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Chapter Nine
Into the Water
Marlow woke to a banging sound, startled by its insistence. He looked at Rosalind, who came awake at the same time, her eyes wide.
“What’s happened?” she asked.
Her question was followed by a groaning creak so deep and grating he felt it in his marrow. It wasn’t the door. His gaze flew to the porthole, half obscured by water. It was daylight—barely—and the worst of the storm seemed to have passed. There was no howling wind. The boat listed only slightly to one side.
“It’s over,” he answered with wonder. “The storm’s over. We survived.” The knock came again as he threw on his trousers and shirt. “One moment!”
He collected Rosalind’s clothes for her before he moved to the door and cracked it open, careful to conceal her tousled presence. By God, they’d made love three times last night. It seemed a dream now, another existence, one he wished he could return to. Perhaps they would, once they got some food and drink in them.
“Good morning,” he said to the pale deckhand at his door. Poor creature probably hadn’t slept a wink. “Could we—I—trouble you for some breakfast, lots of it? I’ll take it in the cabin.”
“Sir, I’m sorry to tell you… My lord…” The youth flinched as another grating groan shook the vessel. “There’s no time for breakfast, sir. You must make ready to abandon ship.”
“Abandon ship? Why? The storm seems over.”
“She took a beating overnight, my lord, and there’s grievous damage to her hull. The cap’n says she’s to come apart in time, so we’d better be ready.”
Marlow stared at him, then moved aside as Rosalind appeared at his shoulder. The youth registered surprise, then relief.
“Oh, you’re there, ma’am. Good. They fetched all the ladies last hour to board the dinghy,” he explained to Marlow, “but we couldn’t find Mrs. Lintel. They had some fear she’d been swept overboard. I’m happy it’s not so.”
“How far away’s the dinghy?” he asked, pushing past shock to cold realities. “Close enough to call back for her?”
“I fear not, sir. I wish we’d held it,” the youth said, wringing his hands again. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. Lady Woodworth started to panic because the gentlemen were shoving on and nearly tipped it, so the captain lowered the boat away.”
The craven cowards. Gentlemen crowding on with the ladies? He’d slap a glove in the face of every one of the miscreants if he ever saw them again.
“But now, sir, oh, I’m sorry to say the both of you must ready yourselves to go over. The captain’s been steering hide ’n hair closer to land, hoping we had enough time, but we’re sinking fast. There’s boats to the west, fishermen from the looks of it. We’re going to swim. God bless you both.” He gave a short, almost pitying bow to Mrs. Lintel and took himself off. The ship creaked fiercely as he ran for the stairs.
Marlow gripped Rosalind’s hand and followed the boy. He must investigate their situation. Did they have seconds? Minutes? An hour before the ship foundered?
“Your coat!” she cried.
“Leave it.”
He pulled her behind him, past men who scurried about with their heads down. They seemed to want to help, but it became apparent as soon as they stepped on deck there was nothing to be done. The ship was practically sunk already, swallowed up by the uncaring sea. If their rooms had been even one level lower, they’d not be standing here now.
“What will we do?” Rosalind asked.
He looked in the distance and saw the ship’s dinghy, a small speck on its way to shore. She should have been on that dinghy. It was his fault she wasn’t. He’d kept her in his room, in his bed, enjoying her through those hours that had felt like the apocalypse.
But no, the apocalypse was now. They might manage to swim to the bobbing vessel, but it was a small craft, and they might tip it over trying to crowd in with the panicked Lady Woodworth. Their only chance now was to reach one of the boats sailing from the coastline in the distance.
“It’s sinking now!” Rosalind cried. “We’re sinking.”
Indeed, the ship was coming closer and closer to the waterline as the lower decks flooded. If the deepening groans were any indication, the damaged hull was close to breaking apart.
“We must get to those boats,” he said to himself first. Dazed. Disbelieving. Then to Rosalind: “We must get to those boats.”
“How?”
He looked about in the water for anything to help them. A raft, a bit of flotsam, something to float upon, but there was nothing.
“We’ll have to swim, like the sailors are doing.”
