The Titanic Tragedy Read online

  ‘I remain as confident as ever in Holmes’s abilities,’ I said quietly. ‘But I will do as you say and pass on that word of warning.’

  ‘I hope so, Doctor. I hope so. I am a great admirer of Mr Holmes. I would hate to live with the memory that I had sent him on his final adventure.’

  I handed Reilly his hat and coat as he stood at the top of the stairs, preparing to step back out into the pouring rain. Before buttoning his coat, he reached into an inside pocket and pulled out an envelope. ‘Thank you again for the journey back in time, Doctor. Here’s your ticket for tomorrow. I hope you enjoy the voyage, and please remember what I said.’

  ‘I will, and thank you again, Mr Reilly.’

  I walked down the stairs with Reilly and opened the front door for him. He stepped out to his motorcar, as the driver opened the door to the back seat.

  After bolting the front door, I walked back upstairs and warmed myself by the fireplace. I took a clean butter-knife from the sideboard and opened the envelope Reilly had given me. I was pleased to see that it contained a first-class ticket, since I had long made a habit of treating myself to comfortable travel accommodation. Not only that, but the ship itself would make this a rare treat. I would be travelling on the maiden voyage of the biggest, most luxurious ship ever built. Its name was written on my ticket in proud, bold letters — RMS Titanic.

  Chapter Two

  THE MORNING OF WEDNESDAY 10 APRIL 1912

  Mycroft’s motorcar pulled up at Waterloo Station well in advance of the Titanic Special Service’s departure at a quarter to ten. I had packed a large suitcase in haste for the journey, hoping to purchase whatever else I might need on board the ship, or in New York. Mycroft was trimmer and more energetic than he had been when I last saw him, some three months earlier. It appeared that my lectures on his poor dietary and exercise habits had had their desired effect. He confided to me that members of the Diogenes Club, who had known him for decades, were astonished to find him taking morning walks.

  ‘Have a good time, Watson,’ said Mycroft, as we stood by the kerb, waiting for the driver to give my bag to the porter. ‘And please suggest to my brother that he might find a holiday beneficial.’

  A newspaper photographer stepped out of the crowd and pointed his camera in our direction. Mycroft immediately moved towards his car, turning his back on the enterprising photographer who, after a few moments, gave up and went in search of a less bashful subject.

  ‘The departure of the Titanic appears to be quite a significant event,’ Mycroft said. ‘That’s understandable, of course. When it was launched last year, more than 100,000 people came to watch. I had the opportunity to go on board for a short time during its sea trials. It is a beautiful ship — the biggest there is. Inside, it is like a city, carrying up to 3,300 passengers and crew, with every diversion for a sea voyage that one could wish for — squash courts, a swimming pool and even lifts to carry you from deck to deck.’

  ‘I would expect to see Fleet Street represented at the departure of the ship itself, but why here at the boat train?’

  ‘A fascination with the rich and famous, I suppose. This Special carries only first-class passengers. Second and third class took another train a couple of hours ago. You will be meeting a few celebrities, I have no doubt.’

  ‘At the moment, I’m more interested in how I will locate Holmes on board that huge ship. Do you know his cabin number?’

  ‘It is close to your own and he will find you. He has a talent for that kind of thing, you know. And remember, he’ll be travelling under an assumed name. It would not be wise to tell others he is on board. Only you and the captain will be aware of his presence — and, of course, Miss Christine Norton.’

  ‘Perhaps I’m getting a little confused in my old age, Mycroft. But why tell the captain that Sherlock Holmes is among the passengers? And who is Miss Norton?’

  ‘Oh, have I not mentioned Miss Norton? She is a courier for the Ministry. Very young, but intelligent and resourceful. Her mission is to take some secret military papers to the United States and I have asked Sherlock to look after her. The captain has been alerted that the three of you are on a secret mission and was asked to provide you with any assistance you may require.’

  I am and always have been an even-tempered man. But I do not like being deceived, especially by a friend. I paused for a moment to contain my anger, then replied to Mycroft’s extraordinary statement in calm, but firm tones.

  ‘Do you mean to say that I have been roped into some kind of spy mission? I understood that I was to go on a quiet ocean voyage with an old friend. Now, it appears, I’m in the middle of some sort of intrigue.’

  ‘You do indeed appear to have changed, Watson. I remember you as a man with a sense of adventure.’

  Mycroft’s face broke into a broad smile, one that caused me to become even more annoyed by his deception. But I began to wonder at that point whether I had over-reacted. After all, the train was still at the station. There was still time to back out.

  ‘It is merely an exchange of documents. I will admit, the papers in question are of a highly delicate nature. It would be critical if certain foreign powers obtained them. But no one knows they are on board. You might like to remind yourselves of them now and then in between games of squash and shuffle-board.’

  ‘I will take your word for it, Mycroft. But I would have appreciated an earlier indication of the true nature of my task. Now, how will I recognize this lady of the name of Miss Norton?’

  ‘You do not know her. But I believe you have met her mother.’

  ‘You don’t mean...! Is Holmes aware that he will be working with Mrs Irene Norton’s daughter?’

  ‘Not yet. For security reasons, he has not been told the lady’s name; only that she will contact him in his cabin. You might like to tell him the rest after the ship departs. It should be a pleasant surprise for him. I don’t believe that he has ever met the young woman.’

  ‘Mycroft, I do believe you are becoming as deceitful as Professor Moriarty himself. But I do thank you for this opportunity to see Holmes before he begins his mission in the United States. Your Mr Reilly tells me there is some danger.’

  Mycroft started, then peered into the distance as if lost in thought.

  ‘It is a dangerous world, Watson. A very dangerous world. But my brother has encountered danger many times in the past. I am confident that he’ll make it through this ordeal. Meanwhile, you have a train to catch. I will not detain you any longer. Tell Sherlock that I will dine with him at the Diogenes Club when he returns.’

  We shook hands and I walked quickly into the station, which had a clean, modern look, following its recent renovation. The boat train was not difficult to locate. It was the centre of attention, surrounded by well-dressed passengers, with their friends and relatives who were seeing them off. Porters and servants were moving quickly to load the train. I hurried to my compartment in one of the chocolate-brown coaches.

  It was a relaxing eighty-mile journey, passing through Surbiton, Woking, Basingstoke, Winchester and Eastleigh, on its way to the White Star berth at Southampton docks. Shortly after the train left Winchester, I decided to walk down to the dining car for some tea and biscuits. There was little of interest in the morning paper and, growing tired of my private compartment, I was in the mood for some conversation with other passengers — perhaps some of the ‘rich and famous’ Mycroft had mentioned. But as I entered the dining car, I found that all of the tables were occupied. This turned out to be a blessing, in disguise. An uncommonly attractive young woman — perhaps thirty years old — was sitting alone. I approached her and asked if I might join her. She readily acquiesced.

  ‘Thank you. I was afraid, for a moment, that I would have to order tea in my compartment. This is much more pleasant. My name is Watson, Doctor John Watson.’

  She stared at me for a moment and then asked tentatively, ‘Might I inquire if you are the Doctor Watson who wrote about Sherlock Holmes?’

  I confessed that I was.

  ‘This is indeed fortuitous. I read one of your adventures in an old Strand Magazine only a few weeks ago. My name is Miss Holly Storm-Fleming.’

  There was something about the lady’s appearance and manner that was almost contradictory. This was clearly a lady of taste and breeding. She wore a silken, light blue dress with white lace trimming. When she spoke, her voice was clear and expressive, with a slight American accent. Her light brown hair was perfectly in place, falling softly about her shoulders. Yet, she was not at all reserved. Miss Storm-Fleming possessed an unrestrained vitality that brightened her every word and move.

  ‘It is my pleasure, Miss Storm-Fleming — or should I say Mrs?’

  ‘My husband passed away two years ago. Fortunately, his estate was large enough to enable me to live comfortably and go back to the United States whenever I like...’

  ‘Are you from America?’

  ‘Yes, I was born and raised in Chicago. I moved to New York when I was twenty-one. That is where I met my husband, Gerald. He was there as part of a British trade delegation, and I had a small part in a Broadway production. The members of the delegation attended one of our performances and afterwards they were invited to a reception to meet the cast. We started talking and, the first thing I knew, I was heading back to London with him.’

  ‘And now you’re returning to New York. Do you go there to visit friends, or is this just an opportunity to travel on the Titanic?’

  ‘Oh, a little of both, I suppose. I still have good friends in the theatre, and I will be getting together with them. But on this occasion, I have to confess, the Titanic was a big part of it. And how about you, Doctor? Why are you taking this voyage?’

  ‘I find that I am getting on in years and I discovered tha
t — although I’ve travelled extensively on several continents — I have never been to America. This seemed like an excellent opportunity.’

  ‘Will Mr Holmes be on board? I’d love to meet him.’

  I was not in the habit of lying. I especially did not want to be dishonest with someone as kind and charming as Miss Storm-Fleming. But national security and Holmes’s own safety were at stake. It was indeed important that I was discreet.

  ‘Unfortunately Holmes will not be travelling with us. He is retired now, but still very involved in several research projects. I am afraid he has little interest in being idle on board a ship.’

  The remainder of the journey passed by quickly. It was not long before the train arrived at Southampton and we were approaching the docks. We arrived at half past eleven, precisely on time. The boat train wound its way along the water-front before slowly turning on to a side track flanking the White Star dock at Berth 44.

  Miss Storm-Fleming and I parted company in the dining car, so that we could return to our respective compartments to gather up our belongings.

  ‘I look forward to meeting you again on board ship, Miss Storm-Fleming. Allow me to ask you to join me for dinner one evening.’

  ‘I will be looking forward to it, Doctor... Imagine, meeting the famous Doctor Watson. This voyage will be more exciting than I expected.’

  Chapter Three

  NOON ON WEDNESDAY 10 APRIL 1912

  The Titanic was indeed a magnificent sight. It was, of course, a huge ship. But beyond its size, it had a grace and stature reminiscent of the stately wooden sailing vessels that had excited me so in my youth. But with modern engineering, crossing the Atlantic was no longer a hardship. It was more like spending a week in a fine hotel.

  The ship’s superstructure shone in the midday sun. The thin gold line at the hull’s upper edge clearly and proudly identified the new vessel as part of the White Star Line. The Titanic’s four huge funnels towered against the blue sky. The air was crisp, and there was a smell of burning coal in the air. As I moved with the crowd, the excitement of the approaching journey began to affect me.

  Before stepping onto the gangway, I moved to the side and examined my ticket. My cabin was on C Deck, on the port side. I was eager to see the Titanic’s accommodation. The advertisements I had read had promised unparalleled luxury.

  When I reached the deck, one of the stewards also examined my ticket and led me across the wooden decks through a doorway to the interior of the ship. The steward, an efficient young man with little time to spare, marched quickly through the corridors until we came to the door marked C28.

  I was most favourably impressed by my quarters. They were small, but much more homelike than other ships’ cabins I had seen. There was a large green sofa, a wardrobe and a dressing table. I was especially pleased to see the comfortable-looking bed, rather than a fixed berth.

  ‘The gent’s lavatory is down the hall and to the right,’ said the steward, pointing aft of the ship.

  ‘I understood that there were private baths on this deck.’

  ‘There are, sir. One cabin in three has one. The cabins are arranged in groups of three that can be let together, or separately. There are connecting doors, but do not be concerned. They are all locked here in this section.’

  ‘And since my cabin opens to the main corridor, I won’t have a view of the water. I was hoping to have a window.’

  ‘Oh no, sir. All first-class cabins have a view. Over there in the corner there’s a little passage to your porthole.’

  ‘Very good. And my bag?’

  ‘It will be up soon, sir. If you need any assistance in the future, just press the button and someone will be along to help.’

  ‘Thank you, young man. Any suggestions on what I should see first?’

  ‘There’s much to see and do throughout the first class, sir. Just two things to look out for. Stay away from the professional gamblers, and know where the doctors are, in case you get seasick. Beyond that, this is a luxury ship, sir, and we hope you enjoy your voyage.’

  The steward accepted my tip with a quick salute and rushed back to the gangway to assist other passengers.

  The ship was due to depart at noon, just minutes away. I left my cabin to witness this colourful event and to attempt to locate Holmes. I walked down the hallway and, instead of climbing the stairs to B Deck, decided to make use of the ship’s most modern convenience. One of the three lifts was already open, so I stepped inside the dark mahogany cage, which was occupied by several passengers and crew. Overhead, the large winding gear that moved the cage up and down was visible through a glass ceiling.

  ‘Most impressive,’ I told the lift operator, as he looked outside to check for other passengers.

  ‘Yes, sir, quite a new idea for liners.’

  As he began to close the collapsible gate, I noticed a tall man in a naval uniform running towards us. I put out my hand to hold the gate back to let him in.

  ‘Thank you, friend,’ said the navy man, who seemed to smile and eye me suspiciously at the same time. He had an easy air of authority, which was suggested, perhaps, by his brisk Scottish accent. His hair, including his well-trimmed beard, was fully grey. As the lift ascended, he glanced at each of the passengers over the rim of his glasses. All seemed eager to leave as the gate opened on B Deck.

  I climbed the stairs to the boat deck and saw that the rail was already lined with passengers, waving to friends and family on the dock below. Suddenly, the air vibrated from the booming sound of the ship’s huge whistles. The crowd on deck cried out with excitement and waved final farewells to their relatives and friends. The Titanic was preparing to depart.

  ‘It’s just about time,’ said a raspy voice to my left. ‘I see that they have singled up and we’ll be leaving in a minute or two.’

  I turned and saw the naval officer standing next to me. His hands were folded behind him, with his head tilted back. Ignoring the crowd, he focused his attention on the layout of the ship and the crew’s preparations for departure.

  ‘It’s a very exciting moment, is it not?’ I replied. ‘That is...being on this grand ship as it begins its first voyage.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve headed out on more ships than I care to remember — Navy ships mostly. If you take away the fanfare and hoopla, one trip’s pretty much the same as the next.’

  ‘You’ve been at sea for a long time, then.’

  ‘All my life. Been on just about every type of ship — some in battle. I believe I know the sea as well as the next man.’

  ‘By the way, my name is Watson. Doctor John Watson. And you are...?’

  ‘Commodore Giles Winter of the Royal Navy. Pleased to meet you, Doctor.’

  ‘I cannot understand, for the life of me, why a Navy man would want to spend his holiday on a cruise. Or is this perhaps a business trip?’

  ‘Business. Just doing a routine evaluation of the vessel. I did the same thing on board the Titanic’s sister ship, Olympic. White Star has a third ship planned of the same design. In the event of war, we like to know the capabilities of all ships that are available. This ship, for example, could be useful as a troop carrier or hospital ship.’

  ‘That makes sense. But I must say, I’d just as soon not think of prospects like that on a day like this.’

  ‘And that, Doctor, is precisely my remit — to ensure that civilians like you can go about your lives without worrying about war.’

  ‘I assure you, Commodore, I have seen battle. In fact, while serving as an army surgeon in Afghanistan, I was seriously wounded at the Battle of Maiwand.’

  ‘Afghanistan, yes, that was a bad one, all right. But land wars just do not compare to sea battles, if you will forgive me saying so. There is nothing worse than having a ship sink under you. Your only hope is that your enemy will be generous enough to pull you out of the water.’

  ‘You know, you are as stubborn as a friend of mine. You may have heard of him, a detective of the name of Mr Sherlock Holmes.’