Chapter Twenty-Eight

Penelope believed that, since she’d grown up in Scotland, she knew what cold meant.

She was used to chilly breezes and icy rain. She spent her winters wearing twenty layers of wool and fur because the snow was several feet deep.

She had spent her lifetime wishing for somewhere warmer and drier. It was the one upside she’d been able to hold onto when she’d finally given in to the idea of moving to America.

But now, she realised, she had no idea of the meaning.

As soon as she entered the water, it was as if she had been stabbed by a thousand knives made of ice.

Sensation came rushing back to her body, but only to fill her with a burning pain. It seemed so odd to think of cold as burning, but that was what it was like. It felt like her skin was being sliced from her body and she was powerless to do anything to stop it.

Her entire body was submerged, and, for a split second, she seized up and refused to let go of the railing. It was only when her lungs started to ache, demanding air, that her brain took over and her body relaxed.

The ship disappeared into the darkness of the night and Penelope kicked her legs as hard as she could. She could only hope and pray that she was heading in the right direction, because she couldn’t really tell the difference between up and down. Every direction was pitch black, and none seemed to promise safety.

Just as she was about to give up hope, she broke the surface and her reflexes took over, shovelling down lungfuls of air as she continued to tread the water. She was suddenly thankful for that summer when she had sneaked away to the nearby loch with Millicent, Deborah, and Emma. It had been a warm, sunny day, and they had spent the entire afternoon frolicking in the water. Millicent had taught her how to swim, and Deborah had shown off holding her breath under water. Emma had stayed on the shore, refusing to get her hair wet.

It was one of the happiest memories of her three friends, but the main achievement of the outing was that, at the end of it, she had learnt how to remain afloat. Which was all that mattered to her now.

As soon as her brain was certain that she was able to breathe, everything else came crashing in around her. And the first thing she noticed were the screams.

They came from every angle, varying in pitch as men, women, and children all let loose the most bloodcurdling screams they were capable of. Some were wordless cries, whilst others were pleas for help. Some even called out to God, begging for His aid.

Penelope fell into the first category. Her screams just seemed to be an automatic reaction to everything she had gone through. The knowledge that the ship was going down, the sinking itself, and now dealing with the freezing water cutting through her skin and seeping into her bones.

No matter how many times she told herself to just stop screaming, she couldn’t.

The pain continued to spread until it started to disappear entirely. It began with her feet and her legs, so that even as she continued to kick them in a desperate attempt to keep herself floating, she couldn’t actually feel them move. Her throat was utterly raw, as if someone was ramming a red-hot poker down it and still expecting her to speak.

It occurred to her a moment later that she didn’t actually have to keep paddling, as her lifebelt was designed to keep her afloat. Still, there was a voice whispering in her ear, telling her that keeping moving was the best thing she could do.

The voice came to her again, and it sounded so much like her father’s that she looked around, almost expecting to find him at her side. Instead, she was greeted only by strangers. It was then that she realised that Frank was nowhere to be found.

Her gaze swept frantically left and right around her. She tried to cry out his name, desperate to draw his attention, but she couldn’t. All she could do was scream, adding to the crescendo around her.

She choked on a sob as she surveyed the area and saw so many bodies in the water, most of them just bobbing idly, thanks to their lifebelts. Some of them clutched at furniture, some to wood that had broken from the ship, anything to keep them afloat. And it was the sight of them that kept her screaming—so many were face-up, showing glassy eyes and frozen faces.

She had never seen a dead body before—had been too young to attend the wake of her grandparents—but now, countless bodies drifted by her, searing their faces into her mind, never to be forgotten.

And yet none of them were the man she was looking for, for which she was just a little bit thankful. She had already lost her parents, had watched Mr. Cole fall to his death, and had pushed Ruby away onto a lifeboat which, no doubt, still floated several hundred feet away.

She couldn’t lose Frank as well.

She couldn’t be the reason Victoria had lost both her father and her husband.

And until she saw his body, there was still the chance of him being alive.

Get out of the water, her father’s voice said, urgent and desperate, cutting through her worry as she tried to call for Frank.

Penelope looked around again. One last attempt to find Frank, to bring him to safety as well. She could barely see what was in front of her, and she found it almost impossible to believe that the ship had once sat there, proudly.

What had Ruby and her father said? She weighed forty-six thousand tons—and now she was just…gone. The ocean had claimed her, and all that was left were the screaming passengers who had once sailed on her and some random pieces of furniture.

And all because of an iceberg?

She almost wanted to laugh at how utterly ironic it sounded. Such a huge, mighty ship, named after the titans of Greek mythology—and it had been taken down, utterly destroyed, by a piece of ice?

Before the hysteria could start to sink in, her father’s voice whispered in her mind once more. Penelope. Get out of the water.

No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find Frank.

“I’m…sorry…” she whispered as she finally focused on her father’s words. She needed to find something she could pull herself onto so that she would no longer be bathed in ice. She considered clinging to one of the deckchairs, but all the ones nearby were already be used by other passengers. And she couldn’t see anything else large enough to hold her.

Motion caught her attention from the corners of her eyes, and she saw several people move towards something in the distance. Her eyes narrowed, desperately trying to see what they were aiming for…and her heart leapt when she finally noticed it.

A lifeboat.

She blinked. One, twice, twenty times, rubbing the saltwater from her eyes to ensure that she wasn’t seeing things.

But no. That was most definitely a lifeboat. It didn’t appear to be the right way up, but that didn’t matter. It was something she could climb onto to get out of the water.

She focused on swimming. It was a lot stranger with the lifebelt on, as though she was competing against it. It impeded the motion of her arms, and being unable to feel her legs meant that she just had to trust that they were still there and still working.

She moved slowly through the water, past people who screamed at her and cried out to God for help. Penelope wanted to assist; she wanted to be able to find some way of helping the hundreds, if not thousands of people in the water.

But she couldn’t think of anything. The lifeboat wouldn’t hold them all. She could only focus on her father’s voice in her head and the promise she had made to him and her mother.

Suddenly she jolted to a halt, unable to move no matter how hard she tried.

Letting out a startled scream, Penelope turned. She saw a figure in the darkness, a hand wrapped around her ankle, holding her still. As she pushed herself closer to the man, demanding that he release her, she realised she knew him.

“Mr. Wright?” she asked, no longer struggling but continuing to tread water. At the sound of his name, he released her ankle, allowing Penelope to turn and fully face him. He was utterly drenched, his blond hair and moustache slicked to his face. His blue eyes were glassy, staring but not seeing.

“My Betsy,” he choked out, in between shivers and convulsions. “Betsy…”

Penelope recalled the redheaded beauty he had danced with at the parties. They had plans to get married as soon as they landed in New York—her entire face had lit up whenever she spoke of the life they would have when they reached American soil.

Now it was all gone.

“No, it’s Penelope. Penelope Fletcher, remember?” That party seemed like a whole lifetime ago.

“Betsy,” he called out again, and rather than fight it, Penelope went along with it. She swallowed hard, her eyes darting back over to the lifeboat she had been swimming towards. Several men had already reached it, and she knew she had to keep going because there wouldn’t be an infinite amount of space aboard.

“Come on, we need to go…”

At the loch with her friends, they had swum together. It was how Millicent had taught her to swim, acting as if they were one person with two arms and four legs. Now she tried to manoeuvre herself and Mr. Wright into a similar position. Only he was much larger than Millicent in every sense; taller, heavier, wider… The second she slung his arm around her, she felt like she was being dragged beneath the water.

She closed her eyes for a beat. “Albert. Albert, I need you to…swim. We need to make…over there.” Talking was proving more and more difficult, so she gave up and tried just swimming again, hoping that her words had got through.

She made it only a couple of strokes, however, before his weight started to feel overbearing. It was slowing her down and pulling her under, countering her lifebelt.

She drew to a halt, looking around herself, hoping someone could come and help—that the lifeboats that had been launched at the beginning would make their way back to them. To no avail.

“Betsy…” Albert Wright called out again, his voice sounding softer, weaker. “’M sorry, Betsy. Love…you…”

Penelope wasn’t certain if tears fell; she had no sensation in her face to be sure. But her heart stuttered and stammered at his words. She gave him a shake. “No. Albert. Stay—” Her words lodged in her throat, unable to break free.

Once more she tried to move them forwards, but when her chin struggled to stay above the water, she knew what had to be done. She sobbed, turning to face Albert, finding his face pale and his eyes shut. His chest remained still, and she felt her voice once more join the heart-wrenching sounds that filled the air.

I’m sorry, she thought to herself, brushing fingertips over his face for just a moment before disentangling herself from him. Penelope almost wished he didn’t have his lifebelt on as he remained afloat, face down in the water, drifting away from her in the soft ripples.

She couldn’t allow herself another moment to think. She knew that if she did, the guilt would claw at her until it consumed her. And she needed to survive. She had promises to keep.

The sounds were overwhelming as she continued her journey towards the lifeboat. The most painful of emotions all rolled into one endless plea. Anger, fear, agony, utter despair—she could name every dark emotion being wrenched from the lips of those in the water with her.

She knew that the lifeboats would come back. All the women in the boats would want to rush back to find their loved ones, now that they no longer ran the risk of being pulled under with the ship.

It was that which allowed her to keep swimming.

Until she passed another dead body. Her screaming started again as she drew to an abrupt halt. She stared at the man, at his pale skin and the dread that was frozen on his face.

His face morphed between those she knew—Frank, Mr. Cole, Albert, Father…all of them in an endless cycle as she bobbed in the water.

And even when the body started to drift away from her, she kept screaming, remained frozen.

I can’t do this.

Her chest heaved and her heart thudded an erratic, uneven beat against her ribs.

Get out of the water. Her father’s voice came back to her, more urgent this time. It wasn’t just a coaxing encouragement, but a demand. He was ordering her to keep moving, to keep swimming towards that lifeboat.

It was a tone he had used a lot before—one that held no room for negotiation. One that Penelope had always obeyed.

Maybe she would die anyway. Maybe the cold would get to her and stop her heart, but she would die knowing that she had tried. She had to try.

And she did.

Just as she was ready to believe that it would be too much, that her body would give out and her heart would stop just ten yards or so from the boat, she heard someone call out, “There’s a young girl there!”

It was enough to renew her, to give her body one last push to close the distance, where the men already aboard helped her onto the boat.

Coming out of the water, being greeted with the cold chill of the air, made her feel even colder, and for just a second, she missed the water. But then she looked around and saw the forty or so men who were already there, still alive, and knew that she now had a chance.

“Women were supposed…lifeboats! How were…missed?” one questioned, his words jumbled from the shock and cold, even as he guided her towards one side of the boat. She had a brief moment to take him in, to notice his square jaw, large nose and thin lips. She clung to the body of the lifeboat, refusing to slip back into the water even as the convulsions that racked her body threatened to do so.

“P-parents,” she answered shortly, wrapping her arms around her waist to try and protect her organs. As long as her chest remained warm enough to keep her heart pumping, she knew she had a chance of making it through this.

He frowned at her, no doubt wondering just what she meant, but he said nothing more. His eyes were kind, faintly framed with what Penelope’s grandmother had called joy lines.

He wore an officer’s coat, but she didn’t know enough to be able to tell what his position was. She almost turned to ask Ruby, until she remembered that Ruby wasn’t there… She was safe in one of the lifeboats, and Penelope was thankful for that. She wouldn’t want Ruby to experience any of this.

As she sat on the upturned body of the lifeboat, watching as a few more men approached and were helped up beside her and the others, all Penelope could focus on was the pain.

Her entire body ached in a way she had never known possible. Her bones seemed to be made out of ice, and every time she moved—even to shuffle a little—it was as if she was breaking them. She couldn’t feel her feet, or her hands, or even her face. The only thing she was acutely aware of was her heartbeat.

That was the one thing she focused on, over the screams and the cries for help, the pleas for the lifeboats to come back.

Every thud meant she was still alive.

And at that moment, that was all that mattered.