‘The ones to be feared, gentlemen, are the grey ones. They may not look much, but like me, they’ve been at sea a long time – they’re old, tired, and can be troublesome!’
That little joke was older than Noah, but it would no doubt be remembered. I paused for a moment before stressing the facts. ‘Don’t forget – these old growlers have absorbed sea-water, and they’re sinking. They can be almost any size on the surface – often with a huge bulk below the waterline. So it’s imperative to give them a wide berth.
‘As you will appreciate,’ I concluded, ‘because of their colour they can be difficult to see at night…
And virtually impossible in fog, I thought but did not say. No point in scaring them witless. With my usual instruction to stay alert and call me if in doubt, I left them to return to my quarters.
The idea of fog plunged me into further gloom. Across the Grand Banks, thick, billowing mist was a hazard most of the year; put ice into the equation and the dangers went off the scale. So far there’d been nothing, not even a whisper. Please God, may it stay that way.
~~~
The message I’d been anxiously awaiting was delivered from the Chief’s office as I was finishing my breakfast. Joe Bell, in his usual terse prose, was pleased to inform me that the fire was out at last, the offending bunker now empty and cooling down.
Thank God.
Until the wave of relief washed over me I hadn’t realized the depth of my anxiety. The terrible fear of fire. All at once my breakfast revolted. I dashed to the bathroom and was violently sick.
~~~
Stead was the first of my visitors, some 15 minutes early. That he had recovered from the strain of the night before was obvious. Then he had been withdrawn, unsure of himself, even a little shaken. Facing me this morning he seemed confident, pale eyes gleaming, hair and beard bristling, ready to face a challenge.
Taking a chair, he adjusted the creases in his trousers and crossed one leg over the other. Only the swinging of his foot indicated that he was in any way apprehensive. He had the grace then to ask after Mrs Burgoyne, and to apologize for having been the instrument of her collapse.
‘How is the poor lady this morning?’
‘I’ve not yet seen Dr O’Loughlin. He will advise me later.’
‘Ah.’ He seemed slightly discomfited. ‘Do you mind if I smoke, Captain?’ he asked, noting the ashtray on the table.
‘Please – go ahead.’ As he opened a gold case and lit a cigarette, I opened the discussion. ‘So, Mr Stead – what was it that you couldn’t tell me in front of the ladies?’
Having discarded the match, he viewed me through a haze of smoke. On a little laugh, he shook his head and said, ‘Forgive me, Captain, but it feels strange to be on this side of the interview. Usually I’m the one asking questions.’
I looked at the clock. ‘You came early, Mr Stead, so I imagine you’d prefer to talk before the other gentlemen get here?’
He was suddenly serious. ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ He flicked ash from his cigarette. ‘Allow me to apologize again for what happened. It was most unexpected – I’ve never had anyone collapse on me before. Most upsetting.’ After another pause, he said. ‘We went through the preliminaries. I like to give instruction beforehand, to avoid running into trouble. I remember we were in the quiet time, concentrating hard on the people we wished to make contact with. I was seeking Julia, my usual guide…’
‘Julia?’
‘Yes, Julia, my spirit guide. She helps me make contact with the world beyond.’ He talked of this Julia – an American journalist who’d passed over some years before – as though she were still alive. It was all beyond me, but I waited for him to continue.
‘After a little while I felt a disturbance. Several spirits struggling to get through. I couldn’t see anything, you understand, just felt the distress. They were troubled and impatient, all of them keen to be heard. But something was preventing them coming through.’ He drew hard on his cigarette, stubbed it out. ‘For once, Julia was no help. Eventually, I sensed it was a woman. I thought she must be the sister who had so recently passed over…’
‘The sister? I interrupted. ‘Whose sister are we talking about?’
‘Why, the ladies in mourning, of course – that’s what the séance was all about.’
‘Ah – I thought you meant… I’m sorry – go on.’
‘They don’t know how to behave, you see, when it’s been a sudden passing. They think they’re alone and come though quickly – it can be very confusing. So I asked her name… No answer, just…’ he broke off, seeming genuinely moved. ‘I can’t describe it, except as an overwhelming sense of loss…
‘But then the mist came – a dark mist, obscuring everything. The room went cold. Like ice.’
He paused, head bowed. After a moment he looked up. I had thought his eyes penetrating when I first met him, but now they bored into me, invading my mind. ‘And then I knew. It was ice – ice at the heart of the mist.’
With an involuntary shiver I tore my glance away. ‘Did you see it?’
‘No. I sensed it, a great frozen mass…’
‘Did the others see it?’
‘Not the men – maybe not the sisters. Mrs Carver – possibly, I’m not sure. Mrs Burgoyne certainly experienced it. Maybe she saw it – that’s why she screamed.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ I’d no intention of revealing what Adelaide Burgoyne had seen, but I was about to ask how she’d come to be involved, when Stead leaned forward, pale eyes intense.
‘I had a presentiment, Captain, years ago. One of the reasons I don’t like crossing the sea. But what we experienced last night was more than that – the sorrow, the confusion, the icy cold – it was a clear warning…’
Just as I held up my hand to stop him, there came a discreet knock at my open door. I looked up and Frank Millet was standing there, Futrelle close behind.
Enquiring after Mrs Burgoyne, they came in, apologising afresh for the disturbance of the night before. Stead, clearly frustrated, sat back in his chair while they settled themselves. As it transpired, there was little they could add to what I knew already, but they were keen to explain their presence in the circle. Frank Millet said he had always been interested in the occult – years ago he’d experienced some strange happenings at his English home in the Cotswolds.
‘The ghost of a lecherous former innkeeper, would you believe?’ His smile broadened. ‘Used to caress my wife when she came into my studio – other ladies too. I had the devil’s own job keeping my models!’
Futrelle – a novelist, I’d been told – chuckled appreciatively before giving his own account of weird, real-life coincidences that had inspired his fiction. With my daily meeting at ten, I looked twice at the clock while they were speaking.
‘Yes, very interesting, gentlemen. What is it Shakespeare says? More things in heaven and earth than man can possibly know?’ I paused to measure something Joe had impressed upon me years ago. I wanted them to understand how deeply felt it was.
‘Out at sea,’ I said heavily, ‘we seafarers are like children in the face of the Almighty. We are alone with God’s power and his might. We do not play with the Devil.’
Allowing a moment for that to sink in, I drew things to a close. ‘Thank you for coming, gentlemen.’ I rose to my feet. ‘I will let you know how Mrs Burgoyne is faring when I have a report from Dr O’Loughlin.’
Stead, as I suspected he would, hung back. ‘Captain – a moment more.’ His voice was low, urgent, his pale eyes afire with conviction. ‘As I was trying to tell you – the chill, the fog – it was a warning. I feel it most strongly. We are in danger.’
‘No more than usual, Mr Stead. Now, if you’ll excuse me…’ I urged him towards the open door. Whatever he had to say, I didn’t want to hear it.
‘You don’t understand. Let me explain about the presentiments I’ve had – they’ve always come true. This time…’
‘This time?’ I repeated. Suddenly furious, I pushed the
door shut. ‘What about the time you organised a campaign to send General Gordon to the Sudan? That was right, was it? Got a good man killed – and nothing was achieved! And The Truth About the Navy? Turned out to be an invention that got the country into hock! That’s the trouble with you, Mr Stead – you feel things, and just because you can string a few words together, you imagine you know better than the rest of us.
‘Oh, and forgive me,’ I went on, tapping my forehead for effect, ‘didn’t you once go to prison for falsifying evidence?’
‘It was not falsified!’ With a burning glance he brushed past me, reached for the door. ‘But I see you are a bigoted man, Captain Smith. I fear you will regret it!’
‘Come now, Mr Stead – this isn’t one of your stories – this is real life!’ I recoiled as he slammed the door behind him.
After a moment I opened it again, hooked it back. My hands were unsteady. I lit a cigar, tried to calm myself before anyone else arrived. A warning. Did the man think I was as deluded as he was? As if there weren’t enough real problems to deal with, he had to go about inventing more!
~~~
As O’Loughlin remarked dryly when I released a head of steam a few minutes later, Mr Stead was a prime example of a man who carries the power of conviction.
With one of his ironic, I’m a Catholic, raised by priests, expressions, he said, ‘A shame he’s not travelling in Second – we could steer him towards Father Byles – he’d soon point out the error of his ways!’
For once, Billy’s dry asides failed to amuse. I was still rattled when we set off on our morning’s tour of inspection. Having seen the watchkeepers’ cabins and officers’ mess abaft the bridge, we headed as a group down to B Deck, where, as chance would have it, we bumped into a young stewardess coming out of Tommy Andrews’ stateroom. She lowered her eyes as she spotted Mr Latimer and me coming down the alleyway, and, with a bob of acknowledgement, hurried away with an armful of towels. Tommy, I thought, looked a little pink about the ears. I felt unaccountably irritated. I said nothing – he was not a member of the crew, after all – but raised an eyebrow and turned to Mr Latimer. Words were unnecessary. He nodded, and I knew the stewardess would be reminded of her position and her duties – which did not include flirting with Harland and Wolff’s chief designer.
If Tommy’s greeting was overly hearty, he was keen as ever to share his latest assessments, button-holing the Chief about bringing the additional boilers into play. I wanted to get on. Any more talk and we’d have Mr Ismay joining us.
‘Inspection, gentlemen,’ I said briskly, whereupon Tommy bowed and stepped aside. We did not enter the staterooms, but I was sharp-eyed in the bars and galleys, with random checks of conditions in store-cupboards and cold rooms. Latimer had his own methods of keeping an eye on stocks.
Finally, having worked our way through the victualing department’s accommodation – deck and engineering staff to come on Monday – it was just the Chief and me and the engine room. It was a relief to see things looking how they should. With the fire out, and the bunker cooling down, we could concentrate on what these engines might do under optimum conditions. Of the 29 boilers, 20 had been up to pressure from Southampton, and it was almost time to bring the reserves into play. The turbine was taking its power from the main engines’ exhaust system, and at the right moment the Chief could increase the revs and see what speed she would do.
The calm seas were a bonus we could not have envisaged. But in order to obtain maximum speed for a test run, we needed those who’d slaved to kill the bunker fire, fit and able to put in more effort.
‘When we do decide,’ Joe Bell said, pausing with his hand on the engine room door, ‘we’ll need those furnaces fed to capacity. I’ll need some warning, sir.’
‘Of course you will.’ I considered the options. ‘Today’s no good?’
‘No, I’d rather not. The lads have put their backs into killing that fire. They could do with normal duties for a watch or two.’
A quick calculation put Sunday out of the equation. ‘Well, providing this weather holds, how about Monday morning? I expect Mr Ismay will approve. He might even like to suggest it,’ I said with a dry smile.
The Chief grinned. ‘Monday it is, sir.’
~~~
Eager to convey the news before I met Mrs Carver, I called Bruce’s suite from the Chief’s office. His secretary said he was out on deck, taking the air. A few minutes later I spotted him on the Boat Deck, leaning against the rail in the sun.
‘By the way, sir,’ I said quietly, after we’d exchanged the usual pleasantries, ‘you’ll be pleased to know the bunker fire is out, and no damage as far as we can see.’
He straightened at once. ‘Thank heavens for that!’ With a rueful grin he said, ‘I don’t mind telling you, EJ, I’ve been quite anxious about it.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, you think the rest of us haven’t? I bit it back. ‘Yes, the Chief’s done well. He deserves congratulations.’
‘Absolutely!’ Bruce agreed, smacking the rail for emphasis. I waited. There was a slight pause, then he frowned and said, ‘So where does this leave us with regard to the speed test?’
I explained that we would be leaving the Great Circle and changing course somewhere around tea-time the next day, followed by a potentially difficult few hours as we met the cold Labrador current.
‘There could be ice, there could be fog. Possibly both.’
‘Grand Banks Sunday night?’ His sharp eyes studied me, the ends of his waxed moustache twitching as he pondered the situation. ‘Hmm. Tomorrow’s out, then. What about today? Can we really not fire her up today?’
I shook my head. He was not an engineer and I knew I shouldn’t be annoyed by his lack of perspicacity. Remembering his position it was necessary to humour him, although while a ship was at sea and I was in command, my word was law. Bruce Ismay was well aware of the fact and I did not need to remind him. Of course, it did not prevent him from trying to impose his will.
‘I doubt the Chief will want to stretch his men further at the moment,’ I observed, repeating Joe Bell’s words. ‘They’ve worked double shifts on that bunker…’
‘That’s too bad.’ His eyes roved over the horizon as though seeking an answer out there. Finally, thrusting his hands in his pockets, he said, ‘Better be Monday then. I suppose we can do it on Monday?’
‘I’ll speak to the Chief Engineer, Mr Ismay.’
‘Very good.’ And with that he strode away.
I cursed him silently. Without any increase in speed we were already on schedule for arrival before dawn on Wednesday, the 17th. Bruce was keen to beat Olympic’s record on her maiden voyage, and in this calm weather we could probably do it. But the fact remained it wasn’t practical to arrive after midnight when shoreside officials weren’t available. Anyway, the Chief knew his job. He would fire up the rest of the boilers when the time was right.
16
I was a little late for my appointment, and Mrs Carver was waiting at a table by the window, watching people stroll past along the Promenade. Another lurch of the heart as I noted her profile. Crossing the room I reminded myself that people do have doubles: this lady was a stranger, not Dorothea. She could not be expected to understand the emotions she aroused in me.
‘Mrs Carver,’ I greeted her with a warm smile. ‘How are you? It’s kind of you to see me – sorry I was delayed.’
‘How is Mrs Burgoyne?’ Betraying her anxiety, they were almost her first words.
‘A little better, I understand. Still resting, but the Doctor assures me she’s much recovered from last night.’ Disconcerted by the openness of her gaze, afraid she might see too much, I looked away, signalled to a steward. ‘Will you have coffee?’ She nodded, I ordered, and then, bringing my mind back to the séance, I said, ‘Tell me, how did Mrs Burgoyne come to be with you last night?’
‘Why, she’s acquainted with the Enderby sisters, Marianne and Eloise. But I don’t think she was at the funeral.’
/>
‘No, she joined in Cherbourg.’ I thought for a moment. ‘She didn’t mention her sister by any chance? No? I just wondered. But the séance, you said, was your idea… How was that? What made you approach Mr Stead?’ As she hesitated, I apologized for being so direct. ‘It’s only that I’m trying to understand how it came about.’
Mrs Carver looked down, studying her hands. Against the rich blue material of her skirt, her fingers were long and slender, the nails oval; she wore a ring set with pearls and rubies above her wedding band.
‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘it was simply that I thought a séance – something like that – might help. It was talked of, you see, when I was in London. My cousin – Emily – had read some of Mr Stead’s Borderland journals. She thought I might be interested. We were going to attend the Bureau…’
‘The bureau?’
‘Julia’s Bureau – it’s a meeting place for people interested in spiritualism. Mr Stead gives lectures there. I wasn’t in London long enough for that, but as chance would have it he attended a soiree given by a friend of my aunt’s. We were introduced.’
Intrigued, I asked her opinion of the man. The question surprised her. ‘Well, I must say Mr Stead has a powerful presence. People are drawn to him.’ She hesitated, gave a rueful smile. ‘To be honest, he makes me feel a little uncomfortable.’
At that, I chanced a bold question. ‘As though he knows what you are thinking?’
As our eyes met, she nodded. I agreed it was a disconcerting trait. ‘But – forgive me – I’m still curious. You said something about the ladies, and trying to help?
Our coffee arrived. She poured, asked if I would have milk. I noticed she was trembling slightly as she handed me the cup. She was clearly anxious about something. Was it the séance, or was it me? I’d almost forgotten my question when she began to explain.
‘Yes, Captain, as I said last night, they were upset. Their sister had passed away, and the funeral was held over until they could get to London. It probably sounds silly, but… they said strange things were happening at the house. The dead sister’s house, I mean, where they were staying.
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