I look at my hand. I forgot all about that charade of a proposal. Shit. I turn to my uncle and steady my voice. “How are you feeling, Uncle Harry?”
He smiles. “Exceptionally well, dear niece.”
They all watch me, waiting for the story of my engagement.
“But I thought you had the grippe.” The word sticks in my mouth with its foreignness. I look over my shoulder.
“Well, I…I am quite well.” His eyebrows furrow.
“Do you remember when you got married?” I ask my aunt. “After you bought your first home near Gramercy Park? How you had that painting commissioned of the two of you?”
Aunt Myra puts her sherry down. “Yes, of course.”
“Do you remember talking to me about it in the attic? My attic in Salem?” Please, Myra. Remember.
“The attic, dear?” Her confusion deepens.
“It was just a couple of days ago,” I say quickly. “You were looking for Uncle Harry.”
“Well, that does seem a little familiar.” She hesitates. “No, it could not have been a couple of days ago. We were in Europe. I am not sure I know what you are trying to ask me. Does this have to do with your proposal?”
“I’m not engaged!” I say too forcefully. They all stare at me uncomfortably.
“She was just waiting for me to tell the story,” Matt says behind me.
My legs tense.
He stops next to me and smiles, big and bright. Alexander Jessup I is with him. I take a small step backward.
“Alexander, you’re limping,” Mr. Stead says to Matt, and they all rattle off their concerns.
He holds up his hands. “I am quite well.” Matt turns his smile to me. There is something else in his eyes, anger smoldering right under the surface. “It is an incredible story, actually. You would not believe how sweet Samantha is. When I got down on my knee and asked her, she said yes and fainted straight off. She fell right onto me with her glass of sherry. I sustained a small cut, but nothing to be concerned over.”
They gasp.
“Of course, I caught her before she hit the floor. And she was not hurt, which is all that matters.”
There are approving murmurs from the group.
“She wept when she came to, seeing me bleeding like that.”
What is he doing? “I did nothing like that.” My voice is barely controlled.
“Do not be embarrassed by romance, Samantha. It is one of the best things about human nature,” Mrs. Brown says with kindness in her voice.
My hands clench into fists. How dare he manipulate me.
“And I will not tell you what happened after that,” Matt says with twinkling eyes. “Because if Samantha feels shy about the fainting, she will absolutely feel shy about this.”
Everyone makes agreeing sounds like it’s all just so perfect.
“But I’m afraid the whole evening gave her quite a shock. She has not been herself since. I think she is in much need of rest,” Matt says with fake concern. “You lovely people don’t mind if I steal her once more?”
They look at me like I’m some poor frail girl and Matt’s so wonderful. Even Mollie examines me more closely, like what Matt said might be true.
My heart beats a mile a minute. You filled my world with the Titanic, Matt. Now watch me use it against you.
I focus on Mrs. Brown. “You wondered how I knew so much about you the other night; you called me your fan. I am. The world is. At least, they are now, in the twenty-first century.” She opens her mouth to say something, but I keep talking before she can get a word out. “You were born in a cottage near the Mississippi River. You didn’t want to marry your husband, J.J., at first because he wasn’t rich, and you wanted to be able to give your father a better life. But you changed your mind and decided to follow your heart. And it all worked out. J.J. was smart and ambitious. And when you did have money, you did the most amazing things for women and children. You made your life count by always giving to and doing for others. And when the Titanic started sinking, you helped passengers into lifeboats. You helped row your own lifeboat, and you were one of the ones who fought to go back and save the drowning passengers who were screaming for help. Much later, the newspapers nicknamed you the Unsinkable Molly Brown. But they were wrong. No one ever called you Molly; your nickname was and is Maggie.”
Matt’s hand wraps around my arm. I try to pull it back, but I can’t without making a scene. And I need to look rational right now. Alexander I takes a step toward me.
Mrs. Brown’s eyebrows rise, and the color drains from her face. “How could you possibly know those personal things about me?”
“The Titanic sinking?” Uncle Harry says. “Come now, niece. Maybe you have had a bit too much excitement tonight.”
“It’s my fault. We were drinking sherry to celebrate,” Matt says. “The Titanic would not and could not sink. But do not fault my fiancée; if you cannot drink on your engagement night, then—”
“And you, Countess,” I continue before he can turn the conversation. His fingers dig into my arm. “You are much the same kind of woman. Strong, kind. You raise money for people in need, especially for schools, hospitals, and women. You got your nursing training so you could better assist the Red Cross. And when the ship went down, you rowed your lifeboat, too. And encouraged everyone, to keep their spirits up. After it was all over, when people called you a heroine, you responded by saying, ‘I hope not. I have done nothing.’ ”
The Countess of Rothes tilts her head, like she’s considering my words.
“Maybe we have all had a bit too much to drink, eh?” Alexander I says.
“Guilty,” Matt says.
“No.” My voice is more insistent. “Mr. Stead. I took your spoon.”
“My spoon?”
“My apologies, everyone,” Matt says. “I should have insisted Samantha take rest. She was just so excited to tell you all.”
“We understand completely how alcohol and a shock could upset someone,” Alexander I says.
I talk over him. “In the café, Mr. Stead, that day you were having lunch and discussing President Taft’s invitation. I took your spoon.” My voice is edging on frantic, and now I do try to yank my arm out of Matt’s grasp. “You published a story in the 1892 Review of Reviews called ‘From the Old World to the New.’ It was about an accident involving a White Star Line vessel and an iceberg. Everyone was saved. But that doesn’t happen here. This is not that story. And when it really happens to you, and the Titanic sinks, you don’t chase down a lifeboat. You sit quietly reading a book in the smoking room.”
“I think this poor child is hysterical,” Alexander I says. “She is clearly not well. She must be hallucinating.”
Matt nods, like it’s all very sad that I’m delusional.
Alexander I steps toward me. “I think we should take her directly. This is a most serious case.” He secures my arms. The whole lounge has stopped to watch.
I try to pull away from Alexander I, but he’s stronger and bigger. The women all look horrified, and my aunt has her hand over her mouth.
“Let go!” I shriek, but he drags me away. “Your dog!” I yell at my aunt and uncle. “Where is your Pekingese? Where is he? He was on board with you! He survived!”
Matt follows as Alexander I pulls me.
I dig my heels in, but that makes no difference. “The Titanic struck an iceberg at eleven-forty p.m. on April the fourteenth!” I scream to the entire room.
Alexander I clamps his hand over my mouth. “You put us in danger, all our years of hard work. Careless!” he says to Matt. “I will handle this from here.”
Matt flinches. “She is unwell,” Matt says loudly to the room. “She does not know what she is saying. Forgive her.”
The ship lurches, and for a moment we’re still. Still and quiet, like the engines stopped. Two crewmen throw open the lounge door, and bitterly cold air billows into the room.
Ismay comes through. “Everyone just keep calm now! We need you all to m
ake your way out onto the boat deck.”
The cold air…but I didn’t think…the boat lurching, the engines stopping. I did affect his spell. I just never thought it would be like this. I make eye contact with Matt. His expression is panicked.
The next second stretches like everything is in slow motion.
Between the cold air, Ismay’s announcement, and my words, the lounge passengers panic.
I yank and twist. Alexander I’s eyes are threatening. He pulls a small knife out of his coat pocket. Fear blurs my vision.
Matt steps forward to block me from people’s view. “Your father will suffer for—”
I lift both of my legs and kick Matt straight in the chest. He flies backward into a table.
“Mollie!” I scream. And she’s there, swinging a crystal decanter at Alexander I’s head. He falls.
Mollie grabs my hand, and we run through the crowd as fast as we can.
Mollie yanks me through a door and down a hall. We take so many twists and turns that I’m not clear where we are. Although I’m pretty sure we’re a couple of decks down. I suck in air. She pushes through another door into a small staircase.
I pull her to a stop. “We need—”
“I remember Denis Lennon.” Her eyes are fierce and her breath is heavy.
“When did you remember him? When exactly?”
“While ya were talkin’ in the lounge. It came slowly. Yer words felt right. I began ta agree with ’em. And then suddenly I saw Denis in me mind. I remembered. I’m dead, miss.” She glances nervously at the door. “And I remember the Jessups. I remember the young’un puttin’ a spell on me and Denis. And how we both flickered and disappeared.”
Mollie remembered, the ship is sinking, and yet we’re all still trapped here? How is the spell still holding? Oh no!
“I might have made a mistake.” I press the heel of my hand into my forehead. Matt said that if I didn’t stop talking about the sinking, I would go headfirst into the ocean. What if he meant this, that I wouldn’t break the spell at all, just disrupt it enough to sink the ship and everyone on it? “We need to go to steerage, Mollie. We need help.”
Her eyes widen. “The ship is goin’ down. Steerage will only trap us. We’ll wind up underwater in that metal cage again.”
“Do you remember that little girl Ada? She’s managed to blink off this ship a few times recently. She’s the only one I know of who has. Well, the only one who would help us, anyway.”
Mollie hesitates for a second, fear in her eyes. She looks at the door. “Nora will know which cabin is hers. We need ta hurry.” And we’re moving again. Fast.
My whole body strains forward, charged with adrenaline. Mollie winds us in and out of hallways and tiny passageways. We keep our heads down and our mouths shut. Crewmen are everywhere we go, handing out life jackets and knocking on doors. With each turn I scan every face, expecting to find one of the Jessups.
Mollie lifts a hatch, and we climb down a ladder into the ship’s belly, emerging into a part of steerage I’ve never seen.
It’s too quiet. The halls are practically empty.
“They’re still sleepin’.” Mollie’s voice rings. “No one woke ’em!” She picks up her dress and runs down the hall.
There are no hordes of stewards handing out life vests here. These people weren’t given a chance in life, and they’re not being given a chance in death.
Mollie pounds on Nora’s door, and I pound with her.
The door opens, and a squinting Nora stands on the other side. “What’s all yer drummin’ about? I was dreamin’ of…” Her eyes focus on us and she frowns. “Sweet Jaysus. Ya two look like ya seen the devil.”
“The ship’s flounderin’,” Mollie says.
Nora takes a step backward, like we physically hit her. “How long?”
Mollie exhales. “Soon.”
“Nora, I need Ada,” I say. “Do you know where her cabin is?”
“Aye. Down that way. Take yer first left, ’bout three doors farther on yer right.”
And just like that, the girls in Nora’s cabin are all moving at once.
I turn to Mollie. “Don’t wait for me.”
“But—”
“Get as many people as you can above deck!” I say as I run into the hallway. Groggy confused passengers are starting to wander out of their rooms.
“The ship is going down!” I yell as I pass the waking people. I’m met with surprised eyes.
One, two, three doors. I pound. No answer. I pound more.
A sleepy middle-aged man with a mustache and neatly parted hair opens the door and blinks at me.
Ada’s father? “Is Ada here?”
He frowns. “Yes, miss. But it is the middle of the night.”
“You need to get your family up and dressed. We struck an iceberg.”
“Papa?” I hear from inside.
I walk past him. Ada slips out of the bed she shares with her sister. Her hair is in disheveled braids over her shoulders, and she rubs her eyes.
I steady my voice. “Ada, how did you get to me in that other place? You said when you took a nap, right? Through your dreams?”
She nods.
Ada’s mother sits up. “Miss, we already checked, and the man at the gate said the noise was nothing. That there was no need to be concerned.”
“He did say just that,” Ada’s father confirms.
“He was wrong,” I say. “I’m telling you. You need to get your family dressed and above deck. The Titanic is going down.” I would never forgive myself if I not only sank this ship a second time, but sank it with Ada locked in steerage underwater for who knows how long.
I kneel down so that I’m at eye level with Ada. “How did you get to that other place, the one where you visited me, Ada?”
She frowns. “I do not know. It just happened.”
“Do you think you could do it again? If you thought about that place, could you go there?”
Ada shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“Ada, please…”
“They would have told us if there was a possibility of floundering,” Ada’s father says to me.
“They didn’t. And there aren’t enough lifeboats.” My tone is forceful. “If you stay down here, you’ll be flooded.”
Ada’s mother stands up and looks at her children. “Coats. Now!” They jump into motion at her words.
I hear Mollie’s voice from the hallway, screaming for the passengers at the gate to break it down.
I grab Ada’s shoulders. “Listen, Ada. This is important. Do you remember the guy you saw in my bedroom the last time you visited?”
She nods.
“His name is Elijah. No matter what happens, no matter how scary everything is, Elijah can help. The second you can figure out how to go to that other place, I need you to go to him. And I need you to tell him that the Collector is Matt Wilder. He’ll understand.”
Ada’s mother slips a coat onto her.
Mollie appears in the doorway with wild eyes. “He’s here. The oldest Jessup. I caught sight a him through the gate. He told the guard ta unlock it. He’s comin’ through.”
“Go, Mollie! Take the ladder. Get to the boat deck. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Samantha—”
“Go!” And she does.
“Did you hear me, Ada?” My voice is fast.
“The Collector is…”
“Matt Wilder,” I say.
“Matt Wilder,” she repeats.
“Don’t forget. Please, Ada, please don’t forget.”
I run out of the room. At the end of the hallway is Alexander I. And he’s not alone. The drowned man is with him. They look right at me, and I sprint toward the ladder.
I grab the ladder rungs. My dress gets tangled around my feet. I scoop up the skirt and hold it between my teeth, looking over my shoulder. The drowned man and Alexander I run down the hall toward me. I climb faster, my heart in my throat.
A hand wraps around my ankle and ya
nks. I brace against the ladder and kick at the drowned man with my free leg. He loses his grip momentarily, trying to avoid my swinging foot. I hoist myself up to the final rung and scramble onto the upper deck.
I run through the narrow passageway and into a hall. The floors are starting to slant, and I’m headed downhill. I steal a glance behind me. The drowned man’s right on my heels, but Alexander I is lagging. I bound up a staircase, taking the steps two at a time, and into another hall. The drowned man’s shoes drum on the stairs behind me. There’s no chance of losing him when he’s this close.
I push through the door into the first-class dining room and sprint past the once-beautiful tables. I hear the door open behind me. I don’t look back. The floor is strewn with broken plates that slid off the tablecloths. It takes all my concentration to maneuver around the fallen chairs.
I reach the Grand Staircase, my adrenaline raging, pushing me up and up and up. The drowned man keeps pace, step for step.
I run for the door to the boat deck and bang it open, hurting my hands. The icy air cuts like frozen razors. My legs strain against the incline, screaming from the exertion.
There are crowds on the deck. The band plays cheery tunes that compete with the fearful yelling from the passengers. There is only one lifeboat left that I can see. Mollie is by the edge of the crowd waiting for it.
“Mollie!” I scream. “Get help!”
She turns, and I run toward her. We make eye contact, and she looks past me at the drowned man. Her eyes widen. She doesn’t move a muscle. His footsteps close in on my own.
“Mollie!” I scream again, pleading with her to do something, anything. But she just stands there, staring.
I sprint right past her.
Something crashes behind me loud and hard. I look over my shoulder, and the drowned man is lying on top of Mollie on the floor. I slide to a stop. No! She must have stepped between us and he knocked her over.
“Don’t you touch her!” I yell, running back to them.
He pushes up off of her, his eyes locked on me. Mollie gets up, too. I spot an oar leaning against the wall. I grab for it, but his hand wraps around my wrist, pulling me back.
Haunting the Deep Page 25
