She imagined that many passengers would embellish details of the night, eager for their tryst to outdo their companion’s. Perhaps some of the passengers’ stories would even feature in the papers; if someone liked Colonel Astor telegrammed, the world would wish to know what he said, and any operator listening would be more than willing to sell it for a pretty penny. Hazel hadn’t spent much time with the first-class passengers, but even she was aware that Astor commanded interest, though she wasn’t sure it was always favourable. Her Lady Eleonora had spoken of Colonel Astor and his wife, Mrs Astor’s, woes, of which there were apparently numerous. Mrs Astor, according to one of the stewardesses, was oft confined to her suite throughout the journey. She’d heard as they’d brought her beef tea, an order that came from one of the ship’s doctors.
“It will be fine, my love,” Albert said, kissing his wife’s forehead, rubbing her arms. Hazel was surprised at Albert’s loving behaviour; it was as if the drama had created a very different man. She wondered if Her Lady wondered the same thing.
By morning, however, Hazel was sure that Albert would revert to his true nature. It was who he was, after all.
Hazel sat next to Bridget, who was wrapping the children in the red blankets Lady Eliana had ordered her to bring. Despite Lady Eliana’s inherent selfishness, Hazel had found this both remarkably kind and intelligent. The children were bewildered, exhausted and cold. Lady Eliana and Her Lady soon followed Hazel (though Her Lady was seized rather haphazardly by a dastardly officer), and then the raft soon began lowering to A Deck, where more passengers began boarding. Some of them were men, forcing their way through, much to Hazel’s distaste. The officers seemed to agree, and before many women had the opportunity to board (though what numbnut hadn’t realised that A Deck promenade was boarded up?) the raft hit the ocean, rocking gently.
The raft wasn’t let from the davits, however, and the passengers – being led by some fireman – hadn’t had the opportunity to row away.
“What’re they doing?” one of the men in the raft asked, and Hazel looked up; a lifeboat was coming down upon them.
We’re going to be crushed. Oh my god, we’re going to be crushed.
Her Lady and Lady Eliana began screaming, as well as many other women; however, the attractive fireman, who was shivering and wet, lept forward, cutting the ropes with a pocketknife. Another fireman, though not wet, grabbed the rear ropes, doing the same.
The man cut the lifeboat free, and a second later every person who had an oar was pushing the boat from the Titanic as fast as they could; thirty seconds later, the lifeboat above them landed exactly where they would have been.
Hazel tried not to think about the fact that leaving the safety of the ship had almost killed her.
Chapter Forty-Three
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Claire
“This is stupid, Claire,” Cillian told her, for the umpteenth time. “I told you, the ship isn’t safe. You should have left with Miss Adene and Nora and Isla.”
“And I told you, that’s bullocks,” Claire replied. “I’ve plenty of time to fetch me Ma’s hat, if I’ve a mind to it. The ship’s as safe as any piece of land. You can’t go scaring me with your tales, Cillian. I’ve been hearin’ you ghost stories since we were wee.”
“You have no idea where you’re going. If it wasn’t for me, you’d never have even made it back to your room.”
“Well, it’s lucky you decided to help me, then, isn’t it?” Claire replied, glaring at him. She didn’t understand what his problem was. “It’s not as if the ship is suddenly going to sink, Cillian. That’s not how ships work, even I know that. We’ll be here for hours. You’re frettin’ like there’s no tomorrow. It’s part of why I was so happy we were able to receive tickets for this vessel.”
“Maybe I’m taking the situation more seriously than you,” retorted Cillian.
“There’s Ma’s hat,” Claire said, grabbing it from the mirror basin. As she turned to leave, she saw Adene’s photo of Robert, and grabbed it, shoving it into her pocket. Adene would be devastated if something happened to it, she thought. “Let us go, then.”
“Thank the Lord,” muttered Cillian, and he opened the small cabin door for Claire, ushering her through. “Can we finish with this nonsense now?”
“Ma’s hat isn’t nonsense, Cillian. If you’re serious about marryin’ me after we land at Ellis Island, then I want to wear it. I’d be the only one who did.”
Cillian groaned, running his hand through his curly red hair. “Claire, you’ll be the death of me, you will. I would’ve bought you a new hat, if I had to.”
“Then it wouldn’t be Ma’s,” Claire pointed out, her voice pitching.
“But you’d be on a bloody raft by now!”
Claire turned away, tears welling in her eyes. She knew that Cillian had been worried about the ship, and he’d even said it was sinking, but it’d been quite some time since then. Surely he had realised that nothing of great concern was taking place?
“I’m sorry, Claire,” he replied, his throat foggy. “I didn’t mean to – I shouldn’t have shouted. I just need you to be safe, Claire Bear. I can’t lose you.” His brown eyes met Claire’s, imploring her.
“Please tell me you understand, Claire. I’m just so afraid that something will happen to you is all.”
Claire reached up, touching Cillian’s chiselled, unshaven jaw. “I love you,” she said, before standing on the tips of her toes, her lips meeting his. He crushed down harder than he’d ever kissed before, almost bruising her lip; his tongue met hers, causing Claire to melt against his body, pulling him closer to her. It took more than a minute before she was able to tear herself away.
Cillian cleared his throat, looking away, his face flushed. “Well, we’d better get you onto a lifeboat now, hadn’t we, Claire?”
Claire grinned as she laced her arm through Cillian’s.
Chapter Forty-Four
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Rostron
Cottman burst into the bridge in a similar fashion to how he’d interrupted Rostron’s sleep. Rostron was exasperated at the young man’s rude behaviour and was considering writing the man up for an infraction, when he saw the young man’s ashen face trepidation filling every crevice.
“Captain,” and Rostron’s back arched. He’d heard that tone before, particularly in the war. It meant that nothing good would follow. “The Titanic, sir. She’s sinking fast. Jack and Harry – they said – they said she’s going down by the bow, and quickly. The mailroom has completely flooded, he says.”
Rostron frowned; he was treating the situation as the emergency he deserved, but no one had really believed that the ship would actually sink. Rostron’s measures that he had enacted were merely precautionary, not because he genuinely understood the ship to be foundering.
Rostron looked up at the young Marconi officer. He looked sick, and large bags laced his eyes. He was skinny, too; his exhaustion left him with a gaunt appearance. Rostron didn’t sympathise; on a ship, you routinely worked sixteen-hour shifts, so when one slept, they slept as if they were dead. The only difference between young Cottman and many of the crew was the wage Marconi would be paying him; it was a considerable fee, making the telegram business lucrative to young men. “Tell me everything you’ve heard.”
“The operators, they messaged, sir. They’ve messaged, saying the engine room is full up to the boilers. They’re saying they don’t think they have much time, sir.”
A chill filled Rostron; boilers on a steamship were essential. Water tanks, often located below the boilers, helped with their general function, as well as keeping the boat, at all times, afloat without a list.
The boilers on the Titanic were over fifteen feet.
If the boilers were filled, as young Cottman stated, the ship was likely doomed; it was essential Thia arrived at Titanic’s side to ferry the passengers safely across.
One of his officers, who had listened to the exchange, interrup
ted. “Is this still the best course of action, sir? What that of the safety of our own passengers? Surely our best responsibility is to them.” The man looked to the bridge floor, ashamed. “If the Titanic –”
Rostron cut the man off. He wasn’t wrong; now that Rostron realised that the Titanic was likely to sink, and he was aware of the iceberg warnings – of which there had been many – he could not abandon those in peril, especially when he was the closest responding vessel. If the Carpathia halted her course now, any of the Titanic’s survivors would likely be lost to exposure by the time anyone else could rescue them. “We will not do nothing,” Rostron responded. “We will add even extra lookouts, and we will prepare all stations for anything out of the ordinary. We will do everything to protect this vessel and its occupants. But we will not abandon those in their hour of need, not when we can do something.”
“Captain! Two points off port bow!” came a holler from one his men. “Iceberg! Right ahead!”
Rostron looked up, seeing it too; a large, thick, impenetrable wall of ice rose up in front of him, rearing like the Kraken, ready to take Thia as its victim. “Hard-a-starboard!” Rostron shouted, before quickly steering the helm, while his men relayed his orders to the boiler room about their course change. Rostron watched with beady eyes, sweat lining his forehead, as Thia slowly turned. Anxiety gripped his chest as he closed his eyes, bracing for impact; yet there was none.
Thia slowly turned away, diverting from the iceberg. Rostron let out a shaky breath, saying a prayer to God.
He knew in his heart of hearts that God had intervened then; he had not been alone on the helm.
Chapter Forty-Five
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Eliana
Eliana was crying softly, holding Primrose and Albert close to her. Eleonora was sobbing into Wilson’s shoulder, though Eliana couldn’t make out what she was saying. Occasionally, between her mother’s heaved gasps, she heard Georgiana and Cecilia’s names, though the rest was unintelligible.
Eliana had felt the idea of leaving the large ship was one of folly. Now, however, as they slowly rowed away from the Titanic, air left her lungs as she saw Titanic’s stern, and the propellers, rising out of the ocean. She watched as water dripped from the three-pronged propeller system, and she realised that the hull below the ocean line was red, not black. She watched as several portholes were already underwater, and she wondered how the water was snaking itself through the ship.
Eliana craned her neck, though she couldn’t make out anyone within her family. The Titanic was still brightly lit, but the passengers on deck seemed indiscernible. She wondered if George was watching her lifeboat, and she wished him by her side. Most of the women had not calmed themselves from their near-death experience, though Eliana could not blame them.
“It’ll be okay, Mama,” Eliana said, clearing her throat of tears. “Celia and Georgie will be fine. Please don’t fret.”
Eliana watched as her mother gaped at her daughter, before looking at Titanic’s steadily rising stern.
“They should be here, with me,” Eleonora wailed, and Wilson comforted her again.
Eliana looked out into the open ocean, seawater spraying against her face.
For the first time, she did not feel like she’d made a mistake by boarding the small wooden lifeboat, though she was sure and certain Georgiana had made a mistake by staying behind.
Her mother was right. Her sisters should be sitting beside her, embracing each other.
Perhaps they would be, she realised as she tried to catch her breath, if Eliana had not behaved so boorishly.
Eliana felt hot tears leaking out of her eyes, and she squeezed them tightly so no one could see – not that there were any oil lamps that anyone could find in the lifeboat. The fireman who had saved them from near-death had said the lifeboats were equipped with supplies, including a small oil lamp, but no one in the lifeboat had yet been able to find it – and she turned to her mother, pasting a bright smile upon her face. “Georgie and Celia will be fine, Mama. There’s plenty of boats. It’s a big ship. They will be fine.”
Eliana hoped God would not punish her for lying.
Chapter Forty-Six
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Cecilia
Despite Cecilia’s best efforts, she was crying now. She’d searched everywhere, thrice, and twice checked under the small space the single bed offered, and yet she could still find neither her headpiece, nor a way to leave Henry’s room. Cecilia had tried the telephone – each first-class suite was fitted with one, even if it was more modest than the one located in her parents’ sitting room; though it had rung out every single time, before now producing a toneless signal. Cecilia had frantically pressed Henry’s call button, to no avail; it appeared everyone was busy, unable to assist the trapped Cecilia. She didn’t know how long she’d been below, but she knew it was after midnight by the time she’d reached Henry’s room. It felt like it had been hours since she’d left her suite, though Cecilia knew that could not be true. An hour, at the most, maybe, but any longer and there was no reason why Henry would not have returned to his cabin.
Cecilia frowned, wondering what had caused Henry to leave his room in the first place. What reason did he have to roam the ship so late? He hadn’t been present when the stewards had been ushering the other passengers; she’d waited. Neither had Milton Long, or at least he hadn’t emerged from his room.
Perhaps he was already woken, a little voice told her. Perhaps he’s headed up on the Boat Deck, like you should have.
Without warning, Henry’s cabin started vibrating; the crystal lamp started jingling, and Cecilia squealed, raising her hands to her face, not sure of what she should do. As the shaking continued for a moment longer, Cecilia grabbed the bedpost; the list she’d once felt starboard now appeared to shift to the port and was more pronounced now, as if the ship wanted to roll onto its belly. Cecilia bit her lip, drawing blood, and moved toward the door. She no longer cared who saw her; all she knew was that she could no longer be in this cabin room. She would face whatever she had to, including leaving her reputation in ruin, but she was not going to stay here.
Cecilia began banging on the white door, shrieking for someone to hear her. Occasionally, she’d stop, pressing her left ear against the door in the hopes she would hear someone coming, but she never did. “Oh please, oh please, God help me,” she sobbed, banging more loudly, before falling in a heap to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest.
I don’t want to die. Oh, please, I’m so scared.
A weird rattling noise began emitting from near Henry’s washbasin, distracting Cecilia from her hysteria. She stood slowly, wiping her face from tears. She moved closer to the marble sink, wondering what the noise was, what it meant. It was shaking, and Cecilia couldn’t help but wonder if it was going to burst; she’d never seen anything like it before. It was rattling so violently it looked as if it would break apart at any moment.
Cecilia edged closer, and as she did, the lights flickered, causing her to flinch and cower. The rattling in the sink intensified, and Cecilia eyed it in horror. She watched, with terror, as a sudden fountain of water emerged, spewing out, filling the basin quickly, splashing haphazardly on the cabin floor. Cecilia ran to the door once more, “Help! Help me! Oh, god, please help me!” she screamed until her throat was dry and hoarse, and to no avail; still, no one came. The water began spilling around her shoes – heels she’d put on in a hurry – and she began walking slowly backwards, toward the bed, horrified, her eyes unable to tear themselves from the consternation that befell her.
It made no sense; ships simply didn’t sink, especially not grand ones. Aircrafts and motorcars crashed, Cecilia knew this. Henry had even spoken lovingly of some silent film about a foundering White Star Line ship, that had sunk, but everyone had been rescued in time. Henry had not said anything of water filling cabin rooms, especially not so high in first-class. Cecilia gasped for air as her mind tried to understand what wa
s taking place in front of her; as if she tried hard enough, she’d find a solution that didn’t involve the Titanic’s untimely demise.
Yet, no matter what excuse came to Cecilia’s mind, the ship seemed determined to contradict her; water was rising out of the basin, and slowly filling the cabin room. It was already lapping at her feet, soaking through her velvet heels, her feet burning as pins and needles radiated throughout her body.
Cecilia collapsed on the bed in horror, her breath caught in hysterical sobs, when her fingertips touched something wet and cold. She recoiled, looking at the culprit.
It was a piece of ice from the iceberg Aiobheen had warned about.
Henry would have been resting, perhaps even sleeping, Cecilia surmised, and when the iceberg hit, ice fell in the room, on him.
That’s why he wasn’t in the room.
Because he knew the ship was doomed.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Georgiana
“Georgiana, you needed to get into that lifeboat!” shouted William, and he was crying, too, now. The sight shocked her; she had never seen William cry before.
“I couldn’t,” Georgiana replied, her voice thick from tears. “I think I know where Cecilia might have gone.”
“So do I!” William hissed. “It’s damn well clear where she went to! I could have found her and brought her back, you fool! You should have gotten in the boat!”
“She’s my sister, William! My baby sister! Don’t talk to me like I’m a child! I’m your wife.”
“That’s why I want you to get into the boat, Georgie.” William’s tone had become curt. Georgiana stared into William’s dark brown eyes. She’d never seen them so troubled before, but surely he could not possibly that true harm would befall the Titanic?
“Ah, look, Will, Georgiana,” interrupted George, moving between the pair. For a few moments, Georgiana had forgotten George – and her father’s – presence. She tried not to flush as she turned to meet George’s face. “I think it’s great that you both want to find Cecilia. However, my pregnant wife and two children just left this ship, and I could not bear it if I wasn’t reunited with him. Mr Ismay said that one of the officers on the Port is allowing some men into the boats. I’m going to look over there, before the Captain orders us to all return to the starboard.” Georgiana had paid the captain little attention; he kept shouting orders through his megaphone and had been insisting that the passengers move to the starboard side, as the port-side list was dangerously low. He seemed concerned that the Titanic might roll, though Georgiana couldn’t fathom how the passengers’ combined weight would prevent that fate if it were to emerge.
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