Cold All the Way Through, But Warming

The Perfect Target

I fought down stamping my foot, there was no need to be childish. "It's not, I wanted to inquire about our speed. We're going slow."

"I can assure you we're proceeding along with all speed."

"We're not. I know we're not." I gestured back towards the funnels. "The fourth funnel isn't putting out any smoke, which means one of the boiler rooms isn't running. And it isn't a dummy funnel, I know those well enough." I raised an eyebrow at his shocked expression. "I run a shipping company, sir, I may not be able to tie the knots but I do know about sailing."

The officer leaned in, "Mrs. Murdoch, I can assure you that Captain Turner wishes we could proceed with all four boiler rooms running. There is a lack of coal available for liners at the moment, and we're running a reduced crew due to the war. You have my word though; Lusitania can still outrun any U-boat despite this."

"Your words are a great comfort." I replied, "Although I still wish to talk to the captain."

"I will pass on your concerns." The officer nodded, then turned on his heel. I was cursing under my breath as I pulled my coat tighter around myself, Rigel trotting in my wake. The Royal Navy was taking all the coal, and the sailors, which meant Cunard suffered. They couldn't have even topped up in New York, without the men to shovel it there wasn't much point to fully loading coal that wouldn't be used.

I was sipping on a rum punch, still grumbling to myself, when Alfred reappeared. Rigel set his tail to thumping as he joined me at the bar. "Well, you look in a fine fettle."

"We're not at full speed." I muttered, finishing my drink and gesturing for the bartender to fill it again. "I don't even know if we'll get there on time."

"You talked to the captain?"

"I tried, but honestly Alfred, look! All the funnels aren't putting out smoke, the low numbers are winning the miles lottery. It's obvious." I rolled my eyes, "Mr. Kessler already put the captain on edge, bothering him about the lifeboat drills."

Alfred accepted a glass of whiskey from the bartender. "You know, I've wondered about them too. Why can't they just lower a boat away while we're moving? If we're slow, we should be able to pull them back up right quick."

I chuckled, "Alfred, really, those boats weigh tons. It would be dangerous to lower them away all the time, and even if we did, the ship has to be stopped or else the boat floats back underneath all the others. And the propellers! My God, they could get sucked in and smashed to bits. It's enough that the crew knows where to go when needed, we all know we need to get to the top deck."

"I wasn't looking for a lecture." Alfred grumbled, "We're only a couple days out. You're just anxious to see your husband."

"Of course, I am," I smiled, "I can't wait to see him again."

I knew Alfred was right, that I was just anxious about seeing Will, but I was still worried over our speed when I came down to dinner that night. It distracted me from another worry, Mother. She would be furious with me when I got home, I had attempted to send her a wire after we had shoved off, a simple reassurance, only to be told that the ship would not be transmitting messages for this crossing. I had no doubt she would send a letter lecturing me for my lack of communication, although I hoped when I got back she would at least let me explain before taking me to task.

I must have appeared quite off-putting with my concerns written plain on my face, for Mr. Hubbard only stopped briefly at my table, a donation basket in his hand. "Mrs. Murdoch, will you be joining the concert tonight?"

I shook my head, "I can't sing, I can't dance on my own, and the only thing I'm good at is looking pretty in fancy dresses, and I didn't even pack any of those." I did dip a hand into my purse though, "However I assume you're taking donation for the Seaman's Charity?"