by Rose Donovan
“I don’t see why not. That blue she had on yesterday was rather subdued; she could easily handle something more vivid.”
“Thanks, dearest. Come and give me your thoughts on the drawings in a little while?”
“I’d love to.” But what to do in the meantime? She had fifteen minutes until she was due to pick up Victor. Fina decided to see if anyone was on the quoits deck. Perhaps Ian would give her a quick game.
But just as she reached the stairs to the top deck, a hand tapped her on the shoulder. Not again, she thought. This time it was Emeline. She was dressed, no, encased – again – in a brown material that tried to mimic linen, but failed miserably. Was it burlap? Surely not. But it did look like a cross between tweed and linen.
The hairs on Fina’s arm prickled. Just looking at that material made her itch.
“Oh, good morning, Miss Caulk. I don’t suppose you fancy a game of quoits?”
“It seems a trivial recreation,” huffed Emeline.
“But it is rather an enjoyable way to pass the time on board ship, Miss Caulk. You must admit.”
“I will admit no such thing, Miss Aubrey-Havelock,’ she said, nose held high.
As if realising she had gone too far, she bent her considerable frame toward Fina in a conspiratorial voice. “I must speak to you urgently, Miss Aubrey-Havelock.”
Fina’s stomach tensed. She could feel her eyes growing wider. Did Emeline have inside information about the strange atmosphere on the voyage – or the alleged attempt on her sister’s life? She wished Ruby hadn’t retreated to their cabin. Drat. Well, she could handle this on her own.
Smiling at Emeline – though not for the reason Emeline might have supposed – Fina nodded. “But I am due to have lessons with Victor. May he accompany us? I can ask him to read quietly if we go to the reading room.”
Emeline gave her approval with a grimace and a nod. She stormed toward the reading room.
12
A pleasing jumble of books lined the walls of the reading room. They formed a sort of cocoon which eased Fina’s nervousness. Nervousness borne of anticipation? Perhaps, but if she were honest with herself, it was also disgust at the woman sitting across from her in the high wingback chair. Victor hummed softly in the corner, alternately reading and playing with his giraffe.
Emeline’s face, in contrast to her rigid frame, was quite round – an effect heightened by tightly pulled back hair. Her head appeared completely disembodied, as if it had been borrowed from someone else. The only contribution to fashion was a long string of pearls, falling down her chest as if they were trying to escape to the floor.
Fina broke into a sweat as she studied Emeline’s usual high-necked dress. When Emeline bent to the side to pick up her pince-nez that had fallen to the floor, Fina saw an angry-looking scar – a long, pinkish slash across her neck. Well, at least one mystery was solved, thought Fina. She was surprised that Emeline was self-conscious about this scar. She had admired a woman who could so completely not care what other people thought of her.
Placing her pince-nez firmly back on her nose, Emeline clasped her hands in her lap and began to bark out phrases, like a small, rather excited dog.
“Miss Aubrey-Havelock. I need to speak to you. About the boy. About you.”
Emeline’s hands quivered in her lap. Her arms pressed her hands down deeper into her lap, as if in an epic struggle of will with her hands.
“Yes, Miss Caulk. Do go on. And please call me Fina.”
Ignoring her completely, Emeline said, “Miss Aubrey-Havelock. That boy should not be exposed. Exposed to…” She began to sputter. Little flecks of spit appeared from her lips and quickly dissipated into the ether.
“Yes, Miss Caulk?”
As if giving in to the urge of an addict, Emeline’s whole body relaxed as she withdrew a pamphlet from her carpet bag.
Fina’s stomach began to flip gently, like an omelette being turned in a pan. This must be it!
She scrutinised the gift from Emeline. The title read Race Mixing and the Dangers to White Womanhood. It featured pictures of happy white children on the front cover.
Fina’s heart sank. Not only was Emeline clearly not their contact, but she was just as disturbed on the inside as she appeared to be on the outside.
“I saw you talking to the steward. Neville. And. well. You travel with Miss Dove. You know we British women – or I should say we British women of the Empire – have a moral duty to preserve and uphold the race.”
Before Fina could respond – which she couldn’t because she was frozen in place – Emeline pulled out another pamphlet from her veritable library posing as a carpet bag. She nearly flung it into Fina’s lap.
Still dumbfounded, Fina looked down at the second pamphlet. She recognised the title. She had heard about it from friends – it was so controversial that she hadn’t seen a copy of it. The title was Married Love by Marie Stopes. One of these friends had told her that Stopes advocated compulsory sterilisation. Just the thought of it made her shudder.
Clearly taking advantage of Fina’s inanimate state, Emeline leaned over and whispered, “I have some paraphernalia, you know, in my cabin. You should give it most especially to Miss Dove. And for yourself, though I clearly advise you against taking up with that Neville character.”
Fina’s muscles began to move again. She unclenched her fist and stretched the joints of her fingers. Then, looking down at her now flat, but shaking hand she sprang out of her chair. The offending pamphlets spilled onto the floor.
Without any conscious thought, Fina heard a “thwack” and looked down at the reddening left cheek of Emeline’s now bunched up, round face.
Fina glanced briefly at her own red hand, as if in disbelief. She heard her own voice say calmly as she mechanically scooped up her clutch from the chair, “Come, Victor. Perhaps we can see if Gilbert wants to play. It has certainly become much too stuffy in this room. I can hardly breathe. There seems to be a distinct odour which I cannot abide.”
Out on deck, Fina sucked in great gulps of tangy air. The gentle lapping of the waves was a welcome relief. She could almost convince herself that Emeline did not exist. Not wanting to tempt fate by allowing her time to follow out of the reading room, she grabbed Victor’s hand and led him down the deck toward the Gibbses’ cabin. The idea of being wholly immersed in the worries of children rather than adults was most appealing.
“What does it mean to ‘uphold the race’, Fina?”
Good Lord. The child had been listening.
Playing for time, she said, “You know, I definitely want to talk to you about this – but it will take some time. Let’s save it for later and see if Gilbert wants to play now.”
Victor indicated his agreement by banging on the Gibbses’ door.
She heard a scraping sound, followed by the rhythm of little feet sprinting toward the door.
Gilbert flung open the door and gave them a wide grin, revealing a missing front tooth.
“Look! I just lost my tooth. Now I can whistle!” He began to huff and puff, producing a raspy wheeze. Fina was concerned that he might hyperventilate.
“That’s lovely, Gilbert. Can you play with Victor?”
“Yes! Mummy and Daddy went upstairs to lay in the sun. I was bored so they let me play in here. Come see my train set, Victor!”
The magic words had been spoken and soon the two boys were engrossed in their train play.
Fina wiped her hand across her forehead. Had she really just slapped Emeline? The good girl voice inside of her immediately arose and asked her why on earth she had resorted to physical violence. Fortunately, Fina recognised this judgment for what it was. She could think about it later. There was work to be done!
It wouldn’t hurt to have a peek around the Gibbses’ cabin, would it? She convinced herself that Ruby would most certainly approve. Fina began to systematically scan the room, starting by the bedside and moving in a clockwise direction.
The bedside table held glasses of wat
er, a tube of lipstick, a book she didn’t recognise and a tin of mints. More of Violet’s worn and faded dresses were draped on the bed. Moving methodically into the bathroom, she saw three toothbrushes, night cream, toothpaste, a hairbrush and some sort of hair tonic and gel. Everything was quite orderly here.
Fina felt a magnetic pull toward the writing desk. Perhaps… should she? Of course. Everyone had one of these desks, so it wasn’t like prying into their luggage. Under the accusing eye of yet another sandstone parrot sculpture, she slid open the left-hand drawer of the mahogany desk.
“Are you looking for this?”
“Oh, Victor. You nearly made my heart stop!” Fina said in reply to his offer of a small wooden train. She took it, ran it across the desk, making “choo-choo” noises, and then returned it to Victor. Satisfied, he went back to his train engineer duties on the floor.
She told herself that she was just searching for pen and paper. Nothing else. Sliding open the middle drawer, she came across a velvet-covered octagonal box. You really shouldn’t, she thought. But perhaps there will be a pen inside?
The box was one of those ones that snap into place like a crocodile’s jaw. She prised it open, while still leaving it in the drawer. Her fingers tingled. The box revealed a veritable treasure trove of jewellery. Silver chains snaked through gold rings. None of the gems were particularly large, but the collection was worth a small fortune. More like a large fortune, particularly given what seemed to be the rather genteel poverty of the Gibbses.
Snap. The box shut, almost of its own accord. The sound brought her back to reality. She slammed the drawer, just as she heard voices floating down the deck.
13
“There you are!”
Phillip Gibbs trotted into the room, looking tanned in his one-piece swimming costume. Perhaps it was the lighting. An insouciant towel was draped over one half-naked shoulder. It somehow complemented the pipe he clutched in his mouth.
“Glad to see the two young chaps are getting on,” he said, grinning at Fina. Fina was nearly sitting on the desk – as if she could cover her discovery. “We’ve had a marvellous sunbathing session, haven’t we, Vi?” Fina thought the statement was too broad. “I” instead of “we” would have been more appropriate. Violet, who had plod in behind her husband, must have had on a bathing costume. If so, however, it was difficult to see it beneath the layers – or large strips – of cotton. Her pastiness was even more pronounced than it had been yesterday.
“Mmm. Yes, dear,” she said absently, flopping down in the chair nearest to Fina. “Gilbert? Have you been behaving yourself for Miss Aubrey-Havelock?”
Fina rescued Gilbert from having to answer. “He’s been delightful. They’ve been completely engrossed in their trains.” She paused. She could feel the heaviness in the room. And it wasn’t simply due to her own discovery in the desk. “Would you mind awfully if I left the boys to play? I promised Ruby I would find her soon.”
“Certainly, Miss Aubrey-Havelock. We’ll look after him. We’ve already chatted with Lady Winchcombe-Twisleton about Victor.”
And with that, Fina left the oppressive tension of the Gibbses’ abode. She strolled around the deck toward the bow, stopping to admire the blue of the sea. The blue was so brilliant it looked artificial. A late lunch buffet had been set up under an awning, and she tucked into a plate of food with relish.
As she put down her fork, she turned and saw an easy, lanky figure walking toward her in a striped shirt. A cigarette hung out of his mouth – looking like it was trying to escape, unsuccessfully.
Neville.
She felt heat creeping up her neck – and it was not just due to the afternoon sunshine. Emeline’s earlier comments about Neville made her feel decidedly self-conscious.
Roughly paralleling Neville on the other side of the deck, she saw Ruby and Dolores approaching her. Fina relaxed. She wasn’t afraid of being alone with Neville – quite the contrary – but she somehow felt relieved by their appearance.
The two women nattered away, pointing from time to time at what Fina presumed to be sketches in Ruby’s book. Dolores was also smoking, though this time through a jade green holder which she held languidly by her side. When she used her hands to make a point to Ruby, the cigarette let off little circles of smoke around her head.
Neville reached her first. He looked down at Fina, gravely, as if she was about to be scolded. Perhaps it was just because of the angle of the sun? “Hello, Miss Aubrey-Havelock. How are you enjoying the books I recommended yesterday?”
“I, I haven’t had the chance to begin them yet.”
“Begin what?” Dolores queried, delicately tapping her cigarette holder on the rail to release the ash into the sea. Instead of navy, she had lightened up a bit with a grey, form-fitting shift. Her sandals were her nod to the humidity. She was wearing round, almost completely opaque sunglasses. Fina wasn’t accustomed to talking to people wearing sunglasses – especially given the ever-so-sunny British weather. She found it disconcerting not to be able to look at someone’s eyes.
“Ah, we were just discussing Neville’s book recommendations.”
“My, how intriguing,” she said, with a throaty laugh that reminded Fina of those sheets used to make thunder noise in a radio play. She slowly straightened her spine. She already had quite an incredible posture, so this seemed like a special feat. “Your friend, dear Ruby, has been sharing delightful sketches with me. I look forward to having these – what do you call them – frocks made when we arrive in Port of Spain. Gustave has recommended someone to me, since I know you and Ruby have other plans when you arrive.”
Somehow, out of the ether, Balraj had joined their little party.
“But dear Dolores. You know you should not be seen,” he said with a rather mischievous grin.
Though Fina could not see Dolores’ eyes behind the sunglasses, the puckering disapproval of her mouth spoke volumes.
Ruby intervened. “Oh, I’m sure we can make an arrangement to sew the garments so you won’t need to leave the hotel. I’m quite certain Gustave can assist with that.”
Dolores nodded gratefully in her direction. She sat down on a nearby wicker chair and looked out to sea.
There was a tranquil pause, broken only by the arrival of the Gibbses. Phillip had changed into a seemlier white shirt and trousers, while Violet had draped herself in yet more layers of cotton.
“Mummy, Mummy!” came Gilbert’s piping voice. “May I have an ice? You said I could if it was a hot day!”
Violet’s answering look at her son was half affection, half exasperation. “All right, darling. Ask the man over there.”
Yipping with delight, Gilbert bounded over to Neville. “Please, sir,” he said. “Could I have a bowl with all your ices? All kinds? With sprinkles? And marshmallows?”
His parents exchanged appalled glances. Violet, it seemed, could hardly stop herself from shouting. “Er, no, darling,” she finally said, managing to keep her voice level. “That’s rather more than we can manage on this trip. Perhaps you could have something a little simpler. A strawberry ice, for instance?” Without waiting for Gilbert’s response, she turned to Neville. “Could he have one strawberry ice, please, and no toppings.”
“Right away, ma’am,” said Neville, with a sympathetic grin at Gilbert.
Gilbert, torn between disappointment and relief that he was getting anything at all, grinned back. Phillip’s expression, though, was riven with anxiety as he glanced around the assembled company.
It was odd, Fina reflected, that a family who could afford to splash out so lavishly on jewellery would be penny-pinching over small matters. The cost of their ticket from England to Port of Spain must not have been cheap, either. If they could afford to come out here, just for a holiday, presumably they could afford the occasional sugary treat for their son.
Soon, to Gilbert’s joy, the ice lolly arrived. He tucked in without any self-consciousness, but his parents, aware that his little drama had been overheard by
everyone, guided him to the upper deck in retreat.
Balraj shifted on his feet and took a great gulp of his cocktail. “Do you all find that couple odd – what is their name?” he asked, speaking to no one in particular.
“Gibbs, sir,” said Neville.
“Ah yes. Gibbs,” replied Balraj. He scratched his jaw in a gesture of puzzlement. “As I said, something dashed odd about them.”
Silence. Everyone must be waiting for him to elaborate or didn’t want to engage in the conversation, thought Fina.
Ruby snapped her notebook shut.
A sudden great breeze ruffled her dress and nearly toppled Ruby’s large sun hat.
Neville cleared his throat. “I came to tell Miss Aubrey-Havelock the news, but as you’re all here, I can report it to you.” He pointed over the railing to a great raft of Devonshire cream clouds, puffing out and up into tall, furry-looking pillars.
“A storm is brewing. The captain will do his best to avoid it, but it will put us a bit behind schedule. It also means that we have decided to cancel drinks at the bar and have an early dinner instead.”
They all stared at the clouds that seemed so out of place with the general blue, cloudless calm all around them.
“That must mean it’s time for another drink!” proclaimed Balraj, nearly sliding away down the deck toward the stairs.
Dolores stood up, removed her cigarette stub from the holder and flung it into the sea. “Thank you for a delightful afternoon, and your delightful sketches, dear Ruby. You are a treasure.” She touched her head with a rather theatrical gesture. Well, she was an actress, after all, thought Fina. “I have a headache, so I don’t know if I’ll join you all for dinner. Please forgive me.”
As she made her exit, Fina saw Emeline and Patricia whispering in two of the lounge chairs. By the looks they gave to Dolores, she thought they must be gossiping about her. Patricia sucked on the straw in her pink cocktail, nearly draining the glass. Emeline sipped from a teacup. Feeling protective of Neville, she decided she’d better be the one to tell the two women about the impending storm.
