Titanic Twelve Tales - A Short Story Anthology RMS Titanic (6 page)

“Look, most of the boats are away! Let’s go along here.”

Norman seethed as she took off. He watched her dodge between the crowds of people gathered on the open deck. He tried to follow her as she ran towards a large group of people surrounding a lifeboat.

“Women and children only,” the officer called. Women stepped forward, made their farewells to their men and clasped their children in their arms.

He caught up with her and standing behind her placed his hands on her shoulders. “You go. Take your chance now, I’ll get another boat.”

She looked up at him over her shoulder, “That’s very good of you, Uncle Norm.”

Norman grabbed the officer’s arm, “He can go, can’t he? He’s only a child.”

The officer looked back at them blankly, “No, sir, he’s not a child.”

“He’s fifteen,” Norman cried.

“We’ve got bell boys aged thirteen, no sir, he can’t go. Come on ladies,” the officer called to the hostile crowd and turned away from them.

“Norm, this
ain’t
right. They’ve launched most of the lifeboats and just look at the crowds. There’s no way they’re going to get everybody into boats.”

“Yes they will
,
everything is going to be all right, I’ll take care of you.”

“Are you bloody
stupid!
Take a look, how many boats can you see? Most of them have gone!”

“Clara, what are you doing?” Norman felt his face drop as she stripped off the life-preserver followed by her tweed jacket.

“I’m going to show that officer what a bare bosom looks like and if he doesn’t let me go with the women, I’ll be showing him my fanny as well!”

“No Clara, come back!”

Standing alone, Norman was astounded how deftly she slipped through to the front of the crowd where the lifeboat was loading. He heard the officer tell her to cover up and watched as she climbed into the lifeboat. As it was lowered away, he waved at her, hoping for one last kind gesture from her. But she didn’t look back. His heart sank, as if his whole world had collapsed around him.

He jumped at the sound of pistol shots and realised panic was breaking out around him. A voice cried that there was another boat outside the Promenade Deck. Unable to stop himself, he followed the crowd down the stairs. He ran along the enclosed deck to where a few women were being loaded into the lifeboat through an open window. He pushed his way to the boarding point.

“Women and children only,” the officer shouted.

Stunned, unable to make sense of his situation, Norman stood back not knowing how long he waited there. But something made him look through the glass panes of the Promenade Deck. His heart searched for Clara, but found the ocean only a few feet below where he stood. He didn’t know what to do.

The officer who launched the lifeboat, the one that took Clara, hurried towards the ship’s bow. Instinctively, Norman followed him. Somewhere in the distance he heard music playing.

“There are some boats on the roof of the officer’s quarters,” a man running alongside him said. But most people ran in the opposite direction and Norman couldn’t make sense of it. The ship groaned and listed further. His legs felt heavy and he stumbled as movement along the deck became increasingly more difficult. Pulling himself up, he grabbed the ship’s rail and gasped at the ocean only feet below as
Titanic’s
bow disappeared into the water.

A circle of crewmen, arms locked, held back a large crowd. The officer only allowed women and children into the boat he was loading. Pistol shots rang out, they silenced the crowd for a few seconds,
then
panic returned. The mob scattered and ran towards the stern. Rooted to his spot at the ship’s rail, Norman watched
Titanic’s
forecastle head sink underwater and her decks become steeper, until it was almost impossible for him to stand up, but he clung to the ship’s rail.

He looked up and saw an officer wearing a great coat and cap heavily emblazoned with gold braid. He assumed it was Captain Smith when the man shouted, “Every man for himself.”

Titanic’s
bow plunged under as a huge wave swamped the deck. Norman’s feet slipped from under him as the water surged over the ship. An upturned lifeboat floated off. In desperation, he let go and struggled through the freezing water towards it.

Someone must have hauled him aboard. He coughed and tasted sea water. He could not feel his legs, numbed with cold he
lay
across the hull of the overturned boat. Others clung to the sides as the small vessel drifted away from the liner. A huge roar went up and echoed eerily across the flat sea.

“Her lights have gone,” a man said.

“Won’t be long now,” another cried.

“Poor bastards,” the first voice added.

“Clara,” Norman whispered “I can’t feel my hands or legs. Can I come for a cuddle?” Shivering, teeth chattering, he slipped from the upturned lifeboat and floated on his back. This time no one stopped him. No one pulled him back.

Norman opened his eyes and looked up into the cloudless sky, bright with stars, twinkling at him like all the jewels in the universe.

Dealt a Bad Hand

Grimshaw
picked up the card dealt to him without looking at the dealer. He paused for the tell-tale signs of nerves from each of the four players at the card table; a tentative lift of an eyebrow, a collar tightening, an inaudible sigh or slight reddening of a face. Since leaving Southampton he had groomed the gentlemen, noted their reactions, measured their play and ensured each won back a little of what he had taken from them.

“Let’s make it five hundred,” he said.

“Too much for me,” the American replied and cast his hand down alongside the mounting pot of notes and coin piled in the centre of the gaming table.
Grimshaw
made a mental note of the exposed cards. They held no surprises for him.

Several gentlemen onlookers had gathered around the table. They stood in silence anxious to witness the final stages of a game where the pot was increasing rapidly.

Grimshaw’s
concentration wavered as he felt a jolt from the starboard side of the ship.
Concentrate, hold your nerve,
he told himself,
no time for distractions now.

The next player, Sir George Croft, a middle-aged iron and steel baron from the north of England, smoked a cigar. He exhaled and signalled for the waiter to refresh his glass.

“Are you playing Sir George?” the next player asked.

Grimshaw
noted the young man’s frigid expression but didn’t waste time speculating about his motives for playing. He switched his attention to the dealer, whom he had watched closely throughout the previous games. The man’s sleight of hand confirmed to
Grimshaw
that he wasn’t the only professional gambler at the table. The dealer, aged about forty, looked more like an undertaker than a professional card player. But who was he to judge?

The young man, who pressed Sir George, had kept his winning to a moderate level hence he drew little attention from the others during the game.
Grimshaw
suspected the young man was in league with the dealer, who had just passed the young man a card, doubtless to go with the pair he already held in his hand.

But
Grimshaw
kept silent and bided his time.

“Aye,” Sir George grunted, “I’d have to be a numbskull to throw the towel in now!” He began writing another promissory note, his hand shaking slightly. When he had finished he slapped the note on the table with a thud.

“One-thousand pounds,” the young man said and threw his note onto the pile. A collective gasp came from the onlookers.
Grimshaw
smiled, nothing like a few extra witnesses when he went in for the kill, especially for card games at sea where the aggrieved had the opportunity to come back to the table with the Chief Purser if there was any hint of skulduggery. That’s why
Grimshaw
always kept his winnings to a moderate level, he was never greedy. His young opponent had a lot to learn, he decided.

The game had reached a crucial stage as
Grimshaw
readied himself to cut to the chase. He recognised the run of play instantly, having used the same ploy himself in previous gambling engagements. Simply, get rid of the third party,
then
pounce on your unwitting victim, in this case the unsuspecting Sir George. But had the young man realised he was up against a professional?

Grimshaw
doubted it. However, playing safe he kept a self-satisfied grin on his face in an attempt to deceive his young opponent. He knew the upstart was cheating but felt both frustrated and intrigued by him because he didn’t know how he was doing it.

“Too much,” the final player in the round declared and cast his hand down.

Grimshaw
noticed the slight flicker of pleasure at the corner of the young man’s mouth with only three players left in the game. He glanced at Sir George, who also had the option to back out and leave his stake money on the table, but it would be lost to him.
Grimshaw
decided to raise the stakes
.“
Fifteen hundred,” he said.

“Fifteen!
I...I don’t have such funds to hand,” Sir George gasped.

“Quitting too?” the young man asked.

“Did you hear me say so?”  Sir George fired back, his fat cheeks reddening. “Fifteen hundred it is.”

“And what’s backing your note, Sir? With your own words you implied you were light,” the young man said.

“Damned insolence!
I’m not a man who’d wager beyond my means.”

“Then put up some collateral,” the young man challenged.

So that was his ploy,
Grimshaw
nodded. Bait the quarry, then when the hook’s in deep, reel him in. Result?
Land or property on the strength of a hand.
Didn’t the portly Sir George know he was being taken hook, line and sinker?

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” the Chief Steward leaned over the table. “There’s some problem with the ship, we’ve stopped and the Captain has ordered all passengers to put on warm clothing, collect their life-preservers from their staterooms and first-class passengers are requested to wait in your allocated area of the Boat Deck. Might I suggest gentlemen that you bring your game to a conclusion?”

“What?” Sir George grunted.

“Perhaps we should follow the captain’s orders, gentlemen,”
Grimshaw
said and tapped the side of his half-filled glass. “Titanic appears to be listing.” He scrutinised the dealer as he spoke, then turned to his right and said, “I’m sure I and my fellow players would prefer you to keep your hands on the table in clear view whilst we discuss this matter.”

The dealer’s eyes narrowed, “Certainly gentlemen, Mr.
Grimshaw
has raised the stakes to fifteen hundred, might I suggest he is requested to withdraw his stake and we declare with three players?”

“Agreed,” Sir George said, “seems most fair. I have my family on board and must attend to their needs.”

Grimshaw
nodded, “Agreed.”

“I don’t see why we should quit. The game was beginning to get interesting,” the young man said.

“You’re out voted, young sir, now let’s see what you’ve got, eh?” Sir George grinned, “I have a royal flush.” He threw his cards onto the table. “Can you beat that?”

The young man shifted nervously in his seat, “Very well, three nines.”

Grimshaw
couldn’t stop the smile hovering at the corners of his mouth widening into a broad grin. Obviously, there hadn’t been time for the dealer to slip him the fourth nine. “I only have two pairs,” he paused to see the young man’s reaction, “two pairs of threes.” And he placed them one by one onto the table.

“I don’t understand,” the young man protested and glared at the dealer who made no response.

“What don’t you understand?”
Grimshaw
asked, “
that
you have lost and I have won?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he drew his winnings towards him, threw a generous tip at the dealer and filled his pockets with his prize money.

The young man jumped to his feet, “You’ve not heard the last of this!”

“Perhaps not,”
Grimshaw
turned over the top card of the pack left on the table. It was a nine of spades.
“My,” he said, “what a surprise?
A word of advice, young man, don’t
fish in the ocean until you have mastered the pond.”

“I don’t know what you mean?” he spluttered and dashed away.

As he watched him leave
Grimshaw
noticed  the
smoking room was empty but for a few gentlemen. He turned back to the cards, spread the pack out fan-shaped on the table and drew one a random – the ace of spades. His heart sank. The card was his black dog.

He finished his whisky and strolled towards the exit. A steward opened the doors for him. “What happening?” he asked the man.