by Rose Donovan
Regaining her composure, Emeline began to reshuffle the sheaf of papers into a neat rectangle. “No, I did not. I know one should not speak ill of the dead—”
But you’re going to do it anyway, thought Fina. She gently held Ruby’s arm, as much to restrain herself as Ruby.
Emeline continued, “But really, I do my best to steer clear of such men.”
“Quite, Miss Caulk. What time did you happen to go to bed?”
“Well, I couldn’t sleep. I suppose it was the combination of going to bed early, the frightful temperature, and the storm. So I took my travel typewriter and went to the lounge. I need to complete a pamphlet before we arrive.”
“What time did you go to the lounge and when did you finally go to bed?” asked Fina.
“I’m not quite sure what time I went to the lounge – it must’ve been near 11 o’clock. I do remember looking at the clock when I left, which must’ve been around 2 in the morning.”
“And your sister?”
“She was asleep when I left our cabin at 11 o’clock. You’ll have to ask her yourself to see if she left between 11 and 2.” Emeline had now reinserted the papers into her briefcase and she made motions to leave. “And now, I must leave you two to work on my new book.”
“Just one more thing, Miss Caulk,” said Fina. “Who do you think killed Balraj?”
“I should think that’s perfectly obvious. It must be that steward – Mr Raymond.”
20
“Good Lord,” exclaimed Ruby after Emeline had scuttled away. “That woman’s behaviour is horrid. I’m glad you took the lead on that interview,” she said as she let out a long stream of air.
“It took all my strength – as I know it did yours – not to slap her again into consciousness,” Fina said. She hesitated. “You don’t think there’s anything in her accusation, do you?”
“I don’t think we can eliminate anyone from the suspect list, but I cannot fathom any motive for Neville. Besides, Emeline didn’t offer any evidence, so I’m sure we can chalk it up to her, ah, beliefs. I cannot call them principles because they are inherently unprincipled.”
Feeling ashamed that she had even entertained the idea – especially? – about Neville, Fina changed the subject by knocking on Sadie’s cabin door.
Creak.
Sadie’s head popped out through a tiny crack of the doorway. Fina couldn’t understand how Sadie’s head could fit through such a small opening. Her eyes were red and glazed with the telltale film of already-cried tears.
“Oh, it’s you. You’d better come in. Please do join us, Miss Dove,” Sadie said, opening the door a tad further – as if she were afraid some interloper might pop in behind them.
As they entered, Sadie shifted magazines, clothes and other various and sundry items from two chairs. “I’m sorry about the mess. I could blame it on Victor,” she said, ruffling the child’s hair as he kept his nose in his book. “But that wouldn’t be fair. I’m torn up about this murder,” she said, nearly falling into the soft covers of the bed. Her arms flopped by her side like a rag doll’s, giving the impression she had been dropped from a great height.
Seizing the opportunity, Ruby said, “Lady Winchcombe-Twisleton—”
“Please, call me Sadie.”
“Yes. Sadie. We’ve all been upset by this murder. Fina and I have been informally speaking to other passengers to see if we can find out what occurred.”
Sadie’s chin shot up abruptly. “Shouldn’t we leave that to the police?”
“The captain has informed us that we’ve veered off course – due to the storm. It will take just as much time for us to sail to Port of Spain as it would to any other island. He’ll involve the authorities after we’ve arrived. But that’s still two days away,” said Ruby.
“So you’re—”
“We’re just doing the best we can to find out what happened. Did you know Balraj well?”
“Why do you think I knew Balraj?”
“I did see you have that exchange with him on the first night,” interjected Fina.
Sadie’s eyes narrowed. She licked her lips. “I see you two have been talking.”
Feeling defensive, Fina scrambled to reply, but was lost for words. Balraj had been so over-familiar and patronising, even in his brief interaction with Sadie, that it was impossible to question her about it without repeating the insult. Luckily, Ruby intervened, and Fina felt her muscles relax.
“We were just discussing who knew Balraj before the voyage – so we could find out more about his character,” said Ruby.
“Well, I cannot say that I was a fan of Balraj. He was, let’s say, opportunistic. I first met him at some sort of theatre party in the West End perhaps a year ago. I’ve seen him occasionally at social events. We were acquaintances more than anything else,” said Sadie.
She took one of her omnipresent compacts from the side table and began to powder her nose, clearly signalling this line of questioning was to halt.
Fina decided it was wise not to press her further. They had to find out why she was so upset with him. The reaction she’d had that evening, and his extraordinary manner, certainly suggested they were more than mere acquaintances. Perhaps they’d had a secret affair?
Ruby apparently agreed with Fina’s decision, as she changed course. “Do you remember what time you left the dining room with Victor last night?”
She snapped the compact shut. “You can’t think, you can’t think I had anything to do with—” she paused, looked at Victor and cupped one hand near her mouth to whisper, “A murder?”
Fina replied, “No, Sadie, we’re just trying to establish where everyone was during and after dinner.”
Clearly forgetting the dangerous implications of this drama, Sadie warmed to the subject with a conspiratorial air. “Well, I believe we left at 6:20 – because I did look at the clock. That Burbage woman left at about the same time. You should look into her background, I think. She’s all wrapped up in investments and philanthropy. Augustus – that’s my late husband, Lord Winchcombe-Twisleton – mentioned Burbage Oil a few times at some charitable events balls.”
“Did he talk about his causes with you often?” asked Fina, hoping that the question didn’t seem odd to Sadie.
“Oh no, Auggie and I never talked about his business or his charitable causes. But I remember it because it came up in our conversations with others over cocktails,” she sighed. “He was immensely proud of all the money he raised. He received a number of awards for his work to cure a rare toenail fungal growth, you know. A stupendous achievement.”
Fina avoided looking at Ruby, knowing full well that the burbling giggle in her chest would escape if she glanced in her direction.
“Why does the Burbage Oil connection matter for the murder?” asked Ruby with a face so straight Fina knew it was the result of enormous effort.
“Ah, I just think that Mrs Burbage has her hand in many different… affairs,” said Sadie.
Ruby shot Fina an almost imperceptible glance. File that away for later, thought Fina.
“Victor fell asleep around 8 and I drifted off maybe an hour later. We slept soundly – or at least I did.”
Peering down at her son, Sadie said, “Victor, honey, did you wake up at all last night?” Victor did not look up from his reading. Fina felt relieved that he hadn’t been listening to their conversation. Sadie repeated her question.
“No, Mama, but I did have bad dreams. A big spider was crawling and she caught me in her web. I was so scared,” he said, putting his little hand on her knee. She returned the gesture and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
Interview over, they left the cabin. “All this questioning has given me an appetite,” said Fina.
Ruby smiled fondly at her. “Now why does that not surprise me? In any case, I heard the lunch gong sound a few minutes ago.”
But their progress toward the dining hall was interrupted by a tall figure. Patricia. There was no avoiding her as she bore down on them.
“Miss Dove.” Patricia spoke in a stage whisper that was clearly audible all along the deck. “In the wake of recent events, I must enquire whether you have had any success in identifying the miscreant who planted that poisonous beast in my bed.”
“Mrs Burbage,” said Ruby, assuming a similarly formal manner. “As I said to you yesterday, Fina and I are not undertaking any private commissions while we are on board this ship. I am sorry to disappoint, but in view of the fact that there has been a murder, we must focus our energy on that for the time being.”
Even Patricia could hardly argue with that. Fina was pleased to see her speechless for a moment. But she soon rallied.
“Well! I should have thought it was obvious to anyone that I myself was the intended victim of this particular crime.” She paused, clearly expecting a reaction.
As none was forthcoming, she continued.
“Even though the threats against me are intensifying by the day, I can see that I shall have to take matters into my own hands. As it happens, I have an excellent strategy for identifying the perpetrator. And since I am not inclined to take you into my confidence, you shall have to wait and see how my plan unfolds.”
With that, she swept off in the direction of the dining hall. Ruby and Fina gazed after her.
“Selkies and kelpies! I wonder what devilment she’s got up her sleeve,” mused Fina.
“The devil only knows.”
21
A gurgling sound arose from the depths of Fina’s stomach. She watched with pleasant anticipation as Sarah, Agnes, and Lev weaved their way through the maze of tables in the dining room. Both doors were open, letting in a cool cross breeze that seemed to invigorate conversations from a lull to a low rumble.
Gustave sat patiently next to her at a small table in a corner. He had agreed to lunch with Ruby and Fina – to discuss the events of the night before. Though he objected at first – on gastronomical grounds of mixing sordid conversation with the sacred act of eating a meal – he soon realised that it was to his advantage to tell all he knew as soon as possible.
As she munched on a piece of bread, Fina contemplated Gustave. With his affable manner, which induced people to open up to him, he might turn out to be quite a useful ally, she thought. Natty as always, he wore a chocolate linen suit with the burgundy handkerchief square in the pocket. His hands moved rapidly – they were certainly more expressive than his face – making sweeping gestures while he spoke to Ruby.
After finishing her bread with a satisfying gulp, Fina asked, “Gustave, what did you do before you were a designer? You had a career before this, correct?”
He looked down in his lap and brushed away some crumbs before answering. “Ah, yes. A bit of this and that. Office work, mostly.”
Ruby shifted in her chair, giving Fina the signal that the real questioning should begin. They’d better hurry before Sarah made her way to the table.
Gustave pre-empted their questions with a succinct report. “As for this crime, you know we all left the dining room together. I went with Ian to have a nightcap and then went to bed, perhaps thirty minutes later. I read the newest Simenon mystery and fell asleep not long after that.”
Ruby asked, “Did you hear anything during the night or wake up at all and hear anything?”
“Surely you do not believe Balraj died during the night?” He smiled. “You two are not the only detectives on the ship! I, too, have been doing – how do you say? – a bit of sleuthing. I asked Miss Gidge when she left the tray of food for Balraj. She said she knocked and knocked at 6:45 but there was no answer. She decided to leave the tray – even though it was stormy – because the food would get cold in any case. When she came this morning to pick up the tray, it was still there untouched, though she thought it had been moved.”
“Moved?” said Fina. “The boat was rocking last night – perhaps it just slid on the deck.”
Gustave nodded in an approving manner. “Correct, Miss Aubrey Havelock. That must’ve been the case.”
“And do you have any theories about why someone would want to kill Balraj?”
He scratched the side of his head tentatively and then moved both hands to his lap. “No. Balraj was a delightful, if somewhat dramatic personage. I enjoyed his company immensely and he was a very generous person. He was always ready to snatch an opportunity.”
That was the second time someone mentioned his opportunistic character, thought Fina.
Ruby stiffened, almost imperceptibly. She said in a forced-casual voice, “What kind of opportunity?”
“What I mean is, he’d snatch an opportunity if it came to him, but he lived by a specific code of principles. While people may not have agreed with his principles, he lived by them and therefore had integrity.” Gustave’s fluting voice held an unusual note of respect.
As if by magic, a steaming plate of food appeared before Fina. She looked up gratefully at Sarah, who was busy setting down Ruby’s and Gustave’s dishes. She scanned the room quickly to see if everyone else had been served. Perhaps they could ask Sarah to sit for a minute.
“Thank you for this scrumptious-looking food, Miss Breeze!” she said with enthusiasm. She snapped her napkin with a flourish before smoothing it on her lap.
“Miss Breeze, would you have a very quick moment to sit with us?” asked Ruby. “I’d like to ask you something.”
Sarah looked around. “I should be getting back to my kitchen,” she said, pausing and thinking. “But I suppose one moment won’t hurt.”
She sat down, tentatively, almost hovering above her chair. “What would you like to know, Miss Dove?”
“We heard that Miss Gidge left a tray of food for Mr Chadha at 6:45 and did not return to pick it up until the next morning – when she found the food was untouched, and then discovered the body.”
Sarah shook her head, sadly. “A real tragedy. He was a kind man. He treated me well. You’re right about Agnes. She said it was 6:45. She also brought trays down to Miss Dominguez and Mrs Gibbs at about 6. They both opened the door to take their trays – so we know they were both in their cabins. I assume that’s what you’re after,” she said with a slow, shrewd smile.
Ruby returned the smile. “Absolutely. Do you have any theories about who might have murdered Mr Chadha?”
“I’ve hardly had time out of my kitchen. But I have heard odd goings-on here. Odd indeed.”
Clink, clink, clink. Fina turned around to see who had called for a toast.
Patricia rose slowly, looking quite regal in her printed leaf-pattern dress with a sailor-style cravat, all pinned together with a large silver owl brooch.
“Ahem. Given the rather ghastly events on this ship,” she said, voice rising in a crescendo, “I propose we endeavour to contact Mr Chadha directly.”
Silence.
So that was what she had been planning. The woman must have lost her marbles. All that money must have made her brain soft, thought Fina.
Patricia pulled out a white, almost heart-shaped disc from her bag, just like a magician. She held it aloft and slowly rotated it around the room so everyone could see.
Violet squeaked, “A Ouija board!”
Patricia nodded, bestowing a look of sisterhood upon Violet. “Yes, I propose we contact Balraj directly via séance.”
A general murmur of shock or approval – it was impossible to tell which – went up among the now-satiated passengers. Perhaps it was approval since everyone must be in a better mood after all that delicious food.
Fina rolled her eyes at Ruby. As she looked at her friend, however, she saw her face was less sceptical than she’d imagined it would be.
Patricia took the murmuring crowd to be a sign of approval. She began to pull the curtains around the dining room, thus blocking out the powerful light of the midday sun. Lev and Sarah pulled together a few tables to create a large circle-like arrangement with chairs for everyone.
The effect was hardly atmospheric. The thin curtains filtered rather than blocked the sun, produ
cing twilight rather than darkness. Nonetheless, everyone seemed to be taking the task rather seriously. Soon they were all seated around the large circle.
“I would like you all to please place your hands lightly on this planchette,” Patricia said. “There is no need to exert any pressure; the spirit force will provide. Then could you all please close your eyes. And keep them closed,” she added pointedly.
Gustave’s hand shook as he put his fingertips on the planchette. Sadie knocked over a glass of water, causing a minor disturbance. Phillip had to sneeze, so he broke the chain of clasped hands, delaying the event even further.
Finally, once they had all settled down, the only noise Fina could hear was Gilbert and Victor softly mimicking animal calls as they played with their toys in the far corner of the dining room.
Patricia inhaled deeply and then exhaled with a slight wheeze. Must be the cigarettes, thought Fina. She fluttered her hands over the board with surprising gentleness. All eyes were fixed on the planchette as it trembled lightly under the pressure of their fingertips. Patricia motioned to them all to close their eyes.
“Is there anybody there?” Patricia intoned, lowering her voice at least two octaves.
The planchette quivered.
“Are you there, Balraj?” asked Patricia.
The white disc moved slowly, spelling Y-E-S. The stillness in the room was absolute.
“Balraj, can you speak to us?”
Again the planchette drifted to the Y, but then paused, hovering, as if reluctant to continue.
Selkies and kelpies, thought Fina. This is rubbish.
Patricia’s voice seemed to go even lower, if that were possible. “You have crossed over to the Other Side. We need to know about your death, if we are to protect the living.” Was that a note of fear in her voice? “Balraj, please tell us… was your death an accident?”
The planchette gave a sudden leap and skittered about on the Ouija board.
Patricia took a deep breath. “Balraj… there must be no more tragedies. You must tell us: who is the murderer?”