Chapter Nineteen
James
In the Smoking Room, James was toasting a cigar for Mr. Jacob Calbot, his heart heavy and stomach in knots.
Occasionally, over the last hour, he had been hit with waves of what felt like dread, the sensation so strong that it often stole the breath from his lungs, stopping him mid-step.
He’d felt similarly on the morning of George’s accident.
Consequently, James couldn’t help but assume the worst.
Sometime within the last little while, Cassian must have made up his mind regarding the future of their relationship.
Most likely, the man had simply decided that veering from the path he was expected to follow was not something he was willing to do.
And so, James and Cassian’s short-but-intense entanglement was probably poised to come to an end soon, maybe even before their arrival in New York.
Fighting to keep a neutral expression through yet another swell of nausea, James handed the newly lit cigar back to Cassian’s friend.
“Thank you, Mr. Morrow,” the man said with a cordial smile.
“Of course,” James replied. “Let me know if you require anything else. Even though the bar is closed, I can fetch water for you, if requested.”
James turned to leave. While crossing the room, the ship suddenly lurched, and he stumbled forward a half step. Following the lurch was a slight rolling noise, and James froze while he listened to it. Someone nearby called to him the moment the odd sound ceased.
“Excuse me, sir, what was that?” the man asked.
James only shook his head. He did not know.
Shrugging, the man resumed his conversation with the fellow beside him.
Across the room, a group of three gentlemen stood and started for one of the exits, leaving the remainder of their beverages as well as their playing cards behind.
When they passed by, James heard one of them saying something about investigating the source of the noise.
James considered joining them but quickly decided against it. He was supposed to be working.
Pushing past his unease, James walked over to one of the other passengers as the man finished his brandy, and he took the man’s empty snifter from him.
Slowly, over the next little while, James’s concern waned, though the feeling of unease remained.
Thankfully, though, James managed to make it through the rest of his shift.
Even though a few first-class passengers were still finishing up their conversations, card games, and beverages at midnight, most had retired to their staterooms for the evening, and so, James was relieved from his post.
Descending Titanic’s beautiful aft Grand Staircase, James lingered on each and every step, his legs moving languidly as though pushing through honey.
He kept his hand on the banister, focusing on the smoothness of the lacquered wood, and he wondered whether his sense of unease was intending to warn him that Cassian might break his heart right that very night.
When James reached the landing for B-Deck, he stopped.
Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, he leaned against the banister and let the memories of his time with Cassian in his stateroom overtake him.
A swell of emotions filled up his chest as images of their bedroom escapades flitted through his mind like pictures from a flicker book.
How he missed Cassian already. What he wouldn’t give to relive those moments in Cassian’s stateroom, even if only for a little while.
James was still fixed to the same spot next to the banister when another steward came bounding down the stairs.
“You there,” the man said to James. “Are you the cabin steward for this floor?”
“Me? No, I’m one of the saloon stewards,” James replied.
“Alright, well, when you see the cabin steward for this cluster of staterooms here on B-Deck, I need you to tell him that we’ve been asked to rouse the passengers.
We must instruct them to put on their lifebelts and ask that they come to the boat deck,” he said.
“I’ll continue to the lower decks and relay the instructions there. ”
“Oh. Uhm. Actually, I was en route back to my room on Scotland Road, so—”
“Please,” the man said, his eyebrows pinching.
There looked to be a sense of urgency in the man’s eyes, one that made James’s stomach roil. He somehow knew that he ought to comply, and so he responded with a single nod. Immediately, the man started to leave, but, after only a flicker of hesitation, James caught his arm, stopping him.
“Why do we need the lifebelts?” James asked.
The man wet his lips. “It’s . . . only a precaution.”
As the man began to pull away, James clutched his sleeve tighter.
“Truly?” James asked.
There was a pause.
“Yes,” the man said. “Truly.”
James released him. Listening to the man’s fast footsteps on the next set of stairs, James shuddered, a shiver of unease rolling up his spine. He remained frozen for what felt like minutes while his mind worked furiously to comprehend why they might need their lifebelts.
Could it be that the ship was in peril? James looked around.
Everything was so calm, so normal. Nearby, first-class passengers were asleep in their rooms. Only minutes before, he’d been serving wine and hard liquor and cocktails to a room of card-playing men who had been wearing some of their finest clothes.
It was completely unfathomable that the ship—
All of a sudden, James found himself reliving that moment in the Smoking Room, shortly before midnight.
Right after it had happened, James had thought that maybe the slight lurch he’d felt and the subsequent sound had been the result of a mechanical error.
Something minor with the ship’s machinery.
Or even that the whole thing had been caused by the ship moving over rough waters.
But maybe something else had happened.
Heart hammering, James hurried toward the staterooms. In the corridor, he spotted the cabin steward whom he had paid for the coffee what felt like forever ago now.
“Sir!” James called out. “I received instructions from someone—probably a cabin steward for one of the other portions of the ship—saying that we need to rouse the passengers and ask them to put on their lifebelts.”
“Lifebelts?” the man balked.
“Yes, lifebelts,” James confirmed. “Afterward, passengers should make their way up to the boat deck.”
“What—”
“I’m not sure,” James said.
Creasing his brow, the cabin steward seemed to think about this for a moment.
“We better tell passengers to dress warmly,” he eventually said.
James nodded. He supposed he couldn’t retire for the evening yet, then, since this steward seemed to expect his help. He whirled around to knock on the first door, but before he could rap his knuckles on the wood, the other man spoke.
“Do you have a lifebelt?” he asked.
Dread sent another shiver up James’s spine. He lowered his hand.
No, he didn’t.
“I should fetch mine, perhaps,” the man said without first waiting for James’s answer. “Set an example.”
James’s entire body began to shake, but he forced a nod, and the other man left for his room. James stood frozen for several long seconds, knowing, vaguely, that there was a potential emergency and that he ought to move, but fear kept him rooted to the spot.
Soon, the other man returned. He began knocking on people’s doors, one by one. Still, though, James remained in the same exact location, unable to make himself move, shock and confusion muddling his mind as icy, fear-laden blood pumped through his veins.
Only when he heard Ethel’s voice floating down the length of the corridor did James manage to come to his senses. He looked over to see her coming out of what might have been Cassian’s room, though James couldn’t be one hundred percent certain from where he was standing.
“Ethel!” he cried out, his voice wrought with an urgency that even startled him a little. “Ethel Barrington!”
Ethel and Cassian’s valet looked over and started toward him, their foreheads marked with worry. Ethel’s lifebelt was securely around her, the straps fastened. Mr. Quinn was still working the ties on his.
“James, is it?” Ethel said, and James nodded. “James, what’s happening?”
“I think there’s something wrong with the ship, maybe, though I’m not really sure,” he said cautiously.
“I-I was on my way back to my room when one of the other stewards stopped me and asked me to relay instructions for passengers to put on their lifebelts and make their way to the boat deck. He said that it was only a precaution but . . .”
“Dear God,” Mr. Quinn whispered.
“I have to find my mother,” Ethel said.
“Yes, find her and bring her with you to the boat deck,” James said. “But where’s—”
“Cassian isn’t with us,” Ethel said, her face contorting with a level of concern that made James’s knees weak. “I’m not sure where he is. Oh, James, we have to find him.”
“I will, I will,” James promised, even as a fresh surge of fear shot through him, sending his heart up into his throat. He swallowed hard, pushing his fear down, and then took a long, measured breath to compose himself. “I will.”
Ethel and Mr. Quinn hurried away. James rushed to Cassian’s room.
The door was ajar. Most likely, then, this was the room from which Ethel and Mr. Quinn had emerged before.
Spinning in a little circle, James pushed his hand through his hair again, barely able to keep the next swell of panic at bay.
He hadn’t seen Cassian in the Smoking Room before, and now, the man wasn’t in his room, either, even though it was well after midnight.
Where was he?