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Chapter Fourteen

RMS TITANIC

The hands of the clock on that famous staircase move inexorably towards ten thirty.

Most people retire to their cabins. The more robust men gather in the men’s smoking room, while others head in the direction of the card tables.

I walk through to the first-class lounge and glance outside the windows where the promenade deck is empty of passengers and bitterly cold.

I can’t see anything beyond the deck but darkness.

However, I know that shortly the iceberg will glide by like a large windjammer, its sail white in the starlight, and those on the bridge will hold their breath.

It will seem like a near miss. Indeed, those two men in the crow’s nest will breathe sighs of relief, but not for long.

Beneath the water, the ice will rip a great big hole through the hull and so seal our fate.

Cavill, Josephine and I settle into easy chairs placed around the large marble fireplace.

Mrs Brown and Mr Rowland join us, and a steward takes our orders for drinks.

Cavill suggests that Josephine retire to bed, but I encourage her to stay.

My eyes flick to the clock on the mantlepiece.

In just over an hour, or thereabouts, the ship will hit the iceberg. I need Josephine to stay close to me.

What of Cavill? How will I save him when they will only allow women and children into the lifeboats?

I’ve seen the films. I know what happens.

I’ve watched the crew turning the men away.

How can I leave Cavill to die? What can I do to help him?

Surely, I’m not altering the future any more than I have already altered it, by saving him from dying seventeen years ago.

At least that’s what I tell myself. What harm would it do to save him a second time?

I remain in the chair while Mrs Brown entertains the group with a story about the time she found a goat in her drawing room.

I only half listen. A horrible sense of dread settles upon me like a cold and heavy blanket.

There is nothing I can do now to save Cavill.

It’s too late. The rudder of history is set, and it will not change its course.

Cavill gazes at me with fiercely penetrating eyes. They seem to bore into me, as if searching for my deeper self. But he will never know the truth. He might die tonight, never knowing that the woman he loves is right here beside him. That thought depresses me further.

Mr Rowland is now telling a story of his own.

‘Speaking of goats,’ he says, his lips curling into a smile, anticipating the laughter to come.

‘I know a man who had a pet goat called Rafferty and he allowed him to sleep on a mattress in his bedroom. He awoke one morning to find the goat had climbed onto his bed and placed his head upon the pillow.’

Mrs Brown laughs loudly. ‘Did he mistake it for his wife?’

Cavill laughs then. It’s too ridiculous, but it breaks the tension between us and I can’t help but chuckle in spite of my misery. ‘Good Lord, Mrs Brown,’ Cavill exclaims. ‘I would hope there was enough of a difference to tell them apart!’

I notice Josephine has dozed off in her chair. Her head is resting gently on her shoulder and she’s breathing softly. Cavill rattles the ice in his whisky glass.

Emboldened now, Mr Rowland embarks on another anecdote.

A waiter leaving the room drops a teacup and the clatter of it hitting the floor makes me jump.

Josephine doesn’t stir, but Cavill leans forwards in his chair.

‘Are you all right, Miss Fleet?’ he asks in a low voice, while Mr Rowland continues, oblivious. ‘You seem nervous.’

‘I have a sense that something terrible is going to happen,’ I whisper. I want to say more. I want him to know that I love him, that I always will.

Cavill looks puzzled. ‘You know you have nothing to worry about, Miss Fleet.’ He smiles bashfully. ‘If I can be so candid, you make me a little nervous, too—’

Before I can reply, the subtlest sensation of a jolt causes the Titanic to shudder, like a shiver rippling through it.

I’m surprised that something so devastating begins with a barely perceptible bump.

The ice in Cavill’s whisky glass trembles.

He stares into it and frowns. I look up at the clock; it’s 11. 40 p.m.

And so it begins.

Josephine wakes up suddenly. ‘What was that?’ she asks. Her eyes dart to her father. ‘Papa?’

Mrs Brown has barely noticed. ‘Mr Rowland, what did the poor woman do with the pig?’ Mr Rowland hesitates a beat, as if sensing something is amiss, but then continues with his story.

Just then a man runs into the lounge cradling a large chunk of ice. ‘Look at this!’ he exclaims gleefully, cheeks pink with cold. ‘There are loads of it on deck. We missed an iceberg by a foot! A foot, I tell you!’

Cavill turns to me. ‘It was likely just a scrape. There’s nothing to worry about. Captain Smith is a seasoned mariner. He will be aware of icebergs and avoid them.’

‘We didn’t miss it.’ I stand up. ‘We need to go and put on lifejackets.’ My voice is quivering with fear.

‘My dear Connie, aren’t you being a little over-dramatic?’ says Mrs Brown.

‘I don’t think one can ever be too cautious,’ I reply.

Mr Rowland gets to his feet, eager to be of service. ‘Allow me to find one for you, Miss Fleet.’

‘Thank you, Mr Rowland, but I must go and find my maid. Josephine, you come with me.’

I can tell from the expression on Cavill’s face that he thinks I’m overreacting. But he doesn’t know what I know. None of them do.

I leave the room with Josephine, leaving Cavill staring after me in bewilderment.

Right now, there is no indication that the ship has hit an iceberg, merely scraped one.

No crew members are telling people to put on lifejackets.

Passengers are still sleeping soundly in their beds and the boat powers on.

They are unaware of the seriousness of what has just happened.

Of the chaos to come. I wonder as I hurry down the corridor to my cabin whether I will see Cavill again.

Ruby is waiting for me in my bedroom as instructed. She’s surprised to see Josephine with me. ‘Is everything all right, ma’am?’ she asks, wringing her hands anxiously.

‘No. Everything is far from all right,’ I reply. ‘You must come with us.’

She looks alarmed. ‘Did you feel the ship judder?’ she asks. ‘Is that what this is about? Has something happened?’

I’m about to answer her when the ship goes quiet. The continuous vibration that has accompanied us throughout the voyage has stopped. They have turned off the engines.

Ruby’s eyes jump from Josephine to me. ‘What’s going on?’

‘We need to wrap up,’ I tell them. ‘It’s going to be freezing cold on deck. Take anything of mine, Ruby, to keep you warm. You too, Josephine.’

Ruby hesitates. She’s wondering whether I’m overreacting. She might even suspect I’ve had too much to drink. ‘Can’t we stay inside?’ she asks in a small voice.

‘No. We’re all going to have to go on deck. The lucky ones will get into lifeboats.’

‘Lifeboats?’ Josephine is alarmed now. ‘Surely not.’

‘Surely, yes,’ I tell her firmly. ‘Now put this on.’ I toss her the fur stole that I have refused to wear.

She drapes it over her shoulders gingerly, still doubtful whether I can be believed.

‘I know you think I’m making this up. But I’m not.

This ship has hit an iceberg and will sink in a couple of hours.

Don’t ask me how I know. I just do. You’ll see I’m not a fantasist when the crew come around handing out lifejackets. Now come on.’

Josephine’s lips tremble. Ruby’s eyes well with tears.

Without a word we wrap up as best we can in Constance’s fur coats and shawls.

My eye catches the Ouija board lying on the table and I grab it.

Perhaps that’s what Constance did, for it survives and ends up with Didi Aldershoff.

At least in salvaging it, I’m doing one thing that I know is right.

As I make for the door, I feel a soft hand on my arm.

Josephine looks at me with different eyes.

The eyes of someone who has just seen the dawn.

‘That’s what Mama meant when she said the word “boat”, isn’t it? ’ she murmurs.

‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Your mother was warning you to get into a lifeboat.’

‘Then we must heed her warning,’ she says, eyes burning with newfound zeal. ‘What about Papa?’

‘He must also find a place on a lifeboat.’

She nods, satisfied. She doesn’t know that it will be women and children only who are permitted places. She doesn’t know that most of the men on this ship will perish.

When we reach the grand staircase, people are milling about the foyer in confusion.

Some have put coats over their pyjamas and nightdresses.

Others are in bathrobes and boots. Some are in fur coats and slippers.

They look incongruous, like bewildered sheep.

There’s talk of the ship hitting an iceberg and everyone has noticed that the engines have stopped, but, at the very worst, they believe we will be motionless for a short while only before the engines can be restarted and we can proceed with our journey once again.

Lester saunters into the foyer as if he’s entering a cocktail party.

He’s still in his evening dress. I imagine he’s been in the smoking room, playing cards, or in the lower regions of the ship, gambling.

‘What the devil is going on?’ he asks with a grimace, frowning at Ruby who he believes shouldn’t be here, in the first-class foyer.

‘Why have we stopped?’ He has the entitled air of a man affronted by a vulgar and unnecessary disturbance.