The Second Mrs. Astor(72)

Madeleine ran her fingers over the beads around her neck, tracing their repetitive smooth comfort.

“Madeleine! My gracious, Madeleine! Do you have any idea of what’s going on?”

Helen Bishop stood over her, tugging at the tapes of her life preserver.

Madeleine released her beads. “I’m sure they’ll tell us soon.”

“I should say so! I mean, they should! We’ve heard the most incredible rumors. They positively rousted us from our cabin and sent us up here. I forgot a few things and sent Dickie back, but still. Such a to-do!”

A group of young men near a mahogany-and-glass bookcase were laughing heartily, passing something from hand to hand. It was a chunk of ice, about as big as cricket ball, melting and dripping along their fingers.

Madeleine was no true sailor, not like her husband. From her summers in Bar Harbor, she knew how to handle a canoe and oars; from her time with Jack, she understood the basics of the Noma, a small echo of a mighty ocean liner such as this. But as she sat there in the padded comfort of her chair, she thought she could begin to perceive, like the hint of a suspicion that might turn out to be true or might not, a modest listing of the ship to starboard.

The string orchestra, arranged in a corner, began a cheerful ragtime tune.

She drew in a breath. “Jack, I think we should—”

She broke off as one of the ship’s officers clipped by, gold lace stripes flashing. It was Captain Smith. Jack quickly followed him, managing to snare his attention. They conferred together for a moment, the captain speaking in an undertone, Jack nodding. Then it was done; Jack came back to them while the captain moved to the fireplace.

“We’re going to have to put on our lifebelts, it seems,” he said. “Does everyone have one?”

“No,” said Helen. “Oh, no. I sent Dickie down to our cabin and he didn’t have his. I’d better go tell him.”

Jack turned to his valet. “Robins, be a sport and go back to our suite. Mrs. Astor needs warmer clothes. A hat and gloves with fur, if you can find them. And a coat. One for Miss Bidois, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack caught him by the arm, dropped his voice. “Try to hurry.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jack?” Madeleine reached up a hand to him.

“Sorry, darling, I should have thought of it before. Your frock is very pretty, but if they’re likely to move us outside at all, you won’t be warm enough.”

“It’s best to be sensible,” Carrie said.

“Precisely.”

By the fireplace, Captain Smith had raised both hands without a word, gradually gathering the notice of the crowd. The ragtime song ended with a few abrupt twanging notes.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you. I require now that everyone put on their lifebelts and begin to move up to the boat deck—”

“What the bloody hell is going on?” snarled a man behind Madeleine, but the captain only continued without expression, speaking as if he had not been interrupted.

“—the boat deck, if you please, in an orderly fashion, with your lifebelts on.”

“Are we sinking?” called out a woman, but Captain Smith didn’t answer her, only bent his head and walked away.

“Well,” announced a matron to Madeleine’s right, plump and red-haired. “We just came from there, and let me tell you, I am not going back! I don’t care if it is the captain’s order! It’s like an icebox out in the open up there, and I will not go!”

“But mother—” protested the young woman at her side.

“No. I’m sorry, but no. We’re going back to our cabin. That’s the end of it.”

Several others looked around, glowering, but as the captain had vanished, they could only complain to their fellow passengers.

Jack picked up one of the belts, held his hand out to Madeleine. “It will be easier to put them on here, rather than up there. One less thing to worry about. Let me help you.”

He worked quickly, obviously familiar with odd rectangular sections of the vest, the long string ties. She held out her arms as he secured the last bow, then readjusted it around her waist, trying to find a way to make it more comfortable. It was heavier than it looked.

The lounge was emptying. Jack turned to Rosalie, secured hers in the same way, and then finally slipped into his own.

They were already outside, walking down the enclosed promenade—it was an icebox out in the open air; the plump woman had been right—when Robins caught up to them. A loud hissing sound was coming from somewhere above, and they didn’t hear him at all until he shouted.

“Sir! Colonel Astor, sir!”

The valet rushed up carrying a mass of slippery furs, having to pause twice to catch it all up in his arms again.

Jack snapped open one of the deck chairs, and Robins carefully set everything upon it.

As people passed by, Madeleine put on the white cardigan Robins had brought, the fur-lined hat (but no gloves), even the extra pair of stockings he’d somehow found. She struggled into the sable coat (very tight with the added bulk of the lifebelt around her), and Jack finished it all with her fox shawl, wrapping it around her shoulders.

“Sir,” said Rosalie, tentative. “I’m sorry, sir, but this is not my coat.”

She indicated the mink that was left, spread across the slats of the chair.