Chapter 17
‘Eddy is fine,’ Bunny assured Flora for the fourth time as they approached the dining room. ‘He’s much happier being with Ozzy and the other boys.’
‘He was quite reserved earlier,’ Flora said. ‘Which makes me think he’s more upset than he appears. He liked Eloise.’
‘He didn’t really know her.’
‘It seems none of us did.’ Flora recalled vividly the scene that morning on the deck. Eloise and the boys splattered by a giant wave and the way they had screamed with laughter and leapt about, soaking wet but without a care. Eddy would remember that.
‘Still, it’s unsettling for a child.’ She directed a nod at the steward who bowed them into the crowded dining room. ‘I hope there won’t be any unkind gossip about how Eloise’s choice of profession decided her fate. People can be quite cruel at times and I couldn’t bear that.’
‘If the conversation gets too gruesome, I’ll redirect it.’ Bunny squeezed her hand that rested on his forearm.
‘No, don’t do that.’ Flora examined her courage and resolved to face what was necessary. ‘Mr Hersch is right, we might hear something interesting.’
The Gilmores, Miss Ames and Gus Crowe, Mrs Penry-Jones and Hester all occupied their customary seats at the table by the time they arrived, though Mr Hersch, and Cynthia had yet to appear.
Flora halted, staring.
‘What is it?’ Bunny paused beside her.
‘Three people weren’t at the bridge tournament. Mr Hersch, Cynthia and Miss Ames. Max wasn’t there for obvious reasons, and Hester came later and -’ her gaze slid to Mr Parnell’s empty chair, set beside Eloise’s. A shudder went through her and she straightened her shoulders and continued to the table, where Bunny held out her chair.
‘How can he possibly guarantee our safety?’ Miss Ames demanded loudly. ‘He’s no idea who the killer is.’ She had abandoned her rainbow hues for a slate grey skirt and white blouse, both of which accentuated her sallow complexion.
‘Who is ‘he’, Miss Ames?’ Bunny slid Flora’s chair closer to the table.
‘Why the captain of course.’
Conversation resumed, but was slow to gain momentum, becoming forced in places while responses to bad jokes were overly enthusiastic.
Gerald and Monica avoided each other’s eyes, while Gus Crowe lounged carelessly in his chair, but even he barely spoke.
‘I’m surprised to see her here tonight.’ Bunny nodded to where Cynthia made her way slowly to the table, stopping now and then in response to comments she either returned with a brief word or waved away. Poised and lovely as ever, Flora judged her to be slightly diminished somehow, her eyes red-rimmed beneath a thicker than usual layer of make-up.
‘She likes to make an entrance, doesn’t she?’ Monica whispered, loud enough for Cynthia to hear. She had barely sat before Miss Ames asked in an almost funereal voice, ‘How is your poor husband, my dear?’
‘In some pain still, and very tired,’ Cynthia replied, with the air of a tragic heroine. ‘He was asleep when I left.’ The waiter slid a salad in front of her which she poked desultorily with no apparent appetite.
‘Sickrooms can be very wearing, can’t they?’ Miss Ames fiddled with a necklace of jet at her throat. ‘However, we cannot simply sit here and make no reference to what has happened. Miss Lane sat right here with us mere hours ago.’
Mrs Penry-Jones cast a vague gaze at her companion. ‘We don’t trouble ourselves with the affairs of such people, do we, Hester?’
‘No, Mrs Penry-Jones.’ Hester’s cheeks pinked, but her hands remained steady.
‘It’s not as if we can get away from this murderer in our midst.’ Monica’s voice held slight panic. ‘I mean, in a hotel we could simply leave, but here—’
‘No, we couldn’t.’ Gus Crowe poured himself a glass of water and set the jug down with a thump. ‘We would all be under house arrest in a hotel. The police would insist on it. We’re all suspects after all.’
Captain Gates rose from his table at the far end of the room, a glass in one hand and a knife in the other which he clinked together to call for quiet.
‘Chap’s behaving as if we’re all at a wedding,’ Crowe snarled, attracting hard looks from their neighbours and a critical ‘tut’ from Mrs Penry-Jones.
‘As you must all be aware by now,’ Captain Gates said, making a valiant effort to instil gravity into his tone, but he still looked as if he was about to announce a concert or a singalong, ‘Miss Eloise Lane was found dead this afternoon in her stateroom.’ A wave of nods and low murmurs greeted his words, some turning to Table 6 in silent accusation. ‘This event casts doubt on the previous demise of Mr Frank Parnell, but as yet, we are not certain the two incidents are connected.’
‘Jolly unfortunate if they’re not,’ Gerald scoffed.
‘The crew and myself are doing everything we can to apprehend the person or persons responsible, assisted by a gentleman from the Pinkerton’s Detective Agency.’ The murmurs and nods increased in pitch at this interesting element, until Captain Gates called for quiet again. ‘Mr Carl Hersch has made himself available for anyone who has any pertinent information about either the death of Mr Parnell, or Miss Lane. In the meantime, we hope you will report any suspicious behaviour among your fellow passengers.’
‘They expect us all to spy on each other now, do they?’ Cynthia’s eyes flashed with annoyance. ‘As if I don’t have enough to cope with, now I shall have to watch every word.’
‘Why? What have you got to hide, my dear?’ Monica’s enquiry was said with bland innocence, but made Flora wonder what was behind it.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Cynthia slumped in her seat and turned away.
‘Hush,’ Miss Ames snapped. ‘The captain is still speaking.’
‘We believe these incidents to be isolated, and therefore wish to assure you everyone will be perfectly safe on board for the rest of the voyage. Thank you.’ He smiled and bowed in response to a flurry of hand-clapping before he resumed his seat.
‘Was anyone aware that German fella was a detective?’ Gerald broke the heavy silence that had settled between them. ‘Came as a surprise to me, I can tell you.’
‘Why will no one tell us what actually happened to poor Eloise?’ Miss Ames’s voice rose. ‘That nice young second officer would only say she had been discovered dead in her stateroom.’
‘I heard she was strangled.’ Monica pressed a hand to her throat. ‘What with Mr Parnell possibly being murdered too, at this rate we’ll all be slaughtered in our beds.’
‘Don’t be melodramatic, woman, Parnell wasn’t murdered.’ Gerald signalled to the waiter to bring him another drink, though he had barely touched his food. ‘If one listens long enough to shipboard gossip, you’ll hear Eloise was bludgeoned, poisoned, drowned and possibly suffered a heart attack.’ He glanced at his wife’s plate, sighing. ‘Monica, dear,’ he dragged out the words in barely restrained annoyance, ‘what is the point of picking mushrooms out of a beef stroganoff?’
Monica grimaced, but continued to discard the offending items onto the side of her plate.
Flora picked at her poached salmon, the fork in her hand trembled on its way to her mouth, but she set it down, the contents untasted. Sadness bunched beneath her ribs. How could they talk about Eloise in the same breath as mushrooms? Although maybe Mr Hersch was right and allowing everyone to gossip was a good thing. It could also explain why he wasn’t here.
‘Racy ladies, these actresses.’ Gus Crowe waved his fork in mid-air. ‘Perhaps it was an assignation that went wrong.’ His gaze swung to meet Gerald, returning his scowl with a slow wink.
Gerald shoved his plate away from him with such force, his wine glass threatened to topple over. He caught it just in time and muttered an apology, his face flaming. Muttering something inaudible to Monica, he stood and with a curt nod and murmured, ‘Excuse me,’ he strode to the door
‘What’s wrong with Gerald?’ Flora whispered to Bunny. ‘And
where’s he going?’
‘I don’t know.’ Bunny stared after him. ‘Perhaps he’s more upset about Eloise than he said, though he hardly knew her.’
‘Someone knew her well enough to kill her. Why not Gerald?’
‘It’s not that. Crowe goaded him just then. I would like to know what he meant.’
Flora ground her teeth in mute anger, but was for the moment trapped. Theatrical exits weren’t de rigueur for governesses, besides, she owed it to Eloise to stay and discover what she could. Instead she fumed silently at the callous way Crowe spoke of a woman he professed to be attracted to.
‘Somewhat inappropriate, old chap.’ Bunny appeared to sense Flora’s discomfort and frowned at Crowe across her lap. ‘Miss Lane is barely cold.’
‘Sorry.’ Crowe gave a light-hearted shrug but didn’t seem at all apologetic. ‘Didn’t mean to offend and all that.’
‘Mr Crowe could have a point.’ Hester focused on the slice of meat she brought slowly to her mouth. ‘Miss Lane did exhibit over-familiarity with the officers. Maybe it was one of them?’
Flora frowned, having never seen Eloise behave with more than friendliness towards everyone, except perhaps Gus Crowe, which was still a mystery. The man was certainly attractive, in an oily, ingratiating way, but he made no attempt to hide an underlying sleaziness.
‘My stewardess,’ Miss Ames began, pausing to ensure everyone was listening, ‘told me in confidence that Miss Lane was found lying on her bed, quite blue and with her tongue hanging out of her mouth.’
‘There, you see, strangled.’ Monica turned a triumphant gaze on Miss Ames, who nodded sagely.
Flora’s hand tightened on her glass until she was in danger of breaking it, then jumped when Bunny nudged her. Gossip had already twisted the truth to fit more salacious appetites, but if she could bear it a while longer some nugget of truth might emerge.
‘Flora, could you pass the water jug?’ Bunny asked, more she suspected to distract her than anything, as when she handed it to him he leaned close. ‘You’re doing fine,’ he said, squeezing her hand on the tabletop.
Hersch’s previous comment that their companionship had not gone unnoticed prompted her to slide her hand from beneath his. She reminded herself not to study his face too intently when he spoke, or return his brief, concerned smiles with betraying ones of her own. Such behaviour would confuse him and do nothing for her already tainted reputation. Governesses had to be like Caesar’s wife: above reproach.
‘What are you smiling at?’ Bunny said. ‘Have you thought of something?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not important.’ Frowning, she caught the tail end of something Hester said to Cynthia.
‘…Eloise’s cabin this afternoon, Mrs Cavendish?’ Hester’s voice was falsely subservient. ‘You were bringing her some herbal tea, if I recall?’
Cynthia jerked her fork, smearing mustard onto the tablecloth. ‘I-I did, yes. But there was no answer to my knock. The commotion on the deck below distracted me, and when I realized it was Max down there, I—’ She halted as if she had come up against some mental image that was too horrible to bear, and shook her head to dismiss it.
Hester went back to her food, apparently unmoved. Was her apathy a case of a plain woman who could not bring herself to regret the passing of a pretty one, or something else?
‘I suppose now he’s Gates’s best buddy, he’s too grand to eat with us anymore.’ Crowe nodded to the figure of Mr Hersch as he came through the door. ‘Oh no, my mistake, here he comes. Watch what you say, everyone.’
‘Apologies for my late arrival.’ The German’s amiable gaze settled briefly on each face in turn as he took his chair.
‘You missed the Captain’s speech,’ Bunny said, swivelling his chair slightly to make room.
‘Are you really a Pinkerton’s detective?’ Miss Ames asked before the German’s rear had connected with the seat.
‘I didn't miss it exactly,’ Hersch smiled at Bunny. ‘In fact I helped him prepare it. And yes, dear lady,’ he inclined his head. ‘I am indeed.’ He eased backwards to allow a waiter to place his entree in front of him.
‘You might have been a bit more forthcoming,’ Crowe snapped.
‘I agree,’ Miss Ames added. ‘We would have felt much safer had we known you were on board.’
‘Don’t see how.’ Mrs Penry-Jones demolished a bread roll into crumbs on her side plate. ‘We still have two dead bodies and no idea who the murderer is.’
‘Everyone on board will be investigated fully in due course.’ Mr Hersch held each of their gazes in turn. ‘The perpetrator will be discovered, I assure you.’
‘You think the murders were committed by the same person?’ Bunny asked.
‘We cannot be sure, but for the moment, yes. I’m sure things will be clearer when we reach England and the proper authorities are involved.’
‘Are you suggesting it was one of us?’ Mrs Penry-Jones looked up sharply. ‘Most of us here were playing bridge when she was found. Except Cynthia of course, she was with dear Max who was being tended by the doctor.’ She turned a burning gaze on Flora. ‘Come to think of it, Miss Maguire, you left the library in something of a hurry. Where were you all afternoon?’
Flora frowned, not so much at her accusatory tone, but reference to Cynthia’s husband as ‘dear Max’ when she couldn’t recall them ever having a conversation.
‘I can vouch for Miss Maguire’s movements, Mrs Penry-Jones,’ Bunny answered for her, the words, ‘not that they are any of your concern’ hovered in the air.
‘I’ll wager you can.’ Crowe gave a knowing chuckle.
Miss Ames supressed a smile, though not quick enough to conceal the glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘I don’t play bridge, in case anyone is interested. I was in my stateroom, writing.’
‘Miss Lane was with us on deck before luncheon,’ Monica said, then added quickly, ‘she was in excellent spirits. Then the storm worsened and an officer warned us to go back inside. I don’t recall seeing her after that.’ She looked up to see Gerald had returned to the table, his expression much calmer than when he had left.
‘We all know what Max was doing later on,’ Gerald said, apparently having heard the last comment. ‘Trying not to drown.’
At Cynthia’s wince, Gerald leaned towards her as he took his seat. ‘Forgive me, my dear. I meant nothing by it. One needs to keep a sense of humour about such things.’
‘You’re right.’ Cynthia dabbed her lips delicately with a napkin and gave him a shy smile. ‘Max wasn’t badly hurt after all. I have a lot to be grateful for.’
‘Huh, what was he doing out there in the first place?’ Mrs Penry-Jones snapped as she gestured to Hester to pass her the butter.
‘I saw Eloise just before luncheon.’ Crowe gave up his attempt to attract a waiter and filled his wine glass himself. ‘At least I think I did. It was a girl in a cloak with a hood similar to the one I’ve seen her wear.’
‘Are you sure?’ Miss Ames quizzed him. ‘In which case you must have been the only one.’
‘Really?’ Crowe swept the table with a half-embarrassed glance. ‘Oh well, I didn’t see her in the dining room, but then it was a buffet and everyone was moving around a lot. The storm was still raging too, so—’ having instilled doubt he left the words hanging.
‘I saw her on deck on my way to the bridge tournament,’ Hester volunteered, flushing as all eyes turned towards her. ‘She was at the rail, just staring out to sea.’
‘In that storm?’ Gerald snapped. ‘A tiny thing like Eloise could have been washed overboard.’
‘I-I may have been wrong in that case,’ Hester said. ‘She was quite a long way away and I wasn’t wearing my glasses. Though at the time I was convinced it was her.’
Flora slanted a sideways look at Hester, unable to remember having seen her wearing glasses.
Gerald raised a conspiratorial eyebrow at the detective. ‘Ah, but Eloise didn’t drown, did she?’
Hersch didn
’t react to this remark let alone respond to it. He simply carried on eating his stroganoff without getting any sauce on his moustache.
‘Enough of this murder talk.’ Crowe tossed his napkin onto the table beside his plate. ‘It’s like a morgue in here. I’ve lost my appetite. If anyone is in the mood for poker, feel free to join me in the smoking room.’
*
Flora stood silent at the rail beside Bunny as they stared out to sea, where the evening mist split like curtains being pulled aside to reveal a sea as dark as oil. His ability to sense when she wanted to talk, or when she preferred silence was a rare skill, and one of the things she liked about him. If only she could forget that impulsive embrace as completely as he evidently had.
A rising moon lit a cloud bank to pearly grey, while the wind struck a note in the rigging. The steady whoosh of the sea far below soothed her nerves, though could not banish the parade of images that marched through her head. The worst ones, like Eloise lying dead, she drove down, while she examined the less disturbing ones more closely: Eloise’s smiling face as they sat on her bed after they invaded Parnell’s stateroom, the palpable fear in her eyes when Flora had told her about the photograph. She hadn’t wanted the German to see it. Why? To keep her marriage to Theodore van Elder a secret? But if, as she thought, Mr Hersch was working for her late husband’s family, it wouldn’t make any difference. Or was her fear not based on logic, and she was convinced that even without evidence they could make her life unbearable?
‘Why was Gerald so jumpy with Crowe this evening?’ Flora asked, still searching for reasons and the questions to go with them. ‘Gerald usually treats him like an annoying insect, but something rattled him for him to go storming off like that.’
‘Have your powers of perception let you down on this occasion?’ Bunny leaned an elbow on the rail and twisted towards her.
‘What do you know that I don’t?’ Flora narrowed her eyes at him.
‘Gerald has developed a tendre for a certain lady in a stateroom on the stern saloon deck.’
‘A serious one?’ Flora’s eyes widened. ‘Not Eloise? I heard him once refer to her as a pocket venus.’
Flora's Secret Page 21
