‘What will happen?’ asked Maisie.
The inspector’s grip on the rail tightened noticeably. ‘A cabin search tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Further questions. Anything else I can think of. I want this case cleared up before we land in Bombay.’
Maisie gazed at his set, stern face, so at odds with his unbuttoned shirt and untidy hair. He glanced at her, and she looked hastily away. ‘I am sure you do, Inspector,’ she said.
‘You have surprised me, Miss Frobisher,’ he remarked, with a smile.
‘Have I? In what way?’
‘I had expected you to do what you usually do at this point, and offer to help.’ His smile faded as suddenly as it had appeared. ‘Does that mean you do not wish to?’
Maisie met his earnest gaze. ‘Does that mean you wish me to, Inspector?’
The faint flush that Maisie had observed earlier deepened. ‘Yes, I do.’ His gaze dropped to the deck. ‘I am not used to asking for help,’ he murmured.
‘And I am not used to being in a position to give it,’ said Maisie.
Without looking up, the inspector held out a hand. ‘Shake on it, Miss Frobisher,’ he said tersely.
Maisie took the proffered hand, which closed around hers firmly. They shook once, twice. ‘Thank you,’ he said, still holding her hand. ‘I am not sure what form your assistance will take, but I am glad of it.’ He let go, and turned back to the rail. ‘It is a fine night, is it not?’
‘Yes,’ said Maisie, ‘it is.’ She placed her hands on the rail and looked out at the sinking moon, which was fuller than it had been a few nights before. The inspector leaned on the rail too, his hands widely spaced, and his hand touched hers. Maisie waited for him to move it, but he did not. And she did not move hers, either.
Chapter 18
Maisie woke to the sound of rapping on her door and Ruth’s voice calling ‘Miss Frobisher! Miss Frobisher!’
Maisie rose, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and answered the door. As she pulled it open she noticed an envelope on the floor.
‘You look much brighter this morning, Miss Maisie,’ observed Ruth. ‘Have you had a note? Is it from your young man?’
‘How do you —’ Maisie began, before realising that Ruth meant an entirely different young man. ‘I don’t know.’ She turned the envelope over. Miss Frobisher was printed in careful square capitals, as different from the inspector’s spiky hand as could be imagined. Lips pursed, she slit it open.
Dear Miss Frobisher,
How oddly you have been behaving lately! I cannot say that maid’s dress became you in the slightest, and what were you doing in the smoking room? Perhaps I should ask that Pierrot who collapsed at the ball. Or perhaps I should see what the newspapers think.
Two hundred pounds will ensure my silence. Leave it in a plain envelope behind the library copy of Debrett’s Peerage by dinner-time, or I shall take action.
A Well-Wisher
Maisie’s face flamed, and she gasped.
‘Has he written something naughty?’ asked Ruth, grinning.
‘You could say that,’ replied Maisie, stuffing the note into its envelope.
Ruth giggled. ‘Then I suppose I must dress you very nicely for breakfast.’
Maisie sat down at the dressing table, her mind in a whirl. ‘Yes please, Ruth,’ she said. ‘That would be most kind.’
***
Maisie took a deep breath and pushed open the dining-room door. This time, though, talk did not cease. A few heads turned as she made her journey to the captain’s table, but Maisie hoped she was smart enough not to ignite memories of the plain and undignified figure she had presented two days ago.
‘Good morning,’ she said to the table in general, taking her seat and shaking out her napkin.
‘Good morning, Miss Frobisher,’ said Captain Carstairs, giving her an encouraging smile. Colonel Fortescue coughed and moved his seat rather conspicuously away from her.
‘Good morning, Miss Frobisher,’ said Mr Randall. ‘You seem very cheerful.’
‘Yes,’ said Maisie. ‘I have things to do, and I believe it best to approach them with a cheerful and positive mind.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Mr Randall, charging his fork with eggs and bacon.
Maisie asked for toast and scrambled eggs, and in the interval before her breakfast arrived took the opportunity to scrutinise her fellow-passengers. Miss Jeroboam grinned and waved, the inspector kept himself busy buttering a piece of toast, Mrs Smythe looked faintly disgusted, and Mr Smythe didn’t seem to notice that she was there at all. She eyed the Jenningses, but they were otherwise engaged. Indeed, Miss Jennings was talking quietly with Mr Merritt, and Mrs Jennings did not appear to mind.
Breakfast proceeded without much chatter until, as the last fork was laid down, the inspector cleared his throat. ‘Now that everyone has finished, I must inform you that we are conducting a search of cabins immediately after breakfast. I shall escort you to the library, where Lieutenant Barry will remain with you while we conduct the search.’
There was a general rumble of consternation; but all Maisie could think of was getting word to the inspector about the note. ‘Mr Hamilton, I must protest,’ she said, very distinctly. ‘I cannot allow a man to enter my cabin and rummage amongst my things.’
An audible snort came from Mrs Fortescue.
The inspector raised his eyebrows. ‘Miss Frobisher, I assure you that the search will be conducted discreetly and supervised by myself.’
‘That is not the point!’ cried Maisie. ‘I absolutely refuse.’
‘Miss Frobisher,’ said Miss Jeroboam, smiling, ‘we must all submit to this.’
The inspector frowned at Maisie. ‘If you have a good reason for refusing us access to your cabin, Miss Frobisher, I shall be glad to hear it.’
Maisie put a hand to her heart. ‘I cannot say at the table,’ she protested. ‘It is a private matter.’
The inspector sighed. ‘Very well.’ He dropped his napkin on the table, and rose. ‘Miss Frobisher, please accompany me to the library, and I shall hear your reason. The rest of you, please remain here.’
‘I do wish you’d take a hint,’ said Maisie, as soon as the library door was closed behind them. ‘Excuse me one moment.’ She turned, lifted the hem of her skirt, and retrieved the envelope from her petticoat pocket. ‘Someone pushed this under my door this morning.’
The inspector took it, read the note, and whistled. ‘Blackmail, then,’ he said, looking up at Maisie.
‘I daresay Mrs Jennings received a similar letter,’ said Maisie. ‘Though I suspect she will have burnt hers.’
‘But now we have something to go on.’
‘Not much,’ said Maisie. ‘Ship’s stationery, block capitals, and black ink.’
‘Written with a cheap broad-nibbed pen by a left-handed person. You may have forgotten, Miss Frobisher, that we still hold several unsent letters written by the occupants of the captain’s table.’
Maisie clapped her hands. ‘I assume you will force me to let you search my cabin, Inspector.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ said Inspector Hamilton. ‘But you may look as furious as you like about it, and damn me to all your companions.’
‘It will be a pleasure,’ said Maisie. She grinned at him, then fixed a scowl on her face.
‘Very nice,’ said the inspector, and opened the door. Maisie followed him, looking as mutinous as she knew how, and presently the party was rounded up and delivered to the library, where Lieutenant Barry watched them like a particularly officious sheepdog.
‘I take it you did not gain your point, Miss Frobisher,’ remarked Miss Jeroboam.
‘No, I did not,’ snapped Maisie. ‘I feel like a common criminal. The thought of men rummaging through my underthings —’ She closed her mouth with an air of finality, which in truth was to keep herself from laughing.
‘It will be over soon,’ said Miss Jeroboam. ‘I hope we all have nothing to fear, and then we can enjoy the rest of our day.’
‘I hope so,’ said Miss Jennings, but she didn’t look convinced. Mr Merritt, who was scanning the titles of the books on the shelf behind her, edged a little closer.
‘You are right, Miss Jeroboam,’ said Mrs Jennings. ‘It will be over soon.’ Her demeanour was calm, and Maisie judged that her assumption as to her note’s destiny was correct.
‘Well, I don’t like it,’ said Maisie, fidgeting with one of her earrings to give the appearance of nervousness. ‘An Englishwoman’s cabin is her castle.’
‘Hear hear,’ said Colonel Fortescue, then, realising that it was Maisie who had spoken, walked away.
Eventually conversation waned, and people became absorbed in gazing out of the window, or flicking through a book. The silence was broken by a metallic tinkle. ‘Drat!’ exclaimed Maisie, clapping a hand to her ear. ‘I have lost an earring!’ She bent to look for it. ‘Where has it gone?’
‘It sounded as if it rolled,’ said Miss Jeroboam. ‘Is it beneath your chair?’ She helped Maisie to move the heavy armchair and together they scanned the floorboards.
‘There it is,’ said Maisie. ‘Oh dear.’ For the earring had indeed rolled, and dropped into a gap in the deck boards. She attempted to insert a finger into the gap. ‘It’s no use, my finger is too wide.’ She tried her little finger, to no avail. ‘Does anyone have smaller fingers than me?’
Miss Jennings obligingly held hers up, but Miss Jeroboam was on her knees examining the deck. ‘One moment,’ she said, and extracted a hairpin. She straightened it out, then bent the end into a hook. ‘I have fished for many things before,’ she said, bending to the task, ‘but never an earring.’ She took the straight end between her thumb and forefinger and, biting her lip with concentration, lowered it down. Once, twice, three times the hook came up empty. Miss Jeroboam peered into the crack. ‘I need to make the hook smaller.’ She examined the hairpin critically, and fashioned a narrower version with a kink at the end. ‘Now then.’
‘Wonderful!’ exclaimed Maisie, as Miss Jeroboam fished up the missing earring. ‘It is only of sentimental value, but I would have been sorry to lose it.’
‘I am sure that all your jewellery has value, Miss Frobisher,’ said Mrs Jennings. Was Maisie mistaken, or did she have a slightly regretful look on her face?
‘Any valuable jewellery I have is sitting in a safe-deposit box in a London bank,’ said Maisie. ‘My mother made sure of that.’
‘All’s well that ends well,’ said Miss Jeroboam, handing her the earring. ‘Except my poor hairpin, which will never be the same.’
‘Here,’ said Maisie, extracting a pin from her own coiffure. ‘I shall give you one of mine as a thank-you.’ She stood and, on tiptoe, caught up the piece of hair behind Miss Jeroboam’s ear which had come down, and secured it.
‘Thank you,’ said Miss Jeroboam, smiling and patting her side hair. ‘I shall treasure it always.’
A knock at the door announced the arrival of the inspector. ‘Mrs and Miss Jennings, Miss Jeroboam, Mr and Mrs Smythe, you are free to return to your cabins if you wish.’ He nodded to the party, and disappeared.
‘That’s a relief,’ said Miss Jeroboam. ‘I shall take a turn around the deck. It is a shame you cannot join me, Miss Frobisher.’
‘The inspector will probably search my cabin last of all,’ said Maisie sourly. ‘And I imagine he will make a thorough job of it.’
Miss Jeroboam laughed, and with a wave of her hand, disappeared.
The morning wore on. Maisie sighed, and murmured about morning coffee.
‘Perhaps they will bring us a tray,’ said Jasper Randall.
‘I doubt it,’ said Mr Merritt. ‘We are probably all second-class passengers now.’ He grimaced. ‘At least I’m used to that.’
Four bells sounded, and almost immediately the door opened again. ‘Mr Randall, Mr Merritt, Colonel and Mrs Fortescue, you may go,’ said Inspector Hamilton.
‘What about me?’ wailed Maisie, as the rest of the party filed out.
‘We are just about to check your cabin, Miss Frobisher,’ said the inspector smoothly. ‘We should be finished by the end of morning coffee. Please remain here with the lieutenant.’ He turned to go.
‘I knew it!’ said Maisie, loud enough for the inspector to hear, and indeed anyone else in the vicinity of the library. She huffed, got a book from the shelf at random, and scowled at it.
The inspector returned ten minutes later. ‘I shall relieve you now, Lieutenant,’ he said. ‘Miss Frobisher, may I have a word in private?’
Lieutenant Barry shot Maisie an appraising look and scurried out.
‘A lady may read what she pleases,’ said Maisie, in a carrying voice.
‘I dare say,’ said Inspector Hamilton. He lowered his voice. ‘I have not found the missing document. Neither have I found the missing jewellery, which I suspect went over the side of the ship long ago. However, I have found a jar of black ink, two cheap broad-nibbed fountain pens, letters written by a left-handed person, and also fragments of burnt blotting paper in a fire grate, all in the same cabin.’
Maisie’s eyes opened wide. ‘And you suspect…?’
‘It’s obvious,’ said the inspector. ‘There are two occupants of the cabin, but only one with any kind of motive to blackmail.’
‘Go on,’ said Maisie, her heart in her mouth.
The inspector leaned closer and whispered in her ear, ‘Mr Merritt.’
Chapter 19
Maisie stared at Inspector Hamilton. ‘But he can’t be,’ she said.
The inspector looked calmly back. ‘He can,’ he replied. ‘Consider the evidence. Letters and a journal which show that Mr Merritt is left-handed — and I have seen as much for myself watching him handle his pipe in the smoking room. Cheap broad-nibbed pens of just the type used in the letters. And we know that Mr Merritt is in need of money, which is why he is taking up a post in India.’
‘Yes, but — Miss Jennings.’
The inspector frowned. ‘What about Miss Jennings?’
Maisie’s eyes felt ready to pop out of her head. ‘Are you blind, Inspector? Have you not seen how Mr Merritt talks to her, and sits near her, and generally takes every opportunity he can to be with her? How could he then blackmail her?’
The inspector was silent. ‘That could be an act,’ he said.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Maisie. ‘I know attraction when I see it.’
The inspector studied the floor.
‘I don’t mean that you don’t,’ said Maisie quickly. ‘Sometimes men are not as good at reading signals as women are.’
‘Well,’ said the inspector, holding Maisie’s gaze, ‘since the evidence was found in the cabin shared by Mr Merritt and Mr Randall, then if it was not Mr Merritt, the alternative is that Mr Randall is the blackmailer.’
‘Mr Randall? But why would he —’
‘Exactly,’ said the inspector drily. ‘He is a cheerful, sporting man, generous and open-handed in his behaviour. Mr Merritt, meanwhile, is dissatisfied with his lot in life, hard up, and as you know, only in first class at all through the good graces of his friend. You have to admit that it is a strong case.’
‘But Mr Merritt is against fighting, and blood sports… He may be resentful and awkward, but he is not cruel.’
The inspector smiled. ‘So Mr Randall is?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Maisie.
The inspector was still watching her. ‘I thought he was a friend of yours.’
‘We are friendly, yes.’ Maisie thought of her various encounters with Jasper Randall at the dinner table, on the promenade deck, and at the dance. Now that she thought of it, they did not amount to much. ‘But I would not say that he was a friend of mine.’
She paused. ‘What about money?’ The inspector raised his eyebrows. ‘What I mean is, did you find a large sum of money in the cabin?’
‘Not particularly large, no,’ said the inspector. ‘Then again, at present I have no means of knowing how much poor Mrs Jennings was ask
ed to pay. I suspect that money will have gone towards settling bills and debts.’ He stood. ‘You had better go, Miss Frobisher, or you will miss what is left of morning coffee.’
‘But we can’t leave things like this!’
The inspector gave her a stern look. ‘I have no intention of leaving things like this. But if you really believe Mr Merritt is innocent, Miss Frobisher, then the burden of proof is on you. The circumstantial evidence against him is strong, and it will take a great deal to change my mind.’
Maisie repaired hastily to the dining room and drank a cup of strong black coffee. If anything it made her even more confused. What can I do?
‘Miss Frobisher!’ Miss Jeroboam, looking cool despite the heat, strolled over, cup in hand. ‘I have been hunting for you. Has the inspector kept you all this time?’
‘Um, yes,’ said Maisie. She bit her lip. ‘He gave me a long lecture.’
‘Oh dear.’ Miss Jeroboam put her cup down. ‘Why don’t you come for a walk outside? The tea is stewed, and the best cakes have gone.’
Invented as much of her supposed grievance was, Maisie found it rather cathartic to bemoan the stupidity and closed-mindedness of men as they strolled.
‘You are right,’ said Miss Jeroboam. ‘I have encountered so much prejudice because of my sex. Women can’t do this, women can’t do that, women shouldn’t go there, not without a man.’ She glowered. ‘I shall have to engage a man on my expedition, purely for appearances’ sake. I shall end up doing twice the work, and when the expedition is over everyone will say that he carried me through it.’
‘That is shocking,’ said Maisie. ‘I don’t know how you put up with it, Miss Jeroboam.’
‘I have no choice.’ Miss Jeroboam’s tone was bitter. ‘Not if I wish to live the life I want, or as close an approximation to it as I can get. As it is, I must crawl on my belly to the Royal Society and any other body of frock-coated men I can find, and plead for money.’
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