“Surely.” It can’t be long before water spills free of the squash court and other rooms on F deck; soon it will be running through this hallway as though it were a river. But above decks, it will take them longer to accept the truth. No doubt the stewards are taking better care of the first-class passengers—but the stubborn will still be slow to see. “Myriam, go up on deck without me. I’ll be right behind you.”
“What are you doing?” Myriam frowns.
“Alec,” I say. “I can’t go until I know he’s safe.”
I run back up the many flights of stairs to first class. (The lifts might still be working, but I’ll be damned if I run the chance of getting trapped in one while on a sinking ship.) Alec has to get off the ship too; he has to be safe. I trust his judgment, and his father’s. They would heed the warnings and move promptly. But I have to know he’s been warned.
Once I hesitate, midstep, recalling George’s exact words: He said they were putting “ladies and children” into the lifeboats. But that was when they thought the sinking only a possibility. Surely the crew will let everyone off the ship, including the men, as soon as they see the real danger.
The only thing that could keep Alec from safety is if he tries to take care of me.
Despite my throbbing head and the dizziness that still washes through me in waves, I redouble my speed. I’ve got to get to Alec, and soon.
When I reach A deck and burst into first class, I stop short in pure astonishment. The scene around me is—almost completely ordinary.
The group clustered in the lounge might be the same genteel gathering from all the nights before, except that people’s dress is more eccentric: Some are in their finest evening clothes, some in nightgowns and robes. Several of them are wearing their life jackets, though others simply have them tucked under an arm and many people still haven’t bothered to find theirs. They’re laughing at one another’s jokes, and even as I look through the lounge to the grand staircase and the entry to the deck—where the lifeboats must surely be—I don’t see a crowd. People are treating this as a lark, nothing more than an interruption in their grand voyage, a good story to tell at parties once they get home. In the distance, perhaps outside or in another lounge area, the band is playing “By the Light of the Silvery Moon.”
Good God. They haven’t even told the rich peoplethis ship is sinking. Do they mean to keep it from us until the water closes over our heads?
As I weave through the group, heading toward the first-class passenger cabins, I spy one familiar figure among the few on deck: Irene.
I run to her. When I go through the doors, I gasp; it’s markedly colder outside than it ever has been before on this voyage. No wonder we hit ice. My wet boots chill so quickly it makes me shake, but I don’t stop running. Nearby, I see a lifeboat being lowered, filled with society ladies in furs and hats—but with so many empty seats they could easily bring their luggage along.
Irene glances away from the spectacle and sees me within moments. “Tess!”
“Miss Irene!” The old honorific slips out. “Thank goodness you’re up here.”
“Mother and Layton said it was a lot of foolishness, but I thought we ought to do as the steward said. Though I’m in no hurry to go down to the sea in one of those tiny boats.” Her hair hangs loose around her face. She’s wearing her sea-green robe with the gold tassels—and, I realize, she’s not on her own. Ned stands a few feet away in his uniform, by her side as always. Probably they came up here mostly to be alone together; it hardly matters as long as they’re within reach of the lifeboats. Irene adds, “Tess, are you certain you’re all right? How did you get so wet?”
“The ship is sinking.” No point in softening the blow. “On the lower decks, the water’s already filling the rooms. I can’t think for the life of me why they haven’t told people the truth flat out, but the next time they load a lifeboat, the two of you had best get inside.”
Irene’s eyes go wide. Ned, I can tell, doesn’t believe me. He says, “How can you be sure?”
I point at my water-stained dress. “I’m sure, Ned! Believe me, you’ll be sure too soon enough.”
“Mother. Baby Bea.” Irene clutches Ned’s arm. “They think it’s nothing, merely a White Star drill. We have to go to them.”
“Of course.” Ned covers her hand with his own, daring for one moment to show what he feels. “We’ll get them safe.”
She turns to me. “Tess, will you come with us? I’m afraid they won’t believe me unless you tell them what you’ve seen.” Behind her, an officer calls for people to fill a lifeboat, but even knowing what she now knows, Irene never looks back, and Ned never looks away from her. “Besides, you need a bandage for your head. I think it’s bleeding.”
Though I’m wild with impatience to reach Alec, the Lisles’ cabin is on the way to his, and besides—it’s for Irene. “Let’s hurry,” I say. “In fact, let’s run.”
Nobody pays us any mind as we tear down the hallways, my waterlogged boots leaving dark marks on the expensive carpets. A few befuddled passengers are stumbling out, including one grande dame in a satin peignoir set and life jacket who has put her tiara on her head for safekeeping. The stewards are telling people, I realize, but politely, rapping on doors and asking if people wouldn’t perhaps mind coming to the deck. That never knocked the fear of God into anybody.
Irene bursts through the door of her family’s cabin, Ned and I in her wake. “Mother! Layton! Come, now, we’ve got to go quickly.”
“Not the lifeboat drill again,” Layton mutters. His voice is still thick, lips swollen from the beating Mikhail gave him. He’s draped across one of the sofas near the fireplace (complete with blazing fire) and has a full brandy snifter in one hand. When he sees me, he sneers, “What, you brought your little partner in crime back for a visit?”
“The Titanicis sinking,” I say to him. “There’s already deep water belowdecks.”
Lady Regina, in her frilly lace nightgown and robe, stares at me with distaste. “Still more lies. Now that you can no longer help Irene steal from the family, you’ve stooped to practical jokes? How pitiful.”
“It’s no joke.” Though it’s difficult to keep my temper, I try for Irene’s sake. “Look at me, would you? I’m half soaked through. Water’s rising fast down in third class.”
Mrs. Horne stands in the far corner of the room, rocking back and forth on her heels. “The water,” she says brokenly. “All that water.” Her nightmare has come true, and she knows it, and it’s frozen her in place as though she were a statue.
“Mother, please.” Irene steps closer, thin hands clasped together. “If there’s any chance of danger, we ought to go up on deck, don’t you think? Better safe than sorry.”
Lady Regina’s scorn only deepens. “To be seen in our nightclothes? Hair uncombed? I knew before this that you had no sense of propriety, Irene, but I thought you understood that your brother and I have higher standards.”
“Besides,” Layton says, “what point is there in it? They can hardly complete the drill. A few unlucky fools will be lowered into the water to catch colds and feel seasick, but there’s no way they can load everyone on. Not enough lifeboats.”
It’s as though I’ve been dunked in the cold floodwaters all over again. “What do you mean? This ship is—it’s enormous, it’s got everything imaginable, surely it has lifeboats for everyone.”
Layton swirls his brandy as though its amber shade were more important than the fate of the Titanic. “Some of the chaps were talking about it over cards the first night. More lifeboats than virtually any other ship on the seas, but they took some of them out to make more room for the private promenade decks. Only sensible, really. And it quite relieves us the need to take part in their safety drill.”
Not enough lifeboats. Not everyone on this ship can be saved.
The feeling that consumes me isn’t fear. It’s worse than that. Fear would be wondering if something terrible might happen. What sickens my gut and thins my pulse
is the knowledge that something terrible will happen. None of us can prevent it.
All I can do is try to save the people I care about.
“Irene, you must go,” I say, and Ned nods in agreement.
She doesn’t budge. “Mother, please! Just for me, just this once, please listen.”
Lady Regina isn’t even looking at her. She’s staring at me. “Your audacity knows no bounds, does it? My daughter may choose to be friendly with you, but this is my cabin, and you’re not welcome here. Leave.”
As if she could still give me orders! For Irene’s sake, I think fast. “All the notables are up on deck. I’m sure I saw Lady Duff Gordon. The Countess of Rothes, too. They’re laughing and telling jokes. This will be the talk of the voyage if—when the ship reaches New York. You don’t want to be left out.”
That sparks her interest. An avaricious gleam lights Lady Regina’s eyes, and I think I’ve saved the worthless members of the Lisle family, not that they’ll ever thank me.
But at that moment, Irene turns to Ned, smiling in relief. The emotion of the moment makes her expression a little too open, her movements a little too free. And Ned brightens to think that she will be safe. Surely they’ve exchanged such glances before, even while the other Lisles were in the room, but not right in front of Lady Regina’s face. Ned realizes the mistake even as I do—even as Lady Regina’s face crumples into a horror too deep for rage.
She’s figured it out.
“You.” Her voice shakes as she rises to her feet, staring straight at Ned. “You ruined my daughter. You’ve taken advantage of her.”
Neither Ned nor Irene can speak. If any of us could come up with some kind of denial or alternate story right this moment, maybe we could convince her, but the moment passes. It’s already too late. She knows what she’s seen. Lady Regina might not be pleasant, but she’s not stupid either.
“Mother, please,” Irene begins, but Lady Regina lifts a hand to silence her. She looks less outraged than hurt, and in the narrow, foolish world of the nobility, it makes sense. Irene’s virginity was a material possession of the family, one she threw away on her brother’s valet.
“A servant? My servant?” Layton’s bruised face contorts in a grimace. “My word, Irene, you might at least have had better taste. Ned, get out. Send your uniform back by ship’s steward.”
“You can’t send him away!” Irene cries, the words torn from her. Lady Regina slaps her face, the sound ugly in the small room.
And then Ned slaps Lady Regina.
As she stares at him, he says, “I don’t like to strike a lady, but if you ever—if you ever lay one hand on Miss Irene again, I won’t be responsible for my actions.” Despite the fat tears rolling down Irene’s cheeks, I can see what it’s meant to her, to have someone, just once, back her up.
On one hand I want to cheer for Ned; on the other, we have bigger problems. “You have to set this aside,” I say. “We have to get to the lifeboats.”
But none of them can hear me any longer. Layton’s on his feet, shouting at Ned for hitting Lady Regina. Lady Regina is screaming at Irene for sleeping with a violent, untrustworthy man. Ned’s telling them what he thinks of them, and he’s got a lot to tell. Irene’s crying and pleading on Ned’s behalf. Mrs. Horne stands like a statue in the corner, useless.
This ship is sinking. There aren’t enough lifeboats. I have to get them up top again—Irene and Ned, if nobody else. What can I do?
It comes to me quick as anything. I dash into Lady Regina’s room, where the crib is kept. I lean over and lift Beatrice out, struggling to balance the heavy, drowsy child against my hip. The dizziness from my injuries sweeps over me again, and my stomach clenches hard. If the situation were any less dire, I’d want to find a doctor around now.
When I walk back into the next room—and the argument, which has only become louder—I shout, “I’m taking Bea to the lifeboats. You have to come too.”
While Ned and Irene look in my direction, Lady Regina simply snaps, “I’ll have you arrested for kidnapping.”
Let her try. I shout, “Ned, Irene, please, come with me!” I want this to end. I have to find Alec. And yet I still can’t abandon them—these people I planned to leave for so long.
Irene still doesn’t move. “I can’t leave Mother and Layton. Ned, you should—go with Tess.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he says quietly. Their eyes meet, and the love between them is so obvious that I can’t believe I never saw it before.
Irene’s kindness has always been her greatest virtue, but now it’s like a stone roped around her neck, weighing her down in rough waters. She is too good to leave her worthless mother and brother, even though it means risking her life. And Ned loves her too much to save himself without her.
Layton snaps, “Charming. I suppose you’ll claim that taking a young girl’s virtue was a chivalrous act too, instead of something you ought to be hanged for.” And the argument begins anew.
My bluff has been called. Frustration brings me close to tears, not least because taking responsibility for Beatrice means it will take me even longer to reach Alec. I want Alec to live even more than I want it for myself, and believe me, I’m in no hurry to die.
But putting Beatrice back means condemning the child to death. I can’t do it.
“I’ll put her on the next lifeboat,” I shout to them all. “You’d best be right behind me.”
Nobody pays any attention—not even Ned and Irene. They’re trapped fighting their own battle now, when they need to be fighting for their lives.
Hoisting little Beatrice on my hip, I storm out through the sitting room. Lady Regina calls, “Get her back here!”
I just keep going; if Lady Regina only follows to chase me down as a kidnapper, at least it will get her, and by extension Irene, closer to the lifeboats. But nobody stops me.
God, the stairs—how many flights have I climbed tonight? And my head still pounds from where Mikhail hit me. Panting, I say, “Bea, wouldn’t you like to walk?”
“No,” she murmurs sleepily against my shoulder. Forget it; she’d only slow us down.
A few people pass me on the stairwell, all going back up to the main boat deck, all of them moving faster than me. Nobody’s laughing now. It must be more than an hour and a half since I heard the iceberg strike the ship; the water must have risen far enough to convince more doubters.
Sure enough, when I return to the boat deck, the scene has changed. Laughter has turned to fear. The band’s still playing (something romantic, almost sweet—maybe “I Wonder Who’s Kissing Her Now”), but it’s not calming anyone down any longer. Fewer people linger in the lounges, and these all seem to be men; the deck is packed, and women are shouting and crying. I realize that not all of my dizziness is entirely a matter of the blow I took to the head; the deck really has tilted underfoot. The front of the ship is lower than the back.
There’s no longer any mistaking that the ship is sinking. I grip Beatrice tighter, prepared to fight my way through the horde—but as soon as I reach the deck, people begin to part and let me pass.
“There’s a woman with a child!” someone shouts. “Bring them forward.” Hands at my back push me closer to a lifeboat, and I’m stunned to realize that all these people are willing to delay their own chance so Beatrice will get aboard.
As I reach the side, just at the bow of the lifeboat, I get a look over the edge and feel dizzy. The surface of the water is much closer than it used to be, but it’s still terrifyingly far. And the lifeboat is so small, packed with perhaps as many as fifty women and children.
The officer holds a hand out. “Come on, love, we’ll get you and the little girl aboard. More room in these things than it looks.” He might be offering me a sandwich at a picnic, save for the tension in his body.
“I can’t—I’ve got to find Alec.” And Irene. And Ned. And Myriam. And the old Norwegian ladies. I can’t leave not knowing how they are. Yet I’ve got to save Bea. I look at the woman in the lifebo
at who is nearest me, a dowager who looks grander and snobbier than Lady Regina does in her fanciest dreams. Any port in a storm: I foist Beatrice on her. “Please, please, take the little girl? Keep her safe?”
The woman looks at me, and it’s as though the world goes silent. When her eyes meet mine, there’s no such thing as her being rich or me being poor. It couldn’t matter less that we’ve not even met. She knows I’m giving her a sacred responsibility, and she accepts it. I feel a shudder down in my soul as I realize that this woman would die before she’d let anything happen to Beatrice.
“I promise,” she says, in a cultured American accent. “I’ll look after her as though she were my own.”
I run a hand over Beatrice’s hair; the little girl’s eyes have begun to well with tears. She knows something’s wrong, just not what. “God bless you, ma’am.”
“And you,” the woman says, just as the officer gives the cry. The lifeboat begins to drop, and for a moment I feel like an idiot not being in it with them. But I know what I have to do.
I shove through the crowd back toward the doors. My balance shifts beneath me, and I stumble—or was that the ship? People cry out, and the mood around us grows yet more desperate. Woozily, I clutch a pole, feeling my exhaustion and my aching head anew. I wish I had more of my strength for this. I wish so many things were different. But I’ve got to keep going. If I stop now, it’s the death of me.
A voice calls above the din, “Tess!”
No matter how badly I’m hurting, no matter how great the clamor around us, there’s no way I could ever fail to recognize that voice. “Alec!”
I peer through the crowd and see him—chestnut curls mussed, a gray overcoat beneath his life jacket, as he pushes his way toward me. Summoning what feels like the last of my strength, I run to him, knocking into people, stumbling over my own numb feet, until I fall into his arms.