In the first two days at sea, Rupert was careful to take the time to write down clever descriptive passages of what he saw and experienced so that he would be well prepared with his comments for the newspapermen in New York. He expected the harbor to be thick with reporters who would want interviews with the first disembarking passengers from the ship, and he intended to appear in as many newspapers as possible.
Although the ship was spectacular in every setting, Rupert had no difficulty in naming the first class smoking lounge as his favorite location. Set just behind the dining saloon, it was ever so inviting with its richly dark and plush interior, ornamented in beautifully wrought stained glass. The elaborate fireplace, the long, handsomely lighted bar, and the deep and heavy chairs made one feel as if there were no finer accommodation for a gentleman in any private club, the world over. The pleasurable scent of Cuban cigars wafting over expensive brandy proved the perfect complement to the affluent sounds of the robust and cultured voices that murmured forth. Add to that the soft interjections of clicking poker chips, and Rupert was sent to the top of the world. It was the sound of wealthy men at leisure, a sound he cherished above all others, though he had practiced saying that the sound of the orchestra was truly his favorite, should he ever be asked.
Sunday dinner on the ship had been spectacular. His daughter was walking on air, and his wife was delighted she would finally have in-laws in the family that she felt of equal social status to her own. Now with dinner behind them and Beth and Emma safely in the care of his daughter’s besotted fiancé, there was nothing to interfere with Rupert’s pleasure in preparing for an evening of poker.
Alone in his stateroom he enjoyed a quiet moment as he took his time readying himself for his visit to the smoking room. Tonight, he would take a run at the professional gamblers.
He opened his closet with all of the anticipation of a matador dressing to star in a bullfight. His preparations required the use of his special garment, a custom-designed money vest that he wore beneath his formal evening attire. An experience with a clever pickpocket had resulted in Rupert’s designing the pocketed vest some years before.
He opened the safe and pulled out the wads of bills, carefully counting and stacking each one before slipping them cleanly into the six side-loading pockets on his vest. In addition, near his waist there were two top loading pockets that buttoned closed, so that he could carry chips or other valuables, if need be. Over the vest he wore a special evening shirt that was split on the sides to allow discreet access to his money by simply reaching under his coat.
It was a pity that Captain Smith appeared so intent on getting them into New York a day earlier than scheduled. Rupert would have been quite happy to have added an extra day or two to the voyage. He had enjoyed a rather good run at poker in the first three nights of the passage. He had won a little more than he had lost, but mostly he had accomplished his desire to attract the attention of the cardsharps on board. He had spotted two who were certainly professionals: Harry Homer and George Bradley, both posing as first class millionaires and getting away with it, as far as Rupert could see. The thrill of probable victory in the evening ahead set his skin on fire as he readied himself.
Rupert had a secret. He had trained himself to cheat at cards. About a dozen years earlier Rupert had received a fateful call from Minnie Woods who was having a spot of trouble at her house. One of her customers from Toronto, a man of great reputation, was in need of help to avoid appearing before the magistrate. Rupert settled the matter with a single phone call, and the gentleman was only too happy to express his gratitude with a series of private lessons to explain the technique of “flashing” to Rupert. A good flasher sees the cards he deals out to the other players. Having it explained was one thing, but learning to do it well without being detected was another. Rupert took it as a personal challenge and in time he had mastered the technique.
As it turned out, he was better at flashing than some of the professional gamblers he had encountered on this particular voyage. His game of choice was five-card stud. Flashing cards with cardsharps at the table was especially titillating.
Both Homer and Bradley had noticed him in the smoking room. Each had invited him to play and he had politely refused, claiming discomfort with their rich stakes. In truth, Rupert had needed time to watch them. The two generally worked separate tables. Tonight he would accept their invitation and work to get both into the same game.
As he patted down the money-vest, his confidence grew. He was about to close the safe when his eyes fell on Beth’s diamond necklace, with the matching bracelet and earrings neatly placed next to it. He looked for the emeralds and realized Beth had chosen to wear them today. As she never opened the safe, he knew she would just wear the jewels to bed, as was her custom until she could hand them directly to him. Looking at the diamonds, a thought crept into his mind. What if the two thousand dollars he carried wasn’t enough? He scooped up the diamond pieces and placed them securely in one of the chip pockets on the money garment, carefully buttoning it closed. Then he noticed the tiny box in the back. Oh, yes, the little diamond earrings that Charles had bought for Emma. He glanced at them, thinking how charming it was that this earnest young man had so proudly presented this bit of sparkle to Rupert’s little girl. How endearing. No doubt, in time, Charles would be able to afford to graduate to the heavier gems that Rupert and other men of his ilk bestowed upon their wives. He chuckled to himself. He would take Emma’s tiny diamonds for luck.
He felt very pleased with himself as he spun the dial to lock the empty safe and then stood to check his debonair image in the mirror. Those cardsharps had no idea what was coming.
Charles Hays eyed his cards and bit down on his cigar. The railway tycoon was off his game. He didn’t much care for five-card stud. He cared even less for losing. He had joined the table as the fifth man and quickly saw all were more than casual poker players. He suspected that two of the fellows, Harry Homer and George Bradley, were professionals. Homer had a good stash of winnings tonight, but Bradley was hurting. There were two men from Winnipeg at the table. Thomson Beattie was a gentleman through and through, but this Willows fellow was hard to peg. A friendly enough chap, but there was something about his game over the last hour and half that he found just wasn’t sitting well.
Hays watched carefully as Willows dealt the final cards in the hand and the bets were made. Three of the five players had folded. Hays was left with strong cards and Willows staring him down.
“All in,” said Rupert, and without hesitation shoved all of his chips toward the pot.
Hays, sitting with three tens, took his time while he speculated whether Rupert had just bought the flush when the fourth heart, the jack, hit the table. Hays figured he had and wasn’t going to throw his remaining two hundred into the pot to find out. “I’m out,” he said, tossing his cards face up onto the table.
“Trips? Thank you, so very much,” Rupert said politely, as he reached forward to gather in the chips. “All I had was a little pair of jacks.”
“Damn it to hell!” Hays shook his fist in the air then smacked his hand down hard on the table. “Naturally a damned heart had to come up. I was sure you had that flush, Willows. You bluffed me out and just had to rub it in, did you? Well, gentlemen, this is too rich for me. Time for me to turn in.”
“So, we’ll see you in Winnipeg, you say, Charles?” Thomson Beattie asked.
“Yes. I’ll be there in a couple of months to get the plans in the works for the construction of the new railway hotel. It will be called the Hotel Fort Garry, and I promise you it will be the finest in the city.”
“When are you opening the Ottawa Hotel? What’s the name again?” Beattie inquired.
“The Chateau Laurier. The grand opening is on the twenty-sixth of this month. That’s why I chose to come home on the Titanic. Do stop in to see it on your way out west, gentlemen,” he nodded to the two men from Winnipeg. “I’ll make sure your names are on the guest list.” Hays stood
up and bowed courteously, reaching to shake hands with his fellow card players. “Mr. Homer, Mr. Bradley. I wish you good luck this evening. It has been a pleasure, but I really must say goodnight.”
Homer’s eyes moved to Bradley as he picked up the cards and addressed the mysteriously talented Mr. Willows.
“I daresay, Willows, this is rather a good bit of luck I see you are having this evening,” Homer said warmly. “Do you care for another game? Perhaps you would be so kind as to give us a chance to get back some of our money, old chap? How about you, Beattie?”
Thomson Beattie hesitated as he pulled out his watch and saw that it was twenty minutes before midnight.
“Well, perhaps just one more hand. Good heavens, there goes my drink. Did you feel that bump?” He jumped back from the table so that his evening clothes wouldn’t be soiled.
“That wasn’t a bump, that was your heart sinking in your chest,” laughed Bradley. “I see there has been a change in your luck and not for the better in the last hour or so, Mr. Beattie.”
“Well, I do think I felt something,” Beattie said as his eye caught a disturbance across the room. “See. Look over there. I’m not the only one with a spilled beverage. That fellow over there appears quite out of sorts. I think we hit something.”
“Hit something? In the middle of the ocean, you say? Perhaps a whale?” Bradley snorted and slapped his knee, while Homer shuffled the cards.
“Well, perhaps an iceberg, my good man. We’re in the North Atlantic.” Beattie wasn’t at all impressed with Homer and Bradley the way Rupert seemed to be, and was reluctant to continue. “As fast as we are traveling, I’d say we’re not far off Newfoundland and this water is known to have icebergs this time of the year.”
“So, even if it was an iceberg, what harm could come to this ship? It’s built to withstand that sort of thing,” Harry Homer interjected.
Rupert was annoyed by the interruption and anxious to get back to the game.
“There, now. Let’s ask the steward.” He waved to the closest one. “I say, is there some sort of trouble?”
“No sir, not a bit that I’ve been told about.” The skinny steward wore a jacket too large for his small frame and bobbed slightly, like a wooden puppet on strings, as he cleaned up the spilled drink. His hollow eyes went from one to the next at the table. “It seems everything is perfectly fine and you are not to be alarmed. Would you gentlemen care for another drink?”
Beattie was rattled by the activity. “Not for me, thank you. As a matter of fact, I think its time for me to cash in my chips,” he said. “I will bid you goodnight and shall return to my cabin to lick my wounds. Perhaps we’ll meet for another game tomorrow. Gentlemen,” he nodded politely and left.
With three left at the table Rupert smiled calmly, holding the deck. “Well, shall we play?”
Homer shrugged with indifference and Bradley slapped his money down the table. “You bet your Canadian ass, Mr. Willows.”
“Dealer’s choice?” Rupert smiled at them.
“Let her rip.” Bradley reached for his brandy.
Rupert gradually became aware that the room had started to empty. Then he was startled to see a man rush in, wearing a lifebelt. He was even more surprised when he recognized him as Charles Fortune.
“Please excuse me for interrupting, Mr. Willows,” Charles said.
“So, are we sinking then?” Rupert couldn’t suppress his laughter at the sight of Charles in the lifebelt. “Forgive me. This is Charles Fortune, my daughter’s fiancé. Mr. Bradley and Mr. Homer.”
“Good evening, gentlemen.” Charles’ cheeks colored with embarrassment as he calmly stated his business. “It’s a precaution, Mr. Willows, but they are asking people to put on their life belts. Father has gone to look after my mother and sisters. I don’t wish to overstep, sir, but I must say, I think it prudent to follow suit. They are calling for the women and children to get into the lifeboats, sir.”
“The lifeboats? Good heavens.” Rupert thought the idea ridiculous. “The Titanic will never sink, but if you think it prudent, as you say, perhaps you would do me a great favor and see to Emma and my wife. Use your best judgment, as I know you will, and I am certain that they will be in very good hands. I’ll finish up here and join you on deck. Tell Mrs. Willows that I will be right along, but that she is to follow your instructions until I arrive.”
“Of course, Mr. Willows,” answered Charles, as he ran out of the room.
“Are we still playing, gentlemen?” Rupert asked.
“Sure. They won’t let the men into the boats yet anyway, and I can’t see how we all won’t be more comfortable here than freezing our tails off while we float about in tiny boats only to be returned to the Titanic in few hours.”
“I agree completely. I think they’re rushing this lifeboat business,” said Harry Homer. “You must realize that in the very worst case, this ship will float about for nine or ten hours, even if it’s crippled. There’s plenty of time for ships in the area to come to our rescue should this prove to be of any concern at all. Willows, it’s your deal.”
Rupert was enjoying himself mightily despite the distraction of the lifeboat activity. He had lost just enough to go in for the kill against the cocky cardsharps, who had proved to be genuinely charming company throughout the evening.
He knew the time was short, and he had just this last chance as dealer to hit the big win. The cards were dealt and the betting was aggressive.
Everything changed in the next instant. A rocket blast split the night and a shriek went up from the boat deck outside the smoking room.
“Rockets! That means we are sinking!” Homer went white and reached for his chips.
With almost two thousand dollars in the pot, Rupert maintained a steely determination to continue, and reached for Homer’s arm to stop him.
“Excuse me. We haven’t finished the hand.”
“Are you mad, Willows?” Bradley’s eyes shot at him. “The ship is going down!”
Rupert quickly dealt the last card and dropped a nine onto Bradley’s up cards. Knowing his three kings were the strongest hand, he egged his opponents on. At his turn to bet he pushed his chips forward, “All in.”
Homer folded, and Bradley, nervous to get moving but smelling a bluff, tossed his chips into the biggest pot of the night.
With great flourish Rupert flipped over his hole card. “Ha! Can you do better than my three kings?”
“Bastard!” Bradley yelled. Homer jumped out of his seat, and Rupert shouted out loud, as if he had just scored the winning goal in a rugby match.
“Goodnight, Rupert. I hope you choke on that pot. And I don’t mind telling you that you are a bad cheat!” Bradley barely got the words out before he was on his way.
“Thank you, gentlemen. It was a pleasure!” Rupert called after them, cheerily, as they darted from the room. He put his hands on the abandoned cards and as he moved to sweep in Bradley’s hand, it suddenly registered. He was looking at aces and eights. A shiver went up his back. The dead man’s hand. These were the identical cards, right down to the nine of diamonds, that made up Bill Hickok’s hand when he was shot and killed in a saloon in South Dakota.
There was shouting out on deck and Rupert glanced out the window to see a growing crowd was moving toward the lifeboats.
“Mr. Willows. Where is your lifebelt? You must go put it on, sir.” Standing next to Rupert was the sunken-eyed steward who, in Rupert’s imagination, now appeared, eerily, as a ghost. Rupert ran from the room and bounded down the hallway in search of his heavy buffalo coat and his lifebelt.
Emma sat on her bed with her blanket pulled up under her chin and refused to move. Maisie was in no mood to argue.
“Well, you will please excuse me, then, while I get my things together?” The maid grabbed a pillowslip and efficiently began gathering up her most precious belongings, tucking the parcel firmly inside her coat.
“Oh, goodness, Maisie,” Emma answered. “Do you really think it necess
ary to be changing out of our night clothes? Everyone knows this is just a false alarm. It is utterly impossible that the Titanic would sink, even if it did bump into an iceberg or something. I mean, really, look at the size of this ship. I don’t believe for one second that we are in any danger.”
Maisie swiveled to look at her. “Emma, please, just do as Mr. Charles has asked. We really must hurry. I will attend to your mother. Your lifebelt is here, and your heavy coat is on the chair. Please, remember your extra stockings and your gloves. Wear the warmest shoes you have.”
“Maisie, you’re frightening me.”
There was a pounding at the door and an urgent plea.
“Emma, it’s Charles, are you ready? It’s time to go on deck.”
Maisie opened the door and squeezed past the young man.
“Miss Emma’s things are all ready and on the chair, there, Mr. Fortune. I’ll be right along with Mrs. Willows.”
“Charles, really, what is this all about?” Emma protested. “Do you think the ship is in danger? And where is my father?”
“He’s instructed me to see that you and your mother get up to the boat deck and he will meet us there. My father has already taken my mother and sisters up, and it would please me greatly if you would just hurry along and do as I say. Here, let me help you with the lifebelt.”
“Charles, I don’t see any reason for alarm. I spoke to the steward, and he said there was nothing to be bothered about. Why do you look so worried?”
Charles tugged at the straps of the lifebelt and gave it a thorough inspection as he helped Emma put it on. “I have a cautious nature, my sweet, and I have you and your mother to care for until your father joins you on deck. Those are his instructions. Now, I must insist we move along.”
Ravenscraig Page 49