Robert Walker - Titanic 2012

The cargo and all others now across, Ransom offered Miss Embler his arm as Lightoller returned and said, “Please, ma’am, you must get on board, now or never.”

“I want my bags returned, and I will not get on that ship, sir.”

“Your bags could be anywhere by now, and we haven’t any more time to waste in France, Miss, please.”

“I will help you across,” Ransom assured her.

“I will not be bullied by either of you handsome men.”

Lightoller then said, “All right, take another boat, but your luggage must remain.”

“But my wardrobe… and besides, I have many orders and purchases for clients. Three thousand dollars worth of the latest in Paris fashion.”

“It will be held for you in New York; we must cast off—orders from Captain Smith himself, ma’am.”

“Well then… can I apply for insurance on my luggage?”

“That’s ridiculous! This ship is unsinkable.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Miss Embler,” said Ransom. “You’d be best to take the next ship.”

“Oh bother. Those bags are worth more than I am at this point; should I lose them, I lose all. I’d best remain with my purchases.” She took hold of Ransom’s arm and together they all finalized the boarding at Cherbourg, and the giant gangplank was lifted, and the tender moved off like an enormous tugboat, anxious to return to its moorings.

At last inside Titanic , Ransom said good-bye to Edith and stepped aside to allow busy men dressed in well-starched white uniforms, signaling their status as kitchen staff supervisors overseeing the stocking of the gigantic pantry and cold storage, some shouting when a worker dropped a crate of ketchup that spread about the walkway like blood. Other kitchen staff moved about the crates, selecting tinned goods and loading up wheel-barrows full with wrapped baked bread, already planning for the next meal aboard Titanic . At the same time, all the lifts were full and taking passengers and cargo to the upper decks. A pair of pursers were busy making certain all voyagers aboard were pampered with clean linens, soaps, perfumes, and piles of foodstuffs.

Lightoller passed off his duties here to a junior officer named Boxall. He then called out to Ransom to follow him, adding, “We’ll have to take the stairwell. I hope you appreciate the fact I’m abandoning my post for this. It’d better be legit, gentlemen.”

The last Ransom saw of Edith was of her fearfully standing before one of the enormous elevators, tentative about stepping inside. He imagined her a wonderful lady and he feared for her and every man, woman, and child aboard Titanic .

They could already feel Titanic shuddering as the anchor was being weighed, and like a mammoth being, she seemed to be anxiously trying to turn toward her final destination. Ransom silently cursed their luck; he’d hoped to get aboard soon enough to stop the ship here, but there did remain Queenstown, her last stop before going to New York. As soon as the gangplank stood upright and was secured, and Lightoller felt it safe to leave things in the hands of his junior officer, Ransom, Declan, and Thomas began the long climb up the stairwells and up through each of Titanic ’s nine decks when Lightoller was stopped in his tracks by another officer who appeared to be his superior, asking, “What is it you’re about, Mr. Lightoller? Aren’t you supposed to be overseeing things below? That the Cherbourg cargo is battened down? And who is seeing to directing the new first class passengers to their staterooms?”

“I think that would be Mr. Wilde, sir, when we’re at anchor.”

“But we’re not at anchor, Mr. Lightoller.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Murdoch, sir.”

“So it’s fallen to you to be guiding the second class passengers to their staterooms is it?” asked Murdoch, a handsome ship’s officer who placed up a hand to them, holding the trio in place, “Have you your tickets in order, gentlemen?”

“These gents have requested to see Captain Smith, Mr. Murdoch.”

Murdoch studied them with more focus now.

“This is my ticket!” shouted Ransom, displaying his badge, its gold-plated surface gleaming even here in the corridor. “Deputy Constable Alastair Ransom, at your service, and these two lads are medical men, and we’re here to place a quarantine on this ship.”

First Officer Will Murdoch stared at Ransom as if he were mad. “Quarantine? But all the bills have been paid, I assure you.”

“Not a financial quarantine but a medical one, man. What is your name and rank?”

“First Officer Murdoch, sir, but there is no medical problems aboard Titanic . I think you’re misinformed, Constable.”

“We must see your captain; we must stop this ship’s voyage at once.”

“They say a murderer has boarded the ship, Will,” Lightoller said to Murdoch. “And if it’s so, it must be reported to the captain, and every crewman aboard alerted to the appearance of the miscreant so as to hunt him down, slap him in irons, and put him off with these men in Queenstown.”

“And here we are just finished boarding and are this minute weighing anchor,” began Murdoch, pacing a little, while passengers on the promenade at this level went by unaware of the danger onboard. He ended by meeting Ransom’s eye. “I can’t believe this! I saw your ship approach us in Southampton, the schooner, but we had no idea. Why didn’t you wire us?”

“Trinity has no Marconi shack—likely never will. Look at her,” he pointed to where the schooner rested alongside the pier. From the rail, each man took in Trinity’s beauty even with her sails furled. Murdoch began talking about his early days on a schooner class ship and how he missed those days. Then remembering himself, he said to Ransom, “And as for the distress flag, no one saw it in time.”

“We assumed you people ignored it.” Ransom felt a wave of panic wash over him; he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since the day Reahall had arrested him, and he’d hoped to find drink aboard Trinity, but as it turned out, McEachern, a highly religious man, had not only sworn off drink years before, but he demanded it of every man who sailed with him, and he enforced it; as a result, not a pinch of rum or booze of any sort could be found aboard Trinity—not even in the galley for cooking. As of the day before, Alastair was entertaining the shakes as a result, and he feared himself on the verge of delirium tremens now. That would not do, not if he would to speak to the man in charge and not if he wished to be convincing.

“Do either of you officers have a flask?”

“A flask?” Lightoller was incredulous.

Murdoch handed the old constable a shiny silver flask. Ransom took a long swill from it, the brandy proving of high quality; it burned all the way down from gullet to gut. Ransom hesitantly returned the flask.

“Keep it; I have a feeling you’re going to need it,” Murdoch replied.

Lightoller frowned. “No doubt.”

“Here now,” began Murdoch, regaining himself. “You wish for us to disturb Captain Smith for an audience regarding stopping Titanic from its schedule, to disrupt our course before we’ve begun, Deputy Constable, on the basis of what evidence?”

Declan handed the autopsy photos to Murdoch, adding, “Sirs, this evidence is irrefutable and it indicates a new kind of killer—a new sort of plague unlike any seen before.”

“What sort of health plague?” challenged Dr. Murdoch. “There’re no health violations aboard this ship! No plague!”

“Contamination from a virus,” replied Thomas. “It’s serious. You must listen.”

On viewing the photos, Murdoch blanched and shoved them into Lightoller’s hands to rid himself of the unsightly things. “Murder and contamination all at once?”