by Rose Donovan
“Certainly not,” Fina retorted, feeling her neck grow warm. “I’m perfectly fine. Just a little tipsy. That’s all.”
Neville nodded and moved back to the bar. Lev rearranged glasses while Neville chatted with Agnes. Maxwell Mills seemed to be a very egalitarian captain, thought Fina. Then she thought perhaps this was due to the warm glow of the gin.
Lev loaded his tray with passengers’ beverages of choice. Even though they had set sail only a few days ago, Fina already knew passenger preferences for beverages. Ruby had suggested that Fina should practise memorising details about situations and people. It would come in handy for their missions. Fina thought beverages would be a good way to start, especially because they sometimes revealed a hidden personality trait.
Gustave preferred a daiquiri. Sadie, ever the experimenter, had tried a sidecar earlier, but then requested a gimlet for this round. Emeline guzzled ginger beer like there was no tomorrow. Patricia preferred port – tawny port – but switched to white port when she saw it was available. Violet ordered a small neat rum, the cheapest drink available. Phillip ordered a Tom Collins, and Dolores requested a bourbon on the rocks. Fina thought that last drink said something about Dolores’ personality, but she wasn’t sure what it could be.
On impulse, Fina rushed to the bar. “Lev, could you make me a special drink? Your own creation?” He peered over the bar at her. Though he didn’t smile, his mouth curved upward just enough to create a hint of a smile. “Certainly,” he said. “You like cherries?”
“Oh yes. I adore cherries,” she replied. “What is the drink called?”
He ignored her while he mixed his concoction. He placed the auburn liquid in a highball glass on the counter. Fina sipped it. “Mmm,” she said in approval. “What’s in it and what is it called?”
“Cognac, bitters and cherry liqueur. And it is called a Tarpan.”
“It’s delicious. What does ‘tarpan’ mean?”
“Ah, well, where I come from, it is a kind of horse.”
Crash.
Metal clashing against metal made a tremendous racket from somewhere outside. This was followed by a screech and then a low growl.
Everyone rushed to the door. They all moved onto deck to see pots and pans rolling out of the kitchen. Sarah bent over and began to gather them up. Nearby, the same cat Ruby and Fina had seen earlier sat near the mountain of metal. The cat licked one paw slowly, back turned to Sarah.
“That damn cat! How did Souse get into my kitchen, I’d like to know?” she grumbled. Lev sprinted over to Sarah, but not before he gave Souse a friendly pat. Sarah did not look amused at his encouragement of such scandalous behaviour.
Drama at an end, the crowd moved back, en masse, into the green room. A great murmur of excited voices crescendoed and then died down as they all retook their places. Nerves were clearly on edge.
Neville distributed drinks around the room. His first stop was Ruby and Fina’s table. He set down Fina’s Tarpan with a half wink.
He moved around the room, deftly dodging moving chairs, limbs and the occasional casual hand flown out in a grand gesture with a cigarette attached. Delivering the last of the drinks to Emeline and Patricia’s table, he returned to the bar.
Violet, who clearly had had one too many tots of rum, raised her glass in a toast. She rose from her seat, a little wobbly on her feet. Probably a combination of the drink and the swaying of the boat. Phillip touched her lightly on the hand and began to jiggle his leg at the same time – Fina couldn’t tell if he was pulling her back down into her seat or giving her gentle encouragement. She decided it must be the former, given his rather alarmed expression.
“Dear friends, we have suffered tragedy but we shall pull through this together,” she said, nearly hitting her husband in the head with her glass. Instinctively, Ruby and Fina glanced at each other. “Thank you to, a…” Fina winced in embarrassment for Violet as she grasped for Lev’s name. “Ah, thank you to Lev for these wonderful drinks,” she said, sloshing her drink in his direction at the bar. Lev couldn’t help himself and broke out in a wide grin. Fina thought it clearly suppressed a laugh.
Without warning, a retching, writhing sound came from the corner of the room. A loud thud followed.
Fina swivelled round to see that one of the guests had collapsed upon the table, her head buried in the tablecloth, her arms hanging limp. It was Patricia. Her sister’s mouth gawped in a soundless scream.
25
“Cyanide,” pronounced Violet. She lowered the port glass onto the table as if it were a golden chalice.
Captain Mills strode into the room. He removed his cap as he came to a halt in front of Patricia’s body, still slumped in that wholly unnatural position. Like a rag doll taking a nap on the table, thought Fina. Fortunately, Violet had gently closed Patricia’s eyes. That stare was more than she could bear. Emeline, too, had fled into a corner of the room, where she sat with her back turned to the company, her head in her hands. The rest of the guests sat motionless, shocked into silence.
Except for Dolores. “Are you saying…” She could hardly bring herself to finish the thought. “There has been another murder?”
Ignoring her, Violet rose from the table. “I’m afraid Mrs Burbage has been poisoned, Captain Mills. Cyanide. In her port glass,” she said.
“Thank you, Mrs Gibbs,” replied the captain. “May I ask how you know it was cyanide? What I mean is, do you have special training in identifying poisons?”
With an odd little curtsy, she said, “I was a nurse during the war, sir. That’s how I met Phillip,” she said, nodding in her husband’s direction. “I learned plenty about poisons in hospital. Cyanide is fairly easy to identify.”
Emeline’s harsh voice broke in. “You’re a nurse? Is there anything you can do to, to, to save her?”
Violet shook her head in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Miss Caulk.”
Ian stepped forward and put a hand on the captain’s shoulder. He whispered into his ear.
At that, Emeline seemed to pull herself together. “Look here,” she said, rising imperiously from her seat. “I do not appreciate this secret counsel about my sister’s death. And who, who is this man to be whispering in your ear,” she said, pointing a finger at Ian as if he were an apparition.
Her voice rose. “I demand an explanation!” Now her hand began to shake.
Violet, apparently transported back to her days of nursing the shell-shocked, rushed to Emeline’s side and grasped her about the shoulders. This seemed to have the opposite of the intended calming effect. Emeline writhed and wriggled out of Violet’s grasp. Once free, she leapt at the captain. She began to yell mild obscenities about “degenerates” and “delinquents”. Ian looked toward Ruby and Ruby looked toward Lev. Ruby nodded. Then she looked to Fina. Fina gulped. Her insides began to churn like the butter she and her aunt used to make in her childhood.
Fina stepped up to Emeline’s right, while Lev moved to her left. Emeline was oblivious to these machinations. Her hair shook and her face turned a pinkish shade of carmine. Fina inhaled a great gulp of air and nodded at Lev. They each slipped one arm up and over each of Emeline’s flailing arms and moved them to her side. In one deft, coordinated movement, Fina and Lev began to shift Emeline away from the captain.
At first, Emeline moved with them. Then she went limp, nearly collapsing on top of Fina. The sudden pressure of her considerable weight nearly made Fina wobble and fall like a newborn foal. Thankfully, her muscles bore up under her. Feeling grateful for the fitness-boosting tennis lessons she had taken back in Oxford, she managed to help Lev drag Emeline to one of the bench-cum-sofas near the farthest exit.
By this time, Emeline had begun to babble. Unfortunately, there were a number of words mixed into her incoherencies that were rather too coherent. Dolores sidled up to the bar and swiped a glass full of liquid and strode toward Emeline, as if she were an angry giraffe. Then, leaning back with her glass, she swept it forward in one quick gesture, splashing water dire
ctly in Emeline’s face. She turned and waltzed her way back to her seat.
Fina and Lev had loosened their grip on Emeline, mostly to avoid the small tsunami of water. The cold shock had worked. Emeline sat, stunned and quiet, with water dripping down her face.
No one apparently felt Dolores’ action was beyond the bounds of propriety – if they did, they dared not say anything.
The captain unbuttoned his blazer and wiped his brow. “As I was about to say, I know this second tragedy aboard has us all rattled—”
“To say the least!” interjected Phillip, chewing furiously on his pipe. “Sir, this is outrageous!”
“Yes, quite so,” replied the captain. “We are now approximately two days away from arriving at our destination. In the meantime, I’ve asked Mr Clavering,” he said, pointing to Ian, as if not everyone might be aware of who he was, “and Miss Dove and Miss Aubrey-Havelock to investigate what appear to be two murders.” He held up his hand to pre-empt any protests from the passengers.
“They all, ah, have experience in these matters,” he said with emphasis on the last word. Scanning the room, Fina stopped at the Gibbses’ faces. They didn’t have a look of guilt, but rather one of injury – perhaps because they hadn’t been asked to be a part of the investigation team? Dolores’ face still looked indignant, a sure holdover from her encounter with Emeline. Sadie’s mouth twisted, as if she couldn’t comprehend the situation. Fina felt the same way.
Gustave’s face held no trace of expression, as usual, but she did see that his left hand shook as he adjusted his tie. The staff were all present now as well, except Neville. Fina guessed he was on deck in case of an emergency.
Agnes sat in a chair at the bar, head in hand, gazing at the captain with glassy eyes. Sarah stood next to her, rhythmically sliding her bracelets up and down her arm. The rather loud sighing sounds coming from her direction indicated impatience. Though she couldn’t see Lev’s face as Emeline’s now frozen and quiet body blocked her view, she could sense he was at ease.
A strong breeze rushed through the room, overturning one of the glasses nearest the captain. It splintered into a hundred shards on the floor. Everyone jumped. Even Emeline awoke from her stupor and began to mumble gibberish under her breath. Agnes began to move toward the sparkling mess on the floor out of instinct.
The captain held up his hand again. “Please, no one must touch anything in this room except those I have mentioned. I know the crew will assist you in any way possible,” he said, nodding toward the staff. “And I expect full cooperation from all of the passengers. While we are at sea, I act in the role of a legal authority. Please understand that and we shall all stay safe. I suggest you all return to your cabins and lock your doors.” He made as if to leave, then spoke over his shoulder.
“And please be careful when answering the door.”
26
“Mrs Gibbs – would you stay behind?” asked Ruby as passengers began to file out of the room.
Ian gave a quick glance at Ruby. Fina couldn’t tell if it was one of surprise or irritation at Ruby’s request.
Violet’s face looked as if it belonged to a fully living, breathing person now. She must be pleased by the excitement, the feeling of worth coming from her nursing skills or was it from something else?
“I’d be glad to be of assistance – if that’s possible, of course,” replied Violet.
The small group of investigators, comprised of the captain, Ian, Ruby, Violet and herself, moved toward the limp body. Fina noticed that Patricia’s hair was as perfect as ever. Indeed, everything about her was perfect, even in death. The one exception was her brooch: the amber spider that now looked grotesque on the body, creeping toward Patricia’s face. Fina shuddered.
The captain scratched his head. “If we don’t need the body here, I’ll ask Lev and Agnes to move Mrs Burbage to… ah… cold storage. I think it’s best that we do that as quickly as possible. It’s supposed to get quite warm tomorrow,” he finished with a grimace.
The captain left the green room in search of Lev and Agnes, who had left along with the passengers. Ruby began to collect all the drinks glasses on Lev’s silver tray.
“I suppose anyone could have dropped the cyanide into her glass,” said Ian, taking a seat in the nearest chair.
“Mm-hm,” said Fina. “The murderer could have slipped it in during the commotion. We all left the green room to see what was happening in the kitchen.” She could see from the tilt of Ruby’s head that she was listening to their dialogue, even as she focused on gathering the motley assortment of glasses.
With the deft, pincher-like motion of a crab, Ian withdrew a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He began to mop up the sweat on his brow, then moved the handkerchief over the top of his close-cropped hair. Fina could tell it was an act of consternation rather than a mere hygienic chore.
Finishing her task, Ruby placed the tray in front of Violet. Then she sat down next to Violet and said, “Let’s each sniff each glass.” Violet looked at her quizzically.
“I study chemistry at Oxford,” said Ruby, clearly enjoying the look of astonishment on Violet’s face. Fina also noticed Ian’s amusement at the comment.
Methodically, they stuck their noses in each glass. Meanwhile, Ian retrieved the bottle of white port. He set it down at the end of the neat line of drinks to be tested. Most of the glasses still contained their original liquids. Fina watched as Violet and Ruby sniffed and then shook their heads at each glass in turn. Violet placed one glass after another in an orderly row. They had already determined that the cyanide was in Patricia’s glass – the lack of poison in the other glasses indicated she was indeed the intended victim.
Squeak. Ian pulled the cork out of the port bottle. He handed the bottle to Ruby and said, “You’d better check this.” Ruby’s eyes widened and the corners of her mouth drew downwards. She stayed silent while she handed the bottle to Violet. After sniffing the neck of the bottle, Violet’s expression mirrored that of Ruby’s.
“It’s cyanide,” said Violet, knowing no other explanation was needed.
Ruby shifted in her seat. She smoothed her dress and her hair. “But I was drinking from this bottle, too.”
Fina’s stomach lurched as her photographic memory shifted back to their first round of drinks. “You were the one who first ordered port, remember?”
Ruby nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Patricia had put in an order for a sidecar and changed her mind after she saw me enjoying the white port. She had never had white port and wanted to try it.”
“But did everyone hear her say that?” asked Ian.
“I believe so,” said Violet, who then looked embarrassed, or perhaps guilty, that she remembered, thought Fina.
“Lev took the bottle from behind the bar,” said Ruby slowly, “and poured me a glass. He left it on the bar until a bit later, when Patricia asked for one. We were all milling around and chatting. Anyone could have had access to the bottle.”
“And later, might you have asked for a second glass from that same bottle?” asked Fina, already knowing the answer.
“Why, yes,” answered Ruby. “Yes, I might.”
“Well, that just about tears it,” said Ian. “I’d lay good money that you were the intended target. This means I’ll be standing on watch in front of your door all night, Ruby.”
27
Click.
The sound of the bolt sliding into the lock on their door felt reassuring. Fina slid a small but heavy footrest in front of the door, more for peace of mind rather than as any real bulwark against an intruder.
Ruby had rejected Ian’s offer of night-time protection – mostly out of pride, thought Fina. Perhaps it was her lingering resentment of Ian’s peculiar behaviour on this trip. He certainly seemed to be acting more “normally” – whatever that might be – since their little coterie of investigators had formed.
Ruby and Fina sat on their knees in their cabin, working away on their latest project. Colourful dots made by Ruby�
��s straight pins – the type used for fittings – decorated the far wall. The pins held scraps of paper filled with scribblings and question marks. They had removed the paintings from that wall to make it their official investigation palette.
Ruby gave out a sigh of what seemed to be satisfaction as they stuck the last bits of paper on the wall. Fina admired the rather artistic effect of a pointillist painting – perhaps Seurat? Except it didn’t seem to add up to much of anything in terms of content or shape.
To the left was their original list of suspects in Balraj’s murder. As she looked at it now, Fina reflected that it seemed less conclusive than ever. Certainly it was failing to suggest to her the definitive clue to the killer’s identity.
To the right was their latest effort: a similar list, except this time for the second murder. It was based on the assumption that the murderer was after Patricia, not Ruby. This list was less helpful because everyone could have poisoned Patricia, thought Fina.
Ian Clavering: No apparent reason to poison her. She did have millions, though, so maybe there’s some connection to his strange behaviour?
Emeline Caulk: Definite reason to kill her sister for money and her pet causes.
Dolores Dominguez: No apparent reason.
Phillip Gibbs: No apparent reason. The Gibbses must have money, so it cannot be connected to Patricia’s warnings about money! Perhaps they were worried by the séance where the word “money” came up – that Patricia knew about their treasure?
Violet Gibbs: Same as Phillip. Did seem to be healthier right before Patricia was poisoned. A connection there?
Gustave Marchand: No apparent reason.
Sadie Stiles: No apparent reason. They travel in similar circles, so maybe there’s some unknown connection? Sexual tension between her and Patricia.
“Hmph,” said Fina.