On a Cold Dark Sea(21)

Esme came to Charlie the next three nights, confiding thoughts in the dark she’d never revealed to anyone else. The nighttime hours passed dizzyingly fast; the daytime hours were misery. Esme made polite conversation with Charlie when they passed on the deck, as she would with any other acquaintance. But it seemed half of Philadelphia society had booked passage on the Titanic, and Hiram insisted they dine with the Thayers and the Wideners, well-connected couples who would further his career. Beneath her cheerful smiles, Esme wanted to scream. She’d be seeing these same people at dinners for the next thirty years; why couldn’t she spend these hours with the man who meant more to her than anyone else? She and Charlie tried to arrange meetings when they could, but there were always other people nearby, potential eavesdroppers who would notice any untoward behavior.

Once, they managed to sneak a few touches in the library, as Charlie pretended to recommend a book and intertwined his fingers with Esme’s when he passed it to her. She shifted closer, until her hips pressed against his legs, dizzy with the urge to kiss him. From the corner of her eye, Esme noticed an old woman leaning forward in her chair, watching them. Esme leisurely stepped backward, not wanting to look suspicious by moving too fast.

Charlie whispered “Later” to Esme, and walked away, giving the curious woman a bright smile as he passed.

“On your honeymoon, are you?” the woman asked.

“How did you know?”

“Oh, I can always tell. You look so happy together.”

Esme couldn’t help smirking. She was on her honeymoon, and she was happier than she’d ever been—with a man who wasn’t her husband.

“Aren’t you kind,” she told the woman. And she decided to wring every drop of happiness she could from these last days, without regret.

That Sunday night, after the engines had stopped, Esme snuck into her cabin to find Hiram gone. It was the first time he hadn’t been in bed, asleep, when she returned. Esme knocked on the door to Sabine’s room, then opened it when there was no response. Her maid had dozed off in bed, still dressed.

“Sabine,” Esme whispered. “Where’s Mr. Harper?”

Sabine blinked her eyes open and sat up, disoriented. “Madame?”

“Mr. Harper. He’s not here. Did he go out?”

Sabine shrugged. “I am sorry . . .”

“Never mind.”

Esme closed the door and returned to the stateroom. Hiram’s book was on the nightstand, but his bathrobe was missing from the hook on the back of the door. She went out to the hall, where she heard voices and footsteps on the stairways, noises all the more prominent in the unusual silence of the ship.

Esme walked down to the reception room at the foot of the Grand Staircase, where knots of people had gathered. Hiram was talking to one of the dining-room stewards, looking like an eccentric grandfather in his robe and slippers, and Esme felt the urge to turn away before he noticed her. How could she be chained to such an old fussbudget for the rest of her life?

Hiram caught sight of Esme and waved.

“Where have you been?” he asked, rushing toward her. “You said you’d be in the café.”

Esme dodged the question. “What’s going on?”

“We seem to have scraped past an iceberg.”

For the rest of her life, Esme would cringe when she remembered the relief that swept through her. In that moment, she was thrilled the ship had run into trouble, because it would distract Hiram from wondering where she’d been.

“Scraped?” Esme asked.

“There’s a man in the smoking room who grabbed a piece of ice for his drink.”

“The ship’s all right, though?”

“I expect the captain’s checking her over. He’s an old hand at Atlantic crossings—he’ll have it worked out soon enough.”

Esme glanced at the groups lingering around them, men and women in a full range of dress, from formal gowns to pajamas and shawls. Charlie wasn’t there. A man wearing a dark-blue officer’s uniform walked halfway up the stairs to address the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Captain Smith has ordered all passengers to put on their life belts.” As voices rose with questions, he insisted, “Only a precaution, I assure you.”

“What’s going on?” demanded a stern older gentleman. Some captain of industry Esme had been introduced to, though she couldn’t remember his name.

The officer repeated stiffly, “All passengers are to retrieve their life belts and report to the boat deck.”

The announcement caused a flutter of reaction, more of complaint than concern. Esme followed Hiram back to their stateroom, where he secured Esme’s life belt before putting on his own. He rapped on Sabine’s door and told her to put one on as well.

“Wait for me in the lounge,” Hiram told Esme. “No sense standing outside in the cold until we know what’s what.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the smoking room. See if anyone’s heard more news.” He handed Esme the fur coat he’d bought for her at Harrods. “Take this with you.”

The lounge was half full, and Esme strolled across the room, looking discreetly for Charlie. Acquaintances greeted her with smiles and tips of the head. It was all very polite, like a formal reception, with everyone making an effort to appear unruffled.