by Blythe Baker
“Ruby Stratton’s trip has certainly been spoiled,” I said, unable to hold my tongue. The woman’s death felt oddly personal after our run-in in the ladies’ room the night before. She had confided in me, telling me she feared for her life, even if moments later she had tried to downplay her words. I should have told someone, warned someone to keep an eye on her. Instead, I’d allowed myself to be distracted by Achilles Prideaux’s threat. I could have prevented her murder.
No, I couldn’t think that way. My hand played no part in the death of Ruby; therefore, I was not to blame. The only person at fault was her murderer.
“Rose!” Mrs. Worthing chastised. “Now is not the time for jokes.”
“I don’t believe it was a joke, beloved,” Mr. Worthing said, trying to calm his wife. “She was only saying that we have not been nearly as inconvenienced as Mrs. Stratton. We should be grateful we have our lives.”
Mrs. Worthing huffed her displeasure. Since becoming acquainted with the Worthings, I had stayed rather quiet, leading Mrs. Worthing to believe me a valued confidante and fellow gossiper. Partly because I didn’t wish to say anything to offend the people who were seeing me halfway around the world, and partly because Mrs. Worthing’s lack of social graces seemed unimportant in the face of the trauma I’d endured in Simla. Now, though, with Ruby Stratton’s body being stowed away like cargo, going cold in some unused room in the belly of the ship, it felt wrong to let anyone diminish whatever horror she had endured in the last moments of her life by suggesting her death to be little more than an inconvenience.
“I think I’ll go for a walk before breakfast,” I said.
Mrs. Worthing, usually so hesitant to let me wander off, gave no indication she would miss my company.
“I’ll come along, too,” Dr. Rushforth said. “If you do not mind, of course?”
“Of course not.”
Truth was, I did mind. A tumultuous storm of emotions was swirling inside my mind, and I needed time alone to sort through them. But that would clearly have to wait until later.
“I did not mean to impose myself on you,” Dr. Rushforth whispered as we strolled leisurely towards the stern of the boat. The deck was wide enough to allow five people—six if they were all rather thin—to walk alongside one another, but still Dr. Rushforth chose to hug my side, the fabric of his suit jacket brushing against my fingers. “I hope I have not mistaken your feelings on the matter, but I must say I’m not keen on the idea of being left alone with the Worthings.”
Despite everything that had happened that morning, I smiled slightly. “You have perfectly understood my feelings. The Worthings are not bad people, but they would not be my first choice of travelling companions.”
“It seems as if you were left with little choice in that matter,” he said somberly.
I nodded. “Without that silly couple, I would have been quite alone in the world.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” he said. “As an army doctor, I saw my fair share of violent death, but I never lost anyone close to me in such a manner, and certainly not all at once. It must have been unbearable.”
“I would not wish it on my worst enemy,” I said.
The morning sun cast the ocean in brilliant shades of orange and yellow that changed as the waves broke around the ship, and we paused at the railing to admire the view.
Dr. Rushforth was facing the ocean, but he cast a quick glance in my direction. “Certainly, a woman as lovely as you has no true enemies.”
I was aware of the fact that the Doctor was flirting with me, quite openly, as well. I raised an eyebrow at him. “You’d be surprised.”
“I suppose so,” he said with a smirk. “Would you like to accompany me to the café?”
Most everyone was headed to the first-class dining room for breakfast, so the café was empty. Dr. Rushforth ordered one finger of brandy, raising an eyebrow from the young waitress, and a plate of scrambled eggs while I ordered an orange juice.
“It is only breakfast, but I am already in need of some invigorating,” he said in explanation for his pre-noonday drink. “And please feel free to order yourself something. This will all be going to my tab.”
The Worthings were paying for my ticket as I wouldn’t have any money until I received my inheritance, and I had to assume they wouldn’t appreciate me wracking up a bill at the café when meals were included in the cost of the ticket.
“Really, I’m fine,” I said, though my stomach growled.
Despite my assurances, Dr. Rushforth ordered me a fresh pastry to accompany my juice.
“How long do you think Mrs. Stratton’s death will be making news on the ship?” he asked as he swirled his liquor. “Two days?”
The brazen way he addressed the topic made me nearly choke on my orange juice. “Surely longer than that?”
He shrugged. “People do not wish to dwell on bad news, no matter how sensational. Would you like to make a wager?”
“A lady does not gamble,” I said. And certainly not about such a macabre topic.
He leaned in, the smell of brandy thick on his breath. “It will be our little secret. I give it four days.”
I used my knife and fork to slice off a bit of the cinnamon pastry and placed it in my mouth, chewing slowly and swallowing. “What is at stake?”
Dr. Rushforth clapped his hands and leaned back in his chair. “I took you for a good sport the moment I saw you, and you have not disappointed. How about, if I win we share another meal together at the café? Preferably dinner.”
“A date?”
He shrugged, his mouth quirking upwards.
“And what do I win?” I asked.
“The great privilege of besting me,” he said. “It is rarely done.”
Dr. Rushforth did not strike me as a particularly handsome man, and I had no intention of finding myself in a relationship anytime soon—not with the incident in Simla so fresh in my memory and so much to do once the ship docked in London. But despite the very clear age gap between us, Dr. Rushforth made for interesting company, and I was in no position to turn that down. “I think people will be discussing the finer details long past when we dock in Aden,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows and lifted his glass. “May the best man win.”
I touched his glass with my own. “May the best woman win.”
Dr. Rushforth smiled, and we slipped into an easy conversation about his education at Oxford, and his time in the war.
“I was just a child when the war ended,” I told him. “Barely fifteen.”
Dr. Rushforth pretended to plug his ears. “You make me feel like an ancient artifact,” he joked. “You seem far beyond your years, then.”
The waitress came over to refill our drinks—Dr. Rushforth accepted a second brandy glass—and then she leaned forward. “Forgive me, but I was serving in the first-class dining room last night. Were you not at the same table as the woman who was murdered?”
I looked up at the girl for the first time. She had red hair that hugged her face in tight ringlets. She’d pulled it back into a low bun, probably required in her line of work, and wore a white knee-length dress in a crisp cotton with a matching white apron.
Dr. Rushforth and I looked at one another, neither of us sure exactly how we should answer, but the waitress didn’t seem to require our response. She’d recognized us, and her question had merely been a transitional sentence to begin the conversation, not an actual inquiry.
“I only wondered if there is any clue as to who could have committed the crime,” she said. “Since you are her friends. All of the staff are a little anxious, as you can imagine. We interact with all of the passengers, and aren’t awarded the same privilege of locking ourselves away in our room for safety. I’d like to disembark this ship in London, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t believe we will have a repeat of Mrs. Stratton’s murder, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” Dr. Rushforth said.
“How can you be certain?” the woman asked,
eyes wide.
“I can’t, but the odds are in your favor. It is very unlikely that multiple murders would happen on the same ship on the same voyage.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Stratton, as you’ve called her, would have said the same about her chances of being murdered last night when I saw her mingling with the bartender near midnight,” the waitress said, not at all convinced by Dr. Rushforth’s logic. “It was clear she had no fear, yet her life was hours from being ended.”
Dr. Rushforth’s face pulled into a tight frown, and he quickly dismissed the waitress by requesting a fresh brandy, though his was no more than three minutes old.
“The staff here have no shame,” he grumbled as he downed his glass. “And she told such tales, too. Talking of Ruby at the bar until midnight? Nonsense.”
“How do you know she was lying?” I asked. The waitress had seemed perfectly sincere to me. I was fast asleep by midnight and had no knowledge of Ruby’s movements after dinner. How did Dr. Rushforth know so much about her whereabouts?
He opened his mouth and then closed it, shaking his head. “It just feels untrue. Ruby didn’t make a habit of mingling with the lower classes, not after marrying the Colonel.”
Again, I tilted my head to the side and stared at him. “I’m sorry, but I was under the impression you only met Ruby last night at dinner. Were you acquainted with her prior to boarding the ship?”
He stared at me blankly for a moment and then rushed into an animated head shake. “No, I’d never laid eyes on her before yesterday, but I’ve known enough high-class women in my life to know they wouldn’t waste their time with staff while on a ship stuffed to the brim with high-ranking government officials, famous celebrities of the stage and screen, and men in uniform.”
I nodded, trying my best to accept his explanation. “And you mentioned her marriage to the Colonel…” I said, trailing off, the question not yet fully formed.
“Ruby was significantly younger than the Colonel, as I’m sure you noticed,” he said, tapping a rhythm on the table with his fingers. “And I can’t be the only one who picked up on her lack of dinner etiquette. It is clear the Colonel married Ruby not because of her social status, but because of her beauty. And rarely is a low-born girl excited about the prospect of returning to her roots when she has been shown the grandeur of the highest tree-tops.”
I had picked up on all the same things he had mentioned, but I supposed I had fancied myself a keener observer of the human character than most other people. It hadn’t crossed my mind that Dr. Rushforth could have come to the same conclusions as I had.
“Have I satisfied your questions?” he asked, pushing his glass to the center of the table and standing up with an amused smile. “Or will the interrogation continue?”
My curiosity had not truly been satisfied in the least, but it was clear I would be pushing my luck by asking him any more questions for the time being.
“An interrogation? My, for an army man, you certainly are sensitive,” I teased. “Can a woman not ask simple questions?”
“A woman can,” he said, offering me his arm as we moved to join our fellow passengers at breakfast. “But those were not simple questions and I suspect you are no ordinary woman.”
I looked out at the ocean as we walked down the deck. Dr. Rushforth truly had no idea how unordinary I was.
5
The main dining room was awash in shades of red and blue as the morning sun shone through the stained-glass skylights. Diners dressed in neutral-colored tea gowns and suits stooped over their fried eggs and toast, and talked in hushed tones about what the day would hold and what had already transpired.
“How do you think they make so many eggs?” Mr. Worthing asked as he sliced into the soft yolk of his third egg and let it bleed across his plate and into his toast. “The kitchen onboard must be massive.”
“I’m sure the Captain would provide a tour if you were interested in one,” Dr. Rushforth said.
“Do you think so?” Mr. Worthing asked, a childlike excitement bubbling out of him.
“Absolutely. He’s a very friendly man.”
“Why waste time looking at a kitchen when you could explore the indoor swimming pool or the Turkish bath?” Mrs. Worthing asked, sipping on her coffee and leaving dark maroon lipstick stains on the rim of her mug.
“This ship is more than just amenities, dear,” Mr. Worthing said. “It is a feat of engineering and technology. A signpost for human advancement in the face of great odds.”
“We’ve had boats for hundreds of years,” she responded flatly, not allowing herself to be tangled up in Mr. Worthing’s enthusiasm.
“I’ll join you on a tour of the ship and maybe I’ll find out what happened to my mother’s brooch,” Lady Dixon said. Since I’d known her, her mouth had been pulled into a near-constant frown, but today it looked especially sour.
“Have you misplaced your jewelry?” Mrs. Worthing asked.
Lady Dixon barked out a laugh. “Misplaced? No. The brooch was stolen, I’m sure of it.”
Mrs. Worthing gasped. “Are you certain?”
“Well, I certainly didn’t lose it. I’ve carried the brooch with me since my dear, sweet mother left this Earth twenty years ago, and it wasn’t until I stepped onto this ship that it went missing.”
“What time did you last see the brooch?” I asked.
The old woman did not seem particularly interested in talking to me, but her desire to complain overrode her disdain. “I don’t make a habit of tracking the points in the day at which I notice my belongings being present. I do, however, remember when I noticed the brooch missing. Last night after dinner, I reached into my bag and noticed the brooch was no longer pinned to the handle.”
“You kept it pinned on the outside of your bag?”
“If you’re insinuating that the brooch could have fallen off of my bag, then I’ll beg you to save your breath,” Lady Dixon said, turning her hawk-like eyes on me. “I check the clasp every morning, and it was functioning perfectly yesterday morning.”
Lady Dixon’s insistence that a brooch she had carried for twenty years and that had belonged to her mother for who knew how many years before that was not capable of breaking seemed completely in character for her. She would have believed the sun incapable of shining if she’d commanded it to be overcast.
“I will help you look for it after breakfast,” Mrs. Worthing said, patting Lady Dixon’s hand. “I’m sure we will find it around here somewhere. Have you checked with the janitorial staff? Perhaps there is a lost and found area where someone turned it in.”
Lady Dixon didn’t seem convinced, but she at least seemed tired of talking about the matter. Instead, she swatted her niece’s elbows off the table, and told her to sit up. “Really, Jane. Do you want to be a hunchback? My spine isn’t this straight because of years of slouching.”
As breakfast was winding down, Mr. Worthing thought to order a plate of pancakes for Colonel Stratton.
“I’m certain he isn’t hungry, dear,” Mrs. Worthing said. “His wife just died. If I had been the one who was murdered, I hope you wouldn’t be scarfing down a full breakfast a few hours after learning the news.”
“It’s more about the gesture than the actual food,” Mr. Worthing said. “He was upset this morning, and I’m sure his devastation has only grown now that Ruby’s identity has been confirmed.”
Mr. Worthing directed our waiter to bring an extra breakfast plate, and as he went into unnecessary detail on the fluffiness of the pancakes and requested that there be exactly three extra cups of maple syrup on the side, a dark figure lurking at the edge of the room caught my attention.
Medium-height and broad-shouldered, the man was wearing a dark suit, an unseasonably long coat, and a hat pulled low over his eyes. He stayed close to the wall, his face turned away from the tables. He looked like a man who didn’t want to be recognized, but his black cap toe oxfords gave him away. Colonel Stratton had made enough trips to and from the table at dinner
the night before for me to become familiar with his shoes.
I snuck away while Mr. Worthing was trying to outline the plan by which he could deliver food to Colonel Stratton and Mrs. Worthing could help Lady Dixon find her missing brooch, and they would still meet up in time for their badminton game at ten. Somehow, while the Colonel was shouting about his wife being murdered, Mr. Worthing had found time to schedule a game with the middle-aged couple in the cabin across the hall from ours.
“I will meet you on the deck in half an hour,” he said. Mr. Worthing’s arms were loaded down with a travel cup of orange juice and a massive plate of pancakes with precisely three sauce cups of maple syrup balanced on the rim.
“We won’t be done in half an hour,” Lady Dixon cried. Her niece Jane was leaning against a beam that ran from the floor into the ceiling two-stories above, nervously running her hand along the hem of her pink drop-waist dress with a white peter pan collar. “We have to search the entire deck. That will take at least an hour.”
“What if we meet on the deck in an hour?” Mrs. Worthing amended.
Mr. Worthing nodded, and then wrinkled his forehead. “Where on the deck?”
“Near the café,” Mrs. Worthing said.
“Which café?”
“Honestly, dear, how could you not have noticed that giant veranda? It shades half of the starboard side.”
“You mean port,” Mr. Worthing corrected.
“So, you do know which café I’m referring to, then?”
I did not stick around to learn where Mr. and Mrs. Worthing were going to meet up on the deck. Colonel Stratton was slipping through the back door of the dining room and I didn’t want to lose him in the departing breakfast crowd.
“I’ll see you in the room for lunch,” I said over my shoulder, eyes trained on the black clad figure of Colonel Stratton.
Despite everyone whispering about Ruby Stratton’s murder—who could have done it, how she must have died, where on the ship it happened—no one paid her husband any mind as he moved amongst them towards the bridge.
