CARPE DIEM
Chapter Fourteen
If not for the DeWitt Bukater
girl, I might never have found Thomas. Chaos had descended upon the Titanic,
with the slanting of the ship and the rumors spreading fast from one person to
the next. Why did they allow only women and children into the boats if the
boats could accommodate all? Why had dozens of flares been sent into the sky if
rescue was certain? The crowd on the boat deck increased and pushed forward,
their pace quickened with fear. I pushed my way through, back down towards the
hallways that ran the length of the first class corridors. The electric lights
were still too bright in those corridors. My eyes adjusted slowly from the
relative darkness of the boat deck and I averted them towards the floor, ran my
fingers along the wall, used my sight sparingly. Soon the lights would dim and
go out anyway. I was surprised that they hadn’t already. The thought was not at
all comforting.
I preferred walking through low
light, and whether cast by moon and stars or gas streetlamps, I cared not. But
I much preferred walking through bright, even painfully bright, electric light
to walking through none at all. Blindness felt very much like being trapped in
a box under the stairs.
My father’s country estate had
extensive grounds, with a tributary of the Thames running straight through it.
The original manor house had been built by a Roman proconsul in the sixth
century for his second wife, so the story went. Successive generations built
around it, added to it, renovated it, until it resembled, I’m sure, nothing that
Roman proconsul would have been able to recognize. That is, except for the west
side hallway, running the length of the west wing, on the north side, an eighth
of a mile from one end to the other, constructed with granite and marble,
alabaster molding, floor to ceiling windows spaced no more than three yards
apart. When the moon shone brightest, full and hanging low in the sky, the
windows allowed an incredible amount of light into the hallway and it reflected
against the whiteness of the alabaster. If light could seem cold, it was in
this context, where moonlight and stone produced eerie luminescence.
I used to walk that hallway by
myself as a child, in the stillness of summer nights when I could not sleep,
and found the darkness of the inner rooms overwhelming.
And oh, what I wouldn’t give to
be walking that hallway instead of these corridors…
I almost turned right towards the
reception room on instinct, nothing more. But Rose DeWitt Bukater’s voice down
the left corridor restrained me, made me stop and turn towards her.
"Mr. Andrews! Thank
God!" she exclaimed, breathless. "Where would the Master-at-Arms take
someone under arrest?"
"What?" Thomas, not
understanding, answered her incredulously. "You have to get to a boat
right away, Rose! No time…"
"No!" The girl was on a
mission. You could see it in the way she stood, hear it in her tone, words
spoken with determination, laced with purpose. "I’ll do this with or
without your help, sir. But without will take longer."
Thomas paused, recognizing her
resolve.
"Take the lift to the very
bottom, go left, down the crewman’s passage, then make a right," he said
sternly, seeing the plans in his head, the shape of the Master-at-Arms’ office,
the height of the ceiling, the port side windows.
"I’ll take her,
Thomas," I said from the far side. Both of them turned towards my voice,
unaware of my presence until then. Rose seemed astonished, wondering, I
imagined, why I offered this. And further wondered, I was sure, why Bruce
Ismay’s sister was not on boat six with her mother and the other first class
ladies of notable society. Thomas said nothing. The expression passing his
features spoke well enough for him.
What have you done, Mary
Catherine?
"She’ll be longer trying to
find which right to take in the crewman’s passage, and it’s likely near to
flooding," I continued. There was no time for objection, for explanation.
I knew this ship as well as he did, and time was running out. The lower decks,
where the Master-at-Arms would keep his prisoner, might well be underwater already.
He shook his head, looking as though he’d like to strangle me.
"Hurry, Mary
Catherine!" he insisted, and I nodded violently, leading Rose down the
corridor past Thomas, leaving him to empty the staterooms and corral the
remaining passengers to the boat deck. I turned back briefly.
"Thomas!"
He looked up, met my gaze.
"They’ve put gates across
the third class corridors…"
My words settled over him like
unwanted sleep, and he looked older suddenly, as Captain Smith had earlier in
the chartroom, and tired, as if the weight of the world lay on his chest,
crushing him. Oh, but they wouldn’t dare…
As Thomas raced down the aft side
corridor, Rose and I ran to the lifts on the opposite side. The lift operator
was reaching up, closing his gate, when we came near, our intention plain.
"Sorry, ladies, the lifts
are closed---" He had half-turned when he heard our approaching footsteps,
and his awkward stance allowed Rose to shove him back into the lift with
surprising force. I followed her in.
"I’m through being polite,
Goddammit! I may never be polite again in my life!" she exclaimed, pouring
every ounce of her frustration onto this poor lift operator. Her approach was
effective, and, I suppose, necessary. This was not a time to mince words. And
she did not, commanding, "Now take us down!"
The operator fumbled with the
gate. I grabbed the left side and helped him close the wrought iron door as he
started the lift. The mechanism lowered smoothly, and faster than I recalled,
past the upper decks, one floor and then another. As we neared the bottom, I
prepared myself for what we might find there.
"Go slow now," I warned
softly, hoping the flooding was minimal, if present at all. The operator slowed
the carriage.
Water poured into the lift, ice
cold and swirling around our legs in rushing fury. Rose cried out in surprise
and anguish. The lift operator, as well, jumped at its sudden appearance. We’d
landed in a foot or so of seawater. My black laced boots offered no warmth
against the frigidness. My ankles and lower calves ached in response, taking my
mind off the pain in my head momentarily. Rose clawed the doors open and hiked
her skirt up, splashing out of the lift. I followed.
Hearing the lift gate close once
more, I turned back to where the operator was fumbling with the lift controls,
overcome by panic and hysteria in the face of the rising water. I reached back
and took his hand through the wrought iron door.
"Give us two minutes. We’ll
be back directly," I stated firmly, without compromise. "If we
aren’t, take the lift back up…after two minutes. You understand?"
He nodded, grateful that I didn’t
acknowledge that he had been about to abandon two women at the bottom of a
sinking ship, shamed that he had. Rose was already splashing down the crewman’s
passage, left as Thomas had instructed. I chased after her.
"Rose, you’ve gone too
far!" I called as she passed the hidden cross corridor without realizing
it.
She turned back, saying softly,
"Thank you, Mary Catherine."
We took the right hand corridor,
two rows of closed doors on either side. Rose, without pausing, strode through
the foot of water as fast as she could, then turned back to me, her question
obvious.
"Last one on the left,"
I answered.