All at Sea

by Liz Hedgecock

  Colonel Fortescue snorted, pushed back his chair, and stalked off. His wife did the same.

  Maisie got up. ‘Stay seated, Miss Frobisher,’ snapped the inspector.

  Maisie did not sit. She walked to his side, bent, and whispered, ‘There is an envelope behind the picture of Queen Victoria in the smoking room.’

  The inspector seemed to look right through her. Eventually he nodded, and rose. ‘I shall go and see. Excuse me, Captain, I shall return directly.’

  Maisie returned to her seat and studied the tablecloth. She did not want to see the curious, contemptuous, mocking looks of her fellow-passengers.

  A few minutes later the scrape of a chair alerted her to the inspector’s return. ‘Any news?’ asked the captain.

  The inspector glanced at Maisie. ‘No, sir, nothing.’

  The captain sighed. ‘We had better get this over with. My quarters, please.’

  Maisie felt as if she were being led to the gallows. The captain’s sitting room was in a state of pleasant disarray, with a chart spread on the desk and paper-jacketed novels in a pile next to it. A tea tray stood ready, but the captain ignored it. ‘Sit, please,’ he said, indicating a chair in front of the desk. ‘Now, Miss Frobisher, what do you have to say for yourself?’ He took the seat opposite and waved a hand at the inspector, who brought a chair over and sat beside him.

  Maisie looked at the two men sitting opposite her, at their stern expressions. In her mind’s eye, though, she saw the guilty, pleading gaze of a mother and a daughter. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I have committed no crime. I am sorry, Captain, but I cannot give you an explanation.’

  ‘You will explain yourself, Miss Frobisher!’ The captain banged the desk with his fist and Maisie jumped. ‘How dare you creep around the ship dressed like that? And what were you doing in the smoking room? That is reserved for gentlemen!’

  Maisie looked from the captain’s flushed face to Inspector Hamilton’s calm, pale one. ‘If you have an explanation, Miss Frobisher,’ he said, ‘I think you had better give it.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Maisie. ‘I had arranged to meet a man in the smoking room, in private. I borrowed my maid’s dress so that there would be less chance of anyone recognising me. I was a little early, and the colonel found me in the smoking room. That is all.’

  The captain goggled at her. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Then he cleared his throat noisily. ‘I see. Miss Frobisher, I suppose you are right; you have committed no crime. However, you are no longer welcome at the captain’s table. I request that you take your meals in your room for the remainder of the voyage.’ His gaze was very steady now. ‘I shall not disclose your admission to the passengers. However, I imagine they will be only too busy speculating on the reason for your disgraceful conduct.’ He nodded, as if the matter was settled to his satisfaction. ‘You may return to your cabin.’

  Maisie rose and walked to the door, her shoulders back and her head high, her mouth set firm to keep it from trembling.

  The promenade deck was deserted, and a crescent moon hung in the sky. On any other night she would have lingered, but rapid footsteps were descending the stairs behind her. Inspector Hamilton.

  Maisie quickened her pace. The door to the cabins was perhaps fifty feet away. She broke into a run, but a hand seized her arm and brought her to an abrupt stop.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Inspector Hamilton hissed in her ear. ‘Why did you tell the captain that pack of lies?’ He jerked Maisie almost off her feet as he pulled her towards him, and held her by both elbows. He was breathing hard; whether from his exertion or his anger Maisie couldn’t tell.

  ‘I couldn’t tell him the truth,’ she said, quietly. ‘You didn’t see how they looked at me.’ She paused, gathering her thoughts. ‘I have told you before how the newspapers have painted me. What could wreck someone else’s life is merely one more piece of gossip to add to all the rest.’

  ‘I shall go and talk to Mrs Jennings,’ said the inspector, letting go of her elbows and pushing his hair back from his brow.

  Maisie shook her head. ‘Mrs Jennings will tell you nothing. She probably thinks I was on my way to collect the envelope. She could have denounced me at the table, yet she did not. The chance of discovery is worse for her than losing that money.’

  ‘But can’t you see —’

  ‘Only too clearly,’ said Maisie. ‘But it will blow over.’ She sighed. ‘I just wish you had been able to retrieve the envelope in time.’

  ‘Damn the envelope!’ He spoke with such force that Maisie shrank back. ‘How dare you take matters into your own hands like this? How could you appear in such an unladylike fashion?’

  ‘Oh, so my choice of outfit is the problem?’ snapped Maisie. ‘If you must know, Inspector, I borrowed my maid’s dress so that there was less chance of you spotting me and interfering. You could have acted on the information I gave you, but you turned your back. At least I tried!’

  The Inspector’s mouth twisted as if he had tasted something unpleasant. ‘You tried, and failed. And brought disgrace on your head, and made yourself a laughing-stock.’ He stepped back and broke into slow applause, a grotesque parody of a smile on his face. ‘Well played, Miss Frobisher. You win.’

  Maisie stared at him, lifted her chin and swept past him with as much dignity as she could muster. A cry of ‘Bravo!’ rang out, but she kept walking. She wrenched open the door to the cabins and slammed it behind her. Only then did she burst into tears.

  Ruth started up from a chair at Maisie’s entrance. ‘Half an hour, you said!’ But she subsided immediately at the sight of Maisie’s face. ‘What has happened, Miss Maisie?’ she said, hurrying over and embracing her.

  ‘Help me take this off,’ Maisie muttered, shrugging Ruth away and plucking at her dress. ‘Get it off me!’

  Ruth did so, silently. ‘Do you want to put your other dress back on?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ said Maisie. ‘There’s no point. Help me into my nightgown, and once you are changed, you may go.’

  Ruth did as she was asked, then bathed Maisie’s tear-stained face, brushed her hair, and plaited it for the night. ‘Are you sure I can’t bring you anything, Miss Maisie?’ She paused. ‘Would you like to talk about it?’

  Maisie shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered.

  ‘Then I shall get changed.’

  Maisie climbed into bed, curled up, and pulled the covers over her head. She heard the soft rustling of her silk dress, followed by the harsh sound of Ruth’s black stuff gown. ‘Ruth,’ she said. ‘Before you go, do you see my bag? Inside is my purse. Take a pound note; that is the bonus I said I would give you. And I am giving you a holiday tomorrow; you will not need to wait on me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Maisie could hear the surprise in Ruth’s voice.

  ‘Yes, Ruth,’ said Maisie. ‘You may go.’

  Ruth left, with many glances at Maisie, and Maisie locked the door behind her. No one is likely to come calling. Then she crossed to the porthole and peeked out. The moon was brilliant white, and its edges looked sharp as a knife. Is the inspector still out there, mocking me? Or has he gone to the smoking room to drink port and share gossip? ‘They are probably calling me all the names under the sun,’ Maisie murmured, remembering the Colonel’s comment about smoking-room talk. She blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she whispered. ‘None of it matters.’ But as she got back into bed and thumped a hollow in her pillow, she wished she could believe it.

  Chapter 17

  Maisie Frobisher’s journal, midnight, 7th October 1893

  Obituary

  It is with a heavy heart that we report the demise of Maisie Frobisher’s reputation. It had been in poor health for some time; but today’s events proved to be the final nail in the coffin.

  RIP. No flowers, please.

  ***

  ‘You can’t stay in your room for ever,’ said Ruth. ‘At some point you will have to come out.’

/>   ‘I know that,’ said Maisie. ‘But not yet. Anyway, you’re supposed to be having a day off.’

  ‘At least put a dress on,’ Ruth wheedled.

  ‘What’s the point? I’m not going anywhere. Nobody will see me.’

  ‘Yes, and perhaps that’s for the best. Look at yourself, Miss Maisie.’ Ruth waved a hand at the mirror on the wall, and when Maisie didn’t move, she flounced to the dressing table, picked up a hand mirror, and showed Maisie her reflection.

  Maisie looked, and sighed. Her hair was still in the plait that Ruth had done the night before. She had paid no attention to her appearance since then, and it showed. ‘Oh dear,’ she murmured. ‘I really am not fit to be seen.’

  ‘Fresh air would do you good,’ scolded Ruth, ‘if you would only go out on deck —’

  ‘I don’t want to go out on deck!’ cried Maisie. ‘Then I’ll be able to hear everyone having fun and gossiping. Probably about me.’

  ‘It’ll be a nine days’ wonder,’ said Ruth. ‘People are not so cruel as you think.’

  ‘Aren’t they?’ Maisie gave back the mirror.

  ‘No, they aren’t. Look at the nice letter that Miss Jeroboam wrote you.’ Ruth replaced the hand mirror with an envelope.

  The note had been pushed under the door that afternoon. Maisie opened it, and read it again.

  Dear Miss Frobisher,

  I am so annoyed that I have actually picked up a pen of my own free will to write to you. I am incensed at the captain’s shabby treatment of you. If a man had done the same thing he would have laughed it off and everyone would have thought it a great joke. Indeed, when you think that we were all in fancy dress but a short time before, that makes it even more ridiculous.

  So this note is to say that I, for one, am still prepared to speak to you. If you wish to join me for an airing on the promenade deck at any time, I shall be happy to keep you company.

  Yours,

  Charlotte Jeroboam

  ‘It is too late to do anything now,’ said Maisie. ‘The company will be at dinner.’

  ‘If you do change your mind,’ said Ruth, ‘I have brought you up a tea gown, and a shawl in case it is cool on deck. Given the heat, you will not need more than that.’

  ‘Thank you, Ruth,’ said Maisie, and meant it. ‘But go, I do not want you to miss your dinner.’

  Ruth sighed. ‘I just wish —’ Her lips tightened. ‘Very well, Miss Frobisher,’ she said, and left.

  Maisie sat for a long time, thinking. It had been a strange day, shut up alone. A day of sweltering heat, of trying to read and getting nowhere, of writing a sentence or two in her journal only to cross it out again.

  ‘Why does it hurt so much?’ she murmured. She went to the porthole and peeped out. There was still plenty of light behind the curtain, and she turned her face away. The thought of that bright sunshine was too much to bear at present. Maisie sat down and picked up her book; but though she read the same line perhaps twenty times, she could make nothing of it.

  When Maisie started awake the room was dark. Where am I? Then she remembered, and groaned. Her stomach growled in response.

  Maisie got up, wincing at her stiff neck, and padded to the door. Outside was a tray with a covered dish and a carafe of water. Maisie took it in and lifted the cover to find a plate of assorted sandwiches; the kinds she liked best. ‘Someone cares about me,’ she whispered.

  Life seemed somehow better after a sandwich or two and a glass of water. Maisie checked her watch. Two o’clock. No one will be out at this time, she thought, and eyed the tea gown draped across the bed.

  Fifteen minutes later she stepped outside. The only sound on deck was the lapping of water against the ship. There was a slight breeze; not enough to need a shawl, but pleasant and refreshing after a day in a hot cabin, and Maisie turned her face towards it.

  ‘Good evening, Miss Frobisher.’

  Maisie let out a cry before she realised that the voice was the captain’s. He was sitting in a deckchair, watching her. ‘I — I did not know you were there,’ she said. ‘I can go to the other side of the deck, or go inside —’

  ‘You may stay,’ said the captain. ‘It hardly matters now.’ He got up from his deckchair and joined her at the rail. ‘So you have come to join our night watch.’

  Maisie stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  Even under the soft lighting Maisie could see the sardonic twist of the captain’s lips. ‘A group of us keep watch in the small hours. Not officially, you understand. I generally find myself unable to sleep at around midnight, and relieve Mr Smythe, who takes the air once the evening buffet is over. I hold the fort until perhaps three o’clock, and then the inspector arrives to manage things till sunrise.’

  ‘I am sorry for the — disturbance at dinner last night, Captain,’ said Maisie.

  The captain sighed. ‘If Colonel Fortescue had not seen fit to drag you into the dining room as he did, that could have been managed.’ His mouth twisted again. ‘I think he was more upset that you had invaded the gentlemen’s smoking room than at whatever you might have been doing.’ He gazed at the sea for some time. ‘I understand from the inspector that the explanation you gave me was not the correct one.’

  Maisie considered how to answer. ‘No, it wasn’t,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t tell you the real one, and — I was angry.’

  ‘I gathered that,’ said the captain, drily. ‘So was I. If it had not come after everything else — the theft of the ambassador’s papers, and the business with the Pierrot — but as things are, this is probably my last command.’

  ‘Captain Carstairs, I am so sorry —’

  ‘Don’t be. I’ve had a good run. If it hadn’t been me, it might have been some poor chap with his first ship. I have sufficient savings and investments that I do not have to worry.’

  ‘You take it remarkably well,’ said Maisie. ‘I am sure I would not be so philosophical.’

  ‘Age does that to a person,’ said the captain. ‘If I were an angry young man like Hamilton, things would be different.’

  Maisie’s heart clenched. ‘Is he still angry?’

  ‘Furious,’ replied the captain. ‘But now I think it is with the situation, rather than you. At any rate, Miss Frobisher, if you wish to return to the captain’s table I am prepared to let it be known that I do not disapprove.’

  Maisie found herself smiling at the captain’s careful words. ‘Thank you, Captain.’

  They both looked up at the sound of footsteps, and the captain consulted his watch. ‘Either this has stopped working,’ he said, ‘or the inspector is early. I suspect the latter.’

  Inspector Hamilton stopped dead when he saw Maisie, and put a hand to his throat. He wore dress trousers and a loose white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, and he was bareheaded. ‘Please excuse my informal dress, Miss Frobisher,’ he said. ‘I did not expect —’

  ‘That’s quite all right, Inspector Hamilton,’ said Maisie, detaching herself from the rail. ‘I can leave —’

  ‘No. Stay.’

  ‘Bit early for you, Hamilton,’ said the captain, in an attempt at a jocular tone.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ the inspector replied. His face was paler even than usual, and drawn, and his normally tidy black hair fell over his brow. He saw Maisie’s look and brushed his hair back with his hand, but it fell forward again. He walked past Maisie and took up his position on the opposite side of the captain.

  No one spoke for some time, and Maisie found herself wondering exactly how she felt about the inspector. Am I angry? Mentally she shook her head. Perhaps she should be, but no. He was clearly suffering too. Do I feel sorry for him? She sneaked a glance, but could not see beyond the captain. Perhaps. Or perhaps the truth is that I don’t know.

  Six bells rang. ‘Three o’clock, and my watch is done,’ said the captain. ‘Time to sleep, or I shall be like a limp rag tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you find it helps, Captain?’ asked Maisie.

  ‘Do I find what helps, Miss Frobi
sher?’ The captain’s look was quizzical, but not unkind.

  ‘Being so regular with your wakefulness.’

  He chuckled at that. ‘I suppose it does. It gives me licence to come up here and fret in peace, within the reassurance of a regular timetable.’ He stepped back from the rail, squared his shoulders, and strolled to the staircase leading to the bridge.

  Maisie and the inspector watched him go, then turned to each other. ‘I’m sorry I —’

  They stopped in confusion, and stared at each other. Maisie recovered a fraction quicker. ‘You may go first, Inspector,’ she said, with a half-bow.

  Inspector Hamilton regarded her for a few moments before accepting her invitation. ‘I am sorry that I was so rude to you after the … incident yesterday, Miss Frobisher,’ he said, rather formally. ‘I was angry because you were right. I should have done more, and more quickly.’

  ‘That is a generous apology, Inspector,’ said Maisie. ‘I am sorry that I shouted at you.’

  ‘And I’m sorry that I — took hold of you as I did,’ said the inspector. ‘You were running away, and I — needed to speak to you.’

  Was it her imagination, or did Inspector Hamilton look slightly less pale than he had before? ‘Why did you need to speak to me?’

  He paused, and a smile flickered over his face. ‘Because I was so angry with you.’

  ‘I am sorry for that,’ said Maisie, ‘but it was my decision. Possibly not the right decision, but I was angry too.’

  They gazed at the sea in silence for some time. ‘I spoke to Mrs Jennings,’ said Inspector Hamilton. ‘You were right. She denied all knowledge of what I was talking about, and insisted that matters were settled.’

  ‘I see,’ said Maisie, her heart sinking. ‘Then I suppose there is nothing you can do.’

  ‘If I could see a way —’ The inspector sighed. ‘Although there is one ray of hope. After your escapade, Captain Carstairs has said I may do as I wish regarding the investigation. Understandably, he has not wanted to cause a scandal among the passengers. Now, though, he has realised that it is inevitable.’