Murder on the Mary Jane

by Evelyn James

  “Is that him?”

  Clara stopped and watched a crewman who was making sure the lifeboats were securely fastened back aboard. He had his head down, but Clara could see him in profile and there definitely seemed to be something familiar about him.

  “Yes,” she decided. “That could be him!”

  They hurried over to the crewman and introduced themselves.

  “Might you be the gentleman who was trying to get that drunk guest into a lifeboat?” Clara asked.

  The crewman stood up from his work and looked at them with a puzzled expression.

  “I had to get a few drunk passengers into lifeboats,” he explained.

  “But this one stormed off,” Captain O’Harris interjected. “I believe his exact words were ‘I ain’t getting in no lifeboat’.”

  “Oh, him!” Understanding dawned on the crewman’s face. “I remember him. He stalked off to the sun deck.”

  “Did you pursue him?” Clara asked.

  “I tried to,” the crewman nodded. “After I had everyone else in the lifeboats I went to find him. He was sitting in a chair on the sun deck listening to the band. He looked depressed. I approached him and politely explained the situation and that he should get aboard a lifeboat. He used some very foul language and told me to go away.”

  “Did you?” Clara felt sorry for the crewman having to try and coral the irate drunk into a lifeboat. Probably those already in the lifeboat would be glad he had not succeeded, had they known about it.

  “Not at once,” the crewman said. “I knew the captain would not be happy to have a guest left aboard. I tried to think of another way to get him in the lifeboat. I even suggested there would be more champagne if he got in. I’m afraid he just swore at me again.”

  “Not a nice fellow,” O’Harris sympathised.

  “I think he was upset over something,” the crewman said, unexpectedly defending H.K.’s belligerence. “He seemed hurt. I felt he was lashing out at me not out of spite, but because he could not lash out at the person who had really upset him.”

  “Had he come to the party alone?” Clara asked. “Maybe you saw him with someone earlier?”

  The crewman shook his head.

  “Sorry. Until I was trying to get him into the lifeboat, I had not noticed him.”

  “Did any other passengers refuse to board a lifeboat?”

  The crewman gave this some thought.

  “No one else argued with me, but I suppose someone might have opted to remain. People can be odd like that, some of them are terrified of the lifeboats because they seem small compared to the liner,” the crewman scratched at his chin. “You can never guarantee that everyone has left the ship, you just do your best. I made the effort with that man, I really did. But, other than trussing him up and dragging him to a lifeboat, I could do very little. He wouldn’t leave the sun deck voluntarily.”

  “When did you last see him?” Clara asked.

  “I suppose I was trying to persuade him for about fifteen minutes. The band must have seen, they were playing the whole time. Eventually I gave up and went to see what was happening with the lifeboats. That was when I realised they had all been launched and I couldn’t have got the man aboard one even if he had agreed to it. I went to help the captain after that.”

  “You never saw the man again?”

  “No.”

  The crewman drew his brows into a deep crease across his forehead. He was holding a piece of rope in his hands and he slowly twisted it around his palm.

  “Why are you asking all this?”

  Captain Pevsner was keeping the incident in the kitchen very quiet and Clara had hoped to do the same, but avoiding a direct question could lead to greater suspicion. The last thing anyone needed was wild rumours flitting about the liner.

  “The gentleman who remained aboard had an accident and was injured,” Clara said carefully. “Captain Pevsner has asked me to investigate the circumstances.

  “Am I in trouble?” The crewman started to panic. “I honestly tried my hardest to get him into a lifeboat.”

  “You are not in trouble,” Clara promised. “No one is being blamed. It is just we are trying to understand the circumstances. As it was, you endeavoured to get him into a lifeboat right until the point there was no lifeboat to place him in.”

  The crewman nodded quickly.

  “Yes, I did try. I hope the captain understands.”

  “No one is blaming you,” Captain O’Harris offered his own assurances. “The man chose to stay behind.”

  “He did,” the crewman started to relax. “I hope the accident was nothing serious.”

  Clara had no response to that. Death was probably the most serious outcome of any situation.

  “Thank you for speaking with us,” she gave the crewman a cheery smile and let him go back to coiling rope.

  She walked along the ship and found herself at the corner of the bridge, with a view across the sun deck. Captain O’Harris joined her.

  “Now what?” He asked.

  Clara narrowed her eyes at the assembled guests, talking and dancing.

  “Now we see if we can find someone who appears to have lost their dance partner.”

  Chapter Five

  Captain O’Harris and Clara drifted to the edge of the sun deck, near where the tables for food had been placed and covered with large white tablecloths. The band was back in the swing of things and was playing an upbeat number that had the younger party guests full of enthusiasm. Clara glanced at her delicate wristwatch, the one she always wore when on an evening out. It was only just seven o’clock, there were several hours before the finale of the evening. All the more remarkable at how fast H.K. had managed to get himself drunk.

  “And who is this fellow?” O’Harris spoke.

  Clara glanced in his direction. He was looking along the line of buffet tables. A boy was wandering along the edge of the tables looking worried. He was in evening attire and so was presumably one of the guests, but that did not explain why he was all alone.

  “Are you all right?” Captain O’Harris called out to the boy.

  The child walked up to him. He had blond hair left long and just touching the starched collar of his shirt. He looked up at O’Harris with big blue eyes that had the wet appearance of someone close to tears.

  “I’m lost,” he said, jutting out his lower lip.

  “Oh dear, old chap,” O’Harris crouched down before the boy. “Who are you missing?”

  “My mum,” the boy explained. “She made me get in a boat without her. She said she would be waiting for me, but I can’t find her.”

  His lower lip trembled and the tears fell.

  “We will soon enough find her,” Clara appeared next to the lad and bent over so she could look in his face without looming over him. “Now, what is your name?”

  “Bert,” the boy answered.

  “Short for Robert?” Clara asked.

  The boy gave her a puzzled look, then glanced back at O’Harris for reassurance.

  “She’s a detective, old chap,” O’Harris informed him. “Very good at solving mysteries and finding missing people.”

  Bert’s expression lifted a little, a ray of hope drying the tears. He took a better look at Clara.

  “Can you find my mum?”

  “It is the sort of thing I do all the time,” Clara replied.

  “How will you find her?” Bert asked with the persistence of the very young.

  “By asking questions,” Clara informed him. “Such as, what is your mother’s name?”

  Bert frowned, he gave O’Harris that uncertain look again, as if Clara was some strange creature he could not quite get his head around. Then he answered Clara.

  “Mum.”

  “Yes, but she has a name also?” Clara pressed.

  The frown deepened.

  “Her name’s ‘mum’.”

  “Ok,” Clara gave up on that one, trying to pretend she could not hear O’Harris chuckling under his breath besi
de her. “What about your surname? You are Bert, who?”

  Bert scratched his head, clearly finding these questions alarmingly hard. Then inspiration dawned.

  “Nightingale,” he said.

  “You are Bert Nightingale?” Clara asked.

  Bert nodded.

  “Ah, then we have a start!” Clara smiled. “Now, Bert Nightingale, let us proceed to the captain’s bridge and see if he can help us.”

  Bert gave a little sniff to hold back his tears, then he reached out and grabbed Clara’s hand. She was surprised and stared at this little person who had suddenly latched onto her. Clara did not spend much time with children.

  “How old are you, Bert?” Captain O’Harris stood up.

  Bert gave this a good deal of thinking time.

  “Six?” He said uneasily.

  “Not sure about that?” O’Harris asked.

  “No,” Bert shook his head.

  They started to walk back to the bridge.

  “Can you describe your mum?” Clara asked Bert.

  Bert became more animated.

  “She is taller than me and wears a dress!”

  “Describes every woman on this ship,” O’Harris said to Clara with a grin.

  “What colour was her dress?” Clara continued.

  “Black.”

  “That narrows it,” O’Harris said with amusement.

  “Let’s try this again Bert. Your mother is Mrs Nightingale, so what would you call her as a first name?”

  Bert gave a groan, he was getting frustrated too.

  “Mum!” He informed her crossly.

  “Fair comment,” O’Harris shrugged his shoulders.

  Clara gave him a look.

  “What does your father call your mother?” Clara asked Bert.

  “He is dead,” Bert answered, though it was a statement and didn’t seem to affect him much. “He died when I was just a baby, fighting in the war.”

  “Right,” Clara sighed.

  They had reached the stairs up to the captain’s bridge. Clara hoped Pevsner was inside and could supply information on Bert’s mother. The sooner she could deposit the boy with someone else and carry on her investigation the better. They were halfway up the stairs when Bert piped up again.

  “Actually, I think I am five.”

  “Sure about that, old man?” Captain O’Harris asked him.

  After a pause, Bert nodded.

  “Well, at least we have that resolved.” Clara smiled at him gently.

  Bert’s hand was soft and hot in hers and he had a tenacious grip, as if he feared she might suddenly disappear on him.

  “Why did your mum put you in a lifeboat alone?”

  “There wasn’t space for her,” Bert thrust out his bottom lip and the tears threatened again.

  “I’m sure she is fine,” Clara promised him, giving his hand a squeeze. “No one was hurt during the evacuation.”

  She corrected herself mentally; one person was hurt, but it was not Bert’s mother and there was no need for the boy to know about H.K.

  They reached the bridge and found Captain Pevsner sitting at the chart table, going through a large ledger.

  “Ah, Miss Fitzgerald, I was going through the passenger list,” Pevsner rose as she entered.

  “We have a lost boy,” Clara indicated Bert with her free hand. “He says his mother put him aboard a lifeboat that did not have space for her and said she would be waiting for him. He can’t find her.”

  “Oh dear,” Captain Pevsner said sympathetically, turning to Bert with a gentle smile.

  “His surname is Nightingale,” Clara continued. “We thought you might be able to get your crew to find his mother.”

  “Nightingale?” Pevsner looked puzzled, then he shook his head. “I have just been through this whole book of passenger names and there is no one called Nightingale in it.”

  Clara was disappointed. Bert looked first at her, then at O’Harris with a very worried expression.

  “Can’t you find my mum?” He asked.

  “Old boy, are you sure your last name is Nightingale?” O’Harris crouched beside Bert again.

  Bert’s worried eyes refilled with tears.

  “I thought it was,” he said hopelessly. “Is it not?”

  “Don’t worry,” Clara told him brightly. “I am sure your mother is looking for you, all we need do is settle you in the bridge and put the word out you are here.”

  “Ah, I don’t think that will be possible,” Captain Pevsner quickly butted in. “I have a lot to attend to and I can’t have a child left alone on the bridge. You best keep him with you.”

  Clara was irritated, she had the distinct impression Captain Pevsner’s statement was based on the fact she was a woman and therefore a more obvious choice to look after a lost child than the captain.

  “Might I remind you I have my own duties to attend to?” Clara said. “You were the one who asked for my help.”

  “I appreciate that, but I cannot play nanny while acting as captain,” Pevsner informed her coolly. “And my crew is currently extremely busy.”

  Bert was following the conversation with the look of a damned man – or rather boy – as if he feared he was to be abandoned again. O’ Harris interrupted the argument.

  “I’ll keep an eye on Bert,” he volunteered. “He can tail along with us. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you while you are working, Clara.”

  He gave Clara a wink and then nodded at the child. Bert was looking utterly downcast, clever enough to understand what the adults around him were arguing about. Clara felt guilty.

  “Never mind, Bert,” she turned to the boy. “You are stuck with us until we find your mother.”

  Bert gazed up at her with unhappy eyes.

  “She can’t have gone far,” Clara reassured him. “And she will be looking for you. Now, you have nothing to worry about. Stick with Captain O’Harris and we shall make sure you are fine.”

  Bert turned to O’Harris, his sorrow briefly eclipsed by a burst of excitement at O’Harris’ title.

  “You are the captain of a ship too?” He asked, for the first time showing a glimmer of enthusiasm.

  “No, I flew aeroplanes in the war,” O’Harris explained with a smile.

  “You were in the war?” Bert’s eyes widened. “Did you know my dad?”

  “It was a big war,” O’Harris apologised, Bert’s expression fell again and he quickly corrected himself. “But maybe I did.”

  “Now that is resolved...,” Captain Pevsner remarked, “I can tell you what I have found out.”

  “Which is?” Clara asked keenly.

  “Our man in the kitchen,” Pevsner said, careful not to use words that might upset Bert, “goes by the name of Henry Kemp. It appears from the register that he was part of a group from Noble and Sons, it’s a firm of wine importers in Hove. They are very well respected.”

  “I always get my wines from them,” O’Harris agreed. “They have been established nearly a hundred years and they only sell the very best.”

  “Fine job for an alcoholic,” Clara pointed out.

  Captain Pevsner merely smiled.

  “I’m afraid my register does not tell me anymore. But I can give you a list of the five other guests aboard from the same company.”

  “Yes, do,” Clara let go of Bert’s hand and picked up a piece of paper from the chart table. Pevsner handed her a pencil.

  “The guests are Arthur Noble, Simon Noble, Elias Noble, Jane Dodd and Charles Walsh,” Pevsner recited.

  “Alfred Noble inherited the business from his father,” Captain O’Harris elaborated. “Simon and Elias are his sons, I believe. I couldn’t say who the others are, but I imagine they are part of the senior management team.”

  Clara jotted this all down.

  “I would very much appreciate it, Captain Pevsner, if you could have these people rounded up and brought to somewhere private where I might speak with them. They must be informed of the death of their colleague.”<
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  Captain Pevsner nodded his understanding.

  “Did the kitchen crew offer any insight?”

  “Only that the knife was from the kitchen,” Clara replied. “And that they were all aboard the lifeboats. I take it you have never heard of Henry Kemp?”

  Captain Pevsner gave a crooked smile.

  “No. You may have noticed from the quality of the champagne I have served tonight that I did not use Noble and Sons as my supplier. They are out of my price range, unfortunately.”

  “Then we might imagine your crew are similarly ignorant of Henry Kemp?” Clara postulated. “They are unlikely to move in the same social circles.”

  “Are you implying this was a crime committed by one of the guests?” Pevsner looked bleak. Suspecting his crew of murder was one thing, suspecting his guests was quite another.

  “I am not ruling anyone out,” Clara hastened to add. “I merely mean to imply that it is difficult to see how your crew might have a connection to Henry Kemp. At least, at this juncture. Was a list taken of those who got aboard the lifeboats?”

  Pevsner shook his head.

  “There would hardly have been time,” he tapped his fingers on the chart table. “In a situation such as that, you rely on people wanting to get off the ship.”

  “So, someone other than Mr Kemp could have stayed aboard?”

  Pevsner nodded, the bleak look had not left his face.

  “This was not how I wanted Mary Jane’s last voyage to be,” he gave a faint moan and then sat down in the chair behind the table. “I wanted to finish in a dignified fashion. I wanted people to have happy memories.”

  “Most still will have,” Clara promised him. “I intend to resolve this discreetly and swiftly. The majority of the people aboard are not involved, so why should they not continue to enjoy tonight?”

  “Thank you, Miss Fitzgerald, I appreciate your keen understanding of the situation.”

  “If you could round up the guests from Noble and Sons, I can continue with my investigation,” Clara hinted.

  Captain Pevsner walked to a speaking tube in the corner of the bridge and called down to those crew who could hear it that he wanted to see the first mate, at once. Alfred Cinch appeared within a few minutes.