“It looked roughly the same as when I saw her the day before. And while with any drug there is certainly a possibility of side effects, I do not believe this is an allergic reaction, Mr. Lightoller. This is an infection. And it has likely spread to her brain.”
“So you can’t do anything?” Margaret asked.
“No, I’m sorry. I fear the infection will only continue to break down her body. While she may still be alive, she has fallen into a coma, and even if she should somehow come out of it soon, we may still be unable to help her. Unfortunately, I suspect Miss Brennan will be with God before sunrise.”
Andrews sighed. “Thank you for your honesty, doctor, but I must ask you. Given this—this infection, terrible as it is. Should we be concerned?”
“You mean is it contagious?” asked Dr. Simpson. He met eyes with his superior.
Andrews nodded. “Well, yes. Could there be other passengers on board exhibiting similar signs? Could our own lives be at risk?”
“Anything is possible. I don’t have enough information to make an intelligent guess. We could probably order another series of examinations tomorrow morning, but there is no way of knowing how far this thing could have already spread if it is indeed contagious. For now, I think her room needs to be thoroughly searched and then cleaned. Mr. Lightoller, I understand you are currently off duty?”
“I’m never off duty. It’s Murdoch’s watch, but I would rather not bother him with this right now. As it is I’m wide awake, I can give you a few hours.”
“Catherine, if you could take Mr. Lightoller to Elise’s room. Simpson and I will continue to monitor her condition until you get back.”
“And what about her roommate?” Catherine asked.
“Don’t tell her why you’re there,” O’Loughlin replied. “But do be polite and find her another room. William, if you could please prepare one of the beds for Elise. She deserves to at least be comfortable in her last moments.”
“Yes, sir.” Steward William Dunford left the examination room and went into one of the two patient rooms.
“Mr. Andrews, Mrs. Brown, you are free to stay or go as you wish.”
Elise Brennan’s room was located on the same deck as the third-class hospital, and so it took less than a minute for Catherine to show Lightoller the way. Waking up Elise’s roommate, however, took a little longer.
They first tried knocking.
“What’s her name?” Lightoller asked.
“Harriet Bell.”
When knocking and calling her name from the hall didn’t work, they had to go in the old-fashioned way—without permission.
Catherine tried lightly nudging Harriet awake, but the old plump woman just grunted, rolled over, and then continued snoring.
Lightoller used more direct methods—like knocking his boot repeatedly on the side of the bed frame. “Up up now, time to get up.”
Harriet peeled down the bed sheets and looked up at Lightoller. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Hello there, welcome back. I’m Second Officer Charles Lightoller. We’re going to need you to gather your things together immediately.”
“My things—but—but this is my room.”
“Yes, indeed, this was your room. But there has been a slight change in plans. Catherine here will show you to your new room.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course not, and I wish there was time to explain. But there isn’t. I’m deeply sorry, Mrs. Bell. So up you go.”
Harriet slowly rolled out of bed and then crammed all her stuff into a few bags.
“I do apologize for this,” Catherine said, offering to carry one of the bags.
“Where is Elise?” Harriet asked.
“Clearly not here, is she?” said Lightoller. “Don’t worry about her. We’ll make sure she gets her belongings.”
Harriet shook her head in disgust as Catherine led her out of the room and into the hall.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bell,” Lightoller called out. “Enjoy your stay on the Titanic.”
Lightoller shut the door and got to work, though there really wasn’t much to search.
There were two kinds of baggage, wanted and unwanted. The wanted things, such as clothing, literature, cosmetics, or anything needed on hand during travel, were delivered by the crew to the staterooms on the day of embarkation. The unwanted baggage, larger items like furniture for families on the move, or in the case of William Carter, a Renault automobile, was kept below in the cargo hold. Naturally, passengers in steerage were not afforded the same spacious accommodations available to the higher classes, and most didn’t have much to bring along anyway, so their level of wanted baggage was small in comparison.
Like Mrs. Bell, Elise only had a few bags. One contained all clothing, the other an assortment of various personal effects like photographs and jewelry and scarves.
And a diary.
Lightoller sat on the bed and read the entire contents, feeling at first ashamed, and then horrified.
Elise had written a detailed account of how her sickness had evolved almost to the hour, but more importantly, where it had originated. And she used the diary to reveal her secret.
The secret that she never told the doctors.
The secret that was now killing her.
That her condition had originated on the pier in Ireland—from a strangers needle.
Lightoller ran back to the hospital.
Thomas Andrews was standing in the stairwell just outside the door to the hospital.
“Are you leaving?” Lightoller asked.
Andrews nodded. “Yes, shortly. It’s getting late and there’s nothing more we can do. I already convinced Mrs. Brown to go to her room and get some sleep. We don’t have to be here to pray for Elise. We need to let the doctors do their work.”
Lightoller held up the diary.
“What is that?”
“I think we might have a serious problem on our hands.”
Doctor O’Loughlin and Simpson were discussing the characteristics of Elise’s condition among themselves, when Lightoller barged into the room and tossed the diary on to the examination table.
“You’re back already,” said O’Loughlin.
“It didn’t take long. Found that in her room. I think you’d better take a look at it.”
“Where is Catherine?”
“Don’t know. I didn’t wait for her.”
Lightoller waited quietly smoking from his pipe as each of the doctors read the first two pages of Elise’s otherwise empty diary, their expressions changing from indifference to alarm. Then Thomas Andrews took his turn.
O’Loughlin finally sighed, breaking the long silence. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Why do you think she didn’t tell you,” said Lightoller. “Because she was afraid. And I can’t really blame her. You’re an educated man. You know she would never be allowed off the ship in New York if there was even a suspicion she was carrying a deadly virus.”
“I understand that. I do. But, still, how was I to help her if I didn’t know the truth?”
“Would it have made any difference?”
“It’s impossible to say. Probably not, given the seriousness of her condition.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, there is certainly no point in arguing about it now,” said Dr. Simpson. “What precautionary measures should we take, if any, to avoid possible contamination of the ship?”
“Well, if it’s a virus,” said O’Loughlin. “It has an extremely fast incubation period, which could very well work in our favor.”
“It could also mean we’re all infected, could it not?” asked Lightoller.