The masseur left the room and the others helped Frank lift the girl and carry her out.
‘Gently, gently!’ Edward said. ‘Lay her on one of the massage slabs.’ When they had done so, he put his hand on her wrist and then his ear to her chest.
‘Is she alive?’ Frank asked, his eyes wide with alarm.
‘Perry, run and call the doctor, will you? There’s a telephone beside the swimming-pool with the emergency number on it. She’s still alive but her pulse is very weak, so hurry.’ Still in his bathing trunks with a bathrobe thrown over his shoulders, the boy disappeared to get help.
Frank looked at his uncle. ‘A nasty accident. I wonder how it could have happened.’
Edward looked at him curiously. ‘What makes you think it was an accident?’
‘What else could it be?’
‘Go and look at the temperature controls. They’re in a box over there, do you see?’ He pointed to a corner cupboard and Frank went over and opened it. There were a series of gauges and switches marked with the different rooms they controlled. There were six rooms in all: the massage room, the tepidarium, the steam room in which Jane Barclay had almost scalded herself to death, the calidarium, the laconicum and an attendant’s room.
Edward turned to his masseur. ‘This is the only control panel?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Did you notice the setting for the steam room before you switched it off?’
‘It was on red – maximum heat and steam.’
‘Shouldn’t the control box be kept locked?’ Frank asked.
The masseur looked troubled. ‘We thought there was no need to lock it when the rooms are in use. There’s always at least one of us present and, if the box was locked, it might be difficult to alter the temperature of any of the rooms quickly. We keep adjusting them so the rooms are kept at the regulation temperature. You see here, sir? The temperature norm is clearly marked on each dial.’
‘How could the temperature in the steam room have fluctuated to such an extreme degree?’
‘I don’t know. We will have it thoroughly checked when we reach New York, my lord, but I don’t see how it is possible. It’s never happened before. Someone must have been playing with the controls.’
The doctor arrived with a nurse and Edward was happy to see some signs of the girl reviving. She had had a narrow escape. He found he was shivering so he put on a bathrobe and prepared to go back to his cabin and change.
As he was leaving, he asked the masseur, ‘How long would it take for the steam room to reach the temperature we found it at?’
‘About twenty or thirty minutes I would think, my lord. The fact is we’ve never had it that high so I can’t be sure.’
Reaching the door, Edward was met by a distraught Warren Fairley. Brushing Edward aside, he ran over to the slab on which his wife lay. Taking no notice of the doctor and nurse, he picked her up and cradled her against his chest. He bowed his head over her and began to kiss her forehead and then her lips. Then, with a howl of anguish, he looked for the first time at the others. ‘Who has done this thing?’ he roared. ‘Tell me, for God’s sake, who has done this?’
‘We don’t know,’ Edward said. ‘It may have been an accident. We heard a scream and went into the steam room and found your wife . . .’
It came to Edward that they were acting out a scene from Othello. The noble Moor weeping over the body of his Desdemona as the Venetian nobles looked on. Only this time, thank God, Desdemona was not quite dead. She opened her eyes and the doctor gently took her from her husband and laid her back on the slab with a towel over her.
‘She’ll be all right,’ he said to Fairley. ‘Let her rest for a minute or two and then we’ll take her to the sick-bay.’
Aware that there was nothing more he could do, and not wishing to intrude on so private a grief, Edward took Frank by the arm.
‘Mr Fairley, we’re going to get dressed and then, if there is anything we can do . . .’
But Fairley was not listening. There could be no doubt about one thing, at least. Warren Fairley might be something of a womanizer but his love for his wife was genuine enough.
8
The Captain looked at Edward in consternation. ‘You’re not trying to tell me, Lord Edward, that this terrible accident wasn’t an accident?’
‘I don’t see how it can have been. There appears to be nothing wrong with the controls to the steam room – though, of course, they will have to be thorougly tested after we dock in New York. Someone altered the temperature control to asphyxiate or scald to death Jane Barclay.’
‘That’s unbelievable! Who on earth would want to do a thing like that?’
‘It’s not for me to speculate,’ Edward said, infuriatingly.
‘Well, I think it’s absolute nonsense.’
The Captain’s nerves were being tested to the limit. He had seen the barometer drop five millibars in three hours, revealing serious deficiencies in the ship’s stabilizers. Several people had been hurt falling down companionways and, in one case, out of bed. The propellers were noisy and the vibration so severe he had to face the fact that they would probably have to be replaced. That might mean – horror of horrors – three months in dry dock. There had been a host of complaints and three passengers – of whom Senator Day was the most aggressive – were threatening to sue Cunard. Then there had been the unexplained murder of the fellow guarding their most important passenger, Lord Benyon, and now this! The potential for bad publicity and subsequent loss of revenue was enormous and he, as Captain, carried the responsibility.
’You must give me your word, Lord Edward, that you will repeat none of this . . . speculation to anyone else. You understand that we must not alarm the passengers?’
Edward looked at him critically. ‘I understand the difficulty you are in, Captain Peel, but you must realize that there is a murderer on board. The death of Tom Barrett proves it even if we persuade ourselves that Miss Barclay’s life was put in danger by faulty temperature contols. Don’t look so glum, Captain. The company can hardly be blamed for the presence of a murderer but it is open to claims for negligence if, indeed, Miss Barclay’s life was threatened by malfunctioning steam controls.’ The Captain went grey. His mouth worked but no words came out. ‘Either way,’ Edward went on inexorably, ‘if we fail to take any action, the police may accuse us of playing fast and loose with the lives of innocent people.’
‘By “us”, you mean me.’
‘No. I too am charged with the protection of one passenger, Lord Benyon.’ He sighed and relented a little. ‘Nevertheless, I agree with you that there is no point in alarming the passengers unnecessarily. The situation won’t be improved by having a lot of frightened people imagining things.’
The Captain’s brow cleared. ‘Then we are agreed in calling Miss Barclay’s . . . accident . . . an accident?’
‘Yes, but you should insist on taking witness-statements from all those involved, myself included. That would show the authorities that you hadn’t taken the matter lightly.’
‘Yes, indeed . . . witness-statements.’
‘You will put something in the Ocean Times?’ This was the ship’s newspaper which was delivered to every cabin each morning.
‘Yes. I will say that, owing to a technical fault, the Turkish bath will be closed but massages, ultra-violet, infra-red and diathermic treatments can still be booked.’
Edward nodded. ‘I will leave you, Captain. I know how much you have to do and I wish you did not have to deal with this as well. By the way, I thought it might help to take people’s minds off things if we staged a race tonight before dinner.’
‘A race?’
‘Yes. You remember Lord Burghley ran round the ship in some extraordinary time on the maiden voyage. I have wagered my nephew and his young friend, Perry Roosevelt, they can’t better it. The boys have agreed to take a shot at it and, much against my better judgement, they have persuaded me to run too . . . on behalf of the antiques, don’t you k
now.’
‘Very good! I am most grateful to you for thinking of such a thing. You may be certain, Lord Edward, that my report to the chairman, Sir Percy Bates, will emphasize the manner in which you have put yourself out to help us. Will you dine with me tonight after the race?’
‘That’s very kind of you, Captain, but we have decided to try out the Verandah Grill this evening and admire Miss Zinkeisen’s mural.’
‘Excellent! A race! What a good idea. I shall tell the Purser to make quite a thing of it. A prize . . . yes, we shall give a prize. It will lift all our spirits and encourage people to mingle. We English are so bad at talking to strangers. The Americans are much more friendly.’
Edward laughed. ‘I fear there are unfriendly people aboard but whether they are English or not we cannot tell.’
‘Do you think, Lord Edward, there can be any connection between . . . you know . . . Miss Barclay’s “accident” and Mr Barrett’s killing?’
‘I wish I knew, Captain. I wish I knew.’
‘We must be vigilant.’ Captain Peel pressed Edward’s hand. ‘I feel reassured that you are keeping watch – our Cerberus.’ He smiled but his smile never reached his eyes.
Edward found Frank deep in conversation with Verity and Sam Forrest. They were on the sun deck just below the Verandah Grill where they were to eat that evening. Somehow, Jane Barclay’s accident made it easier for him to meet Verity, as if his offer of marriage and her rejection had never happened. The steward had brought tea in a ‘silver’ pot and there were scones and little cakes.
‘I haven’t had tea like this for years,’ Verity said with her mouth full. ‘It must be the English in me. However far I wander,’ she continued, waving her arms for dramatic emphasis, ‘my heart belongs to –’
‘The Cockpit at Eton,’ Frank finished the sentence for her. ‘Don’t you remember? We had tea there last year when you were investigating –’
She cut him short. ‘Of course. Ah, there you are, Edward. What did the Captain say?’
The truth was Verity didn’t want Sam to think she hung around Eton having tea with the sons of dukes. Her Communist credentials had already been weakened by travelling First Class on the Queen Mary. She told herself she must start acting like the revolutionary she had imagined herself to be when she joined the Party to celebrate her twenty-first birthday.
‘He’s in a state about the bad publicity all this could bring Cunard. I promised him we would be discreet. He wants to believe Jane Barclay’s ordeal in the steam room was an accident.’
‘Huh!’ Verity ejaculated. ‘And what about poor Tom Barrett? I suppose he was killed by a carcass of frozen beef.’
‘Verity!’ Sam exclaimed. ‘You sound as if it’s all a joke.’
‘I don’t mean to,’ she said, looking at him earnestly, cream on her lips and a scone in mid-air. ‘I didn’t know Mr Barrett but he was killed protecting Lord Benyon and that makes it very much our business, doesn’t it, Edward? Look, here he is!’
For a moment, Edward expected to see the ghost of Tom Barrett but it was Benyon . . . looking like a ghost. Accompanied by Fenton, holding rugs and a bottle of pills, he was walking gingerly along the deck. Although the sea had calmed considerably in the last hour or two, Benyon still found the motion unpleasant. He was very pale but was at least able to leave his cabin without feeling he was about to vomit.
‘You must have thought I had died,’ he said, rather unfortunately in view of the conversation he had interrupted, ‘but I have survived. The Purser says it will be quite calm by tonight. He tells me that you two are going to race round the deck with some young American called Roosevelt?’
‘Yes, indeed, sir! Very sporting of Uncle Ned.’
It was clear Benyon did not know about Jane Barclay and it was tacitly agreed that nothing should be said to him about it until he was in better spirits.
‘I am determined to go back on one of the new airships – the Hindenburg, perhaps. I really don’t think I could face another day like yesterday. It’s that feeling you are never going to be on dry land again that is so awful.’ He shuddered. ‘Do you know, I think I could manage a cup of tea and a scone. That must mean I’m better, mustn’t it?’
Verity poured him a cup and they asked the ever-attentive steward to bring them more scones.
‘I think an airship can sway about,’ Sam said. ‘That’s what I’ve been told, anyway.’
‘But they must be the future, surely?’ Benyon insisted.
‘There’s always that outside chance of fire,’ Frank ventured.
‘No, you can put that out of your mind,’ Sam said confidently. ‘This friend of mine says they’re so safe now, they even have a smoking-room.’
The Roosevelt twins came by – it was the nature of their environment that you could never not see someone for more than half an hour if they left their cabin. Frank introduced them to Benyon and he was charmed by them, particularly Philly whose pale beauty was almost an aura which set her apart from her more mundane brother.
‘We thought we’d shove one of those thingamabobs about the deck, you know, shovelboard or whatever it’s called. Why don’t you come, Lord Benyon? It’s not energetic.’
‘No thank you, my boy. Perhaps tomorrow when I’m feeling stronger.’
‘Well, you’ll come, Frank, won’t you?’ Philly said, touching the boy’s hand. He looked wildly about him as if he had been energized by some alien force.
‘Would that be all right, sir?’
‘You run along. I’ll be all right with Fenton. He has been quite wonderful. If your master ever displeases you, Fenton, I hope you will come and work for me.’
‘That’s very kind of you, my lord,’ Fenton said, flattered.
The rather stooped figure of the elderly German who had dined with them on the first night at the Captain’s table appeared in front of them and addressed Benyon. ‘Forgive me, my lord. May I speak with you one minute . . . in private?’
‘Of course. It’s Professor Dolmen, isn’t it? Let’s walk a little. I think it will do me good.’
‘This sea! But you are better, sir?’
‘Much better thank you, Professor Dolmen, but may I take your arm? I’m still unsteady on my feet.’
‘Natürlich! And I only just since have known who you are, my lord. You must please pardon my English tongue. I practise for America but I am still not so good, I think.’
‘Your English is very good. I apologize that my German is bad but my French is better.’
‘No, it is good I practise English. You will correct me, please, if I am wrong.’
‘It is an honour to meet so distinguished a scientist.’
‘That is very kind of you to tell me, my lord, but the truth is I am not so – how did you say? – “distinguished”. I may still be refused entry to the United States.’
‘You are emigrating?’
‘With great regret,’ he said bitterly. ‘The Nazis! You see, I am a Jew.’
‘I thought you might be when I heard you refusing meat and shellfish at dinner with the Captain.’
‘Ah, you noticed. You have a sharp eye.’
‘But there’s a kosher kitchen on board.’
‘So I have been told but, I must tell you, we were trying not to – how must I say? – advertise my race.’
‘There is no prejudice against Jews in the United States. You have no need to worry and, as an aeronautical engineer, I am certain you will be most welcome.’
‘That is what I had hoped but I was recognized by Senator Day. He has much influence with the government and he hates Jews, and me in particular.’
‘Good heavens! Why?’
‘I do not know why he hates Jews as a race but so many do today. He hates me more than other Jews because, when he came to Germany to meet the Führer before he went on to London, I refused to do what he wanted.’
‘What was that?’
‘He has interests in an American aircraft company and he wanted me to hand over to him
information about the new fighter I was working on. Reichsmarshal Goering is depending on it to win the war. If I tell you it has jet engines, does that mean anything to you?’
‘A little. We too have been experimenting. But how near to production is this new fighter?’
‘Not so near, my friend. Perhaps four years. The Reichsmarshal hopes the war will not come until 1941 when the Luftwaffe will be much superior to your Royal Air Force.’
It was absurd but also quite understandable, Benyon thought, that Dolmen should speak with pride of his work for a regime which was rejecting him and which threatened all his people.
‘The Führer has been told this by the Reichsmarshal,’ Dolmen went on, ‘but has chosen to ignore our work because he believes the war will be soon – next year perhaps – and so the jet engines will not be ready. He is making a big mistake, I think.’
‘So, when you refused to give the Senator the information he asked for, you were just being patriotic?’
‘That is so. But then, only four weeks later, I was told my life was in danger if I did not leave. As a Jew, you understand, I think the Senator made trouble for me.’
‘But he cannot prevent you entering the States, particularly with all you have to offer.’
‘He will try. You see, I did a foolish thing. In order to be allowed to work, I joined the Party.’
‘The Communist Party?’
‘No, no! The National Socialists – the Nazi Party. It was 1935 and I can only say I did not truly understand what these people were doing. And I was afraid. To be out of a job and a Jew! I thought I could protect myself.’
‘So Senator Day knows this and will inform the immigration people?’
‘Yes. He has told me he will do it.’
‘How can I help?’
‘Please, my lord, when we land in New York, speak to the immigration authority for me. You are going to meet the President, I understand? You can, perhaps, ask him to help me?’
‘My meeting with the President is supposed to be a secret but it seems everyone knows. Not that it matters,’ Benyon added hurriedly, not wanting Dolmen to think such a meeting was of any particular significance. ‘I shall do my best, Professor Dolmen. You must not worry. The Senator may believe he is all-powerful but, in reality, I doubt he can do what he threatens.’
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