The Company of the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

slender woman with an oval face. A white shawl was wrapped tightly around her head and neck; fugitive wisps of auburn hair trailed her lined brow.
    “Virginia, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you on one of the lifeboats?”
    He’d met her in the Café Parisien on their first night aboard. Unsure of her place on the list of the damned, he’d pursued a cautiously detached flirtation.
    “I was about to climb into one when I saw you rush past.”
    He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you insane? Why did you follow me?”
    She drew back from him, stunned. “I couldn’t find you earlier this evening. You disappeared straight after dinner.” She made a vain attempt at a smile. “I thought you might have resumed your mysterious little exile.”
    “You must get off this ship.”
    “What is the urgency? Mr Murdoch told us that everything would be alright.” She stared up into his eyes. “Everything is going to be alright, isn’t it?”
    “I don’t know,” he replied. She was trembling with the cold and new fear. “Take this.” He removed his heavy coat and threw it over her quivering shoulders. He turned to leave.
    She took a step to follow him. “Jonathan? Won’t you need it? Where are you going?”
    His shoulders slackened but he didn’t look back. “Get into one of the boats, Virginia.”
    He approached a group of passengers trying to return to their rooms. Two crewmen barred their way.
    “Has Mr Andrews been here?” he asked.
    “Went below not ten minutes ago, him and the carpenter,” the taller man replied.
    “Where were they going?”
    “I heard them say something about the boiler rooms,” the smaller one piped up.
    “Then I have to join them immediately,” Wells said firmly.
    “No one’s allowed below decks.”
    “Do you know who I am?”
    “I don’t care if you’re Mr Bruce Ismay himself. I have my orders.”
    Wells’ voice dropped to a hiss. “And who do you think gave those orders?”
    The two men glanced at each other in confusion and parted sheepishly. Wells turned to face the crowd. “You there,” he said, raising his voice. The din subsided for a moment. “All of you, please assemble by the lifeboats. You’ll all be able to return to your cabins shortly.”
    The passengers remained there for a moment, muttering and grumbling. They eyed one another with suspicion and slowly thinned out towards the lifeboat davits. The taller of the two crewmen raised a hand to his cap.
    Wells passed carefully between them and into the stairwell. Bright light assailed his eyes. He raced to the staircase and descended rapidly, his feet beating a staccato on the wooden stairs. This part of the ship appeared deserted.
    He encountered a group of crewmen on the D deck landing. “Andrews,” he gasped. “Where is he? I must find him.”
    “Follow me, sir,” a crewman responded.
    Glancing over their shoulders, he could see the steerage passengers standing quietly behind a single velvet rope. He stood transfixed by the vision.
    “Sir?” the crewman said.
    “Sorry. Thank you. Lead the way.”
    The crewman winked at one of his fellows and guided Wells down the stairs to E deck. “We can’t go via F on account of all the riff-raff down there. This way then.” He led Wells to Scotland Road—the crew’s nickname for the passageway that ran the Titanic ’s length, permitting crew and staff to traverse the ship out of the passengers’ sight.
    “Down here, sir.” The crewman pointed to an unmarked iron doorway in the wall. “This will take you through to the engine room. Mr Andrews should be there.” The young man chuckled, “Be glad when you gents have the ship running again.”
    Wells let himself through the iron door. It clanged behind him, ringing in his ears. He found himself in darkness. A wave of heat swept over him. Crewmen’s voices wafted up from below. He stamped down a thin metal stair onto a narrow walkway, then wound his way into the depths of the ship, keeping one arm on