by Blythe Baker
“Good night, Doctor.”
He stood in the hallway, watching me as I closed my cabin door, the concerned expression on his face never fading.
With the door closed and locked, I snatched the fabric from my pocket, unfurling it in my palm. It was a brown patch with three blue chevron stripes stitched into it, stacked one on top of the other.
A military patch.
I heard the cabin door next to mine open and then slam closed, and I turned to stare at the wall as though I could see through it. As though I could watch Colonel Stratton walk through the door and slip out of the dress uniform he had worn almost every day since being on the ship. Did he notice the patch from his right shoulder was missing? If not, he certainly would soon. And then what? Would he come for me again?
I stood in the middle of the room, afraid to move lest he hear me, uncertain what to do next.
17
Yet another night passed with little sleep. If the Colonel didn’t kill me, exhaustion certainly would. The thought of him sleeping on the other side of the wall had been impossible to shake. As I rinsed my makeup off, I felt certain Colonel Stratton had attacked me on the deck. Who else could it have been? He’d been there only moments before, drunk, or at least acting drunk, and his wife had been murdered. The Colonel had been my main suspect from the start. He was the killer, without question.
As I climbed into bed, however, doubts began to creep in. Many men had served in the war. I’d seen more than a few men in their dress uniforms since boarding the ship. It could have been any number of them.
My opinion tossed and turned almost as much as I did throughout the night.
By the time the sun began to rise, shining through the porthole in a beam that illuminated the white room, the only thing I knew for certain was that I needed proof. I needed concrete, undeniable proof that Colonel Stratton was my attacker. Otherwise, I’d never come to a conclusion.
The bruising around my neck, which I had felt rising to the surface all night, had turned to ribbons of black and purple that wrapped around my throat like a deadly necklace. Luckily, my silk scarf seemed to cover most of the damage. I wrapped it around my neck twice, letting the ends hang on either side of my right shoulder.
Mrs. Worthing knocked on my door just as I finished adjusting the scarf in the mirror. In stark contrast to her usual lack of boundaries, she didn’t barge through the door as I opened it. In fact, she stood back, looking at me as though I were a frightened animal.
“How are you feeling this morning, Rose? Any better?” she asked, her lips pouty.
I let gravity pull my mouth down, my eyes sagging with fatigue—which wasn’t too far from the truth, I felt dead on my feet—though not enough to cause concern, just enough to make my excuse seem valid.
“Better, but rather shaky. I think it would be best if I spent the day resting,” I said.
She nodded, eyes closed, lips pursed. “I agree entirely. You really ought to eat something, though.”
My stomach growled at the mere mention of food, and I wanted some desperately, but I also didn’t want to leave my cabin.
“Could you grab me a few slices of toast and a bowl of fruit from breakfast?” I asked. Giving Mrs. Worthing a task would keep her occupied and providing me with food would quell her desire to take care of me.
She brightened at the suggestion. “Absolutely. Food isn’t meant to be taken out of the cafeteria, but I pity the poor crew member who tries to stop me. I’ll bring up a plate directly after breakfast.”
Mrs. Worthing left, and I sat on my bed, ear craned towards the wall that separated my cabin from Colonel Stratton’s. All was silent for several moments, and then I heard a muffled rustling. He was still in his cabin. I lay back on the bed, arms draped over my empty stomach. The Colonel would have to leave eventually, and when he did, I’d gather my proof.
Every time a door along our corridor opened, I sat upright, praying it would be the Colonel’s, but then I’d hear him moving around on the other side of the wall, and lay back again. Mrs. Worthing, true to her word, brought me four slices of toast, a kiwi, and two apples from breakfast. After she watched me begin to nibble at the monstrous amount of food, she left to attend another dance class with Mr. Worthing.
The breakfast plate lasted until lunch and a little after, sustaining me while I waited patiently—and occasionally not so patiently—for the Colonel to leave his cabin. As midday turned to late afternoon, I began to doubt whether he’d ever leave. He had to eat, right? Did he have a supply of food in his room or were crew members bringing the “grieving” widower his meals? I hadn’t heard enough foot traffic next door for that to be true. Perhaps I was waiting for something that would never happen.
Then, just as doubts began to creep in, I heard it—the recognizable thud of the Colonel’s door, followed by retreating footsteps.
I counted to thirty, and then opened my door. The corridor was clear. I closed my own door as carefully and quietly as possible before sneaking over to the Colonel’s. Even though I had no doubt I’d heard the Colonel leave, a primal fear bloomed inside of me. What if I’d been mistaken? What if it had been some kind of a trap?
I pushed the thoughts away, trying to focus on the task at hand.
I needed to get into the Colonel’s cabin, find his uniform jacket, and make sure the patch I’d been clutching in my hand after the attack belonged to him.
While waiting in my room all morning, I’d dug through my steamer trunk and pulled out a jade hairpin I’d purchased at an Indian bazaar. It had been nothing more than a beautiful curiosity to me at the time, but now with its long, sharp tip, it would function as a sort of weapon should I be attacked again. Also, the long tip conveniently functioned as a sort of lock picking device.
With another quick glance down the corridor to be sure I was alone—most everyone enjoyed the ship’s many amenities in the span between lunch and dinner—I knelt down in front of the door and inserted the hairpin into the keyhole. I didn’t know exactly how to pick a lock, but luckily, after only a few twists and shakes the lock clicked and I was able to push the door open. I made a mental note to always slide my own lock chain into place at night since I would no longer be able to trust the door lock alone, and then stepped into Colonel Stratton’s room.
Every square inch was filled with luggage. I knew he’d moved the entirety of his cargo space into his room, but even I couldn’t have imagined he would be living in such tight quarters for the remainder of the voyage. What could have been stowed amongst his luggage that he would go to such great lengths to keep it hidden? More importantly, how would I ever find his jacket in this mess? Taking a deep breath, I squelched my nerves and dug in. I didn’t have any time to waste.
Several half-eaten plates of food lying on the floor near the wall lead me to believe my hunch about the Colonel having his meals delivered had been correct. I scrunched my nose at the rotten odor and pressed on towards the drawers set into the wall. I opened the first drawer and quickly closed it, having no desire to stare at or rifle through the Colonel’s under garments. The second drawer contained nothing except three identical, even stacks of plain white undershirts. The third drawer was the same, except instead of shirts, it contained brown wool pants. Expecting to see the bottom drawer lined with stacks of the same button down shirts all in a row, I was surprised to find it absolutely stuffed to overflowing with a mess of satin, lace, and chiffon. In comparison to the neatly arranged other drawers, this one looked as though it had been overturned and then refilled in a hurry.
I began to sift through the contents, pulling out dresses and skirts, stockings and gloves. It looked like the entirety of Ruby’s wardrobe had been confined to the one drawer. As the pile of clothes next to me began to grow nearly as tall as I was, I wondered whether I wasn’t wasting my time. Unless I was investigating Ruby Stratton’s fashion choices, the drawer seemed inconsequential. Then, as I removed the last blush pink satin dress from the bottom of the drawer, a small black n
otebook tumbled out of the folds. It looked as if it had been carefully hidden away inside the dress.
I remembered what Mrs. Worthing had said about seeing Ruby Stratton writing in a notebook on deck the first day aboard the ship. She’d been writing a letter to Mo Mo, and had hidden it away quickly to keep Mrs. Worthing from seeing the contents. Had she also managed to hide the notebook from her husband?
The first few pages were long packing lists, outlining everything Ruby wanted to bring for the trip to England. Seeing the list, I understood why the cabin was so full of luggage and cargo. Ruby’s lists were exhaustive. I flipped through a few more pages of past doodles she’d done with pencil—crude outlines of buildings and trees. Several pages later, I finally came upon what I’d been hoping to find. At the top of the page, written in loopy handwriting, were two words: Dear Mo Mo.
Dear Mo Mo,
I do not have the slightest idea when this letter will find you—I’ll mail it as soon as the ship drops anchor at the first port. I’m writing more for my own comfort than anything else. I miss talking with you. Even from a young age, you were a marvelous listener.
The Colonel is treating me well, though he has grown curious who I spend so much time writing to. I know he worries I am writing to a young, handsome man. What a relief it would be to him to discover I am writing to a young girl, instead. (Or perhaps it wouldn’t be such a comfort to him, given our circumstances.) I wish I could introduce you to him. He would adore you, as everyone does. I hope you are being treated well.
I do not wish to alarm you, so please take the next few lines to be the ravings of a woman worn thin by nerves. Do your best to make the money I sent last. I know you are careful how you spend things, and I cherish you for that, but I am not sure when exactly I will be able to send more. I will sort it all out, surely, so you have nothing to worry about, but maybe you should live the next few weeks as if you do have something to worry about. If you understand my meaning. Honestly, I’m not even sure I understand my meaning. To be plain, the man from whom I had been getting money may no longer be an option.
If I decide to send this letter—I haven’t decided yet whether I will rip it to shreds or not—then I hope it finds you well. Please send another photo when you have the opportunity. I dearly miss your sweet face.
All my love,
M.
M? I flipped to the front of the notebook where Ruby had written her full name in the front flap. Why hadn’t she signed her own name to the letter, or even her own initials? And she mentioned sending another photo. Did that mean the photo I’d found in the steamer trunk had been of Mo Mo? If so, Mo Mo was no more than a child, which the letter seemed to insinuate, as well. And which man had she been receiving money from? I read through the letter twice more to glean as many details as possible, and I was just deciding that I should put it away and begin my search for the jacket in earnest when I heard the handle of the cabin door jingle.
My heart froze in my chest. How long had I been reading the letter? Surely no more than a few minutes. I’d expected the Colonel to be gone longer. I quickly tried to dismiss my expectations and focus on the reality. The Colonel would walk through his door any second and I was crouched down in the corner of his cabin digging through his and his dead wife’s belongings. There was only one exit, and he would be blocking it. I was doomed.
The key jiggled in the lock and the handle turned. A shaft of light poured from the crack of the door as it opened, illuminating the dim room. I clutched the Jade hairpin in my hand, point out, prepared for a fight. But then, the door stopped opening. I held my breath.
“Colonel Stratton.”
I recognized the voice. The accent was unmistakable. Achilles Prideaux was in the hallway talking to the Colonel.
Fear gripped my heart, but I knew this could be my only opportunity to sneak out of the room without being detected. Even though every bone in my body wanted to stay put in the corner and await my fate, I took a step towards the door, followed by another and another. I moved until I stood just on the other side of the door from the Colonel, and I was able to peek through the crack.
The Colonel had his back to the door, having turned to face Achilles Prideaux. He was holding a silver platter, presumably with food beneath, and a glass bottle, presumably holding alcohol.
“Prideaux,” Colonel Stratton responded, barking out the man’s surname as though he were speaking to a soldier.
“I wanted to offer my condolences on the tragic loss of your dear wife. She was a rose among thorns,” he said. I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination or reality, but it seemed as though Monsieur Prideaux had placed a special emphasis on the word Rose.
“Thank you,” Colonel Stratton said. He began to turn back towards the door, and I jumped back into the room so he would not see me observing them through the crack.
“Do you have your dinner there?” Achilles asked. “That is good that the crew is accommodating your circumstance and allowing you to eat in your room. I wish I could do the same. Dinner service can be so slow, I do wish they would move faster.”
Once again, it seemed as though he was emphasizing certain words more than others. Did he know I was hiding in the Colonel’s room? I moved to the edge of the door and peeked out again. Achilles Prideaux cast his eyes towards me for only a second, answering my question. He knew. And he was attempting to stall the Colonel for me so I could escape.
Without hesitating, I pulled the door open a bit more, just wide enough so I could slip through it. I eased myself into the hallway. I stood less than a foot behind the Colonel now, and I held my breath so it would not hit the back of his neck and alert him to my presence.
“Yes, yes,” Colonel Stratton said. “I’m able to pick up my meals before the start of service.”
“That’s marvelous,” Achilles Prideaux said. “How have you been finding the food? Sometimes ship food can be quite bland.”
I tiptoed backwards towards my cabin door. I’d left it unlocked, a fact for which I was now eternally grateful, and I twisted the door knob slowly, pulling the latch from the door.
“It is fine,” Colonel Stratton said, clearly ready to be back inside his cabin.
“Yes, I’m enjoying it, as well.”
The conversation seemed to be stalling out as I pushed the door open as quietly as possible and stepped back into my room. I was a single second away from the relative safety of my cabin when I noticed Colonel Stratton’s jacket. It was his dress uniform—the exact jacket I’d been searching for.
I hesitated in the doorway. If I went inside, there was a good chance I wouldn’t get another look at the Colonel, at least not before I was attacked again. I had to know whether he’d done it. I stepped out into the hallway and I noticed Monsieur Prideaux’s eyes widening in shock and confusion. I leaned out as far as I could, hoping Colonel Stratton would not catch a glimpse of me from the corner of his eye.
“The weather has been unusually chilly, has it not?” Achilles asked.
If he was stooping to talk about the weather, I really only had a matter of seconds before the conversation died out entirely.
My entire weight was on my right foot, as I peeked around the Colonel’s body, trying to get a good look at his right shoulder where I knew the patch should be. He mumbled something about the wind, and then turned towards his door, giving me a full view of his shoulder and the brown patch with blue chevron stripes. It was stitched to his jacket exactly where it had been the first time I’d seen it. Colonel Stratton could not have been my attacker.
“The wind on deck has been—” Achilles Prideaux started, trying to give me a few vital seconds to get into my cabin and shut the door, but Colonel Stratton was no longer interested in conversation.
“My food is growing cold,” he said, interrupting the Frenchman before he could finish his thought.
Colonel Stratton turned, and the next few seconds passed as if in slow motion. I shifted back to my left foot, stepping inside the door of my cabin just as
Colonel Stratton began to pivot towards his own cabin door. His body was turning, but unable to completely ignore social niceties, his head remained pointed towards Monsieur Prideaux, a polite smile no doubt painted on his square face. I grabbed the edge of my cabin door and began pulling it closed, turning my body so I could squeeze through the small gap. I nearly cut it too close, the door brushing against my chest and catching the delicate chiffon there, ripping it slightly. However, I still managed to squeeze inside the room and close the door behind me with a very soft thud.
I leaned against the wall and waited, breathing heavily. Had the Colonel heard anything? Had he seen me?
“Of course. I understand,” Achilles Prideaux said. “Enjoy your meal.”
The Colonel grunted a thank you and went into his cabin, slamming the door behind him.
I breathed for what felt like the first time all day, my lungs grabbing at the air greedily.
As soon as my breathing and my heart rate slowed to normal, I allowed myself to think on the information I’d just gathered. The Colonel had not been my attacker. But if not him, then who?
Slowly, the answer washed over me like a sunrise, soft and warm before growing to full intensity.
My attacker was likely the same person who had killed Ruby Stratton, they’d served in the military, and they knew I was growing close to solving the case. I only knew of one other person who ticked all three boxes.
Dr. Rushforth.
18
How had I not seen it? At the time of my attack, Dr. Rushforth had been my main suspect. I’d questioned him intensely that afternoon, making it clear I had my suspicions. However, as soon as he began examining me after my “fainting spell,” treating me with the same level of care he’d show any of his patients, I’d dismissed him. Surely, someone so gentle and kind couldn’t be a killer. Surely the hands that examined me for injuries couldn’t have strangled Ruby Stratton and then wrapped themselves around my neck.
