by Blythe Baker
But, of course they could. And they had.
Dr. Rushforth had served in the army as a surgeon and he’d known the Strattons socially for years. I didn’t yet know what cause he had to kill Ruby Stratton, but it had to have something to do with the letter she’d been writing to Mo Mo. Ruby had told me she feared for her life, and earlier that day she’d been writing to a little girl, telling her she would no longer be able to send money. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
I paced around my room, ignoring Mrs. Worthing’s knocks on my door near dinnertime, allowing her to think I was asleep, and spent the evening in thought. Aside from my own suspicions and a shoulder patch, what other evidence did I have? I could tell someone I believed Dr. Rushforth to be the killer, but no one had any reason to believe me.
As I moved nervously around my room, afraid to stay put where Dr. Rushforth knew to look for me, and afraid to wander around the deck alone, lest I be attacked again, I heard a familiar rustling near the door. Unlike the first time when I’d stood back in fear, I darted across the room and stooped to pick up the piece of paper that had slid under the door.
Bottom deck, coal storage space, starboard-side.
The words were scrawled across the page, but I knew who’d written them. I’d almost forgotten about Aseem, hiding below deck and lurking nearby, listening and observing. Perhaps that was where his strength came from, his ability to shift in and out of focus, to be front and center one moment, and on the periphery the next. I hoped he had managed to gather more information on Dr. Rushforth than I had.
I checked my makeup in the mirror, powdering over the scar on my left cheek, adjusting my scarf around the bruising on my neck, and slipped into a brown pair of t-strap heels. Before leaving, I made sure to grab the Jade hairpin and stash it in a fold of my scarf.
I earned a few curious glances from fellow passengers as I walked down the corridors, especially as I moved to progressively lower decks. Though I had on a daytime tea dress well after dinner, I was still clearly a first-class passenger, and it was unusual for first class passengers to find themselves too far into the belly of the ship. And I was going to the very bottom.
It seemed off that Aseem would want to meet in the bottom of the ship, especially in a place where he was more likely to run into some of the ship’s crew, but I figured he had his reasons. Aseem didn’t seem the type to take uncalculated risks.
As I moved lower, the walls grew bare. The neutral-colored art that decorated the spaces between the first-class cabins was replaced with more doorways to smaller cabins in the lower decks. There were no sitting rooms that adjoined separate cabins into a suite, just small rooms filled with bunk beds. I tried to imagine what it would be like to share a room with a stranger, especially after a murder had been committed. I’d been nervous just sleeping alone in my cabin.
Finally, after what felt like hours, I reached the bottom deck. The lights were dimmed and the long hallway stretched on forever, the entire length of the ship. There were no portholes allowing for a glimpse outside, so the narrow hallway felt all the more oppressive. I was close enough to the propellers of the ship that I could feel the powerful thrum of them vibrating against the soles of my feet.
I was halfway down the hallway when I saw a door up ahead cracked open. The room within was dark, so I knocked softly.
“Aseem?”
I saw a shadow move inside the coal storage room. I grabbed the door and pulled it open further, allowing enough space for me to step inside. The light from the hallway filtered inside, and I was finally able to make out the shape of the person inside. However, by the time I recognized him and tried to move away, it was too late. Dr. Rushforth plunged his hand through the door, grabbed my arm, and pulled me inside the room. He slammed the door behind him, pressing his back against it, effectively blocking my exit.
“Hello, Rose,” he said with a snarl.
19
I wanted to scream, but I knew it would do no good. The machinery at the base of the ship let off a constant hum that dampened all other noise, like a heartbeat. Like my own heartbeat. It felt like a hummingbird had been trapped in my chest and was fighting to get out, pushing against my ribcage.
“I warned you to leave the investigation to the professionals,” Dr. Rushforth said, shaking his head in disappointment. Like I was a naughty child, he the overworked parent.
“You killed Ruby Stratton.” The words just needed to be said. Before whatever else happened, I needed to speak the truth, to see the investigation through to the end.
“I did,” he said, nodding. “But she wasn’t as sweet and innocent as she appeared.”
“She did not deserve death.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know what she did,” he said, pointing at me as he moved forward, the expression on his face deadly.
Dr. Rushforth would kill me. I could see it in his eyes, and I’d felt it in his grip that night on deck. The ease with which he’d crushed my windpipe closed said that well enough. Now, he was blocking my only path of escape and no one knew where I was. For the first time in many days, I didn’t have a plan. There was no obvious next step. I needed to stall.
I quirked my head to the side. “What did she do?”
“She discovered sensitive information about my past and she used it against me.”
“Blackmail?”
He nodded solemnly, as if blackmail was a reason to murder someone in cold blood.
“I wouldn’t think you subject to a woman’s threats,” I said, in an effort to goad him into a longer explanation.
“I did not know the threats came from a woman,” he said. “Certainly not a woman I dined with several times a week and whose husband was one of my dearest friends.”
“What sensitive information did she have over you?”
Dr. Rushforth pulled his thin lips into an even thinner line. His feathery eyebrows came together, drawing his face into the center and giving him the appearance of a rather large rodent. It was clear he did not want to tell me.
“No need to be coy now,” I said. “We both know I will not be leaving this room.”
Dr. Rushforth seemed to consider my words, and then took a deep breath. “I served as a surgeon in the war.
As he began to speak, a shiver ran down my spine. Though I had already come to grips with the fact Dr. Rushforth would kill me, by launching into his admission, he had confirmed it.
“As war goes, people live and die. I am a surgeon, not a magician. One day, at the height of the fighting, three soldiers were rolled in all at once. Gaping wounds. Missing limbs. Tears. Blood. The scene was chaotic.”
He waved his arms as he described the day, his eyes closing as if he were imagining it all over again.
“Nurses were using anything they could find—towels, soiled clothes, bed sheets—to sop up the blood. I was trained to operate in any kind of setting, so it didn’t bother me. I did my best work that day, but within the next twenty-four hours, all three men lost their lives. There were whispers that I had lost my touch and should no longer be in an operating room, but time passed and the whispers died down and people forgot. Or, at least, I thought they had. Years later, I received an unaddressed letter in my mailbox. The writer knew about the men who died while under my care, and unless I paid a large sum of money, the writer would tell everyone how the men died.”
“How did the men die?” I asked, unable to help myself. As scared as I was, the story was engrossing.
He shook his head, half-laughing. “It was ridiculous. Some talk of me being drunk while on duty. Absolute nonsense, of course.”
“Then why did you pay them?”
He shifted his focus to me, eyes narrowed and dangerous. “Because although there wasn’t an ounce of truth to the claim, I didn’t want my past to come back to haunt me.”
I thought of my own past, the demons lurking in my own history, and I could understand him. Except, I couldn’t. Why would he spend years paying money to someone over a false c
laim? It didn’t make any sense.
I shook my head, unable to reconcile the story he was telling with the reality of the situation. “You could have gone to the police or to your employer. If the claims were false, surely you could have—”
He shouted loudly, running his hands through his hair. “Fine. You are right. You will be dead soon, anyway. No need to keep up the lie. I was drunk. The day had been a slow one, and I’d partaken in a few too many gin and tonics. When the soldiers arrived in bloody tatters, it was clear I was the only surgeon in the building with enough experience to save them. Had I been sober, I believe I would have. Unfortunately, I cut a few corners, made a few mistakes, and the men lost their lives. Somehow, Ruby Stratton discovered my secret, and she used it to take advantage of me.”
He exhaled loudly, as though he had sat down a heavy load after years of carrying it. He looked up at me and smiled. “What a relief. It feels good for someone to know the truth.”
“How did you discover Ruby Stratton was your blackmailer?”
He raised a finger in the air to let me know I’d made an interesting point. “That was pure luck. Because I considered her a friend, I happened to tell her that because of a few misplaced bets, I was running low on cash. Then, for the first time in months, I didn’t receive any correspondence from my blackmailer at the first of the month. A few weeks later, Ruby asked about my financial situation and I told her I had settled all of my debts. Days later, even though it was only the middle of the month, a letter arrived in my mailbox. I put two and two together.”
“Why would Ruby be blackmailing you?” I asked. “What would she do with the money?”
“You actually came close to solving that piece of the puzzle,” Dr. Rushforth said, clapping his hands together a few times in congratulation. “The ‘Mo Mo’ your Mrs. Worthing saw Ruby writing to? That was the pet name Ruby gave to her daughter.”
Daughter? I didn’t know Ruby had a daughter. The girl in the photograph from the steamer trunk looked nearly ten-years-old. Ruby had to have been pregnant when she was only around fifteen, surely many years before she met the Colonel.
“Ruby’s child was illegitimate, and a complete secret from her husband. The sad thing is, I would have taken pity on the poor woman had she told me of her circumstances. I may have even offered up some money to buy the child a winter coat or some new dresses. But instead, Ruby manipulated me. She chose her path,” he said with a snarl.
“The girl was a secret. If Ruby had confessed, she could have lost her husband, her life. She would have had no way to provide for her child.”
Dr. Rushforth didn’t seem to hear me. He looked over my shoulder, his eyes fixed on a point in his memory, and a smile slipped across his lips. “I stood with the Strattons while our luggage was being loaded onto the ship. Ruby was smiling, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear when I leaned down and whispered: ‘Mo Mo.’ She practically fainted with fright. After killing her, I’d planned to throw her body overboard. People occasionally fall overboard on ships. Bodies are never recovered. It happens. However, I was interrupted before I could dispose of her body. I tried to take care of it in the morning, but Lady Dixon and Jane were out for their morning walk.”
Dr. Rushforth shook his head in disappointment and then looked over as though he’d almost forgotten I was there. “You are one to talk about secrets. You know all about secrets, don’t you Rose Beckingham?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, taking a step towards me, forcing me into the corner of the small room. “You are a top of the line impersonator. Truly, world class. However, your accent needs some work.”
I tried to say something, but it felt like I’d swallowed my tongue. “I don’t know what—”
“I’ve spent time in America. I know what an American accent sounds like. When you are flustered, your British accent falters and your real voice slips out. I doubt most people notice, but I picked up on it. I do not know who you truly are, but there is one thing I know for certain. You are not the English-born, highly educated heiress to the Beckingham family fortune.”
I understood what Dr. Rushforth meant now about it feeling good for someone to know the truth. For weeks I’d been faking the accent and the family connections, doing my best to blend in and talk as little about the car explosion as possible. Now, however, finally, I could tell my story.
“You shared your story with me, so it only feels fair I should share mine with you,” I said, dropping the British accent for the first time, allowing my native New York dialect to shine through. It felt like taking off a heavy hat after a long day.
Dr. Rushforth tipped his head to me, waving his hand for me to continue.
“My name is Nellie Dennet. I was Miss Rose Beckingham’s companion while she lived in India, however, as you have already surmised, I was born in America. I grew up in the Five Points district of New York. If you know anything at all about the city, you’ll know that area is a slum. Crime-infested, disease-ridden, over populated. My childhood held many horrors, one of which—I won’t bore you with the details—left me alone in the world at the age of fourteen. I spent a few months in an orphanage before a wealthy patron of the orphanage took me in, employed me, educated me, and found me the position in the Beckingham household. I was sent out to the Beckingham’s in India and stayed in their home for many happy years, straddling the line between a dear friend and a maid to their daughter Rose. We looked a lot alike, Rose and I. While still young, we enjoyed fooling strangers into mistaking us for one another. Rose learned to imitate my New York accent, and I mastered her British one. Or, I suppose, nearly mastered it.”
I remembered Rose’s curly blonde hair, the day we’d cut it into a fashionable bob, nearly sending her mother into a conniption. Then the image shifted. I saw her pale, lifeless, covered in soot and debris. The explosion had sent her flying towards the opposite side of the car, but as the smoke cleared, I saw her hand, fingers curled and bloody next to me.
“I was in the car with Rose and her parents in Simla. A violent revolutionary lobbed the explosive through the driver’s side window, and the entire Beckingham family, the people I’d called my own family for ten years, were gone. Rose’s face was burned beyond recognition, but somehow I escaped with little more than a scar. When I woke up in the hospital, I realized the mistake my rescuers had made. They’d assumed me to be Rose. I didn’t plan to impersonate her, but then I began to wonder what Rose would want for me. Would she want me to be alone in the world again? Would she want me to be penniless and homeless? Or, would she want me to have the life that would have been hers? I decided to assume the role and my new life. The Worthings had seen photos of Rose but they hadn’t met her, so they didn’t possess a single doubt that I was precisely who I claimed to be. I knew I would miss being Nellie Dennet, but becoming Rose had one major advantage.”
Dr. Rushforth chuckled to himself. “I assume that advantage includes the large Beckingham inheritance that Rose would claim once back in England? She was an only child, was she not?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I have no interest in money for its own sake. I made it far enough in my life without it. But assuming the identity and inheritance of Rose gives me the…freedom…to complete a personal mission. To right a wrong from my past.”
“What wrong might that be?” Dr. Rushforth asked.
I shook my head. “A killer like you would never understand my full plan.”
Dr. Rushforth shrugged, and I sensed the time for sharing was over. I didn’t know how long I’d been in the coal storage room, but it felt long enough that Mrs. Worthing would have noticed me missing from my room. Were people looking for me? Was anyone concerned?
“Why have you told me all of this, Rose? Or, Nellie, should I say?”
“For the same reason you’ve confessed your crime to me. We both know only one of us is leaving this room alive, and the one left behind will have no further need of secrets,” I
said.
My words must have spurred Dr. Rushforth into action because he suddenly lunged across the small room, hands extended for my throat. I ducked, causing his hands to smash into the wall behind me, and made a beeline beneath his arm. I nearly grabbed the door handle, but before I could, Dr. Rushforth’s thick arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me back, slamming me onto the floor.
“I never wanted to harm you,” Dr. Rushforth panted. “If you’d stayed out of my business, I would have let you move through life with your false accent and identity. I wouldn’t have said anything, but now you’ve left me no choice.”
The Doctor reached into his jacket and pulled something out. He held it in front of his face, and even in the dimness, I could see the outline of the pistol in his hands. He was going to shoot me.
My arms were pinned down by one of Dr. Rushforth’s arms, but thinking quickly, I kicked out with my leg, connecting with his wrist and sending the gun clattering across the floor. In the scramble to retrieve it, Dr. Rushforth released my arms, allowing me to pull the jade hairpin from the folds of my scarf. He leaned across me, arm outstretched towards the gun, and I wasted no time plunging the pin into his side. Blood immediately stained the white fabric of his shirt, and he howled in pain, rolling onto the floor, a hand pressed to his wound.
I kicked out at him again, this time landing a blow to his nose. He rolled away from me, trying to place a safe distance between himself and my flailing limbs. I stood up, the pin held in my outstretched hand as a warning, trying to keep him from charging at me again.
Dr. Rushforth still blocked the door with his body, so my chances at escape were slim unless I could kill him. Only, I did not want to. I would, absolutely. Especially if he charged at me again. But I had no desire within me to kill the angry man before me.
