Flora's Secret

by Anita Davison

  He nodded. ‘Looks like it, though Matilda is secure, thank goodness.’ He emerged from under the towel, still giving his scalp a vigorous scrub. ‘Everything all right? You seem distracted.’

  Silently, she handed him the clipping. ‘Read this.’

  He handed back the towel without speaking, and took the page from her.

  ‘The night Eloise and I searched Parnell’s cabin—’

  ‘Broke into,’ he corrected her.

  ‘Yes, all right then, broke into. That fell onto the floor with the photograph I mentioned.’

  Bunny scanned the paper swiftly then he looked up, his expression unfathomable. The deck lurched, rain sluicing the window like a hosepipe being aimed at the glass. Bunny staggered, steadying himself with a hand on the back of a chair. Flora grabbed the door to stop herself sliding into him.

  ‘Perhaps we had better sit down, or we’ll fall down.’ Flora lowered herself into the nearest chair, waving him into one opposite. The deck lurched sharply as he sat, so he fell the rest of the way.

  ‘I’ve never heard the names van Elder or Montgomery before.’ He paused and narrowed his eyes. ‘Unless…’

  ‘Surely you’ve made the connection by now.’ She twirled her hand in a circular motion as encouragement.

  ‘Oh. I see.’ His eyes widened. ‘Eloise is this Estelle van Elder, formerly Montgomery.’ He shrugged. ‘You were aware she was a widow.’

  ‘Widowed five days after the wedding.’ She tapped the page he still held in his hand. ‘I need her to explain that, and everything else she’s been hiding since we came aboard.’

  ‘That might not produce the result you wish for,’ he said gently. ‘If Eloise thinks you’re nosing too deeply into her affairs, she might complain to the captain. It’s not as if you have the authority to question people.’

  ‘I doubt it. She’s too scared at being found out. But you do have a point.’

  ‘As I recall, I have quite a number of points, but you always manage to circumvent them.’ He flicked the paper with a finger. ‘It says here he was over forty years of age and his widow is twenty-three. That since the evening of the marriage, Mr van Elder did not leave his apartment. ‘That implies all sorts of shenanigans right there.’ Bunny made to hand the clipping back to her, but when she dismissed him, he folded it in half and slipped it into an inside pocket of his jacket. ‘I’ll hang onto this for a bit then. Shall I?’ he asked unnecessarily.

  ‘We mustn’t jump to conclusions.’ Though she was aware it was an attempt to cover the fact she had had the same thoughts herself. Ones she was loath to harbour about Eloise. ‘I know it looks bad, but—’

  ‘But what? You hardly know the woman.’

  Flora was about to remind him that she didn’t know him either, but left the words unspoken. Instead, she said, ‘Eloise, or Estelle, or whatever her name is, thinks Mr Hersch is working for the van Elder family.’

  ‘Maybe he is,’ Bunny said. ‘I warned you to be wary of that man. He might look like an amiable old uncle, but I suspect there’s more to him than that.’

  ‘He’s not that old.’ Nothing about Mr Hersch had made her distrust him thus far, though she was beginning to wonder whom she could trust on this ship. No one seemed to be what they claimed.

  ‘I don’t see what we could do, although…’ Bunny paused and stroked his chin.

  ‘What?’ Flora urged.

  ‘A friend of mine is a reporter for the New York Times. I could ask him to discover what he can about this Theodore van Elder chap, including the circumstances surrounding his death. In the meantime, I suggest we don’t say anything to anyone.’

  ‘Even Mr Hersch?'

  ‘Especially him. We’ve no idea what’s he’s up to, or why.’

  Flora chewed her bottom lip, torn between her promise to the German, and her wish to stay in Bunny’s favour. Finally, she nodded. ‘All right, I won’t say anything.’

  ‘Come on then!’ Bunny heaved himself to his feet and made his way to the door.

  ‘You want to go to the telegraph office now? In this?’ Flora waved at the darkened window which showed a slate grey lowering sky and an angry sea.

  ‘Why not? Most of the passengers are holed up in their staterooms.’ He braced the door open with his hip while Flora fetched her coat, then led the way out onto the promenade deck.

  ‘Who would care if we sent a telegram anyway?’ Flora said, as a blast of salt spray stung her cheeks and the stiff wind plastered her skirt to her legs.

  ‘Most people wouldn’t,’ Bunny shouted above the scream of the wind. ‘Though the killer might.’ He released the door behind them, which slammed into its frame with a deafening bang.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Flora murmured.

  *

  Bunny’s knock on the wireless room door was answered by a fresh-faced crewman with damp hair whose brass name plate identified him as Seaman Crofts. Flora thought he looked vaguely familiar but couldn’t quite place him.

  ‘You’re lucky to catch me, Sir, Miss.’ He ushered them inside and leaned a shoulder against the door when it threatened to spring open again. ‘I was seeing to the bells, and have just this moment got back.’

  The cramped room held an oversized wooden desk sat below a rack of tightly packed shelves, the atmosphere permeated with the aromas of dust, ink, paper and wet wool.

  ‘What were you doing to the bells?’ Flora raised her hand to adjust her disarranged hair but gave up when she saw there was no mirror.

  ‘Muffling them. Bells on board ship are considered bad luck as they signify funerals.’

  ‘I thought they were essential to sound the watches?’ Bunny said, frowning.

  ‘Yes, sir, that’s true. But if they ring of their own accord, as in a storm, it means somebody is going to die.’ His youthful face showed complete acceptance of this superstition. ‘The deck bell was clanging away like a good’un in this wind.’

  Flora had no time for omens or superstitions, preferring to rely on practicality combined with a keen sense of her own survival. The look she exchanged with Bunny told her his philosophy ran along similar lines.

  ‘I want to send a telegram,’ Bunny said, hiding a smile. ‘The offices of the New York Times.’

  ‘That’s a newspaper, Sir.’ The crewman dragged a pad of paper towards him, his expression changing from eagerness to wary suspicion. ‘You’re not a reporter are you? Because the captain said I wasn’t to send details of the death of that passenger to anyone—’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Bunny reassured him. ‘This is a personal matter I wish treated with the utmost privacy.’

  ‘As you say, sir.’ Crofts gave a curt nod, apparently satisfied, and wrote down the words Bunny dictated.

  ‘There’s no mention here of the gentleman who died,’ the sailor said when he had finished. ‘So I don’t reckon it can do any harm. Pounds or dollars, sir?’ He scribbled a few symbols on a scrap of paper before handing it to Bunny.

  ‘Oh, er, pounds if you don’t mind,’ Bunny replied. ‘I don’t have any American currency left.’

  ‘Then that’s twenty-two words, sir, at eight shillings four pence for ten words. The signature is included, so that will be sixteen shillings eight pence.’

  ‘Can’t you put it on my account?’ Bunny asked, frantically searching his pockets.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Crofts didn’t look in the least regretful. ‘All wireless telegraphy charges are strictly pre-paid.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure I – ah!’ Bunny withdrew a pound note from an inside pocket and handed it over.

  Flora waited as Seaman Crofts counted out change from a cash box into Bunny’s hand, her attention caught by a sheet of notepaper on the desk, with ‘Telegraph Request – Urgent’ on the top and Carl Hersch’s name beneath. The word ‘Sent’ in sketchy block capitals scrawled across it.

  ‘How does the telegraph machine work?’ she asked, feigning interest in the contraption on the desk in front of them.

  Seaman
Crofts launched into a lively description of the wireless telegraphy machine, made up of three cylinders of various sizes joined by cogs and strips of metal above an ivory and black keyboard that resembled a small pianoforte.

  ‘Um, I see, most interesting.’ Paying cursory attention to the combination of metal, wood and wires, Flora squinted at the words on the page with Mr Hersch’s name on which read:

  Montana Land Deal 1890 Followed by the words, Herein requested list persons…..

  Her view of the rest of the writing cut off when the sailor slid his elbow over the page.

  ‘Sorry.’ Flora took a step back. ‘I didn’t realize it was confidential. I was just fascinated to see how it was done.’

  ‘No bother, Miss. My fault for not putting the papers away.’ He shuffled the sheets into a rough pile, while Flora stared at the top one with longing and wished she had been more discreet.

  ‘Time to go, Flora,’ Bunny said from behind her.

  She turned to leave, then halted when she remembered where she had seen the sailor before. ‘Excuse me, but didn’t I see you talking with Mr Crowe on the stairs yesterday?’

  ‘I speak to most of the passengers at one time or another.’ He bent his head to a pile of papers again, his cheeks flushed.

  ‘I’m sure you remember this one. He was being unpleasant, wasn’t he?’ she asked, drawing an enquiring look from Bunny. ‘He does have an unfortunate manner sometimes.’

  ‘Um – well, he was a bit cross.’ A sheen of sweat appeared on the sailor’s forehead. ‘We settled the matter, so I doubt you’ll find he has any complaints.’

  ‘I’m sure he doesn’t.’ Flora adopted a sympathetic smile. ‘You must have to deal with all sorts of people in your job.’

  ‘I do, Miss. Now if you don’t mind, I have to get on.’ He indicated Bunny’s telegram in front of him.

  ‘Of course, and we must get along to luncheon.’ She grabbed Bunny’s arm and hustled him into the lobby.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Bunny asked, when the door closed behind them.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Flora tapped her teeth with a fingernail. ‘It could be nothing at all. Then again…’

  *

  The wind continued to howl as Flora made her way along the interior corridor, grateful for Bunny’s steadying arm keeping them upright. In the lobby outside the dining room, they paused to allow a stream of unsteady diners through the doors ahead of them.

  ‘What’s that chap doing?’ Bunny pointed through the window onto a deck barely visible through a wall of spray that crashed over the rail.

  ‘Where?’ Flora peered through the mist, where she could just make out the figure of a man in a long overcoat. Bent almost double, he struggled to plant one foot in front of the other on the steeply angled boards. ‘He’s making for the aft deck.’

  Flora grabbed for the handrail as the crest of a running wave lifted the floor beneath her feet, hovered, then plunged the ship downwards again, taking her stomach with it.

  Another wave, even bigger this time rolled over the rail. The man on deck staggered, glanced back once over his shoulder, his white face suffusing with terror as the water rushed towards him. At the last second, he made a grab for the rail on the steps up to the promenade deck, but his hand closed on thin air as the wall of water crashed over him, obscuring him completely.

  ‘Stay here!’ Bunny commanded, flinging open the outside door.

  ‘No! Bunny. It’s too dangerous!’ Flora called into the wind, aware with a sinking dread that he couldn’t possibly have heard her.

  Cold water slammed into her eyes and her skirt billowed out like a sail, her shawl whipping painfully round her shoulders. She would be blown off her feet if she stayed there, leaving her with no option but to heave the door shut again.

  Water dripped from her hair as she stared through the glazed part of the door to where Bunny waded through knee-high seawater, using fenders, winches and even chairs as handholds. Her gaze jumped forwards to the struggling man, who, with nothing to hold on to, was being pulled towards the rail in the grip of fast-flowing water as it was sucked back into the sea.

  A loud creak sounded from the far side of the deck as Bunny’s motor car slid inexorably across the boards towards both men, its canvas cover billowing in the wind, the straps trailing behind it like streamers. Flora gasped in horror as the deck tilted to the starboard side, and the metal monster gathered speed. The creak and squeal must have alerted Bunny, for he gave the moving car one hesitant look before he plunged past it, straight for the half-submerged man.

  A rush of tender admiration tinged with fear tugged at Flora’s chest at what it must have cost him to ignore his beloved motor car and go to the man’s aid. Another wave submerged them both beneath a giant grey hand that threatened to pluck them from the deck. Together, they rolled sideways, dragged towards the gap below the bottom rung, where nothing but empty air stood between them and the ferocious sea. The deluge swirled and receded from the boards, leaving the two stranded figures huddled against a massive circular winch riveted to the deck.

  Flora’s breath caught and she mouthed silent bargains with God for Bunny’s safe return, aware that a crowd had gathered behind her in the lobby, issuing murmurings of dismay and horrified gasps. A line of sailors, clambered down the outside companionway, their heads down against the wind and rain which reduced their progress to agonizing slowness.

  ‘He’s got him!’ someone behind Flora yelled.

  Flora’s chest tightened as her gaze flicked back to Bunny. The deck levelled out on the next wave, and he hauled the man upright by his collar. The man clutched his right arm to his chest as if it were useless, the other hooked round Bunny’s neck. The next wave fell short and in the brief respite, the pair limped and staggered towards the lobby door.

  Behind them, the motor car came to a shuddering rest against a pile of folded steamer chairs jammed tight against a lifeboat.

  Crewmen surrounded them and dragged them into the lobby where the man collapsed, his sodden clothes forming a wide, wet pool on the floor.

  ‘Be careful with him!’ Bunny braced a hand against the wall as he heaved in laboured breaths. His glasses were gone and his hair hung in dark rats’ tails on his forehead and neck, his drenched jacket clung to his shoulders, accentuating his muscular build.

  Weak with relief, Flora pushed her way through the group who clustered round him and threw her arms round his neck. Freezing moisture leached through the bodice of her blouse, but she clung on, inhaling the male scent of him, mixed with the wind and salt, her throat clogged with relief and grateful tears.

  ‘Hang on now, Flora.’ Bunny gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘It’s all over now. No need for theatrics.’ He disentangled her hands and held them down at her sides while his gaze swept the row of faces around them.

  ‘Sorry, I—’ A thrust of disappointment streaked through her chest and she stepped back, her possessive pride dissolving like mist. He was right, she had no claim on him, making it presumptuous of her to be so demonstrative. The one consolation being that he was alive. ‘You’ve lost your glasses,’ was the only thing she could think of to say.

  ‘Drat, those were my favourites too.’ He peered out to the storm-ravaged deck with a bemused expression, as if somehow he could detect the lost spectacles.

  Gerald pounded his back in a loud, wet slap, distracting him, while Gus Crowe murmured, ‘Good show, old man.’

  Flora tugged her coat round her to cover the damp patch on her skirt, as if she could hold in her mortification at what she had just done. She had hugged him, in public! No wonder he had shied away from her! Her instinct was to apologize, but his focus had turned entirely on the rescued man who now lay on a stretcher slung between two sailors. A lady bent over him, only partly visible through the throng of people, one of his hands sandwiched in both of hers.

  ‘Darling,’ she cried piteously. ‘Can you hear me? Please say you can hear me.’

  ‘I doubt it, ma’am,’ a crewm
an answered. ‘He’s barely conscious, I’m afraid. We’ll get the doctor up here in a trice to see to him. He’s a lucky chap, we nearly lost him overboard.’

  The woman lifted her head, and Flora released a shocked gasp. ‘Bunny, that’s Cynthia! The man you rescued was Max.’

  ‘Really?’ Bunny blinked, then with mock seriousness, added, ‘I must have been too busy trying not to get swept overboard to notice.’

  ‘Was that sarcasm, Mr Harrington?’ Flora snapped. How could he make jokes when seconds before she had been terrified he was about to die?

  ‘I knew you were smart.’ Bunny choked on the last word and lowered his head, overcome by a bout of coughing.

  ‘You’d better see the doctor too,’ Flora said, concerned. ‘I read somewhere that swallowing seawater can be dangerous, and you were in it for a while.’

  Bunny nodded, but waved her away. ‘When I’ve made sure Max will be all right first.’ He moved away and conducted a brief, one sided conversation with Dr Fletcher, while the crewmen carried the stretcher with Max along the corridor, Cynthia tottering awkwardly alongside.

  The drama over, the crowd dispersed towards the dining room, one or two lingering behind to pat Bunny on the back and murmur praise.

  ‘What was Max doing out there in such heavy seas?’ Flora asked, when she and Bunny were alone in the middle of the lobby.

  ‘He most probably didn’t realize the danger,’ Bunny said. ‘Not everyone is an experienced sailor.’

  ‘You will see Dr Fletcher, won’t you? Just in case?’ Flora pleaded, hoping he wouldn’t dismiss her. What was it with men and doctors? Neither her father nor Lord Vaughn would ever call one voluntarily.

  ‘Later.’ He cast a myopic glance at the empty deck that a few moments before had been tilted at forty degrees and beneath several feet deep in freezing sea water. ‘My priority right now is to make sure my motor car is still in once piece.’

  ‘You’re not going back out there?’ she asked, horrified.