On a Cold Dark Sea(22)

An officer appeared in the doorway. “All women and children to the boat deck. We are loading the lifeboats.”

The curt order shattered the room’s calm. The disparate groups of people melded into a single mass as they followed the officer up the stairs that led outside, their voices ringing out in sharp bursts.

“What does he mean?”

“What’s happened?”

“I’m not going anywhere without my husband.”

But Esme stayed put. She had to find Charlie. They might not be able to converse in private, but just seeing him, in the midst of all this confusion, would steady her. Motioning Sabine to hurry, she looked upstairs in the Palm Court and smoking room, then hurried up to the gymnasium, where two men were riding the stationary bicycles with forced enthusiasm. A long-faced man—Mr. Astor?—was sitting with his wife; he’d cut open a life belt and was showing her the cork inside. Esme walked out to the boat deck, bracing herself against the cold. In the distance, two levels down, she saw figures shuffling across the outdoor space reserved for third-class passengers. A few were throwing something back and forth, and Esme realized it was a piece of ice. There were chunks of it littering the deck. A girl whose kerchief barely covered her tumbling red hair shrieked at one of the men, who shouted back, and they both erupted into cawing laughter. All very juvenile, but Esme couldn’t help thinking it also looked like fun.

“Esme!”

Charlie ran up to Esme, panting and flushed, his lopsided hat covering one eye. The sight of him dissolved the worry she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying, leaving her wobbly with relief.

“Are you all right?” Charlie asked. He was standing so close, his breath warmed her frosty cheek.

Esme nodded. Charlie was here. It would be all right.

“I’ll take you to a lifeboat.” Charlie’s hand moved out involuntarily, but he stopped it just before touching her arm.

“I don’t want to go,” Esme said, knowing she sounded like a sulky child, needing Charlie to convince her.

“You must,” he insisted. “I heard we’re taking in water below.”

“Aren’t there compartments that keep it out?” There’d been a discussion of the ship’s construction earlier that night, when she and Hiram had dined with Captain Smith, but Esme had ignored most of it. She’d been too busy trying to catch Charlie’s eye across the dining room.

“Oh, we’ll stay afloat for a while,” Charlie said. “They’ve sent out wireless messages, and other ships are on the way. But I’d feel better if you were in a lifeboat. Just in case.”

The exchange had an unreal quality, as if they were reciting a melodramatic scene between a dashing hero and his reluctant damsel in distress. Esme still didn’t believe the ship was in serious danger. She felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and turned to see Sabine pointing at an approaching man. Esme was dismayed to see it was Hiram.

“There you are!” he chided Esme. “I couldn’t find you.”

He’d changed into his brown wool suit and overcoat, making him look more presentable than he’d been earlier. But he’d worked himself into a very un-Hiram-like state of agitation. The muscles of his face were drawn tight, and when he locked his arm with Esme’s at the elbow, the force was so strong that she momentarily stumbled back.

“You were supposed to wait in the lounge,” he snapped.

“I wanted to see what was going on,” Esme said. How like Hiram, to expect her to be as rigid and self-disciplined as he was.

Hiram gave Charlie a brief nod. “Mr. Van Hausen, thank you for looking after my wife.”

It was all too absurd: Hiram thanking the man who was cuckolding him. Esme let out a nervous, inappropriate laugh.

“I was about to escort Mrs. Harper to a lifeboat,” Charlie said easily, as if he had nothing to hide.

The deck was already less crowded than when Esme had first walked out. A few seamen were working the davits that held the lifeboat nearest them, the last one left on deck. A semicircle of passengers stood watching, curious onlookers taking in the show.

“It’s an awfully long way down,” Esme murmured.

“You’ll be perfectly safe,” Charlie reassured her. “We’ll all have a laugh about it when we arrive in New York. I’ll arrange a dinner at Delmonico’s.”

Hiram pushed Esme forward.

“Go!” he snapped, and Esme stared at him in exaggerated shock. He’d never raised his voice to her, ever.

“What’s the rush?” she protested. “Charlie says we’ll be rescued.”

“One of the officers told me the Olympic is coming,” Charlie explained.

“The Olympic is five hundred miles away.” Hiram’s words had the brusque frustration of a parent disciplining his wayward children. “Things are much worse than you think.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a fountain pen. Leaning down, he placed the pen on the deck, and Esme watched it roll steadily away from them.

“We’re sinking,” Hiram said. “I have it directly from the purser. We have a few hours, at most. Probably less.”

As if to punctuate the warning, an explosion of green light erupted above them. Esme wondered who would set off fireworks at a time like this. She saw Charlie’s face, lit with a ghoulish glow, his mouth falling slack with understanding.