A Ripple in Time

by Julia Hughes

  Wren crept back into bed beside Carrie. Without waking she wrapped her arms around him and slung a leg over his, tucking her head under his chin. Dropping a kiss against her hair, he snuggled up, closed his eyes and managed a fitful sleep.

  Chapter Forty-One

  An authoritive rap on the door woke Rhyllann. The handle turned and their corridor steward stepped into the room. Somehow they’d managed to draw the only crew member who walked around as though a bad smell was directly under his long thin nose. He reminded Rhyllann of his old headmaster for some reason.

  ‘The Baron’s compliments Sir, and will you join him and his wife for breakfast.’

  He placed a pile of packages wrapped in brown paper on the bench seat and without waiting for a reply left. Rhyllann definitely wasn’t on his Christmas card list. After rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning, Rhyllann investigated the packages – decent sized clothes at last! A couple of white baggy shirts a pair of drill cotton trousers, and an Edwardian dress suit any Teddy Boy would be proud to own. At least they would fit.

  He walked blindly past Wren slouched against a wall in the corridor.

  ‘There’s women in there. Don’t go in.’ He warned, grabbing Rhyllann before he could open the door and hurrying him off to the dining room.

  ‘Carrie’s dresses aren’t ready yet. She’s not happy. The dressmakers are trying to sort it out. I don’t know, looked fine to me.’ Wren explained. Unexpectedly he said ‘Sorry I was shitty to you last night. I was laying awake ages waiting for you to get back.’

  Rhyllann couldn’t ever remember Wren apologising for his manners. Not in this world or any other.

  ‘You had another row with Carrie?’

  ‘Not a row exactly. She’s got this idea in her head that she can borrow my jeans and run around the ship pretending to be a boy.’

  Rhyllann did a double take.

  ‘What?!’

  ‘She says men get away with more. That’s why she cut her hair.’

  Rhyllann burst out laughing. If anything the spiky hair cut emphasised Carrie’s gamine features and femininity.

  A cabin boy in pristine white uniform held one of the dining room doors open for them. Rhyllann looked the spotty awkward youth over and laughed again.

  ‘Thanks son.’ He said. The boy thought he was laughing at him and flushed.

  Breakfast was informal with no seating plan and a hot self service counter. Many of the first class passengers took breakfast in their rooms, and the grand dining hall appeared even more spacious with only a dozen or so tables in use.

  Rhyllann lifted one tureen lid then another, trying to decide between lemon sole or mouth watering sausages bursting from their skins, wondering if he should make two trips or if anyone would notice if he loaded his plate up. He sniffed the air appreciatively, savouring the strong roast coffee aroma. That was his next dilemma. Coffee or hot velvety chocolate? He certainly wasn’t going for that brown fizzy stuff the stewards kept trying to press on him. It tasted like bicarbonated sugar and made his mouth tingle unpleasantly. No wonder it never caught on.

  Settling for a fried breakfast with a side plate of fish, and a tall pot of coffee he cast around for a table. Wren was already seated, munching through toast loaded with scrambled eggs. A jug of orange juice with two glasses sparkled next to a bowl of fruit and a miniature arrangement of Spring crocus provided a touch of colour against the white lacy table cloth. As Rhyllann took a seat next to Wren, he continued as though there’d been no interruption.

  ‘What am I gonna do Annie? I’m seriously considering locking her up.’ He smiled to show he was joking.

  ‘She’s your woman not mine!’ Rhyllann poured juice for them both.

  Wren gave a mirthless laugh, pushing his plate away. ‘Not for much longer. Thanks.’ He picked up the glass, rolling it between his hands pensively.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Wren mumbled into his glass. ‘She’s engaged.’ He slurped at his drink.

  Rhyllann sliced bacon, pronged mushrooms and added a chunk of sausage to his fork. Several phrases came to mind, he dismissed them all. If anyone said to him “better to have loved and lost” he knew he’d punch them.

  Wren let out a long sigh. ‘I’m going to lose her.’

  Rhyllann struggled to find consoling words, chewing hard so he could swallow and reassure.

  ‘Once this is all over, we’re back in our own time and place, you can go looking for her. I mean – she’s engaged, not married with kids.’ His brow wrinkled. ‘And this boyfriend – I mean – it doesn’t sound like they ever got it on – and what kind of relationship’s that?’ Rhyllann shook his head dismissively: No relationship.

  ‘You’ll get her back. You will.’ He said.

  ‘She might not want me back. She thinks I’m cold, inhuman.’ Wren said almost to himself.

  ‘Brawd, not to sound harsh or nothing, but we got enough on our plate.’ Rhyllann said without hint of irony, mopping up the last of the fried breakfast juices with a slice of bread, scrunching it into his mouth, and pulling his fish course towards him, biting his tongue against the phrase that entered his head. He wanted to say “Enjoy it while it lasts.” Instead he reached for the coffee pot, narrowing his eyes in pleasure as the first slug of caffeine hit the spot.

  ‘Mm. Suppose you’re right. Maybe we’ll meet again.’ Wren said doubtfully. He rested his chin on his hand and gazed across the room.

  ‘Chap over there waving to you. Friend of yours?’

  Rhyllann looked over his shoulder and lifted a hand in acknowledgement.

  ‘Kind of.’ He began a long and detailed account of last night’s events hoping to make Wren laugh, or at least smile.

  ‘… turned out the only game Freddy had in mind was Queens so I told him it was my time of the month and rushed out.’ Rhyllann added bits on for comical effect.

  ‘Ended up in the Gent’s smoking lounge with Herr Bismach over there.’ He pointed with his knife at the be-whiskered German. Unless he was wearing that bow-tie for a bet the guy had to be straight.

  ‘Germans aren’t that different from us you know, they’ve got their own tribes. Herr Bismach’s Prussian. You should have a word with him. He thinks the Titanic’s turbine driven engines are the way forward. Raving about them. Nearly as boring as you.’ He laughed. ‘Only joking Brawd.’

  Wren’s face tightened, then scowled. ‘Herr Bismach you say? Anything to do with the German navy?’

  ‘How the hell did you know that? Yes!’ Rhyllann grinned, pleased he’d succeeded in drawing Wren’s attention from Carrie.

  ‘Some other matey wants to press ahead with U-boats. That’s what they call their submarines, but Bismach’s gonna push for turbine screw propellers or whatever.’ Rhyllann frowned. ‘Least that’s what I think he said.’

  It got a bit hazy after the first two tumblers. Something about wing propellers and central turbine prop with gears driven by reciprocating engines. Rhyllann delicately turned down an invitation to visit the Condensing Plant or get geeky with the Turbine Room.

  Wren started laughing hysterically. Rhyllann frowned again, pouring more coffee into his stained cup.

  ‘Drink this. Get a grip. People are staring.’

  Wren gulped. ‘No, it’s ok. I’m alright. Thing is Annie, if your friend gets off this ship and gets his own way, there’s the possibility right there that the Lusitania won’t be torpedoed by a German U-boat. And that was America’s casus belli to enter the war.’

  ‘What? Drink the bloody coffee! What are you talking about?’

  ‘It doesn’t just hang on one guy. Thank god. It doesn’t come down to just one person dying.’ His eyes glittered manically. Rhyllann began to wish he’d braved the nest of women.

  Wren sucked at air, composed himself and began to explain.

  ‘It’s all so logical. Your new friend. If Titanic completes her maiden voyage and everything’s hunky dory, there’s a massive chance he persuades the German Navy to invest in this t
ype of vessel. If the Titanic sinks and even if Herr Bismach does survive, he won’t be quite so keen, the U-boat fellow will win. Five years from now a German U-boat will torpedo a ship carrying American civilians and America enters the war citing that reason.’ He dusted his palms together as he finished.

  Rhyllann scratched his head leaning back in his chair to work out what Wren was telling him.

  ‘And that lets you off the hook with Carrie?’

  Wren hugged himself. ‘Not just with Carrie.’ His chest heaved with a huge sigh of relief. He took a couple of deep breaths, sighing again with each exhalation. He smiled soporifically.

  ‘I can sleep at nights. Finally. I’ll be able to sleep.’ His eyes roamed the dining room, scattered with clusters of happy talkative people. As though talking to himself he continued.

  ‘And it probably isn’t just the future Mexican President, or Herr Bismach. This ship carries so many hopes and dreams. It has to sink. For all the right reasons. It’s a pivotal moment in time.’

  Rhyllann said quietly. ‘You don’t need to convince me of that.’

  Wren pushed his chair back. ‘I know. Fancy some more bacon and eggs? Then you can introduce me to Herr Bismach. I want a little chat with him.’

  Unexpectedly Rhyllann gave a huge yawn. With luck he’d be able to sneak off mid bore. Even a private game of Queens seemed more inviting than another lecture on early twentieth century innovations in sea travel. In stereo.

  Rhyllann needn’t have worried about sneaking off. Herr Bismach and Wren were kindred souls and before long the table was littered with napkins covered with scribbled equations. It seemed maths was a universal language and for a while Rhyllann was entertained as first Wren then the German would splutter eagerly in their own language whilst writing out some complicated algebraic formula for the other to coo over. Rhyllann might have been invisible, torn between wanting to stay and see which one ended up with the maddest hair style and taking a third breakfast with the young lady he’d met in second class, Rhyllann gave into his appetite and left the two new friends to argue in peace.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  April is a month notorious for its fickle weather, capable of producing heat waves or snow and anything in between. As the Titanic steamed forwards at 22 knots an hour a chill entered the air, though the skies remained clear.

  That afternoon Captain Smith and his Officers toured the ship, making a through inspection. Over five hundred miles had been covered, a very good time. Passengers of all classes greeted his party cheerfully, paying compliments on everything from the cleanliness of the common areas to the roominess of the cabins. Looking at the calm waters and cloudless skies an unanimous decision was taken to cancel Sunday’s lifeboat drill. With 885 crew and only 1,316 passengers, crew members could take charge of two passengers each and there’d still be plenty of spare hands to cope with any emergency.

  There was a celebratory air amongst first class passengers as they arrived for dinner. The Baron’s new wife attracted glances as she arrived. The ladies agreed with varying degrees of relief that although pretty enough and that daring haircut was certainly head turning, she wasn’t that great a beauty. A little too slim in the hips for a gentleman’s taste was the general consensus. Sir Rhyllann of the Western Marches looked particularly handsome and eligible though, and the twins decided to give him another chance.

  Carrie and Wren made their escape as soon as they could. Carrie’s fair skin blushed easily, flaming each time someone remarked on her newly married status, hinting at possible reasons for extended sea sickness on such calm seas. Wren who’d earlier been put on his best behaviour by Rhyllann (‘Pretend to be normal.’) turned white with the effort of holding his tongue. Eventually at a remark from the twin’s aunt, fifty and fat enough to fill two seats Rhyllann broke his own code.

  ‘I suppose you should know Lady duPain, it can’t be much longer before your own “happy event.”’ But he said it with such innocence only Wren spluttered.

  ‘Dance, come on Carrie.’ He said, pulling her up and onto the dance floor. Carrie had never waltzed before, she doubted Wren had either. They clung to each other swaying while the orchestra’s strings floated around them; she radiated happiness.

  ‘Look at that.’ Andrew Tomms said grinning. ‘Anyone would think that man’s in love with his wife.’

  Then he followed Rhyllann’s example, bowing to the remaining twin and escorting her onto the dance floor.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Coats and scarves were worn at the open air Sunday service, Carrie wanted to attend, so of course Wren accompanied her. Rhyllann’s tall figure easily identifiable by his dark shoulder length hair rose and fell five seats in front of him but somehow he disappeared before Wren could remind him to visit Carina and placate her. Herr Bismach diverted his attention, hurrying over to expand on their earlier conversation, almost squealing with delight when Andrew Tomms, the young naval architect from the Harland and Wolff yard joined them with an offer to show them around the engine rooms.

  ‘Of course Lady Fitzwilliam you’re very welcome to accompany us. If you don’t want to get your dress dirty, we can stop off at the laundry room and find you something more suitable.’ Andrew said gallantly.

  Wren opened his mouth to refuse on her behalf, when he caught sight of Carrie’s eyes, shining at the thought of a guided tour of this floating palace after being confined to her room for days.

  ‘Sir, my wife’s presence will complete my enjoyment of the wonders I’m certain you have in store for us.’ He said formally, thrilled with Carrie’s smile of child like delight. Dressed in their Sunday best, the party of four descended to the bowels of the Titanic. Wren falling a little deeper in love as Carrie beamed with excitement beside him.

  High above them having received several reports of ice, Captain Smith ordered a delay in changing the Titanic’s course, making a decision to keep her ten miles south of the normal shipping route.

  Rhyllann took part in a bastardised cricket game, part tip and run, part baseball, telling himself it was only to keep the kids entertained. Several ladies joined in, including the twins’ fat auntie who proved a surprisingly good sport, tipping easy balls for the children to catch. For Sunday lunch the chefs excelled themselves, tender roast beef, fluffy potatoes, crunchy on the outside and piles of vegetables. Rhyllann barely managed pudding, a stodgy apple suet with custard. He floated back to his room for an afternoon nap, drowsy with wine.

  ‘Beg pardon sir.’

  Rhyllann sat bolt upright, he hadn’t even heard the man knocking.

  ‘I was wondering if the Baron and his wife wanted lunch served, but I can’t seem to find him.’

  ‘God’s sakes I’m his cousin not his bloody nursemaid.’ He slumped back, closing his eyes. ‘I haven’t seen him but even if his legs aren’t working today, he’s perfectly capable of opening his mouth and asking someone to fetch him a sandwich or two.’ Feeling a twinge of guilt at his rudeness, he pulled the covers over his head.

  ‘It’s Sunday. Take the day off. I’ll do any running and fetching.’

  ‘Thank you sir, but the ship’s owners pay my wages. I’ll take my orders from them.’

  Rhyllann groaned as the door clicked closed. There was no pleasing some people.

  He dozed for a couple of hours, waking with a muzzy head, he decided to stroll around the deck before dinner. The ice cold wind sobered him quickly, he shivered and increased his pace. Excited screams of children from the lower decks as they raced around playing tag and wheeling hoops hurt his ears. As he turned to go back under cover someone not in ship’s uniform hurtled towards the bridge house. Carina! She’d climbed from C deck to B deck, bypassing A deck by way of the emergency rear staircase. Rhyllann sprinted forward, he just knew who was going to get the blame for this.

  He caught up with her just as she reached the look out cage fitted to the foremast. Kicking her foot from the ladder he shouted at the startled men peering down.

  ‘Don’t f
orget now! Keep your eyes peeled!’ While tugging Carina away.

  ‘I’ve been looking all over for you!’ He lied smiling as though he was delighted to see her. Holding her tightly in an embrace, he half carried her towards the staircase. She struggled violently.

  ‘No you haven’t – you’re a liar! You haven’t! The ship’s going to sink. We’re all going to drown. Let go of me! I’ve got to warn...’

  Rhyllann managed to get a hand over her mouth thinking how easy it would be to snap her neck and throw her overboard. Luckily the only other person on this side of the deck within earshot was someone he recognised.

  ‘Steward! Make yourself useful for once man! Give me a hand. She’s gone mad!’

  A sharp pain erupted in his shin bone as Carina’s booted heel scraped against it. When his hand slipped Carina screamed at the top of her voice.

  ‘I’m not mad. You know I’m telling the truth – why won’t you listen to me? The ship’s going to sink!’

  Jesus! Just like her bloody grand great whatever granddaughter. Rhyllann felt a twinge of guilt remembering how he’d treated Carrie when she’d screamed at his arrogant disbelief. Carina now screamed her head off and he was trying to pretend he didn’t believe her. Wren promised that once history was back on course and they were back in their own time, they would remember none of this. Rhyllann clung onto that thought like a drowning man. It was the only way he could live with himself, knowing what he knew, sharing Carina’s frustration and growing despair at being unable to stop the impending collision. Belief in Wren and a determination to live in the present were all that prevented him from joining in with Carina’s hysteria.

  With the steward’s help he managed to bundle her into the staterooms. Ignoring the anger burning from her, he pushed her face down on the bed to muffle her screams. Tying her hands behind her back with his dressing gown cord and stuffing a sock into her mouth, before hurriedly pulling it out again, terrified she’d choke.