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Authors: Conrad Allen
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shaking his head. “What you asks for is confidential information. Jack’d be taking a risk.”
“I’ll make it worth his while.”
“Would you, sir?”
“And you’ll get the same, of course. After all, you’re the go-between. What do you say, Albert? Can you and your brother help me?”
“I’ll ’ave to think it over, sir.”
“Don’t be too long about it. This is important.”
“I gathered that, sir. Sweetheart, is she?”
“I need the number of her cabin.”
“Then what?”
“I might need a second favor.”
Another snigger. “Thought you might, sir. You’ll be wanting our Jack to deliver a message, I daresay. Better warn you now, this’ll cost you. A sovereign apiece won’t cover this. Risks, see? Dangers.”
“Name your price.”
The steward squinted up at him. Philip Garrow was patently a driven man with an edge of desperation about him. He was ripe for exploitation. At the same time, Albert felt inclined to help him. The thought of playing Cupid appealed to a romantic streak in his nature.
“Let me speak to Jack,” he said at length. “Me and ’im needs to chew this one over. Who knows? Maybe we can do a bit more for you than is being asked of us. That suit you, sir?”
FIVE
T he mood of celebration continued and intensified throughout the evening until the
Lusitania
seemed to be hosting one enormous party. People who would normally have been attending Evensong at that hour or reading to their children from the family Bible were happily ignoring all precepts about the nature of the Sabbath. Passengers in first class might be attending a banquet but those in third class were not excluded from the sense of occasion. Jollity and camaraderie ran along the serried ranks of wooden benches, and a cheer went up when someone began to play a concertina. The vessel was traveling in international waters. It was outside time and outside the normal restraints of social life.
Decorum was, however, still maintained to a degree in the first-class dining saloon. Notwithstanding the festive atmosphere, there was a visible display of hierarchy with the most distinguished guests seated at the captain’s table and others of note also taking up favored positions. George Porter Dillman was at once a participant in, and observer of, the glittering occasion, enjoying a splendid meal for its own sake while keeping the entire room under observation. Seated near one wall of the saloon, he was well placed to let his gaze roam, and his first general impression was one ofdazzling opulence. Purser Halliday’s prediction had been accurate. The ladies had reclaimed their jewelry from the safe with a vengeance. There were so many diamond tiaras, costly earrings, sparkling necklaces, and gold brooches on show that Dillman felt he was attending a royal function.
Lord Carradine was at the captain’s table, dispensing small talk with consummate ease and evincing all the attributes of a bon vivant. Dillman was interested to see that the Rymers had forsaken their private eyrie to dine in public. Matthew Rymer seemed to be delivering one of his lectures to the rest of the table with occasional comments from his wife but Violet Rymer was as reserved and distrait as usual. Alone of the dinner guests, she was clearly suffering.
Whenever he looked around, Dillman’s eye always ended up on the same person. Seated between the Hubermanns, she was poised and yet vivacious, taking a full part in the general discussion and entrancing every man at the table. Dillman thought she was the perfect example of English beauty. What surprised him was that there was no sign of the journalist who had escorted her into the saloon. Unless he was hidden by one of the pillars or potted palms, Henry Barcroft had vanished. Dillman half expected him to have wangled himself a place at her table, but Fortress Hubermann had obviously proved impregnable.
Two other surprises lay in store for Dillman. Steeling himself to endure an evening’s
“I’ll make it worth his while.”
“Would you, sir?”
“And you’ll get the same, of course. After all, you’re the go-between. What do you say, Albert? Can you and your brother help me?”
“I’ll ’ave to think it over, sir.”
“Don’t be too long about it. This is important.”
“I gathered that, sir. Sweetheart, is she?”
“I need the number of her cabin.”
“Then what?”
“I might need a second favor.”
Another snigger. “Thought you might, sir. You’ll be wanting our Jack to deliver a message, I daresay. Better warn you now, this’ll cost you. A sovereign apiece won’t cover this. Risks, see? Dangers.”
“Name your price.”
The steward squinted up at him. Philip Garrow was patently a driven man with an edge of desperation about him. He was ripe for exploitation. At the same time, Albert felt inclined to help him. The thought of playing Cupid appealed to a romantic streak in his nature.
“Let me speak to Jack,” he said at length. “Me and ’im needs to chew this one over. Who knows? Maybe we can do a bit more for you than is being asked of us. That suit you, sir?”
FIVE
T he mood of celebration continued and intensified throughout the evening until the
Lusitania
seemed to be hosting one enormous party. People who would normally have been attending Evensong at that hour or reading to their children from the family Bible were happily ignoring all precepts about the nature of the Sabbath. Passengers in first class might be attending a banquet but those in third class were not excluded from the sense of occasion. Jollity and camaraderie ran along the serried ranks of wooden benches, and a cheer went up when someone began to play a concertina. The vessel was traveling in international waters. It was outside time and outside the normal restraints of social life.
Decorum was, however, still maintained to a degree in the first-class dining saloon. Notwithstanding the festive atmosphere, there was a visible display of hierarchy with the most distinguished guests seated at the captain’s table and others of note also taking up favored positions. George Porter Dillman was at once a participant in, and observer of, the glittering occasion, enjoying a splendid meal for its own sake while keeping the entire room under observation. Seated near one wall of the saloon, he was well placed to let his gaze roam, and his first general impression was one ofdazzling opulence. Purser Halliday’s prediction had been accurate. The ladies had reclaimed their jewelry from the safe with a vengeance. There were so many diamond tiaras, costly earrings, sparkling necklaces, and gold brooches on show that Dillman felt he was attending a royal function.
Lord Carradine was at the captain’s table, dispensing small talk with consummate ease and evincing all the attributes of a bon vivant. Dillman was interested to see that the Rymers had forsaken their private eyrie to dine in public. Matthew Rymer seemed to be delivering one of his lectures to the rest of the table with occasional comments from his wife but Violet Rymer was as reserved and distrait as usual. Alone of the dinner guests, she was clearly suffering.
Whenever he looked around, Dillman’s eye always ended up on the same person. Seated between the Hubermanns, she was poised and yet vivacious, taking a full part in the general discussion and entrancing every man at the table. Dillman thought she was the perfect example of English beauty. What surprised him was that there was no sign of the journalist who had escorted her into the saloon. Unless he was hidden by one of the pillars or potted palms, Henry Barcroft had vanished. Dillman half expected him to have wangled himself a place at her table, but Fortress Hubermann had obviously proved impregnable.
Two other surprises lay in store for Dillman. Steeling himself to endure an evening’s
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