by Rhys Bowen
As I turned back toward the door, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Someone was lying in my bed. The satin coverlet was pulled right up, but I could see red hair on the pillow. Had Oona Sheehan decided that she was fed up with sleeping in a second-class bunk and decided to reclaim her own, seeing that we’d be docking tomorrow?
At least she could have notified me of her intentions, I thought angrily. Was I now supposed to find my way back to my own cabin in the middle of the night? And what about my clothes? I could hardly make my way down to second class dressed as Marie Antoinette, could I?
Then it occurred to me that maybe she was angry at finding I had dared to leave the cabin to go to the costume ball. Maybe she had intended to talk to me tonight or even to change places again, but when I wasn’t to be seen, decided to go to bed instead.
I went over and tapped at the shape under the coverlet.
“Miss Sheehan,” I said gently, “it's Molly. I’m back. Do you want to wake up and tell me what you’d like me to do now?”
She didn’t stir. I prodded her again. She didn’t move.
I pulled back the coverlet and stifled a scream. It wasn’t Oona Sheehan at all who was lying there. It was a strange woman dressed as a Spanish senorita. Her black lace shawl was partly hiding her face. I lifted it away, recoiling instantly in horror. Rose was staring up at me with dead eyes.
Eight
She can’t be dead, was my first thought. She's only asleep, or fainted. Then I touched her bare arm and it was cold. And I had seen enough dead people to know death when I saw it. She couldn’t just have climbed into my bed and died, surely. She was young and healthy and I’d been joking with her only a couple of hours ago. I walked around the bed, staring at her, trying to think. There was no sign of any struggle, but somebody must have covered her up and arranged her peacefully. Which meant that somebody had killed her.
My heart was racing so fast I thought I might faint. It occurred to me that whoever had done this might still be in the room, waiting for me to return. I backed cautiously until I was within easy reach of the door, my eyes darting nervously from one side of the room to the other. “Get help. Get the steward” was my first coherent thought. I reached for the doorknob, opened the door and peered out into the corridor. It was empty. I ran back to the steward's cubby, but there was no sign of him there either. I was truly terrified now.
I half believed I was suffering from a hallucination. I had read about drugs being slipped into drinks. Somebody had put something in the punch bowl to make me drunk. I forced myself to creep back to my door and peer around it. The figure still lay on the bed. As far as I could see there was nowhere in the cabin to hide, apart from the wardrobe, and that was full of clothes. But I wasn’t going to go looking on my own. Then a hand tapped my shoulder. My heart leaped so wildly Icouldn’t even scream. I turned to see Henry, the familiar night steward standing there.
“Where do you think you are going, miss?” he asked.
I realized, of course, as I turned to face him, that I was no longer wearing Oona Sheehan's wig, but my own hair, which had now been flattened under the powdered wig of Marie Antoinette. I put my hand up to my face, and of course I was still wearing the black mask.
“This is my cabin, Henry,” I said in my deep Oona Sheehan whisper. “Don’t you recognize me?” I pulled off the mask and made some ineffectual pats at my rattaily hair.
“Oh, beg pardon, Miss Sheehan. I got a shock seeing someone creeping up to your cabin door, especially since I’d popped off duty for a couple of minutes when I should have been keeping an eye out here.”
“How long have you been away from your post?” I asked.
“Oh, no more than fifteen minutes or so,” he said. “There was a bit of shindig downstairs in the staff quarters to celebrate last night at sea, and a steward showed up with yet another floral tribute for you. He offered to deliver it for me and said he’d keep an eye on things for a while so that I could pop down and enjoy myself for a few minutes. It was such good fun down there, I might have stayed away a little longer than I planned.”
“Which steward was it?”
“I couldn’t rightly say, miss,” he said. “That blessed flower display was bigger than he was.”
“So you didn’t recognize him?”
“I can’t say I thought much about it, miss. With a ship this size, you don’t know all the crew. I just took in the uniform jacket and those flowers really. Why, is something wrong?”
“Something's very wrong,” I said. “You’d better come inside and take a look.”
I opened the door and stood aside for him to enter first. He gasped when he saw what I was pointing to.
“Oh, my lawks. Is she—?” he stammered.
“Yes, she's dead,” I said. “I came back to find her tucked up in bed.” “Do you know who it is?” he stammered. Beads of sweat were now trickling down his face.
“It's my maid.” As I said these words, I realized of course that I waslying. She wasn’t my maid at all. She was Oona Sheehan's maid. This could become complicated.
“Your maid?” He examined her more closely. “Why so it is. What the deuce is she doing dressed up in that outfit?”
“It could be possible that her killer dressed her in those clothes,” I said, “but I can’t think why.” Then I came up with a more probable answer, and one that sent chills down my spine. “What if she tried on the costume for a lark, and her killer thought she was me?”
“But how could anyone have got into your cabin, that's what I want to know,” Henry said. “I’m always here, on duty—especially late at night when the young men have been drinking and think they are brave enough to pay you a visit.”
“But you weren’t here tonight, Henry. You just said so yourself. Another steward took your place.”
“But only for a few minutes, miss.”
“Long enough to kill somebody,” I said.
He looked at me, horror struck. “But surely you don’t think—”
“That's exactly what I’m thinking. I’m wondering if he really was a steward or if he used the disguise and the flowers to get rid of you and enter this cabin.”
“Oh no, miss. Don’t say that.” Henry put a hand to his mouth. “I’d never live with myself if I thought—”
“You weren’t to know, Henry,” I said. “Try to remember everything you can about him.”
“But I told you. I didn’t really take too much notice.”
“Was he young or old?”
“He had a good head of dark hair, miss. I can tell you that much.” “Tall?”
“Taller than me.”
“And his voice? A young voice or an old voice?”
“Youngish, I’d say. And there was something about it—posher than the average steward.”
“There you are, you’ve already given us something to go on.”
“We should start hunting for him right away,” Henry said.
“He’ll have discarded that steward's uniform long ago. Now he's probably lying safely in his cabin.”
“You mean one of the passengers?” He looked horrified.
“It's possible. Somebody killed Rose. That means either a crew member or a passenger.”
“Stay where you are, miss,” Henry said, regaining his composure. “I’ll go and get help, and I’ll bring you a brandy.”
“No, don’t leave me,” I said, grabbing at his sleeve. “What if he's still here? Is there anywhere in here he could hide?”
Henry searched patiently around the cabin, opening the wardrobe with great caution, looking under the daybed. But he found nothing.
“I’ll be back before you can say Jack Robinson,” he said.
As he went out, I caught a glimpse of myself in the dressing table mirror. I presented quite a sight with my white face, my matted hair, the improbable costume. Nobody would possibly take me for Oona Shee-han looking like this. My wig, I thought. I must put on Oona's wig before Henry comes back. They mustn’t kno
w. As my clumsy fingers struggled to put on Oona's red wig, I realized that they’d have to know. I had promised Oona that we would trade places for the journey. But surely now I’d have to go back on that promise. Oona would understand that I’d have to come clean. She’d want to know what had happened to Rose. She’d want Rose's killer found and brought to justice.
But I continued to put on the wig. It was mainly vanity at this stage, I suppose. My own hair was so flattened and unattractive, that I didn’t want to be seen like that. And I wanted to get my thoughts straight before I let the truth come out. I hadn’t finished straightening the wig before there were the sounds of heavy feet in the corridor outside and Henry reappeared with a couple of ship's officers.
“In here, sir. On the bed.”
The bearded one went straight over to Rose's body. “I’m the ship's doctor, Miss Sheehan,” he said. “I understand that the victim is your maid. This is most distressing for you. Most.”
“And I am First Officer Stratton, Miss Sheehan,” the other one said. “So you found this young girl dead in your bed?”
I nodded. “And I suspect she's been murdered.”
He peered at the body, which indeed did look quite peaceful. “Are you sure we’re not jumping to conclusions that foul play was involvedhere? People do die unexpectedly—heart attacks, fatal asthma, that kind of thing—even young people.”
“But they don’t take the trouble to arrange themselves neatly in bed and cover themselves up first,” I said.
“I see what you mean. The captain has been notified. He was asleep, but he will be with us as soon as he can. Why don’t we remove ourselves from here and let the doctor get on with his examination. Henry, will you tell the captain that we’ll be in the reading room? We’re not likely to be disturbed there at this time of night.”
He took my elbow and steered me firmly out of the door, up the stairs to the main promenade deck, and then into a quiet lounge. It had paneled walls, comfortable armchairs, and several writing desks. It was in darkness when we arrived, and Henry went around switching on table lamps that threw a warm glow onto the polished furniture.
“If it's all right with you, sir, I thought I’d fetch Miss Sheehan a brandy,” Henry said. “She looks as if she's about to faint.”
“By all means. Good idea,” First Officer Stratton agreed. He pulled out a leather armchair for me.
I wasn’t normally one likely to faint and was about to say so. Then I realized that in truth I didn’t feel too steady on my feet. Rose had laced me firmly into my costume, and it felt as if my body was locked into a steel cage at this moment, with breathing virtually impossible. I sank, gratefully, into the chair. Henry returned with the brandy,- and I sipped, coughed, and sipped again, feeling the comforting warmth of the liquor spreading through me.
In a few minutes we were joined by the captain, a distinguished-looking man with graying beard, looking none-the-less distinguished in a dressing gown and slippers. He barged into the room, bristling with indignation.
“What's all this about, Stratton?” he asked. “We’ve a death on board?”
“A suspicious death, sir. The doctor is currently examining the body.”
“Do we know who the victim is?”
I opened my mouth, but the words would not come out.
“This lady's maid,” Henry said for me.
“And you are?” The captain turned a keen gaze onto me.
“This is Miss Oona Sheehan,” Henry said proudly.
“Good God,” the captain said. He stared at me for a second. “Bless my soul,” he said again. “Saw one of your plays once. Dashed good. The one where you were disguised as a boy. Stupid romantic story, but you were splendid. What was it called again?”
Mercifully I was spared having to answer this question by the arrival of the doctor.
“Captain Hammond, sir,” he said. “I’ve completed a brief preliminary examination.”
“And what's your opinion, Doctor? Are we dealing with a death from natural causes, or does it indeed look suspicious to you?”
“I think it's safe to say that she was suffocated, sir,” the doctor said. “Probably by the pillow on the bed. There are signs of bruising around the neck where she was held down forcibly. However, she had not— uh—been assaulted or interfered with in any way.” He lowered his voice as he said this with a quick glance in my direction.
“Blast it. This is most unfortunate,” the captain said. “Right. Well, I suppose I’d better go and take a look for myself. If you don’t mind waiting here, Miss Sheehan, I’ll have the doctor escort me back to your cabin.”
“Make sure you don’t touch anything unnecessarily, sir,” the first officer called after him. “I’m sure the police will want the crime scene undisturbed when they come aboard.”
“I’m not a complete fool, Stratton,” the captain barked back. “Besides, I am the law on this ship while we are at sea, and I’ll conduct my own inquiry. It only becomes a police matter when we dock, and if I choose to report it. Ideally I’d like to have the whole thing sewn up before we get to Ireland.”
“Fat chance of that, I should say,” the first officer muttered as the door closed behind the captain and doctor. Henry nodded.
I waited, shivering, even though the room was comfortably warm. This whole voyage had been so unreal, and now had taken on a nightmare quality The first officer, Henry and I waited in uneasy silence. Iwas conscious of a clock, ticking on one wall, the gentle pitching of the ship as we ran with the waves. After what seemed an age, the captain and doctor returned.
“Horrible business,” the captain was muttering as he came in. “Quite horrible. Poor girl. We’re going to find the blighter who did this, damn his eyes. Well, I suppose we had better get down to it. The girl was Irish, I take it. I suppose that means notifying the police when we dock in Queenstown.”
“We will most certainly have to call in the local police when we dock in Queenstown,” the first officer said emphatically.
“We don’t have to do anything.” The captain stared at him. “I am the law on this ship, as you well know.”
“We fly under the British flag, sir. We are subject to British law, and a murder will certainly have to involve the British police.”
The captain sighed. “Yes, I know, I know. By God, this will be a nasty business. I hope to heaven they don’t keep us delayed in port while they conduct their inquiries. The ship's owners will be tearing out their beards if we can’t keep to our schedule. They’ll blame me for some blasted woman getting herself killed on my ship.” He stared out of the window into the blackness, then slapped his hand on the nearest table. “Right. Let's get on with it. Will you take notes, Doctor? There's writing paper on the desk over there.”
“Right you are, sir.” The doctor crossed the room and pulled a chair up to a writing desk.
“I’ve never conducted a murder investigation before in all my years at sea,” the captain said. “We’ve over a thousand people on this vessel and I want this man apprehended as quickly as possible. I don’t like the thought of a killer running around loose in our midst.”
As he spoke it crossed my mind that we should not leap to the assumption that the killer was male. But for once I wisely kept silent.
The captain was pacing now, hands behind his back. “Stratton, I want the crew made aware of the circumstances as quickly and quietly as possible. Have them keep an eye open for anyone acting suspiciously. I’ll do a briefing of the day staff at four bells and I want a full passenger list immediately.”
The doctor looked up from his position at the writing table. “Sir, I think we should make every effort to keep the news from the passengers or to cause any kind of alarm, do you agree?”
“Oh, absolutely, sir.” Stratton nodded his agreement. “If we had some idea for whom we might be on the lookout, we could take steps to apprehend this man before we dock tomorrow.”
“If we knew who we were looking for, the matter would be simple, Stratton,
” the captain said dryly. “We’d go to his damned cabin and arrest him.”
I glanced across at Henry to see if he was going to mention the unknown steward. He stood by the doorway with eyes cast down. I was debating whether to mention it at this stage myself and thus risk getting Henry into trouble, when the captain went on, “Well, nobody's going ashore until the police come on board, that's for certain. Have signals standing at the ready. I want semaphore messages sent as soon we make contact with the Irish coast. I’m not putting this ship hours behind schedule while we wait for their inspectors to arrive from Dublin.”
“It is possible they’ll keep us in port while a complete investigation is carried out,” the first officer said.
“They’d damned well better not,” the captain muttered. “They can interrogate those who wish to disembark in Ireland and then conduct the rest of their inquiry as we sail to Liverpool.”
“I’m not sure that—” the first officer began.
“Damn it, man, stop blathering there. Off you go to brief the crew then,” the captain barked. “I want signals standing by immediately. And remember, mum's the word.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The first officer left.
“Right. Where were we?” Captain Hammond turned his keen gaze on me. “Miss Sheehan, this poor girl was your maid, you say. Do you have any ideas who might have wanted her dead? Was this just a random act of violence, do you think, Doctor?”
“I don’t think so, sir. Such men would normally look for some sexual gratification as part of their acts.” Again he glanced at me as if apologizing for introducing so repugnant a subject.
“So we have to assume that your maid was killed for a reason. Miss Sheehan, did she have an unwanted admirer that you knew of?”
“Tell the truth and get it over with,” a voice was screaming in my head, but I didn’t know where to begin. Also, as the brandy took effect and calmed my racing nerves, I was beginning to see that I might be in a bit of a pickle.