The Dressmaker (31 page)

They found a table in Ebbitt’s saloon, far back from the heavy mahogany bar, lit with a single, flickering votive candle. Pinky felt herself sink into the coziness of the booth, relaxing. She wasn’t in working mode, although she knew she should be. What was it about Jim that left her feeling unguarded and even a bit softer? Anyway, he was probably thinking only of Tess.

“What are you going to say tomorrow?” she asked finally.

“You’ve asked me that before,” he said, spearing a piece of potato on his fork. “My answer is the same. I’ll tell them what happened, if they ask.”

“Do you feel differently now about Lady Duff stopping you from going back? After hearing Lowe’s testimony?”

He looked startled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Tess defends her, saying what she did was no different from anyone else. Says she’s being made a scapegoat for everybody’s sins.”

“I know.” He said it quietly, almost tenderly. “We don’t feel the same. But I can’t tell her everything.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t have a message for you yesterday.”

He looked a bit embarrassed at her candor. “I was hoping, but I wasn’t expecting one.”

“I kind of think you were.”

He looked away, saying nothing.

Maybe now she could get to what was bothering her. “Would you
have waited until—how did Lowe put it?—the mass in the water
thinned out
? I’m not defending Lady Duff, but Lowe was pretty cold-blooded, too.”

“Is that what you’re going to write?”

Was she? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t about to say so. She had to file at the telegraph office in a few hours; she could think it through.

Jim leaned forward, folding his hands on the table, his face close to hers. “That isn’t the story,” he said. “Your story is:
he went back
. Look, we had choices. Yes, I would have gone right back, and maybe I would have been crazy and responsible for killing everyone in my boat. And maybe not. Maybe Lowe wishes he hadn’t waited so long to go back with an empty boat that could hold sixty people. But he told his story straight. He’s not to trying to smooth out the kinks, like Lightoller saying there was total calm on the ship and no screams in the water. Why clean it up?”

“If it was right for him to go back, then everybody should have rowed back. And they should have done it right away.”

“I’ll speak to what I know. The ones who should have gone back were the ones sitting with me in a huge and shamefully empty boat.” He wrapped both hands around his beer, staring into the froth. “The Duff Gordons are used to getting their way with money. Worked well this time.”

“I just feel—” She stopped. She didn’t want the conversation to go this way. Maybe if Jim had rowed back and capsized he would have killed people, not saved them. And maybe there was nothing noble about that, and maybe there was. She wanted firmer ground.

“You’re going up against a tough pair, Jim.”

“I have to. She ruled that boat, and she set the tone. It wasn’t just not going back. She let things happen.”

“Like what?”

He was struggling with something. “I can’t talk about it.”

“And Cosmo did bribe the sailors to keep quiet about it all?”

“You got that from Sullivan, right? And he probably told you he refused the bribe. The real story? I think the Duff Gordons hinted at much more money than they eventually gave out, and he’s angry.” Jim
laughed sharply. “Look, I’ll just say what happened. I’m not going to varnish anything. I wish I could, for Tess’s sake. I didn’t fight Lady Duff hard enough—you think I’m proud of that? And I’m the first to shake Harold Lowe’s hand, no matter what gets said about him, because he went back.”

“I think I know why you don’t want to testify.”

Jim picked up the mug of beer in front of him and took a long, slow swallow. “Yeah, I think you do,” he said.

“You know”—one of her shots in the dark—“this isn’t a criminal court. And you only have to answer the questions they ask.”

“They’ll ask,” he said.

TERRITORIES CONFERENCE ROOM
WASHINGTON, D.C.
THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 25

A
nother night of little sleep. Pinky, this time crouched down in front of the folding chairs jammed up to the committee’s meeting table, could hardly stop yawning. The stories on yesterday’s testimony were all over the map. Some reporters were appalled at the “coldness” of Lowe holding back; others pointed out what Jim had insisted was true: the man was the only person who actually had saved anyone. Staring at the ceiling last night, she had decided that Jim was right. For readers of her story in the
Times
this morning, Lowe was a hero—a real one.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two men holding black leather briefcases on their laps, sitting still by the far wall, staring straight ahead. No hustling about the room, shaking hands, conferring—all those restless things congressmen and their aides did. One wore horn-rimmed glasses settled low; the other looked pale as milk. They were too well dressed to be legislators. And right in front of them, twisting uneasily on his chair, was Sullivan. Was he here to back up Jim’s story? Not likely. Her gaze traveled to Jim. He was wearing a more formal jacket today, one obviously borrowed, and his
wrists jutted out from too-short sleeves as he stepped up to the witness chair. He looked resolute but vulnerable.

She suddenly realized what was going on. But it was too late to warn Jim.

Senator Smith, squinting through the haze of cigarette smoke, banged his gavel. “We hope today to gather information about what happened in the water and in the lifeboats,” he said. “Seaman James Bonney is our first witness. A first-time seaman, I understand, who escaped on Lifeboat One. Will you take a seat, Mr. Bonney?”

The questions began. In a steady, almost toneless voice, Jim told of helping to load five different boats before moving to the starboard side, where one collapsible boat hung, caught in a tangle of ropes. Of Officer Murdoch shouting for them to get this boat ready for Lady Duff Gordon. Of rushing forward, helping other sailors clear the ropes to release the emergency boat known as Number One. Yes, he said. Seaman Sullivan was put in charge of the boat.

“Why was it launched with so few people in it?”

“Because Lady Duff Gordon insisted.”

“Are you accusing her of abandoning people on the deck?” Smith asked.

“No, sir. I’m accusing her of thinking only of herself.”

“When the ship sank, did you look for survivors?”

“No.”

“What was the capacity of your boat, and how many were in it?”

“We could have held fifty or more. There were twelve of us, that’s all.”

“I believe your boat holds the notoriety of having been launched with the fewest souls in it, am I right?”

“Yes, sir.”

A murmur swept the crowd, a muttering that made the back of Pinky’s neck tingle.

Then one of Smith’s colleagues spoke up. “Now let’s get to the
crux of this. With the most room of anyone, did you not go back to pick up anybody at all?”

Jim’s voice was flat. “Nobody at all,” he said.

“Why not?”

“The others did not want to go back.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. No one agreed.”

“Who was it objected to pulling back?”

“Lady Duff Gordon refused to let anyone pick up an oar. She was afraid to go back for fear of being swamped.”

“Was there, as far as you know, any danger of the boat being swamped if you did go back?”

Jim did not hesitate. “It would certainly have been possible. But we were in a big boat that wasn’t full.”

“How would it have been dangerous, considering that you had a crew of seven in the boat, to go among the people who were screaming for help in the sea?” barked Senator Bolton, another member of the panel. He was clearly still brooding over Lowe’s testimony of the day before. “Did you hear the screams?”

“Of course I did,” Jim shot back. “We all heard them. I told you, I proposed going back and they would not hear of it.”

“Did you say it to anyone personally?” pressed Smith.

“I called it out to everybody.”

“The man to decide whether the boat should go back was Sullivan, was it not?” Smith glanced over at his next witness, sitting slumped in his chair, eyes darting about.

“Yes,” Jim said with barely concealed contempt. “He was the man in charge. At least he was supposed to be.”

“And he said no?”

“That’s correct.”

“Was his attitude due to the protests of the Duff Gordons?”

“Yes.” This time he looked directly at Sullivan, who looked away.

“Are you sure of that?”

“I only know about my one boat. I should have overridden him.”

“With what authority?”

Jim was silent.

“You say you heard cries? Agonizing cries?”

“Yes.”

“And the Duff Gordons said it was too dangerous to go back to save lives?”

“Yes.”

One of the committee members, a senator with a round ruddy face, leaned forward, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“Then am I to understand that because two of the passengers said it would be dangerous you all kept your mouths shut and made no attempt to rescue anybody?”

“That is right, sir.” Jim straightened his shoulders, taking the blow.

Smith switched focus. “Were you promised any money by Sir Duff Gordon in the lifeboat?” he asked.

“Yes.”

The room was now buzzing with whispers. The bribe, people were saying; there was a bribe.

“And was that an arrangement with the other members of the crew, to do a certain thing for a certain price? In other words, not to go back?” It was the man with the ruddy face again.

Pinky held her breath. Jim looked very tired.

“It was not proposed that way.”

“What does that mean? He didn’t declare it a bribe? Wouldn’t that have been a bit strange? Did you think it was a bribe?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m wondering what else this so-called bribe was meant to silence. Did anyone in the water try to get into your boat?”

Pinky waited, holding her breath.

“Yes. There were people all around us. More than one tried to climb in.”

“And what happened?”

Silence. Jim’s eyes looked bleak.

“Some slipped away.”

“And others?”

Again, a silence. “It was dark and hard to see,” he said finally.

“Do you think anybody was forcibly pushed away?”

“It could have been.”

The crowd stirred; whispers began.

“That’s quite a charge, Mr. Bonney,” said Senator Bolton. “A very black charge. Are you making a specific accusation?”

“I’m wary of accusing anyone I didn’t clearly see, sir. But this is what I believe.”

“Do you have more to say?” Senator Smith asked.

“No, sir.”

“You may step down,” Senator Smith said. He looked out across the room, his heart heavy. Get on with it. Next up was the bony sailor with the pockmarked skin who had supposedly been in charge of Lifeboat One. He sat slumped in his chair, as if bored by the proceedings, even as his eyes darted back and forth across the room.

“Mr. Tom Sullivan, I understand you were the ranking seaman in charge of Lifeboat One. Will you please take the stand?”

Stunned, Pinky watched Jim step down and take his seat. So this was what he had been holding back. An attack was surely coming now. Why hadn’t he told the committee that he turned down the bribe?
Because they hadn’t asked
. But he had done what he said he would do—just told the truth plainly, without embellishment. They would chew him up.