Seven Days in May

by Kim Izzo

  “Then they have an added interest in destroying her!” the man continued.

  Anderson glanced about the room. As though reading his mind, a steward dashed over and retrieved the handkerchief from the carpet and held it out to the man who snatched it back rudely. Edward did not wish to side with someone as unreasonably behaved as the mustachioed man but, like him, he wanted to know what was really going on.

  “Staff Captain Anderson,” Edward said gently. “You must understand that the presence of three German stowaways is going to alarm the women.” He looked at the irate man. “And some of the men as well.” The man scowled at him. “What is being done? Have your men searched the ship to ensure nothing is amiss?”

  “We have, sir,” Anderson said with authority. “The ship is as right as rain.”

  Edward clenched his jaw. That was the official line and would not be deviated from. The crew was duty bound not to reveal details. The Lusitania had been under direct control of the Admiralty ever since the start of the war and the German prisoners would be handed over to the navy as soon as they reached Liverpool. There seemed little else to say and Anderson bowed to the group.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, have a pleasant evening.” He smiled and walked away.

  “Have yourselves a nice time. It might be a very short trip!” the mustachioed man said, and stormed out of the lounge just as the orchestra started up another waltz.

  “I think the captain and his men know a lot more than they’re telling us,” Frohman said. “I don’t like it.”

  “Are you afraid, sir?” Edward asked.

  Frohman considered a moment. “No. I think we could use a bit of mystery and excitement. Eight days on a boat isn’t exactly a romp.”

  “Even if the ship is speeding toward a war zone?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not so sure we’re speeding,” Frohman said.

  “What do you mean?” Edward responded. “The Lusitania is the fastest ship in the world.”

  “So she is,” Frohman said. “But this doesn’t feel like full speed to me.”

  “A question for Captain Turner,” Vanderbilt said dryly.

  “He’s not much for socializing with passengers,” Edward said. “He hosted only one captain’s table when I sailed on her two weeks ago.”

  “Now that’s a scandal an English gent can really get his ascot in a knot over,” Frohman said wryly.

  Edward glared at the theatre impresario. The man smiled back.

  “I assume you’re on your way to London to take in some shows?” Edward asked Frohman to ease the tension.

  “I am,” he said. He fished around in his trousers pocket and produced a sweet wrapped in wax paper. Edward bristled at the casual manner with which Frohman unwrapped the candy and popped it in his mouth as though he were a boy of ten. “I go twice a year.”

  “And you weren’t nervous taking a British ship?” Vanderbilt asked.

  Frohman sucked on the candy, relishing the rapt attention of the men who surrounded him. Then with a mighty crunch his teeth cracked the sweet in half. Edward raised an eyebrow at the sound. He wondered if he should excuse himself and return to Brooke but he saw with alarm that she had abandoned the matron and her daughter and was now chatting with that group of theatricals who were sailing with Frohman. There was no escape.

  Frohman swallowed the candy as he rocked back and forth on his feet, using his cane for balance. “Put it this way, I had plenty of friends and business associates beg me to take an American ship. But I’ve always liked the Lusy. Though as a precaution I did dictate my program for the next season and left it with my secretary.” Frohman smiled. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

  The little group dispersed but Edward caught Vanderbilt’s attention. “Mr. Vanderbilt,” Edward began. “I shouldn’t be too alarmed by the German spies.”

  “You know something the rest of us don’t?” he asked.

  Edward shook his head. “Afraid not. But I do know some very good men in the Admiralty and they assured me the Lusitania’s safety is a top priority,” he said confidently.

  Vanderbilt extended his hand and the men shook on it as though a wager had been placed. “Then we have nothing to worry about,” he said, and walked away.

  MAY 2

  Sydney

  The low deep moans had continued throughout the night. The sound was eerie, as though a great beast was emitting a long sorrowful wail. The first time Sydney heard it she had sat up in bed, the covers clutched to her for safety. Such a ghostly groan. It sounded like something was beneath her, haunting the sea, shadowing the Lusitania. She feared it was a submarine but one got such crazy notions in the middle of the night. Eventually she calmed down and remembered: Mr. Garrett had explained to her how the ship’s hull was designed so that it moved subtly against the tide otherwise the pressure would crush her. It was no different from how a skyscraper was designed to sway in high winds, he had told her. Only people standing on the fiftieth floor didn’t hear the motion, she planned on telling him when she got home. It didn’t lessen her anxiety that she was alone for the first time in her life. Her father or Brooke had always been near her as she slept. But her snap decision at the pier had forcibly removed such comfort. I bet the moans are barely discernible in the Regal Suite.

  She looked out the porthole. It was morning yet she couldn’t see the sun. The sky was a dark heaving mass of grey clouds and rain was pelting down on the ocean.

  She was thankful that yesterday’s mal de mer had vanished and as she dressed all she could think of was breakfast. Well, that and whether she shouldn’t give in and join her sister and Edward. The food in first class would be gorgeous. Yet for all of Sydney’s good-naturedness and passion to do good she was also extremely stubborn—a trait that was a Sinclair gene—and there would be no admitting defeat, not yet. She would wait for Brooke to meet her halfway and accept who she was. She would work on Edward too.

  She was surprised by the quality of her breakfast. She’d gone to the early seating and while the food was a simple plate of eggs and rashers of bacon with toast and marmalade, it was fresh and prepared perfectly. What more could a person want?

  She had brought her overcoat and a hat, determined to stroll outside on the deck despite the weather. As soon as she opened the door she regretted it. The sea was the colour of slate; a dark grey-blue mass that rolled with a life of its own, folding in on itself, white foam cresting and roiling over and over. Sydney could feel its power tugging at the ship as she stood at the rail. The water appeared cold and unwelcoming, very unlike the summer beachfronts of Nantucket that had been such a wondrous part of her growing up. This Atlantic was bewitching but also something to be feared. She shuddered at the thought of the many lives it had swallowed whole over the course of mankind’s desire to triumph over her.

  To her surprise a seagull soared in front of her, keeping pace alongside the ship, floating with ease on the wind. How was it able to survive out here? There was no land in sight. Did it fly for hours, then rest on the surface of the ocean? The bird was so graceful and peaceful. It swooped down and Sydney leaned over the wet railing to watch where it was going.

  “Be careful, Miss,” a voice called to her. She turned to see a junior officer approach. He wasn’t especially tall and had dark hair and equally dark eyes. His full lips parted to allow a polite smile but Sydney knew he wasn’t looking to pass the time.

  “You’d be more comfortable inside,” he said firmly but kindly. “The weather isn’t going to clear all day and we’re entering rough seas. It’s for your safety.”

  “What is your name, officer?”

  “Bestic, ma’am. I’m the junior third officer, at your service.”

  “Can’t I have a few moments more?” she asked. “The fresh air helps with seasickness.”

  Bestic began to look nervous. “I can’t allow that. Sorry, ma’am.”

  “It’s Sydney,” she said. “What is your Christian name?”

/>   Bestic hesitated a moment. “Albert.”

  “Just ten minutes, Albert, then I’ll go inside.”

  But Bestic stood his ground and she knew she was beaten. “Very well,” she said glumly, and walked away from the railing. He escorted her toward the door. “What is it you do on the ship, Albert?” she asked. The question seemed to make the young officer uneasy for he began to cast glances about as though the question had been a trap.

  “I have many duties, ma’am,” he said. “I have watches on the bridge, make entries in the logbook, perform midnight inspections of the ship and ensure the baggage is safe and secure.”

  Sydney grinned. “Have you always wanted to sail?” She could see that he didn’t want to be talking further but he was too inexperienced to know how to extricate himself from the questions of a female passenger and that amused her. Besides, she hadn’t spoken two words to anyone since last night’s dinner and she liked the company.

  “I’m from Ireland,” he admitted, his eyes still darting around in case a superior caught him extending his conversation.

  “How lovely!” she exclaimed. “You do have a wonderful accent.”

  At this Bestic blushed. “Thank you, ma’am. When I was about eighteen I saw the Lusitania on the River Clyde when my family was holidaying in Scotland. I said to myself that if ever I could work on a ship like the Lusy then I’d go to sea.”

  “And here you are,” she said. “I’m envious of you.”

  “You wanted to be a sailor?” he asked incredulously. Sydney smiled and shook her head.

  “It isn’t as easy for a woman to follow her dreams,” she explained. “But I’m happy yours came true.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of men above banging and shouting. “Good Lord, what is that commotion?” Sydney asked, and looked to Bestic for reassurance.

  The young man smiled. “That’s the crew doing their lifeboat drill. We do it each morning,” he explained. “There are two boats that are kept swung out over the side in case of emergencies . . .”

  She arched her brows. “Emergencies?” When he hesitated she understood. “You mean in case someone falls overboard?”

  “Exactly,” he acknowledged.

  “Good heavens, does that happen often?” she asked, thinking how far she had leaned to watch the seagull.

  “Almost never,” he said.

  Another man’s voice shouted from above, “Man the boats!” The call was followed by a series of footsteps and the clattering of men slipping inside the lifeboats.

  “Drill’s almost done,” he said to Sydney.

  “Officer Bestic!” came another shout only this time from behind them. They turned and saw another ship’s officer hastening toward them.

  Sydney guessed that this was Bestic’s superior, unhappy that he had spent so long chatting with her. “I’m so sorry. I’ve kept Mr. Bestic longer than I should,” she explained. “And you are?”

  “First Officer Jones,” he answered.

  “Well, First Officer Jones, this is my first voyage and he was answering questions I had.”

  Jones gave Bestic a disapproving glance before pasting a smile on his face to appease Sydney. “If you have any questions, ma’am, I’m sure I can answer them for you.”

  Sydney didn’t like Jones’s condescending manner, like he was dismissing her concerns as childish.

  “Very well. I want to know about the lifeboats,” she said sternly, even though the thought had only occurred to her this instant when she’d heard the drill.

  “What about them would you like to know?” Jones answered impatiently.

  “Are there enough of them? We all know what happened on the Titanic,” she said sharply.

  Jones’s smile was unchanged though his tone grew even more patronizing. “In the three years since that awful tragedy, Cunard has seen to outfit the Lusitania, and all her fleet, with enough lifeboats to ensure, in the case of an emergency, everyone can be saved.”

  Sydney kept staring at him. “And how many would that be?”

  It was clear from his sour expression that Jones wasn’t enjoying this one bit. But Bestic piped up. “She has twenty-two standard lifeboats and twenty-six collapsibles. When we enter the war zone the captain will order the davits be swung out on all of them as a precaution.”

  “Bestic,” Jones warned. Bestic stood at attention in silence.

  “Don’t snap at him, Officer Jones, he was merely answering a concerned passenger’s question when you didn’t.”

  She could see Jones steaming now. But she wanted him calm so he didn’t take his anger out on poor Bestic. “I heard the drill just now. When will there be one for the passengers?” she asked. She had read about such practices in a magazine before they sailed. It seemed like a wise idea yet there had been no announcements of such a thing.

  “The captain feels it is unnecessary and may alarm passengers,” Jones explained.

  “But clearly you do drills each morning with the crew. Not giving us the same skills seems rather reckless, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked. Neither man would look at her now. “Well? Will neither of you answer me?”

  Jones looked at her again. “I think there is nothing to worry about. This is the Lusitania’s two hundred and second crossing and she’s never given cause for alarm.”

  “Yes, but that German warning,” Sydney said. “Surely we need to take extra steps to ensure safety.”

  “You can trust Captain Turner,” Jones insisted. “He’s in constant communication with the Admiralty. Should there be any need for concern he knows how to handle it.”

  “The Lusitania is also faster than any submarine, ma’am,” Bestic spoke up again. “They can’t do faster than nine or twelve knots. We can go as fast as twenty-four.”

  Sydney took this fact in and it mollified her. “And are we going that fast?” she asked simply.

  “Not as yet,” Jones said. “We’re conserving her for when we enter the war zone.”

  This would have made her feel more confident if she hadn’t caught a brief glance between the officers that said differently.

  “Please tell Captain Turner that the passengers would like a lifeboat drill,” she said. Sydney hadn’t brought it up to anyone, nor had she heard mention of such a drill but for some reason once it was in her head it became very urgent.

  “We will pass along your concerns. But I would like to add, if it’s of comfort to you, that should a rare incident occur that requires passengers to abandon ship the Lusitania would remain afloat for at least a few hours so we could calmly load everyone on board into the lifeboats.”

  “Very well then.” She spoke just as the ship crashed through a large wave and she teetered against the rail. Her eyes cast down into the heaving slate sea. Bestic pulled her away from the rail.

  “You’re okay,” he said soothingly. “You weren’t even close to falling overboard.”

  “You’re right,” she said, somewhat embarrassed by her decided lack of sea legs. “It’s just that I don’t know how to swim.”

  Jones and Bestic exchanged looks, as though this was the reason behind her nagging questions.

  “You won’t need to know,” Jones said, more kindly. “You’ll arrive safe and sound on dry land soon enough. Enjoy your day, ma’am.”

  The two officers marched away and up the steel staircase to the bridge. Sydney continued her walk along the deck, hugging the wall as she went, avoiding the railing at all costs. She was headed to her berth. But a few strides later her foot stepped onto a wet patch of deck and she slid and slipped toward the railing and nearly fell to her knees. She crouched there a moment, afraid to move, wondering how close she might have come to falling overboard, when an unfamiliar Englishman’s voice spoke.

  “Are you quite all right?”

  The man held his hand out to her. She took it and rose to her feet, flushed with embarrassment. “Thank—thank you,” she stammered. “I slipped.”

  He grinned. “You weren’t anywhere ne
ar close enough to going over. I would have caught you before you had anyway.”

  Sydney peered cautiously over the railing. He was right. She was being ridiculous. She studied her rescuer. He wasn’t a tall man, and was of slight build, but there was something pleasing in his manner. He was handsome and had a boyish glint in his eye that intrigued her.

  “Thank you for helping me,” she said. “Mr.—?”

  “Dawson,” he said, and stuck his hand out. “But call me Walter.”

  “Sydney Sinclair,” she said as they shook hands. Her eyes glanced about the deck. They were the only two people braving the weather. “Are you sailing alone?”

  “Yes,” he explained. “I have a family. A wife and daughter, they sailed ahead and are waiting for me in Yorkshire. And yourself?”

  Sydney wasn’t sure how to answer. This man was a complete stranger. “Yes,” she said simply, preferring to keep the truth to herself. “Have you sailed often, Walter?”

  “Not really. I’m only a tradesman,” he explained. “Paint and wallpaper. I make rich people’s houses pretty.”

  He walked toward the Bostwick gate that separated third from first, the very same one she had discovered yesterday, and gestured for Sydney to follow him. She did. He put his hands on the gate like it was bars on a jail cell and shook.

  “You shouldn’t do that!” she gasped. “What if you’re caught trying to get in?”

  “You mean what if we’re caught?” he teased, and gave the gate another shake but it wouldn’t yield.

  Sydney was truly alarmed; she couldn’t risk being caught breaking through gates. “You keep doing that if you want but I’m leaving.”

  “That’s the first class dining saloon just over there,” Walter said. Sydney peered through the gate. She imagined that Brooke and Edward were sitting down to a handsome breakfast.

  “I’d love to take a gander inside and see how the other half lives. People like us don’t often get to see how they behave amongst themselves. It’s like watching a play,” he said, then added, “or maybe it’s more like a zoo.” He continued to stare through the gate with the curiosity of an anthropologist. Sydney tugged at his sleeve. He stepped back. “Have you read about the ceiling in there?” he asked. Sydney hadn’t. “First of all the dining saloon is three decks high and capped off with a domed canopy. I’m dying to see the painted panels, I hear there’s one for each month of the year.”