Unsinkable (7 page)

As she talked, he listened and couldn’t help but think about the last chapter he had written before lunch.

                                    *******

Rose St. Clair talked to her husband. “I believe this might be an even more advantageous union that the one with Alastair.”

“He is certainly well connected,” Wilson agreed. “And his father was, at one time, one of my closest friends. I shouldn’t think that he would have any objections.”

Rose said, “We have to be careful this time. Carrington has these romantic notions. She wants to fall in love with the man she marries. She refuses to consider any kind of arrangement.”

“They seem to be getting on well. Perhaps the best course of action is just to show our approval of the match and let things progress on their own.”

Rose sighed. “All I ever wanted for her was to find a proper husband, one with a fortune, so that she would never have to worry about financial matters.”

Wilson said, “She is far too smart for her own good, that one. If she had been a son, she might have had a brilliant career.”

“As she
isn’t
a son, the least she can do for us is make a brilliant match.”

Wilson was thoughtful. His wife was a good society wife; she had perfect business dinners and threw small soirees that introduced them to the right people. She had certainly helped his career in many ways by making sure he had opportunities to meet the right people. A bit of a social climber, to be true, but it had worked in their favor. Did he love her? Perhaps he had been ‘in love’ with her once. That had been replaced with a grateful kind of respect and a solid friendship, both of which he found more beneficial than romantic notions.

“You’ve been spending time with Mrs. Astor, I noticed.”

“Yes, the poor thing needs a friend, someone who knows what it’s like to be a wife in this environment. Everyone else just wants to talk behind her back.”

“John Jacob Astor would be a worthwhile contact.”

Rose smiled. “I have already asked them to dinner once we return.”

“I knew I could count on you my dear,” Wilson said. “In the meantime. At least while we are still at sea, let Carrington do as she pleases. There’s plenty of time once we dock to steer her in the right direction.”

                                  *******

Beckett dressed for dinner. As he buttoned his starched formal shirt, he tried to make himself not think about the words he had written earlier. As he reached for his cufflinks, his eyes fell on the little leather book which he had put on the dresser. If he could resist doing what he had written, if he could pretend he didn’t remember those words, he might be able to break whatever spell the book had. The day with Carrington had been beautiful, filled with expressive and inspiring and heartfelt conversation and many kisses. He had watched her red-golden hair blowing in the sea breezes and it had been as if they were the only passengers aboard the so called ship of dreams.

He pulled on his black tailcoat and fixed his tie. He went to the door, and then turned back. He tucked the book inside his pocket, seemingly unable to leave it behind. He wasn’t sure if having it in his presence had anything to do with its powers, but for some reason he was hesitant to leave it in his cabin.

                                  *******

Bruce Ismay, head of The White Star Line, the company that owned
Titanic
, spoke with Mr. Andrews and Captain E.J. Smith.

“Are we still going to break record speeds?”

Captain Smith replied, “I see no reason why not. We are getting some indications of ice ahead, and we may have to use some caution.”

“How much caution?”

Smith said, “There have been times when it was advisable to wait perhaps a day before continuing, particularly if we should find an iceberg area in the dark.”

“We can’t waste a whole twelve hours, E.J. We won’t make the news that way. Besides, this ship is immune to the dangers of icebergs, isn’t it, Andrews?”

Andrews getting a bit tired of the unsinkable line of thought. He knew he had built a magnificent boat, one of which he was extremely proud, but while in theory the boat was unsinkable, he hated tempting fate. “Of course we should use caution in the ice, Mr. Ismay. The trouble with icebergs is what lies under the water. But as long as we manage to keep four or less compartments filled, in the case of a breech, we will not sink.”

“Speed on, then E.J. No wasting time.”

“We’ll do our best. Our crew is good, but they haven’t worked together, at least not most of them.”

“Make them do their best. Better than their usual best. Oh, and cancel that silly lifeboat drill. No need to make the first class passengers even think for a moment they are in danger.”

“And your plan if we should need to use them?” Andrews asked.

“We won’t, so why waste their time?”

“There are second and third class passengers aboard, Mr. Ismay. What is your plan for them, should anything occur?”

“If you have built us the boat you promised, we’ll never need to know. So, cancel the drill, EJ, which you had scheduled for after the worship services and keep us on schedule. I have press lined up to meet us in New York already.”

Ismay strode out of the room, to go take his seat at the first class table with Mr. Astor and other notable passengers. Captain Smith also went into the first class dining room. Before he followed them, Andrews thought that while he knew his boat was safe, it was still disconcerting that there were only lifeboats enough for roughly half of the souls aboard.

B
eckett and Warren took the stairs of the grand stair case to reach the first class dining room. Warren was lamenting about how lonely he was, but at least three young ladies had waved at him on their way.

“So now you are madly in love?” Warren asked jovially, turning to look at another lovely young lady.

“I am, so please stop joking about it. Carrington is the woman I plan to marry.”

“Before or after you take your position at the bank?”

“When are you going to get it through your head that I’m not going to work at the bank?”

“Never. I know your father and I know you couldn’t possibly have finished that book yet. And I just think you don’t realize what an advantage it is, always has been, to know you have that kind of job just sitting there waiting on you.”

“You take it then.”

“I just might. Ah look, there she is, the woman you plan to marry.”

“One word, Warren…”

“Oh lighten up,” Warren said.

Carrington sparkled in a dress of silver lace over black velvet, embroidered with hundreds of crystals. She wore her hair pulled up from the sides with silver and jeweled combs, the rest flowing down her back. She looked so beautiful that she took Beckett’s breath away.

He went to her side and offered her his arm. As she took it and smiled up at him, Molly came up behind them and took Warren’s arm.

“What do you say, Warren. Care to escort a lady to dinner?”

“My pleasure, Molly. I’m a lucky man.”

They joined the others at the beautifully set table, with its carved silver service and cobalt blue china and several elaborate floral arrangements. As usual, music played in the background, never loud enough to be distracting, just loud enough to be noticed.

As the first course was set before them, Molly asked if the temperatures was changing.

“It is getting colder, Mrs. Brown,” Bruce Ismay replied. “And it will get even colder still if we sail past icebergs.”

“Icebergs?” Madeleine Astor asked, looking a little scared. Her husband placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sure there is nothing to worry about, my dear. Not on a ship like this.”

“Indeed not,” replied Ismay. “Nothing at all to worry about except which fur coat to wear at night on deck.”

The occupants of the table all laughed.

“So, JJ,” Molly said to Mr. Astor, ‘did you sneak a mummy on board after all?”

“And risk a curse?” Astor said. “Good heavens, no.”

“Well if it wasn’t you, then who brought one on?”

Astor looked shocked. “
Is
there one on board?

“So it would seem.”

Carrington and Beckett exchanged a glance and a smile.

At the end of the table, William Stead spoke. “I was afraid of this.”

“Really Mr. Stead?” Carrington asked. “Why?”

All eyes were on Stead. “I saw a mummy in London. She was called the Princess of Amen-Ra.”

“Oh!” Carrington exclaimed. “I saw her mummy board in the museum.”

“A man there told me her story. If I may share it with you?”

“Please do,” said JJ Astor.

Stead cleared his throat and began to tell the story.

                                   ******

Some time in the 1890s, there were four wealthy Englishmen who had set off to visit the recent excavations in Luxor. They were approached by a man offering to sell them an elaborate case containing the remains of the Princess of Amen-Ra. There were all interested, so they played a card game. The winner took the mummy to his hotel. Later he was seen walking back to the excavation, but he never returned.

His friends also met terrible fates. One of them suffered a gunshot wound to the arm which required amputation. Another became severely ill, was unable to work and ended up penniless and on the streets, the fourth came home to find his fortune was gone.

The coffin was shipped with the belongings of the man who had won its remains and another man in London purchased it.

The man who purchased it the second time also fell into disaster. His home burned to the ground and he lost several members of his family in tragic situations.

Still, the man knew its worth, so he donated it to the British Museum.

The men who handled the coffin also suffered mysterious bad luck.

The Princess’s curse continued to wreak havoc after she was installed in the museum.  Workmen reported hearing sobbing from inside the coffin, and that sometimes other objects in the room would fly around as if being hurled through the air. Some of the night watchmen fell ill.

It was carried down to the basement and one of the men who carried it died suddenly of unexplained causes. A photographer took a photograph of it and when he developed it, he was so unnerved by the face that appeared on the coffin that he committed suicide.

The mummy went from private collector to private collector, each owner finding that their situations turned to disaster.  It was taken back to the museum, but they refused it, except to keep the cover.

Recently, after having been packed away in an undisclosed place, an American collector bought it and is taking it back to New York even as we speak, apparently on board the RMS Titanic.”

                                      ******

His dinner companions sat in stunned silence as Stead finished his story.  Becketts’s father was the first to speak.

“Good story, Stead. I’m sure we shall all sleep well tonight.”

That brought a round of laughter and the conversation turned back to the usual trivial banter about the things all the first class passengers talked about over dinner.

And the music played on in the background, a light, melodious aria that had nothing to do with anything as dark as the events that Stead had described.

Carrington leaned close to Beckett.

“Could it be true? That maybe it wasn’t your writing but something just like what he described?”

“I suppose it could, except that we found it exactly as I had written it.”

Beckett felt an odd sensation, something between fear and anticipation. Was it possible this had nothing to do with what he had written? But if Stead’s story held any truth, what terrible tragedy could occur during this voyage?

Warren said to Beckett, “I’ve had quite enough to eat, let’s skip the rest of the courses and go up on deck.”

“Enough to eat.” Beckett said, “Or enough of Mr. Stead’s story.”

“Frankly, both.”

Beckett excused himself and Warren and offered his hand to Carrington. She went with them, knowing that her mother would mention the rudeness of her actions later, but like Beckett and Warren she was ready to escape the dining room.

“Please tell you didn’t write a mummy on board,” Warren said.

“I’m afraid I did,” Beckett replied.

“For whatever reason?”

“So Carrington could find a mummy.”

“What if what you say about the book is true? What of what
he
says is true? Then what?”

Beckett ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I didn’t think that far. I’m not as up on mummy curses as Carrington is.”

Warren turned to Carrington. “How seriously do you think someone should take those curses?”

“All I know is that people have reported things similar to what he described on numerous occasions. The Egyptians felt very strongly about the bodies being disturbed because it might interfere with the ruler going to the afterlife.”

“I don’t want to believe in that kind of thing. But Stead told it so convincingly, he should write a novel.”

“He does write,” Beckett reminded him. “He owns a newspaper. It is possible he just made it up.”

“And told it like a ghost story at the dinner table.” Warren shuddered. “The whole thing makes me really uncomfortable. But then, so does looking at the things from the tombs in museums.”

“If they weren’t in museums,” Carrington pointed out, “most people would ever get to see them.”

“Is seeing them worth the risk of falling into terrible disaster?”

Carrington said quickly. “Yes.”

Beckett said, “I was going to write about something happening because of the curse. Now I think that perhaps I shouldn’t.”

“It need not be so drastic,” Carrington said, “But something has to happen or there was little point into writing it in the story.”

“Count me out,” Warren said, walking away. “I want no part of this.”

“Warren, wait!” Beckett called after him.

“Let him go,” Carrington said.

“I know you aren’t fond of him,” Beckett said. “But the fact remains that he is my closest friend.”

“I realize that. I’m sorry. He’s just being so negative. This could be the adventure of a lifetime.”

“And it could be a disaster,” Beckett said. “Doesn’t it scare you at all, Carrington? To know that something happened, that a
mummy
just appeared on the ship because
I
wrote it in that book?”

“It is a little unsettling, I suppose, but still interesting. And I’m so tired of never having anything exciting happen.”

Beckett sighed. “These curses. Would someone have to be able to read them to know what was going to happen?”

“From what I’ve read,” Carrington said, “they are never that specific. There isn’t a consequence that is spelled out. They only hint, apparently, at looming catastrophe.”

“If what Stead says is really true, and not just a fanciful ghost story, we could have put ourselves, or even innocent other people who aren’t informed in grave danger.”