First Blush: A Meegs Miscellany (A Harry Reese Mystery)

by Robert Bruce Stewart

  Like most of the more cosmopolitan Europeans on board the Kronprinz Wilhelm, the Kleinhempels were skeptical of Lady Eleanor’s credentials. Though there were no public confrontations, there were numerous whispered exchanges that ended in poorly concealed titters. Frau Kleinhempel’s only answer to the duchess’s invitation was the Bavarian equivalent of a mocking guffaw, which sounds remarkably like the release of air brakes on a railway car. She had begun closing the door when Mélisande stopped her.

  “It is about a letter of yours she has found….”

  “Letter?”

  “Yes, your friend, he writes very interesting letters. Good-bye, madame.”

  Frau Kleinhempel closed the door and sat on her bed. Thank God her husband (Christian name Luitpold, for those who are interested) was off in the smoking saloon.

  Thinking her jewelry box still safe in the purser’s vault, she assumed the faux duchess had gotten hold of the letter she had passed to the startled boy on that first afternoon at sea. He must be in league with this Lady Eleanor and now the faux duchess was blackmailing her. Having no money of her own, Frau Kleinhempel decided the only thing she could do was to offer a piece of her exquisite jewelry. Perhaps this so-called lady would settle for one of the lesser pendants….

  The lavender-scented Frau Kleinhempel went up to the purser’s office and asked for her brown leather bag. On checking the log, Oskar informed her that her husband had retrieved it the previous morning. A visibly troubled, but still lavender-scented, Frau Kleinhempel could only nod acknowledgment. The assistant purser offered a chair and she sat down, then tried to reason out what had happened.

  Early in the voyage, she had become convinced her husband suspected there was something incriminating in the bag when he thrice suggested she retrieve it and display some of her costly trinkets in the dining room. Normally, he preferred that they be safely locked away. Then, beginning the day before, he made no more mention of the jewelry.

  If he had retrieved the bag and seen the letter—and having as he did the emotions of a child—he would have found it impossible to keep his anger suppressed. And if he had retrieved it and not found the letter, why was he hiding her jewelry from her? Perhaps someone impersonating her husband had claimed the bag? She had just arrived at this thought when she saw through the porthole the startled boy to whom she had passed the other letter.

  Tomasz had been keeping watch on the assassin Oskar when he saw the lavender-scented German lady arrive and subsequently swoon. Was no woman safe from this fiend?

  Recognizing Tomasz as the inheritor of the letter with the piquant penultimate paragraph, Frau Kleinhempel rushed out to confront him.

  “What have you done with my letter!” she shouted.

  Reluctant to remain and discuss the matter, particularly since Frau Kleinhempel was wielding a parasol with a very sharp point like the master fencer she was, Tomasz sprinted off. The swordswoman, encumbered by her fashionably high-heeled footwear, could only shout after him. There was nothing to be done now but see what price this Lady Eleanor was demanding.

  Having been one of the few titterers brave enough to titter to Lady Eleanor’s face, it was with a good deal of trepidation that Frau Kleinhempel knocked on the door of the duchess’s cabin.

  “Bonjour, Dame Eleanor.”

  Mrs. Biddle found her guest’s French lacking. But the obsequious curtsey which accompanied it—so low it bordered on genuflection—had her complete approval.

  “Setzen Sie sich,” she commanded, then continued in her quite adequate German. “We need not waste time. This letter has come into my possession.”

  She handed it to Frau Kleinhempel, who recognized it as the one she’d hidden in her jewelry box.

  “You have my jewelry, too?”

  “Let us say I know where it can be found.”

  “Are you proposing… to keep… to keep my jewelry in exchange for giving me back this letter?” Her emotions welling, the covetous Frau Kleinhempel could no longer keep back the tears.

  “Dry your eyes,” Mrs. Biddle told her. As a class, bourgeois housewives did not rank high in her esteem—and this frail specimen least of all. Still, she could be made use of. “You will have the return of your jewelry tonight. Provided you do as you’re told.”

  “Oh, thank you, madame!”

  “Your bag was dropped by a man on the boat deck yesterday morning and picked up by an associate of mine. Was it your husband who dropped it?”

  “I believe it must have been, but he has said nothing.”

  “Then he hasn’t seen the letter. I suggest you destroy it now.”

  Mrs. Biddle pointed to a bowl and matches on the nearby table and Frau Kleinhempel incinerated the incendiary letter.

  “When you leave here, I will send for your husband. I will tell him I have recovered the bag that he lost and will return it if he follows my instructions. He will not know you’ve met with me, nor will he learn of that letter. Where is he now?”

  “In the smoking saloon.”

  “When you next see him, you shall act as if nothing has happened. Tonight, the assistant purser will come for you to identify your jewelry. Pretend to be surprised. Now, you may go.”

  “Forgive me, madame. But the other letter?”

  “I know of no other letter.”

  “The boy, he was just now watching me in the purser’s office. Is he not your associate?”

  “No. I know nothing about him,” Mrs. Biddle assured her.

  II

  At twenty-five minutes past three, Herr Kleinhempel made his own pilgrimage to cabin 176. A steward had handed him Mrs. Biddle’s note some ten minutes earlier—just after he’d drawn the third of three kings. Her offer of information on the missing bag had not been sufficient inducement for him to abandon so promising a hand.

  Though at first greatly troubled at the loss of his wife’s jewelry, Herr Kleinhempel came soon to appreciate how it could be used to his advantage. He would simply deny he’d ever withdrawn the bag from the vault. Leading the authorities, he trusted, to conclude that some clever thief had impersonated him. And, most essentially, there would be no trouble with his claim on the heavily insured ornaments, because it was his own family’s firm that had written the policy.

  Afterward, he would explain to his wife that the lost items would, over time, be replaced. Though not stated explicitly, it would be understood that she would need to repurchase them with new proofs of affection and fidelity. The Kleinhempels were of the mercantile caste.

  He greeted his hostess politely, but with none of the abject submission displayed by his wife. Mrs. Biddle was noticeably puzzled at his indifference when told she was in a position to return the jewelry.

  “I will be frank, madame,” he told her. “It is a matter of little importance to me whether the jewelry is recovered, or the insurance claim paid. For myself, the latter resolution offers several advantages.”

  “I see. So you have already written off your marriage as a loss?”

  “My marriage? What would you know of that?”

  “I know that few women would tolerate so obvious a scheme to defraud them of what they’d gained through… let us say, backbreaking labors. Though I suppose Frau Kleinhempel may be unique in this regard. Perhaps I was wrong to think her collection carefully chosen by one who cared deeply for such material displays of devotion. I’m sure you know best.”

  Herr Kleinhempel, however, was no longer sure he did know best. This ersatz aristocrat had given him second thoughts. Her characterization of his wife was uncannily accurate. But there was one last matter to be considered.

  “Might I inquire if there was anything in the bag besides the jewelry and the box that held it?” he asked.

  “What is it you have in mind?”

  “Oh, a letter perhaps?”

  “No, there were no letters, no paper of any sort.”

  “And you searched it thoroughly?”

  “Need I answer that, Herr Kleinhempel?”

  “N
o, that will not be necessary. Tell me, madame, what is it you want in return for the bag?”

  “Only your cooperation in catching the thief.”

  “You are unusually generous, madame. Might I ask why?”

  “I wish this man to get what he deserves, but under circumstances of my choosing.”

  “So he is the man who recovered my bag?”

  “Is that important?” she asked curtly.

  “I think it would be to him.”

  “He will be getting no more than his due. These are my terms—you may accept them or not.”

  “I accept, madame. But only on your assurance I will not be accusing an innocent man.”

  “You will not need to make any accusation. Tonight, the assistant purser will come to your cabin. It might be quite late. He will tell you he has found the man who has your jewels. All you need do is identify them.”

  “Very well, madame.”

  Herr Kleinhempel made a short bow and left intending to return to his card game. But on the promenade deck, his fetching wife surprised him. She took him by the arm.

  “Oh, Luitpold. Where have you been? You spend all your time away.”

  This time, the lavender-scented lady’s irresistible look did not fail her. There was a great release of tension in the Kleinhempels’ cabin that afternoon, and, after a light supper, it continued well into the evening.

  At ten o’clock, Mrs. Biddle located Oskar in the purser’s office and asked for his master key.

  “My key, madame?”

  “Do you, or do you not, want to recover the jewelry?” Oskar surrendered his key and she resumed. “At midnight, go to my cabin and the girl will give you instructions. Bring along two stewards. Understood?”

  “Yes, madame.”

  When she emerged, Tomasz came up beside her.

  “Lady Eleanor, what are you doing speaking with that assassin? You should be more careful.”

  “Setting a trap,” she told him. “And I need your help.”

  “Anything at all.”

  “Come to my cabin at 11:30. The girl will tell you just what needs to be done.”

  “I will be there, madame.”

  Mrs. Biddle then went to the cabin of the man currently calling himself Dowling.

  “It’s all arranged,” he told her. “Archie will have Dexter in the reading room at midnight. Do you have the key?”

  She handed him Oskar’s key.

  “Afterwards, you and Archie and I will reassemble here to divide the winnings.”

  “Tonight?” she asked. “I’d think tomorrow would be soon enough.”

  “Yes, no doubt you would. But I think Archie and I will sleep easier if it’s taken care of tonight.”

  “All right. I understand you’ve been doing well for yourself at the table.”

  “Yes, and I don’t mind telling you now that it was essential that I did so. That damn Céleste cleaned me out.” The tired old man looked at her as if asking for sympathy, and for a brief moment, his daughter almost allowed him some. But then he added, “Women have always been my Achilles’ heel.”

  Mrs. Biddle shook her head in disgust and left him.

  III

  The reading room of the Kronprinz Wilhelm closed at exactly eleven o’clock each night. At 10:45, Mrs. Biddle entered the room carrying a brown leather bag. She placed it on the floor and sat down to read a magazine. Then, using her foot, she silently edged the bag under the skirting of a table. When the attendant rang his bell, she left for the Vienna Café and a prearranged meeting with Archie Cobb.

  “When you go in, set yourself up at the table at the bow end,” she told him. “The bag is already in place.”

  “All right. Do you think your father suspects?”

  “Not that I can tell. How much did he raise?”

  “Must be at least five thousand, but I only know from hearsay. Dexter has me a little worried. Never met a man so difficult to get a bead on.”

  “He’s not so different from the typical self-made American yokel. They make a religion of individualism, but it usually amounts to little more than enshrined eccentricities.”

  “Enshrined eccentricities is right—man’s as queer as Dick’s hatband.”

  Mrs. Biddle was not familiar with Dick, or his proverbial hatband, but she seldom felt Archie’s aphorisms worthy of exploration.

  “Another cognac,” she called to the waiter.

  At exactly 11:30, Tomasz arrived at cabin 176.

  “You cut your face,” Mélisande said to him.

  Touching his cheek, Tomasz only now realized that Frau Kleinhempel’s parasol had drawn blood. He let the girl dab at it with a moistened handkerchief.

  “It was necessary,” he lied, “to protect Lady Eleanor. Is she here?”

  “No, she comes later. She tells me to get you ready.”

  She’d removed his jacket before he could object. But when she began loosening his tie, he jumped back.

  “You must stop this! I have come to help Lady Eleanor.”

  “Yes, yes. I know. But you see, Lady Eleanor is very lonely….”

  “Has she read my letter?”

  “Yes, three times she read it. It makes her very… hot.”

  “Hot?”

  “Yes, she goes for a walk to cool down….”

  “Then I should go to her.”

  “No, she wants you to stay here. You see, she likes you very much, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Well….” Mélisande brought her face to his shoulder and sniffed. “She says, she thinks maybe you need a bath.”

  It was true that with one thing and another Tomasz had let matters of hygiene slip from his mind. In fact, he hadn’t bathed since he left his Chelsea boarding house. And for two days he’d been wearing the same clothes.

  “I will see if the steward can arrange for me to use one of the baths.”

  “No, no. Why do that? We have a bath here.”

  “But…”

  For ten minutes, his outsized modesty held his ardor at bay. But when Oskar arrived at midnight, Tomasz could be heard splashing lustily and singing a Polish love song.

  Mélisande entered the bathroom and began picking up his clothes.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I will have them washed for you.”

  “At this time of night?”

  “Yes, the laundryman is my friend. You wait here. If the baby cries, you give her the bottle. Good-bye.”

  “But…”

  Mélisande closed the door and hid his clothes under the bed. Then she went with Oskar to fetch a thoroughly relaxed Herr Kleinhempel and his gainfully talented wife.

  In the meantime, Dowling, Dexter, Mrs. Biddle, and Archie had assembled in the reading room. Both Dexter’s carpetbag and Dowling’s brown leather case were handed to Archie and he took them to the table nearest the bow. There he pretended to count the contents, carefully removing and replacing the same stacks of real currency repeatedly. He announced both totaled more than $100,000, with Dexter having a $3,000 advantage.

  The bidding moved quickly to $90,000. But then Lord Dexter paused. He asked to see the deed again and inspected it carefully. The left eyebrow looked keen enough, but the right was unmoved. His lordship took them into private conference by approaching a window and staring out into the night.

  Meanwhile, the others fidgeted in their seats. Dowling was nervous that he’d taken the bidding too high. Archie was nervous that Dowling had noticed him replacing his brown leather bag with the one that held Frau Kleinhempel’s jewelry. Mrs. Biddle’s fidgeting was not, of course, due to nerves, but merely to the fact she’d left the Vienna Café after three cognacs without visiting the Ladies’ Toilette.

  Once he was convinced he had all three squirming, Lord Dexter returned and secured the deed by making his unbeatable maximum bid.

  Dowling shrugged and offered Dexter his hand.

  “Well, fair is fair, I suppose. No one can say I didn’t give it my best. I w
ill inform the syndicate that they will now need to contact you.”

  He picked up the brown leather bag from the table and was halfway to the door when Oskar entered, accompanied by two stewards.

  “Excuse me, sir. But that bag—it has been reported stolen.”

  “Nonsense. I had it in the vault until this afternoon.”

  “Then you won’t mind if we examine it?”

  “I do mind.”

  “Forgive me, sir,” Oskar told him, “but finding you in a room closed at this hour, I’m afraid I must insist.” He then motioned to one of the stewards, who went to the corridor and returned with the Kleinhempels.

  “Is this your bag?” he asked Herr Kleinhempel.

  “It looks like it, yes.”

  Oskar placed it on a table and opened it, then removed the oblong jewelry box. The lavender-scented lady rushed forward and assured herself her collection was intact.

  “My bag must have gotten switched with theirs,” Dowling protested.

  Instead of responding, Oskar removed a small bundle from the bag and unwrapped it.

  “My damn daughter’s bracelet!” Lord Dexter exclaimed. His eyebrows, still somewhat puzzled by the course of events, quietly signaled their satisfaction via a stately allemande.

  “If it was a simple mix-up of bags, how is it that this gentleman’s bracelet found its way into it as well?” Oskar asked Dowling.

  Dowling looked up at the only one present capable of engineering such treachery.

  “You, my dear?”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  While Oskar had the stewards lead the culprit to his cabin with orders that he be kept under watch, Frau Kleinhempel examined the bracelet he’d just uncovered.

  “Oh, Luitpold. Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”