A moment later, it swept Bride away, too.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Georgiana
“Celia!” Georgiana cried, rushing forward, wrapping her arms around her sister. “Where have you been?”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Cecilia cried, tears staining her face. “I went to Henry’s room –”
“I guessed you did so! But what took you so long? And Henry – where did you come from?”
“Georgiana, he saved me,” Cecilia whispered, grabbing her sister’s arm, whispering into her ear. Georgiana wasn’t entirely sure it was necessary; everything had become loud and unruly. People, who had once been friendly with each other, had begun pushing. The steerage passengers had started flooding the upper decks, causing panic among the upper classes. The ship’s list was so severe now that Georgiana could not remain upright without hanging on to either William or the ship’s railing.
“I was trapped in Henry’s room,” Cecilia continued. “He –”
“This is all very well and good, ladies, but it’s about time we get you on a lifeboat,” William said, interrupting the pair and looking at Georgiana pointedly.
“Of course, William,” Georgiana agreed. She did not know how she was going to leave her husband’s side. There doesn’t seem to be enough lifeboats, she thought, looking around at how empty the boat deck now appeared. There were still lifeboats being launched, of course, but the shouts of people, amplified by the red distress rockets, had people causing a fuss. It was difficult to hear the band’s music now, and instead of soothing, it had begun to irritate Georgiana. She wanted to scream at them, Don’t you know that something isn’t right? But she couldn’t.
Of course they knew something wasn’t right.
That was why they were playing, to instil some form of normality in what was happening.
Except nothing normal was taking place.
Georgiana tried to calm herself; the ship would not sink; of that she was sure. They were in an ungodly situation, and perhaps there would be losses, but no significant liner had ever been lost at sea. And even if it had, like with the Republic, the passengers were always saved in time. Georgiana had never seen a photo of the Republic, but she knew well enough to know that the Titanic was a sturdier ship that had life-saving capabilities the Republic never had.
William pulled Georgiana along to the nearest lifeboat, and Georgiana watched as Henry whispered in hushed tones to her sister, declaring his love whilst saying goodbye. He really loves her, she thought, her heart soaring. Perhaps the catastrophe of the night’s events would remind her parents of the significance of love and family, and they would support Cecilia’s union with Henry.
And if the sky shall fall, we will all catch larks, she thought dryly.
“Here,” William said, stopping. “This one.” Georgiana noticed Mr Ismay was helping passengers again; his face was whiter this time. She wondered if he knew something she didn’t. Unlike the captain, Ismay had not abandoned his post the entire night; he did not stop trying to usher passengers into boats, even when he caught the ire of officers and passengers alike.
He’s concerned about his ship, you fool, she scolded herself. Georgiana knew that the maiden voyage of the Titanic was not even half-full; but the return voyage, New York to Southampton, was.
That was, of course, unless Titanic was heavily delayed; passengers would likely be transferred to another White Star ocean liner, or worse, a competing liner.
While the ship wouldn’t founder, that Georgiana knew, it certainly wasn’t going to be making any return journeys any time soon. She would be out of commission almost as soon as she had started, like Olympic had been. It would likely take several months, if not longer, for repairs to fix the damage inflicted on the giant ocean liner.
Georgiana watched Ismay with interest; he seemed desperate in his encouragement, urging wives to leave their husbands, mothers to leave their sons. Ismay watched helplessly as one of the officers ordered a young boy – Georgiana doubted he was a lad of fifteen – was ordered from the lifeboat. “Please,” the young boy begged. “Please, I want to be with my mum.”
Georgiana’s heart broke as she watched the mother crying hysterically. “Please, he’s only fourteen!” she cried, reaching for her son’s arms. “He’s not a man! He’s just a boy!”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but he’s a man grown now, and it’s time he accepts his duty.” Georgiana looked at the officer’s cold rejection, shocked; she could not believe he would refuse a seat to such a young boy.
“But he’s just a boy!” the woman wailed, as the officers pulled the boy from the lifeboat. The gap between the deck and the lifeboat was almost a metre’s distance; it would be all too easy to fall.
“Please, get in,” Mr Ismay said, helping Cecilia into the lifeboat.
“No, I need to say goodbye –” she cried, looking back at Henry. However, she was pushed forward, and both the passengers from the lifeboat (with the exception of the mother, crying as she held her young daughter) lifted her up. “Wait! I didn’t say goodbye! Henry!”
“It’s not goodbye, Celia!” Henry called to her. “It’s just a momentary thing. Women and children first, you know how it is on ships. Us men must set honour and decorum.” Georgiana watched as the Officer nodded intently, though Ismay looked away, as if he didn’t quite agree. Georgiana tried not to read into Ismay’s facial features; he was likely a sensitive man.
“It’s your turn, now, Miss,” the Officer said, before Georgiana found herself being manhandled, frog legged toward to the life raft.
“No, wait – my husband – William –” she tried twisting, turning back to him, reaching her hand out for him to grab it.
“It’s what Henry said, Georgie,” William called. “You promised once Cecilia was located, you would board. It’s your time, now.”
Georgiana twisted back to William, tears stinging her blue eyes. She did not want to leave his side, not ever. What would it matter if they were rescued soon, anyway? I should be by his side, she thought frantically.
The ship gave a sudden lurch, listing significantly starboard now, and Georgiana slipped through the gap between the lifeboat and the boat deck, letting out a terrified scream as her fingertips, numb from the cold, frantically latched onto the side of the boat. Cecilia, who had taken her seat, let out a scream when she’d saw her sister had fallen; passengers in the life boat grasped at Georgiana, their tiny hands – mostly gloved – reaching for Georgiana’s white life jacket, while larger hands grabbed her waist from below. The women in the boat were not able to lift her up; the boat wasn’t filled with enough men. She could hear the calls of the men shouting that they had her, that she was safe, but she didn’t feel safe.
She released her fingertips, which had been gripping the wood, rubbing them raw, splinters of wood digging into her hands, before she was taken inside the enclosed A deck promenade.
“Thank you,” she breathed, knowing they’d saved her. She did not think she would have survived the fall to the water, even if she could swim a little. The drop was 90ft; the water would be sure to break her bones, assuming she didn’t hit the side of the ship on her way down.
Georgiana could hear her sister’s screams and cries, as well as William’s frantic cries as he wondered whether or not his wife had plunged to the icy depths below.
Georgiana shakily thanked her rescuers – mostly men, and dirty stokers at that, she couldn’t help but think as she tried to wipe the coal stains from her porcelain, half-frozen face.
She watched as her sister’s lifeboat lowered away, though she did not presume to think Cecilia could see her through the circus. A few moments prior, a large gathering of crew members and third-class passengers had rushed to the Boat Deck. At the time, Georgiana had paid no attention to them. Now, however, the Titanic’s list was so bad that Georgiana felt she could scarcely stand, even if it wasn’t for the crowding of all the remaining passengers gathering near
the Orlop Deck. Georgiana grabbed the A Deck promenade railing, and even if it weren’t for her unsteady, shaky legs, still overwhelmed from her fall from the deck above, she wouldn’t have been able to hold herself up anymore. Georgiana wasn’t the only passenger struggling to the right themselves; some of the frail and younger passengers kept slipping; she saw as a small boy fell to the depths below, his mother crying, “Sidney! No, Sidney! Sidney!” Georgiana could hear her wails, which sounded more like a feral monster of some mythological kind, then the voice of a young woman. She wasn’t sure if the two-year-old cried out; if he did, she didn’t hear him over his mother’s wails.
Georgiana glanced up as she heard William’s voice piercing through the crowd. He was forcing himself through a large group of men; many of them Italians, judging by the way they pushed and shoved one another.
“William,” she cried, latching on to his side. She did not think she could stand without help anymore, the ship, which had a tilt to bow the entire time, now seemed to be rising inches every second. Apprehension was starting to grip Georgiana’s heart in a way it hadn’t earlier. She wasn’t some foreign Italian fool, she reminded herself; she knew that the ship couldn’t sink. Georgiana knew the last time a British liner had sunk (though she could not recall any details about the accident, including the ship’s name), they had been saved by the Marconi Wireless Operating System. That disaster had been years ago, and she was sure that there hadn’t been any casualties, certainly none of any value and repute. With the advancement of technology, she knew she could trust the ship’s stability. Yet, despite reason and logic, the ship seemed determined to want to defy the odds of what was possible and probable, and what was not.
“Georgie,” he whispered, clutching her head, his fingers lacing through her unkempt hair. “I was so scared I’d lost you. For a minute, I thought –” he broke off, tears filling his brown eyes, as he turned his head away.
“Sssh,” Georgiana whispered, placing a finger to his lips, before clutching her hands to his cheeks, kissing him until her lips were dry and chaffed, and both were panting for air. Still, their heads parted, and they clung to each other, as if the other person determined whether they would survive or not.
“We need to head toward the stern,” William told her, grasping her hand tightly, turning his head from hers. His hand was barely warmer than hers; she wondered if he’d begun to lose all feeling in his hands, too. She wanted to complain as he pulled her up to the Boat Deck; he was pulling with an ungenteel fever, hurting her shoulder and wrist.
“Ow, you’re hurting me,” she complained, but he couldn’t hear her over the shouts.
There was chaos now on the Boat Deck; it looked completely different than it had a few minutes ago. It couldn’t be that much past two; she wasn’t sure, though. Yet, it may have been a different hour the way people were scrambling now. Georgiana understood; she watched as the water crept steeply up the Titanic, as if it were saying, it’s fine, I’m patient. I’m coming for you and there’s no escape.
The very thought made her lose all her breath, but she fought to right herself; she was British nobility, after all, and she had a standard to set. She didn’t want to deal with her parents’ wrath in the morning for behaving in an undignified manner, allowing the terror of her emotions to be revealed.
“William, there’s no boats,” Georgiana whispered, pulling on his black jacket. That wasn’t entirely true; they could orbit the entire stern – ironically fitted with a message regarding the insistence that the classes didn’t pass certain points, and most importantly, didn’t mingle – but she didn’t think they could reach the stern; the ship was nearing a perpendicular angle. She was sure if she had the strength to peer over the side of the railing, she would see the ship’s three mighty propellers, though the idea seemed scandalous and surreal to her. Georgiana’s heart beat faster as she tried to calm herself, reminding herself of the ship’s stability. Things appeared dire because they were; but that didn’t mean that the ship would actually sink.
“There! That officer’s assembling one of the collapsibles,” William said, moving to the centre of the ship. The couple did not get far when the ship lurched toward the bow. William instinctively braced, grabbing Georgiana, throwing her toward the ship’s metal railing, before holding himself between the two. Georgiana wrapped her arms around his waist, when the ship lurched a second time, it brought with it a horrifying cracking sound, as if the very ship itself was tearing apart.
“William?” cried Georgiana, peering into William’s eyes. She was uncertain now; she hadn’t been uncertain before. There was nothing to be uncertain about. “William?” she whimpered again, and as if the ship replied for him, the third deafening crack greeted them with a large surge of water; they were pitched forward, the wave sweeping over varying people, washing away couples clutching each other, crying women desperately clutching their children; the members of the band who had been playing that Autumn song she was so fond of – before swirling up, taking Georgiana as its prize. “William?” she asked again, and this time her reply was met with the suction of the water as she was ripped from William’s arms.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Barrett
Barrett shivered through his light t-shirt and trousers – perfect attire for the hellish depths of the Titanic’s bowels – less so for a night in the Artic open ocean. He thought of the soup he’d planned to eat for dinner, after his shift had ended – something that never came to fruition, due to the iceberg. Through chattering teeth, he muttered, “I could really do with some soup right now. Or a stew. Something to warm my bones.”
Rigid and silent, Barrett had spoken so his body wouldn’t freeze. Around him, women wept for their lost sons and husbands. A man named Hitchens, who’d also joined the raft last-minute, couldn’t stop repeating, “Even when her stern was up, I did not think she’d founder. How could she? How could she founder?”
Barrett didn’t care how she could or couldn’t sink. It didn’t matter.
The Titanic was gone and the screams that had verberated through his body had now fallen silent, and while he had prayed for the screams to stop, shame now lurched within his stomach. Somehow, the silence was more deafening and haunting then the screams had been. If Barrett was sure of one thing, he would forget his own name before he forgot how the screams echoed around him.
His lifeboat hadn’t been able to go back, even if they had wanted to. It wasn’t a choice offered; the raft was surrounded by bergs and growlers, and without light, they were unable to navigate a safe passage. As it were, the ocean waves kept rocking the lifeboat against the bergs, spraying salt water against the faces of the survivors, each battering reminding them that their tiny wooden boat was their only defence against the same thing that had brought about the demise of the world’s largest ocean liner in under three hours. It was a cruel reminder for the passengers, reminding them that they were still in peril. Barrett had no idea if the call for help had been summoned; and even if it had, would any ships rush to the Titanic’s aid? Would they even believe that the great ship was foundering?
As hypothermia began seizing Barrett’s body, the only thing his mind was capable of focusing on was the terrible cold that lashed his body, made worse by the occasional large swell that would spray salty ice water in his face. He began to close his eyes, thinking of Mary.
I will return for you, he vowed, as he laid his head down. Mary’s beautiful face rushed to the front of his mind as he lay his head down, desperate for rest. It’s been such a long night, my darling, Mary told him, gently brushing his hair. So much has happened. Too much. It’s time for you to rest a while now. Barrett nodded sleepily, content with his wife’s fingers tangled in his hair, her voice soft, angelic. Part of him wanted to ask her why she’d returned, and how she’d managed to make her way to him so quickly, but maybe it was just that she’d heard what had happened.
It doesn’t matter, Barrett told himself firmly.<
br />
All that mattered was Mary.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Cecilia
Cecilia watched, listening as the band played Nearer, My God To Thee, tears unable to fall from her eyes; she could hear the screams and shouts of all on board, and a man in her boat yelled at everyone to row harder, faster, so that they wouldn’t be sucked under. Cecilia frantically searched the Boat Deck, trying to see where Georgie was, where Henry was, where William was, but she could not make out anyone’s silhouette. There was a cascade of people, pushing each other; people were falling from the decks as the Titanic’s lights were extinguished forever.
Plunged into darkness, Cecilia could only hear the ship tearing itself apart – she tried not to imagine what was being thrown around, and that it might, in fact, be her sister. Cecilia tried to hope that her sister had been thrown onto a lifeboat – she had seen another one, the last one, being launched from the davits after hers had reached the ocean floor – and prayed that Georgie had made her way into that lifeboat.
Yet, something niggled at her; the Titanic’s end had happened frightfully quick; the stern rose suddenly, almost perpendicular, before the ship began to tear – it was the boilers exploding, one of the men informed her, though Cecilia wasn’t sure what difference it truly made – and Georgie hadn’t seemed as concerned as Cecilia had been. Georgie hadn’t witnessed the horrors of being trapped in a small room, with the water slowly circling, lapping at your ankles, desperate to take you hostage.
The Light in the Darkness 2 Page 18