The Glass Ocean

  There seemed to be more enthusiasm than talent, and Caroline would have enjoyed the performances more if she hadn’t been eyeing the group for a glimpse of Robert, or a potential blackmailer, assuming she’d be able to ascertain such a thing just by looking through a crowd. Gilbert seemed nervous, too, either because he was picking up on her own uneasiness, or because there was something else. Something else, indeed. Several times when she glanced at him, she saw him watching the entrance leading to the main staircase as if he were expecting to see someone.

  Exuberant applause followed an elderly man’s rendition of “Down by the Old Mill Stream,” owing, Caroline suspected, to the copious drinks generously being served by the waitstaff. She looked down again at her program, relieved to see they were at the intermission. She counted how many more performances until the end of the concert, the last two items being the obligatory “God Save the King” followed by “My Country, ’Tis of Thee.” Same tune, two vastly different sets of lyrics. At least another hour then. She wasn’t sure she could stand it.

  Caroline had planned to excuse herself at the intermission and pretend to head toward the ladies’ room, intent on finding Robert. But before she could stand, Captain William Turner appeared in the center of the room, resplendent in his navy dress uniform, and asked for everyone’s attention.

  The room quieted, faces directed toward the man who’d done little to ingratiate himself with his passengers but who still garnered the attention and respect due a captain of such a vessel as Lusitania.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I just want to offer a brief statement to address a few concerns you might be having. As many of you are aware, we are entering a war zone, where it is acknowledged German U-boats may be lying in wait for enemy ships. I want you all to put your worries at rest, and reassure you that we are taking every precaution on board the ship and will also soon be securely in the embrace of a Royal Navy escort.” He gave the audience a perfunctory smile. “Thank you for your attention. Enjoy the rest of the concert.” He walked quickly from the room, as if eager to escape further questions.

  Caroline stood, desperate now to find Robert, but felt someone pulling on her elbow. She turned to find Margery Schuyler, wearing the sort of expression one might find in a painting of a martyr being burned alive. “We are first following the intermission and should settle ourselves at the piano now so we are not rushed. You might wish to do a few finger exercises to make sure they’re better able to hit the correct notes.”

  She started to protest, but Gilbert stood, too, and greeted Margery. “You are absolutely right, Miss Schuyler. I will leave my wife in your good hands while I step out for a moment. Not to worry, I won’t want to miss a minute of your performance.”

  He bowed to them both and was already walking toward the exit before Caroline realized she was trapped. She sat down at the piano and adjusted the bench, spreading out the music that had been placed there earlier, and began to play.

  Her playing was no better than it had been at practice, distracted as she was by the blackmailer’s promise to meet her after the concert, her aborted need to speak with Robert, and Gilbert’s continued absence from the room. Matters certainly weren’t improved by the finger jabs on the back of Caroline’s shoulders each time she missed a note.

  She was near weeping with relief when they got to the end of the piece, but the surprisingly loud clapping and calls for “Encore! Encore!”—surely they were only being made in jest?—thwarted her request to excuse herself. Despite having made three steps away from the piano, she was pulled back and forced to sit while Margery flipped through several pieces of sheet music that she assumed would suffice for an encore.

  From the corner of her eye, Caroline spotted Patrick, his face expressionless but walking with purpose, an unmistakable telegram clasped in one hand, approaching a man hidden in a corner. She hid a gasp as Robert stepped forward to take it. But she could not hide her surprise at seeing Gilbert appear at Robert’s side and the two acknowledge each other before, as if in mutual accord, they left the room together.

  She tried to stand, but Margery’s strong hands on her shoulders pushed her back down. “Play,” the older woman hissed. And, because Caroline knew there was nothing else she could do, she played. Perfectly, this time, her brain finally being allowed to escape to the place Caroline went to in her music, a place where she could ignore the realities of her world, even when it appeared that world was about to explode as so much dry timber at the mercy of a single match.

  Chapter 21

  Tess

  At Sea

  Thursday, May 6, 1915

  The Germans wouldn’t really send the Lusitania up in flames, all to keep the English from getting that formula. Would they?

  And Ginny wouldn’t cut Tess out, not like that.

  The night was chill and Tess’s hands were even colder, but she made no move to go inside. She’d escaped from supper as quickly as she could and come up here, to the Saloon Deck, where the air might be no clearer, but at least she could think in peace.

  Along the sides of the boat, the crew labored silently, tacking dark cloth over porthole windows. In a matter of hours, they would be making their way into the North Sea, into the territory where U-boats lurked beneath the surface, ready to strike. A group of first-class passengers was practicing getting into the new Boddy life vests, debating over the arrangement of the straps, punctuating the exercise with the odd raucous joke. The wine had been flowing freely at the first-class tables.

  By the rail, couples stood arm in arm, making the most of their second-to-last night on shipboard, lavishing whispered “darlings” on each other, the lifeboats dangling conspicuously in front of them adding piquancy to their lovemaking. Friends giggled and shared secrets. From the grand saloon came intermittent bursts of music and applause.

  Tess passed by it all, past the lovers, past the confidantes, past the lighted windows that one by one were being darkened. She had never, in all her born days, felt quite so alone.

  There was a whist drive in the second-class lounge, but Tess had never learned to play cards for pleasure, only for profit. She couldn’t see herself sitting there, making conversation with Mary Kate, pretending an interest in the cards.

  We’re all we’ve got. That’s what Ginny had told her time and again. You and me against the world, Tennie.

  But now it was Ginny against the world and Tess on the other side of it.

  Was this how Ginny had felt when Tess had told her that she wanted out?

  No. No, it wasn’t like that. Ginny knew that Tess would rather they stay together—whether it was keeping a tearoom or painting pictures on shells or taking a course in nursing. It was only the cheating she wanted out of. Yes, she might have proclaimed her independence to Ginny, but it had been an independence predicated on Ginny being there all the same. She had assumed that Ginny would come with her, would be part of her new life in England. If not a large part, at least a “pop in from time to time and send a postcard” part.

  But Ginny, if Ginny was telling the truth, had taken on a dangerous job without telling Tess. They didn’t do dangerous. That had been part of the arrangement from the beginning. Just forgery. Just substitutions. Nothing to hurt, nothing with any repercussions.

  Nothing like this.

  Ginny was just angry, that was all. She was lashing out. People did that when they were hurt. The idea that her sister would repudiate her, would walk away like that—no. She got heated up, Ginny. She didn’t take kindly to being crossed. But they were sisters. And whatever scheme Ginny was messed up in, surely it couldn’t be so bad that they couldn’t get out of it with a little ingenuity. Together.

  But the thoughts felt as hollow as Tess’s footsteps on the boards of the deck. The Atlantic stretched out in front of her, dark and cold, with no sign of a shore. She could lie to herself all she liked; for all intents and purposes, she was alone, unsure who or what to trust. And there was no denying that Ginny was scared, scared in a way Tess had
never seen before.

  Scared enough to close Tess out to save her?

  Alone in the dark, Tess found herself gravitating to the lights of the first-class lounge, like a child in a threadbare coat pressing her nose against an expensive toy store window, yearning for a Paris doll when she couldn’t afford bread. Some clever soul had placed windows all around so that the hoi polloi might feast themselves on the sight of their betters—carefully separated by glass, of course. The stained glass skylights set into the ceiling cast a warm light down on the polished mahogany of the walls, the green marble of the great fireplace. Everything seemed to glow: satin gowns, white silk scarves, jewels, carefully washed and coiffured hair. It was an embarrassment of richness, and, at the center of it, the grand piano, where a performance was just ending.

  The room exploded into applause and cries of “Encore!”

  Tess knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help it. She moved closer to the glass, a shadow among shadows. And there, sure enough, was Caroline Hochstetter sitting at the piano bench, poised and self-contained, rubies at her ears and throat, her ivory silk gown managing to be both refined and alluring. The woman standing beside her acknowledged the plaudits with a series of elaborate bows that would put any opera house diva to shame, but not Caroline Hochstetter. She inclined her head a fraction, but otherwise made no sign, accepting the accolades as her due, unworthy even of comment.

  Would the moon acknowledge the frantic movements of the tides? Some people, thought Tess, were so comfortable in their own sphere they didn’t even need to try. They simply exerted magnetic power. And maybe it was that lack of trying that was the most attractive thing of all.

  All very well if you were born with rubies.

  Tess was about to turn away—what was the point of crying over the moon?—when she noticed a minor flutter at the side of the room. Gilbert Hochstetter had risen from his seat. And so had Robert. The two men moved quietly toward the exit, not looking at each other, not talking. Tess wondered, momentarily, madly, if they meant to duel for their lady’s honor, like something out of a film at the cinema.

  It was an absurd thought—pistols on the Saloon Deck? vengeance at ten paces, with the loser to take to a lifeboat?—but something about the tension between the two men made Tess follow them all the same. The shadows were her friend in this. The men’s eyes must still be dazzled by the bright light of the saloon. But it wasn’t just that. Tess doubted they would have been aware of her if she had been wearing clogs and playing a tuba.

  At first, Tess thought they meant to go into the gentlemen’s smoking room. And wouldn’t that be just like men, to smoke cigars over their rivalry? But they didn’t. Instead, they stopped a little short of the closed doors to the gentlemen’s lounge, in the lee of one of the great funnels. Tess ducked back, her dark skirt and jacket blending with the shadows.

  It was Hochstetter who spoke first. “We need to speak frankly.”

  Robert made an involuntary movement, something like a fencer’s defensive stance.

  Gilbert Hochstetter’s lips twisted in a grim smile. “No, not about that. It’s about the plans.”

  Robert blinked at him. “The . . . plans?”

  Tess didn’t miss the way his eyes darted first one way, then another, as though checking for eavesdroppers, instantly on alert. Alert because he knew.

  The plans. Tess could picture the safe in the Hochstetter suite, the waltz that was more than just a waltz.

  Oh Lord. They’d been rumbled. Somehow, Hochstetter had found out. Tess’s mind raced, tumbling through a dozen dodges. A diversion, perhaps. She could stumble into Hochstetter as if by accident while Robert made a run for it. But where? Where could he run? This wasn’t Topeka, where they could jump on board the next train out and thumb their nose at pursuers.

  Hochstetter drew a cigar from his pocket, turning it around and around in his hand. He had large hands, square and capable. “There’s no need to pretend. I was told from the first that you were my contact.”

  Contact. Tess froze. Contact? But Robert had said—

  What had he said, really? Nothing definite. Just that his father was a big mucky-muck in government. That he was meant to be doing something for the war effort.

  Oh Lordy.

  “You were told,” said Robert, with deceptive mildness, but Tess could hear the tension beneath it. “It would have been nice if someone had informed me. I’ve been searching this ruddy ship for days, trying to find the man and the documents I’m meant to guard.”

  It took Hochstetter a moment to reply. He stared down at the cigar, unseeing. “I was meant to approach you sooner. But—”

  The cigar cracked in Hochstetter’s hand. He looked down at it as though he had forgotten it was there.

  Robert drew in a deep breath. “But.”

  “Be that as it may.” Hochstetter tossed the broken pieces of cigar over the rail, the movement hiding his face. Straightening, he brushed tobacco crumbs from his hands, saying briskly, “That’s beside the point. It was unconscionable of me to allow my feelings to get in the way.”

  “Understandable,” said Robert. His face was in shadow, unreadable. “Not unconscionable.”

  “Don’t pretend to sympathize.” Hochstetter’s voice cracked like a lash. With an effort, he forced something resembling a smile. “Or I may have to strike you. And then we’ll be back where we began.”

  It wasn’t quite a joke and they both knew it. Tess watched as Robert weighed Hochstetter’s words and then said, slowly, “Right. Do you have them?”

  “I do.” There was an expectant silence. Hochstetter let Robert wait before adding, “In my head.”

  “But I’d thought—”

  “There was a coded paper?” Tess could hear the amusement in Hochstetter’s voice. He was a man, she suspected, used to having the upper hand, used to doing whatever he needed to do to maintain it.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what we wanted them to think. A nice diversion in case someone was on the trail.” He didn’t need to point out that Robert had fallen for it, too. Waiting for that to sink in, Hochstetter added, “And a means to smoke out any traitors along the way.”

  “But the formula . . .”

  “I have what they call an eidetic memory. I can reproduce anything I’ve seen.”

  “I see,” said Robert. “Or rather, I don’t. I can’t very well put you in my pocket and haul you ashore.”

  “If all goes well, you won’t need to. I’ll make my way to the Admiralty on my own. But just in case . . . These preparations give a man pause.” The smoking room windows had already been veiled in dark cloth. The two men contemplated that in silence for a moment, before Mr. Hochstetter said, “Do you have something to write on? The more innocuous, the better.”

  Robert fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, producing a torn envelope. “Is this innocuous enough?”

  “It will do.” Stepping closer, Mr. Hochstetter murmured something to Robert, pausing so that Robert might transcribe it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t long. Strain though she might, Tess couldn’t make out much at all, and what she could sounded like gibberish.

  But it seemed to make sense to Robert, who paused with his pencil suspended over the envelope. “Is that all?”

  “It’s enough,” said Mr. Hochstetter grimly. “It’s enough to have the governments of two countries in a lather. You’ll keep it safe?”

  Robert clapped a hand over his pocket. “It won’t leave my body.”

  “No?” There was an ironic note in Mr. Hochstetter’s voice.

  Even in the dim light, Tess could see the color deepen in Robert’s cheeks. “I am sorry—for any complications I caused.”

  “But not for loving her?” Mr. Hochstetter gave a short, mirthless laugh. He reminded Tess of a lion she had seen once in a traveling show, caged, cornered, but still king of the jungle for all that, majestic in defeat. She knew how he felt; her own heart felt rough as sandpaper, every overheard word an agony. Idiot, she told hersel
f. Idiot. Of course she’d believed the worst of Robert. She’d wanted to believe the worst of Robert. Because then it meant he didn’t love Caroline Hochstetter. That he might, just might, love someone as flawed and twisted as Tess, two rogues together. “It would be easier if I could blame you for that. But, you see, I love her, too. More than she’ll ever know.”

  Quietly, Robert said, “What makes you think I don’t love her more?”

  “You couldn’t.” Mr. Hochstetter took Robert’s hand in a firm grasp and gave it a brisk shake. “Good night, Mr. Langford, and good luck. I trust we shall not have to meet again.”

  Robert inclined his head. “Sir.”

  Mr. Hochstetter departed without looking back, making for the first-class lounge and his wife, leaving Robert staring after him, tobacco crumbs at his feet, and the doom of nations in his pocket.

  Tess should leave now, return to second-class, pretend to play whist. Only a day and a half more. Lie low, her father told her. Not your business. Never mind that her heart was breaking in two; that was her folly. She ought to have known he was never hers to lose. She could slink off into the night, pretend none of this ever was. No kiss. No promise of dinner at the finest hotel in Liverpool.

  But she couldn’t. The horrible reality of it hit her, sharp as the fingernails biting into her palm. She couldn’t just walk away. Because Ginny was in trouble, in danger, and Robert was the closest to a solution she had. He was working for the British. He could protect them—protect Ginny.