by Blythe Baker
“Yes, the other couple won’t be going professional anytime soon”—Mrs. Worthing paused to laugh at the criticism—“but it is amazing to be able to play a full game of badminton on a ship. Can you believe it? We played badminton while floating in the Arabian Sea?”
“Truly a marvel of human invention,” Mr. Worthing added.
“No sign of my brooch,” Lady Dixon interjected with a sigh. “I fear it is gone for good.”
Between the Worthings and Lady Dixon, I feared the evening’s conversation would be far from enjoyable. Lady Dixon had been huffing and sighing all morning at the loss of her brooch, simultaneously certain she would never find it, but also unwilling to give up the search.
“Do not say that,” her niece Jane said quietly. “I’m sure we will find it yet.”
Lady Dixon scowled at her niece and shook her head. “Your childlike naiveté is growing tiresome, Jane. It is not lost. It was stolen.”
The young girl flinched at the woman’s harsh words and cast her gaze down into her soup. The night before, Jane had helped herself to a large portion of bread, and Lady Dixon had warned her against eating too much and losing her womanly shape. Since then, the girl had stuck to soups and fruit, and I would have sworn her cheekbones had grown sharper, even though it had only been twenty-four hours.
“You’d be surprised how things thought gone can turn up,” I said, offering Jane a conspiratorial smile which she didn’t return. She had seemed friendly enough to me the first time we’d met but her aunt’s poor opinion of me must have been contagious.
Lady Dixon didn’t even bother looking at me. She simply sighed louder and shook her head again. “I’d hoped this ship would be peopled with enough high society to prevent these kinds of crimes, but in this day and age, there is no safe place. They like to call theft a petty crime, but there is nothing petty about breaking the law. If you want my true feelings on the issue, all criminals should be put to death. It’s the only way to ensure criminals do not breed more criminals.”
“Do you ever offer anything but your true feelings on any subject, Lady Dixon?” I asked. The woman gave her rather severe opinion openly and without shame. I didn’t think her capable of a half-truth or a white lie. She had no desire to spare anyone’s feelings but her own.
“We won the badminton game, though, of course, I felt it impolite to keep an official score,” Mrs. Worthing cut in, continuing her own topic. She seemed to pay little mind to Lady Dixon, who, if eyes could kill, would have murdered me several times over. “We played for fun, after all.”
“I do not waste my time with half-truths,” Lady Dixon said, eyes focused somewhere over my head. “My opinions may be harsh, but I believe more people should learn to accept criticism aimed at their betterment. Take Jane, for instance. When her mother sent her to live with me, she was wild. Now, after six months in my home, she is half-wild, which is a marked improvement.”
Jane’s cheeks reddened considerably, but she smiled up at her aunt and nodded her head in agreement.
Mrs. Worthing spooned out a scoop of green beans and hovered the spoon in front of her mouth. “Perhaps, Mr. Worthing, we will be able to convince our Rose to join us in the court tomorrow,” Mrs. Worthing said.
Mr. Worthing’s eyes brightened at the idea. “What a marvelous plan, dear.”
It would be rude to explain to them how little I desired to spend the day on a badminton court with the two of them, especially in the midst of Ruby Stratton’s murder investigation, so I scrambled for another excuse.
“I wouldn’t have a partner,” I said with a shrug. “It would hardly be fair to play two-on-one.”
“Perhaps, Jane could assist with—”
“No.” Lady Dixon barked, cutting Mrs. Worthing off.
For the first time, Mrs. Worthing seemed to acknowledge Lady Dixon. She looked from the old woman to me and back again, trying to sort out when exactly the conversation had veered away from her own story.
Jane sipped her soup, and only chanced a glance in Lady Dixon’s direction when she was certain the old woman had stopped glaring at her. I wondered whether Jane had always been a nervous creature, or whether endless months of Lady Dixon’s instruction had sucked the willpower from her.
“We met a nice couple down at the courts this morning,” Mr. Worthing said. “They would almost certainly be up for a match. We don’t need to force the young ladies to spend any more time with the old folk than they already do.”
Mrs. Worthing took great offense to Mr. Worthing’s description of her, but she expressed it by remaining resolutely silent the remainder of the dinner, even when her husband spoke to her directly. Lady Dixon made mention of her brooch several more times, but similar to badminton, the table had been saturated with the topic all day and had nothing more to say on the subject. I used the uncomfortable silence to think through what my next step in the investigation should be.
I wanted to find a reason to implicate Lady Dixon in the crime. In addition to knowing Ruby prior to boarding the RMS Star of India, she also had an impossible moral standard by which anyone and everyone was judged. Ruby had far from met this standard, and Lady Dixon had said herself only a few minutes before that she believed all criminals should be put to death. Could Ruby’s flirtation with the Captain, among other men—verging on adultery in Lady Dixon’s mind—have been reason enough for her to harm the young woman? It was a possibility I had to consider, mostly because imprisonment would be the only thing that could lower Lady Dixon’s opinion of herself.
Overhearing Colonel Stratton’s conversation with the Captain had certainly piqued my interest, and the secret compartment in the trunk hadn’t provided anything immediately incriminating, but the secret compartment was certainly a point of interest. Aside from entering the Colonel’s room—which I had no reason to believe he would be vacating anytime soon—I had no other access point to the inner workings of his life. All of the cargo stored below deck had been rolled up to the stateroom Colonel Stratton and Ruby had, only the day before, shared. I needed to find someone who could give me a glimpse into his personality. I had gathered very little from the previous evening at dinner.
Suddenly, I recalled the one detail the Colonel had mentioned the previous night. As everyone had stood to leave the table, he’d informed Ruby he would be going to the smoking lounge.
“On the first night?” she had asked, glancing around the table and then settling her eyes on her husband. It was clear she wished he would accompany her back to the room instead.
He nodded and smiled, addressing the table. “Might as well establish my routine early. I intend to join the men there every evening.”
Dr. Rushforth had voiced his intent to take a brandy there before heading to bed, but Mr. Worthing promised the Colonel he would accompany him there the next evening. The day had been too exciting, and he was ready for bed.
“Is it only for men?” Ruby asked, wrapping a hand around her husband’s elbow.
He extricated himself and pushed his chair into the table. “As an unspoken rule, yes. Don’t worry, I will join you in the room once the smoke and brandy run out.”
As he left, he had whispered loudly to Dr. Rushforth that the ship had three weeks’ worth of liquor and smokes. “It won’t run out until dawn.”
8
The lounge was wood-paneled, and I viewed it through a thick haze of smoke. Men in white shirts and loose ties, jackets draped over the backs of their chairs filled the room. Black-toed oxfords kicked up on the tables, as if their wearers had no worries of scuffing the freshly lacquered wood. The room’s occupants threw their heads back and laughed, mouths open, the sound filling the room as much as the smoke.
It took me a moment to realize that I, a woman, was entering the sacred space of men. I had been standing in the doorway for a spell, and the men had begun to take notice. As I looked around the room again, it had grown considerably less raucous, and I was drawing attention.
Walking into the room had felt
like a good idea before I’d actually done it. If anyone on the ship had heard Colonel Stratton’s true feelings, it would have been one of the men in the smoking lounge. As I stood there, though, I wanted nothing more than to leave. Instead, I walked into the room with a purpose, hoping my confidence would stave off any men who felt the need to inform me I was not allowed in their space.
I didn’t immediately recognize anyone in the room, so I headed for the back corner where a fully stocked bar cart sat. The bottles were all various shapes and sizes of glass, and annoyingly unlabeled. I had very little experience with liquors, so I was trying to convince myself to reach for a bottle, pour myself a glass, and face whatever consequences arose, when a man strolled up next to me.
“Would you like me to make you a drink?” he asked, reaching for a glass before I could even answer.
“Do I look incapable?” I asked haughtily, though I was silently thanking the heavens for his arrival.
He raised an eyebrow at me and then laughed. “I hope my offer was not misconstrued. Any woman willing to walk in here alone is clearly capable of anything. I simply hoped to start a conversation.”
“Then you’ve succeeded,” I said, leaning toward him slightly.
He poured a finger’s worth of some brown liquor into my glass, and I sipped it in such microscopic amounts that I felt only the slightest sting as it dripped down my throat.
“Are you here for the full journey, or do you plan to stop off at one of the ports?” the man asked.
“I’m headed to London. And you?”
He smiled and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to the elbow. His suspenders were bright red, the same shade as his hair. “Perhaps I will see you in London sometime, then?”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “You can’t possibly expect me to set up a date with someone who hasn’t even given me their full name, can you?”
He shook his head, his cheeks flaming. Very rarely had I encountered a man with enough humility to blush out of embarrassment. “Thomas Arbuckle.”
I extended my hand to him, bent daintily at the wrist. “Rose Beckingham.”
He squeezed my hand and bent low to kiss my fingers. Suddenly, I was the one blushing. Thomas Arbuckle was a multi-faceted man, and he almost made me forget my purpose for entering the lounge. Almost.
“Are you in the lounge often?” I asked.
He hesitated. “I don’t wish for my answer to upset you,” he admitted. “If I say yes, you may think me a lazy drunk. If I say no, you may find me to be boring. Which answer would please you most?”
“The truth,” I said plainly.
“It’s the second night on the ship, and my second night in the lounge,” he said, head hanging down. “However, if you find that unappealing, I’ll never set foot in here again.”
I smoothed down my midnight blue satin gown, and readjusted my sequined headband in my hair, moving a golden curl from over my eye. “That won’t be necessary, Thomas. Your frequency here could actually be of some use to me.”
“Then, I will spend every moment of the next three weeks here,” he gushed, grabbing my hand with both of his and leading me to a recently vacated table against the wall. “Anything you need.”
I laughed, unable to hide my amusement at his eagerness. “That is a dangerous offer, Mr. Arbuckle. You know little of me as a person. What if I need something truly nefarious?”
He shook his head vehemently. “Forgive me, Ma’am, but no one with a face so angelic could be evil.”
I tossed my head back and laughed, reminding myself of the men I’d observed upon first entering the lounge. The atmosphere apparently lent itself to full-bodied laughter. “Lucky for you, I need nothing more than your recollection. Do you recall seeing a square-shaped man, past military, bright red face—?”
Thomas interrupted my question with a groan. “Yet another woman ensnared by a military man? I never would have thought I’d regret not spending time on the battlefield.”
“You have it all wrong. I have no interest in this man. Not romantically, at least.” I lowered my voice and leaned forward. “His wife was murdered early this morning.”
“Oh, you mean the Colonel?” Thomas asked at normal volume, drawing the attention of a few men around us.
“I do have another request,” I said as gently as possible. “I don’t want it widely known that I’m asking about the Colonel.”
He pressed a hand to his mouth and nodded in understanding. “What would you like to know?”
“I have reason to believe he was here last night?”
“Yes, most of the evening, in fact,” Thomas said, nodding. Then, his neck shrunk down into his shoulders. “I have just revealed that I was here most of the evening, as well. Please assure me that is not an issue.”
Thomas intrigued me, but I did not think I would be able to spend any considerable amount of time with a man who needed such constant reassurance.
I ignored his request and moved forward with my questioning. “Did he do or say anything that caused any concern or brought you pause?”
Thomas rolled his eyes upward, as if trying to peer into his own thoughts, and then shook his head. “I don’t remember anything sticking out. He certainly dominated the room, though. Every man here was crowded around his table. He mostly spoke of his time in the war. Why do you ask?”
I’d thought it obvious, but apparently, I would have to explain it fully to Thomas. “The man’s wife was murdered,” I reminded him, pausing to see if Thomas’s expression would change from one of mild puzzlement to understanding. When it didn’t, I continued. “I’m curious whether or not he could have done it.”
Thomas reared back as if I’d slapped him. “The Colonel? A murderer?” He shook his head. “Impossible.”
“Not impossible, exactly,” I said. “He spent many years in the war. Men in war do an awful lot of killing.”
“That is different,” he said, though he offered no explanation for how exactly it was different. “I spent the evening with him. Even the thought that he could have left here and then murdered his wife hours later is too dark to consider. I can’t dwell on it a moment longer.”
Thomas Arbuckle truly looked as though he could swoon, and I wondered whether the smoking lounge didn’t make a habit of allowing women in, after all. The thought felt too harsh a criticism on the many women I did know who wouldn’t even bat an eye at the idea of the Colonel murdering Ruby Stratton. Thomas Arbuckle had the constitution of a plucked tulip in the summer heat—he threatened to wilt at the slightest upset.
“I do not wish to distress you, but do you think you could tell me when exactly the Colonel left for the evening?” I asked.
Thomas shook his head, considerably less eager to assist me. “In fact, I can. I assisted him back to his room.”
“Assisted him?”
“The Colonel had a bit too much to drink. He is a solid man, so I would not say he was drunk, but he stumbled several times on his way out, and I chose to see him safely to his room. A ship is no place to be unsteady on your feet. The last thing I wanted was for the man to go overboard.”
“That is very kind of you. So, when exactly did you see him to his room?” I asked.
“It was just before three AM,” Thomas said. “He looked tired and said he would go to bed immediately.”
It was apparent Mr. Arbuckle was trying to persuade me to believe the Colonel impossible of the murder.
“When you delivered the Colonel to his room, did you happen to see his wife?” I asked.
Thomas cast his eyes to the side, but I could tell he was in deep thought. Then, he looked to me, eyes clear, and shook his head. “I did not. The Colonel used his key to open the door, and the room was dark. I assumed the lady to be asleep, but I can’t say for sure. I now believe she had left the room the night before, perhaps in search of her husband, when she met her fate. The Colonel could not have had anything to do with it.”
I knew for a fact the Colonel went straight from
dinner to the lounge and, according to Thomas Arbuckle, he went straight from the lounge to his cabin. Thomas had opinions about Mrs. Stratton’s whereabouts, but I knew nothing of her movements the night before her death. I did have a clearer picture of the Colonel’s, though. If the Colonel had been responsible for killing his wife, it would have had to have been between the hours of three and seven in the morning because I had seen him in the hallway in the morning when the crew member came to deliver the news of the murder.
“I know the thought is a dark one, especially since you were with Colonel Stratton that morning, but from what you learned of him last night, do you believe him to be a man capable of murder?” I asked, though I felt certain I already knew the answer.
Thomas shook his head, picked up his drink, and rose to his feet, prepared to leave me, despite promising only minutes before that he would spend the entirety of the ship’s voyage in the room if I asked. “I do not. He seemed a good, brave man. He told stories of other men he’d met in the war—terrible men with dark pasts. Whatever man killed Mrs. Stratton is certainly more like those other men, monsters who will be revealed in due time.”
“You are certain her killer is a man?”
“Of course it was a man. A woman would not have the stomach for such a crime,” he said.
Thomas had a simple view of the world. One in which monsters, rather than hiding amongst us, blending in and deceiving us, made themselves apparent. One in which men were strong, and women were sensitive, in need of protecting. I felt it was good he had not endured the war, as I was almost positive he would not have survived it.
“I’m sure you’re right. Thank you for your help.”
Thomas wished me luck in discovering whatever I was searching for, though he said it with little conviction, and then moved deeper into the hazy room, blending in with the rest of the men’s faces. I waited a few moments to see if another man would approach me, but none did. So, I swallowed the remainder of my drink, wincing as it burned down my throat and settled in my stomach, and left.
