EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Forty-Four

The silence in the room is incredible. As Bruce Ismay adjusted himself in his chair at the front of the room, seconds after having been sworn in, I realize he looks like a nervous wreck. He should be a nervous wreck and seems to be twitching. Then again, that may be his normal persona. But, those bags under his eyes are new. The bandage on his nose from my punch isn’t new. I hear clicking of keys and looking in the direction of the sound, I now notice a woman in the corner typing on a typewriter, in front of these rich, red velvet curtains that went down from the ceiling to the floor. Velvet! Can you even imagine? Velvet curtains that look to be fifteen feet long! Anyhow, the typist…She must be a stenographer, making sure everything said is put on record. She types so fast! I never noticed her before, but maybe she just came into the picture, into the room to do her job. At this point, who knows.

The whole atmosphere of the room seems to have changed. Right after that Senator Smith character called out his name, the room tensed up. Everyone had the same look on their face, the look of anger. Everyone was angry with him. Including me. I glanced at Lightoller to my left, who was eyeing Ismay suspiciously, and then to Molly, who had a monotone expression before turning to Harry. He looked down at me, forcing a smile. He knows I hate Ismay. Why did I even bother to show up? I knew he might be here. Why add this onto my already filled mind?

"He looks like he needs a cigarette," Harry whispered into my ear. I tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it.

"He does, doesn’t he?" I whispered back. He nodded, letting go of my hands and wrapping an arm around me. I turned my attention back to the chaos known as Bruce Ismay as he continued to move around in his chair, unable to find a comfortable position. Smith was just pacing back and forth, in front of Ismay, looking to be somewhat deep in thought. Just ask him what you want to ask him! This shouldn’t take as long as it is.

"Mr. Ismay," Smith began, "for the purpose of simplifying this hearing, I will ask you a few preliminary questions." I groaned and I swear, I think most of the other people in the room did, too, including the men at the tables behind the Senator. This is not going to simplify anything—it’s just going to drag this damn inquiry out. "First, state your full name, please?" Ismay relaxed his shoulders.

"Joseph Bruce Ismay." So, Bruce isn’t his full name? Not surprising. Everyone at the White Star Line seems to have some kind of code name.

"And you place of residence?"

"Liverpool."

"Your age?"

"I shall be fifty on the twelfth of December." If anyone lets him live long enough to reach his fiftieth birthday. Harry squeezed my shoulder and he leaned into my ear.

"Why did I think he was older?" he whispered.

"The alcohol." That has to be the reason. Either way, he was too old to be eyeing me the way he does. He could be my father. I shuddered at that thought.

"And your occupation?" Smith’s emotionless voice put my thoughts back onto the situation at hand. Let’s see how long it takes for either man to lose their patience. My money’s on Ismay, but then again, Smith looks just as tense as Ismay does. He may just…snap. Eyeing everyone in the crowd around me, I don’t think anyone here’s a reporter. How will the newspapers get the information about the snapping incident—when there is one, with no journalist here, taking notes? That reporter, huh…I wonder what happened to him…The one who knew who I was, that jerk. Maybe he got a new camera!

"Ship owner," Ismay answered.

"Are you an officer of the White Star Line?" Ismay nodded.

"I am."

"In what capacity?"

"Managing director." So, he’s not the President of the White Star Line, he’s just a manager. I’m now happy I came to this trial. I’m actually learning something.

"As such officer," Smith said, clearing his throat, "were you officially designated to make the trial trip of the Titanic?" Ismay hesitated, but shook his head.

"No."

"Were you a voluntary passenger?"

"A voluntary passenger, yes." A voluntary passenger that got everyone killed. I rolled my eyes. I can’t believe this. I thought all along he had been asked to board, but he wanted to get on with the rest of us. Then, he bosses every White Star Line employee around, telling them that he is so high up in the company, that he could get them fired, and actually expects them to listen to him. Jerk. A voluntary passenger!

"Where did you board the ship?" This could take years, I realize. I rubbed my eyes tiredly, almost scratching myself with my ring. Oops.

"At Southampton."

"At what time?"

"I think it was nine-thirty in the morning." He thinks? Selective amnesia now? Give me a break. I’m sure he’s still talking about the broken china. The man is like an elephant—he forgets nothing and I mean, nothing.

"Of what day?"

"The tenth of April."

"The port of destination was New York?" Ismay stifled a nod.

"New York," he repeated.

"Will you kindly tell the committee the circumstances surrounding your voyage, and as succinctly as possible, beginning with your going aboard the vessel at Liverpool, your place on the voyage, together with any circumstances you feel would be helpful to us in this inquiry?" Everyone crumbled into their chairs. This is going to take all day, at this rate. Or maybe all year.

"In the first place," Ismay began, "I would like to express my sincere grief at this deplorable catastrophe." Is he serious? When nobody laughed, I realized: dear God, he must be serious. He doesn’t grieve over anything, this man. The only thing he has ever grieved over would be the fact that he missed his brandy and cigars in that smoking room. "I understand," he continued, "that you gentlemen have been appointed as a committee of the Senate to inquire into the circumstances. So far as we are concerned, we welcome it. We court the fullest inquiry." Oh, here he goes—he’s going to complement the White Star Line to the Heavens…I fought the incredible urge to roll my eyes. "We have nothing to conceal; nothing to hide."

Well, that’s one lie. I’m sure everyone here would love to hear about what occurred on that voyage…about how he threatened officers with their jobs, about the strange, inappropriate looks he gave me, how poorly he treated my father, as if he was an imbecile…And in reality, I could go on and on. I glanced at Harry, who had a look of skepticism on his face.

"We have plenty to hide," he whispered into my ear.

"The ship was built in Belfast," Ismay explained. "She was the latest thing in the art of shipbuilding; absolutely no money was spared in her construction." I knew the money factor was going to come into play eventually. "She was not built by contract. She was simply built on a commission." He paused, taking in a deep breath. "She left Belfast, as far as I remember—I am not absolutely clear on these dates, I think it was on the first of April. She underwent her trials, which were entirely satisfactory. She then proceeded to Southampton; arriving there on Wednesday." The Smith nodded slightly, looking somewhat pleased at Ismay’s all out supposed confession. If he only knew…

"Will you describe the trials she went through?"

"I was not present." Of course he wasn’t. He was probably drinking. My father, I’m sure, was there, writing in that notebook of his, like he always was. That notebook, the notebook that is behind a locked door back at the hotel and will never get touched. Not by anyone for any reason. "She arrived at Southampton on Wednesday, the third, I think, and sailed on Wednesday, the tenth. She left Southampton at twelve ‘o’ clock. She arrived in Cherbourg that evening, having run over at sixty-eight revolutions…"

As he continued to talk, I didn’t listen. I kept my eyes to the floor. I don’t understand any of the ship talk, anyway, so why do I even bother to listen? Until I heard him say something about Sunday night. The iceberg. I looked up from the floor as Harry took my right hand. Ismay’s still just…talking. I want to hear what he has to say about the iceberg, about that night.

"The accident took place on Sunday night. What the exact time was, I do not know. I was in bed myself, asleep, when the accident happened. The ship sank, I am told, at two-twenty." And why wasn’t he on the ship? Oh, he jumped onto a lifeboat. How could I have forgotten? "That sir, I think, is all I can tell you." He sighed. "I understand that it has been started that the ship was going at full speed. The ship never had been at full speed. The full speed of the ship is seventy-eighty revolutions. She works up to eighty. As far as I am aware, she never exceeded seventy-five revolutions. She had not all her boilers on. None of the single-ended boilers were on." As if he were to know. I was down there in that boiler room, not him. They sounded like they were all on to me. "It was our intention, if we had fine weather on Monday afternoon or Tuesday, to drive the ship at full speed. That, owing to the unfortunate catastrophe, never eventuated." Well, I could’ve told the Senator that!

"Will you describe what you did after the impact or collision?" I found myself rubbing my eyes once more. I can barely keep my eyes open. Even though watching Ismay squirm under an imaginary interrogation light is awfully fun, I can barely keep my eyes open.

"You alright, Love?" Harry whispered, concerned, into my ear. I nodded.

"I’m fine."

"I presume the impact awakened me." Ismay. I held back my rather large sigh. "I lay in bed for a moment or two afterwards, not realizing, probably, what had happened. Eventually I got up and walked along the passageway and met one of the stewards and said, What has happened? He said, I do not know, sir." See, his memory is just fine. Lying, cheating scumbag— "I then went back into my room, put my coat on, and went up on the bridge, where I found Captain Smith. I asked him what had happened and he said, We have struck ice. I said, Do you think the ship is seriously damaged? He said, I am afraid he is." How can he really remember what everyone said? But, that ugly coat he’s talking about—it looked like a robe, more than anything. It wasn’t all that warm, I bet.

As he continued to discuss who else he spoke with, including Titanic’s chief engineer, someone I had never met—but, thinking now, maybe he was the one who was all upset I was down in the boiler room that night. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. Ismay told the Senator that he thought Titanic’s pumps could keep us all afloat. Pumps. I don’t remember pumps. I remember watertight doors. But…oh, oh! The pumps.

"The pumps buy you time, but minutes only." My father’s voice rang through my ears, and I took in a deep breath before shaking my head of the memory. I need to keep my eyes on Ismay, he’s the main focus. But, he can’t help but make me think of my father. I sighed. Ismay. Ismay, Ismay, Ismay. He continued to talk about going to the bridge and he heard the order about unloading the boats. He supposedly assisted as best he could, but at this point, I suppose he doesn’t realize the damage Titanic had gone through. He kept on talking, talking, and talking…and with the droning attitude of his voice, I find my eyes drooping yet again. Stay awake, Antoinette, stay awake.

"Did the officers seem to know the serious character of this collision?" Alright, stay focused, Ann…stay focused. How long has this been going on for?

"That I could not tell, sir, because I had no conversation with them." Smith raised a suspicious eyebrow at him.

"Did any officer say to you that it evidently was not serious?"

"No, sir."

"All the officers with whom you talked expressed the same fear, saying that it was serious?" When was Ismay even talking to any of the officers? I glanced at Lightoller, who looks as confused as I am.

"I did not speak to any of them, sir," Ismay repeated.

"Except the Captain?" He nodded.

"Except the Captain and the chief engineer. I have already stated that I had spoken to them; but to no other officer that I remember." He sounds agitated, but he fiddled with his tie nervously. Alcohol and cigar withdrawal, no doubt.

"You went to the bridge immediately after you had returned to your room?" Smith asked, leaning against the table Ismay was sitting at.

"After I put on my coat I went up to the bridge."

"And you found the Captain there?" Oh, for God’s sake!

"The Captain was there."

"In what part of the ship were your quarters?" A little random, there, Senator.

"My quarters were on B-deck, just aft of the main companionway." The Senator sighed, rubbing his own eyes.

"I wish you would describe just where that was."

"The sun deck is the upper deck of all. Then we have what we call the A-deck, which is the next deck, and then the B-deck."

"The second passenger deck?"

"We carry very few passengers on A-deck," Ismay explained. I was there and so was my father, along with a few other very, very rich passengers. I wouldn’t say my family’s rich, my mother acts like we are—but we aren’t. I’m sure my father had his pick of the rooms he wanted, so maybe he just chose that deck. I really don’t know. "I think we have a diagram here that will show you these decks." He gestured to a diagram rolled up on a table nearby. Smith ran for it and unrolled it in front of Ismay. "Here it is." He pointed to something on the diagram I couldn’t quite make out from where I am. "…And there is the room I was occupying."

"What is the number of that room?"

"B-52 is the room I had." So he’s a lucky jerk.

"You had the suite?" Smith asked this, as if skeptically.

"I had the suite; I was sleeping in that room—" He pointed to the diagram. "…As a matter of fact." Well, where else would he be sleeping?

"Do you know whether there were any passengers on that deck?"

"I have no idea, sir."

"You say that the trip was a voluntary trip on your part?" This is ridiculous.

"Absolutely."

"…For the purpose of viewing this ship in action, or did you have some business in New York?" Wasn’t this question already asked and answered?

"I had no business to bring me to New York at all. I simply came in the natural course of events, as one is apt to, in case of a new ship, to see how she works, and with the idea of seeing how we could improve on her for the next ship which we are building." He also kept count of the china. I suppose he won’t tell the Senator that, though.

"Were there any other executive officers of the company aboard?"

"None." Well, doesn’t that just figure. I eyed Harry and he nodded, as if he had either suspected that Ismay was the only real executive officers on board, or he knew. Definitely the latter.

"Was the inspector or builder on board?" Ismay nodded.

"There was a representative of the builders on board."

"Who was he?" Ismay looked down at the table to his folded hands, taking in a deep breath. "Mr. Ismay." He looked up from the oak table to the Senator, who seemed to be a little agitated. "You need to answer the question, Mr. Ismay."

"I apologize," he said, his voice shaking. Smith didn’t notice, but merely began to pace the room again.

"Who was he, Mr. Ismay?" I held my own breath, realizing the question. Even though I had heard it, I didn’t quite comprehend it…until now. Ismay looked at the Senator, as if he wasn’t sure of the question himself. The Senator began to tense up, adjusting his tie. I could see Ismay gulp, before saying simply: "Mr. Thomas Andrews."

Chapter Forty-Five
Stories