Flora's Secret

by Anita Davison

  ‘Now, what have you two been talking about?’ She perched on the side of the bed; the only free space left in the room as Flora occupied the single chair.

  ‘I was just saying to Max.’ Flora hid her frustration beneath a smile. ‘How nervous the passengers are about the fact there’s a killer on board.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Cynthia shuddered theatrically but her gaze sharpened. ‘Has Mr Hersch discovered anything new?’

  ‘If he has, he isn’t sharing it with me. It’s only a matter of time though, what with two murders to solve.’ Flora studied their faces, certain the answers lay in this room.

  ‘Two?’ Cynthia’s smile turned stale round the edges. ‘Mr Hersch thinks Mr er – Parnell was murdered as well?’

  ‘He’s thinks they are connected, yes. And despite the Captain’s announcement at dinner last night, he’s not convinced they were committed by the same person.’ Flora wasn’t sure where the thought came from but, it suddenly made sense.

  Max’s hand jerked and hot tea splashed onto his bare arm below his sling. He gave a sharp cry, which brought Cynthia to her feet, dabbing at the wet stain with a napkin, and murmuring in distress.

  ‘It’s all right, Cyn.’ Max waved her away. ‘You got most of it.’ He massaged his forehead with his free hand. ‘I’m sorry to be so unsociable, Flora, but I get tired easily, what with the pain and all that. I could do with some sleep.’

  ‘Of course, darling.’ Cynthia fussed. ‘Let me get rid of this, then I’ll see you out, Flora.’ She re-loaded the tray and manhandled it into the sitting room.

  Left with no choice but to leave, Flora rose. ‘I hope you’ll feel better soon, Max.’

  Flora was about to follow Cynthia, but at the last second, Max thrust out his hand and grabbed her arm, bringing her attention back to his face. His eyes were open, clear and intense.

  ‘Take my advice, Flora. Don’t get pulled into this. Nothing good will come of it.’

  ‘Pulled into what?’ Flora whispered urgently, aware they risked being heard by Cynthia. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I can’t explain. If only Cyn had listened to me at the beginning, but she’s a loyal girl, you see.’ His gaze drifted past her shoulder just as Cynthia reappeared. He dropped Flora’s arm as if it were hot, and relaxed onto his pillows with a sigh.

  ‘Poor dear, he didn’t sleep well last night.’ Cynthia closed the door and drew Flora into the sitting room.

  ‘How is all this drama affecting you, Cynthia? Hardly an ideal honeymoon.’ Flora took in her darting eyes and the paleness of her skin beneath a layer of face powder.

  ‘Me?’ Cynthia issued a high-pitched laugh that bordered on hysteria. ‘What could possibly be wrong with me? It’s poor darling Max who got hurt.’

  *

  Flora joined the line of spectators gathered to watch the horse racing on the saloon deck, where hemp ropes had been strung on wooden posts marking the course. Several of the more youthful members of the crew wore caps with matching coloured bands across their shoulders, each of whom straddled broomsticks on which had been attached papier mâché horse’s heads.

  Lines of excited children hung over the rails on the upper decks as she made her way to the bench seats set out for spectators, her gaze settling on Eddy in relief that for once he was where he was supposed to be. Gerald, Monica and Ozzy sat on the far side of him, while Bunny beckoned to her from the other.

  ‘How’s Max?’ Bunny whispered as he reached him, shifting aside to make room for her, his upper arm grazing hers.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she whispered back, pushing aside the puzzling interview she had just had, she leaned forward and smiled at Eddy, who grinned back at her. For now, she was intent on enjoying the warm afternoon where she didn’t have to think about violence and death for a while.

  ‘If this isn’t to your taste,’ Bunny nodded to the lines of “horses” gathered at the end of the course waiting for the orders to be off. ‘We could go to the concert in the dining room?’ When she shook her head, he said, ‘what about the art exhibition? Every old biddy on board has been painting away this week. Even Mrs Penry-Jones. Mostly bowls of fruit from the kitchen and seascapes, but they aren’t bad.’

  ‘No, I’m quite happy here, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘It’s more than all right, Miss Maguire.’

  Their exchanged smiles which she liked to think had become their secret code that said each other’s company was all they required, for now. Flora had even come to terms with the fact Eddy’s escapade in the darkroom could have been what everyone said – a boyish prank with no real harm done. Though there was still the mystery of the man outside the dining room.

  She was about to broach the subject of Max, when Eddy shouted her name. ‘I’ll explain later,’ she whispered, as Eddy left his seat and joined her, his straw boater tipped back on his head.

  ‘Tease me, why don’t you?’ Bunny murmured, half serious, making her laugh

  ‘I’m backing Arthritis in the Seasick Hurdle,’ Eddy said, waving a slip of paper in her face.

  ‘Placing real bets at your age?’ Bunny blinked in feigned shock though his smile remained in place.

  ‘It’s only twenty-five cents a time, which is about a shilling.’ Eddy pulled a mildly disgusted face. ‘And it’s only a game, I shan’t develop the gambling bug.’

  ‘I should hope not.’ Bunny delved into his trouser pocket. ‘What do you reckon on Count de Money in the Lowbrow Handicap, or shall I lose my shirt?’

  ‘Lose, I think,’ Eddy replied. ‘His rider is that paunchy fellow in a yellow cap over there, see?’

  ‘Hmm, perhaps I’ll just stick with Steam Hammer. His rider looks sprightly enough.’

  ‘That’s Captain Gates’s horse.’ Eddy spoke with the calm authority of someone who had researched their subject. ‘Well, not a real horse, naturally. A hobby horse. Anyway, each one is sponsored by an officer or a passenger.’

  ‘How many races are there?’ Flora asked.

  ‘Six, with six horses per race.’ Bunny tipped a pile of small change into Eddy’s hand. ‘Here, put this on for me, would you?’

  ‘Right-o.’ Excitement brightened the freckles across his nose and he raced away, the coins clutched tightly in his hand.

  ‘Must we watch every race?’ Flora fanned her face with her programme, regretting having refused the art exhibition, which would at least be cooler. ‘It’s getting hot out here and it’s already noisy.’

  ‘Where’s your sense of fun?’ Bunny nudged her. ‘At least the atmosphere among the passengers has lifted a little after the gloom of the last few days.’

  ‘It’s not over though, is it?’ she said sadly, though not wishing to spoil the afternoon, added, ‘besides, I’m an English rose who doesn’t much like the harsh sun. It creates freckles.’

  ‘Hmm, you could be right.’ He gave a start, both hands held up in surrender. ‘I meant about the noise and the heat, not the freckles.’

  ‘Forgiven.’ Flora conceded, then with more warmth, ‘How about we watch the first race, then go to the library for tea? I doubt Eddy will notice. And besides, I have something—’

  ‘—to tell me, yes, I got that. Look, they’re getting ready for the off.’

  The loud report of a starting gun was followed by squeals of encouragement as the ‘horses’ set off. Spectators hollered for their favourite, whilst children screamed in delight as the orderly line rapidly deteriorated into a shoving, closely bunched pile of bodies.

  When the first hobby horse fell rather than crossed the line, the deck erupted in an enthusiastic roar from the men and a round of polite clapping from the ladies.

  ‘That was energetic!’ Flora fanned her face rapidly, aware strands of hair were plastered to her forehead.. ‘I enjoyed that more than I had anticipated.’

  ‘I don’t have to come, do I?’ Eddy frowned at her when she explained she and Bunny were going for tea. ‘There’s another five races yet.’

  ‘As
long as you behave yourself and do what Mr and Mrs Gilmore tell you, they have said you can stay with Ozzy.’ Having said her goodbyes to the others, she took Bunny’s arm and made their way up two flights of steps to the upper promenade deck. The muffled sound of far-off cheers reached them as they stepped into the calm of the deserted library. A steward gave a surprised start, surreptitiously stubbed out a cigarette in a tin plate, and tucked it beneath a pot plant before approaching them with a smile of welcome.

  ‘Quiet day?’ Bunny’s mock-innocent gaze slid to the pot plant then back at the steward, who flushed.

  ‘Tea for you and the lady, sir?’ He covered his embarrassment with a bright enquiry.

  ‘Thank you, yes. We’ll be over there.’ Bunny indicated a trio of red leather chesterfield sofas in an alcove visible from the door, the same ones they had sat on during their last visit.

  ‘Now, what was it you wanted to tell me about Max?’ Bunny asked when the loaded tea tray occupied the table between them. ‘By the look of your face he had something interesting to say. Have you solved both murders and now know everyone’s secrets?’

  ‘Don’t tease, this is important. Max knew Eloise wasn’t called Eloise and he also knew Marlon van Elder and that Mr Hersch was working for the van Elder family.’

  ‘Max told you all that?’

  ‘Not exactly. Max let something slip which confirmed he knew Hersch was on board because of Eloise. At least I think that’s what he meant.’ Bunny’s expression displayed only scepticism. ‘You don’t look very surprised.’

  ‘No, really. I am. I was just thinking. But where does that lead us? Did Eloise kill her husband or not?’

  ‘Not sure yet, although I’m sure I would have got more out of him if Cynthia hadn’t come back.’

  ‘You think Cynthia doesn’t know?’

  ‘Max certainly didn’t want her to overhear us talking, but surely, if he knew, then she must as well. Although,’ she paused as doubt intruded, ‘perhaps he simply didn’t want her to know he had told me.’

  ‘That’s a bit convoluted for me.’ Frowning, Bunny lowered the teapot onto the tray. ‘Did you find out what Max was doing out on the deck in the storm?’

  ‘I asked him that, but he avoided the question. I was thinking about this van Elder family while we watched the race. I believe there are more of them on board, it’s the only thing that makes sense.’

  ‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense.’ Bunny handed her a full cup. ‘Explain.’

  ‘I think, Cynthia is the daughter of the late Theodore van Elder.’

  ‘How did you come to that conclusion?’ Bunny paused with two lumps of sugar held over his cup.

  ‘Am I right in thinking the obituary I found is still in your pocket?’

  ‘It is.’ He patted it as if to reassure himself.

  ‘If you recall, it says Theodore van Elder had a child from a previous marriage who was an heiress to a fortune. I think that is Cynthia.’

  ‘But isn’t she English. Van Elder was an American wasn’t he, from Baltimore?’

  ‘Her parents divorced when she was young. When her mother remarried, they moved to England and Cynthia went with them.’

  ‘Goodness, Miss Maguire, you have been busy.’ Bunny sat back in his seat, one ankle crossed over the other as he stirred his tea. ‘Where are you going with this?’

  ‘Actually not very far. I have a theory though.’ She wiggled backwards in her seat and prepared for a detailed discussion. ‘Say Cynthia believed Eloise killed her father, so she hires Pinkerton’s, who send Hersch to get some evidence against her. When Eloise comes aboard, Hersch came too.’

  ‘What was Marlon van Elder’s role in all this?

  ‘Ah, now I’ll assume they chose him because Eloise didn’t know him. He told her his name was Parnell, but we know he was one of the van Elders. I’m not sure of his precise relationship. A brother or maybe a distant cousin?’

  ‘Which is irrelevant now as the man is dead. Bunny mused. ‘What we have is Cynthia and Max, together with Marlon van Elder set out to prove Eloise had killed her husband, Theodore van Elder? Hmm, seems they must have had some evidence to back that up.’

  ‘Which Parnell claimed to have, although Eloise was adamant she didn’t kill her husband.’

  ‘Then who killed Parnell, I mean Marlon van Elder? Max?’ Bunny’s bemused expression showed he didn’t expect an answer.

  ‘I did consider that, but what reason would he have?’ She eyed her tea but left it untouched, unwilling to interrupt her train of thought. ‘And unless he deliberately tried to drown himself, he couldn’t have killed Eloise. I’m not sure why yet, but I think they were killed by two separate people.’

  ‘Which makes everything more complicated.’ Bunny studied the ornamental glass ceiling which threw a kaleidoscope of jewel colours onto the floor. ‘Marlon van Elder was hardly a respectable member of the family, judging by the list of aliases and charges listed in that telegram I received. Although he could still have been in league with Eloise in the killing of her husband. Maybe he got greedy about the money, so she killed him.’

  ‘Then who killed her? Apart from Max, there’s only Mr Hersch and Cynthia.’

  ‘I doubt Cynthia could have done it.’ Bunny snorted.

  ‘Why, because she’s beautiful?’ Flora threw him an oblique look. ‘If she believed Eloise had murdered her father—’

  ‘A father she had likely not seen since she was a child.’

  ‘Is that relevant? Family is family.’

  Bunny glanced up, his eyes narrowed at something beyond the double glazed doors to the lobby. ‘Looks like we aren’t the only ones seeking refuge from the horse racing.’ He cocked his chin. ‘Isn’t that Mr Hersch with the captain?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Flora followed his gaze. ‘And that’s Gus Crowe with them. What’s going on?’

  ‘I would have thought he’d be watching the horse racing. Not like Crowe to miss a chance to run a book on the side when there’s gambling to be done.’ Bunny returned his cup to the tray, straightening. ‘Oh, watch out. They’re coming in here, and none of them look particularly happy.’

  Chapter 20

  ‘Is this absolutely necessary?’ Crowe demanded, his raised voice tinged with panic. ‘I’ve already answered all of your questions.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, Mr Crowe.’ Captain Gates gently patted Crowe’s shoulder as they moved into the library. ‘Mr Hersch merely has a few things he wishes to clarify.’

  ‘Well, make it snappy.’ Crowe impatiently shrugged him off. ‘I don’t intend to waste time repeating myself.’

  ‘This looks as if it might be interesting,’ Bunny’s breath felt warm against Flora’s ear. If she hadn’t been so intrigued by what was happening in front of her she would have relished his closeness more.

  Flora nudged him into silence, her head cocked to hear every word.

  Crowe approached the seat Hersch indicated, his gaze darting around the room until it halted on Flora and Bunny. With his rear hovering above the chair he halted, demanding, ‘What are they doing here?’ His frown deepened to suspicion.

  ‘Ah, Mr Harrington, Miss Maguire. I didn’t see you there.’ Hersch’s affable smile betrayed no surprise at their presence. ‘Surely you don’t object, Crowe. After all, it’s simply routine.’

  ‘What?’ Crowe started. ‘And suppose I do object?’ He dragged a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped his forehead.

  ‘What exactly do you object to if, as you say, you’re an innocent man?’ Mr Hersch eased backwards as the steward lowered the tea tray onto the table in front of them. After which he and the captain ranged themselves in chairs on either side of Crowe.

  Flora held her breath, hoping she and Bunny weren’t about to be dismissed, but instead, Mr Hersch beckoned to them. ‘Perhaps you would like to join us? You might find this interesting.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure if that’s app-’

  ‘Thank you, we would love to.’ Flora dragged Bunny to his fe
et and propelled him towards their table. ‘She took the sofa opposite Mr Crowe, who glared at her. Bunny sighed but joined her.

  ‘Well as long as this is quick.’ Crowe drummed his fingers on the chair arm, issued a bored sigh and fidgeted with his shirt cuff.

  ‘Told you,’ Bunny whispered. ‘He’d rather be gambling.’

  Flora clamped her lips together to prevent a smile and waited, convinced she was about to hear something startling.

  ‘Weak stuff, this American tea.’ Captain Gates stirred the contents of the teapot vigorously with a spoon. ‘I might be a naturalized American citizen, but there are some things I still miss about the old country, and this is one of them?’ He clicked the lid back on the pot, then poured the steaming liquid into three cups before unhurriedly adding milk.

  ‘Could we get on with it?’ Crowe snapped, refusing the cup held out to him with an angry shrug.

  Flora agreed. The tension was painful, though she kept silent.

  ‘Let’s return to the first night on board, Mr Crowe,’ Hersch said. ‘When I believe you lost a sum of money to Mr Parnell at cards?’

  Flora looked from the captain’s benign smile to the German’s triumphant one, then back to Crowe’s tense features, the scene reminding her of two smug cats playing with a trapped mouse.

  ‘I told you that when you questioned me the first time.’ Crowe’s jaw hardened. ‘I wasn’t the only one, either. Parnell cleaned up that night, as you well know. It doesn’t bear repeating.’

  ‘Maybe it does, simply for my own purposes, you understand.’ The detective stirred sugar into his tea, then offered the bowl to the captain, who politely declined. In turn the captain offered a plate of biscuits round the table including Flora and Bunny in the gesture.

  Bemused, Flora accepted a biscuit she didn’t want, enjoying their by-play which was clearly designed to keep Crowe off balance. Crowe was suffering too as he fidgeted with his shirt cuff, released it with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, his knees jiggling.