The Light in the Darkness 2

by Carla Louise Robinson

  “Lady Cecilia,” corrected Hazel, out of habit, before realising the significance of the girl’s sentence.

  “Lady Cecilia?” Nellie’s eyes opened wide. “What about Lady Georgiana? If Lady Cecilia goes looking for Henry –” Georgiana will follow. If there really is trouble on the ship, the sisters will strike more if Celia flees. Hazel wasn’t a fool, even if Albert was. Lady Cecilia’s kindness was oft mistaken for meekness. The two weren’t the same, and Lady Cecilia was not the type of women who would bend easily to a man’s will. Hazel respected that.

  The two younger sisters had always been close in a way she wasn’t sure was common for sisters. They’d been each other’s strictest confidantes, and when they were younger, they were inseparable. They’d communicate with secret languages when their parents were fighting loudly; something that Hazel still remembered but wasn’t sure the girls would. They seemed to have a rose-coloured eyes when remembering their past, especially their father’s actions.

  Hazel wondered if that was a gift that came with being wealthy.

  “I’m sure it’s fine, Nellie,” Hazel said, though she was certain that it wasn’t fine. The last thing they needed was Lady Cecilia running through the ship, trying to find Henry, for some ghastly, God-forsaken reason, when the ship was perfectly fine, would be fine, and would likely be up and running in no time. The girls could get themselves in a right huff, if they wanted. I’ll have to speak to Aiobheen in the morrow about her recklessness, Hazel thought. She needed to make the child understand that the girls fed off of drama; they had seldom else to entertain themselves, so they often resorted to concocting their own disasters, though they always seemed appropriately perplexed when everything went to Hades.

  “I’m going to wake Lady Georgiana,” Nellie said, turning on her heel. “I’d prefer she were aware of the situation.”

  “Well, we’d best get ready,” Hazel sighed, defeated; she would need to wake her mistress as well. Hazel’s bed and novel would have to wait; it seemed unlikely she’d have an early night, when it was almost midnight already. “Regardless of what’s happening, our Lords and Masters will want us at their beck and call. We’d best be prepared for it. Marilla, can you please wake Bridget? Lady Eliana will need to help with the children.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sunday, April 14th, 1912

  Barrett

  Barrett was still screaming orders to his men as the water rose steadily – slower, now, as the fuckhead above had decided that the Titanic should not immediately resume course; which meant that that the ship was not helping take water in – to shut down the dampers. Steam was roaring through the boiler rooms; it was hard to hear anything among the shouts, curses, hissing, and the scream the steam made as it fought to be released. If we don’t get this under control soon, the boilers will explode, and then we’ll be in real fucking trouble. Barrett moved toward Hesketh as a crewman – a trimmer, at first glance – ran past, his hand bloody, a finger severed, blood spilling down his arm. Typically, it would be Barrett’s responsibility to care for the man and see him to the surgeon, but the young man looked abashed, and despite his coal-stained face, he looked fraught and pale. He was interested in his immediate survival, and Barrett’s responsibility fell to the ship’s passengers. Barrett didn’t have the time to console the panicking man, who had all but lost all sense and reason, and it would take more time than the ship had if Barrett stopped, tailoring everything to a trimmer’s hand. If the man were wise, he would find the ship’s surgeon on his way up to the Boat Deck, though Barrett wasn’t sure why he was heading there. The Titanic was taking in water, that was sure and certain, but that didn’t mean she’d sink, and it certainly would be looked unfavourably upon by the Officers. The man would be likely reprimanded for his disorderly behaviour in the morning, loss of finger or not.

  The inner workings of a ship were, most importantly, not for passenger’s eyes. It was why Andrews had constructed the ship’s gangway for the coal workers, so that the passengers would never have to counter any of the crew who worked among the boilers for a living. To Barrett, pretending that a steam ship wasn’t powered by hundreds of firemen, greasers, trimmers and cutters was like trying to paint shit gold and sell it as a nugget.

  While the rising water had slowed, it was still rising quicker than Barrett would have liked. The lights in the stokehold flickered once, twice, before switching off, though not a single man panicked. They had a job to do, and worked best when focused, regardless of the calamity. The red coals emitted amber lights throughout the boiler room, eerily contrasting with the rising dark seawater. The engineers were fiddling with the pumps; readying them to take on the water filling the hull. Barrett had only ascertained the damage from boiler rooms five and six, and stokehold ten; he wasn’t sure if the other boilers were taking on water. He could see the engineers making suggestions, shouting orders; the officers, including the Captain and Mr Andrews were above, on top of the rail, assessing the crew’s damage. Smith looked aghast and Andrews grim; their faces told Barrett all he needed to know.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sunday, April 14th, 1912

  Georgiana

  “Lady Georgiana, Lady Georgiana,” came a hushed voice from Georgiana’s lady’s maid, Jessop. Georgiana was exhausted – the sea air had made her feel more tired than usual, and she’d forgotten to close the porthole before falling asleep, book resting on her chest – and she was surprised to realise her husband hadn’t yet returned to the suite. Judging by the low lighting of the bedroom, and the stillness of the ship, it was late. Possibly even midnight; perhaps later.

  Doesn’t the smoking room close at eleven? She wondered, wrapping her arms around herself as she sat up in bed, pulling the red covers close to her.

  “Please tell me you have a very good reason for waking my slumber, Jessop,” Georgiana said firmly. “And please, if you have knowledge of my husband’s whereabouts, kindly share.”

  “I’m sorry, My Lady, but I do not know where Lord William is, but the crew is starting to rouse the passengers. Apparently, they’re planning to lower the lifeboats.”

  “The lifeboats?” Georgiana frowned. She was used to lifeboat drills, but it was strange to have one so late at night. They didn’t always happen every voyage, either. Everyone knew what to do in an emergency: Either stay on board the vessel until help arrived or enter one of the deadly lifeboats that would likely cost you your life regardless. It would be easier to trust in the safety of the lifeboats if they didn’t appear so flimsy and small, especially against the large ship. She’d noticed the lifeboats, of course, when she’d walked the Boat Deck with the Astors and Kitty; they were small, little wooden boats that had white covers and didn’t look at all safe. “That seems a touch absurd, especially on such a cold night. I was on deck earlier, and I don’t even remember seeing a moon. Moonless nights make for terrible visibility, Jessop; it’s likely we’ve just stopped for the night. Captain Smith is a cautious captain. Are you quite sure you have not misheard? I can’t imagine the Captain thinking it was wise to have a drill so late, on such a cold night.” As if to prove her point, goose pimples ran down her arms. Jessop moved to close to the porthole, much to Georgiana’s relief.

  Jessop shook her head, her dark brown hair pinned tightly back. “No, My Lady. I don’t know how serious it is, but they’re insistent that all passengers move to the Boat Deck. Your mother and sisters are being roused now, and we are of hope that the men will return shortly. According to Lady Eleonora, the men were still dining in the smoking room, and were present when the iceberg hit. My Lady, I don’t wish to alarm you, but the girls are concerned.”

  Georgiana yawned, pulling the ruffled sheets over her ivory nightdress. “I don’t see any urgency in the matter. And the ship is perfectly safe. Even if we did hit an iceberg – and that’s an if, Jessop, I felt no such thing – it couldn’t bring harm to the Titanic. Don’t fret.”

  “But there is a problem, My Lady,” Jessop stammered. “They
’re saying – they’re saying the ship has hit a large berg. Not a growler, or some small piece of ice, My Lady. An iceberg, almost one hundred feet high.”

  Georgiana sat up, rubbing her eyes. An iceberg? Really? She glanced at the clock – it was nearing midnight – and stared at Jessop again, as if she’d only just noticed the woman standing before her. “A drill?” she asked. “That still sounds absurd. I’m not interested in a drill.”

  “No, I don’t think so, My Lady,” Jessop said. “It’s what they’re saying, but I don’t believe it’s a drill.”

  Georgiana was becoming irritated now. Didn’t Jessop understand that this was a ship? Ships just don’t sink, Georgiana couldn’t help but want to scream. “The stewards aren’t here, Jessop,” scolded Georgiana. “I don’t hear them waking the passengers. Papa spoke to the Captain, to that Mr Ismay fellow, and to Mr Andrews, earlier today. Mr Ismay even told him of the presence of icebergs, and Papa did not seem at all concerned for the ship’s welfare. All have great faith in this ship. If there was cause for alarm, we would be warned, and I find it hard to believe that there is anything that could cause such a ship to founder, especially with Captain Smith at the helm. I saw him at dinner; he didn’t even take a sip of wine, and the party was in his honour.”

  “My Lady,” Jessop said, biting her lip.

  “That’s enough, Jessop,” snapped Georgiana. “I am tired. I appreciate the news, but I am tired. I do not need to hear about silly stories – at least not until the morrow.”

  “Yes, My Lady,” Jessop replied, though her tone seemed unsure.

  “It will be okay, Nellie,” consoled Georgiana, hoping that the woman’s name would calm her. She didn’t like when she had to scold Jessop, but sometimes it was important for mistresses to remind their servants of their place. “Now please, I am tired. Pray, wake me when it’s the morrow, and I will listen to all your tales.”

  “Yes, My Lady,” Jessop replied, curtsying before she exited. Hopefully the girl gets some sleep instead of worrying so much.

  Georgiana rolled to her side, readying herself to fall to sleep, when she realised something she hadn’t noticed before:

  The engines had stopped.

  PART V

  “What do you think I am? Do you believe that I’m the sort that would have left the ship as long as there were women and children on board? That’s the thing that hurts, and it hurts all the more because it is so false and baseless. I have searched my mind with the deepest care, I have thought long over each single incident that I could recall of that wreck. My conscience is clear and I have not been a lenient judge of my own acts.”

  - J. Bruce Ismay

  Chapter Nineteen

  “So that if the reader will come and stand with the crowd on deck, he must first rid himself entirely of the knowledge that the Titanic has sunk … he must get rid of any foreknowledge of disaster to appreciate why people acted as they did.” – Lawrence Beesley

  Marconi grams sent from the Titanic to other vessels and stations on April 14th, 1912:

  ‘Strauss, Amerika. Fine voyage fine ship feeling fine what news.’

  ‘hello Boy dining with you tonight in spirit heart with you always best love, Girl’

  ‘reserve two rooms with bath and single arriving Wednesday, Fortune’

  ‘hardly wait get back cable me awfully happy, Mutzie’

  ‘Rose greatly improved eats well sleeps well, Dave’

  ‘No seasickness all well notify all interested poker Business good, Al’

  Chapter Twenty

  Tuesday, 30th April, 1912

  Howard

  Howard was grateful after they’d passed quarantine, and the bodies could now be brought ashore for viewing. There were large crowds surrounding Halifax’s harbour, which didn’t surprise him. He imagined that most of the people waiting were hoping that the men on the Mackay-Bennett had found their loved one.

  While some people, like Jack Astor, had been easily identified, many had not, and some had only been partially identified.

  Howard was aware that certain families – like Vincent Astor – had paid a premium to view their loved ones first. He wasn’t the only one; the Mackay-Bennett had received at least five telegrams yesterday from the Gresham family, inquiring about their daughter’s remains. They, like Vincent, had offered a reward for the finding of the woman’s body, and Howard – though he had not realised it – had collected her on his first day, pulling her frozen body from a green embroidered chair. It hadn’t been an easy task – it required the help of three other men, as the woman’s face had frozen to the side of the chair, and the ice had frozen her in position. In the end, they had decided to bring both aboard; they would use a heating system to melt the ice before the embalmer, Snow, would continue his embalming process.

  She was very pretty, Howard couldn’t help but note, and it made his heart ache. She was wearing a nightdress, and Howard wondered what had prevented her from boarding a lifeboat. The rest of the Gresham family – with the exception of the men, he supposed, though he wasn’t sure – had escaped. Why hadn’t she attempted to make her own leave? Why had the young girl decided to stay on board the ship?

  Howard wondered if she’d done so for love. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to leave her husband behind, assuming she had one (it was another thing Howard didn’t know), and hadn’t realised the damage.

  He was guessing her family was unaware of the damage the Titanic had sustained, either. Otherwise, Howard was sure and certain they would have forced her to board. What parent would let their child willingly go to an icy grave?

  Howard sighed. It was passing eleven; it would be another long day of ferrying the dead into the viewing rooms for the mourning families.

  He would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to putting this morbid business behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Monday, April 15th, 1912

  Evans

  Evans’ heavy eyelids fluttered; the wireless room was pitch black, and it took him a moment to get his bearings; he was still holding a National Geographic magazine he’d picked up from one of the other officers; he’d been interested in reading A Land of Giants and Pygmies by the Duke of Mecklenburg, but had fallen asleep before he’d had a chance to find the article. As Evans’ eyes began to adjust to the light Groves had turned on, Evans felt a wave of irritation flood him.

  Third Officer Charles Groves, or Charlie, had been spending as much free time as he was able in Evans’ wireless room. It was Charlie that had given Evans the National Geographic magazine; he’d exchanged it during one of their chats, as Evans had been teaching Charlie how to work the operating machine. It wasn’t that Evans didn’t appreciate Charlie’s company; on the contrary, it would be far drearier without it. He routinely worked sixteen-hour shifts and did not have much of a chance to leave the small confines of his room, with his bunk situated close to the Marconi system.

  “Hey, Evans,” Charlie said, looking altogether too happy for a man that had as little sleep as Evans had. Evans grumbled a reply, though it wasn’t discernible to either man’s ear, and Charlie responded by ignoring him. Charlie was already holding the receiver to his ear, before asking, “What ships have you got, Sparks?”

  “Only the Titanic,” Evans replied, his voice husky from exhaustion, and he made a pointed glance at the clock, which was reading ten past twelve. “You know, the new boat that’s making its maiden voyage.” He yawned deeply; he was in no mood to continue any discussion with Charlie. Rolling over in his bunk, facing the white wall, Evans placed his pillow over his head so he didn’t have to listen to Charlie fussing around with the Marconi machine.

  A few minutes later, Evans’ fatigue and exhaustion won over his annoyance, and he quickly returned to his slumber.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Monday, April 15th, 1912

  Adene

  Adene tried to hurry back to her cabin; only a few crew members were present, and they seemed undisturbed; some stewar
desses were even preparing the common room for breakfast in the morning. Adene had noticed it when she’d hurried down the wooden stairs to the galley, so that she could see the clock – it was after midnight now, almost twenty past. The engines had begun again, and Adene tried to take comfort in that. If the steam engines are functioning, there isn’t anything to worry your head about, she attempted to comfort herself, but it failed. She tried to quell her panic; the corridors, while lit, were easier to get lost in at night, when no one was about.

  Breathe, Adene reminded herself. Panic would not serve her; and anyway, the empty hallways and the maids preparing for tomorrow’s breakfast were a good reminder that the ship wasn’t in dire straits.

  With another calming breath, she took another step, but then noticed the list, which had been more starboard, though was now listing port; the ship shuddered, and this time, as the engines stopped again, Adene felt the ship shake, the lights above flickering, dulling so much that she was sure and certain they would not turn back on. Adene’s breathing heaved and rattled and she hugged the small corridor wall of Scotland Road as she tried to remind herself of her purpose.

  Isla, she thought with panic. Her cabin was further in the bow, and every step she took towards it was as if she were walking downhill. The lights above her flickered again, and her breath came quicker, her head spinning, each step shouting, Isla, Isla, Isla.

  She had still not reached her cabin, but she knew things were beginning to change, and quickly; passengers were beginning to filter out into the hallways, making her journey toward her section all the more difficult. She heard a steward’s voice shouting on each door that they opened abruptly, snapping, “Get your lifebelts on, unless you’re fixing to die!” The steward, after shouting and opening the doors to each cabin, did not stop to see if the passengers were heeding his orders. Some seemed perplexed, rubbing the sleep from their eyes; either they hadn’t heard the order, or they did not speak much English.