by Blythe Baker
As soon as I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Worthing, my fear of being late and making a fool of myself in front of the other passengers began to wane, and I was able to look around and appreciate my surroundings. The dining room sat at the heart of the ship. The ceiling stretched up two-decks, making the room feel impossibly large, and stained-glass skylights filtered the evening light into watery blues and reds and greens. It felt as though I’d stepped into a Monet painting. A grand walnut staircase was built into the back wall, a centerpiece around which the entire room was arranged. Women moved down the stairs carefully, either escorted by a male counterpart, their arms wrapped together, or with a delicate hand resting on the banister.
“Rose, dear, you ought to take your seat.” Mrs. Worthing had appeared at my side without my notice. She looped her arm through mine and we navigated around the tables, tossing polite smiles to everyone we passed. “The program tonight is a buffet. I wish I had known, so I could have saved this dress for a nicer evening.”
Mrs. Worthing wore a pale gold velvet number with a drop waist and a white satin rose pinned at her hip. A long string of pearls were strategically wound around her neck several times and bouncing against her chest as we walked. She must have noticed the attention I was paying to them, because she grasped the pearls and whispered, “Imitation. Mr. Worthing has the real things stowed away in the cargo hold. He won’t let me wear anything too expensive when we travel. Thieves love to prey on distracted people on holiday.”
The table seated eight, and every chair was filled with strangers, except for the ones reserved for Mrs. Worthing and myself. At least, the other diners were strangers to me. Mrs. Worthing, on the other hand, seemed to have formed hasty friendships already, in her usual way.
“Look who I found wandering around the ship,” Mrs. Worthing said, winking at me. She addressed the table. “This is our beloved Rose Beckingham.”
I smiled at everyone, though I faltered for a moment when I noticed the harsh elderly woman from the ship deck sitting next to Mr. Worthing. The young girl she’d been with on the deck sat next to her, eyes downcast, looking miserable. She introduced herself as Lady Dixon, and the young girl as her niece, Jane. Next to Jane sat Dr. Rushforth. He was an army surgeon who had a self-important expression, though he didn’t look like anyone of any consequence. His nose came to a point far away from the canvas of his face and, paired with his sparse facial hair, gave him the appearance of a weasel.
“You’ll have to excuse Colonel Stratton and myself,” Dr. Rushforth said, gesturing to the square-shaped man sitting next to him. “We are used to the company of army men. Rarely are we so blessed as to be surrounded by so many charming ladies.”
Mrs. Worthing giggled. “Nonsense. Colonel Stratton is fortunate enough to be in the near-constant company of one of the most charming women I’ve ever met.” She smiled at the petite brunette woman sitting next to the colonel, eating noodles with her dessert fork.
The petite woman’s mistake in silverware was enough of a distraction that it took me a touch longer than normal to look into her face. When I did, I realized I’d seen her before. Colonel Stratton’s wife was the woman I’d seen as I was boarding the ship. I studied her delicate face again, but saw no sign of the fear I’d detected there before.
Lady Dixon scoffed at what she clearly believed to be an unearned compliment, though she disguised it well enough as a cough. On some level, even I had to admit the old woman had a point. Although I’d been with plenty of women less civilized, the Colonel’s wife wasn’t especially charming when she ate. She struck me as a woman living beyond her class.
The colonel put his thick arm around his wife and stiffly pulled her into his side. “My Ruby is a gem, that’s for sure.”
The table laughed at his play on words, Mrs. Worthing nearly choking on her sip of wine, but I refrained, instead busying my mouth with my own drink. His joke felt rehearsed, as if he’d said it to a thousand tables before ours. Ruby, I noticed, also didn’t laugh. She did, however, do her best to pull her lips into a tight smile in response to the table’s admiration of her husband, and then looked past him to steal a glance at Dr. Rushforth. When she noticed he was looking at her—as was the rest of the table—she quickly disentangled herself from her husband and pushed her food around her plate.
Aside from the single joke, the Colonel stayed quiet the rest of the meal, giving his full attention to the food in front of him, standing to return to the buffet whenever his plate was empty. Unlike the rest of the ship’s passengers, Colonel Stratton didn’t seem to mind the judging stares that followed those who made more than one trip to the buffet. His wife blushed every time he stretched his plump limbs and rose to his feet to get another helping, and I noticed her eyes continued to find Dr. Rushforth, though he had settled into a conversation with Lady Dixon and was not paying her any more attention.
“We all have to survive on the food aboard this ship for the next three weeks,” Mr. Worthing whispered to his wife while the Colonel was out of his seat for the third time. “If he doesn’t slow down, we’ll all starve.”
Mrs. Worthing was spared the trouble of reprimanding her husband by the arrival of the ship’s captain. He had been greeting passengers and meandering through the dining room since the start of dinner service, but had finally made his way to our table. Captain Croft looked nothing like the ship captain I’d drawn up in my imagination. He didn’t have snow white hair or a white beard. He didn’t have a thick, indiscernible accent that marked him as a world traveler. Rather, Captain Croft had a strong chin and brow to match, with a well-oiled sweep of black hair, both on top of his head and above his lip. Even when smiling—and his smile was as straight and pearly white as they came—he looked as though he were contemplating something important, his lips pouted and eyes narrowed in a smolder.
“How is the food?” Captain Croft asked, raising an eyebrow at the way Colonel Stratton was shredding his chicken from the bone.
“Marvelous,” Mrs. Worthing said. “Finest meal I’ve had in a good long while.”
“Not nearly as fine as your navigating, Captain,” Ruby purred, her wide eyes blinking slowly at the handsome man. She seemed to have forgotten all about the presence of her husband. “I’m usually horribly seasick by this point in the trip, but I feel perfectly well.”
This marked the first time I’d heard Ruby’s voice, which was both high-pitched and nasally, a truly dizzying combination. I recognized it almost immediately as the voice I’d heard coming from the cabin next to me just before the dinner bell.
The Stratton couple made an unusual pair. Ruby, beautiful and expressive, fawned over the Captain while her husband, a scowl etched into the hard stone of his face, shoveled chicken into his mouth. Colonel Stratton hadn’t spoken enough for me to be certain he was the man I’d heard Ruby arguing with, but it seemed a likely guess.
My attention was stolen away from Ruby and the Captain by the mention of something I’d hoped to leave in my past.
“So, what really happened in Simla this summer?” Lady Dixon asked Mrs. Worthing. “One hears such dreadful stories of violence.”
Mrs. Worthing glanced at me quickly, and blushed when she realized I’d heard. Mr. Worthing, to his credit, attempted to change the subject.
“Violence is everywhere, Lady Dixon. I heard rumor of a violent thief aboard a ship only a few weeks ago,” Mr. Worthing said. “I only hope we are among more docile company.”
Lady Dixon wouldn’t be redirected, though. She remained intent on her subject. “But you and Mrs. Worthing were in Simla during the recent attack, were you not?”
“It was an isolated but unfortunate incident,” Mrs. Worthing said. “We don’t want to sour the mood of the entire table with such talk.”
“Nonsense, I’m asking directly,” Lady Dixon said, clearly growing impatient. “Tell me.”
“A government minister was murdered by a local extremist,” Mr. Worthing said sharply.
“A bomb?” Lady Dixon aske
d, though it was clear she already knew the answer.
The Worthings nodded slowly, looking down in their laps. We hadn’t spent much time discussing the incident, so they had no idea how I would react. Jane, too, seemed uncomfortable, swirling her spoon around the rim of a small cup of soup in front of her, but never eating any.
“Were you with the Worthings in Simla?” Lady Dixon asked.
It took me a few seconds to realize she was talking to me.
“Yes, I was there.” Suddenly, my throat felt tight. My heart pressed against my rib cage, threatening to rip through the delicate fabric of my gown.
“Now, perhaps it should be obvious,” the old woman said. “But how are you all related?”
Mr. and Mrs. Worthing looked at one another and me, trying to decide how to explain our situation in a manner that wouldn’t send me into a fit of tears. I decided to spare them, and perhaps, at the same time, teach Lady Dixon to mind her own business.
“The murdered government minister was my father.” I dropped the words on the table like the bomb the revolutionary had lobbed through the car window. “He was killed along with my mother when a bomb exploded. I was the only one in the car who survived.”
Lady Dixon’s face paled, and she shifted in her seat uncomfortably. For a moment I was pleased to witness her discomfort, but talking about the explosion sobered my mood. I could still hear the ringing in my ears, smell the smoke and charred flesh. I shook my head slightly, a single blonde curl escaping from my headband and brushing against my scarred cheek.
The old woman coughed, but her niece, Jane, sat forward, her cold soup forgotten. “How did you find your way to this ship with the Worthings then?”
Lady Dixon snapped her head towards Jane and leveled a glare at her, but Jane didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were wide and focused on me as though I were the single most interesting person she’d ever met. Unlike with Lady Dixon, Jane’s curiosity felt endearing. I couldn’t help but answer her.
“I only just survived the explosion, and was left to make a slow recovery in the hospital at Simla. Luckily, the Worthings were nearby and when they heard of my plight they offered to accompany me to England,” I said.
Mrs. Worthing hummed in agreement. “Mr. Worthing recently retired, and we wanted to return to England, anyway. So, it only made sense to see Rose on her journey. We contacted her living relations in London and informed them she would be arriving in three weeks, and booked her a ticket on the RMS Sar of India.”
“How did you hear of Rose’s story?” Jane asked, ignoring the sharp jab in her side from Lady Dixon.
“I worked with Rose’s father in government service for years,” Mr. Worthing said. “Fine, fine man. It was our honor to assist his only daughter in her greatest time of need. I only wish the good deed hadn’t been necessary at all.”
“As do we all,” Mrs. Worthing said, giving me a sad smile. “Though, I am glad we had the chance to meet and get to know Rose. We knew her mother and father well, but we never had the opportunity to meet Rose until after the tragedy occurred.”
“You two are too kind. Truly, these weeks would have been much darker without you both,” I said, squeezing Mrs. Worthing’s hand under the table. “Please, excuse me for a moment.”
I stood on shaky legs and moved across the dining room towards what I hoped to be the ladies’ room. The conversation had been a surprise. I had not realized word of the explosion had reached so far. How many more similar conversations would I endure before the ship docked in England? And, once there, how many more people would have heard the news? I didn’t know how many times I could bear to recount the experience.
By the time I placed my hand on the wooden washroom door and pushed, my face was hot and flushed and I felt on the verge of tears. However, as soon as the door opened, all thoughts of the conversation with Lady Dixon rushed out of my head. Someone was crying.
“Hello?” I poked my head around the door, not wanting to startle an already fragile woman. As I peered around, I recognized the profile of Ruby Stratton hunched over the marble sinks, tears pouring freely from her eyes.
She jumped back, wiping madly at her eyes.
“I’m being silly,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about me.”
I hadn’t even realized Ruby had left the table. Of course, I’d been rather distracted by Lady Dixon’s interrogation. Had Ruby and Colonel Stratton fought again? Or had there been a continuation of the argument they’d had in their cabin just before dinner?
When Ruby looked up, she paused for a few seconds, and then seemed to recognize me from the table. She lunged forward all at once and gripped my forearm, her fingers wrapping so tightly I was certain she’d leave a bruise.
“I fear for my life,” she said in a harsh whisper, the giddy tone at the table entirely absent from her voice.
“Why do you say that?” I asked, trying to rationalize the flirtatious woman at the table with the terrified creature before me. It felt as though she were split into two entirely different people.
She breathed heavily, her wide eyes assessing me. She smelled strongly of alcohol, though I didn’t remember seeing her drink much more than a glass of wine at dinner. However, I also hadn’t noticed her leave, so there was no telling what else I’d missed. Ruby opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but then shook her head and pursed her red-stained lips together.
“It’s the wine and the isolation of the ship,” she said, smoothing her hair back with her hand. “I am not as accustomed as some to life at sea. I’m going silly. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
She smiled at me, looking half-crazed, wiped once again at her eyes, and pushed past me. Had I not been so shaken by the dinner conversation, perhaps I would have had the energy to stop her and insist she explain herself, but as it was, I let her leave. If she’d been making use of the open bar prior to the start of dinner, there was a great chance Ruby was drunk. Which could have been the reason she and the Colonel had been fighting. Being a strict army man, perhaps he found it difficult to be married to such a silly thing as Ruby.
I washed my hands in the cold water and checked my scar in the mirror. From the front, the makeup still covered it nicely, but at certain angles, it looked jagged and fresh. Sometimes, I could still feel the hot flash of shrapnel slicing across my face, the warm blood pouring down my neck. I washed up again, not quite ready to leave the ladies room, patted cold water on my flushed neck, and shook my hands dry.
Outside the washroom, a hallway ran in either direction, large windows looking out onto the deck below and the ocean. A left would take me towards the smoking room and then towards the back of the ship, a right would lead back to the dining room. I didn’t feel entirely ready to face the curiosity of Jane, the judgment of Lady Dixon, or the sympathy of the Worthings. And now, I especially didn’t feel equipped to heap Ruby Stratton’s problems onto the pile of my own. With all of that weighing heavily on my mind, I considered taking a left. However, I also didn’t want to give anyone reason to believe I was upset, though I was. I stood outside the ladies room, paralyzed with indecision, when suddenly a man approached me.
He had a tan face and a prominent chin that would have been handsome had it not been for the pencil-thin black mustache he sported. It gave him a sinister look, and seeing him move towards me left an uneasy feeling in my stomach.
“I have been observing you,” the man said, a slight French accent discernible in his voice.
I blinked several times before answering, unsure how I was supposed to respond. The man had been following me? For how long? Since boarding the ship, or had it been happening on land, as well?
“My name is Achilles Prideaux,” he said. “Unravelling secrets is a major part of my profession, and I sense you have a rather important one.”
“I do not have any secrets,” I said, stepping to the side to move around him. The hallway had emptied, so I was alone with the strange man, and I suddenly wished I’d asked Mrs. Worthing
to accompany me to the ladies’ room, as women so often do. Achilles Prideaux followed my movement, blocking my path, and stepped close enough that I could hear his whisper.
“I also detect lies, Mademoiselle. Your secret is not unlike the bomb that gave you that scar. One day, it will go off and you will find yourself in great danger. I can be of assistance to you.”
My hand flew to my cheek before I could stop myself. He had been observing me. At least enough to know about the bomb, and my scar. I smoothed down the fabric of my dress and straightened up, pulling my shoulders back. “I do not require your assistance, sir.”
Achilles Prideaux raised his eyebrows at me, but stepped back and waved his arm, directing me down the hallway towards the dining room. He tipped his head as I passed, bowing deeply. I rushed away from him without a second look.
How much did the man truly know about me? I liked to consider myself adept at deception, but Achilles Prideaux, a perfect stranger, had guessed that I was caught up in a lie. Perhaps, I was more transparent than I believed. And if he was close to discovering my secret, how long would it be before the others caught on and I lost everything I’d been working towards?
The sight of my companions at the dinner table brought the swirl of questions and doubts in my mind to a stop. They were talking amongst themselves—Ruby still smiling broadly at the Captain while he and Dr. Rushforth spoke animatedly about something, Mr. and Mrs. Worthing bent across my empty seat to hear whatever Lady Dixon was saying, Colonal Stratton still eating—and it was clear none of them suspected a thing. Achilles Prideaux, if that was his true identity, had probably been nothing more than a bored passenger eavesdropping on gossip and trying his best to get a rise out of me. He’d likely been repeating similar lines to every person who walked in or out of the ladies room. In fact, that would explain why Ruby Stratton had been in such a fit when I’d entered the washroom. The man had probably fooled her into believing he knew all of her secrets, as well, and threatened to expose them. Nothing would come of it, I was sure. I’d been momentarily fooled by a con artist, nothing more.