlie asked. He was standing so close, his breath warmed her frosty cheek.

  Esme nodded. Charlie was here. It would be all right.

  “I’ll take you to a lifeboat.” Charlie’s hand moved out involuntarily, but he stopped it just before touching her arm.

  “I don’t want to go,” Esme said, knowing she sounded like a sulky child, needing Charlie to convince her.

  “You must,” he insisted. “I heard we’re taking in water below.”

  “Aren’t there compartments that keep it out?” There’d been a discussion of the ship’s construction earlier that night, when she and Hiram had dined with Captain Smith, but Esme had ignored most of it. She’d been too busy trying to catch Charlie’s eye across the dining room.

  “Oh, we’ll stay afloat for a while,” Charlie said. “They’ve sent out wireless messages, and other ships are on the way. But I’d feel better if you were in a lifeboat. Just in case.”

  The exchange had an unreal quality, as if they were reciting a melodramatic scene between a dashing hero and his reluctant damsel in distress. Esme still didn’t believe the ship was in serious danger. She felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and turned to see Sabine pointing at an approaching man. Esme was dismayed to see it was Hiram.

  “There you are!” he chided Esme. “I couldn’t find you.”

  He’d changed into his brown wool suit and overcoat, making him look more presentable than he’d been earlier. But he’d worked himself into a very un-Hiram-like state of agitation. The muscles of his face were drawn tight, and when he locked his arm with Esme’s at the elbow, the force was so strong that she momentarily stumbled back.

  “You were supposed to wait in the lounge,” he snapped.

  “I wanted to see what was going on,” Esme said. How like Hiram, to expect her to be as rigid and self-disciplined as he was.

  Hiram gave Charlie a brief nod. “Mr. Van Hausen, thank you for looking after my wife.”

  It was all too absurd: Hiram thanking the man who was cuckolding him. Esme let out a nervous, inappropriate laugh.

  “I was about to escort Mrs. Harper to a lifeboat,” Charlie said easily, as if he had nothing to hide.

  The deck was already less crowded than when Esme had first walked out. A few seamen were working the davits that held the lifeboat nearest them, the last one left on deck. A semicircle of passengers stood watching, curious onlookers taking in the show.

  “It’s an awfully long way down,” Esme murmured.

  “You’ll be perfectly safe,” Charlie reassured her. “We’ll all have a laugh about it when we arrive in New York. I’ll arrange a dinner at Delmonico’s.”

  Hiram pushed Esme forward.

  “Go!” he snapped, and Esme stared at him in exaggerated shock. He’d never raised his voice to her, ever.

  “What’s the rush?” she protested. “Charlie says we’ll be rescued.”

  “One of the officers told me the Olympic is coming,” Charlie explained.

  “The Olympic is five hundred miles away.” Hiram’s words had the brusque frustration of a parent disciplining his wayward children. “Things are much worse than you think.”

  He reached into his jacket and pulled out a fountain pen. Leaning down, he placed the pen on the deck, and Esme watched it roll steadily away from them.

  “We’re sinking,” Hiram said. “I have it directly from the purser. We have a few hours, at most. Probably less.”

  As if to punctuate the warning, an explosion of green light erupted above them. Esme wondered who would set off fireworks at a time like this. She saw Charlie’s face, lit with a ghoulish glow, his mouth falling slack with understanding.

  “Distress rockets,” he muttered.

  Sabine was pressing her intertwined hands against her mouth, trying not to cry. For the last six weeks, Esme had treated her maid like a puppy or doll: something to be played with when it suited her and otherwise ignored. But Sabine was a person, with thoughts and feelings, terrified and far from home. Esme remembered Sabine’s father, and the way he’d thanked her for giving his daughter a better life. Until now, Esme hadn’t thought it was possible for the hulking liner to sink. But Sabine’s fear had ignited her own, and dread crept like a poison through Esme’s bloodstream. If Esme didn’t get in a lifeboat, Sabine wouldn’t either. And they both might die.

  What had felt like a choice a few minutes earlier had become a necessity. Esme reached out for Sabine’s hand and brought her forward.

  “Venez,” she said. “Come along.”

  The officer in charge of loading the boat was strutting around imperiously, but he didn’t seem to have a clear idea what to do. Two crewmen stood at either end, fiddling with the ropes, while others leaned against the davits, waiting for orders. The officer pointed to the female passengers gathered around him with a simple “In you go,” and Esme saw more than one woman frown disapprovingly at his far-from-deferential tone.

  This can’t be how it ends, Esme thought with growing panic. How could she say goodbye to Charlie in front of all these people? It was all happening too fast: Sabine stepping gingerly into the boat; Hiram’s hand against Esme’s shoulder blade, nudging her on; one last glance over her shoulder at Charlie. He gave her a solemn nod, granting her permission to leave. He looked resolute, and tragic, and unbearably handsome.

  Esme turned away, swallowing the misery that threatened to engulf her. A man was reaching out to her from the lifeboat, a common seaman by his uniform, and she grabbed hold of him, half climbing and half stumbling inside. She mustn’t look back—that would have destroyed her—so she looked outward, at the stars glittering on the horizon. They were the only indication of where the sea ended and the sky began.

  “Any more ladies?” the officer called out.

  There was no reply. Esme glanced around at her companions in the boat. They numbered no more than a dozen, women of various ages, scattered on four benches with ample space between them. Esme saw a man and a woman on deck, engaged in a heated conversation; the woman eventually stepped back, out of sight. Esme couldn’t see Charlie, but Hiram was still there, pacing back and forth, looking exasperated. She wondered if this would be the last time she ever saw him.

  “Might the gentlemen board?” Esme called out. “We have room.”

  The officer shook his head stiffly. “Captain’s orders. Lower away!”

  The crewmen at the davits went to work, but the lifeboat didn’t budge. After another false start, one of them told the officer it was jammed.

  “How?” the officer asked, incredulous, and Esme felt a sickening lurch of fear. What if the boat went crashing into the water? Suddenly, a rope loosened and one end of the lifeboat jerked down. Terrified, Esme clutched the bench to stop herself sliding off. A little boy fell with a thump into the bottom of the boat but was quickly scooped up by his mother, who pulled the child into her lap and clutched him tight with both arms. />
  A rope on the other side shifted, and the boat evened out, then continued its unsteady progress downward. Esme looked up and saw Hiram at the railing, curiously calm. The creases in his forehead had smoothed out, and she remembered their first meeting, how he’d struck her as an old-fashioned courtly gentleman. A gentle man, she thought wistfully, as he gave Esme a look that said both thank you and goodbye. Esme held up one hand—a gesture of affection? of dismissal?—and he lifted one of his in response. Esme knew she should say something, but she couldn’t think of the right words, and all of a sudden, she was staring at a line of rivets drilled into the ship. The deck was out of sight; the moment had passed.

  They were passing a glass-enclosed promenade when Esme was startled to see a face staring back at her. It was a woman wrapped in an oversized dark coat, her large, arresting eyes holding Esme’s attention. The man next to her was wearing a garish, flashy suit and banging his fists against the glass. The sound was muffled, but Esme could sense his near panic.

  “Stop!” the younger crewman called up to the deck. He carried himself with the dignity of an officer, despite his common sailor’s uniform. “We’ve a woman here!”

  The boat jolted to a halt, and Esme and her fellow passengers tilted forward.

  “What now?” the other crewman barked. He was the kind of sailor usually kept out of passengers’ sight; his face and beard were smeared with coal dust, and his clothing was dark with soaked-in grime. “Is she going to walk through glass?”

  “We must do our duty,” the first crewman said. He hollered up to the deck, and when the officer leaned over the railing, he shouted out his request that another woman be allowed to board.

  The woman in question was looking at Esme with a determined sort of expectation. There was something about the woman’s stare—those penetrating blue eyes—that commanded Esme’s attention. Esme tried to smile reassuringly, but her face froze midway, because suddenly there was Charlie, on the other side of the window, running up to the woman and talking to her with intent concentration. Then Charlie looked out, at the boat and at Esme, his expression bright with purpose.