A Subtle Murder

by Blythe Baker

  His eyes were earnest and probing, and though I didn’t want to stay behind, and I truly had no intention of doing so, I found myself nodding my consent.

  “Thank you,” he whispered with a smile, his teeth straight and gleaming.

  When he left, a shiver ran through me. I had never met someone capable of throwing me off kilter so easily. He didn’t know me, yet he looked at me as though he could read my every thought. And as absurd as the idea sounded, occasionally I felt as though he actually could.

  As I stood on the sidelines, watching as the Worthings grew closer to securing yet another victory—though, of course, we weren’t really keeping score—a pit began to open up in my stomach. Achilles Prideaux had spoken only a few words to me the first night on the ship, yet they had lingered with me for days. Did I really want to give him that kind of power over me willingly? While the Worthings and the Prideauxs were involved in a rather serious and unusual volley back and forth, I slipped from the court and ran up the stairs two at a time. If Monsieur Prideaux wanted to speak with me, he would have to hunt me down himself.

  My fear, though, was that he would do just that.

  10

  I’d begun the day with high expectations, but the badminton game had exhausted me, and the unexpected run in with the mysterious Achilles Prideaux had me confined to my room through lunch and the majority of the afternoon.

  “You left so suddenly,” Mrs. Worthing said for the third time. She was standing in the doorway of my cabin, hand on her hip. She had dressed for dinner in a floor-length satin dress the color of peaches. It matched her skin tone beautifully, and she looked at least ten years younger when standing in dim lighting.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well, but I didn’t want to interrupt the game.”

  “Monsieur Prideaux certainly was sad to see you leave. I think he has taken a fancy to you,” she said with a wink.

  I tried to fully express not only my repulsion at the idea, but how little stock I placed in it, but Mrs. Worthing insisted on repeating the notion to Mr. Worthing and myself several times on the walk to dinner alone.

  Dr. Rushforth joined us once again for dinner, making no mention of his absence the day before. He sat in the seat next to me, which Lady Dixon didn’t seem to approve of.

  “How have you been, Rose?” he asked, cutting into his Shepherd’s Pie with a fork and knife.

  “Very well. And yourself, Dr. Rushforth?” I smiled as I spoke, though I couldn’t say exactly why.

  “Very very well,” he said, placing a special amount of emphasis on the second “very.”

  “That’s twice as good as I have been, so congratulations.” I could feel Mrs. Worthing eyeing me, wondering when I’d had time to grow so close to Dr. Rushforth, and I was grateful she remained silent. The last thing I needed was her raving on about the number of men showing me special attention in such a short amount of time. I would absolutely die on the spot if she mentioned anything about Achilles Prideaux in front of Dr. Rushforth.

  He leaned in to me. “Ruby Stratton still seems to be a large topic of conversation,” he whispered, making reference to the wager we’d made. It still felt improper to bet on when everyone would forget about Ruby’s murder and move on to more positive conversation topics, but it also gave me a slight rush to have a shared secret with a man as intelligent and powerful as Dr. Rushforth.

  I turned my mouth to him, keeping my eyes down on my dinner plate. “It seems as though victory will be mine.”

  He shook his head. “There is time yet for me to win. I refuse to give up hope.”

  “I fear you are wasting your energy hoping for something that may never come,” I teased.

  “The prize is well worth the mental anguish.”

  He was speaking of the date I’d promised him, contingent on his winning the bet, of course. Suddenly, I found myself wishing he would win, as well. For a moment, I’d considered him as a suspect in the murder. He’d been at the same dinner table as Ruby Stratton, and she had seemed rather fixated on him for at least part of the meal. However, I now had my sights firmly set on Colonel Stratton as the likelier killer.

  Mr. Worthing pulled Dr. Rushforth into a conversation concerning his time in the army, and the state of modern medicine, which I was happy to ignore. Lady Dixon had Mrs. Worthing locked into a conversation about the man-handling she received in the Turkish bath.

  “The steam room nearly boiled me like a chicken, and my neck is more sore now than it was this morning,” she griped.

  “I’ve heard a good massage can make you uncomfortable for a day or two,” Mrs. Worthing said. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Worthing?”

  “All of our best doctors are going to the States.” Mr. Worthing was deep into his discussion with Dr. Rushforth, and he didn’t seem to even hear his wife. “Next thing you know, we’ll all be flying to America for diagnoses.”

  “I don’t think the situation is that dire,” Dr. Rushforth said.

  “Well, as long as there are doctors like you staying under the crown, I have no reason to worry just yet, I suppose.”

  Lady Dixon shook her head. “If a massage makes me feel worse than when I went in, it isn’t a good massage.”

  “Mr. Worthing,” Mrs. Worthing hissed, elbowing her husband in the side. “What was that you heard about a good massage making you sore immediately after?”

  “That a good massage makes you sore immediately after,” he said, and then turned back to Dr. Rushforth.

  “See, exactly as I said, Lady Dixon.” Mrs. Worthing seemed to think Mr. Worthing repeating what she had already said was enough reason for Lady Dixon to believe her. Lady Dixon, however, seemed just as convinced as she was before, which was not in the slightest.

  “Regardless, I won’t be caught dead in that massage chair again,” she said.

  The table quieted.

  “For goodness sake, are we all going to shy away from anything to do with death because of one murder?” Lady Dixon asked.

  Mrs. Worthing laughed, though it sounded stilted and sharp. “Of course not. The conversation simply reached a natural lull. It had nothing to do with what you said.”

  We all knew Mrs. Worthing had just uttered a bold-faced lie, but it was a comfort, nonetheless. Everyone slipped back into their conversations, and I took the moment to excuse myself. Dr. Rushforth stood to bid me farewell as I pushed in my chair, but otherwise, no one seemed to notice or mind, which suited me just fine.

  Since that morning, I’d been thinking of what I’d say to Captain Croft. I’d intended to speak to him prior to breakfast, but the badminton game had taken up more of the day than I’d planned, and my run in with Achilles Prideaux had left me a little deflated. However, with a renewed sense of focus I headed towards the bridge, prepared to finally have some of my burning questions about the murder and my prime suspect answered. Before I made it halfway across the room, though, I saw the Captain walking towards me.

  Captain Croft wore a winning smile as he moved through the room, tipping his hat to diners. A few passengers walked up to him and said a few words, but otherwise, the Captain crossed the dining room uninterrupted, his shiny black shoes slapping on the floor. He walked with a purpose—eyes straight ahead, shoulders straight and proud—which I suspected gave most people the impression that stopping him for a chat about dinner or the weather on deck wouldn’t be important enough to disturb him. I wondered whether he practiced the walk or whether it came naturally. The Captain of a ship seemed to be treated similarly to a member of the royal family. Everyone wanted to fawn over him, thanking him for his benevolence, when really it was his job to navigate the ship and lead the passengers from shore to shore safely. With this in mind, I had no qualms about stopping Captain Croft’s brisk walk through the dining room.

  “Good evening, Captain,” I said, side-stepping in front of him as he prepared to brush past me with little more than a glance in my direction.

  He came to a stop so suddenly that his head jerked back. It
took his eyes several seconds to adjust to my face. When he finally did, I saw his charming smile crumble ever so slightly at the edges.

  “Miss Beckingham,” he said formally. “Good to see you.”

  It was apparent he remembered me from the day before, and it was also apparent it was not, in fact, good to see me. He wished to be rid of my presence as soon as possible. He lifted his hand in a quick wave and acted as though he would step around me and be on his way.

  “I do wish to apologize for interrupting what appeared to be a rather sensitive meeting yesterday morning,” I said quietly, leaning in so he would know I had no intention of sharing the content of the meeting with anyone.

  He nodded, his eyes darting around nervously, taking in the group of young women just to his right who stared up at him with stars in their eyes and the elderly couple to the left who kept taking a bite of food and then turning around to openly gawk at the Captain and I as we spoke. Then, he leaned in, as well. “No apology necessary. The conversation, I assure you, was brought on by high emotions and nonsense. No truth to it at all.”

  “The Colonel was in an extremely fragile state,” I said, biting my lower lip and shaking my head slowly. “I assumed he had embellished the truth a bit.”

  Captain Croft pulled his eyebrows together and tilted his head as he corrected me. “No, Colonel Stratton did not embellish the truth. He fabricated the entire story from start to finish. I had nothing to do with Rose Stratton aside from a brief conversation at dinner. And I shared similar conversations with many other women throughout the evening. I spoke to nearly everyone in the first-class dining room, as you may have noticed.”

  I placed a reassuring, white-gloved hand on his elbow. “I did notice, and it is nothing to be concerned over. Neither I, nor anyone else, would ever blame you for noticing what any man with eyes was bound to notice—Ruby Stratton was a beautiful woman.”

  The Captain seemed flustered. His pale face grew blotchy—red patches forming on his neck and cheekbones—and he clenched and unclenched his fists. “There wasn’t anything especially attractive…Ruby Stratton was beautiful, yes, but that does not change…she and I barely spoke at all…the two things have nothing to do with one another.”

  Captain Croft had stepped into the struggle many people found themselves in after tragedy. It felt wrong to criticize the recently deceased, even if that only meant saying she was not as beautiful as people thought her. But in the predicament the Captain found himself in—being charged of a potential crime by the dead woman’s husband—he also didn’t want to openly admit that he had found her attractive. After several seconds of silent struggle in which his mouth opened to speak, but continually closed when he could not find the words, Captain Croft finally settled on silence.

  I could tell he wanted to leave, but being the gentleman he was, he couldn’t seem to decide how exactly to extricate himself from the situation.

  “I do not believe the Colonel’s claims, if that is why you are so anxious to get away,” I whispered. “Whether you and Ruby had an attraction to one another is no one’s business, especially now that she is gone.”

  The Captain didn’t seem fully at ease, but his lips did soften into an uneasy smile. “Thank you, Miss Beckingham. I can count on your discretion, then?”

  “Certainly,” I nodded, eyes narrowed to express how seriously I felt about the topic. “I wouldn’t wish to get you in any trouble with the ship company or your adoring crew and passengers.”

  He waved away my compliment, though I could tell he didn’t disagree with the truth of it. “Thank you again, Miss. Really.”

  He made to move past me, but I once again blocked his way. “I do have a few questions for you, if you have a moment.”

  Captain Croft glanced around the room in search of an excuse to leave, but upon finding none, he sighed and waved for me to continue.

  “How was Ruby murdered?” I asked.

  This was not the question I’d planned to ask first. I’d thought, perhaps, it would be best to build up to it, but with the Captain finally standing in front of me, willing to answer my questions, I couldn’t wait.

  “Miss Beckingham,” he sighed, shaking his head.

  My question was the height of impropriety. Polite society dictated that conversations should be light and cheerful, or, at the very least, not concern the violent murder of a young woman. I understood that, but I couldn’t very well investigate a murder without knowing by which means the victim had been killed. However, I also had to tread carefully. I didn’t want Captain Croft to know I’d taken up the investigation. I knew he would frown upon the idea, and then he certainly wouldn’t agree to answer any of my questions.

  “Please, Captain Croft. She was a friend of mine.” A lie, but only in the literal sense of the word ‘friend.’ Technically, Ruby and I had been introduced to one another at dinner the first night aboard the ship, and she had confided in me only an hour later that she feared for her life. Those series of events hinted at a certain amount of intimacy between us. Of course, I had failed to utilize the information she’d given me to save her, which was precisely the reason I felt compelled to reveal her murderer. Ruby deserved justice, and I would find it for her if I could.

  Captain Croft stared at me for a few more seconds, the wheels in his mind turning. Then, he placed a hand on the center of my back and directed me out of the dining room and into the mostly empty corridor.

  “If I give you the information you ask for, do you promise to let this go?” he asked.

  “Let this go?” I repeated. “Ruby Stratton’s murder happened two days ago. I don’t think wondering how she died is anything out of the ordinary.”

  His eyes narrowed as though he had caught me in a lie, and I wondered whether the Captain didn’t already know about my investigation, after all. Whether he didn’t have at least some clue that my interest went beyond having closure. He didn’t mention it, though. Instead, he nodded in resignation and leaned in close, so I could feel his warm breath on my cheek.

  “Strangulation. Her windpipe was completely crushed.”

  I gasped, though I didn’t know why. Of course, strangulation was a violent way to die, but any kind of murder would have been a violent way to die, regardless. Maybe somehow I’d convinced myself that perhaps Ruby was poisoned. Or the conclusion that she had been murdered was false and she had actually died suddenly of an undiagnosed disease or illness. Learning that she had, without a doubt, been murdered, made me feel slightly nauseous.

  “I know,” Captain Croft agreed. “Such a violent end to a young woman’s life.”

  “Do you have any suspects?” I asked. I still felt light-headed from the previous question, but if I let this opportunity pass by, I couldn’t be sure I’d have the Captain’s ear again.

  “I don’t think it would be prudent of me to share that information, Miss. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I’m sure you have an ongoing investigation, correct?”

  He nodded, and then looked past me down the hallway, his eyes distant and tired. “I really must be going now, Miss Beckingham.”

  “Of course,” I said, reaching out to brush his starched white jacket. “I only have one more question, if you have the time.”

  He raised an eyebrow expectantly. Though the Captain oozed charm, I could tell he was growing impatient with me. “Of course, Miss Beckingham.”

  “Have you been able to discover when Mrs. Stratton was murdered?” I asked.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, as if he didn’t want anyone who may have been watching our conversation to think we were too friendly with one another. “We don’t have an exact timeline, no.”

  “Any guesses? It doesn’t have to be exact,” I said.

  Captain Croft sighed. “Forgive me, ma’am, but this is not exactly polite conversation. I don’t feel right talking about it, and I don’t wish to upset you.”

  I’d asked the question, hadn’t I? If the topic would
be upsetting to me, I wouldn’t have cornered him to discuss it. Lady Dixon had blown up at the dinner table when everyone quieted at her mention of death, and I was beginning to understand her frustration. Of course, speaking of a killing didn’t bring joy to my heart. It was uncomfortable and messy and heartbreaking, but it was also a real part of life. Were we expected to ignore the murder of a fellow passenger?

  “I know the topic can be rather dark, and I don’t wish at all to make you uncomfortable. If your concern is for my wellbeing, let me assure you I can handle the details,” I said.

  “The topic does not make me uncomfortable,” he said, puffing out his chest.

  I smiled at him. “Then, we are agreed. The topic does not make either of us any more uncomfortable than is expected when discussing murder. So, if you are ready to tell it, I am ready to hear it.”

  Captain Croft readjusted his arms and shifted his weight from foot to foot, and I could tell he was wondering whether I hadn’t somehow tricked him into answering the question. Still, he gave me the information I wanted. “Lady Dixon was heard shouting for help from the Stern of the ship at six in the morning. When crew members arrived several minutes later, Ruby Stratton’s body was chilled, but not yet cold. The ship’s physician believed her to be just recently deceased.”

  “Lady Dixon found the body?” I asked. How had that fact not come up? The topic of Ruby’s murder had been raised in conversation several times, yet Lady Dixon never once felt compelled to mention she had discovered the body. That seemed awfully suspicious.

  Captain Croft nodded impatiently. “I’ve seen the Lady and her niece on an early morning walk every day since the ship set sail. They do a full lap of the vessel’s deck before breakfast, and once again before lunch.”

  “And she is not considered a suspect?” I asked, remembering how harshly Lady Dixon had spoken about Ruby after her death. How could she have said so many insensitive things after seeing the poor woman strangled and lying on the deck? The old woman was more of a monster than I’d previously thought, and while I doubted she had the strength to subdue Ruby and crush her windpipe, Jane seemed capable. The question was whether Lady Dixon had enough control over her niece to command a murder on her behalf.