Seven Days in May

by Kim Izzo

  The door to Mrs. Burns’s office was closed. Isabel knocked.

  “Come in.”

  Isabel took a deep breath and opened the door. She found Mrs. Burns, not bothering to glance up at her, writing in a ledger. Isabel waited. Eventually the older woman closed the ledger, removed her spectacles and, with a stern face, looked at Isabel. Seeing the lipstick and loose chignon, she scowled, creating a deep V between her brows.

  “Please be seated, Isabel,” she said, and waved to the chair directly across from her. Isabel said not a word as she sat down, folded her hands in her lap and without hesitation crossed her legs, which didn’t go unnoticed by Mrs. Burns.

  “I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought,” the older woman said. Isabel stared blankly, determined not to show emotion. Her composure made Mrs. Burns uncomfortable and she shifted in her chair. “And while I appreciate your dedication to Room 40, I fear you will be too much of a distraction should your past become known. There are too many single men working there and, well, they cannot be blamed for following urges should the truth get out. But you’ll be pleased to know that I have a heart and I’ve decided to find you a place as a charwoman.”

  Mrs. Burns smiled as though that settled the matter. Isabel’s face remained blank.

  “Have you nothing to say, Miss Nelson?”

  “No,” Isabel answered. In truth she was deciding exactly what to say, how much to say and at what volume.

  Her response flustered Mrs. Burns, who began to fiddle with the pencils on her desk and some loose ledger sheets. “Then you may report to the kitchen immediately. And wipe off that lipstick. They will provide a hairnet. That is all.”

  Then the door opened abruptly. Isabel turned in her chair to find Mr. Denniston standing in the door frame. Mrs. Burns stood up deferentially, but Isabel stayed put. She looked at Denniston but it was almost as though he didn’t see her there for he walked inside and stood beside her without even a glance in her direction.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Denniston?” Mrs. Burns asked politely. “Isabel, you are dismissed.”

  Was he ignoring her out of embarrassment? Had he forgotten that she’d be there? She stood to leave, her eyes averted from Denniston. She could take offending Mrs. Burns, but disappointing him was too much.

  “Stay, Isabel,” he said, and touched her arm. She followed his hand up to his face and he smiled. She sat back down. He turned to Mrs. Burns.

  “I dare say you’ve been steered off course where Miss Nelson is concerned,” he said. Mrs. Burns had to take her seat. “She is an exemplary member of the Room 40 team and we can’t do without her. We’ve spent countless hours giving her specialized training and she has been cleared for top secret information. You can’t expect us to take time from our work to find another girl and train her, can you? There is a war going on, Mrs. Burns.”

  He stared at the older woman. She glared at Isabel for a few minutes before shifting back to him. “I think I know how to manage my staff, Mr. Denniston.”

  “Indeed you do,” he said, then produced a paper from inside his jacket. He unfolded it and placed it on her desk. “But Miss Nelson is no longer under your command. As you will see from the letter, Commander Hope has requisitioned her for Room 40. Miss Nelson is no longer under your charge. And as I am sure you are aware his authority supersedes yours.”

  Isabel would have enjoyed the look of astonishment on Mrs. Burns’s face but she was too occupied looking at Denniston. Then there were the tears that needing fighting back. He had listened. She was valued.

  Mrs. Burns exhaled loudly and slapped both hands on her desk in protest. But when she spoke it was calmly and graciously. “Very well, Miss Nelson. You heard the man.”

  Isabel leapt to her feet. She wanted to throw her arms around Denniston but knew better.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Burns. Mr. Denniston, shall I come with you now?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  With that they both headed for the door. But Mrs. Burns wasn’t done yet. “Miss Nelson.”

  Isabel turned back and the two women stared at each other.

  “I hope you know what to do with this.”

  “With what, Mrs. Burns?” Isabel asked, and smiled, happy she had worn the lipstick.

  Mrs. Burns’s own lips were pursed. “This second chance. Few women get one, you know. Don’t waste it.”

  “I can assure you I won’t,” Isabel said. “We have a war to win.”

  Sydney

  The note was lying on the unmade bed. Sydney had read it many times since Sarah had shoved it into her hands yesterday. Brooke had written it before finding her playing piano with Edward at her side, which made her wonder if Brooke would stand by what she’d written or if her conciliatory offer would be rescinded.

  Dear Sydney,

  Edward tells me you and he had a delightful conversation. I’m so happy you two are getting along. Now that the truth is out we can all relax and enjoy the voyage. I know you’ll need time to pack and say farewell to your new friends (in steerage, egads!), so why don’t we plan on your moving up tomorrow? We have been invited to dine at the captain’s table, you know what an honour that is—even more so considering how rare Captain Turner’s appearances have been all this time. We can have a lovely dinner and maybe some dancing. Alfred has asked about you each time we see him. See you in the Regal Suite.

  Yours, Brooke

  Sydney doubted she was still welcome in the Regal Suite. Her sister was so angry. Her fiancé had publicly criticized her and now she’d found him sitting beside her like a lovesick fool. How had it happened? She had never meant to hurt Brooke. She vowed to go to dinner in the first class dining room and perform the part of the ideal sister. The formality of the captain’s table was perfect. There could be no opportunity for emotions to get the better of anyone. After all nothing untoward had happened. It was all a misunderstanding. Even on her part. It could be said that Edward was being attentive because he was a gentleman, all politeness and chivalry. He had no notions about her that Brooke need worry about or that she need reject. Edward had shown an interest in her life and that was immensely flattering, but no more. It didn’t mean she was attracted to him. Her mind was made up. She would send a reply to her sister and agree to dinner. Sydney scribbled the note and headed out her door to find a steward to deliver it. She felt better already. I will fix this.

  But why do you want to have dinner upstairs?” Hannah asked.

  Sydney was in her corset and underpinnings holding up a navy gown in front of her. Hannah sat perched on the bed as they both looked in the mirror. “My sister and I have been invited by the captain. I have to go. Besides, my sister really wants me there,” she said. “We fought yesterday and it’s time to make up.”

  “My mother said that because you are rich you are supposed to be up there all the time,” Hannah continued. “And that the reason you aren’t is a secret.”

  Sydney looked at Hannah aghast.

  “What secret?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Isn’t that why it’s a secret?” Hannah answered.

  Sydney laughed nervously and returned to her reflection in the mirror. Hannah wasn’t finished though. “That man Edward?”

  “What about him?”

  “I think he likes you better than your sister,” Hannah said.

  “I don’t think so,” Sydney lied. Goodness, was it so obvious that a child could see? “So is this the dress for tonight? Navy is flattering on me.”

  Hannah scrunched up her face and shook her head. “You have yellow hair. Do you have a yellow dress?”

  It was Sydney’s turn to scrunch up her face. Then she remembered. She went over to her trunk and found the amber dress that Sarah had brought her on the first day. It was a little creased but otherwise glorious. She rushed back to the mirror and held it up. Hannah beamed.

  “That’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Look at the pink flowers on it. You will be the prettiest lady upstairs.”

 
; Sydney smiled. Wearing the gown that Brooke had bought would be a gesture of solidarity, an olive branch.

  “Wear it,” Hannah said excitedly. “You have to.”

  “You don’t think it’s too much?” she asked, then felt a fool putting such a style responsibility on a young girl. “I mean, do you think other ladies will not like me if I wear this?”

  Hannah twisted her mouth in concentration. “I would want you to be my friend. Don’t ladies want their friends to look nice?”

  “Not always,” Sydney said, and smiled at Hannah. “You’ll understand more when you’re older.” She continued to study her reflection and swung her hips a little so that the dress swayed to the motion. It was beautiful.

  For the first time since the ship had left New York harbour, Sydney chose to ride the elevator up the levels to the Shelter Deck where she was to meet Brooke and Edward. She had the lift to herself and nervously kept securing the pins in her hair as the wrought-iron cage rose through the ship.

  Isabel

  When she returned to Room 40 with Denniston, Isabel fought hard to contain her excitement. She had won. Her colleagues took her as she was and she no longer had to fear the likes of Mildred. Dorothy rushed over and hugged her as Joan and Violet waved from the typewriters.

  “You can have your machine back. It’s missed you.” Violet laughed and practically leapt away from the typewriter.

  “And I, it,” Isabel exclaimed.

  The men on her normal shift—Rotter, Anstie, Norton, Curtis and Henry—were all there. They gave her a restrained but welcoming acknowledgement, except for Henry, who continued his eye-contact boycott. He’s such a child. Commander Hope swept into the room. Seeing him made her smile like he was a long-lost friend.

  “Right, I see our team is back on track,” he said without addressing her directly.

  Everyone was occupied with his or her duties. Isabel had been gone only a couple of days but felt very out of the loop. But she had no time to catch up because Curtis leapt up, waving a telegram that had just come through the pneumatic tube and made a beeline for Commander Hope.

  “Sir, we just got this in,” he said.

  “Go on, what is it?” Commander Hope ordered.

  The room went quiet as Curtis read the telegram. “This morning at approximately 2 a.m., the schooner Earl of Lathom was sunk off Kinsale Head. The submarine captain spared the crew before firing guns on her.”

  The Old Head of Kinsale was a headland on the southwest coast near County Cork, Ireland. There was only one submarine in that area.

  “It’s the U-20,” Isabel spoke up.

  Commander Hope stared. “How do you know that, Miss Nelson?” he asked.

  “I’ve been helping track her since she left port, sir,” Isabel said. She felt a wave of self-consciousness. “I meant, I was tracking her before my absence.”

  “She’s correct, sir,” Denniston confirmed. “I wager Schwieger is still out there searching for trophies. Our last confirmed reports on U-20 are from May 1.” Denniston handed a sheet to Hope who studied it a moment.

  “Nothing further?” he asked. The men shook their heads.

  “Not until today,” Denniston said.

  Isabel was relieved that no lives had been lost. It seemed almost silly to target and sink a schooner. “Was the Earl of Lathom armed?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Curtis said. “If you count a cargo of bacon and potatoes as armaments.”

  The men laughed but Isabel didn’t find it amusing. Sinking an unarmed schooner with a small civilian crew was so unnecessary. The Germans would have wanted to prevent the English getting the food supplies and she supposed on that level it was an enemy victory. It reminded her yet again that this war was about nothing but waste, waste of resources and waste of lives. Couldn’t the men in charge see that and come to a better understanding? That’s why they don’t let women into politics. She watched Denniston move a pin representing U-20 to Kinsale Head on the map of the British Isles that hung on the wall. It was probably still lurking there, searching for another strike.

  “What about the Lusitania?” she asked the men. Her words were greeted by silence. She saw Henry out of the corner of her eye, keeping busy with whatever task he was performing. Commander Hope sighed impatiently.

  “It’s not up to us,” he said. “As you well know, Miss Nelson.”

  Isabel pressed her lips together. There were too many lives at stake to not push ahead. “We know the Admiralstab has been broadcasting the Lusitania’s schedule for days, telling its submarines when she’s expected in Liverpool,” she said firmly.

  “I have a meeting with the First Sea Lord now,” Commander Hope said, ignoring her. “I will inform him of the intelligence. Anstie, did you finish that report I asked for?”

  Anstie held out a file folder. “Yes, sir. It’s all here.”

  Commander Hope took the folder and left them. As soon as the door was closed the men continued their work. Isabel followed Denniston who made his way to the latest batch of intercepts.

  “Would you like me to begin with those?” she asked, and indicated the pile of paper in his hand.

  Without studying them he took the top half-dozen from the pile and handed them to her. “Over to you,” he said. She waited for a smile or any sign of warmth, any indication that they were more intimately connected since he had come to her defence, but he was his usual cool, detached self. He continued to rifle through the pages and she knew their conversation had come to an end. Not that it mattered, she told herself. She had work to do, that was why she was here, the reason he’d come and gotten her. All these thoughts should have been enough to console her and get her on her way but Isabel couldn’t let it go. “Did I do wrong to speak up?” she asked Denniston.

  He continued sorting the paper. She regretted asking.

  “It was unusual that you did,” he said, at last looking at her directly. To her relief he smiled. “The Lusitania has safely completed the transatlantic crossing many times since the war started. Why should this week be any different? Now get to work, Isabel.”

  Anything more than an affirming nod would be an error in judgment so she took the pages of transcript and sat down at the typewriter. Dorothy stopped her work and grinned. “Look at you, speaking up about U-boats and targets,” she said, and paused. Isabel stiffened, expecting to be reproached. “I’m proud of you.”

  Isabel grinned, threaded a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter and began the fast rhythm she was known for. Dorothy laughed and tried to keep up. For a few moments they were in a race, their fingers flying, but before long she gave in and allowed Isabel to pull ahead.

  After the excitement of the Earl of Lathom the rest of the day passed without incident. Isabel found her routine once again and was feeling nothing but contentment. It was the dinner hour and her shift was over. She had remained on to catch up on her work. Dorothy and the other girls had gone home. Only the men were left; few of them had made any move toward leaving, including Henry. Their work was addictive, something Isabel understood. Despite the stress of her ordeal she couldn’t bring herself to go home. Not yet.

  She looked up when the door opened. It was Mildred. She held a tray of sandwiches and cake. The two women stared at each other. Mildred must be furious, thought Isabel, seeing her back in Room 40 no worse for the wear and the men happy to have her there despite her past. The slightest smile formed on Isabel’s lips and her eyebrows arched. This girl was no match for her.

  “What wonderful timing. I’m positively famished,” Isabel said. “Please do bring your tray here.”

  Reluctantly, yet knowing all eyes were on her, Mildred marched over to Isabel’s desk and held the tray out for her. Isabel picked up a sandwich and took a bite.

  “Thank you, Miss Fox,” she said, and returned to her typing.

  Mildred stood fast as though she might speak. Isabel looked up from her work.

  “Don’t you think you should take that tray around to the others?” Isabel sa
id. “The men work long hours, you know. I’m sure they’re all as starving as I am.”

  Mildred didn’t answer. She picked up the tray and walked off but it was clear she was flustered by their encounter. Isabel watched as she took the food around to the men, silent as the grave.

  Henry was the last on her rounds. “Thank you, Mildred. Very kind,” he said as he took a sandwich. “You best be going,” Henry suggested. “We’ve got a lot to do.”

  It wasn’t what Mildred wanted to hear from her beau. In retaliation she shoved the last sandwich onto Henry’s desk and squished it with her palm. An ooze of egg mayonnaise squirted across his papers.

  “Oh I’m so sorry, sir,” Mildred said sarcastically. She turned on her heel and marched out of the room, pausing only to give Isabel a scathing look.

  Isabel couldn’t help herself and laughed. She caught Rotter’s eye and he joined in. Soon the whole of Room 40 was in hysterics. Except for Henry.

  “Guess your girl is trying to tell you to lay an egg, Henry,” Rotter teased.

  Isabel was vindicated but her satisfaction vanished at the sight of Henry skulking out the door after Mildred. She tore into her sandwich like it was the meat off a bone.

  Edward

  He stood with Brooke across from the lifts. She was wearing a claret evening dress and a sour expression. Even the multiple strands of garnets around her neck couldn’t brighten her countenance.

  “Really, Edward, I don’t see why we don’t go to the table and let Sydney arrive on her own,” she said. “Captain Turner is waiting.”

  “Let him wait,” Edward said coolly.

  Brooke was about to respond when Lady Mackworth and her father, Mr. Thomas, arrived.

  “Good gracious, are you two practising the receiving line for your wedding?” she teased.

  Brooke smiled thinly. “We are waiting for my sister.”

  Lady Mackworth’s face lit up. “How marvellous,” she said brightly. “I can’t wait to meet her after everything I’ve heard.”

  “She sounds like quite the young lady,” her father added as they made their way toward the dining saloon.