9
As I carry myself down the companionway, footsteps approach from behind. “Ma’am?”
I freeze. A steward with a grin like a well-oiled saddle inclines his head of black hair toward me. Protruding cheekbones pull his skin taut, giving him a rather skeletal appearance. Did he see me emerge from Room 14?
“Evening, ma’am. Lose your way?” he asks with a jaunty swing to his voice. “T’isn’t safe here for a woman such as yourself.”
“Yes.” I remind myself that I am a fine English lady, and people here live for my comfort, not the other way around. “I seem to have gotten turned around,” I say imperiously. “Please direct me to the lifts.”
“Certainly.” A dorsal fin of a nose takes an expansive sniff, as if he has a cold. He points a bony finger down the Collar. “Past Scotland Road about a dozen paces, you’ll come to a door on the right. Continue through and keep walking until you see the signs.”
I take unhurried steps away, sure that if I turn around, the man will still be watching me. I must be more careful to avoid being seen here, not just as a woman, but as a first-class woman, who certainly has no business in these parts. Without looking at the master-at-arms’s cabin, I swing open the door to first class.
The lift takes me as far as it can, to A-Deck. The cherub standing at this highest leg of the tidal-wave staircase is even chubbier than the ones below. I climb past nobs in their finery toward the Boat Deck. At a half landing, more divine types loiter, including two angels holding in place an elaborate clock that reads 8:40. The afterlife certainly features prominently in the decorating here. But is a vessel in the middle of the ocean really the place to be constantly reminded of death?
A glass dome spanning the ceiling is a dark crown reflecting the light of the chandeliers. On a side table, a golden mermaid offers a clamshell full of fruit, including a pineapple. I’ve seen pineapples in the markets, though I can’t imagine who would eat a prickly thing like that. I sniff it, detecting a scent that is not at all like a pine tree or an apple, but rounder and sugary.
After pocketing an apple, I pass through a lobby where a pianist churns out a melody. At last, a quarter of an hour after leaving Room 14, I reach the Titanic’s summit, the Boat Deck.
The air places blissfully cool hands on my cheeks. Mum’s hands were always cold, and Jamie and I loved holding them in our too-warm ones.
The sky is freckled with stars, more than I’ve seen in all my days put together. And how those stars beckon, fancier than all the jewels in first class. Like clusters of tiaras, strings of pearls, dripping earbobs, all pinned to a swath of dark velvet.
The benches are empty with few people about, most finding better fun inside the ship. Electric lights cast an eerie glow around the smokestacks. The fourth and farthest one does not smoke. Perhaps it is only for show. The Chinese avoid the number four, but Westerners like even numbers.
The lifeboats stand pale and motionless, ghostly cradles held by skeletal arms. Four in each of four corners. I shiver. This deck is full of bad luck, and I bet Fong would steer clear even if he was allowed up here.
A couple tightly joined at the shoulders nod at me as they pass, leaving a trail of the woman’s amber perfume. I stride more purposefully toward the stern, keeping a careful watch for Jamie.
Wooden chocks raise the boats to eye level. A system of hooks and eyelets secures the canvas covers. I peer more closely. The canvas over the third lifeboat has been partially folded back. I slip over to the boat and whisper, “Jamie?”
The ocean gulps and shushes, drowning my voice. “Jamie?” I say more loudly.
A head lifts. “Cats, Val. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for the mast so I can hoist my white flag. Truce, Brother? I won’t try to persuade you to go to New York, and you’ll button it about London.” I hold out my apple.
The right half of his mouth shrugs. “Truce.” He takes the fruit, then scoots over to make room on the floor where he’s seated, a blanket pulled to his chest.
Peeking around to ensure no one’s watching, I hike up my skirt, then haul myself over the edge, unintentionally stepping on his foot before falling in place beside him. He stifles a curse.
I remove my hat and place my head on the bench.
He glances at me. “So where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“You must have skipped the first class.”
“You didn’t.”
“Why not? The room was empty, and it’s already paid for. Plus, I discovered an ally.”
“A what?”
I give him a brief account of my meeting with April Hart, ignoring his groans as I try to put a more confident spin on it.
He blows out a breath that sounds as heavy as a rain barrel.
I sniff. “I’ve sacrificed a lot to be here.” I spent every penny I had for the ticket from London to Southampton.
“I know, Val.”
“Why didn’t you tell your mates about me?”
“They ask too many questions. Bo and Drummer knew about you.”
That rubs a bit of salve on the wound. I haven’t met this Drummer yet, but expect I may soon.
A whiff of pine mingles with the scent of fresh paint. We might be the first people ever to occupy this vessel. “It’s cozy, if a tad bare. Where are the oars?”
“Dunno. Seems crackers to keep them separate from the boats, but no one asked me.”
Or any women, as April Hart might say.
“This is top of the line. Clinker-built, elm rudder. But there are only sixteen lifeboats—plus they store a few ‘collapsibles’ up front. That’s only enough for about half of the two thousand–something passengers. Yet they say it meets regulation.”
I whistle. “Good thing Ba taught us how to swim.”
The only sound is the shushing of the waves against the Titanic’s hull and the rhythmic creaking of wood. Jamie sighs. “What did you do with the books?”
“Sold them off.”
One of Ba’s schemes involved collecting books from estate sales and peddling them off a cart, like Astronomy Through the Ages and the infamous Bee-Keeping for Beginners. That didn’t work out so well, though. If there’s one thing you can count on in London, it’s rain, and books and rain are natural enemies. But on the bright side, Astronomy Through the Ages introduced Jamie to the stars.
“I wish you hadn’t had to take care of things by yourself.”
The stars seem to shrink back, as if giving me space. The memory of that dark morning blows a ghostly whisper through my mind. I found Ba in an alleyway a block from our house, dead from a drunken run-in with a lamppost. His top hat rolled haphazardly in the breeze, like a troubled animal.