by John Boyne
‘I’ve never thought about it.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’d agree if you did. Anyway, it doesn’t take much to satisfy me, you know. A simple cup of tea and I’m as happy as a lamb.’ She flicked out her fan with these words and his eyebrows rose a little; he found that last statement somewhat hard to swallow. The tea made, however, he sat down opposite her in an armchair and allowed the pot to sit for a few minutes before pouring.
‘It’s so lovely to have made some acquaintances on board, don’t you agree, Matthieu?’ she asked.
‘Quite.’
‘My husband, Mr Drake, he travels a lot for his work and he can always strike up a conversation with another gentleman about business or politics or some such thing, I expect. But for a lady like myself, travelling with her daughter, one feels a little more cautious. One would not want one’s fellow passengers to get the wrong idea about one.’
‘And what idea would that be, Antoinette?’ he asked.
‘Well, I know you will think it a strange thing,’ she said with what she believed to be a girlish giggle. ‘But I have heard that there are many women who use these transatlantic crossings as a way to ensnare a husband. Two weeks at sea and off to a new life, new money, new man. I’ve seen it myself, Matthieu. That first day, boarding the ship, all those poor unfortunate single women running around, trying to discover the unmarried men and reel them in with their harpoons. Surely you’ve noticed them. It’s terribly embarrassing.’
‘I’m afraid I kept myself to myself that first day,’ he admitted. ‘Slept through the whole thing. But I’m sure you’re right.’ Of course, Matthieu had been married himself, on a number of occasions, and he was more than aware of the admiration some ladies in society had for the institution. Few of his marriages had ended well, however, and he had turned against it, although he still found himself falling into the same trap time and time again. Had it not been for the many references she had made to Mr Drake, he would have believed that Antoinette was trying to become the next Mrs Zéla herself. As it was, he felt she merely wished to be associated with the richest man on board. Marriage or money, these were the important things to women like her, he reasoned. And preferably both.
‘Take Miss Hayes, for instance,’ Mrs Drake continued, oblivious to her companion’s drifting away into his own dream-world. ‘A charming woman, no one could doubt it. Friendly, thoughtful and a lovely conversationalist. Such a shame that she is a little plain, but not every woman can be a great beauty. Only some of us are fortunate enough to have been born with good genes, and my family comes from a long line of great beauties. No, I will say this of Miss Hayes: she is a very pleasant woman. There can be no denying it. But her attempts to trap Mr Robinson are, shall we say, a little obvious, don’t you think?’
‘Mr Robinson?’ asked Matthieu. ‘The fellow we dined with last night, you mean?’
‘Of course. You must have noticed what was going on. She hangs on his every word.’
In truth he had noticed no such thing. A keen observer of human nature, he had examined each of his dinner companions in detail the previous evening and had already made up his mind on the characters of each. Miss Hayes, he believed, was no more interested in Mr Robinson than he was. She was simply a friendly woman, open to conversation and hoping to relieve the tedium of a voyage on one’s own by making a few friends along the way. And as for Mr Robinson himself? Well, Matthieu could scarcely believe that that milksop of a man would attract any serious female attention. He was quiet, moody, dull and entirely lacking in social graces. He wore a beard without a moustache, an outdated look. He had made it clear throughout dinner that he did not want to be there, barely acknowledging any of his companions and uttering monosyllabic answers whenever questioned. Even if Miss Hayes was interested in finding a husband, which he doubted, her tastes would hardly run to the likes of Mr John Robinson.
‘I think perhaps you do her a disservice,’ he suggested.
‘Do you, Matthieu?’ she asked, leaning forward, using every available opportunity to use his given name. ‘Do you really?’
‘Yes. I think she sees him merely as a friend.’
‘I think he’s tiring of her attentions,’ she replied, pursing her lips. ‘The poor man seems to run in fright every time he sees me. I think he expects Miss Hayes to be two feet behind me, where quite frankly she often does seem to be. I wonder, is she looking for a position as a paid companion? Do you think so? If so, she’s looking in the wrong place. I have my daughter for company and have never been short of friends.’
‘And how is your daughter keeping?’ Matthieu asked, keen to steer the conversation away from Miss Hayes. ‘I hope my nephew isn’t bothering her too much?’
‘Your nephew? Gracious, no,’ she said, shaking her head.
Mrs Drake herself was not immune to the attentions that Tom DuMarqué had been showing Victoria over the previous few days, and she was only disappointed that he was a mere child of fourteen. Had he been a few years older, then she would have seen him as a splendid match for her daughter, considering his lineage. And his potential bank account.
‘You have no children yourself then, Matthieu?’ she asked, looking around the room for any pictures which might contradict this hypothesis.
‘None, I’m afraid.’
‘But you have been married?’
‘Yes.’
‘But no children.’
‘Still none,’ he replied with a smile. Mrs Drake stared at him, expecting some additional information but nothing was forthcoming.
‘Such a shame,’ she said eventually. ‘Children can be such a blessing.’
‘Victoria is your only one?’
‘Oh yes. After all, one doesn’t need too many blessings in life. One shouldn’t be greedy.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Perhaps one day?’ she continued, unwilling to let the matter drop. Matthieu wondered whether she would simply prefer him to produce a copy of his will, in order to let her know to whom he intended leaving his money. If so, she would be disappointed. He had never made one. He’d never seen the point.
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘The future is a little like the Mona Lisa. A mystery to all of us. You mentioned that you’re planning on spending time with a relative in Canada?’
‘Yes, my sister’s family. I haven’t seen them in so many years. I really can’t wait. And of course Victoria will have the chance to meet some of her cousins, which should be exciting. To be honest, Matthieu, I’m hoping that she may find a suitable beau in Canada. Some of the fellows she associates with in Europe can be such crude creatures. And they’re all down on their luck, more’s the pity. They come from aristocratic families, of course, with ties back to the Borgias, most of them, but ask them to buy a meal in a restaurant and they can’t even afford to look at the bill. Not so much as two shillings to rub together between them. That’s the strangest thing about the wealthiest families of Europe: they’re all penniless.’
‘Well, there’s always Edmund Robinson,’ Matthieu suggested, interested in what her response would be to his suitorship. ‘She seems very keen on him.’
‘Her keen on him?’ Mrs Drake said, appalled. ‘I think it’s the other way around, Matthieu. He can’t seem to keep his eyes off her. If you ask me, young Master Robinson and your nephew will come to blows before this voyage is over.’
‘I certainly hope not.’
‘But Victoria’s a beautiful girl.’
‘Indeed she is, I wasn’t suggesting otherwise. But Tom’s too young for her, and Edmund—’
‘Edmund what?’ she asked, ready to be insulted if he said something which demeaned her daughter, such as a suggestion that he was too good for her.
‘Edmund is unworthy of her,’ he said tactfully. ‘I think Victoria would be better with a more independent sort. With a little more maturity. Someone who has control over his own life. If you ask me, young Master Robinson is too old to be travelling so closely with his father. He should have struck out on his o
wn by now. And he’s such a delicate thing, too. No, Antoinette, I believe that Victoria has better fish than him to catch in Canada.’
Mrs Drake sat back and drained her tea, delighted by his observations. She had reserved judgement on Edmund until now, having adopted a high opinion of his gentle father but still unsure as to their financial position or anything else concerning their family. She knew nothing whatsoever of Edmund’s mother, and that would be necessary before allowing any courtship to take place between the two young people. Relaxing in the Presidential Suite, she regretted that her husband had been so cruel as to deny it to her, insisting that she and Victoria settle for first class instead. It was a much more comfortable arrangement here and it said a lot about the cabin’s occupant. Mr Zéla was clearly a gentleman and he had risen in her personal ranking system to the point where he was now her favourite passenger on board, surpassing even Mr Robinson, despite the fact that he was a Frenchman—which was surely just an accident of birth for which he could hardly be held responsible. And, she convinced herself, she was sure that he had not invited her to tea in his rooms just as an act of friendship. He had probably fallen in love with her a little; but no good would come of it as she was a faithful wife and would never consider giving in to his animal passions. Still, it was always nice to have an admirer.
Matthieu Zéla, for his part, collected the tea things and brought them over to the sideboard, amused by the discussion of Victoria’s love life for, through his observations of the previous evening, several other things had become clear to him. First, that his nephew Tom had fallen hopelessly in love, and probably for the first time in his life. He recognized the desperate look in the boy’s eyes, the longing for the girl’s attention and company, for he had seen that look before, and usually in a mirror, many years earlier when he himself had loved Dominique. Secondly, that Victoria had no interest in his young nephew whatsoever, but that she in turn had fallen for the delicate charms of Edmund Robinson, who, he was absolutely sure, would never return those affections.
For Edmund Robinson, he had deduced within sixty seconds of meeting him, was clearly a woman in disguise.
At the other end of the ship, standing by the bow and looking into the distance at the open sea through his binoculars, stood Captain Henry Kendall, his mind filled with what he had observed the previous night. He was clear on one point: that Mr John Robinson and the boy he had presented as his son, Edmund, had shared a passionate kiss on the deck of the Montrose. And this was not a loving embrace between parent and child; no, indeed. This had been a true kiss of lovers, lips on lips, mouths open, bodies entwined. Absolutely outrageous. He had heard of such things happening, of course—in Paris usually—but this did not make them right. Naturally a husband and wife could share whatever foul intimacies their desires demanded of them; it was to be expected if children were desired of a union. No one could possibly enjoy the coarseness of the act, but that was the way of the world and he grudgingly accepted it. But a love between two men? Unconscionable. And between a man and boy? Disgusting. What would Mr Sorenson think of it, he wondered. Why, had he been present the previous evening, he would surely have voted to send them both overboard immediately and without the dinghy and compass that the traitor Fletcher Christian had given to William Bligh. For the first time Captain Kendall actually felt pleased that Mr Sorenson was not present on board this voyage, as such appalling behaviour would certainly have upset him. The captain thought of him, lying in his hospital bed in Antwerp, perhaps sporting the purple silk pyjamas which he had bought when they had visited the city of Quebec on their last voyage, and he gave a gentle sigh.
However, there was one other issue which negated his outrage and created a new sort for him to enjoy. While he had been watching the kiss take place, what he had thought was Edmund’s hat had blown off his head, revealing the hair beneath. But of course it had not been a hat at all but a wig. He could not swear to it, but every facet of his mind and every element of logic pointed to the conclusion that Edmund Robinson was in fact a woman. Of course the idea was infamous. That an unmarried man and woman would travel as husband and wife defied logic and decency. But which was worse: the embrace of a man and another man, a love affair between a father and son, or a hidden romance between the sexes in which the woman, for reasons unknown, disguised herself as a boy? He could not decide; all three disgusted him. He needed advice. Oh, Mr Sorenson, he thought. My dear Mr Sorenson! Where are you when I need your counsel most?
‘Captain?’ A voice from behind him startled him and he spun around, a delighted smile rushing across his face.
‘Mr Sorenson?’
‘Er, no, sir,’ came the confused reply. ‘It’s me, sir. First Officer Carter.’
‘Oh yes,’ he said, disappointed, and turning back to watch the waves. ‘Of course. My mistake, Mr Carter. What can I do for you?’
‘Just bringing you today’s projections, sir. As requested. We’re making steady time, I’m pleased to report. Good healthy wind behind us, engines working fine, still operating on four of the six tanks. We could pump them up, you know, if you wanted. With this weather and the good wind, we could make Canada a day ahead of schedule if we gave it some heave-ho.’
Kendall shook his head. ‘To be a day ahead or a day behind schedule is one and the same thing to me, Mr Carter,’ he said. ‘A captain’s responsibility is to bring the ship into port exactly on schedule. We are not in a race. We are not trying to conquer the sea. We are simply trying to reach our destination safely and on time. We shall continue to run on four tanks for the time being.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Carter, frowning. He had hoped that the captain would give the go-ahead to increase speed, knowing that the sooner they arrived in Quebec, the sooner he could get on a ship back to Antwerp, and the sooner, therefore, he would be back with his wife. He was counting the days down and could think of little else other than the imminent birth of his child. Although there was still plenty of time before it was due, he was constantly worried that circumstances would get in the way and he would miss it, something for which he would never forgive himself. Or Captain Kendall.
The captain read through the figures which his first officer had handed him and approved them all silently. ‘Tell me, Mr Carter,’ he began.
‘Call me Billy, sir. All the other captains do.’
‘Tell me, Mr Carter,’ he repeated, refusing to utter the ridiculous name. ‘How do you think the voyage is going so far?’
‘So far? Very well, sir, I’d say. We’re making good time, we haven’t had any problems with—’
‘How about the passengers? Any thoughts on them?’
‘No, they seem like a lively bunch. We had a problem last night down below decks of course, but you probably heard about that?’ Kendall shook his head and Billy Carter explained. ‘Well, it came to nothing much in the end, thankfully,’ he said. ‘A girl down in steerage, about nineteen or twenty, sir, sitting out alone having a cigarette, and she says a chap came up behind her and dragged her into one of the lifeboats. Kept his hand over her mouth and tried to get fresh with her. She says he was ready to get serious about it but she managed to get her knee into the right position and do him a bit of an injury. Had his trousers around his ankles at the time and she said she heard an almighty crunch, so he got what he deserved, I suppose. Probably feeling the pain in his groin this morning. And he was winded, naturally, but somehow he found enough strength to pull himself out of there and run off before he could be recognized.’
Kendall frowned. This was the kind of animal behaviour he absolutely refused to tolerate on board. ‘Did she describe him?’ he asked. ‘Can we catch him?’
‘Unlikely. She said he wasn’t very big; she thought he was only a bit of a kid maybe, but quite strong with it, which is how he overcame her. Anyway, she’s all right now. She was a bit shocked last night, of course, but she’s a game girl and seemed delighted that she’d managed to fight him off. She’s turned herself into a bit of a heroine down th
ere actually, as far as I can tell.’
The captain snorted. If these young girls insisted on sitting alone on deck late at night or, worse, smoking, well then, they were only asking for trouble. If the choice was his, he’d lock the pair of them up in the brig. ‘Post an extra sailor to patrol the decks at night,’ he said. ‘And let me know if the doctor receives any passengers with, shall we say, sensitive injuries. That kind of thing is unacceptable.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Any other thoughts?’ he asked in as casual a voice as he dared, not wanting to give away what he was really thinking.
‘I don’t think so, sir. Everyone else seems all right. No major troubles.’
‘I had a pleasant dinner last night,’ the captain lied, since he had hated every moment of it. ‘Your idea, the guest list, was it?’
‘Yes, sir. Just some of the first-class passengers. And Mr Zéla, of course.’
‘Oh yes. The Frenchman. In the Presidential Suite. Something of a dandy, I feel.’
‘A wealthy dandy, sir. My favourite sort.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘He’s a pleasant fellow, sir. Always has a word for the crew as he walks around.’
‘And Mr Robinson and his son,’ Captain Kendall interrupted him. ‘How do they strike you?’
Billy Carter pulled a face. ‘Pleasant as well, sir,’ he said. ‘A bit quiet, the father especially. But they’re all right. Haven’t been any trouble, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
‘I’m not getting at anything, Mr Carter,’ he replied, irritated. ‘I’m merely having a conversation with my first officer about the conduct of the passengers so that I can captain this ship as well as possible. I’m sorry if that bores you.’
‘No sir, not at all, sir. I just thought you meant—’
‘That will be all, Mr Carter,’ he said, dismissing the man with a wave of the hand as he gave the papers back to him. ‘I’ll see you later this evening, I’m sure. I am already trembling with anticipation.’