The Second Mrs. Astor(73)

“Just put it on,” Madeleine said. “For goodness sake, you’ll freeze otherwise.”

They joined the other passengers trudging up the stairs.

The hissing grew louder, more and more piercing. By the time they reached the boat deck, it had climbed into a shriek, hurting her head. She pressed her hands over her ears and turned in a circle to find the source of it: pipes running along the forward funnels were furiously venting steam, great clouds of vapor ballooning up to the stars.

Titanic’s crew swarmed around the lifeboats, ripping off their covers, letting out the ropes, yelling at each other without sound. Groups of passengers stood back and watched them work as if they were watching a play, with looks of detached interest.

The frigid air bit her skin, stung her eyes. Jack touched her elbow, his face close, his lips moving, but even when she lowered her hands, she couldn’t hear him over the roar. He nodded his comprehension, took her by her hand, and pulled her along. She glanced back to make certain the rest were following as they threaded through the clumps of people.

He led them all to the gymnasium, a well-heated space that smelled strongly of leather and bleach. But after the door was closed behind them, at least the chill abated, and the scream of the escaping steam lowered to a less painful decibel.

The benches were claimed, so they aimed for the electric horses. She eyed the sidesaddle before her, knew she’d never manage it with the fashionably tight skirts she wore, and sat sideways instead, as if on a very short chair.

More people were coming in, going out, clapping their hands against the cold. The hint of the list became more definite.

“Should we be out there?” she asked, sotto voce. “Prepared to be in line for a boat?”

Jack shook his head. “They’re only getting things ready, and really, darling, it’s all for naught. This ship will not sink. I’ve toured her, remember? Every precaution was taken in building her, every innovation employed. We are far safer in here than on one of those little boats out there. Warmer, too,” he added.

“All right.” She tugged off the shawl, unhooked her coat, and wanted to untie the lifebelt, too, but as she began fiddling with the knots, Jack stopped her.

“Better not. Captain’s orders are still captain’s orders. I know they’re not comfortable, though.”

“Whatever are they made of? I feel as if I can hardly bend.”

“Ah!” He smiled, produced a penknife from his trouser pocket. “I’ll show you.”

He lifted the edge of his preserver, sliced carefully along the front of one of the lower rectangular blocks.

“Should you?” she asked, anxious.

“I’m not cutting more than an inch, and only the canvas itself. There. Take a look.”

Madeleine and Carrie leaned forward together.

“Why, it’s cork!” Carrie said.

“Buoyant as anything. Not a chance of any of us sinking with one of these on.”

Madeleine leaned back again, gripping the pommel and cantle of the saddle, rocking a little back and forth. Of all of Titanic’s miraculous innovations, it seemed somehow ominous that the very last defense offered to save their lives was something as simple as tree bark.

*

The list of the ship increased, but it had shifted from starboard to forward, from forward to port.

The roar of the escaping steam finally ceased, which should have reassured her, or at least helped with the ringing in her ears, but it seemed the voices of everyone around them only rose to compensate for its sudden loss.

From her perch on the electric horse, Madeleine watched the lumpish shapes of people moving past the teak-framed windows, bunching together, splitting apart, occasionally coming in or going out.

“Did you hear that?” asked Carrie abruptly. “It sounded like gunfire.”

“Just a distress rocket going off,” Jack said. “They have to shoot the rockets. It’s procedure.”

But Madeleine hadn’t seen the deck beyond the windows flare with light.

*

The list grew steeper, the floor of the room slanting toward the bow. It became more troublesome to keep her balance on the horse so she slid off of it, leaned against it, as the figures past the windows grew sparser. Jack came to stand beside her, and she rested her head against his shoulder. Her eyelids drifted closed. It seemed entirely reasonable, in this moment, to go to sleep in his arms standing up.

She resisted that sweet dragging pull. There was a map of the world framed on the wall behind them, the colors of the countries garish. She couldn’t look at it without wanting to shut her eyes again, so she turned her head away.

She mumbled, “Shouldn’t we go out? To see what’s happening?”

“It’s better to wait where they tell us. If no one comes for us soon, I’ll go find someone in charge.”

“Colonel,” said Robins, just beside them. “Shall I go investigate?”

“Yes, good man. Thank you.”

A pair of older fellows in full evening kit and no life preservers stood nearby, discussing the iceberg and the lifeboats and the unfortunate nature of the weather.

“I’m told the Olympic is nearing to assist.”

“Is that so?” said the other. “But I’m sure Titanic won’t founder.”

“Of course she won’t. In fact, I don’t know why we aren’t still steaming toward New York right now, even at half speed. Smith is putting the devil of a crimp in my schedule.”