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  “Then please enlighten me,” she told her father. “I am not feeble-minded. Tell me of these ‘factors.’”

  “Did you consider what would happen should Mr. Hardcastle hear of your dancing with swirling skirts?” challenged the earl.

  “Mr. Hardcastle?” Juliana repeated. “Your business associate is not aboard the Titanic!”

  “Do you not think these Americans gossip and spread rumors like fishwives?” her father exploded. “The entirety of what they call society is aboard this vessel!”

  She lowered her gaze. “I should regret to cause you embarrassment, Papa. But I fail to see how my conduct could have any effect on your commerce with a man who owns oil wells.”

  “Then you are extremely shortsighted. Hardcastle may be an American, but he will care very much about the reputation of the future bride of one of his sons!”

  “Bride?” Juliana was rocked back on her heels. “I’m fifteen years old!”

  “In less than two years, you will be seventeen and marriageable. Mr. Hardcastle has three sons. Not many girls get such a choice.”

  “I choose none of them!” Juliana exclaimed, horrified.

  “I warned you that you would not understand. Perhaps you do not notice the financial difficulties of your family because you are still kept in silks and satins. Hardcastle has all the money in the world, but only you can place his family within the nobility.”

  “So now I have children, too?” Juliana sputtered.

  “It is your duty to rescue your family,” her father lectured. “That is what young ladies of your station are called upon to do. And if they are well-bred, they do it gladly.”

  Juliana had a brief vision of her mother weeping uncontrollably on the dock at Southampton as the Titanic sailed.

  She knows! Everybody knows — except me!

  At that moment, Juliana would have preferred to hang rather than let her father see her cry. But the tears came. She could not hold them back. She stumbled to the stateroom door and threw it open.

  “When you invited me to accompany you on this business trip,” she sobbed, “you neglected to mention that I was the merchandise to be bartered!”

  She ran blindly along the passageway, wanting only to get away from him. Never before had she felt so completely betrayed or so utterly alone. Here she was, half an ocean away from the only home she had ever known, her sole companion the father who had put her up for sale to finance his gambling debts and pay for his polo ponies, aeroplanes, and other toys. Who knew if she’d ever see her mother again? She wasn’t even certain she wanted to. What sort of parent would send her only child off on a voyage of no return? Yes, she had wept on the dock. But her sadness had not given her the courage and decency to warn her daughter of her impending fate.

  Nobody cares what happens to me….

  She pulled up short, dashing the tears from her eyes with a balled fist. Someone did care. She thought back to the day she and Sophie had found Paddy hiding in the linen drawer under her bed. His exact words: All that blather about your reputation — what I’m saying, miss, is there’s something not quite right about it.

  His background could not have been more opposite to hers, but Paddy cared. He had tried to warn her.

  I’ve got to speak with him!

  Of course, she had no way of knowing where Paddy was right now — especially after last night’s hue and cry. But Alfie had told her that the stowaway had a secret hiding place in one of the Astors’ trunks in the baggage hold.

  If she were to find Paddy, it would probably be there.

  Second Officer Lightoller was on the enclosed B-Deck promenade when he heard the sobs. He prided himself on being a no-nonsense seaman. Yet an officer did not sail with the cream of British and American society without knowing a thing or two about service. Aboard the Titanic, an unhappy first-class passenger might well have friends in very high places indeed — in Parliament, in Congress, or perhaps even within the royal family itself.

  But when he located the source of the lament, he stood back. It was young Lady Juliana, her face pink and tear-streaked. He could well imagine why. No doubt her father had torn a strip off her after her behavior at the party in steerage.

  Lightoller’s lips thinned into a straight line. That was the second time Miss Glamm had been found in close proximity to the stowaway. He would have loved to question her on the subject. But one did not interrogate the daughter of the Earl of Glamford like a common criminal. Not aboard the crown jewel of the White Star Line.

  As he watched, Juliana’s expression changed from tragic to determined, and she began to move along the promenade — long strides that bristled with purpose. He followed at a distance.

  She took the outside staircase down to the well deck and entered the forecastle at C Deck. Lightoller was intrigued. The girl was now in the working part of the ship, and she seemed to know exactly where she was going.

  Without slowing, the second officer pulled an able seaman out of a huddle of crew. “Come with me.”

  The sailor fell into step beside him. “Where are we going, sir?”

  “We’ll know soon enough.”

  At a brisk pace, Juliana headed forward to the Number 2 Hatch and started down the spiral stairs, her footfalls reverberating softly on the metal.

  “Fancy lady to be mucking around the lower decks,” the sailor commented as Juliana descended into the bowels of the ship.

  “She has a nose for trouble, this one,” Lightoller agreed. “Now hold your tongue.”

  He watched as Juliana left the stairs on the orlop deck and disappeared among the first- and second-class baggage. The two seamen trailed after her, walking lightly to avoid betraying their pursuit. Keeping to the cover of the larger piles of luggage, they crept closer.

  Lightoller peered around a stack of leather cases. His eyes narrowed as the girl opened the lid of an enormous steamer trunk. A head and shoulders sat up into view.

  The second officer sprang into action.

  Juliana spied them first. “Run, Paddy!”

  But she was too late. Lightoller grabbed the cover-alled figure by one arm; the sailor took hold of the other. The two men lifted the struggling Paddy out of the trunk and set him on the deck, firmly under their control.

  “Well, now,” said the second officer of the Titanic, “do you know what we do with stowaways in His Majesty’s merchant service?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  RMS TITANIC

  SUNDAY, APRIL 14, 1912, 8:15 A.M.

  “What have we here?” rumbled Kevin Gilhooley with a cruel smile. “If you put out enough rubbish, sooner or later you’ll trap a rat.”

  The gangster and his henchman, Seamus, watched from behind the bars of their cells as Lightoller and Master-at-Arms King shoved Paddy into a chair.

  Lightoller ignored the prisoners and skewered the stowaway with burning eyes. “I’ll have your name, boy, and the name of the crewman who let you board this ship.”

  Paddy stuck out his chin. “Patrick Burns. And nobody let me aboard.”

  The second officer reddened. “So the angels brought you down from heaven above?”

  “No angels. It was your own cargo crane that plucked me off the dock in Belfast. Hiding in a bale of linen, I was” — he pointed at the two gangsters in the brig — “from this murdering scum!”

  “Put the lad in here with me,” Gilhooley suggested. “And I’ll gladly save you the trouble of what to do with him when we get to New York.”

  “Shut your gob,” King ordered.

  Lightoller was astounded. “Are you telling me that you’ve been aboard the Titanic for twelve days? Living where? Not in that box! Who’s been feeding you? Miss Glamm obviously, but she’s only been aboard since Southampton. You have an accomplice — someone of the crew. Is it young Huggins?”

  “Don’t know the man.”

  “You mentioned his name to me!”

  His captive stared back defiantly. “If I can hide aboard your precious ship for twelve day
s, grant me the guile to parrot back a name I’ve heard.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” The second officer raised his arm to strike.

  Paddy had already resolved that, no matter what happened, he would not betray Alfie. If he had to take a beating from Lightoller, so be it. He had suffered worse at the hand of his stepfather. And poor Daniel had suffered far, far worse from the two men on the other side of the bars of the brig.

  “Don’t you see that the boy is at the root of both our problems?” Gilhooley reasoned. “Surely we can come to an arrangement. Release me and I’ll have the information you need in five minutes.”

  Lightoller looked from Gilhooley to Paddy, and then to the master-at-arms. “Lock the thugs up together, and put the boy in the other cell. I don’t want him harmed until I’ve had a chance to interrogate him.”

  “Here’s your hot chocolate, Miss Sophie.” Alfie handed her a steaming mug. “Would you like me to get you a blanket? They say the temperature is dropping rapidly.”

  Sophie seemed distracted. She barely noticed the chill of the boat deck as she accepted the drink and took a sip. “I’d like to talk to him!” she blurted suddenly.

  “Him?” Alfie repeated, puzzled.

  “Mr. Masterson. It breaks my heart to see how lonely he is.”

  Alfie bit his lip. “You must be joking! No one wants to talk to Mr. Masterson. I wish I didn’t have to! And he’s taken a liking to me, more’s the pity.”

  “I hope you didn’t borrow that attitude from my mother,” Sophie said disapprovingly. “Just because she’s Amelia Bronson doesn’t mean she’s always right.”

  “I’m not saying she’s always right,” Alfie returned. “But she’s right this time.”

  “How could you be so unfeeling?” Sophie accused. “The poor soul has been so isolated by the loss of his legs that he’s unable to be sociable. He needs to be accepted by the rest of us, not forced further into the darkness. I want to be introduced to him. At least I can make the remainder of this voyage more pleasant for him.”

  “You’ll not go near the man,” Alfie said grimly.

  Sophie frowned. “I didn’t ask for your permission. You’re my steward and you’re his steward. Who better to make the introduction?”

  Alfie remained stubborn. “I’ll not do it.”

  Sophie faced him with growing annoyance. “Very well. I’ll introduce myself. I’m a modern woman. I don’t have to worry about the outdated customs of the last century.”

  She handed him back the mug and turned to leave.

  “No, wait! Listen,” Alfie pleaded.

  “I see no reason why I should,” Sophie said coldly.

  Alfie took a deep breath. There was no choice but to tell all. “Remember the scrapbook I showed you and Miss Juliana in the baggage hold? The one about the Whitechapel murders? It belongs to Mr. Masterson.”

  “I can believe that,” Sophie replied thoughtfully. “Keeping a scrapbook would be one of the few pastimes available to an invalid. And in light of his misfortune, it’s understandable that he might develop an interest in a dark subject, like a series of —” She pulled up short. “Alfie, you’re not saying that crippled old man is Jack the Ripper?”

  “He wasn’t old and crippled then,” Alfie reasoned. “He was injured in 1889 — when the Whitechapel murders ended. That’s why Jack the Ripper stopped killing! He wasn’t physically capable of it anymore.” He grasped Sophie’s arm. “As your steward — as your friend — I can’t let you go to him. Your mother is right — he does hate women.”

  Sophie was flustered, but she had Amelia Bronson’s rock-solid faith in her own convictions. “There must be another explanation. It’s only a scrapbook —”

  “With teeth?” Alfie challenged.

  “We can’t know for certain —”

  The exchange was interrupted when Juliana barreled up to them, agitated in the extreme.

  “Paddy’s under arrest and it’s all my fault!” she blurted, her pink cheeks streaked with tears.

  “What?” chorused Alfie and Sophie.

  Juliana began to cry again as she told them how she had inadvertently led Lightoller to Paddy’s hiding place in the baggage hold. “I tried to stop him,” she panted, out of breath from running up to the boat deck. “But Mr. Lightoller said that hiding Paddy is almost as serious as stowing away yourself, and I might be arrested, too!”

  “He’s bluffing!” Sophie scoffed. “The White Star Line would never do that to a first-class passenger, certainly not the daughter of an earl.”

  Alfie went pale, remembering the conversation with his father early that morning. “But they won’t hesitate to do it to a junior steward! At the least, I’ll be fired, and my poor father, too, for helping me!”

  “He didn’t help you!” Juliana exclaimed, aghast.

  “Begging your pardon, miss, but the respect and consideration you’re used to — that’s just not how the world works for people like Da and me. The White Star Line has the power of the Lord on high over us, and we can be sacked at any time for any reason, or for no reason at all, if that’s the captain’s pleasure. I’m not so much worried for myself as for my father. He’s been with White Star well nigh twenty years. A man his age with no other job experience — he’d starve, and probably me with him!”

  Both girls regarded him with pity. The life he described was completely foreign to them. Yet they could see in his haunted eyes that he was telling them the truth.

  “What can be done?” Sophie asked anxiously.

  “I can’t be connected to Paddy,” Alfie reasoned. “Which means I can’t risk being seen with you two. As your steward, of course. But as friends — that’s just not possible anymore.” He regarded Juliana ruefully. “I suppose you were right all along, Miss Julie. It’s not a good idea for the classes to mix socially.”

  She shook her head sadly. “I was ever so wrong.”

  Alfie looked around the boat deck, his expression wary. “I should go. Don’t do anything rash to try to save Paddy. He’s at the mercy of the White Star Line now. It’s possible that I am, too — and my poor father.” He hurried away, leaving the two girls standing at the rail, forlorn.

  “I could never have imagined how much I shall miss his company,” Juliana said tragically.

  “He’s not dead,” Sophie pointed out. “He just has to be careful around us, that’s all. What on earth possessed you to decide that you had to go to the hold and find Paddy this morning?”

  Juliana felt the tears returning and steeled herself with a deep breath. “That’s the worst part of this. I learned the real reason for this voyage to America.”

  Sophie was confused. “It isn’t your father’s business?”

  “It is. But the nature of that business is to barter me to the son of an oil tycoon.” In halting speech, she told of her father’s plan to marry her to one of Mr. Hardcastle’s sons in order to rescue the Glamm family’s finances. “He says it’s my duty as his daughter,” she finished miserably.

  Sophie was horrified. “A hundred years ago, perhaps! Not in the twentieth century!”

  “But what can I do about it?”

  “Women are never as powerless as men want us to think we are,” Sophie lectured. “And that comes straight from my mother, the world’s greatest big-mouth on the subject of women’s rights. Julie, they can put you on a ship to America. They can even dress you in white lace and a veil and drag you to the altar. But they can’t make you say yes.”

  “Of course they can,” Juliana sniffed.

  Sophie shook her head. “They can bribe you, browbeat you, shout until they’re blue in the face. But in the end, that final measure of control is yours and yours alone. Let’s talk to Mother. She can help.”

  “Then let her help Paddy,” Juliana said adamantly. “He’s the one who really needs it right now. It doesn’t matter what happens to me.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  RMS TITANIC

  SUNDAY, APRIL 14, 1912, 2:15 P.M.

  “
Five hundred forty-six miles in a single day!” marveled J. Bruce Ismay. “Most impressive! At this speed, a Tuesday night arrival is almost assured!”

  The managing director of the White Star Line stood in his usual place next to Captain Smith on the bridge of the Titanic.

  Thomas Andrews was buried in a page of mathematical calculations. “The degree of steam pressure with all twenty-nine boilers engaged is quite different from my estimates.”

  The captain cast him a wry look. “Better or worse?”

  “Higher,” the designer replied. “Of course, faster is not necessarily better.”

  “It will be when the newspapers are trumpeting our name,” Ismay put in. “Much better.”

  First Officer Murdoch escorted a visitor into the captain’s presence. “Mrs. Bronson to see you, sir.”

  “Good day to you, madam,” Captain Smith greeted pleasantly. “What brings you to my bridge?”

  Amelia Bronson was not one to waste time on small talk. “You have a child in your brig, one Patrick Burns.”

  Second Officer Lightoller spoke up. “I put him there myself. The boy is a stowaway.”

  “Not anymore.” Mrs. Bronson opened her silk purse. “I wish to purchase third-class passage for him. Now he is a paid passenger like the rest of us.”

  “I’m afraid the time for that is past, madam,” the captain explained gently. “A stowaway is a thief as surely as if he has purloined silverware from the dining saloon. Paying for his theft does not absolve him of the original crime.”

  “He is a child,” the suffragist persisted.

  “Maritime law makes no allowance for youth,” Smith told her. “The boy will be treated humanely, but he will be prosecuted for his offense.”

  Mrs. Bronson emitted a most unladylike snort of disgust. “Maritime law! Just another excuse for men to bully the weakest among us — women and children.”