by Kim Izzo
Sydney rushed to embrace her but Brooke thrust her hand in the air to stop her. “We didn’t mean for this to happen,” Sydney said.
“We.” Brooke sniffed. “Sydney and Edward sitting in a tree. How sweet.”
Sydney had never seen her sister so angry with her before. “You must believe me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’ve never acted foolishly over men, you know that,” Sydney said. “And if I’m behaving the fool now it’s because I am in love. I’m sorry I’ve ruined things. I feel like a terrible person.”
“You are a terrible person,” Brooke said, her voice quieter now.
“What do you want me to do?” Sydney asked helplessly.
“Well, I’d say give him up but unfortunately he won’t agree to marry me so that’s not useful,” Brooke said sharply.
“You don’t love each other,” Sydney said, trying to get her sister to see sense. “It’s better this way.”
“Better for you, maybe. You’re such a selfish girl.”
Brooke sat rigidly on the bed like she was poised to pounce. It was then that Sydney noticed that her sister still wore the enormous diamond-and-emerald engagement ring; she had been so proud of it when she had first shown it to her. Brooke caught her gaze and clutched her hand to her chest.
“You want my ring too?” she asked icily. “Well, you can’t have it.” Brooke wrenched the thing off her finger and tossed it on the bed where it lay like a severed limb. “I’m going to have the gold melted down and the stones made into a pendant and I will wear it around my neck every time I visit with you and Edward as a reminder of what you did.”
Sydney had never felt as horrible at any previous time in her life as she did in that moment. Yet she knew her sister better than anyone.
“Edward means nothing to you other than a title,” Sydney said as gently as she could. “You’ve said so many times.”
“And what does he mean to you?” Brooke asked, her voice harsh.
Sydney felt faint. Her nerves were getting the better of her. “I love him, Brooke. It’s not a fling.”
“Don’t lie to me,” she said.
“I’m not lying,” Sydney said, her voice rising like her anger. “You’re the one who lied, Brooke.”
“I beg your pardon!”
“You lied to Edward about my inheritance,” Sydney accused her. “Alfred told me.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” Brooke snapped. “It was a test.”
Sydney was dumbstruck. She paused, taking in the words. “What sort of test?”
“Dearest, if Edward wasn’t going to marry me for my money, then I wanted to be certain he’d only leave me for love,” she explained. Her eyes were moist and she dabbed them with her hand. “So I told him you had no money to see if it made a difference. It didn’t. Turns out my fiancé, whoops, my former fiancé, believes in true love.”
Sydney didn’t know what to say. She was stunned. “You were trying to protect me?”
“Is that so surprising?” Brooke asked. “Using money for marriage is my specialty, not yours. I couldn’t stand the idea of your thinking you were marrying for love only to discover it was your oil stocks that netted a husband. You really are quite naïve when it comes to men, darling. Someone had to look out for you.”
Sydney was on the verge of tears. She had underestimated Brooke. There was so little she could think of to say. Brooke looked away from her and ran her fingers through her hair. “I am your older sister, aren’t I? I’m not happy with what you’ve done and I will probably hate you for as long as I think it’s necessary,” she admitted bitterly.
Sydney flinched at the idea that Brooke would hate her—even temporarily—but what did she expect, a congratulatory telegram? Brooke seemed to notice her expression for she smiled suddenly. It wasn’t exactly warm, but it gave Sydney hope.
“Take heart, dear Sydney, you’re my only family. Blood does mean more than a husband. Besides I can always find another dirt-poor aristocrat. England is teeming with them,” Brooke said with a hint of her usual high spirit seeping into her voice. “And eventually I may forgive you. Once you’ve grown fat with child and I’ve married a baronet. As long as you are absolutely convinced Edward will make you happy then I suppose I can live with it.”
“He will make me happy,” Sydney said. And he would. She was certain. Her sister didn’t love him, which meant she would be free to find a man she did love. They would all be happy one day.
Brooke sat up and clapped her hands together. “See! That’s what I was banking on,” she said. “Banking on? That’s funny.”
For the first time in days the sisters exchanged knowing smiles and after a moment, some laughter. It was a small step toward reconciliation and it gave Sydney the strength she needed. She didn’t want to leave her sister just now, but she was desperate to find Edward and tell him what had happened. “I want you to fall in love with a man who truly loves you too,” she said softly.
“Oh don’t worry, I will,” Brooke said, sounding overly confident. “That’s just the sort of romantic I am.”
Isabel
The morning had unfolded routinely. The team deciphered wireless transcripts at a steady rate. There were coordinates for the German fleet near Belgium. There were intercepts about the ongoing battle in Gallipoli. And then later in the morning came a telegram that raised the alarm of the night before all over again. Commander Hope didn’t hold back this time and read it aloud for the entire staff.
“Submarine has torpedoed SS Centurion off the coast of County Wexford. We believe same U-boat that sank the Candidate is responsible. Crew safe.” Commander Hope paused. “She was sunk yesterday afternoon at approximately one p.m.”
Isabel and Dorothy exchanged looks. The Lusitania had only one more day at sea. She would dock in Liverpool in the morning; surely nothing would happen so close to home port. Isabel looked anxiously at Commander Hope for an order or any type of action that she could heed.
“That’s only a few hours after the Candidate,” Denniston remarked. “Schwieger is determined to go home a hero.”
“Let’s see if we can make sure that doesn’t happen,” Commander Hope said, and glanced at Isabel.
“Isabel, copy it at once and bring it to Lord Fisher,” he said.
She took the message from his hand and paused, wondering if she should mind her place. Everything and everyone was so tense, many of them had hardly slept these past few nights.
“Perhaps she’s run out of torpedoes?” Isabel suggested hopefully, and waited but thankfully no one berated her.
“They carry six,” Denniston explained. “She’s used only three.” The gravity of the situation played on his features and he looked into her eyes and squinted. “Isabel, you had better get going.”
She returned to her desk to type the copies. When she left the room she broke into a run and without missing a beat turned down the hallway toward the office of Winston Churchill. He wanted a reason for the United States to enter the war. He had practically said he desired a neutral ship with Americans on board to be sunk to get that reason. But surely he wouldn’t knowingly let it happen.
The sound of her heels striking the marble floor made an alarming echo and people scattered to let her pass, scowling after her when they realized the terrible clatter was merely a pair of shoes. She nearly slid to her knees trying to stop outside his office door. She caught her breath and patted her hair down. She opened the door and went into the reception where Churchill’s secretary sat. The woman seemed startled to see her.
“Miss Nelson, what in the devil—” She paused.
Isabel held out the telegram. “Mr. Churchill needs to see this straightaway,” she said. “It’s urgent.”
The woman frowned. “That won’t be possible, my dear.”
Isabel frowned in return. “But you don’t understand—”
“It is you who doesn’t understand, Miss Nelson. Mr. Churchill is out of the country. He left two days ago for P
aris.”
Isabel felt the floor swim beneath her. “I didn’t realize,” she said glumly.
“I’m surprised Commander Hope sent you.” She tsk-tsked. “He should have remembered.”
Isabel nodded and backed away. “I’ll take it to Lord Fisher.”
“Very well. Good day, Miss Nelson.”
“Good day,” she answered, and shut the door behind her.
She marched to Lord Fisher’s office and delivered the telegram. The secretary held out her hand to receive it without even looking at her.
Even though some time had passed since Isabel was back at Room 40, she jumped each time a pneumatic tube crashed into the metal tray. Each time she watched as one of the men opened the tube and unrolled the paper inside. Each time she waited for any mention of the ocean liner in the chatter that came from the wireless stations. But there was none. It was as though for a brief moment the Lusitania didn’t exist. Then Lord Fisher arrived.
“We’re advising Vice Admiral Coke to send another warning message to the Lusitania at once,” he announced, and Denniston rushed over to jot it down. “The message is ‘Submarines active off south coast of Ireland.’ Full stop.”
Denniston stuffed it into a tube to be sent to the basement where the wireless operators would send it onward. Isabel breathed a sigh of relief. It would be all right now. The Lusitania’s captain would heed the warning and go full speed until she safely docked in Liverpool.
“Very good,” Fisher said. “I’ll be in my office with Captain Hall. Commander Hope, I expect you to apprise us of any developments immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” Hope answered.
Around eleven thirty Lord Fisher was back, a slip of paper in his hand, and he was agitated. “Commander Hope, I’ve decided to send another warning to the Lusitania. It will give the ship’s captain more details.” Fisher held up the telegram. “Read it to your staff so they are all aware of what is transpiring.”
Isabel pricked up her ears. Commander Hope seemed to cover the length of the room in two strides as he took the telegram from Fisher and read it out loud. “Submarines active in southern part of Irish Channel. Last heard of 20 miles south of Coningbeg Light Vessel. Make sure the Lusitania gets this.” He looked at Fisher. “Should we tell Captain Turner about the Candidate and the Centurion?”
Fisher shook his head. “We feel that is too much information to broadcast.”
“Yes, sir,” Commander Hope answered.
Isabel sensed he didn’t completely agree with Fisher. Neither did she. Something must have occured to make Fisher think this new message was needed. Exactly what that was he wasn’t going to tell them. Dorothy stood at the cabinet filing the past week’s worth of decoded messages. Isabel quietly went and stood opposite her. The room was unnaturally quiet and she didn’t want to risk a reprimand.
“Do you think the danger for the Lusitania will be over now?” Isabel asked her.
Dorothy glanced at her but went back to filing. “I wager that Captain Turner will heed all the directives that the Admiralty gave him and sail through into Liverpool without incident,” she said, not looking up. “After all, there’s not a submarine built that could catch her.”
“That isn’t true,” Isabel said. “Just last month I heard Captain Hall and Lord Fisher say that the Admiralty had the ship’s fourth boiler put out of use to conserve coal. She can’t go more than twenty or twenty-one knots. Hasn’t been able to since the winter.”
“That’s still faster than a U-boat,” Dorothy offered.
Isabel wasn’t satisfied. “Why isn’t Fisher ordering a naval escort for her? Surely there are several cruisers docked in Liverpool or Southampton that can reach her. What’s the use of all our Intelligence if we don’t use it?”
Dorothy pressed her finger to her lips to silence her. “Don’t you get it, Isabel?”
Isabel’s face showed she did not. Dorothy whispered, “The Admiralty won’t send its cruisers to an area they know is rife with submarine activity. The Candidate and the other boats mean nothing to them. But they won’t risk a battleship for anything.”
Sydney
Sydney walked along the starboard side searching for Edward. He wasn’t in his cabin when she’d knocked. Where could he be? So far her walk had been fruitless. Then she saw a familar face: Walter. He stood midship with several other passengers. She recognized Albert and Agnes Veals and Agnes’s brother, Fred Bailey, from their meals together in the third class dining saloon. With them were two young ladies she’d not met before. Everyone seemed fixated on the water.
“Almost there,” he said when she joined them. He glanced at her quickly. “Then I get to see my Alice and Muriel. It will be a happy day.”
“That will be lovely for you, Walter.” Sydney looked out at the water. “Have you seen Edward?”
“No I haven’t,” Walter answered.
Sydney checked her wristwatch; it was ten minutes past two o’clock. The only place she hadn’t checked now seemed the most obvious. He must be waiting at her cabin. She was about to walk away but the intensity of Walter’s face made her stop. “What are you looking at?” she asked.
“Porpoises,” Agnes answered. “There was a whole school of them this morning.”
Sydney was relieved to hear their focus was as innocent as that.
“Look, there’s a porpoise!” Mr. Veals shouted, and he pointed out a white streak coming across the water toward the ship. Sydney followed the direction the streak had taken and saw what looked like the periscope of a submarine in the distance.
“That’s not a porpoise!” Walter yelled. His words were immediately followed by a shout from the lookout.
“Torpedo! Starboard side!” came the cry from the crow’s nest.
Sydney and Walter stared in horror as the torpedo struck the ship forward of where their little group stood. The explosion shook the Lusitania and threw up a huge volume of sea water, drenching them. The ladies screamed in terror as debris from the explosion rained down on them. Elsewhere frightened voices tried to explain the crash.
“I bet we hit a mine!” someone said.
“Don’t be stupid! It’s the Germans!”
“Get your lifebelts and head to the lifeboats,” Walter instructed them all.
Sydney spotted Frederick Isherwood inching toward them along the railing just as a second explosion more powerful than the first rocked the ship, sending another cloud of debris and dust from the hull to the bridge. Sydney grasped the railing in terror.
“What in God’s name?” Isherwood asked when he reached Walter and Sydney. He was visibly shaken.
“A second torpedo?” Agnes asked.
There was no time to answer. The deck beneath them began to tilt to starboard. They slid and teetered, desperately trying to remain on two feet. The sensation was sickening and Sydney saw the terror on the faces of her companions. The deck had become crowded as passengers ran outside. People were asking what had happened and what to do next. But one thing was certain: the Lusitania was maimed.
“I must find Edward and Brooke!” Sydney yelled, and moved away.
“Don’t go back inside the ship!” Walter shouted. But she kept going.
She began to run down the staircase passing men and women climbing up. Many seemed as confused and panicked as she was while there were others who seemed nonchalant and calm. She wasn’t sure which was right for the situation. She reached the Grand Entrance on C Deck and kept going, so convinced was she that Edward was at her cabin waiting for her. Once she found him, they would go get Brooke together. Down she went past D, then E, each step and turn she was thrust against a crash of people trying to climb up. The passengers—men leading wives, mothers clasping children and crewmen attempting to create order out of chaos—were a frightened horde that saw no need to let Sydney pass with ease. If panic had an odour it was the smell of sweat. She had to fight her way through them and down the final flight of stairs until at last she reached F Deck, when the lights went out, pl
ummeting the entire ship into darkness. Then came the screams.
She clung to the railing and pulled her way along, counting cabin doors until she was sure it was her berth. But there was no Edward waiting impatiently for her. There was no one. Only blackness and a sickening motion beneath her feet that she couldn’t quite place. She fumbled in her purse for the key and, finding it, managed to unlock the door. It flew open, startling her. She stepped inside and bumped into the dresser, which was on its side, all of her things spilled onto the floor. It puzzled her until she felt herself stagger to regain balance. Then she knew. The ship was listing. And that meant one thing: the Lusitania was taking on water and rapidly. She felt around under the bed until her fingers closed on the lifebelt. She couldn’t be sure she was fastening it correctly. It was too dark to know. She tied it quickly, then looked around her berth. The amber dress lay on the floor in a tangle of silk. For a second she wanted to grab it but sense took hold. Instead she grabbed Georgina’s scarf and left the berth not bothering to close the door.
Back in the passageway she took a few clumsy steps before realizing that the uneven floor was not the floor at all. Her right foot was walking on the wall.
“Help me find my baby!” a voice called out in the dark.
“Where did you leave it?” Sydney called back.
“Help me find it!” the woman shrieked, and shoved past Sydney.
“Don’t go down there,” Sydney warned. “You must get up to the Boat Deck.”
The woman ignored her and continued down the passageway yelling for her baby but no one answered her calls. Sydney managed to find the staircase and started up but the going was tough and she had to pull herself along. The past seven days of climbing the four flights between F and B Decks had strengthened her legs and arms and for that she was thankful. With each step the rising volume of human fear swelled in her ears. There were screams of terror, cries for help and calls for loved ones. There were also shrill shouts from Cunard crewmen but Sydney couldn’t discern what the instructions were. She just knew she had to climb back up the stairs. Surely Edward and her sister would be at the Boat Deck by now. Then she remembered Brooke’s fearlessness when it came to intense situations. She’s probably already in a lifeboat. She had no fear of her sister being left behind. She managed to get to D Deck when the staircase became clogged with people trying to make it to the lifeboats three flights up.