by Conrad Allen
She had an early illustration of the danger. Before she had even had time to unpack her trunk, there was a tap on the door. Genevieve opened it to admit a beaming Myra Cathcart. The older woman had shed her fur coat, revealing that she was wearing a Zouave jacket and an intricately embroidered skirt that brushed the floor. Her fur hat was still firmly in place.
“You must come and see our cabin, Miss Masefield,” she insisted. “It’s perfect for our needs. Even Lilian was impressed by the clever way it’s been designed. It’s similar to this one,” she went on, looking around, “but somewhat larger. Do come and see it.”
“I’d like to, Mrs. Cathcart,” said Genevieve, taking some more items from the trunk. “When I’ve finished hanging everything up.”
“I’m far too excited to unpack. There’s plenty of time for that.”
“I hate things to get creased.”
“What a gorgeous dress!” remarked the other as Genevieve hung a blue evening gown in the wardrobe. “Oh, I do wish Lilian had the courage to wear something like that! But I’m afraid she only chooses clothes that she can hide behind. Whereas you,” she said, indicating the smart two-piece suit Genevieve was wearing, “know exactly how an attractive young woman should dress.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cathcart.” Genevieve had also removed her topcoat to give herself freedom of movement and placed her wide-brimmed hat with its ostrich feather on the little table.
Now that she was able to see her properly, Myra realized how poised and beautiful Genevieve was; she had a natural grace that made the visitor sigh with envy.
“If only Lilian were as brave as you!”
“There’s nothing brave about unpacking a trunk.”
“I was thinking about this voyage,” said Myra. “You’re traveling alone without the slightest qualms, but Lilian is in a state of anxiety even though I’m there to hold her hand. You have such a wonderful air of independence.”
“It’s something I’ve had to cultivate, Mrs. Cathcart.”
“Do tell my daughter how you did it. She needs instruction.”
“I’m sure that this voyage will be an education in itself.”
“I hope so. It’s one of the reasons I decided to come on this cruise.” Myra gave a confiding smile. “The main reason, of course, is that I’ve always wanted to see the world and I finally have the opportunity to indulge my fantasies. Is that why you’re sailing on the Marmora?”
“To some extent,” replied Genevieve.
After hovering for another minute, her visitor pressed her to join them in their cabin, then let herself out. Myra Cathcart was going to be a problem. Genevieve had the feeling that she had been identified as the daughter Myra wished she had in place of the timid and melancholy Lilian. She was afraid that the older woman would soon make a habit of popping along the passageway to speak to her. When she finished unpacking, Genevieve waited for a quarter of an hour before she finally went to find the others. There was no need to knock on the door. Myra Cathcart, obligingly, had left it open. At the very moment when she got there, Genevieve saw someone emerge from a cabin farther down the passageway and walk away from her. Though she only caught the briefest glimpse of the man, it was enough to make her gasp in surprise. The shock of recognition caused her face to turn white.
Myra Cathcart swooped down on her then saw the apprehension in her eyes.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.”
TWO
Martin Grandage was a tall, strapping, dark-haired Englishman in his early thirties who was beginning to run to fat. His chubby face was lit by an almost permanent smile and he was unfailingly polite and friendly. When Dillman first saw the deputy purser, Grandage was helping an elderly female passenger out onto the main deck. The detective waited until the man was free before he introduced himself.
“Mr. Grandage?” he said, offering his hand. “My name is George Dillman. I was told to make myself known to you.”
“How do you do, Mr. Dillman?” said Grandage, shaking his hand warmly. “This is a real privilege for me. Your reputation goes before you.”
“That’s what Mr. Kilhendry said.”
“You’ve spoken to Brian, then?”
“Not exactly,” replied Dillman. “I spent most of the time listening to him.”
Grandage laughed. “Brian is like that. He has to let you know that he’s in charge. But he’s a first-rate purser and his bark is far worse than his bite. The problem is, I fear, that he has something of a phobia about Americans.”
“Isn’t that a handicap?”
“In what way?”
“Well, he must meet scores of my fellow countrymen in the course of his work. Does he ignore them or just give them all the evil eye?”
“Neither,” said Grandage. “He turns on that Irish charm of his.”
“I can’t say I saw any sign of it.”
“That’s the other problem you need to know about, Mr. Dillman. You’re at something of a disadvantage. Brian Kilhendry sees you as a Cunard man. An outsider. He’s fiercely loyal to P and O. As far as he’s concerned, you’re an interloper.”
“I’m glad you don’t seem to share that opinion, Mr. Grandage.”
“Not at all,” the other said earnestly. “I’m looking forward to working alongside you and Miss Masefield. I’m hoping to pick up a few tips.”
“Don’t watch us too closely,” advised Dillman, “or you’ll draw attention to us. We like to blend in with the other passengers. Invisibility is our main weapon.”
“It’s the opposite with us. That’s why they put us into these uniforms. People can see at a glance who we are and what we do.” He patted his chest. “These gold buttons are supposed to impress people. I hope they work. I had to sew them on myself.” Grandage gave a chuckle then regarded the detective with interest. “What brought you into this line of work, Mr. Dillman?”
Dillman gave a shrug. “Pure accident, I guess. I set out to be an actor but I spent most of my time auditioning for parts that I never actually got. In order to feed and clothe myself, I became a Pinkerton man and discovered that my acting skills were of immense value. I played far more parts for the Pinkerton Agency than I ever did onstage.”
“But what enticed you into the nautical world?”
“An offer that I couldn’t refuse,” explained Dillman. “The sea is in my blood, Mr. Grandage. I come from a family that builds oceangoing yachts. My formative years were spent afloat. Whenever I step on a ship, I feel at home.”
“So do I,” said Grandage. “With all its faults, I love this job.”
“Then you’re a man after my own heart.”
Dillman warmed to him immediately. After his abrasive interview with the purser, he was relieved to find the deputy so friendly and cooperative. Dillman was glad that he would be dealing for the most part with Martin Grandage, and he knew his partner would feel the same. Unlike Kilhendry, the deputy purser was on their side.
“This is not the best place to talk,” said Grandage, as more passengers came out to swell the numbers on the main deck. “I’d appreciate a proper chat with you and Miss Masefield later on.”
“Where will we find you?”
“My office is very close to Brian Kilhendry’s.”
“Right,” said Dillman. “We’ll choose a quiet moment.”
Grandage chuckled. “There are no quiet moments on the Marmora, I’m afraid.” A buzz of curiosity came from the crowd that was gathering at the rail. “It looks as if the royal party is just arriving. I’ll have to go.”
“Nice to have met you, Mr. Grandage.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” He shook Dillman’s hand again. “Welcome aboard!”
He sounded as if he really meant it.
Genevieve Masefield decided she had been mistaken. The man she had glimpsed in the passageway could not possibly be the person she feared he might be. It was too great a coincidence. She had seen him only in profile for a fleeting second, and
that was not nearly long enough for her to make a positive identification. Her sense of guilt had got the better of her. By the time she finished admiring the cabin occupied by Myra and Lilian Cathcart, she had dismissed the incident from her mind. Like her friends, she was keen to be on deck at the moment of departure. After retrieving her coat and hat, she led the way to the exit. Their cabins were on the promenade deck, and most of the other passengers accommodated there were already at the rail.
Genevieve and the Cathcarts got there in time to witness the arrival of the Princess Royal and her family. They were getting out of the gleaming car that had driven right up to the ship. Two other vehicles were heavily laden with trunks and valises for the royal party. Porters descended on them at once and started to unload them.
“I don’t think they had to bother with customs,” Myra said enviously. “That man who questioned me was so disagreeable—I mean to say, do I look like a smuggler?”
“Of course not, Mrs. Cathcart,” said Genevieve. “You were very unlucky.”
“Until you came to my aid. You really put him in his place.”
“I knew the ropes, that’s all.”
They leaned over the rail to watch the royal party coming on board. Members of the crew formed in two lines below and, at the top of the gangway, Captain Langbourne was waiting to greet his special guests. The two children came first, followed by their parents. All four of them were dressed in winter wear.
Lilian came to life for the first time and gave a breathless commentary. “That’s Lady Alexandra on the left,” she said, pointing a gloved finger. “She’s seventeen. Lady Maud is only fourteen. They’re such lovely girls. Doesn’t the Princess Royal look stately? You can tell that she has royal blood. Her husband is the Duke of Fife. He was only an earl when he met his future wife but he was created a duke upon their marriage in 1889.”
“You seem very well informed,” said Genevieve.
“Lilian has a passionate interest in the royal family,” Myra told her. “She has a scrapbook filled with cuttings from the newspapers. There’s nothing that Lilian doesn’t know about even minor royalty.”
“I think they’re wonderful, Mother.”
“So do we all, dear.”
“The Duke is so handsome, isn’t he?” continued Lilian, staring at the tall figure in the top hat. “He’s eighteen years older than the Princess Royal. That means he’s only eight years younger than the King himself, but it makes no difference. They’re very happily married. You can see that even from here.”
Genevieve could see nothing because the newcomers had gone up the gangway and stepped aboard. She was pleased to see Lilian so animated. It proved she was not as coy and submissive as she had first appeared. Genevieve looked forward to learning more about Lilian Cathcart.
It was Myra who took up the conversation, however. “An eighteen-year gap in ages,” she said. “That’s far too much, in my opinion.”
Lilian became defensive. “They’re ideally suited, Mother.”
“But they belong to different generations.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“I believe it does, Lilian. Marriage is about common interests.”
“They love each other,” asserted her daughter. “Isn’t that enough?”
“I’m sure that it is,” said Genevieve. “I’ve known cases where the husband and wife have been separated by twenty years or more, yet they’ve been very contented. By the same token, I’ve met married couples of similar ages who hate each other. Children make a huge difference, of course. They help to bind a family together.”
“Would you like to have children, Miss Masefield?” asked Myra.
“It’s not something I’ve ever thought about, to be honest.”
“But you’re bound to marry one day. You must have dozens of admirers.”
“Admirers don’t always think in terms of proposals of marriage,” Genevieve said with a smile. “That’s why one has to be so careful.”
“What sort of man would you choose, Miss Masefield?” said Lilian.
“One that I could love and trust.”
“And one that could support you properly,” added Myra, as if giving a note to her daughter. “Love, trust, and a reliable income are the bedrock of a happy marriage.”
“I don’t agree,” said Genevieve. “If money is a prime factor, then the whole business becomes a trifle mercenary. I think I’d prefer a poor husband, whom I adored, than a rich one I could never trust.”
“How would you pay the bills?”
“Together.”
Myra was shocked. “Surely, you’d not expect to work after marriage?”
“Why not?”
“Looking after a husband is a full-time occupation.”
“That depends on the husband, Mrs. Cathcart.”
“Mine would have been horrified if I’d even contemplated taking a job.”
“Father was horrified at most things,” Lilian said sadly. “Change of any kind frightened him. He felt that women were simply there as a form of decoration.”
“Lilian!” Myra exclaimed.
“It’s true, Mother. I revere his memory but I also remember that he spent all his time stopping me from doing things I wanted to do.”
“Only because they were inappropriate. I’m ashamed of you for giving Miss Masefield the wrong idea about your father. He doted on you. Show some gratitude,” she urged. “It’s only because he left us so well provided-for that we can afford this cruise.”
“What did your husband do?” asked Genevieve.
“He sold shoes,” Myra said proudly. “Herbert owned two factories and a chain of shoe shops in the Midlands. ‘A nation walks on its feet’—that’s what he always said. He made sure that anyone in Cathcart Shoes walked comfortably.” She smiled fondly. “He was a remarkable man in his own way. He worked so hard for us. Too hard, in fact.”
Lilian bit her lip. “Please don’t talk about that,” she said. “It only upsets me.”
“Then let’s have no more unkind remarks about your father.”
“I wasn’t being unkind, only honest.” Myra quelled her with a glare and Lilian shrank back into her shell. “I’m sorry, Mother. I won’t do it again.”
“So I should hope.”
“We should be off soon,” said Genevieve, peering over the rail. “They’re hauling the gangway in. This time tomorrow, we’ll be a long way from London.”
“That’s what worries me,” Lilian confessed.
“It’s what excites me,” said Myra. She grasped Genevieve’s hand. “Oh, I’m so glad that we met you, Miss Masefield. And I’m overjoyed that you’re going all the way to Australia, just like us.”
“Are you, Mrs. Cathcart?”
“Yes. It will give us chance to get to know you properly.”
Genevieve quailed inwardly. The remark sounded like a threat.
In spite of the cold wind, the majority of passengers ventured out on deck to share the moment of departure and to wave to all the friends and well-wishers still ashore. George Porter Dillman took the opportunity to familiarize himself with the interior of the vessel, walking down empty corridors and inspecting deserted public rooms. First-class passengers, over 350 in number, were berthed amidships on the promenade, hurricane, spar, and main decks. The 170 second-class passengers had cabins on the main deck. Public rooms for both classes were on the hurricane deck and Dillman was impressed with what he saw. Efforts had been made to ensure both comfort and visual interest in the lounges, dining rooms, smoke rooms, and music rooms. He was particularly struck by the ornate woodcarvings.
When he inspected the promenade deck, he made a point of going to Genevieve’s cabin. Knowing she would not be there, he slipped a note under the door, asking her to call on him at her convenience. The distant sound of cheers told him that the Marmora had cast off and he soon felt the vessel tilt and ride. Engine noise built up but it was not overly intrusive. The ship had five double-ended boilers and two single-ended ones. While
the passengers waved their farewells, Dillman knew that trimmers and stokers would be working hard to keep the boilers fed with coal. In his opinion, they were the unsung heroes of the shipping companies.
Having gained a rough working knowledge of the layout of the ship, he went back to his first-class cabin on the main deck. It was not long before Genevieve joined him. As he let her in, he ducked under her hat to give her a kiss on the cheek. She was delighted to see him. They had arrived separately and agreed that they would not be seen together in public. Operating independently, they had found, enabled them to cover far more ground than would have been the case if they presented themselves as a couple. It made their occasional meetings in private all the more precious.
“Well,” said Dillman, “what’s your first impression of the Marmora?”
“A good one,” she replied, removing her hat and undoing the buttons on her coat. “She’s compact and well appointed. What about you, George?”
“I was disappointed at first,” he admitted. “Working for Cunard has spoiled me. I expected the Marmora to be bigger somehow. Now that I’ve taken a closer look at her, I withdraw my reservations. She’s well designed and ideal for her purpose. And, of course, having a much smaller number of passengers will make our job so much easier.”
“Easier in one way, harder in another.”
“What do you mean?”
“It will be much more difficult to escape. We can’t lose ourselves in a crowd.”
“Do you feel that you need to, Genevieve?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve heard the alarm bells already.”
She told him about her meeting with Myra and Lilian Cathcart, people she liked but who somehow had to be kept at arm’s length. Genevieve was not sure which of them would be the more dependent on her. Myra’s geniality would enable to her to make other friends aboard, but Lilian would not mix easily.
“I suspect that the daughter will be the real headache,” she decided. “And the last thing I want is to have Lilian hanging on to me like a drowning sailor clinging to a piece of wreckage.”