Seven Days in May

by Kim Izzo

  “What a coincidence. That’s what we were trying to do,” Sydney said. “I’m delighted we ran into you, Mr. Hardwick. May my friends and I join you?”

  Sydney quickly introduced Walter, Frederick and little Hannah. Hardwick was a jovial and gregarious sort and didn’t seem to mind the added companions. “Well, Mr. Sloane, have at it.”

  Sloane and the crewman exchanged looks before the latter left them to return to his duties. Sydney could see they weren’t impressed with the extra company, and that the assistant purser wasn’t keen on being seen with steerage passengers. But he recovered quickly.

  “Very well, next we have the baggage room,” he explained, and opened the door that was directly beside them. They all stepped through.

  Sydney, Walter, holding Hannah’s hand, and Frederick stood on a metal platform overlooking the baggage room. It was immense as were its contents. Rows of meticulously stacked suitcases and enormous steamer trunks lined the walls in every direction. Each piece of luggage was tagged and coded to coincide with the cabin number of each passenger.

  “Blimey, people don’t pack light,” Frederick scoffed.

  “A lot of people are moving their entire lives,” Walter said, his own life neatly boxed up and lying in wait to return to England. “It’s not a weekend in the country.”

  “Weekend in the country? You live like that, do you? Country homes and fox hunts?” Frederick teased.

  “Not in my time.” Walter laughed. “Sydney here does.”

  “I can’t lie,” she said, and smiled.

  Hardwick and Sloane had already descended the stairs. Hardwick waited at the bottom for Sydney to climb down and held her hand when she reached the last step.

  “Have you seen anything interesting on your tour so far?” she asked him as Walter and the others followed.

  “I was looking for bombs to be honest,” he said bluntly.

  Sydney gasped. “Why would there be a bomb?”

  “You haven’t heard about the German spies they caught on the first day?” he said, grinning once more.

  Walter and Frederick seemed as perplexed as Sydney. Hardwick appeared to enjoy being in the know. “They found three of them hiding in a pantry and arrested them.”

  “What happened to them?” Walter asked.

  “Tossed overboard likely,” Frederick said.

  They were all looking at poor Sloane now. He fidgeted. “I’m not at liberty to say. You only need to know that they are being held prisoner and are no threat to anyone,” he said. “There is nothing to fear. A complete search of the ship was done thoroughly as soon as the stowaways were caught. Nothing is amiss. Now let’s have a quick look here, shall we?”

  They wove their way through the baggage room. Each following the other carefully to avoid banging into one of the dozens of stacked piles of luggage. Sydney stopped at a large metal hatch in the floor.

  “Excuse me, what is this?”

  “Cargo hatch,” Sloane announced.

  Sydney and Walter looked at each other. This was it.

  Frederick screwed up his face. “We got one in the third class section. Looks the same to me.”

  “It is,” the junior officer admitted. “There’s a few throughout the ship.”

  Walter nonchalantly bent down and grasped the handle and turned it. There was a click and he smiled up at them. Both hands firmly on the turned handle, he lifted. And lifted. But the lifting was all on his part, as the hatch didn’t budge an inch.

  Hardwick laughed. “It’s locked. They all are. Guess you can’t take us into the hold?”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr. Hardwick,” Sloane said.

  “Come on, man,” Hardwick insisted. “You hiding something? Is that it?”

  “Mr. Hardwick, Cunard does not allow passengers into the hold. It has nothing to do with hiding, it has everything to do with obeying the rules.”

  Hardwick winked at Sydney. “That’s the English for you, all rules and no fun.”

  She couldn’t help but giggle. He had a point. She could only imagine the scandalized expression on Edward’s face if he saw her here.

  “The spies are being kept in a cabin, probably on F Deck,” Hardwick said to her. Sydney started at the mention of F Deck. The idea that German spies were near where she slept frightened her. “But there’s a detective on the Cunard payroll. I’m sure he’s got them locked up tight. It’s lucky for us we’re far above them in first class.”

  “Isn’t it though?” Sydney agreed.

  The group made their way back to the corridor where Sloan announced the tour had come to an end. “Would you like me to escort you to the saloon for luncheon, Mr. Hardwick, Miss Sinclair?” he asked, and tossed the others a look of disdain.

  “I’m starving,” Hardwick said, and waited for Sydney’s response.

  “I’ve got plans with my friends here,” she answered. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, Mr. Hardwick.” They shook hands and parted company. Sydney, still holding on to Hannah, and Walter and Frederick behind them, made their way onto the deck where the brilliant sun blinded them.

  “Well, that was an adventure, gentlemen. I thank you for that,” Sydney said.

  “Not the friendliest blokes on the high seas, are they?” Walter said. “Thank goodness that man was American and knew who you were. If it weren’t for that we’d have been tossed in with the Jerry spies.”

  Hannah tilted her head at Walter. “Are you a pirate?” she asked.

  Walter laughed. “Do I look like a pirate?”

  “Not really. But you do act like you’re up to no good.”

  “That, my dear, is Walter’s charm,” Sydney said. “Now I’m going to rest and get changed because in a couple of hours we’re meeting in the saloon to practise for the concert. I expect you there, Walter. You too, Frederick.”

  “We will be there with bells on,” Walter said, and performed an awkward jig. Hannah giggled, tapping a toe here and a heel there, in time.

  Sydney looked across the deck to the ocean. The weather had cleared at last and the day was beautiful. The Promenade was clogged with passengers because of it. She almost preferred the grey and the rain for the privacy it afforded. The voyage seemed endless and she had enjoyed the rush of excitement when searching the ship. That they’d come up empty-handed with no proof of illicit cargo was beside the point. She wouldn’t worry about the contents of the hold or the German prisoners. Cunard, the captain, the Royal Navy, they knew what they were doing.

  Isabel

  Isabel had spent the rest of the day pondering Mildred’s blackmail. She kept imagining her secrets written on a piece of paper and stuffed into one of the pneumatic tubes and sucked up into the vacuum. Then she pictured the tube landing with a crash in Room 40 before being read by one of the code breakers. It would be so humiliating.

  She wondered if getting Mildred a job to prevent the men finding out the truth was really such a bad idea. Dorothy had said that they were short-staffed. The men were familiar with Mildred. It wasn’t inconceivable that a tea girl would move up to clerk. Yet the idea rankled Isabel. It was a dirty trick that Mildred was pulling—acting the outraged moralist to Mrs. Burns, all the while blackmailing Isabel.

  It was nearly six o’clock when the doorbell rang. Whoever it was at the door didn’t linger as within minutes Mrs. Ogilvie appeared outside Isabel’s bedroom. “You’re a popular one, Miss Nelson. It’s a message for you.” Isabel took the envelope. “I hope it’s good news.” The older woman hovered as though waiting to learn its contents.

  Isabel thanked her, then shut the door. It was a letter from Mrs. Burns. She ripped open the envelope.

  Dear Miss Nelson,

  I’m requesting your presence at my office at the Admiralty tomorrow morning, 9 o’clock, 5 May, to discuss your situation further.

  Regards,

  Mrs. D. Burns

  Isabel wanted to be optimistic. The woman could have sacked her in the letter but she hadn’t. Yet the words left no clu
e whatsoever. Mildred had said she would speak to Mrs. Burns tomorrow morning. Had she anticipated Isabel’s co-operation and set up such a meeting? The thought of Mildred sharing a desk inside Room 40 gave Isabel a chill. The girl had caused trouble twice now; there was no way she could be trusted. There would be future requests, insinuations and threats. She had to be stopped and there was only one way to do it and get what Isabel needed—which was to be back inside Room 40 to know what was evolving in the Irish Sea . . . she had to be with her men.

  It was time the true Isabel Nelson emerged from hiding. Her colleagues needed to see her as she really was and accept her. Only then would she belong in Room 40 without question. And if they did receive her, she would never have to fear the likes of Mildred ever again.

  Isabel stood at the mirror fixing her hair. Only this time she didn’t draw it back off her face. Instead she allowed the soft waves to dominate and even cascade down one cheek. She reached for a pot of rouge and the lipstick. The lipstick slid across her mouth leaving its deep red tint. She rubbed the rouge on the apples of her cheeks and stroked a whisper of it across her eyelids. Her features didn’t seem so plain anymore. She knelt down and grabbed the box from under the bed. Isabel kicked off her sensible brogues and slipped on the red shoes. She turned around in the mirror and examined her reflection. The dress wasn’t her smartest but it would have to do. She looked like someone else. Someone she hadn’t seen in a long time.

  Edward

  But sir, are you sure about this?” Maxwell asked. He had finished brushing Edward’s navy twill jacket and held it for him to slide his arms through.

  “Yes, Maxwell,” Edward said. “My mind is made up.”

  His discussion with Brooke had ended with them being no closer, and no fonder of each other. Instead all his thoughts were consumed with Sydney. It was wrong. He had to set his mind straight and rid himself of silly romantic ideas. At least he was determined to try, and to his mind the only way to fix this was to meet Sydney and ask her to join them for dinner in the hope that the two sisters could work out their differences. Then once they were getting along, they could all carry on as before and he would see Sydney as a sister and only a sister.

  “That will do, Maxwell,” Edward said when he’d taken a final glance in the mirror.

  Maxwell sniffed his disapproval and opened the Parlour Suite door. “I will accompany you, sir.”

  “No need,” Edward said gamely, and walked along the passageway to the staircase. Maxwell was equally determined and nipped at Edward’s heels the whole way down. When they reached the entrance to third class both men hesitated as though grave danger lay ahead.

  “We can return if you wish,” Maxwell suggested hopefully.

  “Certainly not,” Edward said, and began the descent down the third class staircase. He was determined to retrieve Sydney at once. Though he expected her to put up a fight, he would be disappointed if she didn’t.

  The two men disregarded the strange glances they received from the other passengers and politely declined to be redirected to first class by more than one dutiful steward. A cursory glance into the third class ladies’ lounge as well as a hurried stroll along the Promenade had so far yielded no sign of Sydney. They were nearing the staircase that led down to the Saloon Deck, where the third class dining saloon lay, when the sound of music and singing drifted up to them.

  “It seems early for tea,” Maxwell said.

  “Perhaps some of the band members are rehearsing,” Edward said. “Let’s have a look, shall we.”

  The performance was in full swing when Edward and Maxwell entered the saloon. The spectacle before them was surprising enough, but once they recognized the pianist it was beyond shocking. It was Sydney playing her heart out as a girl of about ten was singing with a voice that sounded like a person twice her age. Two men Edward didn’t recognize were dancing a jig as stewardesses stood watching enthusiastically. Then one of the men grabbed one of the stewardesses and swung her around the floor, a gesture that made everyone laugh.

  “It’s Miss Sinclair,” Maxwell said with solemn alarm. “And she’s playing ‘Alexander’s Ragtime Band.’”

  Edward looked at his valet. “I’m surprised at you, Maxwell. You never struck me as a fan of show tunes.”

  “Irving Berlin is a genius, sir.”

  Edward was grinning. Such a display of uncensored liveliness was not the sort of thing one expected from an heiress of Sydney’s repute. He strolled toward the piano for a closer view as Hannah sang.

  “Come on along, come on along

  Let me take you by the hand

  To the man, to meet the man

  Who’s the leader of the band.”

  To his surprise Edward began to nod and clap in time.

  “Come on and hear, come on and hear

  Alexander’s Ragtime Band

  Come on and hear, come on and hear

  The best band in the land.”

  Sydney

  The newly added percussion made Sydney look up from her piano keys and directly into Edward’s eyes. The sight of him made her forget where she was in the song. Her timing, now fully disrupted, forced Hannah to quit singing and Walter to stop dancing and release the stewardess from his arms. For a moment everyone stood motionless, unsure what to do. All eyes were bearing down on Edward who appeared more uncomfortable by the moment.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said anxiously. “I came to find Sydney. The music drew us here.”

  Sydney suppressed an urge to thank him for sticking up for her last night. But he could never learn that she overheard. “Is Brooke unwell?” she asked. His presence made her uneasy twice over; firstly, because he should not be paying her such special attention, and secondly, because the sight of him thrilled her.

  “She is quite well,” he said. “I need to speak to you a moment.”

  “We need to rehearse,” Hannah interjected, rescuing them all from further awkwardness. “You can listen to us make music. But you have to be quiet.”

  Sydney smiled. “I’m forgetting my manners.” She proceeded to introduce Edward to Walter, Frederick and Hannah. Edward was gracious and brought Maxwell forward to make their acquaintance. “You know, Hannah, Edward does wonderful animal sounds. You should hear his sheep.” She watched as the others looked at Edward in disbelief. He didn’t bat an eye but the same sly grin came across his face.

  “You don’t frighten me,” he teased.

  “I would never want to,” Sydney answered. “Perhaps he can accompany us, Hannah. What is a good percussive sound? A moo or a heehaw?”

  The girl looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think Mr. Frohman only wants to hear me,” she said wisely.

  “Hannah, you demonstrate exquisite taste,” Edward said approvingly. “Please continue.”

  “From the top, Sydney,” Hannah ordered.

  “Yes, Miss,” Sydney said happily, and began the song again, occasionally peeking at Edward as she played.

  Walter walked over to stand with Edward. “She’s very talented,” he said.

  Edward didn’t take his eyes from Sydney when he answered. “She is.”

  Walter smirked. “I was talking about Hannah.”

  “Yes, of course,” Edward answered, completely flustered. “That’s who I meant.”

  Walter patted him on the back, much to Maxwell’s consternation. “I bet you did.” With that he grabbed the stewardess’s hand and once again twirled her around to the music. Edward began to tap his feet until he noticed Maxwell, stiff and stately, a few feet from him.

  “Maxwell, you really should loosen up,” he teased the older man.

  The valet further straightened his posture. “I’m as loose as I can be, sir.”

  Seeing Edward moving to the music Hannah danced over to him and grabbed his hands. “Can you foxtrot?” she asked.

  His horrified look was the only answer she needed. “Don’t worry. I can teach you.”

  Hannah took the lead. Sydney tried hard
not to laugh. Edward was stiff all right, but his young partner knew her way around footwork and soon enough even he was able to swing a little.

  “You’re doing wonderfully,” Hannah said encouragingly.

  Edward glanced at Sydney imploringly. “I’m trying.”

  “That’s all you have to do,” Hannah said, then let go of him and continued to sing and tap dance.

  The impromptu concert continued with the music drifting out of the saloon and into the passageway where it reached the ears of Sarah, clutching the note Brooke had written to Sydney. An ardent fan of ragtime, the maid followed the music and found herself in the saloon doorway hoping for a brief respite from her duties. She wasn’t prepared for the sight of not only seeing her mistress playing a bawdy tune for a kiddie, but also finding Edward nodding and tapping his foot. He was gazing at Sydney. Only a fool wouldn’t notice how he looked at her. Sarah raced back in the direction she’d come from.

  “What’s next, Hannah?” Walter asked when the song was over. “Do you know that bumblebee song?”

  “Yes!” she shouted, and turned excitedly to Sydney.

  “You bet I do,” Sydney said.

  Her fingers were poised above the keys and she was about to begin when without warning Edward sat beside her on the piano bench. Even Hannah was caught off guard and looked to Walter for an explanation. All he could do was shrug.

  “I’m better at watching than dancing,” Edward whispered to Sydney. “I hope you don’t object.”

  She looked around at the others who averted their eyes politely. “Why should I?” She spoke loudly so there was no doubt everyone could hear. “We’re going to be brother and sister in another week.”

  From his expression she might as well have stabbed him with a steak knife. “Yes. Indeed. We’re practically family,” he agreed politely.

  He edged closer to her, so close that their thighs nearly touched. She chose to ignore him and forced a smile that was intended to be neutral, as though she were smiling at Mr. Garrett, even though her breath seemed to catch at his nearness. Her fingers nimbly beat out the opening bars of the song and once more Hannah sang like a seasoned vaudeville performer.