However, the Syrians tended to keep to themselves, cooking their dinner. Adene had learnt, while strolling the Poop Deck and the girls had acquainted themselves with a young Syrian boy, that they did so because they could not eat the food otherwise. They weren’t sure if the foods the ship galley served were Halal – a word Adene hadn’t really understood, though she recognised its importance from the way Mr and Mrs Moussa had spoken – and thus they chose to cook their own. She didn’t understand Muslims, but she supposed they did not understand her faith, either. Whatever her feelings, her Reverend had always taught her the real test of Christianity was loving thy neighbour, no matter how different he was, even if he was a foe. “It’s easy to love those that are the same,” he’d said, one hot Sunday morning. “It’s much harder to love those that do not look like us, do not speak like us, and do not share our faith. In times of hardship, many souls look to punish those that are different from us. However, we must remember the words that came direct for the Lord Saviour’s mouth: ‘Love thy neighbour as thyself.’ Jesus came to us and said that it was the second most important commandment; the first, loving Our Lord and Saviour. Jesus did not shun those that were different; he took a drink from a Samaritan woman, when others would not; he washed Mary Magdalene’s feet, beseeching mercy and kindness for the woman.”
It had been a valuable lesson for Adene though, as she was frequently quick to judge, sometimes more harshly than she intended. However, the message was true, and Jesus’s message was pure, that she was sure and certain of.
Adene submerged herself entirely under the water, relishing the warmth of the bath, the solace that it gave. The heat warmed her aching back; she’d been playing with the girls the entire voyage, not that she minded. She pulled herself up, running her hands through her wet hair, resting her back against the porcelain tub. She closed her eyes, enjoying the bath, when she felt her legs tug ever so slightly.
She opened them, confused; the water is moving, she thought, though as soon as she imagined it, she knew it was absurd. Yet, the water was shifting, ever so slightly, to the edge of the bathtub, before it slowly began spilling out. Am I dreaming? she wondered vaguely; how could the water leave the tub, spilling out as if she’d tipped the bath forward? Then another thought came to her and something more sinister grabbed her: Water is always level.
Adene watched as more of the bath’s water spilled, reminding her that it wasn’t a dream, and jumped as quickly as she could from the bath. If the water was level, that meant the room was not. As she stood, she could feel the slant, though it was slight. Adene couldn’t be certain she would feel anything if it wasn’t for the water still spilling from the tub to the wooden floor. She was perplexed; she had not heard a shudder; but as she strained her ears, she realised the engines had stopped.
Adene tried not to let panic seize her; she knew little of ships. Ships would stop for the night, she knew. There was ice about; she could smell it when she was on the deck earlier. It was a perfectly reasonable to assume that the Captain had decided it was no longer safe to travel at night, choosing to anchor the vessel, resuming the journey in the safety of daylight.
But even as she tried to reassure herself, she knew that ships did not suddenly tilt, spilling the water from the bathtub. The Captain ordering the vessel to cease for the night didn’t explain why the water in the bath was no longer level.
Adene grabbed her towel and nightgown, desperate to return to her quarters.
To Isla.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday, April 14th, 1912
Cecilia
“M’lady, m’lady, Miss Cecilia,” came a hushed voice, pulling Cecilia from her dream. It was already fading before her; she could not even tell if it had been pleasant or not.
“What?” asked Cecilia groggily. She glanced around the dimly lighted room, her eyes adjusting to the light, trying to find the source of the gravelly voice, before her blue eyes met Aiobheen’s brown ones. “Aiobheen?”
“My lady, I think there’s a problem. There’s talk that the ship struck something.”
“Struck something?” Cecilia was confused. What was there for the ship to strike, but ice? Everyone had well assured her that ice was not the problem. Her father, who had eagerly acquainted himself with Mr Ismay after Georgiana’s fainting spell, had even said that, from Ismay’s mouth, Captain Smith was not “a bit worried” over a “bit of ice”. Albert had not stopped talking about his conversation at dinner, even though everyone in the family had heard his relayed conversation at least twice.
“Yes, m’lady,” Aiobheen whispered. “There’s talk we’ll be waking the passengers, you see, to attend to the boat decks.”
“What?” cried Cecilia, confusion growing. Why on earth would they need to go to the Boat Deck? She’d heard how Smith had sailed the Olympic to port after she’d encountered the Hawke. It might be a slower journey, but it would be comfortable all the same. Even if something had struck the Titanic, why were lifeboats necessary? Ships as large as the Titanic did not founder, no matter how much panic people felt. She bit her lip, trying to decide best how to dismiss Aiobheen.
“My Lady, I do believe it could be serious. There’s talk that the iceberg was at least 90ft high.”
“What should that matter? It’s ice, Aiobheen,” Cecilia replied. “This is the Titanic.” Cecilia hadn’t taken the girl to be daft. And anyway, hadn’t she said she’d served on the Olympic? Why was she showing concern now? “Really, Aiobheen, can’t this wait until morning?”
“I beg your pardons miss, and I’m sure and certain all will be fine. I imagine they just want repairs done, or something of the sort. I do not know, Mr Andrews did not stop to say, and neither did Mr Ismay. What I do know, however, is during turndown service, you did not have your pearl clip in your hair; I did not remove it. Perhaps the ship is not in any danger, but if your parents learn it is missing, then I fear you may be.”
Cecilia’s pale hand flew to her mouth. She had not even realised it was missing; she’d been too busy regaling her adventures to Aiobheen, telling her that Henry had agreed to run away with her as soon as they’d docked. Celia had told her friend that they would elope, marrying soon after their arrival, and she would stay with Henry in New York while he met with Edison. She would write a letter to Thomas, explaining that she had met Henry, and that she loved him. Celia would tell Thomas he was lovely, and that she cherished his letters – nothing that was even slightly untrue – but that she loved him like a brother, not like a lover. Cecilia had been shy on the details of kissing – she knew Aiobheen barely agreed to her meeting Henry in his room, and would be mortified if she had known Cecilia had kissed a young man she was not engaged to, though she had been dying to confess her sins to Georgiana, who she had hoped to see before morning. Instead, she’d fallen asleep waiting for her sister’s return.
“Oh!”
“Yes, My Lady. When your family is roused, they … what if they ask about it?”
Would they? Had they even noticed what I was wearing?
Cecilia wasn’t sure; but it was an heirloom, and she could not afford to rouse any suspicions amongst her family. If they had learnt she had not retired to her room, and had, instead, sought out Henry, they would be outraged. If everyone was ushered up to the Boat Deck, her mother might request that all valuables be taken with them, for safe keeping. Eleonora would likely want to stop by the Purser’s Office.
No, if her parents felt threatened, they would want to take their valuables with them, and Celia would be disowned if they discovered she’d visited him, unchaperoned.
Cecilia reached for Aiobheen’s small, spindly hands. Her fingers were long, mismatching her small, slender figure. “Thank you, Aiobheen. I will not forget this kindness. Now, disappear, I must make haste before my family is woken. I do not want your presence to be noticed here, if they find me gone.”
Aiobheen bobbed her head in a curtsey, before disappearing. Cecilia grabbed her dressing gown and slippers, not da
ring to waste time in dressing appropriately, before entering the near-empty halls to hurry down to D-Deck.
Chapter Fifteen
Sunday, April 14th, 1912
Smith
“Have the men ready the lifeboats,” Captain Smith said, though he doubted they would be needed. The Olympic hadn’t sunk, and he knew the Titanic wouldn’t either, even if Andrews’ predictions hadn’t been all that promising. The man’s mistaken, Captain Smith assured himself. But it is best we follow all safety precautions. “It is better for us to be prepared than not. We will ready the passengers, and the lifeboats. I’ve issued a distress signal that the boys will be sending now. We can organise for distress rockets after the noise has died down, however.”
“Yes, sir,” Murdoch replied, his face filled with sweat. The man was distressed, but Smith did not have the time to mollify the man’s fears. The ship’s damage was the paramount concern, along with the passengers and crews’ safety.
“Andrews and I will go below, assess the damage more thoroughly. These reports are varying, and I must see it for myself. If the mailroom is truly flooded, we may be at risk. I want to be prepared for that eventuation, especially if Mr Andrews’ assessment is accurate.”
“Risk?” cried Ismay, his face ghostly pale.
“Yes, Mr Ismay,” Andrews replied kindly. Unlike Smith, he always seemed to find it best to give assurances. “If the reports that the mailroom is indeed flooded, the ship could founder. Captain Smith and I will go below and return with a solid assessment. We will make preparations of the best course of action from there. I do believe, from what I’ve seen and heard, however, that we should be preparing ourselves for a long night. It appears great damage has been caused to the starboard side. Even if we don’t find ourselves in a great deal of bother, we won’t be going anywhere.”
“I’ve already ordered the engines restarted,” Smith interrupted. He didn’t need any of Andrews’ obsessiveness to affect the ship’s course. He’d sailed the Olympic, and he would damn well sail the Titanic.
“With all due respect, Captain Smith, I don’t think that’s wise when we’ve not established a proper damage report. For all we know, we could be worsening the current situation. After all, the ship is taking on water.”
Ismay nodded resolutely. “I will warn the Wireless men again. I told them I would return once I had more information.”
“As you will,” Smith replied, trying to keep the curtness out of his voice. Ismay was a man riddled with anxiety; how easily he had forgotten that, not a year passed, he’d carefully sailed the damaged Olympic to port, with no fatalities. In Smith’s opinion, it was just like a bureaucrat to worry needlessly. Ismay was only the owner of White Star Line; why should the man have any understanding of how the ship fared? Smith found Ismay cumbersome and, at times, perfunctory. He wondered if Ismay ever found any joy in life.
“When should we sound the order?” Murdoch asked; he was sweating profusely, despite the icy air. And so he should, Smith thought. Murdoch had been entrusted with the helm of the ship; his small eyes were darting back and forth, as if he were hoping someone would say that it was a jaunt, a shoddy joke. He would have to write Murdoch’s mishap up once they arrived in New York, though it would be good for the man. Arrogance wasn’t a good look on a man in charge of a ship, even if it were deserved.
“Andrews and I will return,” Smith said. “In the meantime, try and keep the passengers calm. There’s no need to rouse them earlier than necessary; for the moment, just ensure that the life rafts are ready to be deployed. The clinometer suggests a list of five degrees, starboard, which is concerning, but not a cause for the ship to necessarily founder. We must hear from the ship’s carpenter and see what can be salvaged. Make sure every senior officer is rallied for their position; however, do not spread this information among the other crew members, not until we know more. We do not want a calamity among the passengers.”
The men nodded. Smith and Andrews headed post-haste to the boiler rooms.
Chapter Sixteen
Sunday, April 14th, 1912
Hazel
“There’s a problem,” one of the maids said, running to Hazel’s room. Hazel had not yet turned in; her Ladyship had only returned to her suite a short while ago, meaning that she had only just had a chance to settle herself. The Nanny, Monaghan, whom she shared a room with, was snoring gently, and hadn’t stirred even when the door opened, letting the light in from the hallway.
“What’s the problem?” Hazel frowned. Had her Ladyship fallen ill? She had seemed fine just a few moments ago; but then she had noticed that the engines had fallen silent. It left her feeling uneasy, but she knew that they’d likely stopped for a reason. They certainly hadn’t struck anything; she hadn’t felt nor heard the slightest scrape or bump. Still, she missed the sound of the engines. Hazel hadn’t realised it before, but the engines provided a smooth humming noise. Without them, the ship felt eerily deserted, as if it had been abandoned, a lonely roaming ghost ship.
“The ship has struck ice.” Hazel realised it was Rosalie Bird, a long-time friend of Aiobheen’s. They’d both served on the Olympic together, where they’d become fast friends. Rosalie had dined with them last night, and Aiobheen, a woman who never understood the word ‘quiet’, had told the story of their friendship with glee.
“We can’t have,” Hazel replied. The idea was absurd – had the ship struck something of worth, surely she would’ve felt it. Bridget Monaghan was still snoring; she hadn’t been bothered. Neither had Marilla Lee, Lady Eliana’s lady’s maid, who was sleeping soundly. Georgiana’s lady’s maid, Nellie Jessop, hadn’t returned to the room yet. “Bridget’s still snoring, and none of us felt a single thing.”
“But we have!” cried Rosalie, her eyes wide with terror. “I heard them talking, you see. Mr Ismay, and Mr Andrews. I was with Aiobheen at the time, we were heading here, before she changed her mind, said she had a passenger to check upon. Can’t tell you who was more displeased. They were talking about the fact that we’d struck ice. Both men looked uneasy. Ismay looked like a man broken, and Andrews looked as if he wanted to cry.”
Hazel frowned. Everyone on White Star Line spoke fondly of Mr Andrews, in particular. Apparently, he routinely spoke with everyone, was on first name terms with some, and had even asked for some of the servants’ opinions of what could be changed on the Titanic to make it superior to the Olympic. The maids and stewards spoke very little of Mr Ismay, who was incredibly shy. Lovely, they would say, but shy to a fault. They knew little more of him other than he was the wealthy owner of the White Star Line and appeared to be a kind and generous man. These weren’t the type of men the maids would carelessly tell tales of, not if they respected them so. Was there something in the rumours that Hazel should heed?
“Did they say anything that was cause for alarm?”
“They said we hit an iceberg!” Rosalie repeated, as if Hazel had been confused the first time. Didn’t the girl know that hysterics never solved anything? Albert will lose his shit, Hazel thought dully. She wasn’t looking forward to hearing him complain at breakfast tomorrow. Maybe he’ll find it amusing, she prayed. He hadn’t returned by the time Lady Eleonora had dismissed Hazel, so he was likely having a grand time drinking too much scotch and gambling in the Smoking Room. Perhaps the alcohol would make him less likely to complain.
Nellie Jessop had appeared, clearly having freshly bathed, her hair wet and loose around her shoulders. “What?” Nellie cried, looking at Rosalie.
“You said that the ship had hit an iceberg already,” Hazel insisted impatiently. “The ship’s designed to handle more than a little bit of ice. I asked was there cause for concern?”
The girl lifted her broad shoulders. “I don’t know,” she bit her lip. “They were going to investigate. Mr Ismay said something about alerting the Marconi operators. You know, Jack and Harry.”
“Jack is cute,” yawned Nellie. “Does anyone know if he has a lady?”
“Dunno.
Not fond of Harry?”
“Is this seriously our conversation right now?” interrupted Hazel. She was beginning to lose her patience.
Nellie looked between everyone, including the still-sleeping Monaghan; Hazel was sure and certain the woman could sleep through anything. Marilla, on the other hand, had stirred, sitting up in bed. “What’s going on?” she asked, wiping sleep dust from her eyes, her voice thick and croaky.
“The ship’s hit ice.”
“Oh, god, Rosalie, do you have to be so crass?”
“She asked!”
“What? I didn’t feel a thing.” Marilla rubbed her forehead. “Are you sure?”
“That’s what I said,” Hazel confirmed. “Did you, Nel?”
Nellie shook her head. “I don’t think so. I was having a bath, but I don’t remember anything. It was just … normal. When did we supposedly strike ice?”
“Only a few minutes ago,” Rosalie hurried. “And we didn’t ‘supposedly’ strike ice, we did. But they seemed alarmed, Mr Ismay and Mr Andrews. They really did. Aiobheen saw them, too. She went to warn Miss Cecilia, I think. She didn’t say so, but I’m sure and certain it’s where she went.”
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