All at Sea

by Liz Hedgecock

  How lovely, thought Maisie. They had been dancing since eight and she had scarcely stepped off the floor, except for a reviving cup of lemonade. This would be her third dance with Jasper Randall, but she had enjoyed a succession of partners; some she knew, and some that she had never spoken to before today. There really are several eligible men on the ship, she thought. I must make sure to maintain acquaintance with them in Bombay.

  ‘What are you thinking, Miss Frobisher?’ enquired Mr Randall.

  Maisie returned to the present with a jerk. ‘Oh, nothing much,’ she said. ‘How pleasant this is, after the unpleasantnesses of the last few days.’

  ‘I quite agree.’ He concentrated on steering her past a knot of couples. ‘It is nice to see everyone enjoying themselves. Look, there is Miss Jeroboam taking a turn with the colonel.’ He nodded towards them, and Maisie observed that Miss Jeroboam appeared to be piloting the colonel, rather than the other way round.

  ‘Oh yes! And Mrs Smythe with the captain.’ They were moving gravely around the floor, both very straight-backed and correct.

  ‘I wonder where Mr Smythe is,’ said Mr Randall. ‘I haven’t seen him for a while.’ Maisie looked for the ambassador’s dapper figure, but she could not spy him on the dance floor.

  ‘I see him!’ Mr Randall leaned in and murmured in Maisie’s ear. ‘There he is, by the refreshment area, sitting with the inspector.’

  Maisie found that if she moved her head a little, so that her cheek was almost against Mr Randall’s, she could see them both. They were watching the dancing while talking in what appeared to be a confidential manner. ‘Perhaps the inspector is conducting one of his cross-examinations,’ she said.

  ‘I hope not,’ said Mr Randall. ‘Does the man ever stop working?’

  ‘Not to dance, at any rate,’ said Maisie. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen him stand up once.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about the inspector,’ said Mr Randall. ‘You are dancing with me, and I demand your full attention.’ He drew her a shade closer, and a pleasurable shiver rippled through Maisie. Don’t look now, Mrs Jennings.

  The waltz came to an end too soon for Maisie’s liking, and Mr Randall bowed to her. ‘I don’t suppose I have the pleasure of the next dance?’

  Maisie consulted her card. ‘Unfortunately not,’ she said. ‘I am promised to a Mr — Squiggle.’

  Mr Randall peered at the card. ‘My guess is as good as yours, Miss Frobisher. This is what comes of careless penmanship.’

  ‘I am sure that whoever turns up will be a delightful surprise,’ said Maisie, curtsying.

  Mr Squiggle was an energetic young man. He whirled Maisie round the floor at such speed that she gasped for breath, worried that her feet would get tangled in her skirt. She was glad to bid farewell to him when the interminable polka finally ended.

  Maisie checked her card, but that was the last entry. What now? There were twenty minutes left before the buffet.

  ‘We shall have a short break before the last dance of the evening,’ said the captain. Maisie hurried to the refreshment table, where a steward supplied her with iced lemonade.

  ‘Well, Miss Frobisher,’ said the colonel, nudging her, ‘with your pink cheeks you hardly look like the pale young woman who was so ill the first time I saw her.’

  Maisie laughed. ‘I feel a great deal better for it, I can assure you. I love to dance, and tonight has been capital entertainment. Have you enjoyed yourself?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said the colonel. ‘I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, but Mrs F steers me round the floor in grand style, and luckily these modern young women are only too happy to take the lead.’

  ‘Does that include me?’ asked Maisie, for she had danced once with the colonel herself.

  ‘Would you rather I said yes or no?’ The colonel had a distinct twinkle in his eye.

  Miss Jeroboam came to join them. Her face was glowing, and it became her singularly well. ‘Have you had fun, Miss Frobisher?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ exclaimed Maisie. ‘Have you?’

  Miss Jeroboam smiled. ‘Yes, I have. Exercise is wonderful for making one forget what is behind one and what lies ahead of one.’

  ‘That is a profound remark for an evening dance,’ said the colonel.

  ‘It is, rather,’ said Miss Jeroboam. ‘I probably need a glass of punch and a sandwich.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ boomed the captain. ‘It is time for the final dance of the evening. This is the ladies’ choice, so, ladies, you must ask a gentleman to dance. The only stipulation is that it cannot be someone you have already danced with this evening. You must find someone new.’

  ‘Someone new?’ said Maisie.

  ‘Probably better than someone borrowed or someone blue,’ joked Miss Jeroboam.

  ‘Ha ha, very good!’ The colonel guffawed.

  Maisie looked around the room. She could not ask Mr Randall, Mr Merritt, or the colonel, and she did not much like the idea of dancing with the straight-backed captain, or Mr Smythe, who was sitting in his chair at a decided angle. Then a gleam came into her eye, and a smile curved her lips as she crossed the floor.

  ‘May I have this dance, Mr Hamilton?’

  The inspector looked, if anything, rather alarmed. ‘I was not planning to dance tonight, Miss Frobisher.’

  ‘Oh, but it would be a terrible shame to waste such a magnificent tailcoat,’ she said, not budging.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘If your feet are mangled by the end, Miss Frobisher, you have yourself to blame.’

  The band, who were themselves looking tired and red-faced, struck up. ‘A Viennese waltz!’ cried Maisie in dismay. What a choice for the last dance of the evening! She regretted her decision now, but Inspector Hamilton’s hand was in hers, and she could not decline without making a fool of herself. He led her to the dance floor, and off they went.

  Within a few seconds Maisie knew her feet were in no danger. She spun in Inspector Hamilton’s arms until she felt as if her feet were not touching the ground, and that she had somehow become lighter than air. They could not talk; there was no time, no breath for that. There was only the dance.

  Not for the first time, Maisie found herself wondering about Inspector Hamilton. How was a policeman so well dressed, and such an excellent dancer? It grieves me to admit it, she thought, but he is my best partner of the evening. She experienced a pang of disloyalty towards Mr Randall; but it was the truth.

  She wished the dance would never end, but end it must. The band came to a halt, looking utterly exhausted, and Inspector Hamilton, barely out of breath, bowed to her. ‘Thank you for the dance, Miss Frobisher,’ he said, and without waiting for her curtsy, turned to go.

  ‘That was something, Miss Frobisher, wasn’t it?’ said the colonel, gasping. ‘You look like you need a good sit-down, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  Maisie’s eyes were still on the inspector’s retreating back. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I think I do.’

  ***

  The noise of the band was still ringing in Maisie’s ears past midnight, as she tossed and turned in her bed. It’s no use, she thought, I’m too excited to sleep. She pulled on a loose gown, caught up a shawl, and made her way to the promenade deck. Perhaps the fresh air and the quiet motion of the sea would help her to regain some measure of calm.

  The door to the promenade deck creaked as she opened it and she paused, heart in mouth, though there was no reason why she should not take an airing at whatever time she wished. She heard no exclamation, no disturbance, so she closed the door behind her and moved quietly to look out at the sea.

  She could see nothing beyond what the ship’s lights showed her, nothing beyond the brightness on the crests of the lapping waves. It is like a spotlight at the theatre, she thought, where nothing outside it exists. I wonder if the other side of the ship looks different? She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her and crossed to the other side of the deck. But as she did so she noticed a figure at the bow; a m
an’s figure in a dress shirt and trousers, with dark hair.

  ‘Good evening,’ she said, rather timidly.

  He turned; and as she had thought, it was the inspector. ‘Good evening, Miss Frobisher.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ said Maisie.

  ‘Ah.’ He smiled. ‘The excitement of the dance.’

  ‘It must be.’ She paused. ‘Tell me, Mr Hamilton, why did you not dance earlier in the evening, when you are so good at it?’

  ‘You flatter me, Miss Frobisher.’

  ‘I don’t think I do, Mr Hamilton.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I feel my duty as a police officer outweighs my duty to the ladies of the ship.’

  What a stuffy reply, thought Maisie. ‘Could you not put your duty aside for one evening?’

  ‘Hardly,’ he said, facing her and leaning on the rail of the veranda. ‘Once a policeman, always a policeman.’

  ‘Unless one is pretending to be a gentleman at the captain’s table,’ she shot back.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Have you considered, Miss Frobisher, that it is possible to be both?’

  ‘Pardon me, Mr Hamilton, for I have never met a gentleman policeman before.’

  His shoulders stiffened. ‘Well, Miss Frobisher, perhaps there is a first time for everything.’ He turned back to the rail.

  Maisie felt rather mean for her jibe, and went to join him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as the water lapped at the side of the ship. ‘That was uncalled for. But you did give us a shock when you revealed yourself, you know.’

  ‘That was not my intention,’ he said, still tense.

  ‘Do you think you are making progress?’ Maisie enquired.

  His reply came quickly. ‘Do you think that is an appropriate question?’

  Maisie shrugged. ‘What shall I talk about, then? The nice weather we are having? The quality of tonight’s punch?’

  He laughed, an unexpectedly nice sound. ‘Some progress, but not as much as I would like. Does that satisfy you?’

  ‘I suppose it will have to,’ she said, mock-severely, and he laughed again.

  ‘I could still help,’ she said, after a pause.

  Inspector Hamilton eyed her. ‘In what way, Miss Frobisher?’

  ‘In the way that I suggested before,’ Maisie replied. ‘We ladies are in the habit of getting together in the evening, you know, and talking things through…’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘But, Inspector —’

  ‘I cannot accept vague hearsay as concrete evidence, Miss Frobisher. I would be laughed out of the force.’

  ‘That isn’t what I meant —’

  ‘What did you mean?’

  ‘I could share with you what I have observed of the other passengers, and if you wished me to observe anyone in particular, or find out certain things —’

  ‘I think not. You see, Miss Frobisher, I have the weight of the law behind me, and you do not. I can compel people to tell me things which might take you a month of polite conversation to discover. And we do not have a month.’

  ‘That is exactly why you should accept my help —’

  ‘For the last time, no!’ His voice rose, and Maisie shrank back a little. Even under the soft night lighting of the deck she could see that his face was chalk-white; not from fear, but from anger.

  He breathed hard. ‘I apologise for raising my voice, Miss Frobisher, but you must understand that I am here to do my job. I am not here to enable you to satisfy your self-importance, or raise your status on board ship, by fancying that you are helping in this investigation.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant —’

  ‘Really?’ Now he smiled; the tight little smile Maisie remembered when she had first spoken to him so many days ago at the captain’s table.

  ‘How dare you.’ And Maisie walked away. As she opened the door leading to the cabins she bit her lip and blinked furiously. She would not cry. She would not give him the satisfaction.

  Maisie gained the safety of her cabin, wrapped herself in her shawl, and huddled in an easy chair. She was too angry to sleep, too angry to sit still; presently she found herself pacing up and down, up and down, until finally fatigue overtook her. She was glad to climb into her bed just as she was, and hide beneath the covers. She thought she would lie awake till dawn; but gradually she blinked once, twice, and she knew no more.

  Chapter 11

  ‘Miss Frobisher? Miss Frobisher!’

  Maisie opened an eye. Someone was knocking at the door; someone who, if she wasn’t mistaken, sounded like Ruth. It can’t be time to get up yet, she thought, but the light streaming through the porthole told her that indeed it was.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ she said, and got herself into a sitting position. What on earth am I wearing? Then some of the previous night began to come back to her. She sighed, and padded to the door. At least opening it would stop Ruth’s persistent banging.

  ‘I’ve been knocking at the door for ten minutes,’ said Ruth, as soon as she was admitted.

  ‘Sorry.’ said Maisie. ‘I overslept.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Ruth. ‘What time did you go to bed?’

  ‘About half past ten,’ said Maisie. ‘Well, that was the first time.’

  ‘The first time? Is that why you’re wearing … that?’

  ‘Um, yes.’ Maisie pushed her hair back from her face. ‘How long is it till breakfast time?’

  ‘Twenty minutes, Miss Maisie,’ Ruth said gloomily. ‘And we’re going to need all of them.’

  Maisie sat down on the bed. ‘I don’t think I can face it, Ruth. Can you ask one of the stewards to bring me a tray?’

  Ruth softened immediately. ‘Are you well? Shall I ask for a doctor?’

  ‘No,’ said Maisie. ‘I’m just tired.’

  Ruth tutted, and helped Maisie into her nightdress and a bed jacket. ‘I’ll go and see about that tray.’

  Maisie locked the door behind her and got into bed. Everything seemed confused in her brain, except that the inspector had been unkind to her. That’s the last time I offer him help, she thought. He can make a mess of things on his own. She remembered his pale face as he turned towards her, and his sudden outburst. ‘He accused me of trying to make myself feel important,’ she whispered. Then she frowned. Hadn’t that been true the first time she had offered? ‘But that was different,’ she said to herself. ‘That was before I started … liking people. And I said he was no gentleman, or as good as… I did apologise, but even so… Oh dear,’ she muttered, and put her face in her hands.

  After some minutes Maisie went to fetch her journal, which she had neglected for several days. ‘To think I planned to write every day,’ she said sadly, turning the blank pages. ‘Although how much of it would I have had to cross out?’

  She began a new page, writing the date at the top.

  3rd October 1893

  I am not quite sure what has happened to me. I find myself liking many of the people who I thought were so awful the first time I met them, and I think I must apologise to someone who has snubbed me twice. I do not know what is becoming of the world. Or perhaps the world is the same as it always was, and something is happening to me.

  That struck her as rather profound, and she stared at the letters until they stopped making sense. Then she lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes.

  A knock at the door roused her. ‘Breakfast, ma’am!’ called the cheery voice of the steward. ‘I’ll leave it outside the door.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Maisie called, and waited till his footsteps had died away before opening the door and taking in the tray. It held a pot of tea, a rack of toast with dishes of butter and marmalade, and a boiled egg sitting underneath a knitted cosy. An invalid breakfast, she thought. I suppose it will keep me going till morning coffee.

  Fifteen minutes later the egg and toast were gone, and Maisie was pouring a second cup of tea. Food always makes me feel better. But her usual satisfaction at being well-fed was tempered by the thought of venturing
out of her cabin. What if I meet the inspector? What if he shouts as he did last night?

  Maisie pulled the covers up a little higher, and sipped her tea; but her desire for something more substantial than toast and a boiled egg got the better of her, and at ten o’clock she was ready to sally forth. If I see him, she thought, I shall be safe anyway. He will not be rude to me in public. He is, at least, too much of a gentleman for that. Her mouth twisted with the irony of it.

  She reached the dining room just as Mrs and Miss Jennings were coming down the corridor. Maisie waited for them, deciding that safety in numbers was to be prized.

  ‘Are you all right, Miss Frobisher?’ asked Mrs Jennings, as soon as she was close enough. ‘We saw that you were not at breakfast, and we were worried.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m quite well,’ said Maisie. ‘I am afraid to say that I slept in, and missed it. Too much dancing!’ She tried a smile, but Mrs Jennings’s expression suggested it wasn’t convincing.

  ‘It was such fun!’ said Miss Jennings. She looked animated, and a light danced in her eyes.

  Mrs Jennings gave her daughter a disapproving glance. ‘The excitement is over for today, at least,’ she said. ‘Let us go and have coffee.’

  The dining room was filling, and Maisie saw one or two of the men she had danced with. The eager young man waved, and seemed on the point of approaching, but Maisie raised a polite hand and turned towards Mrs Jennings to signal that she was occupied. ‘Have you had a pleasant morning?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, very,’ said Mrs Jennings. ‘Sophia has been playing new music, and I have been reading a novel. Not that I should, in the morning; but since there is no point in writing letters which cannot be sent, I may as well enjoy myself.’

  Maisie accepted a cup of coffee from the steward, and chose a biscuit from the proffered plate. ‘Was everyone else at breakfast?’ she asked.

  ‘Mr Smythe was missing,’ said Mrs Jennings, with a glint in her eye. ‘I don’t think that would surprise anyone, though.’

  So the inspector was there, thought Maisie, and she felt a little pang. His conscience did not keep him awake. ‘Then again, neither did mine,’ she said softly.