Message in a Bottle

Authors note: What follows is a work of fiction based on real life events. None of the characters depicted are real and any similarity to real people living or dead is purely coincidental.

Message in a Bottle

My part in this story started in April 2015 on the small Caribbean island of Barbuda. That morning I had made the short flight from Antigua to visit the Frigate bird colony nesting on the Mangroves growing in Codrington Lagoon.

Earlier in the day I had crossed the lagoon from Codrington village in a flat bottomed outboard boat and eaten badly cooked and leathery barbequed lobster at a shack on the beach, a long narrow ribbon of pink sand lying between the lagoon and the turquoise sea.

After lunch I visited the colony. I was at the northern end of the lagoon, and near the entrance to the sea when I saw it. It was a brown glass wine bottle bobbing in the water close to the vegetation at the edge of the lagoon and I pointed it out to the boatsman. He was an old Black man, grizzled by the weather and years of hard toil, and as he navigated towards the offending bottle he swore under his breath at those "damn tourists" who had no respect for that beautiful spot.

As we approached the bottle I took a couple of photos of it on my phone. Soon I was able to lean out of the boat and scoop it up and I could immediately see that the bottle was very old and tightly sealed with a cork and wax although no capsule covered it. It was impossible to see if there was anything inside, but that did not stop the old man from voicing his opinion.

"Message in a bottle. Maybe it'll tell us where the treasures hid," and he smiled and looked away as I slipped it into my backpack.

I wasn't sure what I would do with it, but it looked old and interesting, and it was undeniably littering the lagoon. Nonetheless I soon forgot about it as I continued my tour amongst the Frigate birds, the males resplendent with their bright red throat pouches.

Later that evening when I had returned to my hotel I had dinner with my tour party. They had elected to lie on the beach for the day rather than make the side trip to Barbuda and I had gone alone. This was not unusual since they lay on the beach every day and not one of them had taken the trip to Nelson's Dockyard or the island of Hell's Gate with me.

Call me stupid if you wish, but I had not flown over four thousand miles from London to Antigua to lie on the beach all day. If I were a potato in need of baking there were far closer beaches in Europe I could have visited.

That April I was recently divorced, fortunately with no children, and in need of a holiday away from it all and I wanted time to recover and lick my wounds. My (by then) ex-wife had been unfaithful to me but had still managed to get a very favourable divorce settlement from me. At the time I owned a small but very successful publishing house and the divorce court seemed to think that eighteen months of faithless marriage, during which time she never worked, was worth several million pounds. She had made no contribution to my net worth prior to this except negatively, having spent her way up and down Oxford and Bond Streets on a regular basis.

That evening I was happy. I was free and unfettered, and If I had thought about it, I would have considered the divorce settlement money well spent. My only mild regret was that I had come on holiday with a party of folk with whom I had little in common, but it had been a last minute decision to come to Antigua and the flight and hotel had been convenient and a good deal.

Following dinner I returned to my room alone. One of the single women on the tour, a middle aged, attractive teacher from somewhere in the north of England had already hinted that she might be up for it, but I wasn't interested, and she had finally taken the hint and that evening had gone back to the tour guides room.

***

I lay on my bed with a glass of scotch in my hand and contemplated the glass bottle I had rescued from the water, then I made up my mind and crossed to the dressing table where the bottle was standing and shook it hard. Nothing appeared to be inside but using a nail file I was able to prise the cork out of the neck of the bottle and look inside. In the dim light of the hotel room I could see nothing and was looking for an alternate source of bright light when I thought of my phone. When I switched its torchlight on I was finally able to see inside the bottle and was astonished to see a tightly wrapped roll of paper tied with string sitting within the brown glass container.

The problem was how to get it out without damaging it or the bottle, so I left it where it stood, lay back on the bed, and as I pondered the problem, poured myself another very large scotch.

In the morning I visited St Johns and after visiting a pharmacy was able to obtain a pair of long handled forceps following which I impatiently returned to the hotel. Using the forceps it was the work of moments to extract the paper roll from the bottle.

I put the roll on the writing table that the hotel provided and saw at once it was bone dry. The cork and wax had done its job, and not a drop of water had got inside the well-sealed bottle. Then { took a deep breath and using my nail scissors cut the twine holding the paper and unrolled the sheets.

I saw at once there were several sheets of paper about six inches by eight inches in size which looked as if they had been torn from a diary or notebook. Each sheet was covered in tiny spidery writing handwritten in back ink. The paper was bone dry and intact but browned and appeared aged. Although the ink was faded the writing appeared to be, with a little effort, just legible.

I carefully separated the paper sheets and counted twelve tightly coiled pages, and then holding the first sheet open I was able to read 1/5/15 at the top right corner and realised I was looking at a diary. As I read on I realised I was looking at the record of events which had occurred just under a century ago and that the bottle had been in the water for almost one hundred years before it had been found.

It was difficult to hold the tightly coiled sheets of paper flat and decipher the faint writing and it occurred to me that, impatient as I was, the message could wait just a little bit longer. A few days earlier I had bought a heavy "coffee table book" about Antiguan cooking and now I put it to an alternate use and placed each of the diary sheets flat between its pages before leaving the closed book with the bottle in my suitcase.

I spent the remainder of the day at the Sir Vivian Richards Stadium in St John's watching the fourth day of the first test match between The West Indies and England and was lucky enough to see the catch by Chris Jordan off the spin bowling of Joe Root. The populist press labelled this as one more "catch of the century."

I hadn't known there was a test match being played when I booked my trip but this, like my finding the bottle, was just one of those coincidences that mother fate likes to throw at us, and as I returned to the hotel by taxi in the early evening I thought of something my over-superstitious mother used to say,

"Mark my words. Things always come in threes."

And I wondered what was next.

That evening I ate alone and then returned to my room before retrieving the book and its contents from my suitcase. The heavy tome had done its job and the pages of the manuscript were now flat. I sat at the writing table, switched on the lamp, poured myself a scotch, and with the help of the magnifying app on my mobile phone I started to read.

***

1/5/15

3 pm ship's time

Dear Diary

It's the start of a new adventure and a new life. I am so relieved that we have sailed, and I am out of the clutches of George. David told me not to marry him, but I was so infatuated and flattered at the thought of marrying a rich American I didn't listen. All he wanted was a beautiful trophy wife and not someone to share his life, or his bed for that matter. The prig had any number of women for that purpose. Anyway I am rid of him now and have no intentions of wasting whatever time is left to me. There are so many attractive men on this ship. Maybe I will be able to strike up a shipboard friendship with one of them? I'm sure Mother would not approve but who's to know?

Oh diary, only you know my secret thoughts and desires. I must be sure to keep you locked and hidden.

I am so looking forward to meeting David, James, and Emily again. God willing they will stay safe in the awful war in Europe towards which we are sailing. I hope that it's not a case of "out of the frying-pan into the fire." I couldn't have stayed in America anyway. What I took with me won't last for ever and then what? And there was the risk he might find me. This is the only way. George was getting increasingly violent. This way I'll live with mother and find a way to divorce him. What I do have will last long enough and maybe I can find a decent man to look after me. For now I'll put those concerns where they belong, in the future.

10 pm ship's time

It has been a tiring day and I am glad to be in my cabin and plan to go to bed. More tomorrow.

2/5/15

6 am ship's time

I slept well. I was too tired last night to record what happened yesterday after we sailed. My accommodation is a saloon cabin on B deck with a bath and it is more than adequate, and the bed is very comfortable. I thought I was lucky to get a ticket at the last moment the day before we sailed but first class is half empty.

Yesterday afternoon I went for a promenade around the ship, and I must say it is extremely luxurious. There is a reading and writing room for the ladies where I am sitting now as I write, and the first class dining room is absolutely magnificent. it is domed and built on two levels with columns and frescos. Dinner was splendid with a wide choice, but I was so excited my appetite had gone and I ate only a little grilled chicken with a glass of white wine. My companions at the table were a middle aged English couple, Mr and Mrs Jefferson, and their son Edward. They mentioned that Mr Jefferson is a diplomat returning from Washington and Edward is determined to join the army and the fight against the Germans.

Edward is around twenty, tall, and very good looking. I saw him glance at my bosom on more than one occasion and quickly look away.

Diary, I have made up my mind. I have grown tired of my own fingers. I am a twenty five year old married woman who has not had a man for over a year. I am beautiful and desirable and if I can make the chance I will seduce Edward. He looks to be a virgin, so my relative inexperience won't matter.

And now I am very hungry and will have breakfast at the Veranda Café and then see what the day brings.

6 pm ship's time

What excitement this afternoon Alfred Vanderbilt the wealthy businessman appeared on the promenade deck and took the air. He was every bit as dashing as you would expect. I think his appearance was reassuring for some of the passengers who are concerned that we are sailing into a part of the world that is at war, in a passenger ship flying the British flag.

3/5/15

9 am ship's time

Oh diary

I have been so wicked and feel so happy and slept with. I had dinner with the Jefferson family and shortly after we finished our dessert Mrs Jefferson, who appears to be a slightly bilious woman, started to complain of a headache and demanded that her husband accompany her back to her cabin leaving Edward and I to our coffee and liqueurs.

The poor boy was besotted with me, and it was so easy. I had had a couple of glasses of wine which had made me very relaxed and all I had to do was ask (very quietly),

"I'm going to bed. Would you like to join me?"

And as he spluttered over his liqueur, I whispered my cabin number to him.

Then, "Give me half an hour and come to my cabin. Knock on my door and don't be seen. Have a shower whilst you wait. It doesn't have to be a cold one."

I returned to my room and quickly slipped out of my dress and not so quickly out of my corset. Then I showered, let my hair down, and reapplied my makeup and lipstick, before slipping on my night shirt and applying a little perfume.

It never occurred to me that he would not appear unseen at my door, and I was right. Five minutes later there was a sharp knock at the door, and I opened it and ushered him inside and quickly closed the door behind him.

"Mrs Latham," he said.

"Victoria," I replied.

And then I kissed him. He was a quick learner and with his strong arms around me we embraced and kissed. I was impatient and crossed to the bed and sat on the edge and then slipped my night shirt over my head revealing my naked body to him. I saw his eyes widen....

***

I stopped reading. I felt that I was intruding into the private life of a woman long dead but whose name I now knew. I believed that what she had written was originally meant to be a secret for her and her diary alone. I was very curious as to why she had put these thoughts into a bottle and tossed it into the sea, but I was starting to get an inkling. I had read about five pages of her tightly handwritten script and there were another seven pages left and I decided to skip the details of her liaison with Edward and quickly scanned the manuscript until I came to the tenth page when her prose became less lurid but more ominous in nature.

5/5/15

2 pm ship's time

I have been so engaged with Edward that I have been distracted from the fear and apprehension felt by many of the passengers onboard the Lusitania. This morning I was speaking to a gentleman who told me that he was warned not to sail on her because of the risk of her being sunk by a German submarine. Apparently he received a telegram saying this would happen and was advised not to sail. He showed me a notice placed in newspapers by the Imperial German Embassy in Washington DC warning travellers of the risk of travelling on vessels flying the British flag in waters adjacent to Great Britain because they were liable to attack, and that passengers travelled at their own risk. Apparently some passengers were accosted on the pier by "strangers" before we left New York and given the same message before Cunard private detectives chased the "strangers away.

I am placing the diary of this voyage with my worldly wealth into this bottle and have sealed it well with a cork and candlewax. If the worst happens and this ship is sunk and If I know I have no chance of survival I will cast it into the sea for the fates to deal with it as they see fit. Pray God the bottle will be found by an honest person who can ensure my wealth is passed to my rightful heirs. These are my brothers David, James and Emily White born 16/7/1887, 1/8/1888, and 3/4/1895 respectively. My sister Emily still lives with my mother Mrs Emma White at Cranbourne House, in the village of Ripley in Surrey. My mother's maiden name was Johnson, and her date of birth was 2/12/1865. My father's name was Alfred White. He is dead and I do not know his date of birth.

Please do not think badly of me. I have enclosed details of my encounter with Edward because I have finally known true sexual gratification and If I am to die I want a record of something good I have experienced in life. I hope there will be some record of my last days in this world.

I did not tell George I was leaving him and bribed the booking clerk to place me on the ships manifest under an assumed name. My real name is Victoria Jamieson not Latham. I did not telegram my family in England to say I was returning but planned to tell them when I arrived in Liverpool. My mother would not have wanted me to travel although I have good reason to. Nobody knows I am on the Lusitania. I have decided not to telegram my mother from the ship so as not to cause her undue concern.

6/5/15

8 am ship's time

I did not see Edward last night. His parents have taken to sleeping fully clothed on deck in case we are attacked, and he could not slip away. I fear my liaison with him is finished. I shall sleep in my cabin fully clothed tonight with my bag containing my purse and the bottle close at all times. I do not need to sleep on deck since my cabin is on the promenade deck where the lifeboats are situated.

In a few moments I will put diary and the jewels into their new home for safekeeping. We expect to be off the coast of Ireland sometime tomorrow. I hope this diary is never read by a stranger because if it is I and many others will likely be dead. I pray the finder of this bottle is honest and I thank you.

Victoria White

I had reached the end of the document and sat quietly saddened by what I had read. Even though the events described were history, the faint handwritten record had brought them back to life and they seemed very recent to me. It seemed likely that Victoria had died on the Lusitania just thirty hours after the last comment recorded in her diary.

I know far more about the Lusitania today than I did just after reading the message but even then I knew it was torpedoed by a German U boat off the coast of Ireland with huge loss of life.

I also realised that there must be something else in the bottle; Victoria's "wealth."

I retrieved the bottle from my suitcase shook it and it appeared empty but when I shone the light from my phone inside coiled inside was a roll of tissue paper. This had lodged at the bottom of the bottle and had been wedged tight by the rolled manuscript. By turning the bottle upside down and striking the base with my hand I was eventually able to move the tissue paper and its contents towards the neck of the bottle. I was able to grasp the tissue paper with my forceps, but it tore, and a deep red coloured jewel fell out onto the desk. It was round and possibly 2 cm in diameter, and I guessed it was a ruby. I continued to work on the tissue paper and one by one more jewels appeared until I finally had a total of 21 large and variously cut red stones sitting on the desk.

I had no idea what they were worth but guessed it was a great deal of money.

By then it was long after midnight and I was tired. I wrapped the jewels individually in fresh tissues and locked them in the hotel room-safe and went to bed.

***

I woke early and went to breakfast whilst I formulated a plan. I felt a curious connection with Victoria and had decided to try and find the heirs to her fortune. I didn't imagine it would be that difficult given the information she had provided. I wondered about her husband George Jamieson and whether she might have survived the sinking of the ship after throwing the wine bottle into the sea. All of this could wait and much of it could be done online.

That evening I transcribed the whole of the twelve page manuscript onto my laptop and emailed a copy of it and a scanned copy of the diary pages to myself.

The following day I flew home with the original documents, the bottle, and the jewels in my hand luggage. I had already resolved not to report the find in Antigua but instead do the right thing and find their rightful owner. I thought it extremely unlikely that I would be stopped at UK customs and so it turned out.