At the Water's Edge (5 page)

“I do like adventures, but sailing into the war is hardly an adventure!”

“Then think of it as a scientific excursion,” Hank said calmly. “Honestly, Maddie. We'll be perfectly safe. You can't imagine I would even suggest it if I weren't completely sure of that, and Freddie certainly wouldn't have arranged it.”

“Freddie?” I said with growing despair. “What's Freddie got to do with this?”

“He's the one who made the arrangements, of course.”

While I was trying to wrap my head around Freddie's involvement in all this, Hank looked deep into my eyes.

“Maddie, darling girl. This is my last hurrah, my final bit of craziness before donning the ball and chain. And since my particular ball and chain seems intent on civilizing me, surely you wouldn't deny me this one final caper?”

“Why don't we come up with something that won't get us blown
to pieces? And who's to say that I won't rub off on Violet after all? When the war ends, we'll force her to come with us. I'll buy a pair of hip waders and bag the monster myself—heck, I'll buy a pair for Violet and drag her kicking and screaming into the loch with me. Won't that be a sight?”

Hank leaned forward and pressed two fingers against my lips.

“Shhh,” he said. “We have to do this. It's for Ellis.”

Ellis looked suddenly up. The fire was back in his eyes. “Let's do it. Let's fucking do it. It fixes everything.”

“What? What does it fix?” I asked.

“Everything,” he repeated.

I could see there was no arguing with him—at least not there, and certainly not in front of Hank.

“I'll have one of those cigarettes,” I said, bobbing my foot under the table and glaring at the rows of glittering bottles behind the bar.

In a flash, Hank had the case open and extended. I let him hold it there for a few seconds longer than was comfortable, then grabbed one.

Hank leaned forward, completely cool, and flicked his lighter, a sterling silver Dunhill with a clock on its side. I sucked a few times, enough to get the thing lit, then pushed my chair back and marched toward the bank of elevators, letting my heels clack noisily on the marble. I ditched the cigarette in the first available ashtray because I hated cigarettes, which both Hank and Ellis knew. Asking for one was a statement. Ellis was supposed to follow me back to our suite. Instead, he stayed in the lobby bar with Hank.

I paced the room, trying to persuade myself that this was a joke, that Hank was just pulling our legs, but every instinct told me otherwise. He'd worked out too many details, and if it was a prank, he wouldn't have let it go on after he saw Ellis's reaction—unless they were in on it together, but that seemed even less plausible. They hadn't had a moment alone to plan.

I just wanted everything to go back to normal, but the only way that could happen would be if we found a solution that let both the Colonel and Ellis emerge with their dignities intact. Collective amnesia would have been an option if the accusations had been limited to the drawing room, where the only witness was the canary, but they hadn't. The Colonel had been disgraced in public.

The part that frightened me most, that made me think Hank really had made solid plans, was his mention of Freddie. If anyone could manage such arrangements, it was Freddie Stillman, whose father was an admiral, but it was beyond me why he'd lift a finger to help. The four of us had been close friends, a quartet instead of a trio, during one blissful summer in Bar Harbor, Maine, until I rejected his completely unexpected proposal, and probably not as sensitively as I should have. Ten days later, I eloped with Ellis, and we hadn't exchanged a word since. That was four and a half years ago.

I was surprised that Hank was still in touch with him, especially since it was rumored that Freddie had set his sights on Violet before Hank rolled through and swept her off her feet.

Ellis returned hours later, entirely smashed, and confirmed my fears. This was no prank, and he was absolutely determined that we were going to go.

I pointed out, as gently as I could, what I'd hoped was obvious: that it made no sense whatsoever to throw ourselves into the middle of an ocean crawling with U-boats on a quest to find a monster that probably didn't even exist, especially as a way of proving his worth to people who were too ignorant to realize he was as honorable as any of them. We knew the truth.
I
knew the truth. It would be difficult, but together we could withstand the scrutiny until the war ended.

Ellis turned on me with such ferocity I almost didn't recognize him.

Of course
there was a monster, he said. Only an idiot would think there wasn't a monster. Never mind all the sightings and photographs,
including his own father's—which, by the way, were still the best of the lot—Scotland Yard itself had confirmed the beast's existence when they asked the Colonel not to harm it.

Even as he continued shouting at me, waving his arms around the tiny, luggage-filled room, even as I absorbed that he had essentially called me an idiot, what really caught my attention was that he'd done a complete about-face regarding his father's pictures.

I tried to process this as Ellis pointed at the wallpaper, which was curling at the corners, at the water stains on the ceiling, as he wiped his finger along the windowsill and then held it up so I could inspect the grime. I wondered if he'd believed his father all along and, if so, why he'd made such a terrible accusation the night before—never mind the things he'd said as we left the party.

I hadn't uttered a word since my initial plea, but he continued his tirade as though I were arguing with him.

Did I really want to live in this dump, sitting around like hostages, waiting to see if the Colonel was going to cut off his allowance completely? And what if he did? What then? Did I think it was all right to act like Scott Lyons, running tabs up to the hilt and then skipping out, moving from hotel to hotel? Because he certainly didn't.

We were going to Scotland, it was our only option, and we would not set foot on this continent again until he had found the monster the Colonel had faked.

He stopped, red and sweaty, huffing and puffing and waiting for me to challenge him, but my brain was stuck on the fact that he'd flip-flopped on the subject of his father yet again, and all in a matter of seconds.

I had witnessed firsthand how badly society treated Ellis—particularly his own father—and was well aware of the toll it was taking. For four years, I'd stood by helplessly as the happy, confident young man I'd met in Bar Harbor eroded into the bitter, suspicious man currently raging in front of me, a man who constantly believed people were giving him dirty looks and whispering behind his back, a man who was increasingly irritated by my Pollyannaish platitudes
because he recognized them for what they were. But because I'd watched this devolution happen in dribbles and bits, I hadn't realized until that moment that he'd already been pushed beyond his limits. What was currently at stake was his entire self-worth.

Hank was right. Ellis needed this.

I crossed the half dozen feet that divided us and put my arms around him, pressing my face to his chest. After a moment of shocked hesitation, he put his arms around me, too, and a few seconds after that, I felt him relax.

“I'm so sorry, my darling, I don't know what came over me,” he said.

“It's okay,” I said.

“I should never have spoken to you like that. It's inexcusable. You did absolutely nothing wrong.”

“I understand, darling. It's okay.”

“Oh God, Maddie,” he said, breathing into my ear. “Hank's right. They broke the mold when they made you. I can't imagine what I did to deserve you.”

For a moment, as absurd as it was, I thought he might want to make love, but from his chest movements, I could tell he was starting to cry. I held him even tighter.

If finding the monster was what it was going to take to make Ellis feel whole again, then so be it. I just hoped there was a monster to be found.

And so, three days later, we sailed into the Battle of the Atlantic.

I
saw my first rat before we set sail.

Although our cabins were in the officers' quarters, there were only two and they were tiny, so Ellis and I had to share a very small bed—a bunk, really—which would have made sleeping impossible even if the engine that powered the rudder wasn't immediately beneath us. There was a small washbasin in the cabin, but the bath facilities were shared. I was the only woman on board, so I had to wash myself at the sink. I was also so sick I couldn't keep so much as a cracker down.

When I wasn't hanging my face over the sink trying not to throw up, I was lying on the bunk with my arms wrapped around my stomach, doing my best to stare into the distance, which in this case meant trying to focus on some point beyond the cabin wall, which was altogether too close.

The day before we were supposed to land at the naval base in Scotland, German U-boats caught up with one of the other ships in the convoy and torpedoed her. We circled back to pull men out of the water, which was so slick with fuel it was actually on fire. The Germans
were still there, of course, and we could feel the depth charges, which pitched us about until I feared capsizing and splitting up in equal parts. Unsecured items flew across the room. The electricity flickered on and off, and the cabin was so full of smoke I couldn't breathe without choking. The handkerchiefs I held over my nose and mouth came away the color of lead. Ellis took pills by the handful—he'd refilled my prescription before we left, getting a great many more than usual since he didn't know how long we were going to be away, and the quantities he consumed alarmed me.

When the torpedoes came, Hank shrank into a corner with a bottle of whiskey, saying that if he was going to die, he might as well die drunk. I shrieked each time a deck gun fired. Ellis put his life belt on and wanted me to do the same, but I couldn't. Having something bulky strapped around my middle impeded my breathing and increased my panic, and besides, what possible difference could it make? If the ship went down, the Germans wouldn't pluck us from the water, and even if they did, the poor men the SS
Mallory
had managed to save were grievously burned and likely to die anyway.

I flew into a tear-filled rage: I threw an alarm clock at Hank, who ducked it wordlessly and lit another cigarette. I pounded Ellis's chest and told him he had tossed us into the middle of a war because his father was a stubborn, stupid, irascible old man, and now, because of him, we were going to be killed. I said I hoped the Colonel dropped dead in his House of Testoni shoes, preferably upon hearing that we had all been blown up, because he was a fraudulent, egomaniacal blowhard without so much as a drop of compassion for anyone else on this earth, including—and especially—his own son. I declared Edith Stone Hyde a self-righteous, bitter old cow, and said I hoped she survived deep into a lonely old age so she could reap the rewards of her treatment of us and its fatal consequences. I told Ellis that the second we hit solid ground, I was turning around and taking the next boat out of there, although even as I said it, I knew I would never willingly get on another ship. I told him that
he
was the idiot, and that his—and his father's—stupid obsession with a stupid monster was going to
be the end of us all, and if he could come up with a stupider reason to die, I'd really like to know what that was.

Ellis's nonreaction was almost more frightening than the torpedoes, because I realized that he, too, thought we were going to die. And then I felt guilty and cried in his arms.

When we finally reached land, it was dusk. For the last couple of days, I'd been worried we might be changing ships rather than docking, because everyone kept referring to our destination as the HMS
Helicon
, but apparently that was a code name for the Aultbea Naval Base.

I was so desperate to get off the ship that I staggered on deck while the wounded were still being unloaded. Ellis followed me, but at the sight of the burned men, turned and went back below.

Some of the men no longer looked human—scorched and misshapen, their flesh melted like candle wax. Their agonized moans were terrible to hear, but even more horrifying were the silent ones.

One looked me in the eyes as he was carried past, his head bobbing slightly in time with the steps of the men bearing the stretcher. His face and neck were blackened, his mouth open and lipless, exposing crowded teeth that made me think of a parrot fish. I hated myself immediately for the comparison. His eyes were hazel, and his arms ended in white bandages just below the elbows. His peeling scalp was a mottled combination of purple and black, his ears so charred I knew there was no hope of saving them.

He held my gaze until I turned in shame, leaning my forehead against the salty white paint of the exterior wall. I pressed my eyes shut. If I'd had the strength to go back down to the cabin I would have, but I didn't. Instead, I kept my eyes closed and held my hands over my ears. Although I managed to block out most sounds, I could do nothing about the vibration of footsteps on the deck. I was excruciatingly aware of each ruined life being carried past. God only knew how these men's lives would be changed, if they even survived. I tried not to think of their mothers, wives, and sweethearts.

When we were finally allowed to disembark, I stumbled down the gangplank and onto the dock. My knees gave out, and if Hank hadn't been there to catch me, I'd have gone off the edge. Everything in my vision was jerking back and forth. I couldn't even tell which way was up.

“Jesus Christ, Maddie,” he said. “You almost fell in the soup. Are you all right?”

“I don't know,” I said. My voice was hoarse. “I feel like I'm still on the ship.”

Ellis took my other elbow, and together they led me off the dock. I stretched out an arm and leaned against a white-painted lamppost. The curb at my feet was also white.

“Maddie? Are you okay?” said Ellis.

Before I could answer, a man in a wool greatcoat and hat approached us. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with red cheeks, black leather gloves, and an eye patch. His one eye alternated between Ellis and Hank. “Henry Boyd?”

“That's me,” said Hank, lighting a cigarette.

“Well, I knew it was one of you,” the man said in a melodious accent, leaving us to interpret the wherefores. “I'll be driving you, then. Where are your things?”

“Still on board. The porters are back there somewhere,” said Hank, waving vaguely toward the ship.

The man laughed. “I'm your driver, not your lackey.”

Hank raised his eyebrows in surprise, but the man put his hands in his pockets, spun on his heels, and began to whistle. His earlobe and part of the cartilage was missing on the same side as the eye patch. A thick scar ran up his neck and disappeared beneath his ginger hair.

Ellis whispered, “I think you're supposed to tip him.”

“Freddie said it was all taken care of,” Hank said.

“Apparently it's not,” Ellis murmured.

“Well, somebody do
something
!” I cried.

Hank cleared his throat to get the man's attention. “I don't suppose I could make it worth your while…”

“Oh, aye,” said the man, in a firm but cheery voice. “I wouldn't say no to a wee minding.”

When our trunks and suitcases had finally been identified, collected, and loaded—a feat of engineering that resulted in an ungainly mountain of luggage strapped to the roof and trunk of the car—our driver raised his one visible eyebrow and glanced at Ellis's waist. “I don't think you'll be needing that anymore,” he said.

Ellis looked down. He was still wearing his life belt. He turned away, fumbling as he unfastened it, and let it drop at the base of a lamppost. I felt his shame acutely.

The driver opened the rear door of the car and motioned for me to get in. A soiled blanket covered the seat.

“Slide on over then,” he said. He winked at me. I think.

Ellis got in after me. Hank took one look at the blanket before walking to the front of the car. He stood by the passenger door, waiting for the driver to open it.

“Well, are you going to get in, or aren't you?” said the driver, jerking his chin toward the rear.

Finally, reluctantly, Hank came around back. Ellis frowned and shifted to the middle seat. Hank got in beside him.

“Right, then,” said the driver. He shut our door, climbed into the driver's seat, and resumed whistling.