‘She’s still attached to the bow at the keel,’ said one of the seamen.
The stern, pulled down by the bow, began to sink at the front and rise at the back. It was gradual to begin with, but then ever more rapid. The angle steepened and the propellers rose higher and higher into the air. Up and up, until the stern was vertical. It stood there for a moment, a mountain against the sky, and then slid majestically into the water, straight down, until it had disappeared.
There was a terrible silence aboard the lifeboat.
‘She’s gone,’ one of the seamen breathed.
There was nothing more to see. Darkness hid the struggles of those in the water, but nothing could hide their cries. They were dreadful.
‘We have to go back,’ said Emilia.
‘We can’t.’
‘We must,’ she protested. ‘Those people will die if we don’t help them.’
‘We can’t do it,’ said one of the seamen. ‘If we do we’ll be pulled under. The ship’s creating suction as she sinks. We have to wait. Then we can go back.’
Emilia acknowledged the truth of this. Even so, she strained her eyes, trying to see if any of the vague shapes struggling in the water was Carl, and hoping against hope that he was alive.
Other lifeboats were rowing about nearby. There was a green light in one of them. It was a great help in keeping the boats together, for although there were stars, there was no moon and the night was black.
It seemed an eternity before anything could be done to help the poor souls in the water. Far off, Emilia could see a group of boats. They were floating so close to each other that she wondered whether they had been tied together. And then, at last, one of the boats from the group started to row back towards Titanic.
She sat up straight. ‘Now it’s time for us to go back, too,’ she said.
‘Not bloody likely,’ said one of the men in the boat. ‘We’ll be swamped. We’re staying where we are.’
She rounded on him. ‘Can’t you hear the cries? Those people are dying. The man I love is amongst them. We’re going back.’
She picked up an oar but it was wrenched out of her hands.
‘Are you really going to sit by and do nothing whilst those people freeze to death in the water?’ she demanded.
‘Better them than us,’ muttered another man.
The mood in the boat was becoming hostile.
‘Don’t mind her,’ said a woman, putting an arm round her. ‘She’s just upset. She’ll soon settle down.’
Emilia bit her lip. She knew what the woman was doing. She was trying to protect her from the fear and guilt of the other people in the lifeboat, which was in danger of turning into violence.
‘There, there, dearie, never you mind,’ went on the woman.’ One of the other boats is going back, look. Maybe they’ll rescue your man.’
Emilia nodded. Maybe it would. It had to. She loved Carl. She couldn’t lose him.
But she could do nothing to help him.
It was a weary time in the boat. No one knew for sure if the distress signals had been seen. There was talk of another ship, supposedly sighted not far away even as Titanic was sinking, but there was no sign of it, and this led the people in Emilia’s boat to doubt the other reassuring stories they had heard.
‘I heard the Baltic was coming,’ said one of the women. ‘The steward told me quite clearly the Baltic had been summoned and was on her way.’
‘No, the Olympic,’ said another. ‘She’ll be here this afternoon.’
‘I heard it was the Carpathia,’ said a man.
‘I wish they’d hurry, whoever they are,’ said one of the women pathetically. ‘My feet are so cold.’
There was water in the bottom of the boat, and it was icy.
‘And there are no supplies,’ said one of the men. ‘If we’re adrift for any length of time we won’t survive.’
Emilia thought of the piles of bread she had tripped over on the deck, which had never been put aboard the boats.
She remembered Pansy saying there was usually a lifeboat drill on the first Sunday of a voyage. Why Captain Smith had decided not to hold one on this voyage she did not know, but it had left the passengers and crew ill prepared for an emergency. The boats had been lowered slowly and only half filled. There had been no provisions put on board. Passengers had not known where to go or what to do. But it was too late to worry about it now. Titanic had gone. Captain Smith had gone. She shuddered as she thought of the last view she had had of him, being washed off the bridge by a wave.
‘Perhaps they just told us there was a ship coming to reassure us,’ said one of the women, voicing everyone’s fears. ‘Perhaps no one’s coming for us. Perhaps we’ll float here without food or water for days. Perhaps we’ll never be found. Perhaps —’
‘The Olympic’s coming,’ said Emilia firmly, hearing the rising panic in the woman’s voice. ‘I heard the Captain tell the First Officer that the Olympic was on her way. He might lie to the passengers to reassure them, but he wouldn’t lie to the officers.’
She had not heard him say any such thing, but she knew it was vital to keep up everyone’s spirits. Out in the middle of the ocean, in the freezing cold, with icebergs all around them, if they did not keep up their spirits, they would not survive.
‘True,’ murmured one of the men. ‘He wouldn’t lie to a fellow officer.’
‘What would be the point?’ agreed another.
The panic began to subside.
It was replaced by a despondent air. They were adrift in the Atlantic, miles from land. They were cold and wet and frightened. They could do nothing to help themselves. Now all they could do was wait.
It was a long night. But after what seemed like an age, the day at last began to dawn. As the sun streaked the horizon with shades of red and gold, Emilia began to feel renewed heart. Although the view was desolate, it had a beauty all its own. Everywhere she looked there was ice. Huge chunks of it floated on the surface of the vast ocean, coloured in shades of red and pink and yellow by the early morning sun. In the distance was the towering iceberg that had sunk Titanic. It looked peaceful, serenely unaware of the damage it had wrought. Its craggy slopes glowed in the sunshine, sparkling like diamonds where the facets caught the light.
Beyond the ice there was nothing. Not a scrap of land in sight. There was nothing but the ocean and the great mass of ice. And, despite the beauty, they were afloat without food or water, and numb with cold.
The boat began to rock gently. At first she found the movement soothing, but then realized that the sea was starting to grow rough. It had been calm overnight, as flat as a piece of glass, without a breath of wind to stir it. But now waves were starting to appear, and they were growing bigger. The fragile boats could not last in the open if the weather should turn.
There was no conversation. Everyone in the boat was too tired and too worn out by the events of the night to speak. But then one of the woman facing Emilia broke her silence.
‘A ship.’ She spoke with rising joy. ‘Look! Over there. It’s a ship.’
Emilia hardly dare turn round.
At last she did so, slowly, and saw a wonderful sight. There, coming towards them, was the unmistakeable black and red stack of a ship.
‘We’re saved!’
The cry ran round the little boat.
But then the ship stopped.
‘What’s she doing?’ asked one of the men. ‘Hasn’t she seen us?’
‘She can’t get any closer because of all the floating ice,’ said one of the sea men. ‘We’ll have to go to her. Pull those oars.’
Men and women both took hold of the oars and began to pull with all their might.
‘It’s Carpathia,’ said one of the seamen as they drew closer.
Emilia pulled her oar with renewed strength. Slowly but surely the small boat neared Carpathia. It was not the only one. There were other boats approaching the ship. They came from all directions, carrying the survivors of Titanic. Perhaps Carl
was amongst them, Emilia thought.
She pulled on her oar, as her spirits began to rise.
The boat drew closer still to Carpathia. She could see figures now, climbing up the side of the ship from one of the lifeboats which had drawn up alongside. They were climbing up a rope ladder which had been let down from Carpathia. Next to them were figures being hauled on to the ship by way of a bosun’s chair. Mail sacks, too, were going up and down. To begin with, she didn’t trust her eyesight, but then she realized what the mail sacks were for. Babies were being put into them so that they could be pulled on board.
The light continued to grow, and with a last heave of the oars, Emilia’s boat reached the side of the ship.
She let go of her oar with relief. Her arms were aching, and her back felt like it was breaking. Her palms were blistered and the wound beneath her thumb had started to bleed again. But none of it mattered. She had reached the Carpathia. She was safe.
Even now, some of the other survivors from her boat were climbing up the rope ladder. She stood up and reached out to take hold of it, but her hands were so numb she could not grip it. She tried again.
‘Here,’ said one of the sea men in her boat. ‘Take the bosun’s chair.’
It had been lowered again. Emilia sat on the seat and held on to the ropes as best she could, then with a jolt the chair began to rise. The sea grew further and further away from her as she was pulled up to Carpathia, and at last she was safely aboard. A blanket was wrapped round her shoulders and someone put a flask into her hand.
‘Drink this.’
She took a sip, and spluttered. It was brandy.
‘And again,’ the voice said.
She took another sip.
The brandy was like fire in her mouth, but it quickly began to warm her through. It put some life back into her, and although she was exhausted she was able to move.
‘There’s a hot meal waiting for you downstairs,’ said one of Carpathia’s officers.
‘I have to find Carl,’ she said, turning to him entreatingly. ‘Do you know if he’s been brought aboard? Mr Carl Latimer.’
‘I can’t tell you, miss,’ said the officer sympathetically. ‘We’ve a lot of Titanic’s survivors on board, and more boats are coming in all the time. I don’t know if Mr Latimer’s amongst them. But there’s a hot meal waiting for you downstairs,’ he said again.
‘Later,’ said Emilia.
She could not eat, could not think, until she knew if Carl was alive. She handed the flask back to him and then she went round the deck looking for Carl. There were many survivors on board, all bearing signs of shock, but Carl was not among them. She went over to the rail. More boats were approaching. Carl, she told herself, would be in one of them.
She refused to face the possibility that he might not have survived.
Chapter Eleven
Mrs Gisborne was sitting in one of the first class staterooms on board Carpathia sipping a cup of tea. To look at her, no one would have guessed she had just been involved in a terrible disaster. She was immaculately dressed in an Empire-line gown with low-heeled shoes. Her hair was artistically arranged in an elaborate, loose chignon, and she was calm and composed.
She sipped her tea delicately then put her cup back into the saucer.
‘It must have been dreadful for you,’ said Patricia Braithwaite sympathetically.
Mrs Braithwaite was one of Mrs Gisborne’s society friends. She was a statuesque woman with black hair and blue eyes, and was dressed in the latest fashion. She had been travelling on Carpathia when news of the disaster had reached Captain Rostron. The Captain had immediately turned the ship around and set out for Titanic’s last known coordinates. Knowing that Mrs Gisborne was on board, Mrs Braithwaite had awaited her friend on the deck, and had taken her to her stateroom as soon as she had boarded the ship.
With them was Dolly Frampton, another of their society friends, a graceful woman with red hair who had been travelling aboard Carpathia with Mr and Mrs Braithwaite. They were sitting clustered around a console table on which was a silver tray with a pot of tea with three cups and saucers. A plate of biscuits was next to it.
‘It was awful,’ Mrs Gisborne agreed.
Despite the tragedy, she was in remarkably good spirits. She had been in one of the early boats to escape Titanic, and had avoided the scenes of panic that had become prevalent later when it had become clear that the ship was going to sink. She had been warmly dressed, and had even had a blanket for her knees, so that she had suffered none of the terrible exposure of other passengers. There had been plenty of seamen aboard her boat, so that she had not had to row and, in addition, her husband’s flask of spirits had kept out the worst of the cold. Not even the cries of the drowning had shaken her for long. She had never empathised with other people’s sorrows, and she had congratulated herself on escaping the disaster rather than feeling for those who had not been so lucky.
‘How terrible to lose everything. I don’t know what I’d do if my jewels were at the bottom of the sea,’ said Dolly, fingering her pearl necklace.
Mrs Gisborne arranged her shawl around her shoulders. The shawl was her only concession to the fact that she had spent the night in a lifeboat instead of a warm stateroom, and was now feeling a little chilled.
‘Fortunately, we took everything of value with us,’ she said. ‘I heard the Captain talking to Mr Andrews just after the ship hit the iceberg. Mr Andrews said the ship would sink. I didn’t believe it at first, but when I saw his eyes I knew it was true. I alerted Thomas and we returned to our stateroom, putting on an extra layer of clothing and collecting our valuables. Janice picked up blankets for our knees and pillows for us to sit on, and we made our way back to the deck. We left in one of the first boats.’
‘There must have been a terrible rush for the boats,’ said Mrs Frampton.
‘Not at all. No one wanted to get in. The crew told everyone there was no danger, and no one believed the ship would sink.’
‘So that’s why your boat was only half full,’ said Mrs Braithwaite. ‘And why it had so many gentlemen.’
Mrs Gisborne nodded.
‘It was women and children first, of course, but once there were no more women and children in sight - or at least, no more who would get in - the gentlemen were allowed to embark.’ She frowned. ‘The thing I am vexed about is that Carl Latimer did not get in a boat. I saw him on deck with that little kitchen maid, but he went below for his mother and I never saw him again. I only hope he caught a later boat.’
‘No, he didn’t,’ said Mrs Braithwaite.
‘No?’ Mrs Gisborne sighed heavily. ‘Then it is the ruination of all my plans, and the ruination of my poor, dear sister, Susan, and my dear niece, Isabelle.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Mrs Braithwaite. ‘Although he didn’t manage to climb aboard a boat, he was pulled out of the sea after Titanic went down. He’d been in the water a long time. I saw him brought on board Carpathia. He was unconscious, but alive.’
Mrs Gisborne’s face cleared.
‘Thank goodness,’ she said.
‘Of course, he may not live,’ said Mrs Braithwaite cautiously.
‘Oh, he’ll live,’ said Mrs Gisborne confidently. ‘He’s a fighter. He clawed his way up from poverty to the highest reaches of society when he became a millionaire. Men like that don’t lay down and die. Where is he now?’
‘His mother is taking care of him. She came aboard shortly after he did and saw him on the deck. Mr Donaldson, one of Carl’s business associates, was on board Carpathia, and gave them his stateroom.’
Mrs Gisborne gave a satisfied smile. ‘Then all is well,’ she said, taking another sip of tea
‘Are he and Isabelle engaged yet?’ asked Mrs Frampton.
‘Not yet,’ said Mrs Gisborne, ‘but they will be.’ She frowned. ‘As long as that little upstart didn’t survive.’
‘You mentioned her before,’ said Dolly curiously. ‘A kitchen maid you called her. Who is she?’
‘Shocking,’ murmured Mrs Frampton, wrinkling her nose.
‘Unfortunately, as chance would have it, she attracted Carl’s attention. She had golden hair and blue eyes, the sort of things men make themselves fools over. ‘
‘He doesn’t seem the sort to take a fancy to a lame duck, however beautiful,’ said Mrs Braithwaite, helping herself to a biscuit from the plate in the centre of the table and nibbling it delicately.
‘Well, on this occasion, he did. And more than a fancy. I think he fell in love with her.’
Mrs Frampton and Mrs Braithwaite exchanged glances.
‘Fortunately, Titanic sank, and with luck the problem of Miss Cavendish will have resolved itself.’
The ladies finished their tea, then Mrs Gisborne expressed her intention of visiting Carl.
‘Where is the Donaldsons’ stateroom?’
‘I’ll show you,’ said Mrs Frampton. ‘I want to call in and see how Carl is faring myself.’
They took their leave of Mrs Braithwaite.
‘I think I will just go on deck for a minute and see if any of our other friends survived,’ said Mrs Gisborne. ‘The de Bretts were on board and I didn’t see them leave the ship. It will be a terrible tragedy if they have perished. They were to hold a charity ball next month, and I have the most splendid gown to wear.’
The two ladies went up on to the deck. They paid no attention to the other survivors but went across the deck towards the Captain. If a list of survivors had been made, he would be the person who would know where it was.
They had almost reached him when Mrs Gisborne stopped.
‘What is it?’ asked Mrs Frampton.’ Have you seen the de Bretts?’
‘No, more’s the pity. It’s not the de Bretts. It’s Her.’
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