Titanic Voyage of Intent

By Mary Davis

Will trying to save her brother's life cost Brenna her own?

   Brenna Kelly's brother is accused of a murder he didn't commit and sentenced to die. Brenna follows the real murderer aboard the Titanic to find the proof to free her brother.

   Cliffton Statham sets out to help Brenna and win her affections. But his future is in jeopardy in more ways than one. He must choose between Brenna and saving himself. Can Brenna find the proof she needs in time? Will love be a help or a hindrance?

   Will the icy Atlantic waters be the end of them all?

"...O God of our salvation...of them that are afar off upon the sea...which stilleth the noise of the seas, the noise of their waves, the tumult of the people." - Psalm 65:5, 7

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Davis
• Release date: Aug 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201452186

Mary Davis

MARY DAVIS is an award-winning author of over a dozen novels. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and is active in two critique groups. Mary lives in the Colorado Rocky Mountains with her husband of thirty years and three cats. She has three adult children and one grandchild. Please visit her website at http://marydavisbooks.com.

Book preview

Prologue

ON APRIL 14, 1912 AT 11:40 p.m., RMS Titanic struck an iceberg on her maiden voyage across the Atlantic Ocean.

On April 15, 1912 at 2:20 a.m., the unsinkable Titanic disappeared beneath the icy water.

Chapter One

SOUTHAMPTON, ENGLAND

April 9th, 1912

Brenna Kelly’s hand shook as she placed her money on the counter. I would like a first-class ticket for the Titanic. She laced her fingers together in front of her to hide the trembling.

The aged gentleman on the other side of the counter peered over his spectacles and surveyed her appearance. Traveling alone?

She nodded. No doubt he could see that her simple cotton shirtwaist and worn, navy, wool jacket did not identify her as a first-class passenger. Third class at best.

A wee young thing like yourself should have a chaperone.

She could no more afford a chaperone than a voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. But the trip was a matter of life and death. I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.

Second class is considerably less expensive. Or perhaps you would prefer steerage?

Though she belonged in steerage, she must travel first class. She’d sold everything she and her brother owned to get aboard this particular ship. It had to be this ship, or death was certain.

She squared her shoulders. First class, if you please.

Brenna tucked her ticket safely into her right skirt pocket then hurried to the jail down the street. She knelt on the rocky ground and reached her arm through the bars of the ground level cell window. Ian, are you there?

A cold hand clutched hers. Aye, pixie. He kissed the back of hers before releasing it.

Her brother’s face, though grimy, soothed her aching soul. Her brother was yet still alive. Brenna reached into her left skirt pocket and pulled out a lumpy cloth. I brought you something to eat. She handed the cloth-wrapped food through the bars.

Ian was thin, his eyes gaunt and hollow. He took the package. Thank you. My belly has been a bit lonesome. He unfolded the cloth and took a bite of cheese. A crust of bread and chunk of cheese wouldn’t fill him up, but it was likely more than the prison fed him. You shouldn’t have come, pixie fairy.

Yes, I should. You’re all I have. I’m going to get you out of here.

Pixie, it’s too late. He reached out and squeezed her hand. Go, make a life for yourself and forget about me.

Never. I can’t lose you. How could she forget her only kin? A brother who jumped in the creek to save her, who carved her a dolly out of wood, who protected her from a man who had ill intentions. A brother who had always looked out for her and cared for her. Nay, she could never forget him. Now the time had come for her to help him.

Ian pulled his hand from hers and recessed into the shadows. Go. You can’t help me now. I want you to remember me as I was. Not like this.

No, Ian. She grasped wildly to find his hand, her one link to his life. Ian. Ian?

Silence met her call.

She knelt lower to peer through the barred window into the dim cell. She couldn’t see him. Ian, I will be back for you. I have a plan to get you out of here. Still silence met her. Brenna blinked back tears, stood, and brushed the dust off her fern green skirt. Then she marched around the building to the constable’s office.

She pushed open the heavy oak door. The hinges protested with a long moan like a bawling cow. Constable Noble sat behind a thick table with his feet up and his chair tipped back against the wall, a newspaper draped over his face. She stood on the other side of the table. He couldn’t possibly still be asleep with the racket the door had made. Should she knock on the table to announce her presence or clear her throat?

Then from under the paper came his voice. It’s my dinner hour. Come back later.

She only had now. I’ll wait.

A heavy sigh from under the weekly caused the paper to flutter and rustle. He stretched out one large hand over the paper and grabbed a fistful, removing it from his face as he swung his legs to the floor. Brenna, Brenna, Brenna. He shook his head. You shouldn’t be here. He pressed the paper to the rough-hewn table but didn’t bother to flatten out the wrinkles he’d made.

Constable Noble, as my late father’s oldest friend, I’ve come to ask you a favor.

Constable Noble? What happened to Uncle Shamus?

He wasn’t really her uncle, but had always been called uncle by her and Ian, just as his children had called her father uncle.

I am not here on a social visit but a business call.

He folded his thick, beefy hands in front of him on the paper. "Very well, Miss Kelly, what can I do for you?"

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. I’m begging you to postpone Ian’s execution. He’s innocent.

Sorrow filled Shamus Noble’s blue eyes. Oh, Brenna, you know I cannot do that. The judge has made his ruling. It’s best if you forget about this whole nasty business. I don’t want to see you anywhere near the gallows when the time comes. It’s nothing you need to be witness to.

Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of Ian on a gallows preparing to die. The terrible event had been scheduled for noon on the fifteenth. Titanic wouldn’t dock in New York, America until the seventeenth. She needed a few extra days.

She knew Uncle Shamus was only doing his duty. He need not worry about her being present. She had a plan to be far from here. I’m not asking you to free him, just don’t hang a leprechaun’s knot around his neck. I’m going to find proof of his innocence. I need a little more time. Give me an extra week. Just one week. That would give her enough time to gather the evidence to prove Ian innocent.

I don’t have the authority to do that.

But he’s innocent. You can’t hang an innocent man. She skirted the table and knelt in front of Uncle Shamus. She clutched his big, beefy hand in her thin ones. You believe he’s innocent, don’t you? She couldn’t bear it if he thought Ian guilty.

Of course. Ian could no more have killed a man than you. But there was no evidence to prove that. He had the dead man’s pocket watch. If you have proof someone else committed this crime, give it to me, and I’ll take it to the judge and get Ian freed.

I don’t have the evidence yet, but I will in a few days.

Uncle Shamus stood, pulling her to her feet, then wrapped her in his arms. I wish I could make this all right.

Brenna leaned into his big, barrel chest and cried.

Cliffton Statham stepped into the jailhouse office. A big grizzly bear of a man consoled a young woman in his arms. The thin slip of a thing nearly disappeared in the man’s embrace. Cliffton cleared his throat.

The two separated. The brown-haired woman with commoner clothes had tears on her cheeks. She wiped them away with her palms.

The man nodded to Cliffton. I’ll be with you in a moment. He walked the young lady to the door. I don’t want to see you back here.

The beautiful young lady must be his daughter or something.

Once the lady had left, Cliffton shook the man’s outstretched hand. His hand nearly swallowed up in the grizzly bear’s.

The big man motioned toward the adjacent chair. Have a seat. I’m Constable Noble. What can I do for you?

He sat. I’m Cliffton Statham. I’ve come on behalf of my boss, Reginald Blackstock.

Constable Noble’s eyes narrowed slightly. Have you now?

Cliffton shifted in his seat. At twenty-six, he hated having to do his uncle’s dirty work. Wasn’t he too old to be someone’s lackey? Mr. Blackstock is leaving tomorrow. He dreaded asking, but it would be his job if he didn’t. Mr. Blackstock would like to put this whole matter of murder behind him and has requested that the sentence be carried out before he sets sail.

The constable clenched his teeth and sucked air in and out. Cliffton could tell the huge man was trying to control himself. If the constable decided to break Cliffton in two, he was sure the man could. Cliffton swallowed hard.

Finally, Constable Noble spoke. It is bad enough that an innocent lad is sentenced to die. There is no need to rush it.

He had the decedent’s pocket watch. He’d been seen with Mr. Eugene Rochester on numerous occasions.

That was planted on him by the real killer. I know Ian. He’s too kind and gentle to murder anyone.

Cliffton resisted the urge to flee. Not one shred of evidence was found against Mr. Blackstock. He’d never even met the man. It was Mr. Blackstock’s word against the lad’s.

The constable stood and pressed his hands on the table. And because Mr. Blackstock has a bank full of money, he was believed and released.

Cliffton stood and backed up. So you won’t ask the judge to move up the execution?

I will not. Tell Mr. Blackstock I couldn’t be more pleased at his leaving, and that I hope he drowns at sea.

Cliffton was not a small man, but this man was huge and scared the goose bumps off him. He guessed his size made him a good enforcer of the law. I’ll tell him. He’ll want word once we dock in New York. Grappling for the doorknob and scooting out, he leaned against the stone wall of the building.

He drew in a calming breath, glad the young man would not be hanged early. He, for one, did not want to be witness to it. Didn’t even want to be in town to hear people speak of the terrible event. He wasn’t convinced the man was guilty. He had no motive. But neither did he think his boss, his uncle, was guilty.

Brenna lifted the latch and scooted into the large kitchen of her employer.

Mrs. White, the head cook, pointed her knife at Brenna. Good, you’re back. It’s time to prepare Mrs. Omphrey’s and Miss Josephine’s afternoon tea tray.

Brenna unbuttoned her jacket and hung it on a peg by the back door. Did anyone notice I was gone?

Only myself and a few of the staff. No one who will apprise the lord or lady. As long as they are not inconvenienced, they will never know. But if you don’t get that tray to them posthaste, you’ll bet her ladyship will take note.

I’ll change quick as a whip and prepare the tray. Brenna darted to her room, down a dark hall