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Kate Royston
Kate wiped away her tears and stared in astonishment as she saw the size of the crowd jostling for position outside the Russell Senate Office Building. Those who were not crowding the steps had taken up viewing positions at the tall windows by climbing onto the window ledges and craning their necks to see inside. Bloodsuckers, she thought. How can they find entertainment in tragedy? If any of them had actually felt the biting wind from the ice field and seen the lonely huddle of lifeboats adrift amid the ice floes, they would not now be laughing in excitement at the prospect of hearing the details. If they had heard the terrible cries of the survivors as they had been brought on board the Carpathia, they would hang their heads in shame instead of pushing and shoving to obtain a better view of the bereaved. Would they act this way at a funeral?
The words of the Reverend Mr. Dayton crept from the place in her mind where she kept her most bitter memories.
She saw the minister’s long, disapproving face as he ushered her into his office.
“I don’t think you should remain here, Kate. Is there somewhere you can go? Will someone take you in?”
“My father’s maiden aunt, Great-Aunt Suzanna, is in Pittsburgh. I’ll go to her. She’s never approved of my father’s marriage, and we’ve had no contact, but she’s the only relative I have. She’ll have to take me in.”
The Reverend Mr. Dayton unlocked a drawer in his desk, removed a small cash box, and counted out a few notes. “For your train fare.”
“Oh, no, I don’t need—”
“I think you do.”
“I have my mother’s jewelry. I can sell it or pawn it.”
The Reverend Mr. Dayton shook his head. “Not in this town. Take the money and buy a ticket to Pittsburgh. I’ll take you to the station. I have a closed carriage. You won’t want people to see you.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “We’ll bury your father tonight, privately.”
“And the headstone?” Kate asked.
“No headstone. We don’t want to arouse bad feelings.”
“Maybe you should just bury him at the crossroads and be done with it,” Kate snapped.
“Maybe we should,” he said.
Kate’s stumbled to a halt, blinded by tears of memory. The crowd pressed in around her, and she felt herself falling. Before she could hit the ground, a strong hand took hold of her arm and pulled her back to her feet.
“Steady on, Miss Kate.”
She looked up into the craggy face of Joe Bayliss, who stood as firm as the Rock of Gibraltar in the midst of the seething crowd.
Suddenly embarrassed, she groped for words of explanation for the blind panic that had sent her running from the Caucus Room, but he was not listening. He set a firm arm around her waist, lifting her almost off her feet, and led her through the throng and up the steps to the doors of the Senate building.
“I can’t go back,” she insisted. “Please, Sheriff. I can’t go back.”
He ignored her, or maybe he didn’t hear her. He growled a greeting to the police at the door and ushered her into the comparative calm of the marble corridor.
“I can’t go back in there,” Kate protested.
Joe released his grip on her waist and turned her to face him. “Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know,” she wailed.
She caught his fleeting glance of exasperation, but his voice was kind. “We’ll go to Senator Smith’s office,” he said. “You can wait there while I fetch Mrs. Trentham.”
“Oh, no, don’t do that. I don’t want to see her.”
The exasperation was more than fleeting this time. “Well, who do you want to see?”
“I don’t want to see anyone.”
He returned his arm to her waist and propelled her along the corridor. “I’ll fetch the Irish nurse,” he said. “She can take care of you.”
He hurried her through an open doorway into an outer office and pushed her gently into a wooden chair. “Sit there, Miss Kate. This is Senator Smith’s office, and no one will disturb you. Just wait here for the nurse. Don’t go outside again.”
Kate stared down at her lap, listening to the sound of Joe’s retreating footsteps as he strode away along the marble-floored corridor. When she could no longer hear his footsteps, she could still hear his voice speaking to her as though she were a troublesome child being told to wait for her nanny. Just wait here for the nurse. Don’t go outside again.
She listened to the distant muffled voices of people going about their business in the Senate building. She glanced at the open door. She didn’t have to sit and wait like a child. If she could find a service exit, she should be able to leave without anyone noticing. She stood up, smoothed her dress, and adjusted her hat. This time, she would walk instead of run, and she would keep her tears under control until she could ... could what? Where was she going?
“Well, now. What’s all this about?” Bridie Conley’s voice broke through her thoughts, and Kate looked up to see the Irishwoman standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.
“I don’t need you,” Kate said. “I’m leaving.”
Bridie shook her head. “No, you’re not. Herself wants to see you.”
“Herself?”
“Mrs. Trentham. She says I’m to bring you to her.”
“I don’t want to see her.”
Bridie raised her eyebrows. “Did I ask you if you wanted to see her?” she said. “It’s not a matter of what you want. She says I’m to bring you and not take no for an answer.” Bridie reached into the pocket of her apron and produced a handkerchief, which she handed to Kate. “Wipe your eyes; blow your nose; and come with me.”
“I don’t think you should speak to me like that,” Kate replied, suddenly resentful of Bridie’s tone.
“And how should I be speaking to you?” Bridie asked. “You’re a grown woman with a job to do for Mrs. Trentham. Sure, and the world would be a terrible place if every person with a job to do felt free to run away crying like a child whenever they fancied. She wants to see you, and you’re to come with me, and that’s all there is to say about it.”
Kate dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief as fresh tears welled up and trickled down her face.
Bridie shook her head and raised her eyes to the heavens. “Look at you, in your pretty new dress and your smart new hat. What do you have to cry about? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Well, I—”
Bridie waved away Kate’s attempt at an explanation. “Don’t tell me. Tell herself.”
Kate reluctantly followed Bridie along the corridor toward the sound of voices from the Caucus Room.
“Are they still asking questions in there?” she asked.
“They’ll be asking questions from here till kingdom come,” Bridie replied, “and still they’ll have no answers. ’Tis only God can tell us why. No need to be listening right now. Mrs. Trentham is in the ladies’ retiring room, and very nice it is.”
Bridie arrived at a door bearing a discreet sign indicating that this was for ladies only. She pushed the door open and ushered Kate through into a carpeted sanctuary lit by clerestory windows and electric lights with pink silk shades. Eva’s wheelchair had been placed in the center of the room, where the light from the high windows illuminated the angry expression on her face. Kate stood before her, clasping and twisting the handkerchief Bridie had given her.
“Stop doing that,” Eva said firmly. “You look like a five-year old. If you’ve finished drying your eyes, stop playing with that handkerchief. Put it away.”
“I’m sorry,” Kate said.
“Sorry for what?”
“For leaving you and for Bridie having to run after me.”
“Is that all you’re sorry for?”
“I should have stayed,” Kate said, “but I was upset.”
“I see.” Eva’s voice was cold. “And what were you upset about?”
“About ...” Kate looked around at the chintz-covered armchairs. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
“Yes, I mind. Stand there and tell me what has you so upset.”
“It was Danny, Mr. McSorley. The Duff-Gordons said that he had been in their lifeboat. I suppose I hadn’t thought about it before. I mean, I hadn’t asked how he came to be rescued, but now I realize he took the coward’s way out. He got in a lifeboat. He took the place of a woman or a child. I thought he was better than that.”
Eva sniffed disapprovingly. “And for that reason, you ran out of the Caucus Room, where people were reliving a terrible tragedy?”
“I was upset.”
“Upset!” Eva declared. “You were upset, were you?”
“I was disappointed in Danny.”
“And so you ran.”
“No ... well, yes.”
“Because you were disappointed that Danny McSorley had not drowned along with all the other gentlemen?”
“No, it’s not like that.”
“I think it is,” Eva said. Her face was flushed and her voice was low and dangerous. “You were not there. You have no idea what happened or under what circumstances young Danny was put into a lifeboat, and yet you presume to judge his actions. You presume to call him a coward.”
“I didn’t call him a coward.”
“Yes, you did. You have made up your mind that any man who did not fling himself into the water is a coward. You are as bad as the newspaper reporters. How dare you presume to judge? You cannot judge, because you were not there.”
“Senator Smith is judging,” Kate muttered.
“What was that? Speak up.”
“Senator Smith is judging,” Kate repeated.
“Senator Smith is asking questions,” Eva said, “and attempting to find the truth. Did you ask any questions?”
Kate stared down at the floor, feeling like a child and fighting back renewed tears.
“So,” Eva hissed. “Is that how you intend to go through life? Do you intend to just run away from your problems?”
“I don’t do that.”
“Don’t you?” Eva snapped. “You were running away when I found you on the Carpathia, weren’t you? I don’t know what you’re running from, but let me tell you that running away is a bad habit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me. It doesn’t matter to me if you run away. I can always replace you. Apologize to yourself for being so weak.”
Kate’s eyes prickled, and she was mortified to feel teardrops slipping from beneath her eyelids and sliding down her cheeks.
“Oh, sit down,” Eva said impatiently, “and tell me what you’re really crying about. Are you really so attached to Danny McSorley?”
“No. It’s not just him. It’s everything.”
“By ‘everything,’ I assume you mean whatever had you running in the first place. You’d better tell me what it is.”
“I can’t.”
“If you don’t tell me, someone else will. Probably that reporter woman who is trying to remember what she read about you in the newspaper.”
After a year of silence, Kate could not speak the words. If Myra Grunwald unearthed the story and spoke the words that Kate could not speak, that would be soon enough. Meantime, she could only look at Eva and shake her head.
Eva sighed impatiently. “Very well. I only hope that when I do find out, I will discover that your current tears are justified. The survivors of the Titanic have come through a night of desperation and loss, and should not be subjected to seeing you cry because a young man has not come up to your expectations.”
“That’s not why—”
“Good.” Eva waved a dismissive hand. “I will not ask you to justify yourself, but I will offer you some advice. Running away is no solution to anything, and you should never do it again. You have to face your demons, Kate. You can never outrun them. I don’t ever want to see you do that again. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Very well. Now go and fetch Bridie to push me.”
Kate found Bridie waiting in the corridor outside the retiring room and walked behind her as she pushed Eva back into the Caucus Room. Bridie walked with a straight back and shoulders stiff with resentment. Kate wondered how long it would be before the Irishwoman forgave her.
Eva’s and Bridie’s words had stung. Kate tried to justify her actions. Surely if Bridie and Eva knew why Kate was running, then they would understand and forgive her, maybe even find her justified. She longed to tell them. It’s not about Danny McSorley; it’s about my father. I’m not a coward, but I had to run. I couldn’t live with the hostile stares and the blame. She wondered how long it would be before Myra Grunwald retrieved the newspaper clippings from March 1911 and what Myra would do with the information.
Kate looked up at the dais, where Senator Smith was on his feet, interrogating a witness. The man before him turned toward Kate as she helped Bridie to move chairs and accommodate Eva’s wheelchair. He was a very ordinary-looking middle-aged man sporting the large mustache popular with men of his age. His mild blue eyes were fixed on Kate for a moment, and then he turned back to the senator. His posture was relaxed. Apparently, this man was not under any suspicion. He was simply a passenger with a story to tell.
Eva turned in her seat and queried the people behind her. “Who is he?”
“Charles Stengel. First-class passenger.”
Eva nodded and leaned sideways to speak to Kate as she settled into her seat. “He’s a no one. So I wonder why he’s here.”
Senator Smith shot an angry glance at the interruption and continued his question. As always, his voice was without emotion, but his questioning was relentless.
“Mr. Stengel, I understand that wagers were made by you as to the speed of the ship.”
Stengel shook his head. “I would not say wagers,” he responded, “but as is usual in these voyages, there were pools made to bet on the speed that the boat would make, and at twelve o’clock, after the whistle blew, the people who had bet went to the smoking room and came out and reported she had made five hundred forty-six nautical miles. I figured then that at twenty-four hours to a day, we made twenty-two and three-quarter knots, but I was told I was mistaken, that I should have figured twenty-five hours.”
Senator Smith frowned. “Twenty-five hours for the day?”
“Yes, Senator, on account of the elapsed time, I believe, which made it almost twenty-two nautical miles an hour. At the same time, a report came from the engine room that the engines were turning three revolutions faster than at any time on the voyage.”
“And what time was that on Sunday?”
“I should say about between one and two o’clock Sunday afternoon.”
“Did you have occasion to consult with anyone as to, or did you familiarize yourself with, the speed of the ship after that time?”
“Not after that time, any more than I called my wife’s attention to the fact that the engines were running very fast. That was when I retired, about ten o’clock. I could hear the engines running when I retired, and I noticed that the engines were running fast. I said I noticed that they were running faster than at any other time during the trip.”
Smith’s eyes glittered as he leaned toward the witness. “How could you tell that?”
“Just through being familiar with engines in the manufacturing business.”
Smith seemed disappointed. Perhaps he had been hoping for an expert opinion, not just a vague speculation.
“Where were you, Mr. Stengel, when the accident happened?”
“I had retired. My wife called me. I was moaning in my sleep. My wife called me, and says, ‘Wake up; you are dreaming,’ and I was dreaming, and as I woke up, I heard a slight crash. I paid no attention to it until I heard the engines stop. When the engines stopped, I said, ‘There is something serious; there is something wrong. We had better go up on deck.’ I just put on what clothes I could grab, and my wife put on her kimono, and we went up to the top deck and walked around there.”
Stengel paused. Kate could see only the back of his head, but from the sudden stiffness of his posture, she imagined the shadow of memory creeping across his face.
“There were not many people around there. That was where the lifeboats were. We came down to the next deck, and the captain came up. I supposed he had come up from investigating the damage. He had a very serious and a very grave face. I then said to my wife, ‘This is a very serious matter, I believe.’ Shortly after that, I heard the order given to the stewards to arouse the passengers, but I heard another passenger later complain that the stewards were not doing that.”
Smith turned sharply as another of his committee members leaned forward across the table to ask a question. “You say that the stewards were not arousing the passengers?”
Smith turned back to Stengel. “What do you say, Mr. Stengel? Why would someone say that?”
“I think I know the cause. The crew calmed the passengers by making them believe it was not a serious accident. In fact, most of them, after they got on board the Carpathia, said they expected to go back the next day and get aboard the Titanic again. As for the stewards not arousing the people, well, even the stewards were not told how serious the accident was, because the officers did not want to spread panic. The stewards would have done their duty, but the stokers, if they heard, would have come up and taken every boat.”
A murmur spread through the people seated in the Caucus Room and out into the people behind the open windows. Smith shook his head slowly. “Is that your belief, Mr. Stengel?”
“It is the judgment of the officers,” Stengel replied. “It is what they thought would happen.”
“And what did you do?” Smith asked.
“I had seen the grave look on the captain’s face,” Stengel said, “and so I went back to my stateroom and put a life preserver on my wife, and then she tied mine on.”
Kate tried to picture Mr. Stengel and his wife alone in their cabin, helping each other into the life vests. Did they have any idea what was to come? she wondered.
“We went back up to the top deck,” Stengel said. “Then I heard the orders given to put all the women and children in the boats and have them go off about two hundred yards from the vessel.”
“And who gave that order?”
“It seemed to me an officer. Of course, I was a little bit agitated, and I heard them, and I did not look particularly to see who it was. While they were loading the lifeboats, the officers or men who had charge of loading the lifeboats said, ‘There is no danger; this is simply a matter of precaution.’ After my wife was put in a lifeboat, she wanted me to come with them, and they said, ‘No. Nothing but ladies and children.’ And so I remained behind.”
And yet you are here now? Kate thought. Why are you here now? Was this yet another man who had saved himself at the expense of others?
“I turned toward the bow, although I do not know what led me there,” Stengel said with a note of awe in his voice, “but there I found a small emergency boat with three people, Sir Cosmo Duff-Gordon and his wife and Miss Francatelli. I asked the officer if I could get into that boat, as there was no one else around. He told me to jump in, and so I did.”
Stengel turned his head and looked at the tall windows of the room, through which the outside spectators were clearly visible. “He told me to jump in,” he repeated. “There was no one else there. No ladies.”
“Did anyone else enter your lifeboat?” Smith asked.
Stengel turned back from glaring defensively at the spectators. “A young man, a Marconi operator. He jumped in as we were being lowered.”
“How did that happen?”
“I am not sure. There had been some kind of altercation on the deck above, and gunshots. I saw a man—an officer, I think—lean from the deck above and give the order to let the Marconi man into the boat.”
“Do you know who the officer was?”
“I do not.”
“Did this young man, this Marconi man, say why he should be allowed in the boat?”
“He did not.”
“Do you know who fired the weapons?”
“No, Senator, I do not.”
“Could the Marconi man have fired the weapon?”
“I cannot say.”
Kate sprang to her feet. Was Danny McSorley a murderer? In her mind, she was already fleeing the question, holding up her skirts and running down the long marble corridor, seeking open air. Eva’s hand emerged from the embroidered shawl that covered her lap and grasped Kate’s skirt. Kate looked down and met Eva’s steady gaze. You have to face your demons, Kate. You can never outrun them.
Kate closed her eyes and allowed a memory to surface. A cold, clear moon illuminated the graveyard and the hastily dug grave. The Reverend Mr. Dayton hurried through the prayers.
“We therefore commit this body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
The earth had been cold as she had waited to cast it onto her father’s coffin. Voices echoed in the valley below. They knew what she was doing, and they were coming. She released the soil, and it fell silently into the deep darkness.
The Reverend Mr. Dayton’s voice trembled on the edge of fear. “Go now, Kate. As fast as you can.”
The demons climbed up the valley from what remained of the town. They followed her as she fled to New York, and lay in wait for her on board the Carpathia. They were here now, filling her with restless suspicion and urging her to run again. She took a deep breath, pulled her skirt from Eva’s grasp and resumed her seat. This time she would not run.
Senator William Alden Smith
Senator Smith leaned back in his chair and beckoned to Will McKinstry. “Tomorrow,” he said, “I want to use the smallest meeting room, with seating for no more than a handful of spectators.”
“But you said you wanted the proceedings to be open to the public,” McKinstry reminded him.
“I did,” Bill agreed, “but I was wrong. I can’t make any progress in this atmosphere, with people trying to climb through the windows, and a constant babble of conversation.”
He looked at the shabby young man who had replaced Charles Stengel in the witness chair. Stengel had been a willing witness, eager to tell his story, but this witness was an entirely different matter.
He gestured toward the new witness. “This fellow is playing to the gallery,” he whispered. “He’s been told to make me look like a fool, and he’s succeeding. The British press will have a field day with this. See to it that we have a small room, and from tomorrow on, there will be no spectators, just a handful of reporters.”
“What about survivors?” McKinstry asked. “We can’t keep them out.”
“First come, first served,” Bill said, “but no one else.”
“And Mrs. Trentham and her coterie?”
Bill looked across at Eva Trentham, ensconced in the front row. The flighty young woman from the Carpathia had returned to her side with a tearstained face and a distinctly disheveled appearance. The comings and goings of Eva and the nurse and the girl from the Carpathia had disrupted the meeting and broken his concentration, but he could not discount Eva’s political influence. He still needed her on his side. “You’d better save a place for her,” he agreed. “There’ll be hell to pay if we try to keep her out.”
McKinstry retired to his seat at the rear of the dais, and Bill returned his attention to Frederick Fleet, the Titanic’s lookout. Fleet wore a cocky grin on his weather-beaten face. At twenty-four, he had been at sea almost half of his life, and he’d spent four years as lookout on the Olympic before gaining a post on the Titanic. Bill regretted that he had elected to be the person who would question Fleet. The young sailor should have been questioned by someone else, preferably someone with naval experience.
He looked down at his notes and proceeded to the next question. “Did you board the Titanic from Southampton or from Belfast?”
“I fetched her round from Belfast on the lookout,” Fleet said with a grin, “and I stayed on the lookout from Southampton.”
“And where were you stationed in the performance of your duty?”
Fleet shrugged. “Like I said, sir, I was on the lookout.”
“You were on the lookout at the time of collision, meaning you were in the crow’s nest?”
Fleet raised his eyebrows. “That’s what I said.”
Outside the window, someone laughed. Bill tried to ignore the laughter and persevered with the dogged line of questioning that was the only tool available to him. He knew of no other way to arrive at the truth, but he was beginning to doubt that Fleet would ever tell the truth. Perhaps the young man had not been directed to lie, but he certainly had not been directed to be helpful.
“Can you tell me, Mr. Fleet, how high the crow’s nest is above the boat deck?”
Fleet shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“Can you tell how high above the crow’s nest the masthead is?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know how far you were above the bridge?”
Fleet shook his head vigorously. “I’m no hand at guessing.”
“I don’t want you to guess,” Bill said patiently, “but if you know, I would like to have you tell.”
“I have no idea.”
From the corner of his eye, Bill saw that Senator Duncan Fletcher, from Florida, was leaning forward impatiently.
“You must have some idea,” Fletcher said.
Fleet pursed his lips and rolled his eyes up to look at the ceiling as if in deep thought. “No,” he said finally, “I do not.”
“You must know whether it was a thousand feet or two hundred feet,” Fletcher insisted.
Fleet shrugged. “No, sir, I do not.”
Fletcher leaned back in his seat, and Bill returned to his notebook. “What time did you go on watch on Sunday night?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“And were you told to keep a sharp lookout for ice?”
Fleet looked at Bill suspiciously. Perhaps no one had prepared him for that question. “Yes,” he said reluctantly. “I was told.”
Bill made a note on his notepad. One very small victory. Fleet had finally admitted that he had been told to look out for ice.
“And did you see ice,” Bill asked, “and did you report it?”
“I did,” Fleet said. “Just after seven bells, I saw a sort of shadow on the water, like a black mass, and I rang three bells and reported an iceberg right ahead.”
Senator Fletcher leaned forward again, and his voice was sharp and serious, the voice of someone who expected to be obeyed. “How far away was this black mass when you first saw it?”
Fleet’s face paled. “I have no idea, sir, but I reported it as soon as ever I seen it.”
“But you can’t tell me how far away it was?” Fletcher persisted.
“No, sir.”
Bill began to wonder whether Fleet was being evasive or whether he was, in fact, somewhat lacking in brains. Perhaps he had misjudged the young Englishman. Maybe he was not being evasive; maybe he really could not measure distances.
“Mr. Fleet,” Bill said, “could you tell how many ship’s lengths you were away? Titanic ship’s lengths.”
“No, sir. No, I couldn’t.”
“Well, how large did the iceberg appear to be when you first saw it?”
Fleet’s voice was on the edge of panic. “I don’t know, sir.”
Bill tried again. “Was it the size of an ordinary house? Was it as large as this room?”
“No. It didn’t appear to be very large at all.”
“Well,” Fletcher interrupted angrily, “how large did it get when it struck the ship?”
Fleet buried his face in his hands for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes were shadowed. “When we were alongside,” he said quietly, “it was a little bit higher than the forecastle head ... Fifty feet, I should say.”
Bill stared down at his notebook for a moment, realizing that there was something that Fleet was not saying. Why had he not seen the iceberg sooner? Was it because of the ship’s speed, or was there another reason? He remembered Joe’s report from his meeting with the crewmen. I spoke to the lookout. His name is Frederick Fleet, and he let slip that he had no binoculars up there in the crow’s nest. How could he have forgotten such important information? “Mr. Fleet, did you have binoculars in the crow’s nest?”
Fleet shook his head. “We asked for them in Southampton, and they said there was none for us.”
Bill felt a moment of triumph. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps he had found the Achilles heel of the White Star Line. “Who did you ask, Mr. Fleet?”
“We asked Mr. Lightoller, the second officer, and he said there was none for us.”
“Suppose you had glasses,” Bill persisted. “Could you have seen this black object at a greater distance?”
“We could have seen it a bit sooner.”
“How much sooner?”
Fleet lifted his head defiantly. “Soon enough to get out of the way.”