CHAPTER TWENTY
The officers manning the Welin davits waited anxiously as women bid their husbands and older sons a reluctant goodbye and stepped down into the boats.
At some point while Seward and Van Helsing were in the smoking room waiting for Art, the band had assembled on deck and began to play cheery music. Some of the younger passengers stood as far away from the boats as they could in order to listen.
“I should really go look for him,” Seward said. They were standing near the entrance to the smoking room. Seward fought to keep from shivering against the cold. Van Helsing, for his part, didn’t seem to notice it.
“Soon,” the old man said. “I have faith that he can handle Dracula alone in his present state. I may need you here.”
Up until now, Van Helsing had been sure that Dracula would not attempt to escape until he had avenged himself. Now, having seen how weak he was, he wasn’t so certain. He may very well try to sneak into a boat. The only problem was: Boats were being loaded on the port side as well, and they couldn’t police boat sides of the deck...and though Van Helsing hated to admit it, even to himself, he couldn’t take Dracula on his own, even in his weakened state.
Van Helsing opened his mouth, but a shrieking whistle from the bridge cut him off. He turned just as a rocket exploded in the sky.
Many of the other passengers turned to look. A few of them let forth an “ooooo” or “ahhhh” as though it were fireworks on a Sunday picnic.
“Come, John,” Van Helsing said, and led the way aft, past calmly worried men waving to their departing families, and women who refused to leave the ship. “We should make a round of the deck and...”
The old man was cut off by the sight of a familiar face. Wearing an coat thrown haphazardly over his pajamas and looking palely disheveled, Thomas Andrews appeared from a doorway into the ship, his pants billowing as he went. His hands, at his sides, were trembling, and his eyes were unfocused. He looked as though he were in shock.
He passed Seward and Van Helsing without a word, and immediately began nearly begging with the women to leave the ship. Seward and Van Helsing stopped, turned, and watched as Andrews pleaded desperately.
“You must go,” he whined, his hands folded before him as if he were imploring God to answer an urgent prayer. “There is not a second to lose, you cannot pick and choose your lifeboat, go. We are going to sink.”
A murmur ran through the crowd, and a few of the women exhaled and gasped. Andrews went on, but Van Helsing and Seward had not the time to watch him.
“He is doing right,” Van Helsing said cryptically, “if these women and their children are not pushed, they will stay onboard unto the last minute.”
“Yes,” Seward replied, “but, with Titanic sagging in the water deeper and deeper every moment, I foresee no problems getting them into the boats eventually. I do worry about keeping the men out. The officers may not be able to deal with a panicked crowd of men when the time comes.”
Van Helsing sighed. “You are right. Have I ever told you about the “Mask Theory”?
Seward favored Van Helsing with a quizzical stare. “I don’t believe you have, Doctor,” he replied.
“Well,” Van Helsing began, and then stopped. Another rocket shirked into the sky and exploded. Most of the passengers milling on deck looked up once more and watched as the blast faded into nothingness.
Van Helsing sighed again. “We humans,” he said, “live from day-to-day wearing a...a...a thin layer of civility. The moment something goes wrong and we are endangered, that layer, the mask, slips away, and we are revealed for the animals that we truly are. I personally think that man is not that way, but some in the field disagree.”
Seward nodded.
“Men are...mostly good, but there are those who walk among us who do wear such masks. They are not truly good. They are playing a game, trying to fit into polite society.”
“We will see plenty of those types reveal themselves tonight, won’t we, doctor?”
Van Helsing nodded. Looking up the deck at the faces cast darkly in the dim lights, he replied, “Yes, John; more than we can count, if we aren’t lucky.”
They stood in their spots for several minutes longer. Another boat down the deck opened for business, and the women protested just a bit less strenuously then the ones before them.
Suddenly Van Helsing felt very tired. Walking the deck seemed somehow less important. “I would like to sit down for a moment,” he said.
“Certainly.”
Seward led Van Helsing back to the smoking room by way of the gymnasium. A few gentlemen and their wives milled about, looking either bored or concerned. John Jacob Astor was leaning against one piece of exercise machinery or another entertaining his wife and a few of the other ladies present by cutting open a lifebelt with his penknife and showing them what was inside.
“There goes one life-jacket,” Van Helsing remarked as they passed.
“I believe that one was his,” Seward said.
“He’ll be sorry later.”
Back in the smoking room, the card game was still in full-swing. A steward freshened the players’ drinks, and accosted Seward as he sank onto the couch near the fire. “Would you gentlemen like something?”
Seward looked at Van Helsing, who nodded. “Might as well. I want a brandy, please.”
“I’ll take the same,” Seward added. The steward nodded and rushed off.
Seward checked his pocket watch. “Fifteen after one and Art still isn’t back.” He snapped it closed and put it back in his pocket. Sighing, he looked past Van Helsing and to the door leading out of the room.
“You can go after you have your drink,” Van Helsing said. He looked deep into John’s eyes and saw disquiet. “It will calm your nerves.”
“My nerves are...”
“Just wait, John.”
It seemed almost an hour before the steward returned, but it couldn’t have been more than five minutes. Van Helsing thanked and tipped him, and Seward nodded. Once he was gone, Seward drowned his brandy and stood.
“I wasn’t expecting you to inhale it, John.”
Seward sat the glass atop the hearth above the fireplace, next to a clock and before a grand painting entitled Approach to Plymouth Harbor. “I’m sorry, but I must go. Art might need me.”
Van Helsing sighed. “Alright, go. My guess is that they wound up in third class again. Dracula seems to know it better than anywhere else on the ship.”
Seward nodded. For some reason that he could not explain, he glanced at the glass, and his heart skipped a beat, for it began, even before his eyes, to slide down the hearth as if pushed by a ghostly hand.
“The...” he started, but stopped as the glass went over the side and shattered on the floor with a weak chink.
“You’d better hurry, John.”