Voyage in Time: The Titanic (Out of Time #9) (11 page)

She pulled up her legs and shoved them under the covers. “He’s probably got his hands full with the countess.”

Simon stood, glad to have that behind them. “You think?”

“Still waters run deep and all that.”

He took off his shirt. “Then she is a veritable ocean.”

Elizabeth piled up pillows behind her. “How’s Niels? Nick. I don’t know what to call him.”

“It is confusing, isn’t it? He seemed fine. Wondering who we are.” Simon finished undressing and pulled on his pajama bottoms. “We’ll have to tell him something tomorrow.”

“We sticking with the MI-6 idea? Or whatever it is now?”

Simon joined her in bed. “Secret Service Bureau - Foreign Section.”

“That sounds good.”

Simon grunted. “Let’s hope it sounds good to Bohr.”

She pushed herself up on her elbow. “You know what sounds good to me? Sleep.”

Simon agreed. She kissed him and lay back down. He turned off the light and joined her. Within minutes he heard her breathing change and knew she was asleep. If only he could do that, he thought.

He pulled her a little closer, closed his eyes and tried again.

E
LIZABETH
WRAPPED
HER
ROBE
around herself and shuffled out of the bedroom and into the sitting room. It was empty, but all she had to do was follow the smell of the freshly brewed coffee to find Simon.

He sat at an elegant table in their enclosed promenade. While she’d slept, some boat elf had laid out breakfast, complete with toast, fruit, coffee and tea.

Simon lowered the newspaper he was reading and smiled at her over the top of it. “Good morning.”

Elizabeth yawned in reply.

“I was wondering if you were ever getting up.”

Elizabeth poured herself a cup of coffee and held it up to her face and breathed in the aroma. “What time is it?”

“Nearly ten.”

“Ten?”

Simon hmm’d in response.

“That’s late.”

“It is, even for you.”

She took a sip of coffee. “Restless sleep.”

“I noticed.”

“I’m sorry. Did I keep you up?”

Simon shook his head and put the paper down. “Are you feeling all right?”

She took another sip of coffee and the fog began to clear from her brain. “Just wound up, I guess. You know,” she said and looked around the room, “
Titanic
.”

Simon watched her for a moment and then nodded. “Yes. Well, don’t eat too much; we have lunch with the Sheridans.” He held up a notecard and handed it to her. “You apparently made quite an impression.”

Elizabeth read the short note and put it aside. She looked at the spread and the melon that looked so good moments ago now made her feel a little queasy. Her sea legs had yet to arrive.

“And Niels?” she asked.

“We’re meeting him on A Deck in,” Simon checked his watch, “forty-five minutes.”

That wasn’t much time. “You’ve been busy.”

“It is after ten,” Simon said with a smile that quickly faded. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look a little pale.”

Elizabeth snagged a piece of toast. “Just not at full speed yet.”

Simon nodded and went back to his paper. Despite her well-established record as a notoriously slow starter in the mornings, he still looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Off to shower, shampoo and shine. I’ll meet you on deck.”

“All right.” He tapped his wrist, even though there was no wristwatch there. “Forty-five minutes.”

She gave him a small salute, picked up her coffee, shoved the toast into her mouth and headed for the bath.
 

The bathroom in their parlor suite was large and luxurious, certainly for the standards of the day, and definitely compared to the many shared baths even First Class passengers endured.
 

Even so, it was a little odd. The countertop was marble but cramped by enormous exposed pipes. It was one of the few areas on the ship where its slip was showing. For all the amenities and advancements, they still had a ways to go on how to hide the pipes.
 

Elizabeth took another sip of coffee and then stared at the taps for the bath and shower. They were mounted on the edge of a large box that hung along the partition enclosing the shower portion of the bath. That was fine, but there were four of them—two very large and two normal sized. It took her a moment to realize why. The larger two were for hot and cold salt water. Not great for a shower, but she was definitely drawing a salty bath later.
 

Half an hour later and she was dressed and nearly ready to go. Her hair could have used a wash, but without a blow dryer it took forever and a day to dry, so it would have to wait until tonight or tomorrow if she could squeeze another day out of it.

She was just about to head up to A Deck when another wave of nausea hit her. She scrounged through everything the Council had provided and there was nothing for seasickness. There had to be a doctor on board, though. Now, if she just knew where.

She walked out onto the landing by the grand staircase and saw a young ship’s officer on his way down.
 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, “but can you tell me where the doctor’s office is? I’m feeling a little unwell.”

He smiled kindly. “I can do better than that. I’m on my way there myself. Would you like me to send him up?”

She shook her head. “Just an upset stomach.”

He held out his hand gesturing down the stairs. They made small talk as they walked. Harold, as it turned out, not only had a headache, but he was the Deputy Radio Officer.

She scoured her brain for the proper technology of the time. “Telegraph?”

“Yes.”

“I bet you were busy when we first left. ‘Dear Aunt Judy, I’m on the
Titanic
.’ Dear Uncle Fizzpott—”

He laughed. “Very. And we still are.”

He led her down one of the long corridors on C Deck.

“Really?” Elizabeth hadn’t thought much about it, but it made sense. It was the texting of its day, although a little more expensive.

“Yes,” he said. “There’s even one couple that sends the same message. Twice a day. ‘The weather is nice.’ Now, why would someone spend twenty-four shillings a day for that?”

The hairs on Elizabeth’s neck prickled. That sounded like spy talk. “That is strange. That’s all it says?”

Edmund nodded in agreement. “That’s all. People do send odd messages, but that one ….” He shook his head. “Here we are.”

Just as Elizabeth was going to try to get more information, the door to the doctor’s office opened and a man who looked like he stepped off the set of
HMS Pinafore
appeared. He stepped aside to let an older woman leave his office.

He smiled at her and then noticed his new arrivals. “Hello. Another headache?” he asked Harold.

“A small one.”

The doctor frowned but gestured for Elizabeth to go into his office. He grabbed a bottle of aspirin and gave it to Harold. “You can buy your own, you know.”

Harold held up the bottle. “Yours do a better job.”

The doctor humphed in reply. Harold said his goodbyes and the doctor closed the door.

“And so what can I do for you, Mrs. …?”

“Cross. Just an upset stomach.”

“Well, then we’ll fix you up in a jiffy.”

He was very kind and gave her some bicarbonate of soda and charcoal powder to be taken after every meal.
 

After taking some of the former and throwing out the latter, she found Simon up on A Deck. Together, they found Niels watching a smaller boat approach.

“Where are we?” Elizabeth asked.

“Ireland,” Simon said as they joined Niels by the railing. “Delivering mail and a few passengers by tender.”

Niels turned to them. “Good morning.”

“Thank you for meeting with us.”

Niels inclined his head and then turned back to watch the smaller boat maneuver alongside the
Titanic
.

“As a physicist, I tend to believe that coincidence is merely an illusion, the product of some occurrence we do not yet understand. And here I stand,” he said with a small smile, “not understanding.”

Elizabeth glanced at Simon. This was Niels’ way of demanding an explanation. She hoped theirs would float.

“How is it you appeared in Cambridge when I myself didn’t know that until a day before I would be there? How is it you were there on the river just at the right moment? How is it you are here, now?”

Simon considered his questions before answering. “I realize that our happening to be in all of these places stretches the bounds of credulity.”

“To the point of breaking,” Niels said. “You have been good to me. You have kept my secret. You have taken care of me. You have saved my life. What I don’t understand is why.”

“Believe it or not, you are an important man.”

He laughed. “I am not. Rutherford. Thomson. Dozens of others. These are important men.”

Elizabeth put a hand on his arm. “The people we work for believe otherwise. And they think that your meeting—”

Niels blanched at the word.
 

“Is important as well,” she finished.

Bohr frowned. “You know a great deal more about me than I do about you.”

 
Simon made sure no one else was near enough to overhear them. “We’ve been sent here on a mission by the Secretary, SSB, to protect you, to ensure you make your mysterious meeting.”

“To protect me?”

“Yes, from men like our German friend.”

Niels nodded. “So far I’m thankful you are better at your job than I am at mine.” He looked at them in turn. “But why me?”

“We don’t know,” Simon lied. He was very good at it. Elizabeth almost believed him. “Need to know and all that.”

“And all you need to know,” Elizabeth said, “is that we’re on your side. Really.”

Thankfully, he looked like he believed that much at least.

“A husband and wife team of government agents?”

Simon shrugged. “No one pays much mind to a married couple. Good cover.”

“We’ll look after you.”

Niels nodded. “And you think there are others. Not just our German friend, but others on board?”

“Possibly.”

He shook his head in disbelief and looked around at the other passengers on the deck. “They seem so unlikely.”

“They always do.”

Simon and Elizabeth found the Sheridans waiting for them in the reception room by the aft grand staircase.
 

“Cross,” the big man said, extending his hand as they approached. Introductions were made and they went into the café.

Café Parisian was one of the several restaurants on board that were in addition to the main dining room, snuggled along the starboard side of B Deck near the aft part of the ship. Twenty or so small rattan tables sat in a charming, long, thin, sun-lit veranda. Intricate French-styled trellises with ivy and other dangly plants framed the rows of large windows on either side of the room, giving diners a perfect view of the a la carte restaurant next door or the water to the other side.
 

It was a slice of Paris on the ocean, complete with French waiters.

They’d just sat down when a young woman and a girl approached their table.

Robert Sheridan put down his menu, clearly annoyed. “Miss McBride.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but she wanted to ask if she could go for a swim.”

Sheridan frowned and the young woman hastily added. “I told her she couldn’t, but she insisted I ask you again.”

The little girl, no more than seven or eight years old, came forward. “Daddy, I—”

Mr. Sheridan held up a finger and she fell silent and moved back behind her nanny’s skirts. He looked at the girl with stern disapproval and then turned to Miss McBride.
 

“We discussed this, did we not?”

Miss McBride clasped her hands in front of her. “Yes.”

“Was I unclear?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” He took a sip of water. “Come here, Emily.”

Obediently, but reluctantly, the girl did as he asked.

“We had an agreement, didn’t we?” He dipped his head down to force his daughter to look him in the eye. “Hmm?”

The girl met his eyes but chewed on her lower lip as she nodded.

“And we don’t go back on our word, do we?”

She shook her head.
 

“Good.” He squeezed her arm none too gently from the looks of it. “Now, you go back to the rooms and no more of this nonsense. Are we clear?”

The poor little girl gave him a shaking nod and looked to her mother for support, but none was coming.

“Go on, dear,” Louise said. “I’ll come by after lunch. We’ll read.”

The girl perked up, gave her a small smile and then walked away from the table followed closely by Miss McBride.

Sheridan watched them go with disapproval. He shook out his napkin and gave a deep sigh. “I’m sorry about that.”

Simon’s expression was hard. “So am I.”

If Sheridan noticed the edge in Simon’s voice, he didn’t show it. Instead, he grinned and said, “I hear the salmon’s good.”

~~~

Elizabeth managed a half smile for Mrs. Sheridan and waved as the couple walked away down the deck after lunch.
 

“Pillock.”

 
Elizabeth knew there was something about Sheridan that Simon didn’t like and now she knew what. Aside from the way he treated his daughter, there was the way he treated his wife, the waiters, everyone but them. And, she was sure, Sheridan would get around to that eventually.

When he wasn’t lording it over the staff, he was bragging about his place with Bethlehem Steel. Worst yet, he was a nationalist to the point of jingoism. Belligerent, aggressive, xenophobic—the worst the world had to offer. But none of that was what made Elizabeth feel sick.
 

“We’re never dining with them again,” Simon said.

“It’s a small ship.”

“I held my tongue for his wife’s sake, but I cannot guarantee I’ll be as restrained next time.”

She took his arm. “You were very good.”

He looked down at her curiously. “And you were very quiet.”