Master's Tale - A Novel of the Titanic

Victoria Roberts Ann

Description

Locked in a place beyond time, only the truth can set Titanic's Master free.Haunted by his final voyage, Captain Smith relives his past: the ships he sailed, the women he loved, his rise from humble beginnings to become White Star's most eminent captain. A lucky man: until an incident with HMS Hawke throws time - and White Star's plans - into disarray.Under pressure, Captain Smith agrees to one more voyage. Aboard Titanic the seas are calm but other forces are at work. Fire threatens from below, and ice lies ahead. Amongst the passengers, WT Stead - journalist and psychic - is predicting danger, while a mysterious young woman brings an old love affair to life.But the past cannot be changed: nor the events of that tragic night in April 1912. Burdened by guilt, Titanic's Master makes the voyage again, seeking his fatal mistake...Memories loom out of the mist like the sails of a schooner, skimming past my bridge with a tangible rush and barely a yard to spare...Uncovering dramatic and little-known events, Ann Victoria Roberts explores themes of time and coincidence in this haunting novel, based on the life of Captain Edward John Smith.

Informations

• Publié par: Arnwood Press
• Date de parution: 23 mars 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783017096
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

This book is for you if
You are fascinated by the mystery of RMS Titanic
You have ever wondered about the shadowy figure of Captain Smith, Master of the Titanic .
You d like to know who Smith was, where he came from, how he came to be the star in White Star s fleet.
You imagine he was there to keep the millionaires happy.
You suspect he cared little for his other passengers and crew.
You believe he ignored the warnings to run his ship at full speed into an iceberg.
You wonder what part White Star - and Bruce Ismay - had to do with it.
You like your facts in story form, with flesh on the bones of history.
You believe events cannot always be explained by facts alone
Ann Victoria Roberts
THE MASTER S TALE
A novel of the Titanic
ARNWOOD ~~ PRESS ~~
About the author
Ann Victoria Roberts hit the national headlines as The Housewife Who Wrote a Bestseller, when her first historical novels, Louisa Elliott and Liam s Story sold in the USA for just short of a million dollars. Published by Chatto Windus and Pan in the UK, Louisa Elliott was shortlisted in 1989 for the prestigious RNA award, while Ann s fifth novel, The Master s Tale , based on the life of Capt Smith of the Titanic , gained the Rubery Award for independently published books in 2012. Born in York, Ann is married to Captain Peter Roberts, Master of the National Heritage Steamship, Shieldhall , and now lives in Southampton.
Louisa Elliott
Liam s Story
Dagger Lane
Moon Rising
Published by Arnwood Press 2015
Copyright Ann Victoria Roberts 2011, 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction.
The story of the Titanic is well known, but the characters and incidents, although based on historical facts, are largely the product of the author s imagination.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-7830170-9-6
Arnwood Press
98 Hamble Lane
Southampton
SO31 4HU
The end paper maps are by the author and are Ann Victoria Roberts
www.annvictoriaroberts.co.uk
Contents
About the author
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Afterword
Author s Note
Acknowledgements
Bibliography
LIAM S STORY
LOUISA ELLIOTT
To the Volunteer officers and crew of the British Heritage Steamship SHIELDHALL
www.ss-shieldhall.co.uk
Man with his burning soul
Has but an hour of breath
To build a ship of truth
In which his soul may sail
Truth
John Masefield

Preface
From foggy dawn to starlit night: five endless days, endlessly repeating The message, handed to me at the end, seemed like nonsense. But after a while I began to understand. After a much longer time I knew who d sent it
Time Coincidence I know the force which draws objects together ends with Destruction Look back, see how events cluster and collide, Drawn in by the celestial wash of Time, leaving nothing but flotsam bobbing in the wake
~~~
And as I ponder those words afresh, memories loom out of the mist like the sails of a schooner off the Grand Banks, skimming past my bridge with a tangible rush and barely a yard to spare. So close I can see the man on watch, and terror in the helmsman s eyes
1
I looked out on fog. Skeletal trees surrounded the house, lurking like phantoms in the pre-dawn murk. The cab arrived, the man stowing my bag while his horse blew patiently between the shafts. Having said my goodbyes, as a rule I didn t look back; but this time, compelled to take one last glance, I rubbed at the glass as though I could clear it with my glove. The house with its turrets and gables was still there, my wife and daughter watching from the steps. They grew faint as the cab pulled away. We gathered pace and they were gone.
Hating mist and fog with the kind of passion most men reserve for long-term enemies, I was tempted to tell the cabbie to stop. But that would have flouted the cardinal rule: once set forth on a voyage, never go back.
I turned away, closing my mind to all that was dear to me.
Even so, I was fretting all the way to the docks. Rubbing my eyes every few minutes, listening to the heavy clip-clop of the horse s hooves, my tension rising at every pause, every jingle of the reins, each hacking cough from the cabbie. Would we never get there? Anticipating trouble, my stomach tightened into a knot as I ran through all the likely hazards. Every one made worse by the fog.
At last, the South-Western Hotel loomed out of the greyness, red brick and white Portland stone a familiar landmark before the docks. I pictured the guests, many of them bound with me for New York, about to rise for breakfast and last minute packing. Perhaps it was my strange mood that morning, but the shrouded line of waiting cabs looked like a funeral procession.
We crossed the junction at Canute Road, turning by the Harbour Office to enter the realm of ships and the sea. Ahead I saw her, by some alchemy the biggest ship afloat - bigger even than her sister-ship Olympic - rising above the sheds, hull black as widow s weeds, funnels veiled by mist and smoke.
My new ship: her name, TITANIC , in gilded letters across the stern.
Again, that sense of running against the clock. Fog surrounding me, time escaping, responsibility a weight on my back
I pulled myself together. Quartermaster Perkis was on the gangway. As I bade him good morning he touched his cap and took my bag, handing it to my steward as he materialised by the main entrance. Paintin followed me along the deck and up to the bridge. Beyond the usual greeting, we didn t speak. Paintin knew that with a dozen matters pressing as we prepared to sail at noon, I did not need to know the state of play in the catering department, nor that my new uniforms had arrived from the tailor. Most of all I did not want comments on the weather.
My quarters were behind the wheelhouse. Shrugging off my coat, I went through to the bedroom, quickly changing civilian clothes for the brass-bound uniform Paintin laid out for me. As my steward tidied away, I opened the dayroom door and hooked it back. Officially aboard now, and available.
The paperwork was waiting in my office. I checked certificates of sea-worthiness for the Board of Trade, and cast my eye over the Southampton crew-list. Customs declarations yet to be completed, but no cargo manifest as yet
The new charts had come aboard in Belfast. Going through them again, extracting those for Southampton Water and the Solent, I checked the depth of water in the navigable channel against the current Tide Tables. Any ship could go aground on that notorious bend around the Bramble Bank, and with something this size it could be disastrous. After that last little difficulty with HMS Hawke , I needed to double-check for my own peace of mind.
Halfway through the calculations there came a tap at my dayroom door. I glanced back to see the Chief Engineer standing by with a sheaf of papers in his hand.
Good morning, Chief - come on through. I beckoned him in and set my figures aside. How are you? Everything going well below?
Engine room s just about ready for departure, sir. Bunkers are topped off and signed for. But, Joe Bell lowered his voice, I m grieved to say that fire s still smouldering in bunker number ten.
Fire: the very word a stab of alarm.
Still going? I thought it wasn t serious?
He grimaced, his abundant moustache squirming. Well, like I said yesterday, sir, it s got to be in that Belfast coal at the base, but it s getting to it, that s the trouble. I ve had the lads working on it constantly. Could do with another couple of days, to be honest.
Blasted bunker fires - common enough, but no less dangerous for all that. And we were due to sail at noon. I weighed risk against necessity. Is it likely to affect the structure?
No, he said decisively. It s against the transverse bulkhead, not the double-bottoms. As soon as it s cooled down we ll let Mr Andrews men have a look. He squared his shoulders and turned for the door. Never mind, sir. We ll keep at it.
I drew breath, quelling anxiety. Thanks, Chief. Keep me informed.
He would, I knew that. Joe Bell was sound, he d been with me before. He knew the situation, knew we couldn t afford not to sail on time, and once under way we had to keep up our speed. But he knew his men. If anyone could be guaranteed to solve a problem below decks, Joe Bell was the man.
Even so New ship, maiden voyage, fire below decks: it was not a good beginning.
I forced my mind to more immediate matters, countersigned the Chief s paperwork, placed my copies with other White Star receipts and returned to my calculations. I was almost done when I heard someone moving about in the wheelhouse. Glancing up I saw Henry Wilde s broad back, his thick neck supporting a dark head slightly bowed as he studied something. The cargo manifest, no doubt.
Calling him in, I thanked him for agreeing to do this one last trip with me. Less than two weeks since we d parted when Olympic docked, and my Chief Officer had been promised the big step up to command. But with all the strikes and so many ships laid up, his promotion was delayed. I felt he d be better served here in the interim, at least until his future was clear. He d joined Titanic only the day before, and was still making himself familiar with the layout.
Shaking down all right? An oft-repeated question, but it gave an opening.
Yes, sir, I think so. Not exactly like Olympic , is she? I thought she would be, but I ve managed to lose myself t