No one had answers for that. Sam, holding Jamie on his lap in the big chair, considered the evidence. "All we know is that the shop you were in front of, was attacked. A few other buildings were damaged, but nothing like other riots. This riot ended quickly, with everyone running off when other people started fighting back. The pram was burned. It could all be coincidence."
"Except..." Penny started, then glanced at Casey, reluctant to go on.
"What?" Casey encouraged.
"When we were running down the alley. Did you hear someone yelling at us?"
Casey thought about it, memory dawning as they watched her. "I heard someone yell and I think they threw a rock at us. I remember it missed us." She stared at Penny. "He said something about Papist-lovers."
Penny reddened. "I swear, Mistress. I've not been courting any Catholics. I've not been courting anybody!"
They all laughed, the surprised laugh of people hearing something unexpected. But they sobered quickly.
“No, but it might have been a reference to my plans,” she reminded Penny, then she sighed angrily. “But it makes no sense! Why now?”
“Because you’ve just started going out alone. You’ve been following a routine, always walking in the same few places, the same time each day.” Tom spoke with great reluctance. “They’ve just been waiting for a chance.”
Sam shook his head. “You don’t know it though, Tom. We have no proof and no way of finding out who might be behind it.”
“Ach, that ye’ll find out soon enough,” William said, from his perch near the mantle. They all looked at him.
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“If it was deliberate, they’ll be wantin’ ye to know it, sir. And to know why. Not who, mind ye. But why. They’ll let you know, one way or ‘ta other.” He shrugged. “If no information comes about it, then it was probably random.”
~~~
The letter came the next day, with the mail. Tom’s mother, and Jessie, his sister-in-law, had spent the day at Dunallon. His father and brothers came just before dinner. Mrs. Pennyworth had set the mail on a tray in the library. Tom was flipping through the letters when one made him stop. He stared at it, before looking up to see everyone watching him. “It’s odd,” he said.
Casey stepped closer and her brows crinkled in concern at the envelope. It was addressed to Tom, with no indication of who it was from. But it was the handwriting that got their attention.
“Looks like a child wrote it,” Sam commented. He looked over at Jessie. “Something from Jack, perhaps? Forgot to put his name on it?” She shook her head.
Tom touched a finger to the envelope, then resolutely picked it up, reaching for his letter opener. “Let’s find out.”
He had to sit before he’d finished the second sentence. He read it through, knowing the others were waiting, but determined to finish it. The letter was short, but while the handwriting was that of a child, the words were those of an adult. A bitter, hateful adult.
“My god.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “William was right.” He heard Casey catch her breath and she sat beside him.
“May I see?”
He handed it to her, pulling her close to him while she read it out loud so everyone could hear, although her voice faded to a whisper by the end.
“Yesterday was a warning. It was not intended that anyone be hurt. But you must keep your wife under control and not allow her to seduce the good Protestants of Belfast with her godless ways and papist sympathies. Keep her at home and away from unsupervised public contact. There will not be any more warnings.”
No one said anything. Tom stared at Casey as she finished reading. She didn’t look up from the paper, but he could see the bright red spot on her cheek, saw her hands shaking. His arm was around her and he rubbed her shoulder, trying to think of something to say.
He winced when her hands jerked and she threw the letter on the floor. “Gah!” she shouted. He reached for her but she thrust both her hands against his chest with a force that shocked him. “My children! They almost killed my children just to keep me from taking walks! How can we survive? How can I keep from doing the wrong thing?”
Tom finally got a good grip on her, holding her tight against him. He stared at his father, who stood, fierce and silent, behind Casey. “This is it,” Tom said, caressing Casey’s head as she sobbed. “It ends, now.”
~~~
He took two actions. The first was to file a report with the police. He had an officer come out to Dunallon, and showed him the letter. They explained all that had been happening, starting with Casey’s first meeting with Mike Sloan. The officer agreed they had no concrete proof against Sloan, but it was good enough for them to question him. He’d see about that and be in touch.
The second step was to write a letter. Tom wanted a letter sent to the Belfast Telegraph. “I’ve no doubt it was Mike Sloan, but it’s not only him,” he told everyone when the officer had left. “I already know he has an alibi. He was at work when the riot happened. It’s all the others, too, you see. All the hard-liners, all the extremists. That’s who we’re up against.”
He sat back, his expression tortured. “We can’t fight them quietly or in secret. It’s got to be out in the open. In public.”
His father nodded. “Yes, it must be. Secrecy gives them power and it gives them time to do whatever they want. You may not be able to name names, but frankly, we all know who these people are. They’ve gone against all common sense, with this act. You understand, though, we might not win this fight, not in time.” His expression was guarded.
Tom nodded, but Casey shook her head. “What do you mean, in time?”
Tom stared hard at Casey as he spoke, wanting to make sure she understood. “He means they’ll try to silence us, sweetheart. This is one battle in a long war. If we take this action, it’s possible one or all of us could be killed. Me. You. The children.” Casey closed her eyes. He waited until she opened them again, and looked at him. “If we do nothing, they’ll get bolder. Attacking my family is an attack against the leaders of this town, against any who work for moderation in Home Rule solutions.” He glanced at Sam, realizing that none of this had happened in their history, that every step taken now, was a new direction, in a new future.
“We need to make sure,” he continued softly, “that the whole town knows the truth about what happened. So that if anything happens to us, they’ll have a chance to do something.”
Sam whistled, low. Casey glanced at him before turning back to gaze at Tom. “All right,” she said, standing very still. “Go for it.”
He went for it.
~~~
The newspaper printed his letter in the next edition. It was an essay really, long and intense. But Casey and Sam helped, and the letter was hard-hitting and emotional. Indeed, the letter was filled with his agony and his anger at this treatment from his fellow Protestants. He included the entire text of the warning received at Dunallon, along with the information that a child had evidently been used to write the dictated message.
His father and brothers agreed with Sam’s suggestion to send copies of the letter to every major newspaper in Ireland. His letter asked the people to decide what life they wanted. If they continued to follow power-hungry fanatics, they would lose all that was dear in their lives, not to the Catholics, but to their leaders. He reminded them that even now, with centuries of loyalty to Britain, and with Protestant majorities across the board, the Protestants of Ireland were not able to live in peace. Their leaders always agitated for another battle to fight, or another war to wage, and now the fight had been brought into their homes and nurseries. They would have no privacy, no rights, when other men could tell them how and when to discipline their wives, or could place innocent people under house arrest, with the threat of murdering their children if the sentence was not followed.
He said a lot of things and ended by telling them that his wife was too afraid to leave her home and he was glad of that, because he was
too afraid to let her. “Our home,” he wrote, “is beautiful. Dunallon is a warm and happy refuge for all of us, but it was never meant to be a prison. When did these men, who will not even put faces or names to their actions, become our judges and ministers? When will we stop them?”
~~~
Tom's father and brothers followed that letter with letters of their own. Lord Pirrie wrote one as well, and a new movement was born. People talked about it everywhere. At home, at work, in pubs, in shops, on trains. Ministers preached about it the very next Sunday, and for many Sundays after, in every church of every kind in the country. Sentiment was mostly on Tom's side, letters were printed in newspapers, not all of them signed, written by people who secretly longed for peace, to "get along" with all their fellow Irishmen, whatever the religion.
A few letters defended the violence, continuing the argument that they all had to show solidarity or they would soon be ruled by Rome. These letters brought immediate and profound protest. They would not be ruled by Rome or by bullies. People were demanding a third choice.
"This is unprecedented in Irish history," Sam said as he and Casey filled out their journals one night. He held his up, the title of the first page a clearly written, Time Travel Journal #3.
"We've made a difference, Casey. It's true that movements come and go. I have no idea if this one will be successful. But we've made a difference."
Chapter 35
March 1911—April 1911
Casey tucked a just-awake Terry into bed with her and lay down to nurse her a while. Sunday morning was Casey's favorite time of the week. The servants all had the day off, and most had left the night before to spend the day with their families. Sam usually had breakfast with Mrs. Pennyworth in her small apartment off the kitchen, so Tom and Casey had the rest of the house to themselves. She drifted back to a light sleep, Tom snoring on the other side of Terry. Casey waited for the usual Sunday morning ritual to begin.
The bed gave a sudden strong bounce, jarring her awake as a cannonball landed on Tom, announcing, "It's Sunday! Pancakes!" Terry, who had been sleepily nursing, pulled away with a jerk that made Casey gasp. The baby ignored her mother, crawling quickly to join Jamie on top of Tom, who grabbed them both, growling ferociously and managing to fall out of bed, the children tucked safely in his arms as they screamed with delight.
Casey had long ago discovered it was best for her to leave the room, as she got too nervous watching them roughhouse. All three of them would be mightily disappointed if she put a stop to it. So she put on a robe and headed to the kitchen where one day a week, she got to cook for her family. They would join her there, Tom and Jamie helping her cook and set the table.
Several minutes later, Jamie entered at a run and stopped in front of his mother, an envelope held out to her. "This is for you!" he shouted and she barely grabbed it before he was across the room, trying to avoid his father and sister, who were obviously "it."
It was one of Tom's formal stationary envelopes. Her name was on the front and she could feel a card inside. She glanced curiously at Tom. "What's this? It's not my birthday."
Terry had managed to grab her brother, but since she still did not understand the game, she hadn't let go of him. Tom set her on the floor to wrestle Jamie alone as he turned to Casey, pulling her into a hug. "Why don't you open it and find out?"
She slipped her arms around his neck. "Okay, I will. After I get a kiss."
He obliged her, but only briefly, distracted by the clatter of pans. Left alone, she broke the seal and pulled out the card, scanning it quickly. At her little scream of delight, Tom turned back to her, the rescued baby in his arms, his face hopeful and happy at her reaction. Jamie jumped up to see.
"What is it? What does it say?" he yelled, trying to pull the card down so he could see.
She held it away from him and read aloud, "Mrs. Thomas Andrews, Jr. (that’s me)” she said in an aside to Jaime, “is invited to attend a private tour, this afternoon, of the RMS Olympic, in dry-dock at Harland & Wolff Shipyards. H&W promises to provide Mrs. Andrews with her own attentive, knowledgeable, and affectionate guide..., oh my," she looked teasingly at Tom, who grinned salaciously at her. She continued reading, “...with access to all parts of the ship (safety permitting). Extra events are also planned, for her special enjoyment!”
Casey laughed with delight and hugged Tom hard, being careful of the baby. He hugged her back with his free arm, laughing with her. “I was hoping you would like it, sweetie. I’ve got quite a day planned!”
“I can’t wait! Oh my goodness, what should I wear?” She turned to Jamie with her question.
He stood with his legs straddled, arms folded over his chest as he pouted at his parents. “I want to see the RMS ‘lympic.”
“You will,” his father assured him. “But not today.”
Tom was not as strict as Edwardian child-rearing practices demanded, but Jamie knew better than to argue. He did, however, try to negotiate. “Tomorrow?”
Casey giggled and left Tom to deal with it as she continued with breakfast.
~~~
At two o’clock, they pulled up to the Yard. Tom, looking quite dapper in a neckband shirt, bowtie, twill vest and tweed cap, helped her out of the car with a gallant bow. She wore a red-orange blouse that brought out some color in her pale skin. She smiled as Tom stopped to gaze at her, then bent to kiss her gently on the lips. She shook her head. “Sometimes, Tom, you still make me blush.”
Squeezing her hand, he offered her his arm and guided her through the empty and silent building to the docks. As they stepped outside, Tom turned her to the right and she followed willingly. The Olympic was berthed at the Thompson Dock during her fitting-out, but just to the left, under the huge gantry, the shell of the Titanic loomed over the yard. I don’t want to see it, she thought, and with an effort controlled the shudder that threatened to shake her. Tom began prattling on about recent changes to the yard and she knew he was trying to keep her distracted. Then they turned the corner.
The Olympic towered over the dock, her funnels gleaming in the sun, her rails and hull newly painted, emphasizing her clean lines. Casey stared, struck silent in awe. Pictures in textbooks or movies just didn’t compare to the sight of the real thing, elegant and proud, as she waited here in the place of her birth. Tom smiled at her expression.
“Have we really managed to amaze the time traveler who’s flown on airplanes and seen spaceships?” he murmured, holding her from behind as she gazed at the ship. She tilted her head to look up at him.
“She’s magnificent, Tom. Airplanes and space shuttles were the workhorses of our day. This,” she looked again toward the ship, “is a work of art.”
He took her hand and led her through the cargo hold on the tank top. He lit a waiting lantern and held it up.
“I’m afraid we don’t have electricity today, except in a few spots. We should be able to see well enough, though.”
She nodded, distracted by the cavernous bay, and began walking the length of it, craning her neck to see how high it was.
“This is the top of the double bottom,” Tom mentioned, pointing to the deck they stood on. “We store fresh water below.”
There were compartments. Tom showed her the watertight doors that could be lowered automatically from the bridge, but at this point, everything was open. There was room for cargo, she saw the coal bunkers, and Tom told her that the huge casings rising from the deck to reach into the deck above them, were the foundations of the engines.
He helped her up a ladder to the next deck. There were more coal bunkers and boilers, and she had a good look at the engines, which continued upward into the next deck. There was a mail sorting room, food storage, and more storage for cargo or passenger luggage, as well as vehicles.
“Vehicles?” Casey looked askance at Tom and he just shrugged.
“Some people like to take their automobiles with them. Or they buy them in Europe and ship them to America.”
She nodded, then. “T
hat’s right. I remember in the movie, there was a car stored on the ship.” She hugged him gently, dropping a flirtatious kiss on his chest. “Two of the actors made love in it in one scene.”
He returned the hug, laughing. “You know, that doesn’t surprise me. I’ve often thought people consider ocean liners to be just a playground.”
“What happens at sea stays at sea?” She teased him, continuing her caress.
He looked embarrassed. “Sort of.”
They went up another ladder to G Deck. Here, there were portholes that let in more light. They had to step around construction debris, but he showed her crew and third class quarters with bunks attached to walls. There was more storage, the Squash Racquet Court for First Class, and the continuation of the engines, boiler rooms and coalbunkers. At a juncture between rooms, he paused and pointed upward.
“Watertight doors.” His face was thoughtful, then he smiled sardonically at her. “A victory of sorts. Normally, we would not have them on this deck.”
She returned his smile, but made no comment. She didn’t want to think about the sinking, right now.
This deck had the beginnings of the spiral staircases, fore and aft, and Casey paused to stare in amazement when they reached the aft stairway.
“This is amazing, Tom. I’ve seen you work, I helped with Adriatic and I thought that ship was incredible. But how do you do this?” She ran her hand along the detailed carving of the rail.
“It’s a talented workforce,” he murmured, standing behind her. He placed his hand on hers and followed it over the carving. Her body throbbed briefly at the sensual feel of the wood, and of his hand. She settled herself against him, teasing him with her hip. He rubbed against her, nibbling the top of her ear before he released her and guided her up the stairs.
At the next deck, he pulled her into a long kiss. She pressed against him in response to his hand on her bottom, the material of her skirt and petticoats sliding under his caress. She almost couldn’t look at the ship, anymore.
Shipbuilder Page 31