A Poison of Passengers

by Jack Treby

  ‘Why didn’t you just throw it overboard?’

  ‘I was too scared of being seen, out on deck. There was a slight dent in the disk, so I turned it around to the wall, to make it less obvious. I knew someone would see it eventually, though.’

  ‘And what did you do then?’

  ‘I left the suite and went and sat in the reading room, trying to calm myself down. I even did a bit of work, just to keep myself busy. I returned to B Deck an hour later, when the body was found. Mr Griffith didn’t show much interest in me then, thank goodness. And the interview, later on, was very brief. Somehow, I managed to hold myself together.’

  ’And Sir Richard? What did he make of Mrs O’Neill’s death?’

  ‘He understood exactly what I had done, right from the off. It was obvious, even though we didn’t get to talk about it until later. But he didn’t seem to care. It was Mr Latimer all over again. Mrs O’Neill had got what she deserved, as far as he was concerned. He told me not to worry, he would look after me, so long as I kept my nerve. I couldn’t understand it. I didn’t understand. Not until...not until this evening...’

  ‘When you confronted Sir Richard?’

  ‘When Margaret...Mrs Hamilton-Baynes told us about...about everything. It was only then...only then that the scales really fell from my eyes. I finally understood just what sort of a man I had been working for. It made me sick just to think of it. I could scarcely believe I had been so deceived.’ The young man had certainly been agitated, when we had left the restaurant together. ‘But now, it all made sense. The way he had manipulated me. I talked it over with Jenny, after I said goodnight to you. I’d spent the whole day trying to keep myself calm, trying not to show any trace of emotion, but now everything was unravelling. And when I realised...when I finally understood how Sir Richard had misled me, how he had exploited me, I was so angry, so upset.’

  ‘And you discussed all this with Miss Simpkins?’

  ‘I...told her about the letters, about the money I had stolen, how Sir Richard had manipulated me.’

  ‘And Mrs O’Neill?’

  ‘No.’ His face fell. ‘I couldn’t tell her about that. I couldn’t bear to.’

  ‘What about Sir Richard and Lady Jocelyn?’

  ‘Not that either. It was shocking enough, just talking about Sir Richard. All the upset he had caused, all the letters he had sent. The way I had been deceived. Jenny was as horrified as I was, to discover how he had manipulated us all. She didn’t blame me. It was all his fault, she said. I needed to get away from him. Tell him you want nothing more to do with him, she said.’ He frowned at the memory of that. ‘And she was right. Somehow, I had to disentangle myself from all the mess. So I went to see him, fool that I was. He had come back to the stateroom alone after supper. I think he’d had a disagreement with Lady Jocelyn. They are always having minor tiffs. She had gone to the Palladian with the others, as it was our last night onboard, so there was no-one else around in the Reynolds Suite. Well, Miss Wellesley was there, but she was asleep in her ladyship’s room. We could hear her snoring. We went out onto the verandah, just to be on the safe side. And then I told him, as firmly as I could, that I wanted nothing more to do with him; that I knew he was behind the poison pen letters, that he had been lying to me from the very beginning. This time, he didn’t deny it. He just laughed in my face. He didn’t care.’

  ‘He admitted it to you?’

  ‘He did. His eyes...I could see the cruelty in them; how much he had enjoyed deceiving us all. I confess, Mr Buxton, I wanted to strike him down. But instead, I told him what Mrs Hamilton-Baynes had told us, about the affair he had had with his own sister all those years ago, and at that point everything changed. Sir Richard was outraged, appalled that Margaret would betray his confidence, after all these years. I had never seen him so angry. He wasn’t shouting or snarling. He knew he couldn’t afford to be overheard. But she had betrayed him, he said. Stabbed him in the back. Him and Lady Jocelyn. And she would suffer for it.’

  ‘He threatened to hurt her?’

  ‘Yes, he did. At the time, I thought it was all hot air. He wouldn’t lash out at her physically. I was sure he would find some other way to get back at her. And then, before either of us could say anything else, people started arriving back at the suite. Lady Jocelyn and the reverend. And then Matilda escaped again. I think that may have been Sir Richard’s doing – trying to divert attention – and I was despatched to look for her. And then, a while later, your man came along and said she was down here, on E Deck. And I was in such a whirl, not knowing whether I was coming or going. Nothing had been resolved. Sir Richard was furious but trying to hide it. And her ladyship insisted we go and look for the cat, the reverend and I. All I could think about was...what I had done. Everything that had happened. Mrs O’Neill. My God. I had killed her. And for what? I came down here and I just...I just sat.’ He gazed disconsolately at the pool. ‘I didn’t know what else to do. I needed time to think. To decide...to decide what to do next.’

  ‘Killing yourself won’t help anyone,’ I pointed out quietly. ‘And I don’t think it’s as easy as it looks.’

  ‘No...no, you’re right. I have to take responsibility for what I’ve done. I have to give myself up. Not just...not just because of what I did. But because of him. Sir Richard. He can’t be allowed to get away this. Mrs Hamilton-Baynes, of all people. The most harmless, defenceless woman. And he just...’ Hopkins pulled himself up. ‘I won’t let him get away with it. The world needs to know what sort of a man he is. Even if I have to go to prison. Even if...’

  ‘That’s the trouble with young people these days,’ a voice boomed suddenly from behind us. ‘No backbone.’ Sir Richard Villiers was standing calmly a few yards away from us. Hopkins jerked backwards in surprise and I almost lost my grip on the edge of the pool, as I scrabbled to take him in. ‘In my day,’ Sir Richard continued, his voice dripping with scorn, ‘people knew how to hold their tongue, how to keep things under their hat.’

  Hopkins recovered himself quickly, pulling his feet out of the water and swivelling up onto his knees. ‘You killed her, didn’t you?’ he cried, lifting himself up. ‘You killed Margaret!’

  Sir Richard curled his lip. ‘I put her out of her misery, if that’s what you mean. That bloody woman.’ He scowled. ‘She was nothing but a leech. Living off my hard work, my enterprise. Just like all the others.’ Sir Richard was carrying a small leather bag with him. He stepped forward, his attention focused on the younger man, and quietly placed the bag down on the tiles. ‘We’ve supported her for all these years, Jocelyn and I, after marrying that damn fool of a vicar. She’d have been penniless, if it wasn’t for us. And this is how she pays us back. Telling everyone our secrets. Telling everyone things she has no business talking about.’

  ‘It wasn’t her fault,’ I protested, rising up beside Mr Hopkins. ‘It just slipped out over dinner. It was quite by chance. And no-one else will ever know.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ Hopkins realised, with a trembling voice. ‘I shouldn’t have told you.’ Water was now dripping from his trousers onto the marble floor. ‘I should have gone straight to Mr Griffith and thrown myself on his mercy.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, boy!’ Sir Richard barked. ‘Do you want to hang?’

  I was more concerned with Sir Richard’s behaviour after the secretary had spoken to him. ‘But why kill her? Why kill Mrs Hamilton-Baynes? She wasn’t any threat to you.’

  ‘She’s always been a threat,’ Sir Richard spat, his face red with contempt. ‘She’s had that hold over us for years. It’s a question of honour, old boy. Family honour. You wouldn’t understand.’ He shook his head and growled. ‘I wasn’t intending to kill the damned woman. I was going to give her a piece of my mind. But I opened the bedroom door and what did I see? She was kneeling there, in front of the bed, praying for forgiveness. It made my blood boil to see her like that. The hypocrisy of the woman. Always so virtuous, always so kind and mild mannered. Keeping
our secret for so many years, like a good little nun. But inside she was lording it over us. Enjoying our discomfort. Well,’ he chuckled. ‘I put an end to that.’

  The man was mad, quite mad. He had lost whatever grip he had once had on sanity. Even so, it had taken some nerve, to grab that shuffleboard disk and batter the woman from behind; and then, a short time later, to move back to the doorway and call the alarm. The fellow might be unhinged, but he was a quick thinker too.

  ‘And the best of it is,’ he crowed, ‘I can blame it all on the Reverend Hamilton-Baynes. They’ve already arrested the damn fool.’ He smiled sourly. ‘I’ve never liked that man. Too lively by half. In my days, vicars were quiet, humble people. He deserves everything that’s coming to him.’

  ‘You won’t get away with this,’ I said, my own anger beginning to flare. ‘Mr Hopkins here has told me everything. Every little detail. You won’t keep a lid on this.’

  ‘Won’t I now?’ He regarded the pair of us with some amusement, his eyes wide behind those chunky spectacles. ‘I’ve managed perfectly well so far. And what kind of threat are you? Look at you, the pair of you. Pathetic. Ernest here will do exactly what I tell him.’

  ‘I won’t. I won’t.’ The younger man was staring at his employer, his hands clenching and unclenching, as if trying to decide whether to launch himself at the fellow. I would not have blamed him if he had.

  ‘Of course you will. Use your brain, Ernest, for goodness sake. You don’t want to hang do you? He’s good with figures,’ Sir Richard explained to me, in a disconcertingly casual tone, ‘but everything else in there is hot air. You’ll keep quiet, lad, for all those fine feelings of yours, because you want to live. You can marry that girlie of yours, live happily ever after. And as for you, Mr Buxton.’ He regarded me shrewdly. ‘I know your sort well enough. You’re out for what you can get. I’ve bought dozens of people like you. How much do you want? A hundred pounds? Let’s say two hundred. I can write you a cheque here and now.’

  ‘You’re offering me money?’ I spluttered. ‘To keep quiet?’

  ‘Why not? I had you sized up right from the start. A “gold digger”, that’s the term they use these days. Attaching yourself to rich widows, bleeding them dry. Oh, I know your type well enough. In my day, you’d have been given a good thrashing and thrown over the side.’

  ‘I don’t want your money,’ I snapped.

  ‘Bartering, are we?’ Sir Richard looked at me in surprise. ‘Very well. Three hundred pounds. That’s my last offer.’ He reached down to the bag resting by his leg.

  ‘I’m not interested,’ I told him firmly. ‘Look, Sir Richard, what you got up to with your sister all those years ago, that’s your business. We can put that down to an error of youth.’ I had turned a blind eye to worse things in my time. ‘Even the letters you sent I could overlook, those vile, cowardly letters.’

  ‘Cowardly?’ Sir Richard riled at that.

  ‘You talk about plain speaking, Sir Richard. The good old days. But when you really want to spew your venom, what do you do? You hide behind the printed word. You take refuge behind it, like a little boy hiding behind a tree. And that’s cowardice in my book.’ The words were designed as a provocation and they seemed to be working. Steam appeared to be coming out of Sir Richard’s ears. It was a risky strategy – he was a hefty fellow, after all – but there were two of us and only one of him; and the more he raised his voice in anger, the more likely it was someone would hear him and come to investigate.

  ‘It’s not cowardice,’ he spat, his thin face red with anger. ‘But you’re right, Mr Buxton.’ His voice calmed abruptly. The inconsistency in his tone was alarming. ‘It is better to speak frankly when you can. In my day, we called a spade a spade. But some things are too personal, too damaging. They can’t be spoken of out loud, but they need to be said all the same.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for that,’ I said. ‘Like I say, I could forgive the letters, but Mrs Hamilton-Baynes...Mr Hopkins is right. She was the gentlest, kindest of women; and you murdered her, Sir Richard. You crossed that line. And that is unforgivable. I’m going to make sure you are held to account for it.’

  ‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ the man snapped, rising up from his bag. In his hand he was holding a flintlock pistol, the one belonging to the Reverend Hamilton-Baynes. He cocked the weapon. ‘You have a choice, the pair of you. Do as I say, or this ends now.’

  I swallowed hard at the sight of the gun. If I had known he had been armed, I would not have spoken so harshly. ‘You’re bluffing,’ I asserted, more in hope than conviction. ‘That’s not loaded. You don’t have any ammunition.’

  ‘Mr Buxton,’ Hopkins whispered urgently, ‘there was a pouch of ammunition in the box. Gunpowder too.’

  Sir Richard smirked. ‘And don’t doubt I know how to use it,’

  I closed my eyes and suppressed a shudder. It appeared the day was determined to end on a low note. ‘If you fire that, Sir Richard,’ I said, clutching my hands together, ‘people will come running.’

  The man shrugged. ‘Self defence. Young Hopkins here was in league with the reverend. Or you were. He wrote the letters, you were his accomplice.’

  ‘That’ll never wash. Sir Richard, you’re deluded. Give it up, while you still can.’

  He was not listening. ‘What do you say, boy?’ He addressed the secretary. ‘We can still walk away. Blame it all on the vicar and this damned fool.’

  Hopkins shook his head. He had been through too much already. ‘No, Sir Richard. I won’t do it. I won’t do anything for you ever again.’

  ‘You can only shoot one of us,’ I pointed out, my voice trembling now despite my best efforts to keep it level. ‘Put the gun down, Sir Richard. It’s over. You can’t win now.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ he conceded, reluctantly. ‘But I have no intention of dangling from a rope. If it has to end now, then so be it.’ And with that, he pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I am pretty sure he was aiming for Mr Hopkins, but flintlocks are tricky things to fire.

  Before I had even heard the bang, I felt something hard thud into my right shoulder. A spasm of pain shot up the back of my neck and my body spun under the impact. Hopkins was standing just to my right and I careered into him, losing my footing on the wet tiles. The impact knocked Hopkins off balance. I crashed to the floor, blood spurting from my shoulder, as Hopkins fell sideways, plunging into the swimming pool, a cry of surprise cut short by the heavy splosh.

  Sir Richard, meantime, had discarded his musket. Even if he had extra ammunition to hand, it would take him too long to reload. Instead, as I struggled back to my feet, he strode across the floor towards me, his eyes blazing with anger. The intention was clear: he was going to finish me off. I had barely managed to recover my balance when he reached me. His hands grabbed hold of my throat. My shoulder was already throbbing with pain; there was a tear at the top of my jacket and blood on my waistcoat. I pushed back at Sir Richard as best I could, but his grip was like a vice. I did not have the strength to get him off me. I gasped for air, my vision beginning to blur as he squeezed at my windpipe. His face – what I could see of it – was twisted into a cruel smile, those hideous bulging eyes magnified to infinity by his enormous glasses.

  I stopped pushing, an idea bubbling up in my mind. I dropped a hand from his chest down to my trouser pocket and fumbled inside. I confess, I nearly dropped the penknife as I pulled it out. Sir Richard must have seen the movement but he was too slow to react. I flicked the blade open and, with all the strength I could muster, I plunged the knife into his right thigh. It cut through the fabric of his trousers with surprising ease and slid directly into his flesh.

  The reaction was instantaneous. Sir Richard let out a growl of pain. His hands dropped from my neck and I staggered backwards, letting go of the penknife, which plopped down into the water. Sir Richard clutched his leg, blood already spooling across his knee. ‘You’ll pay for that!’ he snarled. But he w
as off balance and I saw my opportunity. I stepped forward, ignoring the pain in my right shoulder, and launched a fist directly at his head. It was impossible to miss, but somehow I managed it. In the brief moment it had taken me to make the move, a dripping figure had risen up from the swimming pool and grabbed Sir Richard. The knight cried out in surprise as Mr Hopkins yanked his leg hard from below. Sir Richard lost his footing and came crashing down, just as my fist hit the air where his head had been a moment earlier.

  Sir Richard thudded heavily into the water, on top of the poor secretary, who disappeared beneath the waves.

  I might have avoided the same fate, had I not at that moment collided with a pair of empty shoes – my shoes, to be exact, with socks stuffed into the holes – which were lying by the side of the pool. I tripped across them, staggered backwards and then hit the water hard, the back of my left leg thudding against the glazed brickwork. All at once, I disappeared into the depths. It happened so quickly, I had no time to think. I did not even have the presence of mind to keep my mouth shut. Before I knew what was happening, my lungs were filling up with water. I started to panic, pushing myself desperately up to the surface. I have never been the strongest of swimmers, but my head broke the water a couple of seconds later and I coughed and spluttered, grasping for the side of the pool to support myself as I attempted to regain my breath.

  Hopkins was slower to recover. Sir Richard, who had fallen on top of him, had surfaced first. His bloody leg was out of sight and his chunky glasses had been swept away, but the older man was not done yet. This time, it was the secretary who was the focus of his anger. As Hopkins resurfaced and gasped for air, Sir Richard grabbed hold of him and smashed him hard in the face. The young man reeled under the impact and, as he did so, Sir Richard grasped his head and forced it under the water.

  Hopkins was fighting a losing battle, but I was gradually recovering myself. The pistol Sir Richard had abandoned had come to rest by the edge of the pool. My eyes lit up at the sight of it. I was only a few feet away from the struggling pair and the pistol would make a perfectly serviceable club. I grabbed hold of it with my free hand and edged along. Sir Richard had his back to me. I gritted my teeth, my poor arm grasping the side to keep myself afloat while I steadied myself and then raised the pistol above my head. The older man was too intent on drowning his secretary to notice me creeping up on him. With the length of the barrel, I whipped Sir Richard hard across the back of his head. This time, the blow struck true. The man yowled and spluttered, instantly releasing his grip on the secretary. But the effort had winded me too. The pistol dropped from my hand and sank uselessly into the depths.