On a Cold Dark Sea(75)

“I placed it just as I was supposed to.”

“If it’s the least bit crooked, it won’t be watertight . . .”

“Come see for yourself!”

Esme can see Charlie tensing as he considers whether to play peacemaker in what will soon be an all-out fight. Esme wishes he would. The two sailors obviously dislike each other, but they should know better than to bicker like children.

Why do they keep fighting? Anna wonders, appalled. Has everyone else forgotten the man they came to save? She reaches toward the rope, which still trails from Mr. Healy’s hand. Charlotte grabs Mr. Healy’s arm and points outside.

“Please,” she urges.

Charlotte’s touch sparks Mr. Healy into action. He starts to wind the rope around his hand, and Mr. Wells calls out, “Stop!”

“For heaven’s sake . . . ,” Charlie begins, but his is not the only voice. Mrs. Dunning is chattering to Nurse Braxton, and the Armstrong sisters are asking questions, and Tommy has started to cry. Mr. Healy ignores Charlie and is about to say something to Mrs. McBride when Mr. Wells steps between Charlotte and Anna, pushing them both roughly aside. He stands next to Mr. Healy, his very closeness a threat, and Charlotte thinks of tomcats behind the fishmonger’s, hissing over scraps.

“We’re not pulling no one in if she’s taking water,” Mr. Wells says. “No extra weight.”

“One more person won’t make a difference,” Mr. Healy protests.

“A big fellow could tip us right over. Wasn’t easy getting her in, was it?”

Mr. Wells points at Anna, who does not understand his words but recognizes the disdain in his brief glare. She does not know how she has made this man angry, and she slides closer to Charlotte, her only protector.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Dunning is saying. “It does sound dangerous.”

Nurse Braxton purses her lips, mirroring her employer’s disapproval. Miss Armstrong brings her hands to her mouth in a gesture of girlish dismay.

“And she’s a little thing,” Mrs. Westleigh says. “I don’t see how we can pull a man in without upsetting the boat.”

Mrs. McBride nods. Esme looks at the sides of the lifeboat. They are taller than a regular rowboat, intended to create the illusion of a safe enclosure. But Mr. Wells is right: the weight of a man will throw off their balance. It’s a risk they can’t afford to take.

Charlotte grabs the rope that hangs slack from Mr. Healy’s hands. She tugs, and the figure at the end jerks, but he’s no longer moving his arms. Is he conserving his strength or has he given up? She pulls again, frustrated at how slowly he moves forward, even though she is tugging so hard her shoulder muscles scream. And then, suddenly, she feels a heavy push against her back, and her body jerks away from the rope. She trips over Anna’s legs and falls into the water at the bottom of the boat, her hip landing with a thud against the wood. She looks up and sees Mr. Wells holding a knife, the same knife Mr. Healy used to cut loose the oars. Mr. Wells slices forcefully downward, cutting the lifeline.

Charlotte and Anna both cry out, Charlotte in bitter protest and Anna in horror. Charlotte winces as she tries to stand, but Anna is already up, leaning over the side of the boat, trying desperately to catch hold of the strand that is tied around the man in the water. But the end has already drifted away, out of her reach, and Mr. Healy grabs her by the arms and pulls her backward as she screams.

Mr. Wells, his work done, turns away and returns to his perch in the back of the boat. Mrs. Dunning, Nurse Braxton, and Mrs. Trelawny look down as he passes, relieved by what he’s done but unwilling to openly condone it. Mrs. McBride and Mrs. Westleigh give each other approving nods, but they, too, ignore the fireman when he takes his place behind them. He’s done the right thing, they believe, but that doesn’t mean they’ll engage him in conversation.

Mr. Healy points Anna toward Charlotte, silently pleading for her help. Anna stumbles into Charlotte’s arms, and Charlotte presses Anna’s head against her chest. The gesture muffles Anna’s sobs, but her anguish ripples through the boat. Charlotte looks wildly around her, at the faces that show a mix of sadness and embarrassment and grim denial. Mr. Healy is turned away, fiddling with the rope, avoiding her.

“Please,” Charlotte says, addressing her fellow passengers in a final appeal. “We can’t leave him to die. Mrs. Trelawny . . .”

Mrs. Trelawny looks pointedly away. Her family is its own self-contained island, and Charlotte can tell by her expression that Mrs. Trelawny will not listen to anything she says. She has retreated inside herself.

Charlotte looks at Charlie, whose hands rest lightly around the oar in his lap. He gives her a rueful half smile, a look that acknowledges her plucky spirit while urging her to accept defeat. The betrayal stings. Charlotte has thought him an ally, one of the only ones who did his share and rowed without complaint. If he chose to rally the boat for a rescue, they’d all obey without question, because who would speak up against a dashing American millionaire? Charlotte sees, now, that Charlie’s actions have been driven by pragmatism, not conviction. He doesn’t care if the man in the water lives or dies; he cares about whether he’s seen as doing the right thing. He rowed harder and faster than anyone when it suited him, but the mood in the boat has shifted, and he won’t go against the popular will.

At least Charlotte can count on Mr. Healy to help. She eases a shaky Anna onto the bench and takes hold of an oar. Resolute, she looks to Mr. Healy for the signal to start. Slowly, he shakes his head.