by Kris Tualla
Stig’s brow crinkled. “Race course?”
“We’ll talk about it after supper,” Torvald groused. “Dagny, have you finished your soup?”
Dagny dropped her spoon into her half-empty bowl. “Apparently I have,” she snapped.
Martin watched the pair in complete bafflement. Obviously they were engaged in some sort of spat, but he couldn’t discern what the source was. Perhaps it centered on the new piece of jewelry which dangled so enticingly between the swells of Dagny’s bosom. Martin fought to lift his eyes from the emerald, aching to take the pendant in his hand and let his fingers brush across her pale, curving skin.
He shifted in his seat then, the result of his mental meanderings making his trousers suddenly uncomfortable. Martin couldn’t remember the last time he hardened at the thought of touching a woman’s breasts, much less the mere sight of them. Awakening stiff every morning didn’t count; this was a living, breathing female across the table. Within arm’s reach.
Skitt.
“That’s a lovely necklace you’re wearing, Dagny,” Astrid Thomassen complimented. She leaned forward squinting. “It looks like one I’ve seen before.”
“Is that so?” Dagny reached up and touched the jewel. “It was a gift from Torvald.”
“The setting is simply stunning, my dear,” Astrid continued. “And such a beautiful stone.”
Dagny smiled and blushed endearingly. “Thank you, Astrid.”
“It’s very finely made,” Martin agreed, adding, “That necklace must be quite valuable. Be certain you don’t lose sight of it.”
“My words exactly!” Torvald declared. He turned to Dagny. “Please remove the piece so I may go tuck it in a safe place.”
Dagny’s fingers tightened around the bauble. “Won’t you please let me enjoy it for this one night?” she beseeched.
“Oh, yes,” Astrid cooed. “Such beauty shouldn’t be hidden away; it should be enjoyed.”
Torvald’s expression darkened dangerously. He held out his palm. “Dagny, I must insist. Give me the necklace.”
“Surely she can finish her meal first,” Martin ventured. He waved his hand in a tight half-circle. “What endangers the jewels in this room with so many witnesses?”
Torvald stared at him, his hard gaze slicing the air between them. “I said this is not your concern, Hansen.”
Dagny looked as though she was about to cry. Her eyes glistened unnaturally and the corners of her mouth tugged down. She reached behind her neck and unfastened the chain. As the gold slithered around her neck, one end slipped between her breasts. Martin sat on his hands to keep from reaching for it.
Dagny retrieved the fallen clasp. She held the necklace in her cupped hand and poured the gold and bejeweled piece into Torvald’s outstretched palm. The look on her face was almost as defeated as it had been a few nights before when she considered ending her life.
Martin’s need to comfort her nearly pushed him into doing something foolish. Not just foolish, but dangerous. Torvald was like a loose canon and Martin hadn’t yet discerned in which direction the man might shoot. Martin wasn’t worried about himself; his overriding concern was for Dagny. Whatever he did, he must not push her into harm’s path.
Torvald closed his fist around the jewels. With a perfunctory kiss to Dagny’s temple, he stood and began to wind his way toward the hallway.
“Wait! Lord Haugen!” Astrid yelped. “Bring the necklace back!”
Conversation in the dining area ceased. Heads swiveled toward Torvald. His face paled. His fists clenched. He didn’t move.
“Come back!” Astrid stood. “I just remembered!”
She turned toward a distant table, beckoning another woman. “Shannon, dear, come look at the necklace Lord Haugen has. It’s so similar to yours, I wonder if it’s from the same shop!”
Chapter Fifteen
Dagny looked at Torvald. If she had ever seen a look of panic cross a man’s face, Torvald’s embodied exactly what she might expect that panic to look like. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the same cool, self-assured expression that was so familiar to her.
Shannon, a trim and attractive woman with gray hair, made her way across the dining hall. She ordered Torvald to show her the necklace with an abrupt, “Let me see!”
Dagny saw that Torvald was trapped. He handed Shannon the pendant.
By now they had the attention of every one of the two dozen men and women—including Anna Solberg—at the late supper seating. Dagny was beginning to regret her impetuous decision to wear the necklace to supper.
Shannon held the pendant to the light and watched it twist on the chain. “Charles! Come here!”
A portly gentleman, with an inflamed nose typical of those who imbibed heavily, approached with a waddling gait. Dagny didn’t think she’d ever heard the man utter a word since the ship set sail. Shannon thrust the necklace in his face.
“You said mine was one of a kind. That the jeweler only made one. What do you have to say now?”
While Dagny felt sorry for the man, she was relieved to hear the woman’s question. For a moment she was afraid Torvald had stolen the necklace, as ludicrous as that idea was. Now she knew for sure that it was merely a copy of another sold by the same jeweler under pretense of being unique.
Charles shrugged. “Can I be held responsible for another man’s lies?” he asked. “Perhaps it’s not a lie at all. Perhaps the two are different.”
“I know my own jewels!” Shannon barked.
“How many diamonds are around your emerald?” he countered.
That stopped the woman. She crossed her arms and settled into an aggressive stance. “Well, let’s open my trunk and compare them!”
Dagny saw the panic flitter over Torvald’s features and disappear again as quickly as the first time. A companion flitter of panic shot through her gut.
“Now?” Charles whined. “I haven’t had my dessert.”
Shannon huffed her disgust. “You could stand to miss a dessert now and again,” she sneered. “Let’s go and open my trunk.”
Torvald held up his palms in a gesture of peace. “There is no reason to do this now. Tomorrow is soon enough.”
“No! I want to compare them now. Tonight.” Shannon proved that her husband wasn’t the only member of her family adept at whining. “I won’t sleep otherwise.”
“Oh, fine. Anything to quiet your incessant complaints,” Charles acquiesced.
At his words, a small crowd manifested at Dagny’s elbow. Curiosity and the hint of foul play—even if it happened on another continent—were apparently more enticing than the remainder of the evening meal.
Dagny looked at her fiancé and told herself he was innocent of any wrongdoing. Torvald was the victim of a possibly deceptive jeweler, that was all. And if the number of diamonds around the two emeralds was different, then in truth no deception actually took place. She stepped forward and linked her arm through Torvald’s.
“Shall we settle this now and have a peaceful night?” she asked.
Torvald gave her a look that she couldn’t fathom. Equal parts relief and sorrow, regret and pity, something in his demeanor changed at that moment.
“Yes,” he said. “That seems to be the only solution.”
He turned and moved toward the step ladder with Dagny confidently clinging to his arm. When they reached the steps down to the crew’s quarters, Dagny looked for Martin. Some portion deep inside of her demanded his steadying presence.
He was nowhere in sight.
***
Martin waited at the top of the steps, straining to hear how the conversation in the dining area turned. Once it became clear that the woman, Shannon, was going to insist on seeing her own necklace in her own trunk and that she needed to see it immediately, Martin scuttled down the ladders and dove into his private space in the hold, beating the small crowd by maybe two minutes at most. He bit his lips together and breathed through his nose, trying to still his thumping heart.
T
orvald came down first. “Be careful, Charles. It’s steep and slippery,” he called over his shoulder.
Once Torvald hit the floor he grabbed the ladder with one hand and swung around behind it, pulling back his other fist as if ready to punch someone. Martin squinted and tried to see what Torvald was about in the dim light of the lantern that Charles carried.
When Charles was half-way down the ladder, Torvald’s shoulder twitched violently. Charles’ right foot went out from under him and the heavy man pitched forward, lamp and all, and fell to the floor.
“Charles!” Torvald shouted as he jumped forward to right the oil lamp. “I warned you the steps were precarious!”
Charles lay on the floor, moaning. His wife Shannon, Astrid and Stig Thomassen, and finally Dagny all scrambled down the steps in rapid succession. Martin thought he knew what he saw transpire, but he couldn’t be completely sure.
“He knocked my foot out from under me!” Charles wailed, confirming Martin’s suspicions.
Shannon let out a moan of her own. “My God, Charles. You aren’t sure-footed when you’re sober,” she declaimed. “Don’t accuse this man when you are so deep in your cups!”
“I’m not foxed,” Charles avowed with pain-twinged force. “If I was, my back wouldn’t hurt this bad.”
“Perhaps we should help him back up to your cabin,” Torvald suggested.
“Not until I compare my necklace to yours,” Shannon said.
“I can’t stand up,” Charles groaned.
“Hush, old man. First I must have my necklace,” Shannon said with a flip of her wrist.
She grabbed the lamp from Torvald—who didn’t let go of it right away—and began to search for her trunk. Martin was momentarily disappointed when she didn’t name the one he saw Torvald opening earlier that same afternoon.
“There. That one.” Shannon turned to the two men left standing. “Pull it forward, will you?”
Stig and Torvald climbed over the trunks in their path and shoved them out of the way. They grasped the handles on either side of Shannon’s trunk and pulled it into the light. If Martin’s view proved true, he would swear that Torvald didn’t pull his side of the trunk forward but rather held it back. In any case, the chest did finally reach the circle of light.
Shannon pulled a leather tether from under her blouse and Martin could see the metallic glint of a key swinging at its end. She bent over, he heard the clank and squeak of the lock letting go, and she lifted the lid.
No one spoke while she rummaged through the contents with increasingly frantic movements. Martin watched Astrid and Dagny try to help Charles to a sitting position, but his wails of agony—real or enhanced, Martin wasn’t certain—brought their efforts to a halt.
“It’s not here!” Shannon screamed. “My necklace is gone!”
Torvald pointed an accusatory finger at Dagny. “I told you, didn’t I? There are thieves on board this ship!”
Dagny’s mouth fell open. The incredulous look on her face would have been comical if Martin’s gut hadn’t clenched and flipped at Shannon’s discovery.
“Tor—” she began.
“Stop it, Dagny!” Torvald cut her off, shouting. “I told you not to wear the necklace, but you refused to obey me! This is your fault!”
Dagny’s eyes shot to Astrid, Stig, Shannon, Charles, and back to Torvald. “How is my wearing the necklace that you gave me connected to Shannon’s missing necklace?”
Martin closed his eyes. The foreboding of what was about to happen pushed against him like gale-force winds. He felt tossed, as if his own life was being battered about. His silent prayer, God in Heaven help her, served as an anchor, though his thoughts and emotions roiled in the coming storm.
“I’m getting the captain!” Stig declared. He spun around and scurried up the steps.
Astrid draped her arm around Dagny. “Don’t worry dear. I’m sure this will all be sorted out.”
“Won’t someone help me?” Charles cried.
Torvald gave a disgusted snort and climbed the ladder. Moments later, he led two burly seamen back down into the hold. One man stuck his hands under Charles’s armpits. The other wrapped Charles’ legs around his hips and circled Charles’ thighs with his arms. Together the pair of seamen trundled a groaning Charles up the narrow steps.
As they disappeared from sight, Martin heard Charles’ fading tones begging, “A wee dram, if you can spare it, will help with the pain…”
Shannon continued to fidget with the contents of her chest. Astrid held Dagny’s shoulders and patted her hand, murmuring incoherently. Torvald stood, rooted, with waves of anger wafting off him so strongly they were practically visible.
Stig returned with Captain Gilsen so close on his heels that Martin thought he might witness another tumble; only this one would obviously be an accident.
“What’s gone on here?” Gilsen demanded.
“My necklace is missing!” Shannon answered. “It has been stolen from my trunk.”
The captain turned to Torvald. “And why are you here?”
“Lady Haugen and I are present to act as witnesses to the theft,” Torvald answered without pause. Dagny cringed but didn’t speak.
“When did you discover the necklace was missing?” Gilsen asked Shannon.
“Only half an hour ago,” she answered. Her voice quavered and she succumbed to tears. “It was a—a unique pendant. One of a kind. And now it’s—it’s gone!” she sobbed. Like husband like wife. Martin shuddered to think what life in their home must entail.
Captain Gilsen considered Torvald, Astrid and Dagny, and Shannon. He heaved a sigh.
“We are done here tonight. I’ll post a guard until tomorrow when we can open all the trunks and go through them. In the meanwhile, I’ll have my purser order a thorough search of the crew’s quarters.”
Skitt.
If the guard arrived before everyone else left, Martin would be trapped in the hold for the rest of the night.
Skit skitt skitt.
June 18, 1749
Martin thought his bladder might actually explode. The guard who sat on the top step leading down into the cargo hold for the entire night was still faithfully at his post. There was no hope for it; Martin had to piss.
Quietly as he could, Martin crawled deeper into the stacks of crates and casks, until he found a mound of barrels which would probably not be damaged by a little extra moisture. Unfastening his flies, he lowered his trousers and let loose a stream that any racehorse would brag about. The relief was so pleasant he nearly hardened in response—not a reaction in any way helpful.
He stood, cock in hand, and waited to be certain that he had emptied every drop. The scrabble of approaching rodent feet made him clutch at his clothing and begin to work his way forward as he refastened his pants. A wet rat scurried past him. Martin swore he saw reproach in the beady glint of the creature’s eye.
He felt no remorse.
Once he regained his pallet, Martin’s belly rumbled; yet another deprivation to deal with. He heard the breakfast bell and he waited, thirsty and hungry, for any chance to escape his unintentional prison. He tried to distract himself with his architectural drawings. He closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep. He practiced conjugating English verbs—the hardest part, in his estimation, of learning any language.
But English made him think of Dagny.
Dagny made him think of Torvald.
Torvald made him think about the items that man had placed in Dagny’s trunk.
Martin sat up with a gasp.
Torvald was the thief. And he put his stolen plunder in Dagny’s trunk. And when the captain began his systematic search today, Dagny would be found the guilty one.
Martin prayed fervently that he was wrong. Even so, he knew he was not.
So when the captain descended the steps, and the purser, whose name turned out to be Birk, brought down passenger after passenger, Martin watched the drama unfold. A story where he already discerned the ending.
One after another, the trunks were opened. One after another, items were discovered missing. Captain Gilsen made a list. Torvald was summoned and his trunk was opened. Nothing was amiss. Dagny was next.
Martin watched the movements as if watching a stage play. A sharp pain dug into the center of his chest; he rubbed his breastbone. His vision blurred a little when the lid of her coffer was thrown back. He heard her gasp of shock.
“Those aren’t mine!” she protested.
“Obviously, my lady,” Captain Gilsen drawled. “So how did they come to rest here?”
“I have no idea! I swear it!” Dagny turned to Torvald. “Tell them!”
Martin knew he would remember the next few moments for the rest of his life. Should he lose his awareness in his old age, he knew he would tell anyone who crossed his path of this small slice of time. Of the unconscionable betrayal he witnessed, and the devastation of one pure and innocent life.
Torvald’s brow crumpled in apparent confusion. “My God, Dagny. What have you done?”
Chapter Sixteen
Clearly, there had been a mistake.
“I don’t know whose jewelry was in my trunk,” she repeated; how many times she had lost count. “And I have no idea how it came to be there.”
“And yet, Lady Haugen, there it was.” Captain Gilsen combed his fingers through his short, graying hair. They were in his cabin with one uniformed member of the crew—Dagny had no knowledge of sailor ranks or titles—standing guard by the door. As if she were a criminal.
The captain sat on a chair facing her, his long legs tucked under it and his knees bouncing inconsistently. “The evidence is clear.”
Dagny leaned forward. “I told you. I found the emerald necklace—”
“Shannon Fitzleary’s emerald necklace,” he interrupted.
Dagny closed her eyes and drew a steadying breath before she continued. “The emerald necklace was on the floor of my cabin three days ago. Torvald said he dropped it. And that it was a gift for me.”
