Taking the Titanic Read online

  I stopped and turned to her. “What are you talking about?”

  She gave a snide laugh.

  “Just tell Mrs. Bowen,” she said with sarcastic emphasis, “that I expect her the very first thing in the morning. Tell her it regards our mutual friend ‘Molly.’”

  At that, Mrs. Sedgwick turned and vanished into the crowd of excited nannies and ladies’ maids cluttering the passage. I didn’t have time to try to sort out her meaning and so, irritated and perplexed, I pushed my way through the crowd and hurried down another deck.

  As I entered a second-class cabin area, I saw a chubby steward addressing a small crowd of passengers in the hallway. Most were clad in robes and bedclothes; their looks ranged from sleepy to worried to irritated.

  “There’s absolutely nothing to be alarmed about, ladies and gents. Standard ship maintenance is all,” he was saying, sounding quite unconcerned and cheerful, perhaps even enjoying his moment of commanding the troops. “Please go back to your cabins. And a very good night to you all!”

  As he smiled broadly, another steward hastily made his way over and whispered something to him. I thought the hefty steward paled a little.

  “Er…then again, it seems the captain is being extra cautious,” he blustered to the crowd. “This is purely routine, mind you, but all passengers are being asked, well, to put on the lifebelts that can found in all cabins—”

  The assembled either gasped in fear or groaned at the inconvenience.

  As I continued on my way toward steerage, I wondered if there was any real possibility of the ship being in danger. I looked up to see two junior officers rushing by.

  “—and he said the watertight doors were all closed,” one whispered urgently.

  “Yes, but the tear extends past more than one compartment and—”

  Glancing over, the officer saw my startled expression. He grabbed his companion’s arm and hurried him farther along out of my hearing.

  A tear in the Titanic’s hull? At our first dinner the officer had told us that the steel plates were almost two inches thick—how was a tear even conceivable? Was the ship to be stranded in the middle of the ocean? My mind raced over the possibilities. Surely something like this would cause Remy to release the child, I reasoned. Then again, I doubted there could be any reasoning with that fiend—or with Celia.

  Continuing on my way down into the bowels of the ship, I couldn’t help but reflect that Celia’s true identity had been discovered by Mrs. Sedgwick…and the older woman was quite obviously blackmailing Celia, shocking as the act was for a woman of her social rank. How long had the extortion been going on? I recalled the older woman’s pointed questions to Celia our first night out. Did she know immediately? Why hadn’t Celia told me? How much was the old bitch demanding?

  I angrily shook my head free of these thoughts. None of this was my concern. Celia had betrayed me and broken our agreement; I would be glad to see her exposed. Sedgwick surely knew that Celia’s freedom was at stake and was bound to demand a hefty price to keep quiet, an amount Celia couldn’t possibly meet unless—unless—

  Unless she helped Remy in his kidnapping plot.

  I stumbled against the passage wall in the middle of F Deck. For a moment I thought it was because my mind was reeling from thoughts of Celia and her perhaps unwitting involvement in the despicable kidnapping plot. But I suddenly realized that my balance had been thrown because the passage had taken on a noticeable decline toward the front of the ship—and was listing heavily to the starboard side.

  The steepness of the angle was such that it could mean only one astonishing thing.

  The Titanic was sinking.

  Chapter 25

  Celia Bowen

  Atlantic Ocean

  Monday, April 15, 1912, 1:00 AM

  “Let us out—let us out—LET US OUT!”

  We both paused to listen for a moment, then Arthur again started kicking the door. He struck at it repeatedly, and the whole time he kept glancing up at me, amazed that I was letting him get away with such blatant misbehavior. I didn’t understand how the noise we were making couldn’t be heard on the outside. Earlier there had seemed to be some kind of commotion going on farther down the passage. I guessed it had something to do with the curious rumbling we had heard and the fact that the ship had inexplicably stopped. But since then, all had been silent.

  Luckily, Arthur seemed to find the situation a great adventure and had pointed out several times that this was the latest he’d ever stayed up. I tried to pretend that we had been accidentally locked in the postal hold, that this was a game of hide-and-seek and that the other players had simply gotten lost while looking for us. But after thirty minutes or so, Arthur started asking for his mother. I then changed the game to Who Can Yell the Loudest? but with no success at attracting attention from the outside.

  I knew Gerard had demanded that the Vogels drop off the money at 1:00 a.m., so I told myself that he would be releasing us soon after. Even his vile presence would be welcome after such a long time in the dark, stuffy mail cargo hold. There seemed to be only one electric ceiling light, and without windows it was difficult to see beyond the shadowy stacks of mailbags that seemed to go on forever, one piled on top of another. I was about to explore again to see if there was something I could use to pound on the door when it suddenly clicked open.

  Though the hulking figure standing there was backlit by the outside passage light, I knew immediately that it was Basil. He stepped into the room and locked the door behind him.

  “My dog isn’t in here,” Arthur said angrily to him. “You’re a big fat liar!”

  “Here now, that’s no way to talk to your old pal, is it, sonny?” Basil said in a strained attempt at sounding friendly. He worked his mouth into something resembling a smile, but the look he shot my way was pure contempt. “If anyone here is a liar, it’s the lady. She’s gone and broken her promises to her friends. That’s not right, is it, sonny?”

  Arthur looked back and forth at us in bewilderment, clearly not used to an adult asking him to weigh in on the actions of another. I stepped forward.

  “Please, Bas—”

  “Don’t use my name in front of him, you bloody fool!” he hissed at me. He then tried again to assume a smile for Arthur’s benefit. He took the boy’s shoulder and continued on in a paternal voice. “See, she’s not been playing by the rules. And bad things can happen to such ladies. Why, just look at what happened to my dear friend…Miss Liselle.”

  Basil pointedly looked at me and I had to stifle a gasp. In a flash I realized what should have been plainly obvious to me all along: Basil had murdered this young woman, Liselle, after she double-crossed Remy—and he’d framed Nigel in the process. The police were after Nigel and he knew it—why hadn’t he told me? We had kept so much from each other—and all it had achieved was to increase the danger of our circumstances.

  I backed away from Basil, though there were only a few feet of space I could move in. The fact that he had revealed this information left no doubt as to his intentions for me. But I was desperate to save the child. I quickly scanned the room again—if only there was something I could use as a weapon!

  Then it dawned on me.

  I just needed to get Arthur away from Basil’s side. I slowly took a step toward the large man.

  “But we like changing rules, don’t we, Arthur?” I asked with a wry smile, never taking my eyes off of Basil’s. “It makes games so much more fun.”

  I continued toward Basil until I was directly in front of him, my chest slightly pressed against his. “It makes things more…thrilling.”

  Basil stared at me with a mix of confusion, fury, and something else. And that something else was just what I was hoping for. I had always suspected that despite his brutal demeanor, Basil was deeply conflicted about women, perhaps even a little afraid of them.

  “Let’s play a new game of hide-and-seek, Arthur,” I said with a quick glance down at the boy. “You go hide…but this time the gentlema
n and I will turn out the light and will have to look for you in the dark!”

  I reached up and lightly drew my finger across Basil’s lips. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “It could take a very long time…in total darkness.”

  Basil’s whole body seemed to tremble and small beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. He narrowed his eyes menacingly at me, but an involuntary gulp gave away his discomfort. I continued trailing my fingertips over his lips, then slowly drew them across his cheek to his ear. I caressed his lobe softly. Basil glanced down at Arthur, then at the electric light switch on the wall. He hesitated, then slowly reached his arm out toward the switch. I saw that his hand was shaking slightly. He hesitated again and that’s when I screamed, “Run, Arthur!”

  The child darted forward and I quickly reached up behind Basil’s head for one of the mailbags that were stacked directly above him. Grasping the heavy canvas tote, I yanked it down with all my might. The extraordinary weight of the bag fell directly on Basil’s right shoulder, knocking him sideways to the ground. He barked out in rage but I swiftly kicked him in the midsection—again and then again. I was astonished at my own savagery. Basil doubled over in pain but still swung his arms out at my legs. He had apparently been holding the keys the entire time as they flew across the room when he thrashed about.

  “Get the keys, Arthur!” I cried.

  But the poor little boy just stood there, wide-eyed and stupefied. I flung myself forward and pulled down two more mailbags. They landed heavily on Basil, pinning him to the ground, though I knew it would only be for a moment. I wildly looked about for the keys and saw them glinting just under a wheeled mail bin. I dove at them and took hold of Arthur.

  As I pulled him to the door, Basil shot a hand out and grabbed my ankle. I kicked blindly at him while fumbling with the keys. I couldn’t get the first one in the slot, so I grappled with the second. It slid into the lock as if pulled by a magnet.

  I tugged the door open and pushed Arthur out into the passage. Basil retained his grip on my ankle even as I shut the door on his wrist. The pain eventually made him release my leg, but he then grasped the edge of the door, refusing to let it close even as I pressed so hard that his fingers were surely smashed.

  Finally he had to give up and pulled in his wounded paw. I slammed the door and locked it. After a moment’s hesitation, I left the key in the lock. I then pulled Arthur up into my arms and started running down the passageway.

  I was so panicked, I barely even noticed that—inexplicably—I seemed to be running downhill.

  Chapter 26

  Celia Bowen

  Atlantic Ocean

  Monday, April 15, 1912, 1:15 AM

  I had no real idea where I was headed—I wanted only to get as far from Basil as possible. At the end of the corridor I nearly collided with a group of uniformed men who were barreling toward the mail compartment.

  “Please! You must help me,” I cried out. The men wore expressions of intense concern and barely glanced at me as they rushed by.

  “Sorry, no time, miss,” the youngest one said while the others were speaking over each other.

  “—but it will be impossible to get all the mail bags on deck!” one of them breathlessly shouted after the two in front. The oldest man, who I took to be some sort of senior official, barked back, “We’ll get the Priority Mail—the rest will have to be abandoned!”

  What on earth was going on? They were headed directly to the mail hold so I knew Basil would be released in seconds. Grabbing Arthur, I quickly guided us down an empty corridor and then into another that turned out to be a dead end. Doubling back and taking the next short corridor, we suddenly came into a larger hallway that was overflowing with people.

  They were all steerage passengers, and by their unusual dress and the variety of accents I heard, I guessed most to be foreign. Many were simply standing in the passage looking confused or even bored, though two young men were laughing and tossing a lifebelt back and forth. But just as many men and women were clutching their children and—bizarrely—their luggage. They were moving uncertainly up the passage in the opposite direction Arthur and I were headed. The excitement in the air made me wonder if word had spread about the kidnapping and perhaps a general alert had gone out to the other parents aboard.

  I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should continue on alone toward the front of the ship or fall in with the crowd and risk running directly into Basil. Suddenly, a gray-haired middle-aged woman stopped in front of me and shook my arm.

  “Bitte, take my child up!” she cried in a heavy German accent. I stared at her, perplexed, as she had no child. She shook her head in frustration and pointed at Arthur. “Take my child up! Bitte!”

  I suddenly realized she was using the wrong pronoun and had meant to say “your child.”

  “Why?” I asked. “What is happening?”

  “The ship is down!” she said urgently, while pointing her finger at the floor. Suddenly an older man approached. He took her elbow and tried to pull her away. They argued fiercely in German until the woman finally gave in and motioned frantically for me to join them in going up the passage.

  I looked out over the crowd—and there was Basil, pushing and shoving his way directly toward us.

  “I’m tired,” Arthur said, on the verge of tears. “I want my mother now.”

  “She’s this way, Arthur!”

  I pulled the whimpering boy in the opposite direction of Basil and we darted down a long, eerily deserted side passage. We ran for what seemed like half the ship’s length. Then I paused as I noticed that in addition to the downhill slant of the corridor there was now a pronounced shift to the right. I scarcely had time to consider what it all meant when my foot suddenly splashed through water.

  I looked down and saw that there was a shallow pool at our feet—and I quickly felt that it was ice cold. With horror, I realized it was seawater.

  Was it possible? Surely the ship wasn’t in serious danger, I told myself. Everyone knew the Titanic had been declared unsinkable.

  But the water was rising at an alarming rate; it almost immediately went past our ankles to our shins.

  “Why is there water, miss?” Arthur asked with worried curiosity.

  “A—a pipe,” I stuttered, trying for calm. “A pipe must have broken. We’ll go to your mother the other way.”

  We turned around but just as we did, I heard a bursting sound from behind and something began roaring up the passage. I tried to push Arthur to run but a hill of water instantly engulfed us and knocked us both face forward. We gasped at the cold, and I struggled to stand so I could pull the boy up. But before I could, someone reached out and grabbed Arthur by the neck of his jacket—Basil.

  He lifted the panicked child and went to use his other hand to strike me—but that one was dripping blood and several fingers hung at strange angles. Instead, he spat at me and pulled Arthur away.

  The lights in the hallway started to flicker and it seemed that the entire area would be flooded in minutes. I lunged wildly at Basil and, reaching out in desperation, I seized his broken hand. He yelped at the mere touch, and though it was agony for me to do it, I squeezed his hand hard, as cruelly as Gerard had crushed mine.

  “Bloody bitch!” Basil cursed. In his pain, he toppled over into the water and inadvertently released the child.

  I shoved Arthur forward into what had become a strong current. Basil furiously splashed about behind us, trying to get up using his one good hand. With the water already almost at my waist, I took hold of a side rail and pulled Arthur and I to an intersecting passage. Doing a sort of running swim, we made it across the corridor just as a new influx of water poured in from the other direction. The two raging streams slapped together, creating a shifting swirl of currents. I turned to see Basil caught up in it; despite his great strength, he was knocked backward. He again struggled to get up but the water was now surging from seemingly every direction, creating a gurgling whirlpool directly around him. Suddenly—and
with startling quickness—the vortex sucked him under.

  He never came up.

  I moved Arthur to my shoulders, and as he clasped his arms around my neck, I swam toward the staircase at the end of the passage.

  Chapter 27

  Celia Bowen

  Atlantic Ocean

  Monday, April 15, 1912, 1:30 AM

  Despite the loud rush of the water I could hear panicked voices and much running and stomping on the passage above us. I tried to scream, but my lungs were seized up from the cold. As I painfully pulled and swam toward the staircase, Arthur kicked his little legs in an effort to help. The water jostled about suddenly and the movement lifted us up—just enough so that I was able to cling to the staircase rail. I slowly pulled us forward until my feet finally touched on the stairs beneath the water.

  I climbed up as through quicksand, almost weeping with relief and gratitude when I finally stepped out of the water and onto the passage. All sorts of people—stewards, officers, cooks, mothers and their children—were rushing by. Some were terrified and crying, others seemed strangely excited. Though all about us was chaos, I was dimly aware of romantic music being played by a far-off orchestra.

  I swung the thoroughly soaked Arthur forward off my shoulders—directly into Gerard’s waiting arms.

  He’d appeared out of nowhere.

  Gerard wrapped a blanket around Arthur almost tenderly. Any one of the alarmed passengers and crew rushing past might have thought he was the boy’s concerned father.

  “What’s happening?” I cried. “Is the ship really sinking?”

  He adjusted the blanket around the freezing child on his hip and gently patted his back. Arthur stared at him with blank confusion.