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Sheriff Joe Bayliss
Joe had no trouble keeping Ismay and Lightoller in view as they approached the classic white marble facade of the new Union Station. Ismay walked with the sluggish pace of a middle-aged man who had spent too much time behind a desk, and Lightoller walked with a slight limp and a hitching of his right leg. Old injury, Joe wondered, or something he acquired in the sinking? Joe had occasionally been forced to swim in the cold waters of Lake Michigan, and he knew the way the cold affected the extremities. Lightoller’s hands and feet, maybe his whole body, had no doubt been rendered numb by the bone-chilling cold of the Atlantic. He was probably still discovering cuts and bruises. In fact, it was a wonder that the man was still alive.
Joe felt a twinge of guilt about following Lightoller. He had no problem tailing a criminal, but so far as he could see, Lightoller was more of a hero than a criminal. Certainly, he had shown astonishing courage and leadership in saving as many people as he could and keeping the lifeboats together through the long night. As for Ismay, Joe could find nothing to admire in the White Star’s chairman, but he was not convinced that Ismay had committed an actual crime. The more he listened to Bill’s questioning of the survivors, the more trouble he had forming a firm opinion of anyone’s guilt.
No, he thought, that was not quite true. Lord was guilty as sin of something, either knowingly failing to respond to the Titanic’s distress signals or being drunk and unconscious in his bunk. Either way, Joe could find no sympathy for the Californian’s captain. However, he was not tailing Lord; he was tailing Ismay and Lightoller, and they were definitely up to something.
“Sheriff, what are we doing?”
Joe looked down at Kate, who was clinging to his arm and staring up at him in bewilderment. Pretty as a picture, he thought. If Lightoller or Ismay looked behind them, all they would see was old Sheriff Bayliss trying his luck with Eva Trentham’s companion. They wouldn’t be suspicious; they would be envious.
He felt a moment of shame. When he had grasped Kate’s arm, he had not intended to do anything that would ruin her reputation, and perhaps this situation really would look bad to the casual observer. He wondered how it would look to Danny McSorley. Something like this could earn a fellow a poke on the nose, and McSorley looked capable of throwing a pretty good punch.
“Sheriff, stop!”
Kate was digging her heels in now and trying to bring him to a halt.
“Just walk with me,” he urged.
“Think this through,” she said.
He looked down at her. “I have thought it through, and I have decided they’re trying to get out of the country.”
“So where is their luggage?”
He stopped abruptly.
“They won’t leave without their luggage,” Kate said. “They may not have much, because most of it went down with the ship, but they’d surely have something. Look at them. They’re both empty-handed.”
Joe shook his head in bewilderment. She was right, of course, but why hadn’t he thought of that? He knew the answer well enough. He was tired of this whole inquiry and impatient to bring it to a close. He’d had enough of careful questioning and cautious diplomacy. He wanted to arrest someone for the death of fifteen hundred people, and then he wanted to go home to Michigan.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Miss Kate,” he said, “but they seem to be determined to go inside the station. Why would they do that if they don’t intend to catch a train?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, then,” Joe said, removing his hat and giving her a slight bow, “would you mind accompanying me inside so that we can see what they’re up to? If it’s not out of your way,” he added.
“No,” she said, “it’s not out of my way. Perhaps we can do a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I’ll come with you into the station if you’ll come with me to the nearest pawnshop.”
“Pawnshop?” Joe took a step backward. “What could you want in a pawnshop?”
“Money,” she said.
“Doesn’t Mrs. Trentham give you money?”
“No, not a penny. I think she’s afraid that I’ll run away if she gives me half a chance.”
“And would you?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like to have the option.” Kate fingered a small pearl brooch nestled at the neck of her blouse. “This is all I have, and I want to pawn it or sell it.”
“Miss Kate, I would lend you—heck, I would give you money if you needed it.”
She shook her head. “No. I want my own money. I don’t want a gift or a loan. Will you come with me?”
“If you want me to.”
She tucked her hand back in the crook of his arm. “Good. Now let’s go and see what these two gentlemen are doing. They’ve just gone inside.”
Joe picked up speed, with Kate tripping along beside him to keep up with his long strides. When they stepped out of the afternoon sunshine into the vast, echoing ticket hall of the train station, he was in time to see Lightoller and Ismay meeting up with a group of half a dozen men, each of whom carried a small suitcase or duffel bag.
Joe abruptly released Kate’s hand and strode across the tiled floor. “Ismay! Lightoller!” he shouted. “Stop where you are.” His voice was swallowed up by a babble of voices echoing from the high domed ceiling, along with the hissing of steam engines, the clank of machinery, and the constant beat of hurrying footsteps. In all the commotion, Ismay and Lightoller appeared not to hear him.
To Joe’s amazement, Kate ran ahead of him and seized Ismay’s arm. The Englishman turned to look down at her. His brows drew together in a ferocious frown. She hung on to his arm, her face lifted toward him, her lips moving. The frown on his face turned to an expression of utter astonishment, and then Joe was beside him, his voice grim as thunder.
“Don’t you dare touch her.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ismay said coldly. “What do you take me for?”
“It’s all right, Sheriff,” Kate said. “It’s not what you think.”
Joe looked past Kate’s worried face. “I think that he’s trying to flee the country.”
Ismay shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that. I gave my word, as did Officer Lightoller. We are not going anywhere.”
“Then what is this all about?” Joe asked. He looked at the worried faces of the other men. They were a sorry-looking bunch in ill-fitting clothes. He studied their sallow faces and their shadowed eyes, and then he knew. He turned to Lightoller. “This is your crew, isn’t it?”
Lightoller fixed him with a steady blue-eyed gaze. “Yes, Sheriff, this is some of my crew. These men are my responsibility, not because they are White Star sailors but because they are my shipmates. What they have to say will have no bearing on the outcome of Senator Smith’s hearings.”
“What about the lookout?” Joe asked. “He had something to say.”
“He’s not here,” Lightoller said. “Fleet is staying, and so am I. All the officers will remain here, but you don’t need these men for your inquiry. For pity’s sake, man, put yourself in their shoes. They have families waiting for them in England. They won’t be paid for their time on the Titanic. I’ve managed to get them berths on the Majestic. They can work their way back to England and be back in Southampton with some money in their pockets. How much harm will it do if you let them go?”
“And you’re not going with them?” Joe confirmed.
Lightoller shook his head. “I told you, I can’t go home. I gave my word. My family will be all right. I’ve been through worse.”
“Worse than this?” Joe queried. “Worse than having the ship sink under you?”
Lightoller shrugged. “I’ve never seen such loss of life, but I’ve learned the hard way that seafaring is a dangerous business. I’ve been wrecked on a deserted island, attacked by pirates, and had the coal cargo catch fire and burn the ship to the waterline. There’s not much I haven’t seen, but I’ve never seen anything like the way your newspapers and your Senator Smith have treated my crew. These men have done nothing but obey orders to get in the lifeboats and row as best they can. Is it their fault we didn’t have enough lifeboats? Do you think they were in charge of fitting out the ship? What we have here is a steward, a laundryman, two stokers, a cook, and a greaser. What do you think should be done with them? What questions can they answer?”
He turned to Kate and gave her the benefit of his clear-eyed gaze and noble smile. She blushed. “It seems,” Lightoller said in a suddenly persuasive tone, “that your newspapers have taken quite a liking to me. Perhaps they appreciate honesty when they see it. How will it look if you arrest me?”
“I’m sure he’s not going to arrest you,” Kate said. Joe noticed dimples on her cheeks as she smiled at Lightoller.
“Now wait a minute,” Joe protested.
“Let them go,” Ismay said gruffly. “You have me. Isn’t that enough for you? Between me and Stanley Lord, you don’t need any more scapegoats. You might as well let Lightoller go with them. He’s not the one you want.” Ismay’s face twisted into a snarl. “Let them all go, why don’t you? Send all the officers home. It won’t make any difference. I don’t know what I ever did to Senator Smith, but it’s me he wants, and it’s me he’ll have.”
“It’s not Senator Smith who wants you,” Kate said.
Joe looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“He’s not behind this,” Kate insisted. “This is all Eva Trentham’s doing.”
Joe shook his head. “No, Kate, I don’t think so. Bill’s his own man. He’s not doing this for anyone except himself and the good of the shipping industry.”
“And his own political future,” Ismay sneered.
Joe felt his fist curling and uncurling. He was beginning to regret his sudden decision to involve himself in this case. Going aboard the Carpathia to stop Ismay from sneaking away had seemed the right thing to do. Finding Stanley Lord and bringing him to Washington had felt good. Now, seeing the contempt on Ismay’s face, he began to wonder if he had been wrong. No one doubted that the British would hold an official inquiry, so why was Bill Smith using the power of the Senate to force an American inquiry? Surely there was more behind this than Bill’s personal political ambitions, and why was Kate saying that Eva Trentham was the cause of all this trouble? Mrs. Trentham was a wealthy woman, whose name was known even in Michigan, but surely Bill Smith was not her puppet.
His eyes were drawn to the pearl brooch pinned to Kate’s blouse. Was it true that the old lady had not given Kate a single penny for her labors? Somehow that thought offended him more than the thought of Bill dancing to Eva Trentham’s tune. He knew from long experience that character was not revealed in extravagant gestures but in small daily kindnesses.
He said nothing as Ismay reached into his pocket and brought out a handful of dollar bills. “Here you go, lads,” he said as he handed the money around. “Go and buy your tickets.” He glanced at Joe. “Is that all right with you, Sheriff?”
Joe could not bring himself to disagree, and so he nodded. “I suppose so.”
“I’ll be going with the sheriff,” Ismay said, “so I won’t be coming to make sure you get on the train. I’m trusting you to do the right thing. Go home to your wives and families.”
Joe stepped back and watched Ismay shake hands with the six men. He looked up at Joe again. “All right if Lightoller goes to the ticket office with them?”
Joe nodded again. He was having trouble finding the right words. He wanted to say that it was all right by him if Lightoller went all the way to New York and onto the Majestic, but that permission was not his to give.
Ismay watched as Lightoller shepherded his charges through the crowd of travelers toward the ticket windows. As soon as they had been swallowed up by the milling throng, he turned to Joe and released a long breath. So, Joe thought, despite the bluster, Ismay had been nervous.
“I suppose you’ll want to escort me back to my hotel,” Ismay said, with his usual, belligerent tone fully restored, “or will you call in one of your Pinkerton men? I know you’ve been having me watched.”
Joe shook his head. “No, Mr. Ismay. You are free to come and go as you please. No one will be watching you or Mr. Lightoller.”
Ismay nodded and cast a curious glance at Kate. “Very well. I’ll leave you and your young lady to your afternoon stroll and—”
“Oh, no,” Kate interrupted. “We were not ... uh ... strolling. No, nothing like that.”
“If you say so,” Ismay grunted.
Before he could turn away, Kate spoke again. “Mr. Ismay, I need to speak to you ... alone. May I meet you in the lobby at the Willard in an hour’s time?”
Ismay’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why would you want to meet me?”
“I have something of yours,” Kate said.
“What?”
“Something you dropped.”
“I didn’t drop ...” Ismay’s voice died away. He stared at Kate with a baffled expression. “Were you on the Titanic?”
“No. I was on the Carpathia. I was helping the doctor when you came aboard.”
“You’re a nurse?”
“No. I was standing on the boat deck, taking names of survivors.”
“And you have something of mine?”
“Yes.”
Kate set her hand on Joe’s arm and gave a slight tug. “We’ll be leaving now, Mr. Ismay, and I will meet you in an hour.”
Joe gave in to the force of Kate tugging at his arm. Suddenly he had gone from being the leader to being the led. He had no explanation for Kate’s conversation with Ismay or the mixture of fear and hope that flashed across Ismay’s face.
“Let’s see what I can get for this brooch,” Kate said. “I’m tired of doing what other people want me to do.”
––––––––
Kate Royston
Kate would not have done so well without Joe Bayliss standing beside her to negotiate. The pawnbroker had been scornful of the little pearl brooch. He had in fact sneered and attempted to convince her that the pearls were artificial and the setting was not gold. Joe had taken care of that problem with one long, withering look of his gray eyes. With the first hurdle out of the way, the second hurdle had been easier. The purchase price of the brooch—she did not wish to pawn; she wished to sell—had risen by small increments every time Joe had loomed over the counter. Kate wished that it had not taken the presence of a man to bend the transaction in her favor, but she could not avoid that painful truth. For a year now, ever since the death of her father, she had been without a man to represent her interests, and she was fully aware that she lived in a man’s world. Of course, the other side of the coin was the fact that women were not required or expected to fight in wars that men had started, and when a man crashed his ship into an iceberg, women were given seats in the lifeboats.
She walked back to the Willard with Joe Bayliss at her side and the comforting knowledge that she had a few dollars of her own tucked into her purse. If it took Joe’s presence to get a better price, then that was what it took. With that business out of the way, she now faced the prospect of talking to Sir Bruce Ismay, and this was something she had to do alone. As a lawman, Joe could have no part of that conversation.
She thought back on the afternoon’s events. She felt a flush of embarrassment at the way she had behaved with Lightoller. She had simpered. Yes, that was the word. When he had turned his steady blue-eyed gaze on her, she had simpered. How awful! Was this what Eva would expect of her? Was she supposed to simper and dimple her way around Europe in an attempt to have wealthy men fall at her feet? She couldn’t do it. Lightoller had been a special case—the man exuded stoic heroism. She’d felt no desire to simper at Ismay, and definitely not at Joe.
What about Danny McSorley? No. He had made her blush and had made her heart flutter, but she had felt no need to be artificial—no need to exert her feminine wiles. Of course, that was before she had realized that he was a coward who had no reasonable excuse for taking a seat in a lifeboat. She supposed that she would never see him again, and that would be all right. The inquiry was winding down. People were being sent home, and Danny would soon be on his way to Cape Race. If it were not for his strange insistence on meeting the president, he would already be on his way. She imagined his life out there on the wild sea coast. He would be alone but not lonely, because every ship that passed would talk to him. There would be other people, of course—other operators, people who lived and worked nearby, passengers on the train from St. John’s ... women.
Kate entered the hotel lobby, where ceiling fans dissipated the afternoon’s heat and people spoke in hushed voices. She could hear occasional bursts of sound from the bar and the adjoining smoking room. Ismay would not be in there. If he intended to meet her, he would be where she had suggested—he had his reputation to consider. She searched the scattered groupings of armchairs and low tables. A woman sat alone, pouring tea from a silver pot. She lifted her head and their eyes met. Myra Grunwald of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch!
Myra set down the teapot and rose from her chair. Kate turned toward her. She might as well face the music. The expression on Myra’s face, a mixture of sympathy and triumph, told Kate that Myra had found what she had been looking for. Now that she knew Kate’s story, what was she going to do? Could Kate persuade her to concentrate on an exposé of the way immigrant women were mistreated and humiliated, or would she want to thrill the public with the next chapter in the story of Kate Royston and the Royston disaster?
“Young lady!”
Kate turned at the sound of the Englishman’s voice. Ismay exited the elevator and hurried across the lobby. Myra turned her startled gaze toward him and then back to Kate.
“Excuse me,” Kate said.
“I will talk to you later,” Myra promised, or maybe she threatened. Just for the moment, Kate did not care about Myra and whatever Myra had discovered. She felt the weight of her purse, which now contained three things she had not previously carried. She had money; she had her travel papers; and she had the Titanic’s scrap log for April 14, 1912.
“Well,” Ismay barked as he approached. “I suppose you’ll want tea.”
Kate shook her head. “No, thank you, Sir Bruce. Tea will not be necessary.” She could not imagine taking tea with Ismay under the suspicious gaze of Myra Grunwald. She also could not imagine discussing the scrap log anywhere within Myra’s hearing. She gestured to an intimate pairing of armchairs set by the window with a view onto Pennsylvania Avenue. “Over here,” she said.
As Ismay stomped across the room, Kate looked back at Myra. The reporter lifted her teacup and saluted her. Well, she wasn’t going to eavesdrop on the conversation, but neither was she about to go away. Kate set that issue aside temporarily. She would deal with Myra later—Sir Bruce Ismay was enough of a problem for the moment.
“Well?” Ismay said, standing over her as she settled into an armchair.
“Sit down, Sir Bruce, please.”
Ismay sat. Kate could see that he was somewhat mollified by her intentional use of his title. So far, Senator Smith had treated him without respect, but Kate could see no point in being rude just for the sake of being rude. She didn’t have to score points over Ismay. She already had the upper hand, and he knew it.
“Well,” Ismay said, “out with it, young lady. Do you have something of mine, and what do you want for it?”
Kate was truly startled. How strange that she had not thought of money. Money made the world go around, and she really wanted some control over her madly turning world, and yet she had not thought of asking Ismay for money. “I don’t want anything,” she said. “I just want to know why you had it.”
“And what is this ‘it’ that you refer to?”
“A piece of paper that fell from your pocket. I am told it is the scrap log of the Titanic for April fourteenth, taken directly from the bridge.”
“And who told you that?”
Kate leaned forward impatiently. “Sir Bruce, I am trying to do the right thing here, although I am not sure what is the right thing. Can we start by being honest with each other? You came on board the Carpathia with a piece of paper in your pocket. The paper fell from your pocket, and I picked it up. That paper contains some notes and some numbers that mean very little to me and—”
“Why didn’t you return it to me?”
Kate studied Ismay’s face. He was angry, but she sensed relief behind his anger. Was he relieved that the paper had been found and now he could dispose of it himself?
“I tried to return it to you,” she said, “but you walked away. You didn’t hear me.”
“It was chaos,” Ismay said. “I watched those people coming up from the lifeboats, and it was chaos.” He paused and seemed to choke on his next words. “I thought there would be more people ... somewhere. I thought there was another ship. I never thought ...”
He looked at her with anguished eyes. “They took me to a cabin, and I felt in my pocket for the paper, and ... well, it wasn’t there. I didn’t know where it was.”
“I’m sure that was a relief,” Kate said.
“Relief?” Ismay queried. “Why would it be a relief?”
“To know that the evidence no longer existed,” Kate said. “So you couldn’t be blamed.”
Ismay rubbed his hand wearily across his forehead. “But I am being blamed,” he said.
Kate hesitated, suddenly realizing that she may have seen everything in reverse. She had convinced herself that Ismay was a coward who deserved everything that was about to happen to him. Her bad opinion of him had been formed the moment he had come aboard the Carpathia, warm and dry in his thick overcoat. It had increased when he’d locked himself in the doctor’s cabin, and had been reinforced when Senator Smith had come on board to serve his subpoenas. Ismay was an ambitious tyrant who had forced Captain Smith to drive the Titanic at top speed through an ice field and had then taken the coward’s way out by taking a woman’s place in a lifeboat. She glanced across the room at Myra Grunwald, who sat drinking her tea and staring at her. She could give the whole thing to Myra. What a scoop that would be for a woman working in a man’s world.
But what if she was wrong? What if the paper in her purse was not proof of Ismay’s guilt? If the scrap log was proof of the reckless instructions he’d given to the Titanic’s captain, would Ismay really have taken it and kept it in his pocket? Of course, it was possible he had taken it to prevent anyone else from taking it. Even in the chaos of abandoning the ship, one of the officers may have thought to take the log, so Ismay had taken it. But why had he kept it? He’d had all night to watch the tragedy unfold, and yet he had kept the paper when he could have dropped it into the ocean. It was only when he had been unable to find the paper that he had locked the cabin door and refused to come out.
Her pulse quickened, and her heart seemed to hammer against her ribs as her whole view of the world slipped sideways and reassembled itself into a new pattern.
“Go ahead,” Ismay snarled. “Give the damned thing to Smith, but don’t expect him to use it. He’ll just lose it somewhere, won’t he? He’ll do anything to ruin my reputation.”
Kate felt an overwhelming sadness as she looked at him. His unpleasant nature was written in every line of his face, and yet she had watched him handing money to the crew and making sure they took the train to New York. How could he be so unpleasant and so generous at the same time? She thought about Senator Smith’s implacable, single-minded pursuit of the truth. What truth was he really seeking? Was it the truth of what had happened to the ship, or was it just a truth that would satisfy the American public and gain him votes? And all the time, Eva Trentham sat like a spider in the center of this web of blame, seeking revenge for something that had happened at another time and at the hands of another man.
Kate opened her purse and took out the envelope. “Take it,” she said. “I don’t know what to do with it, but you do.”
Ismay reached for the envelope with both hands. His hands trembled as he opened the seal and pulled out a sheet of torn and crumpled paper. “Do you want to look at it?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t understand it,” Kate replied.
Ismay licked his lips. “I could explain it to you.” He set the paper down on the low table. “These numbers are engine revolutions. Basically, they tell you the speed the captain was trying to achieve. These are navigation points, and these ...” He fell silent, staring down at the paper.
“What?” Kate asked. “What are they?”
“They’re ice warnings. Notations of where other ships have seen ice, name of vessel and position, but ...” Ismay leaned back. “So that’s how it happened,” he said. “It’s not on here.”
Kate frowned in frustration as she looked down at the indecipherable columns of figures and scribbled notations. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ismay stabbed his finger at the paper. “The Mesaba. She sent a warning. It’s not on here.”
“Are you saying,” Kate asked quietly, “that the captain didn’t know about the ice?”
Ismay shook his head. “It’s not that simple. All these other numbers are positions where other ships saw ice. All I’m saying is that the Mesaba’s warning is not marked here.”
“And who is responsible for that?” Kate asked.
Ismay shrugged. “How the devil would I know? Could be the radio operator; could be the officer of the watch; could be the junior officer. I know it wasn’t me. None of this was my responsibility.”
“So when you took the paper, you didn’t know what was on it?” Kate asked.
Ismay narrowed his eyes. “I knew that there were no instructions on there either given or signed by me,” he said.
Kate tried to imagine the moment when Sir Bruce Ismay had snatched the scrap log. After days and days of listening to testimony, she had a pretty good picture in her mind of events on board the ship as Titanic had begun to list and then to sink. The air was filled with the shriek of the boilers venting steam while the stewards ran along corridors, knocking on cabin doors and calling people from their sleep. On the deck, sailors and officers argued about how and when to load the lifeboats and when to drop them eighty feet down to the water. Women refused to leave without their husbands; third-class passengers fought to be free of their imprisonment in the hold; and stokers and firemen swarmed onto the deck as the engine rooms filled with water.
Sir Bruce Ismay had said that he’d helped to load the lifeboats, but this paper told her something else. At some point in the terrifying time before the Titanic had sunk, Ismay had coolly made his way to the bridge and retrieved the scrap log. He had then worked his way back through the chaos on the deck and found a seat in a lifeboat. He knew! As he’d watched the disaster unfold, he’d known he would be blamed. Was it fair to blame him? Was anything fair? Was it fair for all those people to have died?
Kate rubbed her hand across her forehead, feeling the onset of a headache. She rose from her seat and spoke to Ismay as he struggled to rise. Always the gentleman, she thought, but was that enough?
“I’ll leave this with you,” Kate said, “but I don’t think it will help you.”
Ismay nodded. “I know. I’ve already been tried and found guilty in the court of public opinion. Maybe I should have just gone down with the ship, but I wanted to live. I’m not so sure now that my life is worth living.”
Kate recognized the sullen despair on his face, and her heart seemed to rise up into her throat. “Don’t talk like that,” she whispered. “Think about your family.”
“They’d be better off without me,” Ismay muttered.
Kate reached out and touched his arm. She could feel no sympathy for him, but her heart ached for the family he was planning to leave behind. “It takes more courage to live than to die,” she said. “Find your courage, Sir Bruce. It’s not too late.”
She turned away from him before he could answer her and fled across the lobby. From the corner of her eye, she saw Myra Grunwald setting down her teacup, but Kate kept running, dashing toward the stairs. She had to keep moving. She could not wait for the elevator. She heard Eva’s voice in her mind. You have to face your demons, Kate. You can never outrun them.