by Rose Donovan
Ruby was now engaged in conversation with Neville, so she tapped her on the shoulder. “I need to talk to Emeline and Patricia. How about we meet in the green room in a few minutes?”
“Good idea. Our cabin is stifling. I’ll be there soon.”
Fina turned toward Emeline and Patricia, when waves of the cocktail jolted out of Patricia’s glass, splattering her beautiful white summer dress.
“You fool!” she yelled at Emeline, in a voice considerably louder than Fina had heard from her so far.
“So sorry, Patty,” said Emeline. But she did not get up from her chair to help mend the damage. She was frozen in place.
Neville was by their side in a flash. “Here, let me help you, Mrs Burbage,” he said, offering her a large handkerchief.
She waved her hand away at him, as if he were a mosquito. One that was flying perilously close to the juiciest part of her arm. “No, please. I’ll take care of it,” she said, rising and nearly running off in the direction of her cabin.
Emeline had thawed from her frozen state, but did not look inclined to go after her sister.
Fina broke the silence. “Miss Caulk, the captain has informed us that there will be a storm falling shortly. He has advised us that we should have an early dinner and dispose of the usual cocktail hour.”
Without looking up from her teacup, she responded, “Drink is the devil’s playground, Miss Aubrey-Havelock. I’m glad to hear the captain has made a sound choice.”
As if in response, the ship’s foghorn sounded.
14
The green room was blessedly empty, except for Gustave and Sadie huddled in chairs near the bar. Fina admired Sadie’s double-breasted yellow and orange beach dress. She and Gustave spoke in a relaxed, amiable way – the way one does when one doesn’t really know someone yet, but wants to be polite.
A long, shining bar stood at one end of the room and windows at the other. The light from the windows – as much as it was waning given the oncoming storm – brought a welcome airiness to the heavy Edwardian furniture. Blues and pink hues emanated from thickly painted, framed canvases scattered about the room.
“Gin and tonic, please,” said Fina to Lev. Lev appeared completely relaxed in his striped sailor’s shirt.
“And a pink gin for me, please,” said Ruby. Though Ruby had fully recovered from her mal de mer, she looked a little, what was it? Haunted? Perhaps it was just the circles under her eyes.
Fina shivered with pleasure at the cool tartness of the gin mixed with the sweet bubbles of the tonic.
“I feel much better now.”
“Let’s sit by the windows,” said Ruby, with a nod of thanks to Lev for her drink.
Ruby pushed together two chairs so their arms touched. They faced the rest of the bar so they could keep an eye on the comings and goings.
Ruby rubbed her arm. “I can tell a storm is coming. I’m getting little shock waves of electricity. Feels like the hair is standing up on my arm.”
Fina nodded with sympathy. One of her cousins had this same trait of being extra sensitive to electric storms. Her own body shivered, as if in sympathy. She pulled a shawl from her purse and wound it around her arms. She could see from the barometer in the corner that the pressure was dropping quickly.
“Let’s talk. I’m afraid this storm will provoke another round of seasickness for me! I’ll take extra precautions when we dress for dinner – I’ll double up – no, I’ll triple up – on the tonic dosage. I must thank Sarah for her gift. It truly has been a gift.”
“Mmm,” said Fina, as an affirmative response through a sip of her drink. She munched on some nuts from a bowl on the table. “I’ll tell you about what I’ve found out so far.” She relayed to Ruby everything about Emeline, the Gibbses and Neville.
“My, I am impressed,” said Ruby, sitting back in her chair. “I mean, I’m impressed by everything that you’ve found, but I just cannot believe that you slapped Emeline!”
Ruby began to chuckle. And then the chuckle turned into laughter. Gustave and Sadie looked over at them. Ruby suppressed the noise but still smiled at Fina.
Fina began to giggle. “Yes, well, you know I can be impulsive. But as my grandmother said, where the tongue slips, it speaks the truth.”
“Very true! And speaking of truth, I think we can safely dismiss everything Patricia was telling us after breakfast today, don’t you?”
“I do. It sounded like a story you’d read in one of those pulp fiction novelettes. After all, a scorpion planted in someone’s bed is hardly a reliable murder weapon.”
“She clearly believes it all herself, of course,” said Ruby thoughtfully. “And it may well be true that there are financers or others who bore a grudge against her husband. But if so, why would they hold on to such a grudge even after his death, and transfer it to his widow? It’s not her fault if he made some ruthless decisions.”
“Delusions of grandeur,” said Fina decisively.
“She certainly does have a high opinion of herself.” Ruby shifted in her seat and crossed her legs. “So it seems everyone on board has, well, shall we say, certain proclivities – as a generous interpretation – but none of them seem to fit with the letter we received. Or do they?”
Fina tilted her head back against the chair. She stared at the hairline crack in the ceiling. “Well, the only thing that seems likely is the fact that Neville mentioned his reading recommendations again. That seems significant.”
“Go on,” said Ruby, sipping her gin. She grimaced slightly, a grimace that turned into a slow smile of satisfaction.
“Well, that’s it, really. It just seems important. But I cannot figure out the angle. You took a look at the Makhno book he gave me, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I skimmed it. There aren’t any significant markings in the book. It cannot be the text itself, could it?”
“Perhaps, but that is rather vague. How did you get on this morning?”
Ruby sighed. “It depends on which area you’re talking about. As for design, it was enormously edifying to be recognised as a real designer – for once – by Dolores. We sat in her cabin and chatted and sketched, sketched and chatted. She is rather shy for an actor. But then again, what do I really know about that!”
Ruby stared into her glass. Then she began to tap her teeth.
“I know that look. Did something else happen?”
She bit her lip, as if holding back a secret. Then her teeth released her lip. “I’m not sure, but there was something peculiar. She kept referring to ‘we’ when describing what she would do on the ship or in Trinidad, but would quickly slip back into ‘I’ as if she had made an embarrassing mistake.”
“Do you think she has a lover? But why would she be embarrassed? She’s a liberated Hollywood actress, after all.”
“That’s what’s odd. It’s also odd because she didn’t seem, well, bashful. She seemed a little afraid.”
“Afraid of someone?”
“Could be. But it could also be she was afraid for someone. But that was just an impression,” Ruby said, relaxing back into the chair.
Fina couldn’t help asking, “And the designs?”
Ruby’s smile had a touch of professional pride. “Most of them she loved. The evening gowns in particular: she loved the one with the dramatic neckline.” Then the smile vanished. “There was one thing, though.”
“What?”
“Well, I brought along a few of Gustave’s designs as well, since we’re meant to be a team. And frankly, they were almost…” She tapped her teeth. “Almost amateurish. He’s clearly talented, but on the practical side, he’s severely lacking. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten all his training. Any back-street tailor would know that you’d never get organza to drape in such a way.”
“How odd,” said Fina. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time the Parisian haute monde had celebrated a creative talent far in excess of his or her abilities.
“As for our other task, I came across this,” Ruby said, openi
ng her clutch to reveal a folded-up newspaper. She handed it over to Fina.
It was The New York Times, the same 3rd May issue that Fina had seen Emeline reading.
Fina read aloud: “Actress Blacklisted.”
“I dislike that term intensely,” said Ruby. “It should be ‘whitelisted’.”
Fina didn’t understand her meaning at first, but the message slowly dawned on her.
“You mean terms like ‘black-something’ should be avoided or replaced?” She felt enormously naive as soon as she uttered the question.
Ruby looked undisturbed. “Yes. Think about all the negative terms associated with the word ‘black’, such as ‘blackmail’ or ‘blackballed’.” She smiled. “Sorry to be pedantic, Feens.”
“No, no, no need to apologise. I hadn’t thought of it before.” With that she began to read:
Hollywood executives have decried actress Dolores Dominguez’s accusations of inappropriate conduct with young extras on film sets. Miss Dominguez, famous for her roles in Blue Hyacinths and Three Teardrops, previously reported to The New York Times that three Hollywood executives regularly took “liberties” with young actresses on the set. When pressed further, she said that some of these women had told her that these men had violated them.
Miss Dominguez has declined to name the specific executives involved. She said she “fears for these women’s safety” if she were to name the men involved…
The article continued, but the main point was clear to Fina. She gave a low whistle. “It’s certainly salacious, but what does it have to do with us?”
“Though the reason is somewhat foggy, it does offer a possible reason why Dolores is travelling to Trinidad.”
Fina blinked.
“I think it makes it unlikely that she is our contact. It seemed odd at first that someone of her stature would be taking this trip with us. Now it provides a possible explanation – that she is hiding or on the run, but not necessarily our contact.”
“I see. You’re eliminating possible contacts, just like we did with our suspects for the murders at Pauncefort Hall.”
Ruby choked on her gin. “Let’s hope that’s the only similarity, Feens, let’s hope so.”
15
Lights blazed in the dining room. Fina squinted at the glare from the mirrors placed strategically around the room. Even though it was only 6 o’clock, darkness had descended in the form of pendulous clouds. The doors stood open at either end, creating a welcome cross-breeze in what would otherwise have been suffocating humidity. Despite the impending storm, everyone looked rather cheerful – at least superficially. They were seated at three round tables, set closely enough to one another that guests could converse with those at another table. Nearest the door sat Balraj, Gustave, Phillip, and Ian. They had two empty seats at their table. At the next table sat Captain Mills, Sadie, Emeline and Patricia. Victor and Gilbert were assigned to a small table nearby. Fina instinctively felt this was unnecessary, but noticed they seemed to be having a jolly time creating catapults with peas and their forks. They had been served dinner long before the adults.
“May we sit here?” enquired Ruby, pointing to the two empty chairs.
Phillip Gibbs replied, “Yes, please do. Violet is feeling a touch under the weather, so she’s having her dinner brought to her in our cabin. And Gustave just informed us that Miss Dominguez has a headache so she is forgoing dinner all together.” Unlike others in formal evening dress, Phillip looked comfortable in his light grey sports jacket. His pipe peeped out of his breast pocket.
Murmuring appropriate sounds of regret and thanks, the pair sat down next to one another. Ruby flounced her silk jersey evening dress in brilliant white as she sat down. Fina also wore silk, though her green dress had flowing skirt panels.
Phillip sat to Fina’s left. He slathered butter onto half of a dinner roll, tapped a great deal of salt and pepper on top of the creamy goodness and popped the whole concoction in his mouth. Before he had finished chewing, he prepared the other half of the roll to meet its sister’s fate. He tapped his fingers in a jaunty little dance on the tablecloth. He seemed to be completely oblivious to the atmosphere.
Ruby engaged in energetic conversation with Gustave.
“Those designs you showed me were enchanting, Ruby,” he said.
Ruby began to wave her hands about. “Thank you, Gustave. Perhaps we could sketch more together before we arrive?”
“Ah, yes, let’s see about that. I am rather tired.” Then, as if in response to Ruby’s crestfallen face, he added, “I’m sure it’s just temporary. I expect a good night’s sleep will solve that little difficulty.”
Fina knew her friend well enough to know that while Ruby could be an enormously dynamic person, the vitality expressed in the conversation with Gustave was forced. Of course, she knew why. Ian was sitting next to Gustave. While he did not stare at Ruby, as Fina thought he might, he did glance at her with a rather sad-puppy look once in a while.
Fina felt conflicted about Ian, but decided that he wasn’t worth her focus at the moment. Something was definitely afoot here, though she couldn’t quite get a handle on what.
Her stomach rumbled. Phillip and company had made quick work of the rolls. She glanced at the large clock on the wall. 6:15. Why was it taking so long for the food to be served? She noticed Balraj checking his wristwatch as well, and she gently chided herself for her impatience. Her general level of irritation at mundane events increased with the decrease of food in her stomach.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” said Balraj as he scraped back his chair. “I feel rather queasy. I think I’d better lie down.” Balraj’s clipped sentences certainly indicated discomfiture. But it was odd, as he had seemed to be fully engaged in a jovial conversation with Ian a few seconds before.
“Must be the coming storm,” said Ian, casually waving away Balraj’s exit as well as the smoke from his cigarette.
“Poor chap,” said Phillip, chewing on one of the rolls he had hoarded away on his plate. At the next table, laughter suddenly rang out from Sadie, who had been quiet up until then.
Ian continued. “I had a cousin who lived in Istanbul once…”
A piercing shriek interrupted Ian’s narrative. It was so high that Fina thought it might crack the glassware.
Everyone jumped in their seats, and all heads turned toward Patricia. “What is falling on my head?” she shrieked, shaking her once perfectly coiffed hair as if she were a wet dog. Emeline held up something in her hand with a look of triumph.
“Peas,” she pronounced gravely, as if she had discovered a packet of opium on her sister.
Patricia ran her hands carefully through her fine blond hair. “And mashed potatoes – in my hair,” she said in disgust.
“Who is responsible for this outrage?” said Emeline in a stentorian voice. Really, thought Fina, she would make an excellent barrister.
All eyes turned toward the children’s table. The two boys tried to hide their faces.
“It wasn’t me, honest, it wasn’t me!” cried little Gilbert. “It was him!” retorted Victor, betraying his younger playmate.
“We were trying to pop ’em through the window, the window,” said Gilbert, digging himself into a bigger and bigger hole, thought Fina. Gilbert had a nasal, adenoidal voice, so his words tended to tail off into L and M sounds.
Sadie rose from her seat and went over to Victor. “Come, Victor, we need to discuss your behaviour.” She nodded at Fina as if to signal she would handle the problem. She patted Victor gently on the back but piloted him rather firmly – despite his protests of innocence – out of the room.
Phillip beckoned Gilbert to come sit up at the table with him in Balraj’s vacant chair. He leaned over and whispered into his ear. Gilbert’s lower lip stuck out and he crossed his arms in protest. Phillip, having delivered the criticism, then playfully ruffled Gilbert’s hair and handed him a glass of water.
When Fina looked up from this scene, she saw that Patricia was gone.
“Where did she go?” she whispered to Ruby.
“She mumbled something about removing mashed potato from her hair, though I think it was actually plantain,” she giggled. “Much stickier. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.”
“Ruby!” chided Fina. “So unlike you to be judgmental.”
“Well, maybe it’s the combination of insufferable hunger, alcohol on an empty stomach and impending seasickness.”
“Yes, where is the food? I’m famished.”
Ruby sniffed the air. “I think it will arrive soon!”
“You smell it?” asked Fina as she lifted her nose like a piglet tentatively sniffing the air for the first time.
As if on cue, Sarah, Lev and Agnes marched in with enormous silver trays laden with covered ceramic dishes.
Captain Mills leaned over to Ruby. “You’re going to love this. Sarah’s cooking is almost as good as her poetry. She’s prepared conch chowder, cracked conch, stewed fish and souse.”
Gustave looked over at them. “I am looking forward to a good meal. This English cuisine that you call it in London is most abominable.”
“Have you spent much time in England?” asked Fina, less out of interest in the question and more as a diversion from the slowness produced by deliberate ceremony of serving the food.
“I – no, no, not much time. Not much time at all. Just a week or two here and there. As one does,” he replied.
And with that inauspicious comment, silence fell on the dining room. Ravenous guests descended on their aromatic, plentiful dishes.
16
Fina flung off her thin counterpane – the only bed-clothing left on top of her restless frame. She wiped her moist brow and squinted at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Two in the morning. They had all left the dining room around 7:30. Ian and Gustave had said they were going to the green room for a nightcap before turning in.
