Murder Aboard the Titanic Page 3
* * *
Jack sucked in a deep breath and slipped the knife back into his pocket. He dragged the whore's limp body away from public view and into a dark corner, aware she would be discovered soon enough.
He removed a handkerchief to wipe away blood that had spurted onto his face during the kill. It had made him feel alive again, which meant he would need to take the life of others to continue to feed his revived addiction.
But, for now, he needed to get back to his dear wife and try to put this unfortunate episode behind him.
That would not be easy, given that the ship's journey to America was still ongoing, providing him with further women of the night to cut up as only he could.
Then there would be the time spent in New York City itself, his onetime home long ago. As he knew all too well, there would be no shortage of street prostitutes like those in Whitechapel he had once set his sights on, and he would have the pick of the litter in his quest to rid the world of whores.
Jack salivated at the thought. He quickly made himself scarce, heading in a different direction from whence he had come in order to avoid being seen by others.
Once he was safely back in front of his cabin, a sly grin formed on his lips before he went inside. And why not?
The man once known as Jack the Ripper was back.
And the unsinkable ship Titanic was suddenly his for the taking.
* * *
The enthralling mystery tale of Murder Aboard the Titanic will continue in future shorts.
# # #
The following is a complete bonus story
LOVE ABOARD THE TITANIC
By R. Barri Flowers
My story begins with arguably the grandest luxury liner ever to take to the seas: the Titanic. Certainly it was the most impressive of its time. Built in 1912 by a British shipping company called the White Star Line, the Titanic was eleven stories high, four blocks long and equipped with the very latest in safety devices. Indeed, she was billed as "unsinkable" thanks to a double bottom construction and sixteen watertight compartments of which two could actually flood without the ship sinking.
With this imposing backdrop, on April 10, 1912 the Titanic set sail from Southampton on her maiden voyage to New York. The passenger list included such prominent names as Allison, Astor, Thayer, and Carter. In all, these prominent people represented about $250 million.
My entry into the picture did not begin until April 11, when the Titanic stopped at Queenstown to pick up more passengers, including me. A native of Detroit, Michigan, I had spent the last year attending Oxford as a graduate student of linguistics. For the return home, I couldn't resist the challenge of saying I was there when this mighty ship first crossed the Atlantic. And so with the help of a distant cousin, I gathered my meager savings to purchase a Second Class ticket for this once-in-a-lifetime journey. I was one month removed from my twenty-fifth birthday.
When the Titanic left Queenstown at 2:00 p.m., it carried 1,316 passengers, 891 crew members, and perhaps just as much excitement and anticipation for what lay ahead.
I was roomed with a twenty-six-year-old Irish woman named Kathleen McMurphy. This was her first trip to America where she hoped to find work in New York as a dressmaker.
"What happens if there are no such openings?" I asked her with dread as we lay on our tiny beds in our small room.
She laughed. "I expect I'd have to set up me own business. I'm told anyone can do anything in America if they try hard enough."
I sneered. "You wouldn't want to do just anything, Kathleen. Without trying to scare you half to death, many young, overly ambitious women—and men—come to the States with great expectations only to end up selling their bodies just to survive."
"You mean hookin'?"
"Yes."
She laughed again. "Aye, maybe that wouldn't be so bad, especially if they're good looking blokes."
I widened my eyes. "You can't be serious?"
"I'm not," she teased. "And don't you be either. I'm a survivor. What's meant to be will be."
In less than a day, I felt as if we had known each other for years. I wished I could be more like Kathleen—brave, funny confident, and shapely—instead of shy, serious, uncertain, and far too thin for my liking.
* * *
After dinner that evening, we went for a walk on the promenade deck to mingle with others and enjoy the fresh, chilly air.
"Isn't it funny," whispered Kathleen, "how much alike we second classers look. Do you suppose those filthy rich people up there or the filthy poor ones below us share a similar resemblance?"
I chuckled. "Only in the money they have or don't have."
Class lines on the Titanic were clearly drawn, giving the very real appearance of three different worlds within one. The First Class passengers were wealthy, prominent members of the upper class and used to being catered to; Third Class, or steerage passengers, were primarily immigrants moving to the U.S. or Canada, and likely happy just to be on board. The Second Class passengers probably reflected the norm of the early 20th century—having just enough money for respectability, but desiring more.
Our stroll along the deck was interrupted when I literally bumped into a man, or perhaps it was the other way around.
"Excuse me," he said with an East Coast American accent. "I suppose it's hard for me to look and walk at the same time."
"Perhaps you shouldn't try then," I suggested and smiled at Kathleen.
"Perhaps you're right," he said, chuckling. "However, it was the only way I could think of to get to talk to someone I've been admiring from afar." A half smile played on his lips.
My instincts told me that he must be referring to Kathleen. Then, looking directly at me, he said, "Hello. My name's Henry Patterson."
He was tall and slender with pronounced features, deep blue eyes, and dark wavy hair. He wore a suit, white shirt, and string tie. I guessed him to be in his late twenties.
"I'm Judy Gladers," I said, "and this is Kathleen McMurphy."
"Nice to meet you both," he said, though his gaze rested solely on me.
"Aye, I'm getting kind of hungry," Kathleen told me with a wink. "I think I'll go fetch a bite and then meet you back in the room."
I felt rather awful to see her go, but would have done the same were the situation reversed.
"That was decent of her," said Henry candidly. "Did you come on board together?"
I told him of our first meeting in cabin B-87.
"I met my own cabin mate in London," he said. "We hit it off well and decided we could put up with each other at least till we arrived in New York." He put his hands in his pockets. "Shall we walk?"
"If you like," I said awkwardly.
"You know, I really have been admiring you from a distance. I saw you when you first came on board and immediately thought to myself: she's an attractive one and doesn't seem to be taken." He lowered his eyes at me. "Are you?"
I am certain my face reddened like a ripe apple. "No," I admitted, "but I'm afraid I'm not very experienced when it comes to men—"
"I think you'll find that most of us don't bite," he said with amusement. "We're just mere flesh and blood mortals seeking the same in women."
"So much for the mystery and intrigue of it all," I quipped, suddenly feeling more at ease.
"Oh, I think there is still enough mystery and intrigue to go around."
We smiled at each other and continued our walk in silence.
* * *
"He's a buyer for Gimbel's department store," I explained to Kathleen later.
"Sounds impressive," she said. "Looks like you've landed yourself a decent one."
"We haven't gotten engaged to be married or anything," I said defensively. "I hardly even know him."
We met the following day in the Café Parisian, a lively restaurant on B deck that catered mostly to the younger crowd.
"How did you end up doing your graduate study at Oxford?" Henry asked me while sipping hot lemonade.
"They offered me a fellowship," I explained, "and the opportunity to tour Europe. I could hardly turn it down."
He smiled. "No, I suppose you couldn't. Obviously, it didn't hurt your cause to be very intelligent."
I tasted my hot chocolate. Being intelligent had always seemed to be my most distinguishing characteristic—to my displeasure.
"Do you visit England often in the course of your work?" I asked curiously.
"This is my first time to cross the Atlantic," he admitted. "The store thought it was time I got my feet wet, in a manner of speaking, to assist in upgrading their wares."
I smiled and watched amusingly as lemonade dribbled down his chin.
We spent two hours talking, then another hour walking. He gave me my first kiss that night and it cemented what I had already suspected but found hard to believe—I had fallen in love with Henry Patterson in the space of two days!
I knew this to be true because I had never before experienced such lightheadedness, pounding heart, and sweaty palms when being in the company of a man. In fact, I mistakenly had come to believe these things only occurred in romance novels.
"You barely even know the bloke," said Kathleen with a look of astonishment on her face. "Such thoughts can only get you into trouble."
"Weren't you the one who said he seemed decent enough?" I asked her.
"Decent, yes, but I wouldn't let me guard down just yet. At least not till you can be sure you won't end up with a broken heart."
As far as I was concerned, my heart was already in a state of fragility and there was nothing I could do now but follow it.
Henry introduced me to his roommate, an aspiring writer named Douglas Leonard, who sported a wide smile and even wider torso. An attempt to double date with Kathleen proved to be disastrous. She believed that Douglas was not equipped with the intelligence to know how to treat a lady decently.
* * *
By day five of the Titanic's maiden voyage, Henry and I had sort of become boyfriend and girlfriend without the formal declaration. There were lots of discreet and not so discreet kisses, holding hands, and pleasant, witty conversation. But as yet neither one of us seemed daring or reckless enough to go any further.
In the evening, we took a walk on deck. The cold air was biting, but with Henry at my side it somehow became tolerable. We found a secluded spot and gazed out at the calm, dark sea and then into each other's eyes.
"A perfect setting for romance," Henry said and then he kissed me long and hard. When he moved his mouth away, he said earnestly, "Come to my cabin tonight, Judy."
I felt a knot in my stomach, as much from curiosity as fear of the unknown. "I've never..." I stammered.
"At the risk of sounding redundant and patronizing," he said levelly, "there's really no great mystery to it, per se. Men and women being together is a natural act that can be quite wonderful and should be when both parties are willing."
Despite some reservations about what I was getting myself into, I felt drawn by Henry's charm, the love I had come to feel for him, and the romantic aura of the magnificent Titanic.
It was just after ten p.m. when we ended up in front of Henry's cabin. I could tell by the look in his ocean blue eyes that he was just as nervous as I was.
"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," I said. In my year at Oxford, I had never seriously considered going into a man's room, let alone having sex with him. That was to be saved for my wedding night and married life. But then, I had never met anyone like Henry before.
"It's all right," he said gently. "Douglas will be in the smoking room for at least an hour."
He opened the door and nudged me in.
Although the cabin was like ours—small and efficient—it somehow seemed different. There was a masculine feel to it. The room even smelled manly.
"It's not much," explained Henry, "but at least it gives us some privacy. May I take your shawl?"
"Only if you promise to return it," I said, laughing nervously.
"I give you my word as a gentleman," he said as he removed it from my shoulders.
I suddenly felt cold, but did not dare allow him to remove anything else. I sat on the bed closest to me. "Is this your bed?"
He smiled. "How'd you guess?" He sat next to me, landing on the bed with a thud.
After a moment or two of uneasy silence, he said, "You really are wonderful, Judy."
I looked at him with some misgiving. "I'll bet you tell lots of girls that before..."
"Don't say it," he interjected, "because it simply isn't true. You're different than other girls—women—that I've known."
Did that mean he had experience with lots of other women, I wondered with a strange mixture of envy and resentment.
Henry leaned over and kissed me. It started off gentle, but grew stronger. I wished we could stay like that for hours, but knew better. While battling my own impulses, I managed to pull away.
"Can I ask you a question?" I mumbled.
"Certainly."
"If we are together tonight, can you honestly tell me that you'll respect me tomorrow? Or the day after? And the days beyond that?"
At this point, I wasn't sure I cared, but I wanted to know anyway.
He took my hand. "Judy, I will never judge you to a degree lower than I judge myself. I promise you that I'll always respect you as a decent, kind, smart, and most attractive lady."
I was taken in by his magical words and good looks more than ever before. Then I let my feelings slip out when I said, "I think I love you, Henry."
He smiled uncomfortably. "No one can be sure what they feel. It's probably best not to speculate unless one is absolutely certain—"
I was quite certain, but elected not to say as much for fear of scaring him away.
"Shall I turn out the light then?" he asked.
I nodded and wondered what the experience would be like that I'd often read and heard so much about over the years. Would it really leave me seeing stars and him panting?
I could hear Henry removing his sweater and trousers. Then he sat back down next to me.
"Will it hurt?" I asked tentatively. I needed to know as a practical matter, though I doubted he was in a position to provide a knowledgeable answer.
He allayed my fears somewhat by saying: "I promise I'll be gentle."
"What about pregnancy?" This was another consideration that obviously could not be overlooked. I knew at least two women whose lives were effectively ruined by pregnancy and, in one instance, an abortion.
Again, Henry provided a believable answer: "Don't worry, Judy, you can't get pregnant the first time."
He gently held my shoulders and eased me down onto the bed and pushed my dress up. The rustling sound of my undergarments being removed left me feeling rather exposed and vulnerable. But I managed to cast this uneasiness aside, wanting only to please the man who, for better or worse, had stolen my heart and soul.
We kissed a lot and then I felt a brief, uncomfortable sensation as if I had been pinched below before it was all over in a matter of minutes.
A feeling of disappointment swept over me like a shadow that my virginity had been taken so quickly without me being overcome with sexual bliss. If Henry was disappointed, he didn't show it.
"You were terrific, Judy," he gasped.
"So were you, Henry," I felt obliged to say. At least I felt some contentment in being taken by the man I'd fallen in love with. The fact that my first time took place on the Titanic's maiden voyage would surely conjure up exaggerated tales of romantic delight years later. "Can you just hold me for a while?" I asked him. "Please?"
Silently, Henry cuddled me in his strong arms while I wondered what the future held for us. Would he ask me to marry him? Was he the marrying type? Was it too much to expect that he could love me and want to spend the rest of his life with me and no other woman? After all, we had only known one another for a matter of days.
Such thoughts drifted into the background as sleep invaded my consciousness. Along with it came the most peaceful, loving dream of Henry and me living a long and happy life together, complete with a family of children and their children. Somehow it seemed almost too good to be true, but I chose to think otherwise.
* * *
Suddenly I was jolted awake by a grinding noise.
"Did you hear that?" I whispered to Henry.
He mumbled groggily, "Only your heartbeat."
My instincts told me it was far more than that. I reached across him and switched on the bed lamp. The clock on the bed stand read 11:41.
Henry was rubbing his eyes, half covered by the bedspread.
"Doesn't it seem awfully quiet all of a sudden?" I asked, alarmed. I no longer felt the ship's steady vibration or heard the creaking woodwork. Even the rocking motion of the mattress had stilled.
Henry dismissed any real concern. "Probably just an engine problem they're getting the kinks out of," he said. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."
I was not convinced. For now, I had other concerns.
"I must go," I said anxiously, "before your cabin mate returns."
No sooner had the words left my mouth when the door opened. It was Douglas. Although I was still fully clothed, my first impulse was to cover up abashedly.
There was no time to ponder his thoughts as he said uneasily, "Sorry to break up the party, but there's a rumor going around that we've struck an iceberg..."
Henry jumped to his feet. "You can't be serious?"
"Mind you, I said it's only a rumor," Douglas said. He walked to the porthole, put a finger in his mouth, stuck it out the window, and said, "No breeze. It looks like this great ship has come to a halt."
I refused to panic, let alone display it. After all, this was the Titanic. And it was unsinkable! What could possibly be wrong that couldn't be fixed?
Suddenly I no longer cared that I was in Henry's bed for Douglas's possible amusement and fantasies. I got up, went for my shawl, and said to Henry as calmly as possible, "Please walk me to my cabin."
By now he had slipped on his clothes. "I would be happy to," he said politely.
"Are you coming?" Henry asked Douglas.
"I'll meet you on deck," he said. "I'd like to jot down a few notes on this new twist in the journey...in case it happens to be true." He smiled. "Goodbye, Judy."