Murder on the Marmora

by Conrad Allen

  “A little. I don’t want everyone to stare at us.”

  “They’ll be too busy goggling at the royal party. Talking of which,” he went on, “I meant what I said about arranging to dine with them at some stage.”

  “Oh, Nigel!” she cried with excitement. “Do you think that you could?”

  “It’s one of the many occasions when Father’s name comes in useful. The Duke is bound to remember Lord Wilmshurst. They’ve been on many shooting parties together.”

  “What did they shoot?”

  “Confounded socialists, for the most part.”

  Araminta Wilmshurst went off into a fit of giggles. She was a short, shapely young woman with an almost doll-like prettiness. Her auburn hair was parted in the middle, puffed out at the sides, and collected into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her two-piece suit of blue satin was tailored to perfection. She still had the bloom on her that she had possessed when she walked down the aisle with her husband. Nigel Wilmshurst ran a finger softly down her cheek and admired her afresh.

  “Who is the most gorgeous woman aboard this ship?” he asked.

  “The Princess Royal.”

  He laughed with scorn. “The Princess Royal?”

  “I think she’s beautiful.”

  “Her mother is, I grant you,” he said. “Queen Alexandra is still a very handsome woman. But her three daughters are as plain as pikestaffs.”

  “Nigel! That’s a dreadful thing to say.”

  “Well, I’m not the only one who says it. The rumor is that the three sisters used to be known as ‘the Hags.’ And some people had even worse names for them. I respect the Princess Royal as much as the next man but I’d be lying if I called her beautiful.”

  “She has such dignity,” argued his wife.

  “It doesn’t make her face any more appealing to look at.”

  “Don’t be so ungentlemanly!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be boorish. Nobody could mistake her for anything but a member of the royal family. However, in my humble opinion, she does not even begin to compare with a certain Mrs. Nigel Wilmshurst.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Why else do you think I was waiting at the altar for you?”

  She went into his arms. “You can be so sweet to me sometimes.”

  “I intend to make a habit of it.”

  “Make sure that you’re sweet to the Princess Royal as well.”

  “I’ll be exquisitely charming toward her and the rest of the family.”

  “Is it true that she’s taken up salmon fishing?”

  “What else is there to do in the Scottish Highlands?” he asked mischievously. “She can’t toss the caber or go out and shoot game so she’s settled for catching a salmon or two. Good for her, I say. It shows a sense of enterprise.”

  Araminta shook her head. “Fishing seems so, well…unladylike.”

  “You were ladylike enough when you went fishing for me.”

  “Stop teasing,” she said, playfully pushing him away.

  “Do you deny that you set your cap at me?”

  “I won’t have it compared with salmon fishing.”

  “But I still have the hook in my mouth,” Nigel said, embracing her again. “And I’m so glad I took the bait. I just wish that I’d done so much sooner.”

  “We only met six months ago.”

  “That’s what I mean. All those empty, pointless, wasted years!”

  “They couldn’t have been all that empty,” she noted. “Your sister told me you’d been engaged once before. Is that right?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “It’s either right or it isn’t, Nigel.”

  “Maybe, but it’s not the kind of thing I want to discuss at this moment.”

  “Does that mean you’re ashamed of it?”

  “No,” he said, holding her by the shoulders. “It means that what happened in the past was a foolish mistake. The lady in question could not even hold a candle to you, Araminta. I’ve forgotten all about her.”

  “Who was she?”

  “I can’t even remember her name,” he lied. “The past is dead and buried. It’s foolish to dwell on it. Especially when we have so many things to look forward to. You’ll love Egypt. It’s so full of magic and mystery.”

  She smiled. “And there was I, thinking it would be the Isle of Wight.”

  “Only the best is good enough for my wife.” He was about to kiss her again when there was a tap on the door. He eased her away and turned around. “Come in!”

  The door opened and a steward brought in a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. Setting it down, he stepped out to collect some champagne glasses from his trolley. Nigel Wilmshurst took them from him and sent the steward on his way with a tip. After locking the door behind him, Nigel uncorked the bottle with a flourish and poured out the champagne. He offered a glass to his wife then clinked it with his own.

  “As I told you,” he reminded her. “The honeymoon begins here!”

  When he had finished his official duties, Brian Kilhendry went off to find his deputy so they could compare notes. They were still discussing the arrangements for the captain’s table that evening when the visitors arrived. Genevieve Masefield came first, introducing herself to both men and gaining admiring glances from each of them. Once the niceties had been disposed of, she turned to confront the purser.

  “I gather that you don’t have a great deal of confidence in us, Mr. Kilhendry.”

  “That’s not exactly my position,” he replied.

  “Then what is?”

  “You and Mr. Dillman will only be duplicating what Martin and I can do.”

  “Many hands make light work,” said Grandage. “I’m all in favor of that.”

  “As long as we don’t get in each other’s way,” added Kilhendry. “Our stewards act as our eyes and ears, you see. They are our intelligence network. If we’re not careful, we’ll have too many detectives and not enough villains.”

  Genevieve shrugged. “Isn’t that a good thing? Prevention is always better than the cure. If the villains realize they’re outnumbered, they may think twice.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Miss Masefield.”

  “Then how does it work, Mr. Kilhendry?” she pressed.

  Before the purser could answer, Dillman appeared, having delayed his arrival so that he would not be seen with his partner. After a few brief exchanges, Kilhendry took the opportunity to slip out and leave them alone with his deputy. Grandage held a chair so that Genevieve could sit down. Dillman took the other chair in the office.

  “Before we start,” said Grandage, taking some papers from the desk, “I was told to give these to you, Miss Masefield. Mr. Dillman already has a set.”

  “The passenger lists?” she asked, taking them from him.

  “And a diagram of the ship until you get your bearings.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Grandage.”

  “Look,” said Grandage with a warm smile, “I know that Brian—Mr. Kilhendry—asked you to report to me, but I don’t want to restrict you in any way. I’m only too delighted to have you both aboard. I know what you did for Cunard. As far as I’m concerned, you have a completely free hand.”

  “That’s encouraging to hear,” said Dillman.

  “Yes,” Genevieve agreed. “We don’t want anyone looking over our shoulder all the time. It would only inhibit us.”

  “I can understand that,” said Grandage. “Just come to me if you need any help.”

  “We will,” said Dillman. “I went on a quick tour of the ship while everyone else was on deck. It seemed the best time to explore the nooks and crannies.”

  “Unfortunately, you were not the only person who thought that.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “We’ve had our first theft, Mr. Dillman.”

  “Already?”

  “The thief knew when to strike. He got away with some money and jewelry.”

  “Where was the cabin?”<
br />
  “Second class.”

  “Then he may not be a professional,” said Dillman. “There’d be much richer pickings in first class. Most thieves would start there.”

  “Not in every case,” argued Grandage. “The more wealth people have, the more care they take to protect it. Our safe is packed with valuables that have been put there by first-class passengers. No, this was an opportunist theft by someone who knew exactly where to go. Mrs. Prendergast is heartbroken.”

  “Mrs. Prendergast?” echoed Genevieve.

  “The victim. When she discovered what had happened, she was mortified.”

  “Have you looked into the case, Mr. Grandage?”

  “I was hoping you’d do that,” said the other. “Calming down distraught women has never been my forte. Besides, I think you’d get more out of her than I managed. All that Mrs. Prendergast did when I was there was to burst into tears.”

  “I’ll go and see her as soon as we’ve finished here.”

  “Thank you, Miss Masefield. You’ll find her cabin number on the list.”

  “I’m surprised the purser doesn’t want to keep this crime to himself,” said Dillman. “He gave me the impression that he only had to wave a magic wand and culprits would rush forward to confess.”

  Grandage chuckled. “I wish that it did happen that way.”

  “At least we now have a reason to be on the Marmora.”

  “You have over four hundred and fifty reasons, Mr. Dillman, because that’s the number of passengers aboard and they all deserve to be safeguarded. Some, of course, need an even greater degree of protection.”

  “The royal party?”

  “Yes,” said Grandage.

  “But I understood that Mr. Kilhendry was looking after them.”

  “There’s a limit to how much time he can spend on guard. I don’t need to tell you how busy a purser is during a voyage. You’re at the mercy of everyone. It’s a twenty-four-hour nightmare. Brian Kilhendry is tireless, but even he can’t be in two places at the same time. We need to have contingency plans.”

  “What sort of contingency plans?” said Genevieve.

  “I’m looking at them,” replied Grandage, shifting his gaze from one to the other. “I want you to keep a special eye on the royal party. It won’t be too onerous a job. The Princess Royal is known to be reserved. She likes to keep herself to herself.”

  “They must come on deck at some time,” said Dillman. “They have two teenage daughters. I can’t believe they’d do without daily exercise.”

  “I’m sure they won’t, Mr. Dillman. They’ll have a regular routine. The Duke has promised to let me know what that routine is so that you have some forewarning.”

  Genevieve was puzzled. “But why? Surely they’re not in danger?”

  “We can’t be certain of that. Like me, I daresay you hold the royal family in the highest esteem. We’re true patriots, as are many of the people aboard. But we are also carrying a number of foreign nationals.”

  “I’m one of them,” Dillman volunteered with a grin. “An arrogant American.”

  “You don’t pose any threat,” said Grandage, “and it may be that nobody else on the Marmora does, either. But we can’t take that risk. The British monarchy may be respected at home but it’s reviled in some countries. It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that someone might want to strike a blow against it. A symbolic act, if you like, whether out of envy, spite, or political conviction.”

  “What are you asking us to do, Mr. Grandage?” said Genevieve.

  “Take on the role of unofficial bodyguards,” replied the other. “Look after the royal party. I have a strange feeling that your expertise will be needed.”

  FOUR

  Mabel Prendergast was a big, heavy woman in her sixties with silver hair that was brushed severely back and held in a bun. Her shoulders were hunched, her head held down, and her knees bent, as if she were apologizing for her size by trying to appear slightly smaller. Tears were still moistening the old woman’s eyes when Genevieve Masefield called on her. Mrs. Prendergast was amazed to learn that her visitor was a detective but she burst out crying again the moment Genevieve asked her to explain what had happened.

  It was several minutes before she managed to control herself. “I’m sorry, Miss Masefield,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I never thought that anything like this would happen.”

  “We’ll do our best to recover whatever was stolen.”

  “My cabin was locked. How on earth did the thief get in here?”

  “That’s what we’ll need to find out.”

  “It’s not the loss of the money that upset me,” explained Mrs. Prendergast. “It was the theft of the jewelry. Some of those pieces had great sentimental value. They were gifts from my husband. He’ll be terribly hurt when he hears about this.”

  “Isn’t your husband traveling with you?”

  “I’m afraid not. His health would never permit it. He’s very frail. No,” she went on, “I decided to make the effort while I’m still able to do so. Our son works in Cairo, you see, and his wife has just presented us with a first grandchild.”

  “A boy or a girl?”

  “A baby girl. I simply had to go out to see her.”

  “Of course,” said Genevieve.

  “To be honest, we never thought that David, our son, would ever marry. He seemed to be wedded to his career in the diplomatic service. Then, about eighteen months ago, he found himself a wife at last and he’s now become a father.” She wrung her hands. “David will be so shocked by this. I mean, you don’t expect it on the P and O.”

  “Every shipping company has the same problem, I’m afraid. When people go on our cruise, they tend to relax and lower their guard. That’s when a thief will move in.”

  “But I was only out of my cabin for about twenty minutes.”

  “Two minutes would have been long enough, Mrs. Prendergast,” said Genevieve. “Where were the stolen items kept?”

  “The jewelry was in a box. I hadn’t even unpacked it from my trunk.”

  “But the trunk was unlocked?”

  “Oh, yes,” replied the other, glancing across at the large wooden trunk in the corner. “My clothing was scattered all over the floor. That’s what shook me most, I think. The idea that someone had been rummaging through my belongings. It’s disgusting!”

  “I know.”

  “I felt as if I’d been invaded, Miss Masefield.”

  “P and O recommend that passengers have anything of value locked in a safe.”

  “That’s where I’d intended to put it as soon as I took the jewelry box out of the trunk. It was tucked away right at the bottom. The thief had to burrow for it.”

  “What about the money?”

  The old woman looked a trifle shamefaced. “It was in my handbag,” she admitted, “and I left that lying on the table. Yes, I know that it was stupid of me,” she said, cowering defensively, “but I thought that it would be perfectly safe in here.”

  “How much was taken?”

  “Well over a hundred pounds.”

  “Oh dear!” sighed Genevieve. “That’s a real blow. Was anything else stolen from your handbag? Your passport, for instance?”

  “No, Miss Masefield. That’s still here. So is my train ticket to Cairo.”

  “That’s some consolation, anyway.”

  “I don’t feel very consoled.”

  “Now,” said Genevieve, taking a notebook and pencil from her pocket, “the first thing I’ll need is a list of the items stolen from your jewelry box. If any of them are distinctive in any way—engraved with your name, perhaps—make sure that you tell me. Have you met anyone on the way here or since you came aboard?”

  “Yes, lots of people.”

  “I’ll need their names, if you can remember them.”

  “But they were so nice and friendly. You surely can’t suspect any of them.”

  “We have to explore every avenue, Mrs. Prendergast.
What’s very clear to me is that you were deliberately chosen as a target. No other passengers in second class have reported a theft.”

  “Why me?” the old woman asked in dismay.

  “For two reasons,” said Miss Masefield. “If, by chance, you’d caught the thief in the act, you’d pose no threat to him. He’d know he could push you aside and make his escape. The other reason is more obvious, I’m afraid,” she continued, using her pencil to point at the items she mentioned. “That’s a beautiful brooch you’re wearing, and those diamond earrings are even more eye-catching. A thief would be bound to notice that gorgeous ruby ring and that lovely watch of yours as well. Since you have a certain amount of expensive jewelry on display, there was a fair chance you’d have brought more with you.”

  “I did. A whole box of it.”

  “Let’s start there, shall we?”

  “If you wish,” murmured Mrs. Prendergast.

  “What was the most important item in the jewelry box?”

  “My mother’s wedding ring.”

  Dinner on the first evening afloat was informal though some of the passengers decided to dress up for the occasion. A few full-length evening gowns made their appearance and there was an occasional man in white tie and tails amid the prevailing suits. George Porter Dillman sided with the majority and looked elegant in a navy-blue three-piece suit that emphasized his slim build. When he entered the first-class dining room, he did not need to search for a seat. A place had already been reserved for him by some fellow passengers he had met on the way to Tilbury.

  “Come and join us, Mr. Dillman!” invited Morton Goss, rising to his feet.

  “Thank you,” the detective said.

  “We were hoping to be able to grab you.”

  “Yes,” said Rebecca Goss. “We Bostonians must stick together.”

  Dillman took a seat at the long table being shared by the Goss family with a dozen other people. The chairs were bolted to the floor but swiveled easily to allow access. Morton Goss was a short, stooping man of fifty with a bald head that was covered with a fine cobweb of hair and large eyes that gleamed behind his spectacles. An Egyptologist with an international reputation, Goss had a true zealot’s passion for his subject. His wife, Rebecca, by contrast, was a small birdlike creature with no interest in archaeology of any kind but with an abiding interest in people. While her husband collected relics from ancient Egypt, Rebecca Goss preferred to make new friends.