Titanic

  “Quick, John,” she said, uncurling her fist to reveal a small slip of paper. “It’s from Rudy.”

  I read it over: Meet me at the squash court at 11 tonight.

  “The squash court?” I asked, scratching my head. “Is it even open that late at night?”

  “He convinced the squash coach to reserve it for him,” Faye replied. “He said no one will find you there, just in case.”

  She motioned subtly toward Charles.

  “Good thinking,” I said. “Faye, did Rudy tell you anything I should know? How does he know Charles’ business?”

  She shook her head. “He wouldn’t tell me,” she said. “Only that he must meet with you before we land. He said time is of the essence.”

  Her usual steely demeanor was gone. She looked worried. “Your family isn’t in trouble, is it?” she asked.

  “I hope not,” I said, and slid the note into my pocket for safe keeping.

  * * *

  After dinner, I pulled out the bundle of clothing Bridget gave me last night, wrinkling my nose at the lingering cigarette odor. I noticed they were a bit smaller than my own clothes. For someone so slender, Jim threw a hard punch.

  I decided not to take the elevator this time. The lift attendants might start to suspect me, questioning why I was going down to third class every evening. I would go to the Boat Deck and take the second class stairs, which led directly to Scotland Road.

  Passengers milled about the deck, taking in the sunset. It was Saturday night, April thirteenth. I could hear the Titanic’s band playing in the lounge, a lively tune that would keep the first class passengers amused as they sipped their after-dinner drinks. They were too refined to dance the way they did in steerage, but it was a welcome diversion from the relentless pressure to keep up appearances.

  The aft stairway was filled with second class passengers coming back from dinner. I slipped past them, confident that none would recognize me. I followed the winding staircase all the way down to E-Deck, where I could find my way into steerage.

  At F-Deck, I took a deep breath and knocked on her cabin door.

  “Bridget?” I called.

  Nothing.

  All of a sudden I heard someone rustling about in the room. I must have awoken her, because the footsteps were lethargic.

  “It’s John,” I said through the door. “If you’re in there, please come out.”

  The door swung open. It wasn’t Bridget. Instead, one of the Scandinavian girls stood in the doorway. Our eyes met, although neither of us knew what to say.

  “I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “I was looking for Bridget.”

  She couldn’t understand me.

  “Bridget,” I repeated.

  With her free hand, she pointed towards the ceiling.

  “Lounge,” she said in broken English, thrusting her index finger into the air, towards the deck above.

  “She went to the lounge?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Thank you, miss,” I said, as she closed the door on me.

  The third class lounge was quiet tonight. There were no pounding drums, no stomping feet—just a single man playing the piano at the center of the room. He sang a slow, sad Irish song.

  “Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling…”

  I caught a flash of Mary’s red hair across the room. She was sitting between her brother and another young man, a pint of beer in front of each of them. As always, Mary was laughing.

  “I had a feeling you’d be back!” she called when she saw me. “Have a beer, will you?”

  I sat down at the table, feeling a little more at ease in steerage with each passing night. At least Mary was fond of me, in her bemused way.

  “This is Brendan,” she said, pointing to the boy on her right. “I met him when we got on board at Queenstown. He’s going to be a policeman in America.” She gave him a little kiss.

  He must be the one she kept sneaking into the bow to see. He was a handsome enough fellow, and even somewhat polite. He shook my hand and said hello.

  “And you’ve already met my brother Patrick. Well, his fist, anyhow,” Mary snickered. “You can blame the Jameson.”

  “I’m looking for Bridget,” I said. “Your bunkmate said I could find her here.”

  “Bridget hasn’t been here at all tonight,” Mary replied.

  “Do you know where she is now?”

  Mary shrugged. “She’s with Jim somewhere,” she said. “But the last I saw of them was at dinner. She seemed really worried about something.”

  I feigned cluelessness.

  “I know she read your message today,” Mary said. “’Tis a bit strange for girls like us to be getting letters from the likes of you. She was all starry-eyed over it.”

  “What?” I said, not sure how to take that comment. “So she did read it.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Mary replied. She tilted her head, giving me a suspicious look.

  “Are you ever going to tell me the real reason you’re down here every night?” she asked. “I’m near dying of curiosity now.”

  “Unfinished business Bridget left behind in London,” I said.

  “Yeah, unfinished business with the lecher,” Mary snickered. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. You could check the smoking room. She might be in the bow with Jim, but the stewards will kick her out sooner or later.”

  “Thanks, Mary,” I said. I would have to steel myself and go to the smoking room.

  * * *

  The third class smoking room was filled with steerage men playing cards and horse racing. They bantered with each other loudly, taking big gulps of beer. I could barely see through the cigarette smoke.

  “Hey, who are you looking for?” one of the men shouted at me in a British accent.

  “Uh, Jim,” I stammered. “And his sister.”

  “Jim,” the man repeated, turning to the other card players. “That’s the Irish bloke, ain’t it? The one we horse raced with?”

  “Aye, that’s him.”

  “He’s not here,” the British man said. “Hasn’t been here since last night. Hell, he’s probably got a wicked hangover.”

  There was one more place to look. I went out onto the third class deck, which was nearly empty. The sky was black. The only sound I could hear was the Titanic’s propellers slicing through the Atlantic, leaving a ghostly white trail in her wake.

  This mission was hopeless. Bridget was nowhere to be found, and I suspected she was purposely avoiding me. I’d have to go back to Charles and tell him once again that I didn’t have the letter. How much more could I anger him during this voyage without crossing the line? How far could I go before Mother, Bridget, and Sadie were in danger?

  For now, I shoved the thought out of my mind. I had to go meet with Rudy and find out what other dark secrets Charles was keeping.

  * * *

  The squash court was on the lowest deck of the ship, which were quiet at this hour. The first class passengers who were still awake were in the smoking room or the lounge.

  Faye was right. It was highly unlikely that anyone would see Rudy and me, let alone question what we were doing there.

  Still, I had butterflies in my stomach as I turned the knob on the squash court’s heavy metal door. I knew that whatever Rudy had to tell me about Charles, it wasn’t good.

  “Thank you for coming,” Rudy said as I stepped inside. His relaxed smile put me at ease. To my surprise, he handed me a racquet.

  “I didn’t know we were actually playing squash,” I laughed.

  “Of course. It makes us look sincere,” he replied. “I was lucky that the squash instructor, Mr. Wright, let me reserve the court at this hour. Have you met Mr. Wright?”

  I realized now that Rudy spoke nearly perfect English. He had been faking confusion in the smoking room when he seemed to forget which subjects he studied at Leipzig.

  “No, I haven’t met him,” I said. “I haven’t had much time for fun on this voyage.” br />
  “You indicated that last night,” Rudy replied.

  “So,” I said, serving the ball, “are you going to tell me why we’re here?”

  “Yes. But first, let me explain who I am,” Rudy said. “I presume you thought I was lying about being a student.”

  “I did,” I answered honestly.

  “Well, I did attend the University of Leipzig,” he said. “But that was years ago. These days, I work for the German government.”

  So? I thought, a little annoyed by his dramatics.

  “Why did you have to keep that secret?” I asked. “There are plenty of government officials in first class. President Taft’s military advisor, Archibald Butt, is on board.”

  Rudy’s eyes darted around the squash court, even though we had a heavy steel door guarding us from eavesdroppers. “Because,” he said slowly, “I’m not a government official, John. I’m a spy.”

  My eyes widened in disbelief. “You’ve been spying on Charles?” I asked. No wonder it seemed like he was following me. “Why?”

  “That wasn’t my intention,” Rudy said. “My main interest is in Mr. Gregory, the gallery owner. As I’m sure you know, he’s a smuggler.”

  “I’ve heard rumors that he smuggles art and jewelry,” I said.

  “Yes, that is true. But do you know what he does with the money?”

  “Spends it on women and parties?” I guessed, really having no idea.

  Rudy laughed wryly.

  “Well, yes,” he said. “He is also a major financier of a group in the Balkans…a group that calls itself the Black Hand.”

  “The revolutionary group?” I gasped. “I’ve heard about it at Oberlin! I never would have guessed Anton was linked to it, though. He told us he paid no attention to Serbian affairs.”

  Rudy clucked in disbelief.

  “I’ve been watching Mr. Gregory very closely,” he said. “I’ve especially watched his interactions with Mr. Conkling. I was able to eavesdrop on their conversation in the smoking room while I played cards.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “When Anton sells the necklace, the money will be funneled to his Serbian friends,” Rudy said. “They’ll be one step closer to setting off a continent-wide war in Europe.”

  “Anton’s not getting off the ship with that necklace,” I replied. “I’m going to get it back somehow.”

  Rudy stared at me, awaiting an explanation. I couldn’t offer one—at least not yet.

  “When I have it, I’ll let you know,” I said.

  “I’ll be waiting,” he replied cautiously. “Be very careful about crossing Mr. Gregory. If you need my help, come to me. My cabin is A-14.”

  He shook my hand, indicating that our meeting was over.

  “I’m glad to have earned your friendship, John,” he said. “I work for Germany, but if and when the war breaks out, I plan to take the Americans’ side. I’ve always been fond of your people.”

  I smiled tentatively at him, apprehensive about what was in store for the remainder of the voyage. But no matter what, I was going to get the necklace.

  “I have associates on board,” Rudy said, “other men working for Berlin. I can’t say much more, but I might be sequestered with my associates tomorrow. If you get the necklace, find me.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.

  It was a promise.

  Six

  In the morning the sun shone brightly over the Atlantic. It was Sunday, April fourteenth, 1912. Captain Smith led a church service in the first class dining room. I was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Charles, but we dared not talk to each other.

  It was useless to speak, anyhow, when we could read each other’s minds.

  The Captain led us in the Navy Hymn, the lament of sailors in distress.

  “Oh hear us when we cry to thee, for those in peril on the sea.”

  At least peril on the sea wasn’t on my list of worries. My mind drifted back to Thomas Andrews explaining his unsinkable ship: Even if our worst nightmare came to pass, we’d be able to stay afloat two days, three at the most.

  Just then, one of the wireless operators rushed up to Captain Smith holding a telegram.

  “We got another one, sir,” he said. “This one from the Californian.”

  Captain Smith gave it a cursory glance and shrugged before handing it back to the wireless operator.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bride. Make sure to warn the bridge,” he said. He turned back to me and Mother.

  “Iceberg warnings,” he explained. “They’re quite common on this route during the spring.”

  “Will it be slowing us down?” Mother asked, frowning. “The trip has been lovely, but I’m eager to get home.”

  “Certainly not,” Smith replied confidently. “We’re making excellent time. In fact, Mr. Ismay, the president of the White Star Line, just requested that we increase our speed.”

  I saw Bruce Ismay every night in the dining room. He was a Brit with an ego proportionate to the size of the Titanic. It was like him to order us full speed ahead through the ice fields, probably hoping to set a record of some sort.

  But I wasn’t concerned about ice now. I knew time—and Charles—was working against me. I had to get the necklace before it was too late.

  As evening approached, I went to the purser’s office on C-Deck. The head purser, a British man named Mr. McElroy, was standing at the window.

  “Hello, can I help you?” McElroy inquired.

  “I need someone’s cabin number,” I said.

  “Certainly. Do you know the party’s name?”

  “Gregory. Anton Gregory.”

  “Ah, the gallery owner,” McElroy said. He rifled through the passenger list that sat on his desk.

  “As it happens, Mr. Gregory is on this deck,” he said. “Cabin C-22.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Dinner would be served soon. I wondered if Anton left his room unlocked while he was in the dining room, as many of the first class passengers did, unthreatened by theft from their fellow aristocrats.

  Don’t be crazy, I told myself. He’ll catch you, just like Charles did.

  But I had no choice. I couldn’t comprehend the cowardliness of letting Anton get away with selling the necklace. My real father had taught me better than that.

  * * *

  I noticed some of the first class passengers emerging from their rooms in evening wear, meandering toward D-Deck for the nightly social hour they called supper. I sat in the first class reception room and waited. As soon as I spotted Anton, I’d go back to his stateroom.

  As the clock neared six, I saw Anton at the top of the stairs, black hair slicked back, arm-in-arm with a finely dressed blonde woman. He must have met her on board.

  I moved quietly before Anton could see me.

  C-Deck was empty. Most of the passengers were one deck below, eating dinner in the dining room. This was my only chance.

  I stopped outside of stateroom C-22, checking in both directions to make sure no one was watching me. I heard a slight stir in the room across the hall, then nothing. It was silent.

  I twisted the doorknob. There was no resistance. The door cracked open with ease, allowing me to peer into Anton’s darkened stateroom.

  I stepped inside and flipped the lights on.

  The room, though small compared to my stateroom on B-Deck, seemed overwhelming. The bureau was in perfect order; the luggage was stacked neatly under the bed. Nothing grabbed my attention. There was no indication of where the necklace might be. Where did I look first?

  I opened a drawer. I heard a door slam in the hallway, and the sound was nearly enough to make me jump out of my skin.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I breathed to myself. I tried not to imagine what Anton would do if he caught me.

  Underneath one of Anton’s meticulously pressed shirts, I felt something. A notebook. I pulled it out and held it up to the light.

  I knew exactly what it w
as before I opened it. On the cover was a black palm print against a white backdrop. The Black Hand, I thought, my heart pounding. This was the group of Serbian nationalists Anton was funding!

  I flipped through it. Inside were pages and pages of names, addresses, and notes. Some of the notes were scrawled in a Slavic language. I had in my hands the membership list of a dangerous secret society.

  I slipped the notebook into my pocket, feeling time tick away. I rummaged through the empty luggage, taking great pains to put everything back in its place.

  I have to find that necklace before dinner ends! I thought, silently panicking.

  Then I spotted something on Anton’s dresser. It was a colorfully painted Russian nesting doll, the kind they’d sell at the World’s Fair. It was also an unremarkable item, one that wouldn’t catch the eye of a curious steward. It was a perfect hiding place.

  I picked it up. As I suspected, something was inside…and it wasn’t more wooden dolls. I heard a heavy thud as something rolled from side to side.

  In one swift motion, I cracked open the doll and dropped the precious string of diamonds into my hand. My palms were so sweaty I nearly lost my grip.

  I thought of what Charles had said to Mr. Rathbone: Anton will sell the necklace for me. In the event the truth about the steel ever surfaces and Lake Erie Steel is ruined, I have insurance.

  “Not anymore, you slimy old man,” I said to myself with a triumphant smile. And with that, I flipped off the lights and eased Anton’s door closed, leaving the stateroom exactly as I’d found it.

  * * *

  Now I had to go and find Rudy. I’d committed his cabin number to my memory: A-14. I would give him Anton’s notebook, figuring he had more use for it than I did.

  My other dilemma was what to do with the necklace. It was vital to keep it out of Charles’ hands, even though he’d find out sooner or later that I had stolen it back from Anton’s room.

  I found Rudy’s stateroom just as dinner was ending.

  “Rudy,” I called, rapping on the door. “It’s John Conkling.”

  I heard my knocks echoing inside the cabin. Although I was almost certain no one was inside, I tried again anyway out of desperation. I had to relieve myself of the notebook before Anton realized it was missing.