To Davy Jones Below

by Carola Dunn

  “And you didn’t bring her the glass of water for the powder?”

  “No, sir, she must’ve got it from the washstand. She sent me to get seltzer water; ever so thirsty she was this afternoon. It took ever such a long time, what with everyone being busy, and when I came back, she was already asleep. Truth to tell, I was relieved.” Baines hesitated. “D’you think she’s taken too many powders, sir?”

  “Have you seen any papers other than this?” Alec countered.

  “No, sir. I looked under the bed and in the waste-paper basket, too.”

  “Good for you. You won’t be offended if I take a look around for myself? You may have heard that I’m a police officer. I’m trained to see things that other people miss.”

  As he searched, his eye was caught by the array of gold-topped pots on the dressing-table. Finishing the search, without finding any papers, he went over to regard them with a frown.

  “Which of these would be her eye-drops? No, don’t touch, please.” Damn, he thought, no fingerprint kit, but on glass he might be able to bring up dabs with flour. The bottle Baines indicated was nearly empty. “Do you know what it is?”

  “Belladonna,” said Miss Oliphant, coming in. “I warned her to stop using it. It is a highly dangerous preparation. It has its uses medically, but I never touch it.”

  “Deadly nightshade,” Alec said. He turned to look down at Wanda, lying motionless. “Could it produce this effect if too much was introduced into the eyes?”

  “I don’t believe so, but you must ask Dr. Amboyne.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and took Wanda’s wrist in her fingers. Her hands were square and strong, with shortcut nails. “I see she has taken some lemon balm,” she said, noticing the envelope on the table.

  “That’s what you gave her? You couldn’t have got it mixed up with something else?”

  “Not possibly,” Miss Oliphant said sharply. Nonetheless, she reached for the envelope and sniffed at the contents. “Baines, fetch some hot water, please. I shall drink a cup myself to prove it harmless.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply …” Alec began, rather less than truthfully.

  “I shall drink a cup. It is soothing to the nerves, and after the various occurrences of this voyage, I find my nerves in need of support.”

  “I should never have guessed it, ma’am,” Alec said sincerely, as Baines went out. “Am I to take it that you consider Mrs. Gotobed’s life to be in danger?”

  “I am not qualified to pronounce a prognosis, Mr. Fletcher. If she has taken two or three of her powders, I doubt it. If, on the other hand, she has ingested belladonna, I fear she is unlikely to survive. Immediate treatment can save victims, usually children who have eaten the sweet berries, but coma is the last stage before death.”

  Alec stood looking down at Wanda. He didn’t like her, but she didn’t deserve to die. “Where’s the doctor?” he said irritably, turning towards the door.

  As if in answer, Amboyne hurried in, black bag in hand. “What’s up? What’s up?” he asked equally irritably. “I have a great many patients at present. What seems to be the matter, Miss Oliphant?”

  “What’s wrong?” An agitated Gotobed came in behind the doctor. “Is Wanda ill? Seriously?”

  Amboyne swung round. “I don’t know yet, and it will be easier to find out if you will please wait in the other room. I shall inform you as soon as I have a diagnosis, I assure you.”

  “You too, Daisy,” said Alec, seeing her behind Gotobed.

  Swallowing a protest, Daisy took Gotobed’s arm and gently led him out. He slumped into a chair, looking dazed. The Ferellis gathered around him, asking questions, chattering in sympathetic tones. The little girl climbed into his lap, and he put his arm around her.

  Daisy took a chair at what little distance the room allowed. She was glad of the Ferellis’ concern. She did not want to have to try to answer Gotobed’s questions.

  A couple of minutes later, Alec entered and came over to her. “Tired, love?” he asked.

  “Yes! What’s the verdict?”

  “Amboyne can’t tell yet,” he said loudly enough for Gotobed to hear, then went on more quietly, “He needs more information. Do you happen to know of any symptoms she suffered before she fell asleep?”

  “Baines said she was very thirsty and her face was rather red. It sounded to me as if she might be running a fever.”

  “You didn’t see her yourself?”

  “No, she was in a filthy temper. In the end I put down the red face to sheer spleen. Alec, I feel dreadful. I ought to have done something straight away.”

  “It might have been sheer temper, and if not, you couldn’t possibly have guessed, love. I must go back. Send Baines right in when she returns, will you?”

  “Oh, darling, perhaps you’d better tell Dr. Amboyne that when I went in later, after she fell asleep, the bedclothes were all tumbled and tangled as if she’d tossed and turned like mad. If she took a powder, wouldn’t she have fallen asleep at once?”

  “Unless she took it because she couldn’t fall asleep. I’ll tell him anyway.” Alec dropped a quick kiss on Daisy’s cheek, straightened to see all the Ferellis staring, blushed, and fled back to the bedroom.

  “Mio marito,” Daisy informed the smiling Italians.

  Gotobed jumped up, the child still in his arms, and started towards the bedroom door. “What did Fletcher say? Is Wanda … ?”

  “Dr. Amboyne is examining her,” Daisy said firmly, standing up to bar his way. “You will only delay him if you …”

  Alec came back. “Amboyne thinks it’s belladonna poisoning.” He watched Gotobed’s face as he spoke, as did Daisy. She saw nothing but shock. “He wants to take her to the sick-bay immediately. Daisy, will you please go and find the nurse and have her bring a couple of men with a stretcher.”

  “A stretcher!” cried Gotobed. “If it is urgent to get her there, surely we can carry her. It’s not far.”

  “I’ll see what he says. But in the meantime, Daisy …”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Daisy met the nurse—as starched as ever despite the influx of patients—just bustling out of the surgery door to the passage, with a trayful of medicines.

  “Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, you’ll be wanting to know about that Mrs. Crotchy. The gentleman that brought her along said she’s assigned to your cabin; but you needn’t worry, she won’t leave her husband, poor lamb, not that he’s as bad off as some.”

  “I’m glad.” Daisy had forgotten Lucia. “But actually I’ve come with a message from Dr. Amboyne.” She explained the urgent need of a stretcher.

  As she spoke, the nurse turned back into the surgery and set the tray down on the doctor’s desk. “Mostly pink pills, to keep them happy,” she explained briefly, “and the rest can wait; but we won’t wait to find a pair of men, never there when they’re wanted. If you’ll just give me a hand with this, madam.”

  She opened a cupboard and took out a rolled-up stretcher. Carrying an end each, they manoeuvred it out of the surgery. It was more awkward than heavy.

  The nurse locked the door and they set off along the corridor. They hadn’t gone far when they came across a couple of stewards and roped them in to do the donkey-work. Nurse and Daisy followed.

  And all the while, Daisy was thinking. Belladonna? The eye-drops of course. Suicide? Why should Wanda commit suicide? She didn’t seem the type, besides having a rich and adoring husband ready to cater to her every whim. But if not suicide, surely not murder? Daisy could not bring herself to believe the adoring husband had deliberately poisoned his bride.

  Miss Oliphant? The lemon balm seemed innocent enough, but could the herbalist have given Wanda something else as well? Yet surely the principles which had made her refuse to help abort a foetus would not permit her to kill the mother carrying that foetus.

  It must have been an accident.

  Daisy failed to see how an accident could have happened. She had just reached this unsatisfactory conclusion when the procession r
eached the Gotobeds’ suite. The two Italian boys were on the watch. They ran in, calling out to “Signor Gottabetta.”

  Wanda was moved onto the stretcher. The procession wended back, led by doctor and nurse. Gotobed and Miss Oliphant followed the stretcher, and Daisy and Alec brought up the rear, several paces back.

  “I don’t know,” said Alec softly, shaking his head. “I just don’t know. If he only had a stronger motive. He says she seemed perfectly well after lunch, quite cheerful, in fact. She actually encouraged him to go up on deck to help, when they discovered the guard had left his post. But then, Amboyne says the symptoms of belladonna poisoning normally take several hours to develop. He had a case when he was a country G.P., a child who ate deadly nightshade berries.”

  “Did he save the child?” Daisy asked.

  “No. And he doesn’t hold out much hope for Wanda.”

  “Oh, darling!”

  “He agrees with Miss Oliphant that she’s reached the last stage before death. What she already had in her system from the eye-drops may have speeded things up.”

  “It looks as if she took it at lunchtime?”

  “It seems probable. I’ll have to get a description of the meal from Gotobed and talk to the steward who served them, see if their stories match. I’m sure Gotobed is too clever to be caught out. I doubt I’ll ever find proof that it wasn’t accident or suicide, which of course it may be. Why should he have killed her? If you marry a chorus-girl, you must surely expect admirers from her past to bob up now and then.”

  “Sir! Mr. Fletcher, sir!”

  They turned to find Kitchener hurrying after them. The wireless operator was waving several sheets of paper.

  “Ah, from Scotland Yard?”

  “Yes, sir. It came in awhile ago. I’m awf’ly sorry, I just haven’t had a moment to decode it till now, what with all that’s been going on. It’s … It looks to me rather nasty, sir.”

  Alec gave him a stern look. “You’re to forget what you have read. Not a word to anyone.”

  “My lips are sealed, sir, honestly.”

  “Good. Thank you, Kitchener. You have been most helpful.”

  There were three sheets covered in Kitchener’s sprawling writing. As Alec scanned them, Daisy heard his sharply indrawn breath, and then he exclaimed, “Great Scott!”

  “What is it?” she asked, trying to read the scrawl upside down. “Darling, what has Tom Tring discovered?”

  “Motive enough for any man,” he said grimly. He read on to the end, while Daisy bobbed about on tiptoe in her efforts to see over his shoulder. Folding the papers, he thrust them into his pocket.

  “Alec!”

  “Pertwee and Welford were well known as petty con men,” he told her, “though nothing was ever proved against them. Welford was the brains of the pair and used his public school background to good effect, while Pertwee brought in marks attracted by those flashy good looks. But more to the point: Tom sent Ernie Piper to Somerset House to search the Births, Marriages, and Deaths records. It turns out Pertwee was Wanda’s brother …”

  “What!”

  “And Welford was her husband.”

  20

  “Bigamy!” breathed Daisy, looking stunned.

  Alec put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s one possibility which never crossed my mind,” he admitted.

  “Nor mine. Blackmail?”

  “I imagine so. If Gotobed repudiated Wanda or didn’t pay up, the press would have a field day. He’d be held up to public ridicule. Can you imagine what that would do to a man like him?”

  She shook her head, but said stubbornly, “I believe he’s strong enough to get over it. And anyway, he might not have known.”

  “Come now, love, a pair of confidence tricksters would hardly be likely to ignore such a marvellous opportunity. In fact, I don’t doubt that the marriage was planned and carried through with blackmail in mind.”

  Alec hesitated. He could not be in two places at once, yet he was far from sure he ought to trust Daisy to observe and report impartially. If only Tring were here! But he had no choice.

  “Daisy, I must talk to the steward who served the Gotobeds lunch. Will you go along to the sick-bay and keep an eye on things there for me? You won’t mention anything about this, of course.” He touched the pocket where he had stowed the papers.

  “Right-oh, darling. Gosh, I do hope Dr. Amboyne manages to save Wanda!” She went off after the others.

  It took Alec some time to run his quarry to earth. The steward, one Bailey, was perfectly willing to talk. He had gone to the Gotobeds’ suite to set the table and take their orders. The gentleman had been writing, the lady painting her fingernails. They consulted the menu cards together while the steward dealt with napery, silver, and glass.

  “I bet I can tell you exactly what they had, sir. Soup oaks onions first, it was, for both of them. Fillet der sole twice for the fish, oh, burr and citron—that’s a lemon-butter sauce, and very nice, too. Then, lessee, they both had the beef, turnydose chaser, with new potatoes and petty peas. They didn’t neither of them want salad. ‘That’s for rabbits,’ said Mr. Gotobed, I recall. He finished up with cheese and biscuits, and madam had the fruit compote with cream.”

  “Very comprehensive, thank you. Wine?”

  “Nah. He had a beer, and she only had water, seltzer water. Always talking about slimming, she was.”

  “Did you stay there to serve the meal?” Alec asked, without much hope.

  “Not me, sir. Nipping in and out, I was. I had to fetch everything from the kitchens, and all my passengers was eating in their cabins on account of the Grand Salon being otherwise engaged, you might say.”

  “When you were in the Gotobeds’ suite, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Not a thing, sir. Wait, I tell a lie.”

  “Yes?” Alec asked eagerly.

  “Oh, nothing much. Only most people when they sit down to lunch, they stay put, like. But one time when I went in, Mr. and Mrs. Gotobed was in the bedroom. I heard ‘em.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “I don’t listen at doors,” Bailey protested. “’Sides, I was too busy. Run off my feet, I was. I heard ’em talking, but I couldn’t tell what they was saying.”

  “Pity.” Still, if Wanda had gone out first, that was the opportunity Alec had sought for Gotobed to poison her food without her seeing.

  Means, motive, opportunity, the unholy trinity; he had them all. It gave him no pleasure.

  Daisy had found Gotobed and Miss Oliphant in the doctor’s waiting room. Gotobed was alert, head cocked, listening for sounds in the sick-bay. His face was tired and careworn. He glanced round as Daisy entered but did not appear to take in her presence, so intent was he. The witch sat quietly beside him, hands folded in her lap, head bowed. She looked up, rose, and came to Daisy.

  “Camomile and linden, I think,” she said, her tone hushed but matter-of-fact. “Will you stay with him while I fetch it?”

  “Of course.”

  Could Miss Oliphant have poisoned Wanda? Could she have claimed to have changed her mind about helping her end her pregnancy and given her a draught of belladonna, saying it was an abortifacient? But that would kill the child too—Daisy came round full circle yet again. At any rate, if the witch’s aim was to marry Gotobed, she was not going to poison him.

  When Miss Oliphant returned, she was followed by a steward with a tray holding a steaming tea-pot, three cups and saucers, a plate of biscuits, and a large book. She herself carried her medicine chest.

  All the paraphernalia were set on the desk, and the steward enquired, “Shall I pour, madam?”

  “No, thank you, let it steep a little longer.”

  “Very well, madam. What with everything at sixes and sevens, dinner tonight will be soup and sandwiches. Stewards will bring them around for passengers to eat wherever they wish.”

  As he left, Miss Oliphant sat down at the desk and pulled the book towards her. “This is my best r
eference book,” she explained to Daisy. “Should Mrs. Gotobed survive, I wish to be prepared to suggest appropriate stimulants to Dr. Amboyne, though whether he will make use of them is another matter.”

  “What a good idea. May I take a look at the contents of your chest?”

  “Certainly, but please do not disarrange them. It is not locked.”

  Daisy raised the lid. The blue glass jars and bottles nestled in their green plush niches, a place for everything and no space wasted. What interested her were the red labels that she recalled. Warning labels, she had presumed when she first glimpsed them.

  But she found no foxglove, nor anything else she recognized as dangerous as well as therapeutic. Instead, the red-labelled containers held lemon balm, camomile, mint, calendula petals and calendula ointment, comfrey balm, rosewater, eyebright, and other harmless-sounding preparations. Daisy decided that far from being a warning, the red was simply to make it easier to pick out frequently used items.

  Miss Oliphant poured the tea and Daisy took a cup to Gotobed. He drank thirstily. Daisy sipped hers, feeling a soothing warmth spread through her. After a while she noticed that Gotobed had relaxed his tense posture. He still looked weary and deeply unhappy, but no longer overwrought.

  Time passed. Occasionally uninterpretable sounds came from the sick-bay, but for the most part the only sound was the turning of pages in Miss Oliphant’s book. Daisy kept catching herself nodding off.

  Then Dr. Amboyne came through, shoulders slumped, shaking his head. “I’ve done everything I can. She’s not going to pull through. If you’d like to go in, sir.”

  Gotobed rose heavily and plodded into the sick-bay. Miss Oliphant closed her book. Amboyne went over to her and they talked quietly. Daisy simply could not summon up the energy to move.

  Alec came in a few minutes later. He looked even grimmer than last time she saw him. “Where is Gotobed?” he asked curtly.