EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Forty-Five
I’m not surprised he asked about
my father. I’m not. I sort of, kind of, even expected it. I didn’t expect the
way Ismay reacted to the question, though—no one did. The Senator, though,
seemed quite pleased that Ismay finally answered the question—or even answered
it at all. Harry gripped my hand tighter than before. I now feel as if all eyes
are on me, but I know they’re not. Ismay hasn’t seen me yet, or I know he’d
keep watching me. But, he knows I’m around. He knows that.
"In what capacity was
he?" Smith questioned. Ismay furrowed his brow.
"I do not quite follow
you," he admitted. It sounds like he’s lying to me. Smith gritted his
teeth.
"What was the occasion of
his coming to make this trial trip?"
"As a representative of the
builders, to see that everything was working satisfactorily and also to see how
he could improve the next ship." Well, my father certainly lived up to
that, he was diligent in seeing how he could improve a new ship. All of those
notes of his, for nothing, for there won’t ever be another ship with him as the
Master Shipbuilder.
"Was he a man of large
experience?" I found myself nodding, but stopped myself.
"Yes."
"Had he had part in the
construction of this ship himself?" Hell, yes.
"Yes."
"Was he among the
survivors?" Ismay hesitated, but shook his head.
"Unfortunately, no."
Yet, here we are again, back in the twisted web Bruce Ismay has weaved. My
father was asked to go aboard the Titanic, he was representing the builders of
the ship, but Ismay went on there voluntarily and lived? It doesn’t seem right.
That’s because it isn’t right—both Ismay and I know it.
"How old a man was he?"
"It is difficult to judge a
man’s age, as you know, but I should think he was perhaps forty-two or
forty-three years of age. He may have been less. I really could not say."
Well, he was less. He was thirty-nine. Ismay wasn’t off by a lot. He doesn’t
get any credit, either way.
"Did anyone accompany you on
board this ship?" Ismay shook his head.
"No. I was alone."
"What about Thomas Andrews?
Did anyone accompany him on the voyage?" Ismay managed a nod, not opening
his mouth to answer. Come on, spit it out, my friend. You know I was there, you
know you had chased me down into that boiler room, you know I yelled at you in
the Captain’s area when my father was studying those blueprints, before
reprimanding me. You know I was there. "Mr. Ismay?"
"His daughter." Smith
stared at him, waiting for more of an answer.
"Her name…?"
"Antoinette Andrews."
Smith went to one table behind him and whispered something to one of the men
sitting there. One man was scribbling something down on a notepad and I swear,
I saw Smith mouth the word testify. Oh, dear God, I hope I don’t have to testify.
I knew I should’ve stayed at the hotel. I shouldn’t have answered that officer
aboard the Carpathia—I should’ve made up a fake name and just went along with
it. No one would’ve known the difference.
"Was she among the
survivors?" Smith asked.
"That I could not say,
sir." Lying again, my friend? Tsk-tsk, this doesn’t look good. Smith took
a piece of paper offered by one of the men he had just spoken with and quickly
read through it. I can see his eyes shifting left to right very quickly.
Neither of them has yet to spot me.
"Well, she seems to be on
the list of survivors…" His skeptical voice stopped as he glanced at
Ismay.
"Perhaps she survived."
Ismay shrugged his shoulders. "Either way, I could not say for
certain." Harry glanced at me, managing a smile.
"You’re one of the wanted
ones," he whispered into my ear.
"I guess so." I don’t
care, either way. I hope to never be found, so I won’t have to testify.
"Well, then." Smith
seems to now be getting away from the topic of me. Thank goodness. I sighed a
breath of relief. "Then…you were the only executive officer aboard the
ship representing your company, aside from the ship’s customary complement of
officers?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you have occasion to
consult with the Captain about the movement of the ship?"
"Never." I rolled my
eyes. Liar. I’m sure he talked to the Captain—he probably shouted at him for
all I know.
"Did he consult you about
it?"
"Never. Perhaps I am wrong
in saying that. I should like to say this: I do not know that it was quite a
matter of consulting him about it, of his consulting me about it, but what we
had arranged to do was that we would not attempt to arrive in New York at the
lightship before five ‘o’ clock on Wednesday morning."
"That was the
understanding?" Smith questioned.
"Yes. But that was arranged
before we left Queenstown."
"Was it supposed that you
could reach New York at that time without putting the ship to reaching to its’
full running capacity?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
Could’ve fooled me. He seemed to always act as though we were never going quite
fast enough for him. That was, of course, between him telling everyone and
anyone who would listen about the broken china. On board, he spoke of wasted
money, but not now. No, he couldn’t tarnish his already tarnished reputation.
Besides, everyone was gone now—nobody could even say otherwise. Even to him,
I’m dead. "There was nothing to be gained by arriving at New York any
earlier than that."
That statement hit me like a ton
of bricks. That is a flat out lie! I took in a sharp breath. So, I was right:
Bruce Ismay would and did lie on the stand. We have nothing to hide. My blood
began to boil with anger. He does have something to hide! I remember distinctly
the conversation I had with Ismay, well more like an argument with him, on the
Carpathia, when I questioned him if he was the one who ordered the Captain to
speed up the ship. And he had nodded. The jerk had nodded!
"The ship never had been at
full speed."
How could I have not heard him
say that? Was I too engrossed in my own thoughts to even hear and comprehend
what he was saying? I must’ve been! He says now that Titanic wasn’t going at
full speed, but that night on the Carpathia, he had told me otherwise. He’s
lying, just like I knew he would. And it was all for the newspapers, it was all
for the papers, the press…then, he said it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I
suppose he got his press, just like he wanted.
"You lying son of a
bitch!" I shouted. I gasped, putting my hand to my mouth. Was that me? I
glanced around the room and everyone had turned their attention to me. People
were turned in their chairs to see me, the Senator had stopped his pacing and
Ismay had just broken out into a cold sweat. Alright, so I suppose that was me
and I said it loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Excuse me?" Smith
asked, just as my voice echoed away, putting his hands on his hips. I stood up,
holding onto the empty seat in front of me for balance.
"He’s lying!" I
shouted, gesturing to Ismay. "You are a lying, cheating scumbag—You son of
a bitch!" Women in the crowd gasped, as if they had never heard cursing
before in their life. I never knew I could swear like that, though! As the
people in the rows of seats began to chatter, Smith knocked on the table Ismay
was sitting at.
"Order!" he shouted,
not breaking his glare from me. "Order!" Nobody’s listening as Smith
turned back to Ismay.
"Why don’t you tell us the
truth, Bruce?!" I shouted at him, gesturing around the room. "I’m
sure everyone would like to hear you say something besides your utter
bullshit!" Harry pulled on my arm to pull me back down into my seat, but I
pushed his hand away. This is not the time to stop. I’m too far in.
"How dare you!" Ismay
yelled at me. "Are you calling Bruce Ismay a liar?"
"I don’t see anyone else
with the name Bruce Ismay in this room!" He huffed, completely insulted.
"Can you imagine! A complete
stranger telling me I am—"
"Isn’t it true that you
wanted Titanic in New York by Tuesday night—so she could make the morning
papers!?" Ismay glared at me, but didn’t respond. "Bruce Ismay, tell
us all the truth!" Everyone turned their attention to Ismay, including the
Senator.
"I have nothing to
say," he said between gritted teeth, trying to sound cool and collective.
"I’ve never seen this woman before in my life!" I huffed. Of course
he knows me. I punched him, he gawked at me every change he got, he told me the
truth. And I also broke his china. That’s it! He won’t be able to control
himself with the china.
"Harry and I broke the
china!" I suddenly blurted. Ismay glared at me, his jaw dropping.
"Why, you little brat!"
He stood up from his chair. I knew it. I can read Ismay like a book!
"You’re going to have to pay for that! You and that Officer! I swear to
God, you will pay for that china!"
"It’s at the bottom of the
North Atlantic!" Harry suddenly argued, standing up.
"I knew it was you two! How
could I have not known!? You broke White Star Line property, goddamn it! I will
make you pay for it if it’s the last thing I do!" Smith, who I think has
been enjoying the little spectacle, had been searching around the room for
something and I suppose he found it. A mallet. He banged it loudly onto the
table to silence everyone, and everyone did—except for Bruce Ismay. "I
want them arrested!" he yelled at the top of his lungs to Smith.
"Guards, guards! Arrest them! Arrest them!"
"For God’s sake, I said
ORDER!" Smith slammed the mallet down, harder than before onto the table
and everyone shut up immediately. I think he might’ve caused harm to that poor
table. I almost fell back into my seat. The sound pinged across the room. There
was silence for what felt like an hour, before he turned to me. "Miss, I
am going to ask you civilly to leave this room. This is an inquiry, not a
shouting contest!"
"But—" My eyes welled
up with unexpected tears as Harry took my hand.
"I don’t want to have to
hold you in contempt, Miss." How can he hold me on anything? I’m merely
stating the facts. He stopped, taking in a deep breath himself, winded from all
of the yelling he obviously is not accustomed to. "You’re disturbing the
peace." I. Am. Not. Oh, when did I turn into such a nutcase?
"Ann, come on," Harry
said, squeezing my hand before gesturing to the doors behind us. "We’ll go
get some air."
"Harry, but—" He forced
a smile.
"No jail for you, Love. Not
today, anyway. Come on." He handed me my crutches and he helped me out of
the row. I couldn’t keep my eyes on where I was going or even Harry, I kept my
eyes on Ismay. I placed my crutches under my arms and began to walk, Harry
beside me. "Careful, careful," he said softly, holding me steady as
we made our way down the aisle to the door.
"Guards!" Smith
shouted, practically making me jump. "Please, open the doors!"
"But, sir…" an officer
shook his head at him.
"Just open the damn door,
Henry!" he exclaimed angrily. The guards sighed, but unlocked the doors
for us and we stepped out into the hallway. The doors stayed open as the guards
seemed to watch with interest my struggle with the crutches. Fantastic, my
ankle’s throbbing now. I must’ve put pressure on it. "Alright, shut the
damn door!" Goodness, he’s mighty cranky, isn’t he? I heard behind me the
doors begin to slowly but surely shut. The last thing I heard was the same
questioner, interrogator even, say, "I’d like to know the truth, Mr.
Ismay!" I smiled at that and quickly glancing over my shoulder, I can see
Ismay staring at me—like a child who had just been caught stealing from the
cookie jar, just as the door shut behind us.