Authors: Gordon Korman
“Now, if we run into anyone,” Alfie said in a low voice, “remember what I told you. I’m your steward escorting you to your luggage to get something you need.”
“I don’t see why we have to go down to the hold ourselves,” Juliana complained. “Why couldn’t you have brought this item up to us?”
“You’ll see, miss,” Alfie promised. “This isn’t the kind of thing that you can flash around.”
“Is it just me or is it getting warmer?” Sophie put in nervously.
“The boiler rooms are just aft of us,” Alfie explained. “Don’t worry; we won’t get too close to them. I’ve been there to visit my da on the black gang. You feel like the air you breathe is on fire in your lungs.”
“Alfie.” Sophie’s voice was subdued. “If we get caught here, Julie and I will be scolded. But what will happen to you?”
“I can’t really say,” he replied, so readily that it was obvious the thought had been haunting him. “I suppose it would depend on who catches us. But this discovery I’ve made has been bubbling up inside of me. I’ll burst if I don’t share it.”
Juliana knew all too well what would happen to Alfie if they were caught. He would be relieved of duty and placed under arrest for the remainder of the voyage. He might even be stranded in New York. Employees dismissed for cause could expect no better. His father’s pay might purchase him third-class passage back to England on a different ship. But he would never set foot aboard the
Titanic
again. What could he possibly have to show them that was worth such a fate?
They descended the metal staircase more than 70 feet into the depths of the ship, well below the waterline. It was a disconcerting thought to both girls that
the surface of the ocean was actually
above
them. Yet, apart from the heat, the air felt no different than it had higher up many dozens of steps ago.
At last they left the staircase and Alfie escorted the girls into the baggage hold.
Sophie surveyed the endless stacks of trunks and crates and whistled in amazement. “Who brought all this? The hatboxes alone would fill the Grand Canyon!”
“We can hardly be expected to travel without the necessities of life,” said Juliana stiffly.
Sophie laughed. “How many hats did you bring?”
“Spring weather in New York can be unpredictable —”
“How many?”
“Eleven,” Juliana said defiantly — and then giggled.
“And this is only first and second class,” Alfie put in, leading them through the maze of baggage. He stopped at a tower of crates secured by netting and reached in through the slats of one marked
Galerie Gavroche, Montmartre, Paris.
They waited as he drew out the scrapbook and placed it on the flat side of a trunk before them.
Juliana was appalled. “You dare to rifle through people’s belongings?”
“No, no! I found this! It must have fallen out of somebody’s luggage. Please — take a look.”
The girls began a slow perusal of the heavy pages, their faces twisting with revulsion at the description of such grisly crimes.
It dawned on Juliana first. “This is about the Whitechapel murders — the man they call Jack the Ripper!”
Alfie nodded eagerly. “So you’ve heard of him.”
“Of course,” said Sophie. “Even in America. Some stories are so awful that they never fade away. Especially since the Ripper was never caught.”
“Exactly!” Alfie exclaimed. “This is
his
scrapbook. He’s aboard the
Titanic!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed Juliana. “He’s probably long dead. The murders stopped decades ago.”
“Then how do you explain the scrapbook?” Alfie challenged.
“Why would you have to?” Sophie reasoned. “This book is a record kept by some person who was fascinated by the killings. It could belong to anybody.”
“I don’t think so,” Alfie said gravely. “The details written in the margins — only someone who was there could know these things. And there are” — he hesitated — “souvenirs.”
Juliana was wary. “What sort of souvenirs?”
“Look.” He leafed forward to reveal a square of fabric obviously cut with a knife. “This piece of cloth comes from Annie Chapman’s dress. I think the brown stain is old blood. It gets worse. There are” — he shivered — “human teeth. All displayed like it’s something to be proud of.”
Sophie’s eyes were wide. “It still doesn’t prove that we’re dealing with Jack the Ripper. I admit it’s someone loathsome — with a sick mind, who admires a rampaging butcher enough to create a scrapbook in his honor.”
“And this person is
on board?”
Juliana demanded. “Not in first class, certainly!”
“Money doesn’t stop a man from being horrible,” Sophie reminded her gently. “Or a woman.” Equality in every way — Amelia Bronson’s motto.
Juliana looked haunted. “Whether it’s the real Ripper or not, it’s frightening! Whose book could this be?”
“I spend all my spare time down here, trying to learn exactly that,” Alfie promised. “It must have fallen out of a torn satchel or an open trunk. When I find which one, it’ll be tagged with a cabin number, and that’ll tell me the name. Then I can alert the captain, and have the monster thrown in the brig.”
The girls stared at him.
“Think of it,” he went on. “When we steam into New York with Jack the Ripper behind bars, this ship will be on the front page of every newspaper in the world!” His eyes were shining with excitement. “People will be talking about the maiden voyage of the
Titanic
a hundred years from now!”
He was interrupted by a scraping sound. The wheel on the hatch to the fireman’s passage began to turn slowly.
“Somebody’s coming!” Alfie rasped.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RMS
TITANIC
T
HURSDAY,
A
PRIL
11, 1912, 11:35 P.M.
Alfie put a hand on each girl’s shoulder and lowered all three of them into the shadowed hiding place behind a stack of luggage.
Juliana and Sophie hid their faces. But Alfie watched, barely daring to breathe, as a slender, compact figure stepped into the baggage hold. He saw the steward’s uniform first, before the newcomer turned and light fell on his face.
Paddy Burns.
Alfie’s first reaction was relief. This could just as easily have been Second Officer Lightoller on an inspection. Mr. Lightoller was a hard man, and the consequences would have been dire. What luck that the person who had stumbled upon them should be the one soul aboard this ship who dared not try to turn him in.
But there were complications. He couldn’t let Juliana and Sophie learn that he was aiding and abetting a stowaway. That was a serious crime, far worse than sneaking two first-class young ladies down to the baggage hold.
Sophie got his attention and mouthed the words, “Who is it?”
“Another steward,” Alfie whispered. “Just stay hidden.”
As they watched, Paddy prowled the hold, checking luggage tags. Alfie looked around, plotting a line of retreat through the canyons of baggage. It would be so much simpler if Paddy never learned they were there.
The stowaway was only a dozen feet away and approaching, still checking tags.
“Should we run?” Juliana murmured, scared.
Alfie didn’t dare answer. Paddy was that close. It was too late for escape, or even a different hiding place. All they could do was stay frozen and hope for the best.
Ten feet away. Then eight …
At almost the same instant, a cold hand from each girl squeezed Alfie’s fingers. Paddy was almost upon them!
And then he stopped short. A small knife appeared in his hand, and he sawed a hole in the netting securing the baggage in front of him. A few seconds later, he withdrew a small trunk from the pile and started away with it.
“He’s stealing!” hissed Juliana in anger.
“I’m sure he’s just fetching it for one of his passengers,” Alfie explained lamely. He knew this could not be true as surely as he knew that Paddy was no steward. What was the boy up to? He’d promised Alfie that he wouldn’t steal, but what was the word of a stowaway worth?
Paddy set the trunk down in a clear spot under an electric light and began picking at the lock with the tip of his knife.
In scarcely an instant, the padlock was open and the lid lifted. Paddy began to rummage through the contents, searching for … what? Money? Jewelry? Then, inexplicably, he shoved everything back inside and slammed the cover shut. With great effort, he heaved the trunk up on his shoulder and maneuvered it to the spiral staircase. He began an unsteady climb.
As soon as he was out of sight, Juliana was on her feet. “We have to follow him!”
Alfie stared at her. “Why?”
“Because,” she replied primly, “it is the duty of every good citizen to take action in the face of lawlessness.”
“You’re starting to sound like my mother,” Sophie put in uneasily.
“I’m going to confront him,” Juliana insisted. “The next piece of baggage he steals could be mine. Or yours.”
She started for the spiral stairs. Sophie was right behind her.
With a groan, Alfie stuffed the scrapbook back into its hiding place and followed them. It was his fault the girls were here at all, and he couldn’t let anything happen to them. He couldn’t let anything happen to Paddy, either. Somehow, he had intertwined his fate with a group of strangers, and it was too late to untangle himself.
Stealthily, they listened to the vibrations of Paddy’s footsteps on the metal stairs above them. Then, abruptly, the vibrations ceased.
“He stopped,” Sophie whispered.
Alfie shook his head. “That’s not it. He got off — at E Deck, I think.”
The three sped up to E Deck. Alfie peered through the hatch just in time to catch a glimpse of Paddy struggling down the passageway with his burden.
Alfie made a snap decision. “This way,” he said,
pointing in the wrong direction. His life would be so much simpler if he could get the girls back to their cabins. Then he could worry about what Paddy was up to.
“No,” said Juliana. “I saw him. He’s down this passageway.”
Resigned, Alfie led the girls along the narrow, unadorned corridor.
“Where
are
we?” asked Sophie, scanning the stark white paint over plain metal fittings, rivets exposed.
“Crew quarters,” Alfie whispered in reply.
An open door revealed a double row of bunk beds. A buzz of male conversation spilled out into the passageway. But luckily, no one noticed them slinking by.
Dead ahead, another passage crossed the ship abeam.
“Which way should we go?” Sophie asked anxiously.
Juliana hesitated uncertainly. From the port side, a cold draft blew relentlessly toward them. Almost as if —
“Could a window be open down there?” she asked.
They turned left, jogged around a bulkhead, and stopped in their tracks, gaping in amazement. The corridor wound past a staircase and widened into a small atrium — the reception area for boarding
second-class passengers. A heavy hatch provided access to the embarkation gangway. It was wide open, and the black Atlantic sped by below.
Paddy knelt there, the lid of the trunk flipped back. He was pulling trousers and shirts out of it and flinging them overboard into the sea.
“Stop that!” Juliana commanded.
Paddy looked up, but the pace of his tossing never slackened. “Begging your pardon, miss, but see to your own plate.”
Sophie was genuinely intrigued. “Very well — so you’re
not
stealing. But what
are
you doing? Why would you risk arrest by taking some poor person’s belongings only to drop them into the ocean?”
A darkness passed over Paddy’s face. “This is no ‘poor person.’ He’s a heartless assassin, he is. This stuff belongs to the gangster who killed my best friend. At least it used to.” A ghost of a smile flashed across his young features as he flung some fine linen underwear into the night. “Now it belongs to the fish.”
“Why should we accept the word of a thief?” Juliana demanded.
In answer, Paddy reached into the trunk and produced a large black pistol.
Both girls retreated behind Alfie.
“Come on, Paddy,” the young steward urged. “Put that down.”
“I’ll do better than that, I will.” Paddy tossed the weapon out the open hatch.
“You called him Paddy,” Juliana accused breathlessly. “You
know
him!”
“Well, uh, yes, but —”
“When were you planning to share that with us?” Sophie demanded.