by Kim Izzo
This conversation was so difficult for Sydney on many levels. “That was true. But now with my sister gone I’m the sole heir to my family’s fortune and I’ve decided to invest in Rathfon Hall.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Northbrook said brusquely. His tone startled her; she wasn’t expecting anyone to object let alone be offended.
“I would like to invest in the estate. Settle its debts and provide capital for renovations and upkeep and develop it so it can be self-sufficient,” she explained calmly. Perhaps these Englishmen really had no head for business for the father seemed utterly perplexed. Edward on the other hand had at last ceased looking at her and was staring off into the distance.
“Renovate? Develop?” Lord Northbrook stammered. “We’d never sell Rathfon Hall to an American!”
Edward leapt to his feet and stood by the window. “She doesn’t mean to buy it, Father,” he said flatly. “She’s giving us the money I would have had if Brooke had lived. But instead of a gift she’s giving us the opportunity to pay it back like honest-to-goodness men.” He turned and looked at Sydney. Her eyes burned and she swallowed to keep from crying. “Am I right?”
“Yes, but it never has to be repaid,” she continued. “And there would be no change in title. I would only request annual reports to appease Mr. Garrett, and one further stipulation.”
“This is absurd!” Lord Northbrook said.
“Is it, sir?” Sydney asked. She felt that she could take no more from him on the matter. She was being generous. “Is it any more absurd than selling your son into a marriage he didn’t want to save your pile of bricks and mortar?” Lady Northbrook gasped. But Edward was smiling at her fondly. This was the girl he had fallen in love with and Sydney knew it. “At least this way you’ll not have an American living under your roof.”
When she was finished speaking she finally had the courage to look at him. Their eyes met but his smile was fading. He read between the lines and knew her true meaning: she would never marry him.
“But—” Lord Northbrook began to object until his wise wife waved him to silence.
“You are a dear and generous girl,” she said, and smiled, but it was through gritted teeth. “I will leave the decision up to Lord Northbrook, of course, but you make sense. What is your final stipulation?”
“A portion of profits from the estate will be used to start a charity in my sister’s name,” Sydney said firmly. “It will be for young girls’ education. Brooke was intelligent and well-educated and I’m certain had she lived and had girls of her own she’d have seen to it they were as well-schooled.”
Sydney gazed around her. No one dared to object. Her eyes settled on Edward. “I sail for New York the day after tomorrow,” she said. He bore the shock well; a slight twitch to his brow was all the reaction he gave. She forced herself to look at his parents. “You can take the papers to your own lawyer and give them a thorough going-over. We can sign them before I take the train to London.”
Lord Northbrook began to fidget and bluster. The footmen arrived with more cakes and began to serve them. Sydney was grateful for the interruption. She grabbed a small slice of iced lemon cake.
“Can I visit you in New York?” Georgina asked.
“Of course you can,” she answered. “Anytime you like.”
Georgina seemed pleased with the situation but she was the only one. Edward began to pace. His parents watched him with puzzlement.
“But I thought you had planned to return to England after the funeral, to take up your work with Margaret Sanger?” he said quickly, and stopped his pacing.
“I will postpone my work for now,” she explained, watching him stand like a statue, cold as marble. “As the women here have done. When I’m home I will see what I can do for the war effort.”
“You hate the war,” he practically shouted, much to the alarm of everyone present. His father glared at him.
“Calm yourself, Edward,” he instructed.
“I hate the waste of war,” Sydney said. “But after what happened to the Lusitania . . . that the Germans should target civilians . . . I will do what I can in America.”
Edward continued to stare out the window. Lord Northbrook cleared his throat. “I wager your government will soon be in the thick of it,” he said, sounding pleased. “Killing Americans won’t sit well in Washington.”
As if sensing the conversation was taking an ill turn, Lady Northbrook rang the bell. “I think we could all do with a brandy,” she said.
Sydney smiled in agreement and met Edward’s gaze. His look of adoration and love had been replaced by one of hurt and disappointment.
MAY 15
Isabel
You mustn’t let the Lusitania tragedy change your mind about the work you do, that we do,” Denniston told her.
Isabel had barely slept since the sinking and had been obsessively poring over the news reports in the papers. She read every survivor account, every accusation lobbed at Captain Turner, every theory as to why the ship had sunk so quickly. She could talk of little else. Dorothy was worried about her and had voiced her concern to Denniston. Isabel tried not to be angry about it; her friend meant well.
“How can I not? All those babies,” she said grimly.
“It’s bloody awful to be sure,” he answered solemnly. “But we did all we could.”
“You mean we did all we were allowed to do,” she said pointedly.
They were walking along Whitehall, the buildings of the British military surrounding them. So much power and might, yet so fragile it all seemed. Only a couple of hundred miles from where they stood were the front lines of the war. The stories coming from the trenches were every bit as horrible as what had happened off the coast of Kinsale.
“Yes, but that’s what we are meant to do. Follow orders, Isabel. We may not be in the navy or the army in the truest sense, you and I, but we are soldiers in our own way. And we must trust that our superiors see the bigger picture.”
What he said made sense. Yet she couldn’t shake off the feeling that with all their Intelligence they could have stopped it, and that the only reason they didn’t, was, well, too ugly to consider. But she had to consider it. She couldn’t tell him about the letter from Churchill but she could hint at it. “Remember I told you about my discussion with Churchill?” she began. He raised his eyebrows. “Of course, how could you forget? I can’t help but think that the sinking of the Lusitania was a conspiracy to raise international anger and support for the Allies. That it was all part of a master plan to drag the United States into the war.”
He didn’t answer straightaway and she chastised herself for speaking up. But if she didn’t talk about it these thoughts would never leave her. Denniston put his hand in his pocket and retrieved a cigarette case. He offered her one. She declined. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag from it. Isabel watched the smoke float away.
“You have to stop trying to make sense of it, Isabel. There was no conspiracy, though I grant you that if there were, it would make the tragedy easier to explain.” He spoke plainly but firmly. “But it wasn’t a conspiracy. It was a ruthless act of terror. It won’t ever make sense. War doesn’t make sense.”
He took another drag on the cigarette. Isabel bit her lip.
“I think I will have one, Alastair,” she said. He took out another cigarette and lit it for her. She inhaled deeply; the rush of smoke filling her lungs made her cough a little.
“Then you trust them?” she asked, and continued to smoke. The nicotine was going to her head and she felt slightly dizzy. She trusted Denniston; if he believed in Churchill and Fisher then she could too. Or at least she’d try.
They walked a few more yards in silence before he answered. “I believe they are good men. Though even good men have egos and make mistakes,” he explained thoughtfully. “But yes, I trust them.”
It wasn’t the most convincing argument to be sure. But it was enough for now. They passed a family walking along toward the Mall, a father and mo
ther and three small children. Isabel couldn’t keep her eyes off them; for some reason they made her sad.
“You know there was a time, before the war, when I thought I’d have everything I wanted. Of course I was still in Oxford and I was happy. I was in love with Mr. Chambers and I was learning so much. I fancied myself getting a degree and having a career. Engineering of some kind. But I also wanted a husband and children,” she told him ruefully. “To be valued for my intelligence and be loved. That isn’t possible for women, is it?” She stopped and looked up at Denniston. When he didn’t respond she continued. “After what happened to me I suppose the choice was easy: my work.”
They continued their walk in silence as though both needed to allow the words to settle.
“You will no doubt marry at some point,” he told her at last, as though she was looking for reassurance.
“Come now. What would happen to my work if I were to marry?” she asked, and seeing his dumbfounded look, she laughed. “Dorothy loves her job as much as I do. Will you let her work when you marry?”
Denniston nearly stumbled on the sidewalk. “Good grief! Who said anything—?” Then seeing how Isabel was smiling at him he changed tack. “I would allow my wife a career if that was what she wanted.”
“Ah.” Isabel grinned. “You are a very unusual man, Mr. Denniston. Let me assure you that for the most part this world isn’t designed for women. Maybe it will get better but not in time for me.”
“I want you to think about after the war,” Denniston said. She was startled by his words. In all their months working side by side he’d never broached the topic of peace. Did he know something she didn’t?
“After the war?” she repeated. “Is it as near as all that?”
He laughed. “I have no Intelligence about it, so don’t get hopeful. I only mention it because you’ve become such an integral part of the team and many of the men have jobs to go back to when the war is over. Lives to go back to . . .” She couldn’t argue the implication: that she did not have a life to return to afterwards, even if she hated to admit it was true. “But we’ll need good men, people, to stay on and continue the work. Explore new methods of decoding and monitoring other nations.”
“Really? Do you think there will be a need after the war is over?” she asked, completely surprised.
“I’m afraid the world has changed forever. There may be a day and hopefully soon when the guns will fall silent and no more soldiers will perish. But believe me there will not be peace. The way we’ve treated each other, the new forms of savagery, the tools to outsmart one another. It won’t stop simply because a few men devise a treaty. No, Isabel, we will continue to develop methods to spy on our enemies.” Denniston paused. “And even our allies I should think. And you, Miss Nelson, have a knack for it. I’m going to have Rotter continue your cryptography training in earnest.”
His words stunned her as much as they pleased her. “I would be honoured,” she said, fighting the urge to hug him.
“The work requires patience,” he continued. “And I’ve always been inclined to think women possess that particular quality in greater quantities than do men.”
Isabel watched Denniston closely. He was always a serious chap but she’d never seen him be so foreboding, so pessimistic. Yes, the war had changed everything and it would seem everyone, including her. “You can count on me,” she said stoically. “I never want to stop doing my job.”
He continued to smile at her but his face was tinged with sadness and resignation. “Then you’re in luck. With the way things are you shall be employed for as long as you wish.”
Isabel tried to hide her enthusiasm. A career would sustain her very well. That and a good bottle of whisky.
MAY 16
Sydney
The train platform was overflowing with men in uniform and women crying after them. Mothers, sisters and wives and girlfriends had come to say goodbye to their men. Many of the soldiers were very young and this was their first trip away from the villages and towns they had been born and raised in. Caring mothers stuffed bagged lunches into the soldiers’ hands as though their sons were being packed off for school and not a battlefield. Elsewhere kisses were given, and not the chaste peck of an aunt, but passionate kisses that were meant to last. Standing off to one side of the platform were Sydney and Edward. She was catching a train to Liverpool where a ship awaited to take her and Brooke’s body to New York. He was to board a train a short time after on his way to officers’ training. He wore his lieutenant’s uniform proudly and cut a striking figure that didn’t go unnoticed by several females within the vicinity.
Sydney was proud to be standing there with him. If things had been different she would be sending her husband off to fight. He looked so handsome. Her Edward. But things weren’t different and here they were, gazing at each other, lost in the past and what might have been in the future.
“I can’t stand losing you,” Edward said.
“Edward, we can’t change what has happened.”
“We didn’t kill her.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she said, almost pleadingly. Then, seeing his pained expression, she softened. “It’s better this way. We need to forget what happened and move on. We had seven wonderful days together, Edward. Let that be enough.”
“It can never be enough,” he answered. “A lifetime can never be enough. I love you. Don’t you love me anymore?”
She wanted to say she didn’t love him. She wanted to say it so badly she could scream. But what would be the point in that? It would be going too far, especially knowing that Edward was heading on a train to the army training camp and from there to France and the trenches full of mud and death. Give him the truth, she told herself. If there can be no marriage between us, let there be no lies either.
“I do love you,” she said quietly.
His eyes filled up and he kissed her hands. Something told her this was his final gesture of romance. He was letting her go. She couldn’t stand it.
“Wait for me,” he said. “Wait for me until after the war and if you feel the same way then, I will respect your decision.” She didn’t know what to say. Then Edward pulled something out of his pocket and placed it into her hand. It was a small yet exquisite diamond-and-sapphire ring. It was so pretty and feminine, yet understated; it suited her taste perfectly. He smiled at her like he knew she approved of it. “Take the ring as a memento,” he said. “You don’t have to wear it, Sydney. Just keep it to remember me until I return from the front.”
She smiled as she turned the ring over in her palm. “It’s lovely. I will ensure it’s safe.”
“And you will wait for me?” he repeated.
The train whistle sounded. Their time was up and she had to board the train to Liverpool. His train would depart ten minutes later. Despite the swarms of people around them the platform felt so very lonely. Walter’s words came back to her. We all deserve love, Sydney. Even survivors of great tragedies. She thought of Brooke, what she would do if things had been reversed. Brooke seized whatever moment was nearest and brightest. She never stopped herself from getting what she wanted—not because she didn’t care about others but because she wanted to get everything out of life. Squeeze every second of time until it yielded. Sydney thought of her mother too, who also had died so young. Surely she would want her only remaining daughter to find happiness? And she thought of Edward and of the two of them naked in her cabin. She looked at him again. This might be the last time she ever saw him. The thought swallowed her whole. It was as though the sum of all their voices—Walter’s, Brooke’s, her mother’s, Edward’s and her own—added up to the only possible answer.
“Yes,” she said. “I will wait. I promise I will wait.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear, my beautiful darling black sheep,” he said to her.
A conductor blew his whistle a few feet away. “All aboard!” he shouted, staring straight at them. “If either of you is catching the train to Liverpool I’
d be getting on now.”
Then mercifully he turned away to give them a final moment of privacy. Sydney threw her arms around Edward and kissed him, allowing herself to love him again and the warmth gave her back some of the life she’d nearly lost.
“Be safe, Edward,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Give the Germans hell and come back to me.”
“I will, Sydney,” he said. He gently took her by the elbow and led her to the train door. She climbed up the staircase, each clank on the metal step reminding her of the flights of stairs on the Lusitania. The four flights she knew so well from F Deck to the Regal Suite and every floor in between. The memories that raced through her mind were overwhelming, majestic and sorrowful. She stood in the train doorway facing Edward, not wanting to say goodbye.
“I’m closing the doors,” the conductor said, and the choice was taken from her. He slammed the door shut and she was torn from Edward. She raced to a window as the train pulled away. He stood on the platform waving at her, an officer ready to face the enemy. She blew him a final kiss and as the train moved along the track he grew smaller in the distance until he vanished completely.
Sydney was alone in the first class compartment. She took her seat and let the tears continue to flow. She wept for Brooke, for Alfred, for Charles and for Fred, Sarah and Hannah and all the others. But she also wept for herself and Edward. They had escaped one doom and she had nearly condemned them to another. She examined the diamond-and-sapphire ring again. In the quiet of the cabin, she slid it onto her left ring finger and held her hand up to the light. She would not remove it until Edward was safely returned from France. The piece of jewellery was more than a memento. It was hope. Hope that once the war was over they could move past the tragedy together. Until then she would continue to march onward.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Sydney, Brooke, Edward, Isabel and Henry are all fictional characters created from my imagination. However, many real people, who were either passengers on board the Lusitania, or worked in Room 40, inspired the characters in Seven Days in May. My great-grandfather was one: Walter Dawson, Sydney Sinclair’s confidant. Walter did indeed place his wife and daughter, my great-grandmother and my grandmother, Alice and Muriel, on another ship after he heard rumours the Lusitania was a German target. He survived as is written in this novel and then went on to fight in World War I, where he was captured by the Germans. He escaped the Limburg prison camp with the help of the Dutch and survived the war. He never returned to Lowell, Massachusetts, and instead settled in Toronto, Canada.