“And you,” Charles said, motioning towards me. “Come with me.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder, glancing behind him to make sure the others had gone inside before he spoke.
“I’ve found her,” he said in a low voice.
“Bridget?”
“Who the hell do you think?” Charles snapped. “Yes, I found the girl. So let’s have a look, why don’t we?”
We took the staircase to A-Deck. From there, we could look down at the third class promenade, where the steerage passengers gathered. Some of them stood at the rails, watching the vast trail of churning ocean water as the propellers drove us toward New York. But mostly they congregated in relaxed circles, having a good old time—joking, laughing, puffing on cigarettes.
For a moment, I almost wished I could be among them.
Charles pointed. “There she is,” he said. “With her back turned to us.”
I noticed a girl, thin-boned and petite, standing with her hands braced against the railing. Her dress was simple, but an embroidered shawl covered most of her hair. Beside her was a man who touched her arm lightly as they spoke. They had the same hair color—dark, nearly black, with an auburn sheen.
“Who is that with her?” I asked.
Suddenly, as if they’d heard me from a distance, the pair turned toward us.
“Quick!” Charles said, ducking. “Don’t let her see you!”
“Well, that did no good,” I grumbled as we ducked back inside. “I barely got a look at her face.” I tried to create a mental image of the girl along the railing. Under her dress, her shoulders were narrow, like a bird’s.
I thought back to Sadie pointing at the seagull and saying, Bridie.
“Well, now what?” I asked.
“Like I said, you’ll probably find her in the third class lounge tonight,” Charles said. “Now, let’s dress for dinner.”
“Oh, one more thing,” Charles said as we parted ways outside our staterooms. “You won’t want to forget this.” When no one was looking, he slipped me the pistol.
* * *
“Charles, are you sure my necklace is safe with the purser?” Mother asked on the way to dinner. She was frowning. “It would be dreadful if anything happened to it.”
“Of course it is,” Charles replied. “Frankly, it’s more secure there than in our cabin.”
It was strange that Charles insisted upon leaving Mother’s diamond necklace with the purser. He used to encourage her to flaunt it. But now, he wanted it safely locked away.
He doesn’t trust her anymore, I thought. These nagging feelings were getting tougher to ignore.
Dinner dragged on uneventfully. I half-listened to Max’s European adventure stories and Anton’s boasting about Gregory Galleries. I noticed Max trying to make eyes with Faye, who stared at her food, disinterested.
But mostly I watched the clock. It counted down the time until my mission in third class began. Even with Charles’ gun secure inside my jacket, I was growing more nervous by the minute.
Charles nudged me under the table.
“John,” he hissed. “Don’t look so distracted.”
“Sorry, sir,” I grumbled, resisting the urge to elbow him back.
* * *
Charles had told me how to get into steerage. As soon as dinner ended, I made my way to the first-class elevator, where a lift attendant stood at the ready.
“Which way, good sir?” the young Englishman asked.
“I’m going to the third-class lounge.”
I avoided eye contact with him, afraid he’d know I was off to some place I shouldn’t be.
“Slumming, are we?” the attendant joked.
“Slumming” was what the rich passengers called it when they went down to steerage to gawk at the immigrants and partake in their drinking and dancing. It was a tacky pastime if you asked me. I nodded, trying to hide my disgust.
“Step this way,” he said. “E-Deck it is.”
The elevator glided downward. I had never been this far into the ship.
“Here we are,” the lift attendant said as we came to a halt. “Through those doors is Scotland Road, which runs the length of the ship. Makes it easy for the crew to get from one end to the other. If you take it toward the stern, you’ll reach the second class stairs, which will take you down to third class.”
I followed Scotland Road until I came to a cast-iron gate, where the only person in sight stood. He was dressed in a White Star Line uniform.
“You can’t go down there, sir,” he said, observing my clothes. “I’m locking up for the night.”
“I have important business to address,” I replied, lifting my chin. I figured a hint of first class snobbery in my tone might get me past him.
He shrugged. “If you say so,” he said.
The gate groaned as it swung open. I stepped down into a narrow corridor, lit by bright, bare bulbs. Compared to the elaborate beauty of first class, it had the feel of a warehouse. Some of the steerage passengers spoke in languages I’d never heard before—not even when I passed by the foreign language classrooms at Oberlin.
I didn’t need to ask which way the lounge was after all. I spotted a rowdy gaggle of young passengers coming toward me, roughhousing and talking loudly. They passed around a flask.
“Ah, the sea and the whiskey are both smooth for a change,” one of the boys said as he took a swig. “Have a drink! We’re celebrating our new lives tonight, boys.”
I followed them down the stairs to a dim room that reeked of smoke, beer, and merriment. My eyes began to sting. Before I reached the bottom of the stairwell, I could feel the floor vibrating beneath me in a steady beat. A band sat at the center of the lounge, where a man’s voice bellowed even louder than the drum.
“I counted out me money and it made a pretty penny. I put it in me pocket and I took it home to Jenny.”
If the girl I’d seen on the deck earlier that day was here, it was too dark and smoky to tell.
Someone bumped my arm as I watched the raucous scene around me.
“Oh! I’m sorry, my dear,” said a redheaded girl, carrying a glass of beer in each hand. Then she gave me a second glance. “Hey, you don’t look like you belong down here.”
Caught, I thought, drawing a deep breath. I might as well tell her the truth.
“I’m looking for someone,” I said. “She’s an Irish girl, our age or so. Her name’s Bridget.”
“You mean that Bridget?” the girl replied, pointing straight ahead. “She’s my bunkmate.”
I spotted a girl dancing with a big man, who spun her around with drunken glee, nearly lifting her off her feet. They were both laughing.
“Yes, that’s her,” I said, my heart rate jumping.
“Bridget!” the redheaded girl shouted. “Come over here, will you?”
Bridget’s eyes met mine, and her lips parted in shock. I took a few steps toward her, silently cursing Charles for sending me here. How was I supposed to introduce myself? “I’m John Conkling and you’ve put my inheritance in jeopardy”?
Before I could speak, a sharp blow landed against my stomach. A knee landed in my back, forcefully enough to throw me against the wall of the lounge. I heard myself gasp with pain.
Someone yanked me by the collar and dragged me to my feet. I felt another sharp sting as his fist hit me again.
“What did I tell you, Bridie?” a man’s voice shouted. “I knew he was too big a coward to come here himself. He sent this little henchman instead!”
I opened my eyes. In front of me was the same man I’d seen on the deck that day, his dark sideburns and scowling expression unmistakable. Up close, his face looked just like Bridget’s.
“Stop, Jim!” Bridget cried, grabbing his hand as it reached for me. She stared me down.
“Mr. Conkling…you’re his son, aren’t you?” she asked. “I had a feeling he’d send you.”
I steadied myself on my feet, brushing the welt that was forming
on my forehead. I stared at the Irish man in front of me, who clenched his fists with rage.
“He didn’t say there’d be two of you,” I said.
“I’m her brother,” the man snapped. “And Conkling won’t be causing her no more trouble. She was his maid and him trying to make her his left-handed wife…”
“Enough!” Bridget demanded.
“And if you’re here for the letter, you tell him I’ll chuck it into the ocean,” Jim said. “…Unless he’s willing to give me sister something to get her started in America.”
I glanced around and realized Jim was flanked by two other boys. One merely glared at me. The other was grinding his fist against his palm, looking more than eager to use it.
They must have been the ones who hit me. I felt the welt on my forehead begin to throb. I steeled myself, trying to appear as calm as possible before I spoke.
“How much do you want for the letter?” I asked.
“Five thousand,” Jim said. “That’s enough to get her back on her feet.”
I looked at Bridget. Her eyes searched my face for a moment, and then she stared at the floor.
“I’ll need to meet with your sister privately to deliver the money,” I said.
“Oh no you won’t. You—”
“Jim, shut up!” Bridget said, exasperated.
“I’ll take the offer to Charles,” I said after a few long seconds of silence. “But I can’t promise he’ll take it.”
Bridget finally looked up at me. I could see her eyes in the haze of the lounge. They were green, almost the same shade as Sadie’s dress. “It’s his only chance,” she said, just firmly enough that I knew she meant it. “Meet me before we land.”
Her brother jabbed his finger in my face.
“Five thousand dollars,” he said again. “Next to what he has it’s a bloody bargain. Then he’ll get his damn letter, agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“If not, I’ll make sure you’ll come to regret it, you hear?” Jim shouted after me as I walked away.
* * *
I took the elevator back to A-Deck, where Charles was waiting for me in the smoking room. I dreaded telling him about my utterly failed mission to steerage and about Jim’s plan to hold the letter hostage.
I found him, drink in hand, sitting in the back corner with Anton.
Christ, why is he here? I wondered. Fabulously wealthy gallery owner or not, he gave me the creeps. And Charles had insisted this was between the two of us…not the two of us and his shady friend.
They stopped talking as soon as they noticed me walk in. “What happened to you?” Charles asked scornfully.
“Bridget’s brother pounded me,” I replied.
“I should have known.”
“A warning would have been nice,” I said. “You never mentioned he was on board.”
“That’s because I didn’t know the little bastard was on board,” Charles snapped. “And I mean bastard in the literal sense; those two have no father to speak of. I haven’t seen the brother since he was lurking around my house making trouble.”
Anton offered us cigarettes. I shook my head. Charles lit his and leaned back in his seat.
“I take it you didn’t get the letter,” he said.
“They want five thousand dollars for it.”
“Five thousand!” Charles slammed his fist against the table. “So it’s a ransom. They’re stupid to think I’d part with that kind of money, especially for them.”
“Her brother demanded it,” I replied. “He says she needs something to get her started in America.” I thought of asking Charles why Bridget would quit working for him so suddenly, but decided to leave it alone. It was unlikely I’d get the truth out of him, anyway.
Some of the other smoking room patrons glanced at us. Charles composed himself and lowered his voice.
“Anton,” he said. “Care to share a piece of your mind? You’ve certainly dealt with your share of thieves and tricksters over the years.”
Anton thought for a moment, his brows lowering.
“Try to get the girl alone, without her brother,” he suggested. “The steerage men are kept at the bow of the ship, the women and children at the stern. The ladies even have a matron to ensure the boys stay out of their bunks.”
He and Charles laughed haughtily.
“Wait for her to return to her room, and then confront her.” He nodded toward the slight bulge of the pistol under my jacket. “I suspect she’ll concede quite quickly without her guardian. She hands over the letter, and the matter is settled.”
“I don’t know where her cabin is,” I said.
“Incidentally, I do,” Charles replied. “Rathbone got it from the purser. She’s on F-Deck.”
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket and passed it to me. The purser had scrawled Bridget’s cabin number on it.
“Go tomorrow night,” Charles said.
“Alright,” I said. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
* * *
Instead, I went to the Grand Staircase. I needed time to think before I could turn in for the night. After my encounter with Jim and his friends, adrenaline was still pumping through my veins.
At the landing of the Grand Staircase was a magnificent clock. I stopped to study it, admiring the intricate oak woodwork. Two women in Grecian robes were carved into the clock’s face.
“Honor and glory,” I heard a voice behind me say.
I turned around. It was Rudy, the German. He’d appeared out of nowhere.
“What?” I said, startled.
“Honor and Glory, crowning time,” he repeated, pointing to the oak carving of the women draped around the clock.
“I know that,” I snapped. “I’ve studied mythology. What are you doing here? Are you following me?”
“What?” he stammered. “Oh, no, no. Of course I’m not following you.”
His response sounded rehearsed, as if he were feigning surprise at my hostile question.
“Actually, I don’t even remember your name,” Rudy said.
“John Merr—” Unconsciously, I started to introduce myself by my father’s name.
Why did that nearly slip out? I wondered. Ever since Mother had married Charles, she’d encouraged me to abandon that name, to forget I ever answered to it.
“John Conkling,” I corrected myself.
“Ah,” Rudy said, nodding. “It’s been nice to make a few new acquaintances on board. I’m alone on this trip. Also, we have something in common. We are both students.”
Max and I both doubted that story last night. But in the interest of getting away from Rudy as fast as possible, I didn’t challenge him. Besides, his studies—fictitious or not—were of no consequence to me. I had plenty of other things on my mind.
“But you do not seem in the mood to talk,” he added. “Goodnight, John.” He tilted his chin and gave me another unnerving smile.
Just like with Anton, I didn’t know what it was about Rudy’s presence that made me jumpy. I felt goosebumps forming on my arms.
Instead of returning to my room, I stood on the staircase for a few minutes, wanting to be sure that Rudy was gone. Then I slowly headed back toward the smoking room. I figured Charles and Anton had left for the night.
I spotted Max Seligman in the back corner, playing blackjack.
“Max!” I said, interrupting his game. “Do you know anything about that German?”
“Whoa, John, hold your horses,” Max replied. “Sit down. What happened?”
“The German guy, Rudy,” I said.
“I know who you’re talking about,” Max said. “How could I forget?”
“Well, I just ran into him in the Grand Staircase,” I said. “…All by himself. It seemed like he was following me.”
“I saw him flirting with Faye LaRoe earlier,” Max said bitterly. “Maybe he thinks you’re his ticket into her favors. Lord knows I haven’t had any luck.”
&n
bsp; I laughed. “Hell will freeze over before that guy has a chance with Faye.”
“He’s an odd duck, I’ll say,” Max said. “But it’s not just him. A lot of things about this ship give me the heebie-jeebies. Did you hear about our near-accident yesterday morning?”
“I saw it,” I replied. “I was on the Boat Deck with Sadie.”
“The same thing just happened to the Titanic’s sister ship, the Olympic,” Max said, “except it actually hit. The Olympic sucked a helpless little cruiser right into her hull.”
“You don’t say.”
“Yeah,” Max replied. “So now the Olympic is laid up for repairs. Makes you wonder if White Star is testing its luck, making these ships so big. Too big.”
“They insist the Titanic is unsinkable,” I said.
“I know. But do you want to hear something really creepy?”
“What?”
“About fifteen years ago, some guy wrote a book called Futility,” Max said. “It’s about a ship designed to be ‘unsinkable,’ but she hits an iceberg and sinks in the North Atlantic with everyone aboard—men, women, children.”
Even the other card players were listening now, eyebrows raised.
“And get this. The ship is called,” he said, with a dramatic pause, “The Titan.”
Once again, I felt goosebumps forming on my arms.
“It’s a good thing I’m not superstitious,” I replied. “That is creepy, though.”
Max looked up at me with a more earnest expression. “Speaking of creepy, your father was in here earlier. What’s he doing hanging around with Gregory?”
“Anton? They’re friends, I guess,” I said. “They met in London.”
“Gregory’s notorious among the businessmen aboard,” Max replied. “He’s crossed a lot of people. Nothing but trouble, I’m telling you. Conkling had better watch his back.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “I’ll try to warn Charles.”
Secretly, I was starting to sense I needed to watch my back, too.
Four
Mother didn’t show up to lunch the next day.
“Where’s Victoria?” Max asked Charles as we took our seats in the dining room.
“She was feeling ill this morning,” Charles replied. “A touch of the mal de mer, I suspect.” He sounded blasé.