Chapter 15
I envy you those peaceful days aboard the ship. I don’t like to admit it, but I do. I would have switched places with you in a heartbeat if I could have.
Even the ending. Even that.
Especially that.
ABOARD LUSITANIA
They met for luncheon at the Verandah Café.
It seemed every modern liner now sported some version of the concept: a bright, verdant space jammed with potted plants and hanging plants and crawling plants, so much living greenery in the middle of a salty sea.
Porthole windows everywhere, too many of them open now, Rita thought, because there was a distinct chill to the air circulating through the chamber, just an edge beyond what could be called refreshing.
Coffee, tea, wine. Light meals, mostly hors d’oeuvres, grilled meats, sandwiches and soups. Ice creams and tartlets for dessert.
The Lusitania’s rendering of the restaurant had even more foliage than she’d ever seen aboard a ship, ivy and bay trees and palm trees and baskets of pretty rainbowed blossoms, all of it framed against white trellises, wicker seats, and hardwood flooring.
It really was like an elegant bistro one might come across fronting the Seine or the Thames, only with the distinct tang of open ocean instead of inland river.
A gray day shone through those windows, blustery; the sea was chopped with white. Rita’s wine sloshed in her glass, and her stomach sloshed with it. So, actually, she appreciated that sharp air.
The room was busy, with several people waiting near the doors.
Every table was occupied or else being cleared, but with the smooth bearing of a man accustomed to exclusive, busy restaurants, George had only handed a folded pound note to the steward taking their names, along with a murmured How good of you to make room for us, and straightaway they had a spot by the forward windows.
From their seats, they were able to observe other passengers moving along the saloon promenade, a determined yet elegant parade of spring fashions braving the rolling pitch of the ship and patches of fog that rose and fell, shrouding everything in mist.
A trio of young ladies had arranged themselves around the table just behind them, leaning in close over the tablecloth to whisper in soft, scandalized tones about someone named Nellie, or Mellie.
“Whenever did you take up smoking?” Rita asked, selecting a roll from the bread basket, tearing it apart with her fingers.
She’d slept in late and skipped breakfast this morning, on top of missing a full meal last night.
She was rested, wide-awake, and starving.
An iced butter bowl next to the bread brimmed with curled pats; she stabbed one with the tip of her knife.
“Or have you always? I’m sorry, I don’t recall. ”
“No, not always,” George answered, his regret obvious. “Only since I gave up performing, professionally, at least. About five years past.” He crushed the cigarette in his left hand into the ashtray at his elbow. “It’s a dreadful habit, I know. I try not to do it around Inez.”
“I can think of worse. We really haven’t seen each other very much, have we? Even living in such close proximity in New York.”
“We really haven’t. It’s good we have the chance now to change that.”
She was buttering her roll, concentrating on the turn of her blade against tender white insides. “Inez knows you’re coming?”
“She does.”
“Our parents?”
“Naturally. I’d never dream of descending upon your Maman without warning. I’m American enough already for her. I don’t need to offer any further proof of my bad manners.”
Rita laughed, looking up at him. “Excellent choice. She’d smile and welcome you with open arms—”
“But her eyes,” George sighed. “Those dark, brilliant eyes. They’d shrink me into a puddle of shame.”
“Exactly as they loved you anyway.”
“Yes. Exactly as they loved me anyway.”
The ship pitched. She put down the bread, picked up her wine. “That reminds me. I need to send a message today to Winter Queen. I forgot to tell anyone I was coming, if you can believe it.”
“Bad luck there, I’m afraid. Passengers are no longer allowed to send wireless messages during the voyage. We can only receive them.”
“Really?” she said, dismayed.
“Really. Security measures. Orders from the Admiralty, I believe. But I can’t imagine Pauline won’t be delighted to see you under any circumstances.”
Their server arrived carrying a silver tray. He bent carefully to place Rita’s potage à la fermière, then George’s lamb croquettes, on the table.
Rita dipped a spoon in her soup, coiling with steam and already threatening to spill over the rim of the bowl, in concert with the ship.
“You know about Alfred, I take it.”
“Yes.” George shook his head. She noticed he looked paler than she was used to seeing him. More weary. Lines bracketed his mouth. She knew he was older than her sister, but for the first time since they’d met, he looked it.
His fingers tapped an absent tattoo against the tabletop. “I’d hoped, like everyone else, that if he just waited a while longer … If he’d just waited to be conscripted instead of volunteering, who knows how matters might have turned by then.”
“Waiting,” Rita said, “has never been Alfred’s strong suit.
He was already chafing at the bit. Honestly, I’m relieved he didn’t run off months ago while he was still underage.
He’d have had no qualms about lying about it.
Likely the only reason he didn’t is that Maman and Papa would have raised holy hell at the highest levels.
Every recruiter across the nation would’ve been on alert. ”
The girls behind them broke into bouts of laughter, one of them almost instantly commanding, Shush! Shush! as the other two kept giggling.
George didn’t speak again until they quieted. “I’m afraid conscription is likely to come sooner than later, anyway.”
“Do you think so?”
“I do. Despite the outward optimism of the Allied governments, we’re nowhere near the bitter end.
We’re not even close to a tipping point.
The bloodshed has spread like a cancer across the globe.
It’s as if the entire world was waiting to erupt.
Chile and the battle off Más a Tierra, the mutiny in Singapore.
The goddamned Ottomans—pardon me!—the Ottomans and the Suez Canal.
” He looked bleakly at the remains of his cigarette, then picked up his fork.
“Sorry. Sorry for that. I don’t mean to … ”
“It’s all right.”
“After this stopover at Winter Queen, I’m taking Inez to Russia with me.”
She paused over her soup. “What? You are?”
“I have business there, urgent business. We can stay in Moscow under royal protection, in the Grand Kremlin Palace, for as long as we want. The Central Powers don’t stand a chance of penetrating that far, not for a good while, if ever.
Bonaparte couldn’t conquer Russia, and I’m betting the Germans can’t, either.
” He glanced around them, dropped his voice.
“The air raids are growing more and more brazen. The dirigibles and aeroplanes navigate by the ribbon of the Thames because it’s so visible from above, even at night.
Winter Queen’s too close to it, much too close.
Too easily seen, too easily bombed. I’d take your entire family with me, if I thought any of you would go. ”
“No—I mean, no thank you. If Alfred’s sent off to the front, nothing on earth will dislodge my parents from England.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Besides, I’ve already begged and begged all three of them to come stay with me in New York, at least until it’s all over. Honestly, that’s where Inez should be, too.”
“She will be, after this one last trip. Hopefully, we both will be. But even the United States won’t be immune forever.”
She pursed her lips, waiting. In all the years she’d known him, and despite all of her sister’s protestations, Rita had never stopped believing that George Vernon was far more a government man than importer’s agent.
He leaned closer, those gray-green eyes intent.
“President Wilson is committed to neutrality. Every source I have confirms it. It would take something catastrophic to shift him.” He sat back, his expression stark.
“Only, Marguerite … catastrophes have become our everyday currency. Churchill himself is counting on it, I assure you. Why do you think the Lusitania, fast as she is, is still a civilian vessel?”
He lifted a hand to the chamber, a brief, eloquent gesture that said, Look at this place, this ship, this world. Look how vulnerable it all is.
AFTER THEY FINISHED their meal, they joined the parade of strollers along the Boat Deck, coat collars turned up, Rita’s hands tucked deep into her pockets. She’d left her ermine muff back in Manhattan; she’d had no notion it would be this chilly in May.
The fog consumed them in moments, clinging and clammy.
But then it tore away again, as if the Lusitania was a bird in flight, slicing her way up and down across the sky, right through a cloud, only to surge free to the other side.
For a few minutes, the sky was a blazing pearl and the ship merely damp and gleaming with moisture, the wooden deck, the metal walls and rivets, droplets of clear water beading and dripping from brass-rimmed portholes.
“We ought to figure out where to meet,” George said to her, matter-of-fact. “Just in case.”
“Just in case?” she echoed, although she knew exactly what he meant.
He moved to the railing. Rita followed him, mimicked him, her back braced against sturdy bars of hard metal. The ocean behind them pitched and splashed.
He searched the deck a moment, the rows of cowrie-shaped lifeboats hanging from their davits, the canvas collapsibles tucked under them, as the other passengers walked heavily nearby.