by Rachel Rhys
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not a criminal. I’d never harm anyone. I was upset when she went missing. Ask Audrey. Anyway, if anyone did anything to her, it would be him.’
‘Who?’
‘Him that was meddling with her on the deck. Him from your dinner table.’
Lily is so taken aback that, at first, all she can think of is Edward. She’s lying, she thinks. He wouldn’t. Then, finally, her fumbling thoughts stumble across George Price.
‘You saw him? You’re a witness. We have to tell the captain.’
‘Don’t be daft. I’m not changing my story.’
‘I’ll tell him, then. I’ll tell him how you lied to him and made a mockery of this whole investigation.’
To her surprise, Ida laughs. A dry sound that she coughs up from somewhere inside her.
‘And I’ll tell him that you’re making it up. Who’d believe you now, after all this time? They’d just think you were as unbalanced as your friend. They’d say you were trying to cause trouble.’
The door opens and Audrey bursts in, seemingly unaware of the tension looming above the tiny cabin like a spider over its prey.
‘Can you believe we’ll be in Melbourne tomorrow? Then, just another two days, and Sydney. Time is flying past, and I want to just grab hold of it and tell it to slow down.’
Now, finally, she senses something in the air, and her face folds in on itself like dough.
‘Oh, Lily. I’m sorry. You’re still upset about your friend. I’m so clumsy.’
For a moment Lily considers telling Audrey what she’s just learned, forcing her to choose sides. But something stops her. Ida’s voice in her head. ‘Who’d believe you now?’
‘I need some air,’ she says, slipping down the ladder in her haste to be gone. When she gets out on to the deck there’s a chilly breeze blowing and she gulps it down like water on a boiling-hot day.
27
1 September 1939
IAN IS SITTING in the bar, drinking a beer, even though it’s not yet ten o’clock. For once, his eyes aren’t creased up with laughter so Lily can clearly see the delicate lattice of lines at the corners, white against his otherwise tanned skin.
‘Isn’t Helena with you?’
Lily is so used to seeing the two of them together she is scanning the room for Helena, even though it is obvious she is not here.
Ian shakes his head.
‘She’s upstairs, mixing with royalty.’
‘Royalty?’
‘The high and mighty Campbells. Doesn’t matter that their moral standards are lower than a dog’s, or that, if you listen to the rumours, her behaviour caused the death of a young woman. They come from money, and therefore they must be better than the likes of me.’
Ian doesn’t sound like himself, and Lily wonders how many beers he might have had already.
‘Surely you don’t really believe Edward and Helena are swayed by money?’
He sighs.
‘Nah. Not really. But their family clearly is. I like Helena. I mean, I really like her.’ He looks at Lily meaningfully and she watches as his Adam’s apple works its way painfully up and down his throat. ‘But she’s scared stiff of her father. They both are. And Father would not approve of me.’
‘But you’ve got a good job. You’re an engineer.’
‘Yeah, but look where I came from, Lily. My dad was a drunk. I left school at twelve and worked on other people’s farms in the middle of nowhere. It’s only joining the army that gave me the skills to make something else of my life. From what I hear of Mr Fletcher Senior, that’s not going to cut it. Anyway, enough about me. How are you feeling today, Lily? I know you were fond of Maria. We all were. She was a nice lady. It’s not right what happened to her.’
For a moment, Lily thinks she might cry. She looks down at the table, concentrating on a perfectly round drop of beer that is soaking into the wood. She thinks about telling Ian about Ida and what she said about George Price, but the words won’t come out past the lump in her throat.
Perhaps guessing her feelings, Ian suggests they go outside to get some air. Though the sea is still unsettled and the air fresh and cool, the sun makes everything hard and bright, and Lily’s unshed tears dry up in the breeze. Helena arrives, solemn-faced, followed by Edward. He is wearing the expression Lily has come to recognize as habitual when he has been in any sort of contact with the Campbells. Closed off. Agitated. Though his hands are plunged deeply into the pockets of his jacket, Lily sees through the woollen material how they move around, as if incapable of being still.
‘Did you have fun?’
If Helena suspects any hidden sarcasm in Ian’s question, she does not react to it.
‘Not particularly,’ she says. ‘Eliza and Max have made some new friends – an Australian actor called Alan Morgan and his wife. Apparently, he is quite famous, although I’ve never heard of him.’
‘And you didn’t care for them?’ Lily asks.
‘No,’ says Helena. ‘Although Eliza seemed very taken.’
Lily does not need to look at Edward’s face to know the expression she will find there.
‘I don’t know why they even invited us up there,’ he says. Angry. ‘We weren’t in the slightest bit necessary.’
‘To show off their new pets, most likely,’ mutters Ian.
‘Not pets. Toys,’ says Helena. She shivers as a savage gust of wind sweeps in from the open sea to their right.
Instantly, Ian is by her side.
‘You’re cold? Shall I fetch you something?’
Lily thinks she might have a cardigan in her bag but, when she opens it up, she finds only Eliza’s fox-fur wrap, stuffed into the bottom.
‘This will warm you up,’ she says, draping it around Helena’s neck before she has a chance to protest.
Edward is smoking a cigarette, leaning on the rail so that the ash drops into the sea and the wind blows his black curls back from his face.
Helena and Ian have fallen into conversation about something, his lips close to her ear to be heard above the wind, and Lily is glad of the diversion so that she can tell Edward what she just learned from Ida, but before she can open her mouth he cuts her off.
‘Just three more days,’ he says, drawing on his cigarette so that his hollowed-out cheeks seem even more pronounced. ‘I cannot wait for this trip to be over.’
Lily feels as though she has been slapped. When we arrive in Sydney I won’t ever see him again, she thinks. And he is glad of it.
The tears that had been threatening to come earlier now well in her eyes, and she looks away, blinking rapidly.
‘I’m sorry you find us all so dull,’ she says.
Now understanding dawns, and he holds out his hands. A gesture of apology.
‘I’m sorry, Lily. I didn’t mean …’
But she doesn’t stay to hear what he didn’t mean. Instead she strides off down the boat, not bothering any more to stem the tears.
Up ahead she sees Clara and Peggy Mills coming towards her and, conscious of the glaze of tears over her face, she ducks into the doorway of the library. It’s a small, generally underused room, so she is surprised to find one of the leather armchairs occupied by a man with his face completely hidden by a newspaper. Only once the door has clicked shut behind her and he looks up with a start does she realize it’s George Price.
‘You.’
The word is a whisper, her voice lost in the back of her constricted throat. She tries again.
‘I know what you did. Up on the deck that night. I know it was you who attacked Maria Katz.’
George’s peculiarly dull eyes sweep over her and past her like the constantly moving beam of a lighthouse. The hand that doesn’t hold the paper goes up to his head, combing through his hair again and again, flakes of his scalp drifting down on to the shoulders of his navy-blue jacket.
‘You can’t …’ he starts, and then stops. ‘It’s not true.’
His voice is thin as cotton and lacks conviction.
‘You were seen.’
Now his eyes swing back to her, but almost immediately slide off again, as if they cannot get purchase.
‘If someone had seen anything, they’d have said so at the time. You’re upset, Miss Shepherd. I can see you’ve been crying. Your thoughts will be confused. But I would urge you to read the papers, learn what’s going on in the world. What happened to Maria Katz is nothing compared with what is about to happen to all of us. War is breathing down our necks. You must pay attention to the bigger picture. We have to be prepared.’
‘If war is breathing down our necks, how come you’re heading to New Zealand? Running away from it, are you?’
Anger has burned away the tears, and suddenly Lily feels she might combust with it.
‘I told you, it’s my father’s doing.’
‘That’s convenient for you, isn’t it? “Daddy told me I must leave. I didn’t have a choice.”’
She puts on a high-pitched, babyish voice to mock him and is gratified to see his lips draw together in a tight, furious line. She presses on.
‘I know you did something to Maria that night on deck. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you had something to do with her disappearance, too.’
George jumps to his feet, letting the paper fall. His cheeks are the colour of black pudding and his whole body quivers. He pushes his face so close to hers that she feels a fine spray of spittle when he speaks.
‘You had better be very careful, Miss Shepherd. I know you think yourself very grand, swanning around with your morally corrupt upper-class friends – yes, the whole ship knows what those two did – but don’t forget, at heart, you’re just a servant. And in three days’ time, when they’re all going to fancy parties and eating in smart restaurants, you’ll be the one waiting on them, and they won’t even remember your name.
‘As for Miss Katz, don’t forget that, when we’re at war, half the people on this ship will be our enemies. I didn’t do anything to her, but I can’t say I’m sorry she’s dead.’
With that he slams out of the library, leaving the room vibrating and Lily’s breath tearing from her in harsh, painful strips. I can’t say I’m sorry she’s dead. The words go round and round in Lily’s already whirling brain until she feels dizzy.
She dashes from the library, determined to find the purser or the captain to tell them what she knows, but, on the way to the staircase, she sees Mrs Collins sitting in the lounge.
When Lily tells Mrs Collins what Ida told her, a deep frown puckers the older woman’s face.
‘Will she make an official report attesting to this?’
Lily takes a deep breath.
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’
The pucker deepens. Ida is fetched. And denies everything.
‘Lily hasn’t been herself for the last two days,’ she tells Mrs Collins. ‘I’m afraid she has become very disturbed and upset since Miss Katz’s disappearance.’
‘And you didn’t say anything to her at all about witnessing an attack up on deck?’
Ida shakes her head. ‘In fact, I said quite the opposite, that I was the person who had witnessed there not being an attack. As I said, I think poor Lily is easily confused at the moment. It’s understandable, with what happened to her friend, and with her being so much under the influence of those Campbells, who, from all accounts, are no better than they ought to be.’
‘You’re lying!’ cries Lily. ‘You’re a liar!’
‘There’s no call for that.’ Mrs Collins sounds sterner than Lily has ever heard her.
Ida is dismissed and now it is just the two of them, seated together on a sofa in the corner.
‘She’s lying,’ Lily repeats. ‘I’m going to inform the captain so that he can report it to the police in Melbourne.’
‘I cannot stop you doing that, Lily. But I would advise you to think very carefully. Firstly, you are accusing someone of a very, very serious crime. And George Price comes from a good, respectable family. His father works for the government in India, don’t forget. And you’re accusing Ida, too, of lying to the authorities. And that could have consequences for a woman in Ida’s position.
‘Secondly, it will come down to your word against both of theirs.’
‘I can’t just say nothing.’
‘Think of your future, Lily.’ Mrs Collins lays one of her hands, soft as a floury bap, on Lily’s shaking arm. ‘If the captain and the police have you down as a troublemaker, it might count against you. I don’t need to remind you that, when we arrive in Sydney, in just three days’ time, there are interviews set up with prospective employers – all respectable women. A thing like that is going to be very off-putting and, if you fail to secure a job … well, you’ll be on your own. Destitute. Thousands of miles from home.’
Lily opens her mouth to speak. Thinks better of it. Swallows.
‘But if Maria really was assaulted that night on deck, what’s to say she wasn’t attacked again? What if she didn’t jump but was pushed – and I haven’t said anything?’
‘If!’ Mrs Collins sounds triumphant, as if with that short, two-letter word Lily has admitted defeat. ‘That’s just it, Lily. There is a very large “if”. And you are staking your entire future upon it. Is that really a risk you are prepared to take?’
Lily is silent, and Mrs Collins clearly senses capitulation, for her voice softens.
‘My dear, you have had a terrible shock. I’m sure we all feel just terrible about what happened to that poor lady. But you have excellent references from England. You will have your choice of positions once we arrive in Sydney, I’m quite sure. I think you could do very well for yourself in Australia, make your family proud. I would hate to see you jeopardize all of that for a – frankly – absurd allegation, which, I have to tell you, is highly unlikely to be believed.’
After leaving the lounge Lily makes her way to the far end of the deck and sinks down into the chair where Maria was sitting the last time they met. For a moment she imagines she can feel the imprint of Maria’s bones in the canvas, smell her lingering sadness, but the biting wind soon sweeps such thoughts aside. The pile of blankets has gone and it starts to feel bitterly cold, exposed to the elements on both sides. Still Lily remains, staring intently through the metal railings. But she doesn’t see the sky, clotted with grey clouds, or the churning, gunmetal sea. Nor does she notice the movement from the upper deck behind her, where Eliza Campbell, standing next to a man with a narrow black moustache and black hair so shiny it looks to have been polished like a leather shoe, is waving her arm, trying to snag Lily’s attention. Instead, there’s only one image plastered on the inner walls of Lily’s mind, only one face she sees as she hugs her arms around her frozen body, fingers digging into her own goosebumpy flesh.
George Price.
28
2 September 1939
LILY SURVEYS THE crowd on Melbourne dock through heavy-lidded eyes. Last night, not wanting to risk a further confrontation with Ida, she stayed up far too late, until she could be sure her cabin mate would be asleep. Then she got up early to slip out before the others awoke. Now, though the day is clear and fresh, she feels as if she is seeing the world through a soupy haze.
The quayside is alive with activity. Many passengers are leaving the ship for good, urgently scanning the crowds for a familiar face. Some people on the dock are holding up placards with the names of people they have been sent to meet. They have that anxious, expectant look of people hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.
In addition to the crowds awaiting their own ship, there are knots of people here and there attending on the other ships in the port, so the whole scene is one of great animation.
Beyond the grey industry of the docks the Australian coastline stretches away with long, yellow-sanded beaches and, behind them in the far distance, the grainy peaks of the Dandenong Mountains, strung out along the skyline.
The ship will be in Melbourne for the whole day. Plenty of time for the twenty-
minute train ride into the city, so Lily is in no hurry to get moving. Plus, her bones feel so heavy, making her movements slow and sluggish.
Someone taps her on the shoulder, a light, diffident touch.
There stand the Neumanns. He with his hat on, and carrying a battered briefcase that looks suspiciously light. She with her brown skirt and blouse and a jacket of some indeterminate colour between brown and a drab, dull green.
‘We leave the boat here, Miss Shepherd,’ says Mr Neumann. ‘We want only to say goodbye.’
His tiny, bird-like wife looks searchingly into Lily’s face.
‘You are not so well, Miss Shepherd?’ she says. One of those statement/questions that Lily finds so hard to respond to. She is suddenly conscious of her tangled, unbrushed hair and the creases in her navy linen skirt.
She thinks about telling them what she has learned about George Price and the assault on the deck, rehearses in her mind what she would say. Yet she knows she will not say it. Maria is gone, and nothing will bring her back. Lily, however, is still here, about to start a new life in a country where she knows no one and has nothing to offer but the references she brings with her. Mrs Collins is right: she cannot afford the luxury of making claims that cannot be substantiated.
‘I haven’t slept well. That’s all. I didn’t realize you would be leaving here in Melbourne. Where are all your things?’
Too late, she remembers what Maria told her about some of the Jewish passengers having only the clothes they were wearing when they left and feels hot with embarrassment.
‘We will write to Maria’s sister and tell her what has happened,’ says Mrs Neumann. ‘You will not worry. You were a good friend.’
But as Lily watches them descend the gangway, two diminutive figures with straight backs and shiny patches on their clothes, she knows it’s not true. She was not a good friend, and she knows she will always, her whole life, carry a little ribbon of shame sewn on to the inside of her heart.
The Fletchers and Ian Jones join her. They have all arranged to go ashore together.
