He’d left because he had; if his presence was preventing Cecilia from appearing, he would disappear forever.
As long as it meant both his daughters made it off the ship alive.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Barrett
“The pumps seem to be doing the job,” Harvey mused, though as they stood in sixteen inches of icy water, Barrett was wondering if he was trying to reassure himself, or if he really believed it. Barrett couldn’t argue that the situation was beginning to now look less dire; perhaps Harvey’s confidence wasn’t misplaced. Perhaps, like her sister ship, she would manage to survive this calamity.
The hull creaked, and Barrett and Harvey looked up at the same time.
“You hear that?” whispered Harvey.
Barrett nodded; he found words pointless at times. What did Harvey want from him? Of course he bloody well heard it.
Barrett stepped nervously back, as the hull creaked again. Harvey, on the other hand, stepped closer, assessing the damage. Barrett realised the creaking was coming from the already-damaged hull, the one that’d been cleared the night before. He’d successfully dampened the coal fire – a feat he hadn’t expected – but the hull had been burning red for weeks.
Heated steel is weak when met with icy water, Barrett thought, his stomach dropping. He couldn’t say if it would affect the ship at all, but he doubted it would be good.
“Harvey, mate –” Barrett started, though he didn’t have time to complete his sentence. The hull ripped open, as if some Leviathan had used a giant claw to open it like a can, and gallons of water poured in. Barrett leapt for the escape ladder, grasping it as the water swirled around his legs, threatening to take him prisoner. Harvey’s eyes widened in fear, and Barrett reached out his hand for Harvey to grab it, though the water had already knocked him off his feet. “Harvey!” Barrett cried, as he watched the water rise steadily.
“Get out of here!” shouted Harvey. “I’m not leaving Shepherd.”
“Don’t!” screamed Barrett. “I can help you!” He could not add; we cannot help Shepherd. His fate is sealed.
“I’m not leaving Shep here alone!” shouted Harvey, pulling himself to his feet with difficulty. “He doesn’t deserve that! No man does!”
“Harvey, take my fucking hand!” Barrett insisted; the water was already swirling quickly up the ladder, lapping at Barrett’s thighs. Harvey ignored him, half-running, half-swimming, through the water to Johnathon Shepherd’s side. Barrett watched in relief as Harvey reached him – maybe he was wrong, and there was time – but as soon as the thought passed his mind, a maelstrom of swirling water swept both men away, out of Barrett’s view. He glanced at the rising green seawater for a moment longer, his eyes searching through the foam and swirling debris, but he saw nothing. Shepherd would not be able to fend for himself, and Harvey had made a noble decision, sacrificing himself for his friend.
If Barrett stayed a moment longer, he would be dead for the sake of being dead. He would never be able to reunite with Mary and tell her he was wrong. That he loved her more than he had on their wedding day, and that he forgave her, and she hoped that he could forgive him.
With all his strength and might, he pulled himself up the emergency ladder, trying to come to terms with the fact that he was leaving two men to die.
Chapter Fifty
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Cecilia
The light above Cecilia repeatedly flickered, dimming slightly, and the water was now a few inches deep, rising steadily in the enclosed room. Occasionally, Cecilia would gather the energy to cry again for help, hiding from her perch on the bed, but mostly she watched the water rise, ever so slowly, a torturous demon telling her he was ready to claim her for death.
No one is going to find me, she thought desperately. She would die, of that she was now sure and certain.
The lights flickered yet again, and dread seized every inch of her heart; “Help! Please help!” she cried. Please God, Henry will know where I am. Please help him find me. Please make him return. Please don’t let me die here, not alone.
Cecilia’s head jerked as the door rapped, and Henry’s voice came through, answering her prayers. “Cecilia!?” he called. “Cecilia, are you in there?”
“Oh, yes, god, yes, Henry!” Cecilia cried, not daring to leave the bed. The water was so cold when she’d last touched it, it felt almost as if she had been burnt with a hot iron, and her feet were still sore and numb, her heels soaked through. “Please help me! I’m locked in!”
“You’re locked in?”
“Yes! Please, Henry, find something. A key or something. One of the stewards locked it; I didn’t want him to hear me, so I didn’t speak. I’m scared, Henry,” she whispered. “There’s water. Your room is filled with water. Henry, the ship is sinking. I don’t want to drown!”
“I know,” he whispered back. “But you’re going to have to be brave for me, for just a few minutes, alright? I can see an axe, located on a wall down the hallway. I will return in a moment, and I just want you to stay away from the door for now, okay? Stand somewhere safe. Make sure you’re not near the door, so when the wood splinters, it does not scratch you.”
“Please don’t leave me,” Cecilia sobbed. She wasn’t sure if she could bear being alone again, even for a few minutes. She’d been trapped in Henry’s cabin for an hour – she’d watched the clock, ticking painfully slow, though jumping ahead several minutes if she didn’t glance at it every second. She never wanted to be alone again.
“Celia, I know you’re frightened, but it’s just for a moment. I’ll return, I promise you. I cannot break this door without the axe, however, and so for now I just need you to be brave, okay? I’m not leaving you. I swear to God I’m not leaving you. I love you, Celia. Please, be brave for me.”
Cecilia nodded, shaking her head. Her brown curls fell loosely around her shoulders, in a bizarre half-up, half-down concoction. She didn’t want him to go, not after spending so long trapped, confined, in a death trap, but she knew it was necessary. He came back, she thought, her heart swelling. It meant that he had noticed that she was missing and had cared enough to look for her. Georgiana always spoke about how actions were stronger than words; Henry loved her so much, he’d risked his life trapesing across the Titanic in an effort to save his beloved.
Cecilia’s ears strained as she listened as Henry’s footsteps returned. “Celia?” he called. “I’m going to knock through the door, okay? Are you standing back?”
“Yes,” Cecilia cried, still hugging her knees. She wondered if he knew the water was rising; it seemed surprisingly confined to the room.
Henry shattered the fragile wooden door with the axe after five blows, leaving a hole large enough for Cecilia to climb through. She lept at him, her feet freezing as she’d ran through the water in the suite, her white arms draped around his neck, her fingers in his blonde hair. Henry’s eyes were shining brilliantly as he looked down at her, swooping her into a passionate embrace, his lips meeting hers. Cecilia shivered with happiness and relief, her body tingling from the warmth of Henry’s kiss.
“You came back for me,” she whispered, her blue-grey eyes staring up at him.
“Of course I did, Celia,” he replied. “I saw your family up on the Boat Deck, and it wasn’t until your mother – she boarded with your sister, Eliana, and the children – cried that she did not want to leave the ship without knowing where you were, that I realised you were missing. I heard Georgiana promise she would search for you; and I immediately ran below. I wish I’d been quicker … I just never thought you’d come to my room. Georgie is waiting up deck for you. She wouldn’t leave. Her and William were having a row when I left.”
“That’s so stupid of her,” sobbed Cecilia, her heart splintering. She wished Georgiana had some understanding of what she was risking. If Cecilia hadn’t been trapped in a room that was spewing water from its sink, she would not believe the Titanic could sink.
Next, she would see water rush down the stairs and rain from the walls.
“Why, Celia? And why’s your dress so wet?”
“There’s water; it’s filling your cabin, I told you. Look.” Henry peered in the room, and his face turned white. Cecilia wondered if he had some understanding about the structure of the ship; he had some concerned before, but now he looked sick.
“Let’s move above,” Henry said decidedly, wrapping his arms around Cecilia. “We need to find Georgie and get you both off this ship.”
“What do you mean, both? Aren’t you coming? And William? Georgie won’t leave William’s side. She couldn’t. She would rather die than live without him.”
Cecilia wondered if the same was true for her with Henry.
Yesterday – even a few hours ago – she would have said yes.
Part of her even though if she said yes, it would be true; but faced her with her own mortality, she suddenly felt strange, as if she did not know everything, the way she once believed. Cecilia wasn’t sure if she knew anything, and merely felt frozen in space and time. If she didn’t wish to sacrifice herself to be by Henry’s side, did that mean she didn’t love him?
Or did that just mean she didn’t wish to die?
“She promised she would follow, once she found you,” Henry shrugged. “Your mother was adamant. She was dreadfully worried. George was trying to find a lifeboat; they’re not letting some men board. Your sister’s boat was rushed at. It’s not the only one. A few women were hurt. I don’t know if George managed to weasel his way onto a raft.” He said the last statement with derision; Henry clearly found her brother-in-law’s behaviour unfavourable.
Cecilia found it perplexing.
“Are they not letting men on?”
“No, not at the moment,” Henry said. “There’s a few, of course. Second Officer Murdoch’s been a bit generous – he’ll let men on if there’s no women ready to board, which is a kind and decent thing to do, in my opinion. Lightoller’s a bit of a toff; he won’t spare a seat, even when there’s plenty spare. I saw a lifeboat leave with only sixteen; and there were plenty of men who would’ve gladly taken a seat. There were so many to spare. And the women don’t want to board without their husbands, of course,” he added. “It’s a nightmare. Boys are being separated from their mothers.”
“Henry,” Cecilia asked carefully, “is it bad up there?”
Henry frowned. “Not terribly so. The band is playing music. Some are concerned, of course, and many of the foreigners have caused a raucous, but I think it’s because they don’t understand the boarding procedures. There isn’t a lot of structure; I don’t think even the officers quite understood the situation. We’d best be quick, though.”
As Cecilia walked up the grand staircase, she felt the tilt toward the bow was even more pronounced now.
Henry seemed by and sure that the ship was safe, despite witnessing the horrors of the water that had been rising in his cabin room. He spoke of the Boat Deck as if most people were collected; and the band was playing. Was that normal? Cecilia wondered. She had no idea. Perhaps it hadn’t been the ocean water filling Henry’s cabin; perhaps a pipe had burst, and her imagination had carried her away.
Henry did not seem to believe they were in any grave peril.
So why didn’t Cecilia believe him?
Chapter Fifty-One
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Barrett
Barrett, after escaping through the emergency ladders, moved through the alleyways, heading towards the Boat Deck. God had seen fit to grant him a second chance – after all, how else did he escape when the others had perished? – and he would not lose it. There was luggage lining the floors, and some of the passengers appeared to be refusing to move, though it was difficult to understand some of them. Some were milling around the main gates, as if waiting to be collected; more fool they were. By the time the passengers understood the severity of the ship – there was no doubt in Barrett’s mind that the Titanic would sink, not now with a burst hull and wrecked watertight doors – it would be too late for them.
It may even already be too late for Barrett, who had stayed behind to work in the boiler rooms. He knew that there wasn’t a ship afloat that carried enough lifeboats for everyone; he’d never served one, nor ever heard of one. He tried to remember the emergency training, but it failed him; he could not stop seeing Harvey and Shepherd’s faces as they disappeared under the swirling torrent of water.
He made his way up varying staircases; from third to second, before taking the second-class aft grand staircase to the Boat Deck. The staircase was more beautiful than any of the previous ships he’d served on; though why that thought popped into Barrett’s mind as he tried to escape the sinking boat seemed bizarre to him. In an hour, maybe less, the ship would be at the bottom of the Atlantic. If he were lucky, he would not be with it. Why the fuck did he give a shit about a staircase that soon wouldn’t exist, that he would never see again, regardless of whether he lived or died?
He reached A Deck’s wooden exit door, pushing it open, gulping in fresh, icy air. The air burnt his lungs and left a bitter taste of ice in his mouth. He could not recall a colder night, not in all his years. It did not help that he was in a short-sleeved grey shirt, dressed for the heat of the boiler room, and not for the icy outdoors.
Following the crowd of passengers – mostly first-class, by their presentation and their incredulous disbelief they were in any sort of danger – toward the starboard side, hoping the group would lead him to a lifeboat.
To safety.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Rostron
“Have you been able to make contact with the Titanic?” Rostron asked Cottman.
The young Marconi operator shook his head. “Not for twenty minutes now, sir. Their last message was barely intelligible – it was just a repeat of SOS with the Titanic’s call sign. There’s chatter among the other vessels, particularly the Olympic who is still racing to her sister’s last location … but there’s silence from the Titanic herself.”
Rostron gritted his teeth. He knew that Carpathia’s journey – an already perilous endeavour, where quick-thinking, fast-acting and careful-lookouts had managed to avoid calamity with one iceberg. He hoped that it would be the only one they faced, but he doubted it; the air smelled like ice. The sea only ever smelt like ice when ice was near.
If we’ve lost contact, it’s because the ship does not have the ability to send communications, Rostron thought.
If the Titanic was incapable of signalling for help, it likely meant that the Titanic had, indeed, sunk.
It was likely he was sailing into a graveyard, not to a rescue, though he wouldn’t allow himself – or his men – to think so.
“Should we stop?” one of Rostron’s officers asked. Several of his men had questioned why they had to race to the Titanic’s position; some had shared their thoughts that the ship couldn’t sink, and it was merely the White Star Line making a fuss; others thought that the vessel had indeed struck ice, but so too would Thia if she reached the Titanic’s last coordinates. Not everyone was privy to the information Harold Cottman had shared; Rostron did not feel that it would help to share the information with his men. Already, there were murmurs among the passengers, indicating someone had forgotten the order of silence. He knew his men were apprehensive about approaching the wreckage site; more than one man had boldly expressed his concerns.
“No,” Rostron said firmly. “There are people in need. We must assist them.”
“Captain,” the man countered, “we have not heard from the ship in some time. They were filling up by the head when they messaged. They didn’t have much time to call for us. The ship sank more quickly than we could have expected. Then anyone could have anticipated.”
Rostron did not disagree. He could not believe the world’s greatest technological feat now likely lay at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, the ocean’s prisoner. However, he coul
d feel God’s touch within him. He could hear God’s voice telling him not to falter; that this was his purpose, to save those that he could. God was virtuous and kind, the very best of what men could hope to achieve, and Rostron would not turn his back on God and succumb to presentiment. He was not a craven man; he had not shied away in battle, and he would not shy away now, not when civilians needed his help most of all.
“There are people waiting for our help,” Rostron replied. “We don’t know for how long they’ve waited. For all we know, we are their only source of help. Pray, we may be the only ones that can help. God is my witness, we have no idea what the survivors witnessed last night, what horrors will tarnish them for life. We will not forsake them in their hour of need.” Rostron did not add that he was no longer sure they would be searching for survivors; it was possible they would only come across casualties. The stars twinkled brightly in the night sky, though it did nothing to calm him. It wasn’t safe to travel at such high speeds without the guide of moonlight, but he would not risk slowing down.
If there were any Titanic survivors alive, they were depending on the Thia’s arrival to save them.
Rostron would make sure and certain that those waiting would be found.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Barrett
Barrett glanced at his pocket watch – fortunately, still ticking, though Barrett wasn’t sure how – it was nearing one-thirty, and the slope was so steep he found himself clinging to the side of the ship as he pushed himself aft; the incline was so vast he could see the propellers, if he hung partially over the side rail. Barrett looked around; it appeared to him that many of the passengers were beginning to become aware that the ship was in serious trouble. He could hear the whispered, fevered talks, tinged with fear; he could hear the cries of women being parted from their husbands.
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