On a Cold Dark Sea(11)

Reg was the only member of their unconventional trio who never seemed ill at ease. He befriended businessmen and won handily at cards; he boasted that the sea air was doing him good, and he felt better than he had in years. He fawned over his “dear wife” in public, but never gave Charlotte a private opportunity to ask what would happen when they arrived in New York. She’d pictured herself and Reg on a spree across America, like the outlaws they wrote about in the papers, stealing from millionaires who wouldn’t even know they’d been robbed. Now, there was Georgie to consider. Georgie with his grating laugh and exasperating need to be liked; Georgie who wanted Reg all to himself.

So when the dreadful night came, and the steward rapped on the door and informed her that the captain had ordered all women and children to the lifeboats, Charlotte wasn’t frightened. She was already miserable; this was merely another trial to be endured. Reg came for her soon after—his shirt and trousers rumpled—and Georgie hung behind, looking similarly bedraggled. She tried not to think about the fact that they’d obviously pulled on their clothes in a rush.

“What’s happened?” Charlotte asked Reg as he fussed with her life belt.

“Something’s wrong with the ship,” Reg said.

“It’s just a precaution, though, isn’t it?” Georgie asked. “They’re not actually launching the boats, are they?”

Honestly, Charlotte thought. She caught a cringe of annoyance pass across Reg’s face. Good. She and Reg walked up to the deck in silence, ignoring Georgie’s prattling. When Charlotte stepped outside, her face prickled in the arctic air. She looked at the row of lifeboats, which hung from ropes that were secured to metal davits jutting up and out from the ship. Sailors and officers were huddled around the boat nearest her, arguing. She heard a sharp creak as the boat was winched partway down, then came to a shuddering stop. The water looked impossibly far away. The crewmen’s obvious unfamiliarity with the lifeboat’s mechanisms was hardly reassuring.

Passengers were gathered in small groups around the boat, but Charlotte was never able to explain, afterward, the calm that prevailed amid the commotion. No one was screaming or panicking; families were separating with polite farewells, pecks on the cheek, and sometimes no words at all.

“You watch,” an elderly lady said decisively. “They’re going to row us out, then row us right back.”

The even-more-elderly gentleman beside her pursed his mouth, his bushy mustache squirming like a caterpillar. Everywhere around Charlotte, couples were having offhand discussions about whether to go or stay, as if they were planning a summer holiday. Cornwall or the Lake District? No one was stepping forward to get in the boat.

Reg pushed Charlotte forward, with Georgie right behind. The officer at the helm of the boat nodded to Charlotte, then looked sternly at Georgie.

“Women and children only.”

“He’s only a lad . . . ,” Reg wheedled.

“Step back,” the officer ordered.

Charlotte was in no rush to climb into what looked like a poor shelter in the vast ocean, and she fell back alongside Georgie. The sailor nearest her muttered a curse as he tried to maneuver the ropes; either the boat was stuck, or he had no idea what he was doing. When a man called out that boats were being launched on the other side, most of the people around Charlotte moved away.

What happened next came so quickly—Reg pulling them toward the stairs, tossing his coat around Charlotte, and muttering in her ear—that she could barely remember how they came to be standing in the enclosed second-class promenade, three floors down from the lifeboats.

“No one will know,” Reg was saying, and Charlotte suddenly realized what he was asking of her. “With your hat and coat, he could pass. Say he’s your sister . . .”

“Absolutely not!” Georgie protested, all injured pride. “I will conduct myself as a gentleman!”

“You won’t be a gentleman if you’re dead!”

The force of Reg’s anger froze Charlotte in place. She felt the rough wool of her hat against her fingers, the weight of Reg’s coat on her shoulders. A single lie, to add to the thousands she’d already told. A lie that might save a man’s life. She looked at Georgie’s hated, bewildered face. She heard the quiver in Reg’s voice as he softly murmured, “Lottie.” It was the first time she’d ever seen him frightened.

And Charlotte knew what she must do.





US SENATE COMMITTEE ON COMMERCE

Titanic Disaster Investigation Thursday, May 2, 1912

Testimony of Mrs. George McBride, First—Class Passenger Senator Smith: Was there any panic as the lifeboats were boarded?

Mrs. McBride: Not at all. It was very orderly. An officer supervised the loading, and he escorted me on board, followed by my two sisters. We were able to step in without any inconvenience.

Senator Smith: How many were in your boat when it left the ship?

Mrs. McBride: Perhaps a dozen. I didn’t count.

Senator Smith: The boat was built to carry the weight of sixty-five people. Do you know why it was lowered at less than half capacity?

Mrs. McBride: I couldn’t say. We waited quite some time before the officer gave the order to board. When my sister and I entered the boat, the officer called out, “Any more women?” but there was no reply. We dropped down in great fits and starts, and one of my sisters was convinced we’d all be tipped overboard.