All at Sea

by Liz Hedgecock

  Maisie fought the urge to wriggle in her seat. ‘Mr Randall said that he paid for Mr Merritt’s passage on the boat.’

  ‘Ah.’ She expected the inspector to make a note, but the pen remained still.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Maisie.

  ‘Don’t mention it, Miss Frobisher.’ The inspector paused. ‘Do you have any other reasons for suspecting Mr Merritt, apart from his apparent poverty?’

  ‘Well, no. Unless…’

  The inspector waited.

  ‘He seems a contrary young man,’ said Maisie, with all the wisdom of twenty-five. ‘I mean, he doesn’t like sports, he doesn’t like bloodsports, he has views on Gibraltar —’

  ‘Many people have views on Gibraltar,’ observed the inspector.

  ‘Yes, but they don’t express them at the dinner table,’ said Maisie.

  The inspector’s mouth twitched. ‘Miss Frobisher, thank you for your time. I may ask to see you again.’ He folded his scanty notes, and tucked them in the inner pocket of his jacket.

  ‘That’s it? You aren’t going to ask me anything else?’

  ‘I have all I need for now,’ replied the inspector. ‘You may go.’

  Maisie began to rise, then a thought struck her. ‘Inspector, has it occurred to you that I might be rather useful?’

  The inspector glanced up. ‘Useful?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Maisie. ‘You see, I am well placed to be a listening ear. After all, two people have already confided in me; Mrs Smythe and Mr Randall. Perhaps I shall be privy to information which the other passengers may not choose to disclose to you.’

  ‘So you think you could do my job, Miss Frobisher.’ The inspector regarded her calmly.

  ‘Well, no, not do your job, exactly — I mean, one has social obligations which one must meet on board ship. What I mean is that, having been called into the case accidentally, as you might say —’

  ‘And refusing the opportunity to help Mrs Smythe, and failing to inform the captain of what had occurred, and quite possibly putting the perpetrator on guard by asking all sorts of interesting questions…’ The inspector got up from behind the desk. ‘Miss Frobisher, I may be merely an inspector, but any help you could provide would most likely be a hindrance.’ He walked to the door and opened it. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I have other people to see. If you hurry you will still be able to dress for dinner.’

  Fuming, Maisie swept out of the room and down the corridor, not stopping to acknowledge the steward. She did not pause until she was back in her cabin. Ruth was not there; presumably she had grown tired of waiting for her mistress.

  Maisie glanced at the clock, saw she had half an hour before dinner, and flung herself on the bed, beating it with her fists. ‘How dare he!’ she hissed into the pillow. ‘How dare he!’

  Chapter 7

  Maisie made a point of being just a little late to dinner that evening. Let him worry over the effect his rude words have had on me, she thought, scowling as she screwed in her earrings. If he has the effrontery to show his face at the captain’s table after that. But when she arrived, ten minutes late, there he was at the table, discussing cricket with the captain as if he had nothing more pressing to think about.

  Maisie took her seat and a steward brought her a plate of chicken chaat. ‘You are looking very fine tonight, Miss Frobisher,’ observed Colonel Fortescue. ‘Is it a special occasion, what?’

  Maisie laughed, her good humour partially restored by the compliment. ‘Not especially, Colonel, no. However, I only have a certain number of dresses with me, so they must all appear in strict rotation.’

  ‘I never knew there was so much to it,’ said the colonel, with a slightly bemused expression on his face. ‘Did you, Randall?’

  Jasper Randall considered. ‘I believe that ladies’ fashion takes a great deal of thought and effort, Colonel. I must agree, though, that Miss Frobisher does look very nice tonight.’ Maisie gave him a dazzling smile, and could not resist a glance in the direction of Inspector Hamilton. Sadly, he seemed completely oblivious.

  ‘In that case,’ said the colonel, ‘I wonder what Mr and Mrs Smythe will be wearing when they finally show themselves.’

  Maisie had been so busy ignoring Inspector Hamilton that she had not noticed the two empty seats at the table. ‘Perhaps they are busy with ambassadorial business,’ she said.

  The colonel chuckled. ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Smythe told me the other day that he attributed his success as a diplomat to doing as little as possible. “Whatever you do is likely to be wrong,” he said, “so by definition, the best thing to do is nothing.” Seems to be working for him so far.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Maisie, storing that nugget of information up for later. Not that she would be passing it on to the inspector.

  What are the Smythes doing? Since both the captain and the inspector were at the table, the Smythes must be absent from the table for personal reasons. They probably don’t want to face people now that it is all starting to come out. But looking around the table, no one appeared any different from usual. Miss Jeroboam was laughing with the captain, Mrs Jennings was talking to Mr Randall and trying to insert her daughter into the conversation, while Mr Merritt was left to his own devices and his starter. It will begin in earnest tomorrow, she thought, and proceeded to enjoy the last dinner on board with the majority of the table in a state of innocence.

  The effects of the incident became apparent after breakfast the next morning. Maisie was in the music room, listening to Miss Jennings play, when a steward tapped the door and approached the piano. ‘Might I have a word?’ he asked, darting a look at Maisie. It was the same steward who had been dispatched to fetch her the day before.

  ‘I wonder what the weather is doing,’ said Maisie, skirting the gallery as she crossed to a window on the opposite side of the room. Even so, she could still hear the steward’s low murmur, and the words ‘captain’s quarters’.

  This was followed by a hurried, whispered conference. ‘Miss Frobisher, you will have to excuse us,’ said Mrs Jennings, sounding flustered. ‘Sophia and I must attend to something in our cabin without delay.’

  Maisie put on what she hoped was a pleasant yet uninterested expression. ‘Perhaps I shall see you at morning coffee,’ she replied.

  Maisie drifted to the promenade deck, and was rewarded perhaps an hour later by the sight of the same steward approaching Mr Randall and Mr Merritt. So it begins, she thought. A feeling flickered inside her — what was it? Satisfaction, that she knew more of what was happening than everyone else? Perhaps a little spite, that the others would be questioned in the same humiliating way as she had been? She could not be certain. Whatever it was, she was not proud of it.

  The lunch table was quiet. Several people arrived late, and Maisie saw them sneaking glances at each other, trying to see who else might have been called in. Maisie did her best to act as she usually would. After all, she had the advantage, apart from Mr and Mrs Smythe, of being the first person to be summoned by the inspector. So perhaps I am important. The inspector did not appear. I should think not, thought Maisie. Perhaps he is at last embarrassed at the part he has played on board ship.

  However, the inspector reappeared at dinner, as well-dressed as ever, and once the steward had served the starter the captain tapped his water glass with a spoon. ‘Mr Hamilton wishes to say a few words,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I shall keep this brief,’ said the inspector. ‘You are all aware of my profession now, and of what has occurred. I do not intend to make this a public matter unless I absolutely have to, as there is no sense in alarming the whole ship unnecessarily. I would prefer you to address me as Mr Hamilton, and I expect you to join me in keeping this matter private. Of course you may discuss it amongst yourselves; but the captain and I would appreciate it if you did not extend that discussion to any other passengers. I shall keep you informed of any developments.’ He paused. ‘That is all I have to say on the matter.’

  The captain’s table took this
in for a few moments.

  Mrs Jennings was the first to speak. ‘Thank you, Mr Hamilton,’ she said. ‘I am sure that everyone around this table appreciates your consideration.’ General nodding confirmed her statement.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Captain Carstairs. ‘Let us enjoy our food, and speak no more of the matter.’

  Everyone did as they had been instructed, but the chatter seemed unnatural and forced. Hardly surprising, thought Maisie. Every so often she would catch somebody’s gaze resting thoughtfully on her. They’re wondering what I know, she thought, and that idea sent a little shiver down her spine. Perhaps they think I am the culprit! She allowed herself a little smile.

  The captain and the inspector could censor the talk at the dinner table, but the saloon was another matter. When the party separated, Mrs Fortescue marched up to Maisie and slipped an arm through hers. ‘Let us go and be confidential, my dear,’ she said. ‘Mrs Jennings, Miss Jennings, won’t you join us?’

  Mrs Fortescue steered them towards a group of chairs near a window. ‘Not there,’ Maisie muttered. ‘We may be overheard. It has happened before.’

  Mrs Fortescue goggled at her. ‘You mean…?’

  ‘Indeed I do,’ said Maisie. ‘The inspector.’

  Mrs Jennings gasped. ‘How … awful,’ she whispered.

  ‘One needs to be very careful around him,’ said Maisie, in the same low tone.

  Miss Jennings looked as if she were about to faint, and her mother helped her to a chair. The rest pulled the chairs into a huddle which signalled clearly that they were not to be disturbed. Maisie saw Miss Jeroboam, across the room, glance at them. She grinned at Maisie, but did not move to join them.

  ‘What did he say to you?’ asked Mrs Fortescue, looking at Maisie.

  ‘Oh, he asked me my whereabouts between morning coffee and afternoon tea yesterday, and then he snubbed me unmercifully.’ Maisie did her best to appear amused at the thought of it.

  ‘Oh, my dear!’ Mrs Fortescue looked as if she wanted to gather Maisie in her arms.

  ‘It wasn’t so bad,’ said Maisie hurriedly. ‘But I did feel rather insulted.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Mrs Jennings. ‘The cheek!’

  ‘He asked me just the same,’ said Mrs Fortescue. ‘It is as well that I was with the colonel throughout. He has such a terrible memory that if it was left to him to say where he had been yesterday, he would probably be clapped in irons in the ship’s hold by now.’ She grinned broadly.

  ‘And did the inspector seem satisfied?’ enquired Mrs Jennings.

  ‘I couldn’t tell,’ said Mrs Fortescue. ‘He gives nothing away.’ She looked extremely disapproving of the inspector’s manner.

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ said Mrs Jennings. ‘And he was very rigorous in his cross-examination. I would say too rigorous. He made me feel like a criminal. As for poor Sophia —’ She patted her daughter’s hand. ‘I hope I never have to go through such a thing again.’

  ‘Hopefully soon they will find out who did it,’ said Maisie, ‘and we can return to normal.’ The oddity of the words struck her even as she said them. I have been longing for a diversion from the boredom of shipboard life, she thought, and now that seems such a pleasant memory.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Fortescue decisively. ‘It will probably turn out to be one of the stewards, bribed by some foreign power.’

  ‘But if the inspector thought that, why has he had all of us brought in for questioning so quickly?’ asked Maisie.

  Mrs Fortescue looked indescribably knowing. ‘That is to lull them into a false sense of security,’ she said, leaning forward and imparting a sinister tone to her words. ‘Then when they don’t expect it — bam!’

  ‘I wonder what the document is,’ said Maisie. ‘I don’t suppose any of you know?’

  Mrs Fortescue laughed. ‘As if the inspector would tell any of us! Close as an oyster, that man is.’ She closed her own mouth and nodded with an air of finality.

  ‘I think I shall go and play,’ said Miss Jennings. She rose and went to the piano. Maisie expected one of her ‘court pieces’ to issue from her fingertips; but Miss Jennings surprised her by drifting into the Moonlight Sonata.

  ‘How beautifully she plays,’ Maisie said to Mrs Jennings.

  ‘Yes, she does,’ said Mrs Jennings, but her usual maternal pride was absent.

  The group fell silent, and listened to the music flowing from the piano. Maisie studied their faces. Mrs Fortescue looked her usual jolly but stern self, perhaps with a slight overlay of righteous indignation, but Mrs Jennings looked genuinely worried. I wonder what it is, thought Maisie. Surely she could not have — She pushed the thought aside. It was utterly ridiculous to think of Mrs Jennings breaking into someone’s cabin and stealing a diplomatic treaty, or whatever it was that had gone astray.

  Could Mr Smythe have mislaid the document? From what his wife had said, he was not a careful man. And yet something as important as diplomatic papers…

  If they were so important, said a little voice inside Maisie’s head, why didn’t he lock them away properly? The captain must have a safe on board. She determined to ask Captain Carstairs at the next opportunity —

  Maisie suppressed a gasp as the answer hit her. The document is so important that Mr Smythe didn’t even trust the captain with it. Otherwise, lazy Mr Smythe would have been only too glad to hand the responsibility for it to the captain.

  Miss Jennings’s beautiful playing faded into the background as Maisie’s brain ranged over the possibilities. It must be of national importance — international importance! ‘Oh dear,’ she murmured.

  ‘Are you all right, Miss Frobisher?’ enquired Mrs Fortescue. ‘Shall I ask someone to bring you a glass of water?’

  ‘That would be very kind of you,’ said Maisie. ‘I think I am a little tired after the events of the day.’ As she submitted to being fussed over by Mrs Fortescue, Maisie imagined hiding places, and secret meetings, and all kinds of conspiracies, ending in … she knew not what. Before long her headache was genuine, and Maisie retired to bed to continue her distressing speculations in private.

  Chapter 8

  Despite her early night, Maisie slept fitfully. She kept waking from dreams where all she could remember was that someone was doing something to somebody, and it was bad. When light began to show at the porthole she gave sleeping up as a bad job, rose, and dressed. Perhaps a turn on the promenade deck would lift her out of her despondency.

  Maisie tiptoed down the corridor, not wanting to wake her neighbours. Colonel and Mrs Fortescue were next door, and she had a feeling that they would be light sleepers — if they were not up already. But the promenade deck was quiet. Even Miss Jeroboam was nowhere to be seen. Maisie sighed, for Miss Jeroboam’s cheerfulness might have had a beneficial effect. ‘Never mind,’ she muttered, and set off to walk the length of the deck.

  She almost cried out when at the bow of the ship she encountered Inspector Hamilton, leaning on the rail and gazing out to sea. She could not stifle a small exclamation, and he turned quickly.

  ‘Miss Frobisher! I hope I did not alarm you.’

  ‘No, not at all — well, actually, yes — but that is not your fault,’ said Maisie. ‘I was not expecting to see you.’

  ‘Nor I you.’ He smiled, and unlike the polite smiles of the dinner table, this one dissolved his usual stiffness and made him appear, to Maisie’s eyes, rather younger and almost human. He waved a hand at the sea and sky, a kaleidoscope of pinks and oranges and blues. ‘It is a beautiful day.’

  ‘It is,’ replied Maisie, ‘but —’

  ‘If only events on board matched it,’ he said. He studied Maisie. ‘I dare say you were thinking something similar.’

  ‘More or less,’ admitted Maisie. ‘Inspector Hamilton, may I ask you a question?’

  ‘I thought we had established that you would continue to address me as Mr Hamilton,’ he said, but there was no reproof in his voice. ‘And yes, you may ask me a question, but I do not und
ertake to answer it.’

  ‘The document that has gone missing… I assume that it is very important?’

  The inspector took his time in replying. ‘I do not think I would be breaking any confidences to agree with you, Miss Frobisher,’ he said, eventually. ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘And there will be — consequences?’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’ The inspector’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at the view. ‘Certainly for Mr Smythe. And almost certainly for the countries who are the subject and the originator of the document.’

  ‘Is Britain involved?’ Maisie could barely speak, her throat felt so tight and dry.

  ‘She is. Since we are heading to Bombay, and Mr Smythe is taking up a position there, it does not take a particularly sharp intelligence to guess the other. If the document were to be shared beyond its intended audience, the ramifications could be far-reaching.’ The inspector’s face was more serious than she had yet seen it. ‘I don’t think I can say any more on the matter. I would appreciate it if you did not share this information with your fellow-passengers.’

  ‘I won’t, I promise.’ Maisie wondered what to say next. ‘Thank you for answering my question so frankly, Inspector.’

  ‘Mr Hamilton,’ he replied, his gaze on the seascape before them.

  Maisie was about to walk on when he looked over his shoulder and spoke again. ‘And thank you.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Maisie. ‘Why are you thanking me?’

  ‘For caring.’

  Maisie did not feel she could say anything to that; and with a nod, she continued her walk.

  The act of motion, limited and repetitive as it was, calmed Maisie’s nerves. Perhaps it was because her worst fears hadn’t quite been realised, although the reality was disturbing enough. But she still exclaimed when the library door opened and Miss Jeroboam stepped out.

  Miss Jeroboam laughed at Maisie’s surprise. ‘I am afraid it is my turn to alarm you, Miss Frobisher,’ she said, smiling. ‘What brings you out of bed at this hour?’