The Company of the Dead (87 page)

All illusions of rescue had been rapidly dispelled. Cries rose from the steerage passengers on the well deck, their fury hardly abated by the distance. Kennedy and Wells, loading the lifeboats, had already witnessed an attempt by some men to force their way through. The charge was held at bay by pistol fire. Kennedy himself had stood with gun drawn beneath his coat. Wells, catching the glint of the barrel, forced the Colt back out of sight.

After the brief mêlée they’d both watched as Ismay had slunk into the lifeboat. Wells had offered the Line’s chairman a parting gesture that Kennedy didn’t recognise, but couldn’t possibly be mistaken for “Bon Voyage”. Ismay had averted his eyes.

The gathering on A deck was small; a who’s who of America’s and Europe’s elite by Wells’ report.

Within minutes the windows had been cranked open. Glacial draughts seeped into the promenade. Kennedy organised the male passengers into a protective ring while Wells helped a woman adjust her lifebelt. Lightholler began loading the next boat. Astor was close by his side.

Kennedy stared at the two men, merging them into the apotheosis that had been his friend. He wondered how John might have handled the revelations this journey had brought.

Better than most, I suspect.

A frail-looking woman had just stepped into the boat. Lightholler was involved in a heated discussion with Astor as to whether her son should be permitted to join her. Astor snatched a bonnet from another woman and pressed it firmly on the young boy’s head. “There,” he pronounced firmly. “He’s a girl now. Put him aboard.”

Lightholler surrendered.

There was a faint irony in the fact that John’s character seemed closer to the ancestor he’d scorned rather than the one he’d cherished.

Kennedy glared at Lightholler and muttered, “The man’s a fool.”

“He’s following the only code he knows,” Wells said. “He doesn’t trust the lifeboat’s strength. He doesn’t know that only one of them will return after the sinking. He’ll refuse to leave the
Titanic
, given every opportunity to do so. Saved by blind luck, he’s going to be the last man to board the
Carpathia.
”

Kennedy softened his face and said, “I knew his great-grandson.”

“What was he like?”

“Chip off the old block.”

Astor was helping his own wife into the lifeboat. There was little evidence of her condition. The boat was now two-thirds full. Astor spoke to Lightholler again, but in gentler tones. It was to no avail. Lightholler wasn’t going to permit him to board, despite his wife’s delicate state.

Kennedy’s eyes played over the lifeboat’s occupants, settling on Astor’s wife, as well as the children who sat clasped to their mother’s chests. There were no men.

Lightholler ordered two of his crew into the boat. He issued the command to lower away.

This was where Astor would bid his bride farewell before descending to the cargo hold on F deck. He would be seen again briefly with his beloved Airedale. He’d be found in a few days with the side of his head caved in.

A snatch of rhyme returned to trouble Kennedy.

Full fathom five thy father lies

Of his bones are coral made

Those are pearls that were his eyes

Nothing of him that doth fade

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange.

“What are you thinking?” Wells asked.

“I’m thinking about the path to hell, and how well it’s paved.”

“Be that as it may, it’s time we made our move.”

Yet Kennedy’s attention remained fixed on Astor. He said, “You go on ahead. I’ll be up in a moment.”

He felt someone brush against him. An alarmingly familiar voice said, “There you are.”

Kennedy spun around to face Morgan. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t find a lifeboat that was to my taste,” Morgan replied, shakily. His gaze slipped away from Kennedy’s pained eyes.

“Jesus, Darren.”

Wells said, “The pickings are getting slim.”

Lifeboat four, creaking down towards the water, seemed to punctuate his assessment.

The ocean’s stealthy advance loitered by the
Titanic
’s bow. Lightholler had departed for the boat deck and the remaining men were milling about the opened windows. One suggested a hand of bridge and four of them began trudging slowly towards the stairwell.

Astor remained with his valet by the railing. He was smoking a cigarette.

Morgan had thrown away his last real chance of escape. His beaten stance called for some meaning to it all. There wasn’t much on offer.

Kennedy said, “Looks like you’re just in time, Darren.”

Morgan gave the scene a swift review. His eyes came to rest on Astor. “Has he been down to the kennels yet?”

“Perhaps all he needs is a little push in the right direction.”

Wells placed a hand on Kennedy’s arm. “There’s one lifeboat left. Collapsible D. It’s just above us, on the boat deck.” He checked his watch. “We can still make it.”

Morgan said, “There are two more lifeboats.”

“They don’t get released till after she goes down. It’s going to be a shit fight climbing aboard. You don’t want that.”

“Can I get down to the kennels and be back in time?” Kennedy asked.

“She founders in twenty-five minutes, and I doubt you’ll make it back by then,” Wells said. “Below decks will be awash.”

“Astor made it.”

“That’s just a story,” Wells said. “We don’t really know what happens.”

Kennedy bared his teeth. “Not knowing what happens will be a pleasant change.”

“For God’s sake, man, you’re going to be a father.” Wells leaned in close. “You’ve got a family now.”

“And I know they’re safe. That’s a better hand than most people have been dealt tonight.”

“Let it go. I told you—Astor
dies
.”

“I need to see for myself.”

Wells shrugged and turned to Morgan. “Can’t you make him see reason?”

Morgan laughed darkly. “Nothing’s less likely.”

“If you come to your senses, I’ll be on the boat deck.” Wells’ face was a pall of hopelessness. “Don’t be too long. I’ll try to hold them off launching the lifeboat.”

“Don’t interfere,” Kennedy said firmly.

“Speak for yourself.” Wells reached out a hand to grasp Kennedy’s. “I’ll see you topside.”

Kennedy nodded. He approached the railing with Morgan in tow.

Astor had his hand in his coat pocket, and he pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He turned at Kennedy’s advance and said, “Well, and what now, I wonder?”

“You’ve seen to your wife, Colonel?”

Astor nodded glumly.

“As have I mine.” Kennedy offered his hand. “Major Joseph Kennedy.” He watched Astor wince in his grasp. “Tell me, Colonel, didn’t you bring your dog along for the voyage?”

Above the Grand Staircase, the chandelier hung askew.

They descended level after level in Morgan’s wake. A few stewards stood along the stair, holding lifebelts before them as if presenting arms.

The ship groaned around them, offering preternatural grumblings as she vainly dealt with the Atlantic’s piecemeal intrusion. Morgan was thinking about a book he’d once read. Like Stead’s portentous novel, it dealt with an ocean liner lost at sea after colliding with an iceberg. Similarly, it had been published in the previous century, its dire message unheeded. It had been titled
Futility
.

Futility, from the Latin
futilis
, as in leaky or related to pouring.

He tried to dismiss the image of crumpled bulkheads and surging waters.

They were back on D deck, their cabin only yards away down the corridor. They had stood here, long ages ago, with Wells saying, “We need to get off this level. We need to be on the boat deck.” He was up there now, perhaps boarding the last lifeboat.

Morgan led them down a smaller staircase and out along Scotland Road. The corridor, so accustomed to the tramp of crewmen, was empty. It leaned crazily towards the bow. They worked their way against the gradient towards a wrought-iron gate by the engine casing. The enclosing walls of the great turbines below were cool and silent now. He twisted the latch and held the gate open for his companions, and suppressed the impulse to run back down the passageway.

The gate slammed after them with disconcerting finality.

“I hope you remember the way back,” Astor whispered.

Morgan gave him a strange look. He was thinking about breadcrumbs. The Astor he remembered was an elderly man who’d led his country through turbulent years. That country would never come into being, and this man would be dead within the hour. Morgan nodded to him reassuringly.

A wooden block was set in the wall above the doorway ahead. “Crew Quarters” was carved into it. Morgan reached the door and tried the latch.

He gazed back at Kennedy, his expression empty. “It’s locked.”

Kennedy shoved him aside and tried the latch. He pulled back and threw himself against the door. It held firm.

“Is there another way?” Astor ventured.

Kennedy slammed against the door again. It creaked its objection. Something was propped up behind it.

Morgan couldn’t think straight. They would have to back up. Traverse the aft corridors and return below, somewhere rear of the quarters.

Kennedy took a few steps back, his head tucked down and his shoulder forwards as he prepared for another charge.

There was a snapping sound from beyond and the door fell away on its hinges. Wells was standing there, within the small landing. He was wearing a lifebelt. His clothes were wet. He held an axe at his side.

Kennedy straightened up.

“Turns out the collapsible wasn’t to my taste either.” Wells smiled at Morgan. He nodded a greeting to Astor and added, “Down here.”

They took the winding metal stair down to F deck. They twisted their way between the boiler casings along a dimly lit passage. The carpet was damp in patches but there was no sign of water. The walls were dry. The kennels lay ahead.

Astor pointed up. A stain stretched across the ceiling.

“The compartments above us are flooded,” Wells said. “We’ll have to leave by the way you came.”

The door to the hold was secured by a heavy lock. It split at Wells’ third attempt. He left the axe quivering in the wooden panelling.

The entry opened into an expansive, high-roofed compartment lit by a series of naked bulbs that dangled away from them to cast wild outlines on the walls. A foul stench assailed Morgan, disorienting him further. The howls of distraught animals tortured his ears.

He eyed the caged animals. They pressed against metal, hackles raised, ears folded back. He watched Astor make his way to a larger stall at the far end of the hold. Stood transfixed as Kennedy followed him, the axe in hand. He had the weapon reversed, the haft upright.

Astor was calling for his dog in muted tones. A sharp yapping reply was echoed by the other animals. Morgan couldn’t stir from his place. Kennedy had the weapon raised. There was a swift movement and a dull clatter as it struck the floor. Wells was close by Kennedy. They struggled silently while Astor, preoccupied, worked the stall gate.

Morgan regained his motility. He raced up to them.

“He’s seen on deck with the dog, damn it.” Wells’ voice was a growled whisper.

“It’s just a story,” Kennedy replied, just as softly. He reached for the holster at his belt.

Wells had his hands locked around Kennedy’s wrist. “A bullet wound will be much worse.”

Kennedy stopped thrashing. He could have taken Wells any number of ways. “That’s why you came down here?”

“We don’t change a thing, and we
don’t
interfere.”

“How do we know this isn’t how it’s supposed to play out?”

“You didn’t murder me. You don’t kill him.”

“Why do you think I came down here?”

“The same reason you haven’t left on a lifeboat. To bear witness. To pay penance.”

Morgan took in the scene bitterly.
It’s going to cost us
, he thought.

Astor returned, smiling triumphantly. Behind him padded a small wiry dog, its coat dappled in gold and black. The terrier jumped repeatedly at the back of his thigh. He leaned over to scratch behind her cocked ears. “We should probably get going.”

“What about the other dogs?” Wells said. “What shall we do?”

“Rules of the sea, old boy.” Astor laughed. “Every man—and dog—for himself.”

Hurriedly, they moved among the cages, opening them. Within moments the cargo hold was transformed into a menagerie of animals that ran furiously around the room, snatching at portions of food and menacing one another.

They made for the doorway. They had difficulty avoiding the animals underfoot. Astor had his dog tucked up under an arm, the terrier licking excitedly at his face and chin. Morgan held the doorway open and Astor scurried through, pursued by a small horde that raced, barking, into the damp passageway.

Morgan heard a faint mewling sound. Wells stood before him, a small cat in his arms.

“Hurry up,” Astor shouted from up the hallway.

Morgan said, “You’re out of your mind. Leave it.”

Wells shook his head decisively.

“Kill it.”

“Gentlemen, I urge you to hurry.” Astor’s voice was more distant.

Kennedy was nowhere in sight. He still had the gun.

They ran out into the passageway.

Kennedy stood beside Astor at the foot of the winding stair. Water was spilling down in a cascade of icy spray. The dogs, directionless, were milling around their feet.

“Let’s go,” Astor cried, and began climbing the stairs.

They followed at his heels. The dogs pursued them up the watery stair. At the top they found Astor staring. The crew’s quarters were flooded. A wave frothed towards the landing. Beyond, the water surged out towards the corridor’s roof. Underlit, it seemed to course with a malign intelligence.

They sloshed their way hurriedly past the iron gate, calf-deep in the freezing water. They forded a path through the swirling debris to the next stairway. The dogs thronged at their knees.