by John Boyne
‘And she knows nothing of Tom’s involvement in the events of last night, and I decided it was best to keep it that way. She thinks there was a minor disagreement between Victoria and Edmund and has told me to keep him away from her, which he has agreed to do. However, I think it’s important to share this information with you because if she knew what had really happened last night, doubtless she would have gone to the captain about it.’
Matthieu Zéla nodded and thought about it. ‘And you, Mr Robinson,’ he asked after a moment’s thought, ‘why didn’t you let her?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Well, obviously Edmund is innocent of any wrongdoing last night. My nephew clearly attacked him. He might have killed him. And he might have seriously assaulted Victoria Drake, had he got the chance. So why haven’t you informed the captain yourself? You could well be seen as something of a hero.’
‘I thought it was best to leave the matter with you,’ he said weakly. ‘After all, you are the boy’s guardian. I didn’t think any unpleasantness was called for.’
‘That was good of you,’ Matthieu replied, although he didn’t believe for a moment that this was the real reason for his silence.
The door from the bathroom opened and Tom DuMarqué slowly entered the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, and wiping his wet hair with another. Shirtless, he had more of a muscular physique than Mr Robinson had thought, and he now realized just how much danger Edmund had been in. Tom stopped in the middle of the floor in surprise when he saw their visitor and stared across at Mr Robinson with contempt in his eyes, before turning to his uncle.
‘What’s he doing here?’ he asked, rooted to the spot.
‘He’s come to speak to me, you young ruffian,’ Matthieu said chirpily. ‘And I believe you owe him an apology. What a perfect time to give it.’
Tom snorted and stared down at his bare feet, mumbling something under his breath.
‘Tom, we’ve already discussed this,’ Matthieu said in a stern voice. ‘I’ve told you what the consequences will be if you don’t apologize.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he shouted with the voice of a petulant teenager, which was what he was. ‘But he tried to kill me.’
‘And perhaps next time he’ll succeed.’
‘Have you asked him about—’
‘Tom, go and get dressed.’
‘But I want to know why Edmund—’
‘Go and get dressed,’ he repeated sharply. ‘Right now. I will handle this from here. And besides, you’re dripping all over the carpet.’
Tom frowned, disappointed that he was not going to be allowed to ask his question; he continued to mumble under his breath for a few moments, but he soon disappeared into his bedroom.
Matthieu looked after him for a moment before turning back to his companion and smiling gently. ‘I have to try to smooth out his rough edges,’ he said apologetically, ‘of which he has many. Assuming I don’t tire of him in the meantime. He also has a weakness for women and a tendency towards violence, a combination which worries me. Particularly since he’s still so young. The DuMarqués never seem to learn from their mistakes.’
‘Well, he needs to learn,’ said Mr Robinson. ‘He may be still a teenager, but fellows like him have a tendency to grow up and become villains or murderers. But if you’re sure you can keep him away from Victoria, then that’s all I really needed to know. Thank you for your time.’
‘Just a moment,’ Matthieu said, urging him to remain seated. ‘You still haven’t answered my question.’
‘Which question was that?’
‘Why you didn’t tell the captain yourself. Or why you didn’t tell Mrs Drake. The truth about Tom, I mean.’
Mr Robinson shrugged. ‘I did answer,’ he said. ‘I told you that I thought it best to tell you and let you deal with it, as the boy’s—’
‘Yes, but I don’t believe a word of it,’ said Matthieu. ‘I believe you have your own reasons for not wanting to get involved. Perhaps it’s something to do with the fact that you can’t risk putting yourself in a vulnerable position.’
‘Matthieu, I don’t know what you’re implying, but—’
‘Can I ask you a question, John?’ he asked in a thoughtful voice. The other man nodded. ‘Why would a man travel from Antwerp to Canada with a young woman as his companion and then disguise her as a boy in an attempt to pass her off as his son? What would such a man’s motivation be?’
Mr Robinson felt the blood drain from his freshly burnt cheeks and stared at Matthieu Zéla in horror. ‘You know?’ he asked.
‘I am an observant creature, I confess. I knew from the moment I first saw you together.’
‘But you haven’t told anyone?’
Matthieu shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not really any of my business. But I remain confused, and that is a condition I dislike. Where’s the sense in it? What are you gaining by this deception?’
Mr Robinson thought for a moment and decided to come clean. From the first time he had met Matthieu Zéla he had considered him a respectable man with no interest in involving himself unnecessarily in the private lives of others. If there was anyone he could confide in, then surely it was him. And with Canada so close, why not finally tell the truth?
‘You must promise me that this will remain between ourselves,’ he began.
‘I am not a gossip, John.’
‘Then I will tell you the truth. And judge me as you will. You are correct in what you suppose. Edmund is not my son at all, nor is he a boy. He is in fact a young woman whom I intend to marry as soon as I possibly can.’
‘Indeed.’ Matthieu was intrigued by the romance of it. ‘Go on.’
‘I was married in London,’ he went on, ‘to a woman who was deeply unpleasant. We lived together for many years and she made my life, frankly, a living torment. She was unfaithful to me many times, sometimes with fellows only just out of short trousers, so great was her perversion. Added to this, she was abusive, disrespectful and had a foul temper. Sometimes I truly believed that our relationship would end with her killing me. I’m not exaggerating or being overly dramatic. I actually think it was a possibility.’
‘I don’t doubt you for a moment. I have been married several times myself, John,’ Matthieu admitted. ‘And I am aware how these affairs can go wrong. Once I married a woman and was nearly killed for my troubles when another man appeared, claiming to be her husband still. She had forgotten to divorce him before marrying me, the little minx, and it was his intention to murder me because of it.’
‘That’s not something I intend to do. You see, my wife left me recently, for another man, and at the same time I had fallen in love with the young woman you now know as Edmund Robinson. And to my amazement she had fallen for me, too. She told me once that she would do anything at all for me, that she would sacrifice her very life to make me happy. Well, I confess I have never known such devotion. It fills me with hope for the future. I believe that for the first time in my life I can actually achieve happiness. And so, once my wife left, we decided to consummate our relationship and are travelling to Canada to begin a new life. Naturally, I will have to file for divorce from my wife, which might take some months, but in the meantime we simply do not wish to be parted.’
‘But why disguise her? Why pretend she’s a boy?’
‘Mr Zéla, I don’t know how familiar you are with the society from which I come, but an unmarried man and woman would never be allowed to share a cabin together on board ship. We would be shunned by all, which would in my opinion make a terrible beginning for our new lives. With the exception of last night’s business, we’ve enjoyed the trip enormously and it has been a wonderful start for us. I know it’s an elaborate lie, but it’s been almost exciting for us too. And it’s nearly over now. When we get to Canada, we will no longer need to pretend. We can be who we truly are.’
Matthieu Zéla considered this and nodded slowly. ‘I suppose you know what you’re doing,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Seems like an
awful lot of trouble just to avoid a few wagging tongues; but if it’s how you feel you needed to act, then I will not criticize you for it. Believe me, I have done some strange things for love in my time too. And paid the price for them.’
‘So you won’t tell anyone?’ the other asked hopefully.
Matthieu shook his head. ‘Your secret is safe with me,’ he said. ‘You have my word on it.’
Mr Robinson smiled and stood up, shaking his host’s hand gratefully. ‘In the light of recent events, we’ve decided to remain in our cabin for the last couple of days on board,’ he said. ‘So I probably won’t be seeing you very much again. Also, I think it best if you keep your nephew away from my dear fiancée, or more trouble may ensue.’
‘Of course,’ Matthieu said. ‘I quite agree.’ He opened the door and the two men shook hands again. ‘I wish you well, Mr Robinson,’ he said. ‘I really do. But remember, society’s opinion of you is as nothing compared to your own self-respect. When you do get to Canada, I urge you to be yourselves. And enjoy life as yourselves. Otherwise, what’s the point in living at all?’
‘I assure you, Matthieu,’ he replied with a broad smile, ‘we intend to do just that. Our life is only about to begin. We have wonderful times ahead.’
Ethel LeNeve stepped over a coil of loose rope and walked around a lifeboat to a secluded area that she had discovered a few days before; in her mind, she was neither herself nor Edmund now, but Dr James Middleton, the persona she had adopted in order to buy the poison in the first place. Looking around nervously, she made sure that no one was watching; from where she was standing she could neither see any other passenger nor could she be observed.
She held the hat box out in front of her and shook it cautiously. Cora Crippen’s head, carefully wrapped in layers of newspaper, moved only slightly within. Her hands trembled slightly as she held it over the water. It had been a last-minute decision on her part not to chop up the head and bury it with the rest of the hideous body, but she had believed that if Cora was ever discovered, then the fact that her head was missing might prevent them from identifying her with any certainty. Of course, there was no way she could hide it in London, and she didn’t trust the Thames not to wash it back to shore; and so it had come to Antwerp with her. She decided that it was best buried at sea, in the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean where it would sink to the bottom and never come to light again.
She forced her hands apart and with a muffled cry she let the box fall, gasping as it hit the waves below and rested there for a moment, bobbing along, before slowly sinking under the surface and disappearing from sight.
‘May God forgive me,’ Ethel whispered, averting her eyes from the ocean beneath her and looking up at the sky, as if pleading with the heavens themselves. ‘But love makes us do the most unforgivable things.’
Inspector Walter Dew stood at the bow of the Laurentic and stared at the scene before him in amazement. His mouth hung open as he shook his head; he could feel his heart beat faster inside his chest as he wondered what it was he had started. In front of him, appearing in the distance in the port of Quebec were crowds of people, all cheering loudly, their voices rising together and drifting across the water towards him. They were gathered together in their thousands, as far away as he could see, the brightness of their clothing making a rainbow of colour across the harbour.
‘This is too much,’ he said, looking at Captain Taylor in dismay. ‘How can there be so many people here?’
‘Well, you’re a celebrity now, Inspector,’ the captain replied, grinning at him. ‘So am I, perhaps,’ he added hopefully.
‘But I haven’t done anything yet.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s what you’re going to do that counts. You’re going to capture the most evil criminal mastermind who has ever walked the face of the earth.’
Dew raised an eyebrow. ‘I hardly think he warrants that description, Captain,’ he said.
‘As good as. Wife-killer. Cannibal.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Dew said, frustrated. ‘Who starts these rumours, anyway? Dr Crippen is not a cannibal. The idea is preposterous.’
‘Oh no? Then what did he do with the head?’
‘The head is missing, so everyone assumes he ate it,’ Dew said in a flat tone. ‘That’s wonderful logic. I admire your detective work there, Captain.’
‘I’m only saying what I’ve heard,’ he replied, ignoring the sarcasm. ‘Pretending it isn’t so doesn’t make it not so.’
Dew sighed. He found his emotions torn asunder as the ship pulled in to the harbour and he was forced to wave to the crowds, who were cheering him relentlessly. One part of him was enjoying the attention very much; he worked hard as a Scotland Yard inspector—he’d worked hard all his life—and had solved some interesting and worthwhile cases, but he had as yet to receive any public recognition for his efforts. Now, here was something special: a once-in-a-lifetime crime, in which the killer had so caught the public imagination that the man who captured him would be hailed a hero and would suddenly become the most famous policeman in the world.
‘I’m not the true hero,’ he admitted to Captain Taylor as they made their way down the gangplank to the waiting police vehicle, the crowds held apart on both sides by a file of Canadian police officers. ‘That honour should really go to Captain Kendall.’
‘Of the Montrose?’ Taylor asked, surprised, smiling widely as he waved to the throng, despite his irritation that Dew should say such a thing. ‘Why, for heaven’s sake? What has he got to do with anything?’ He was forced to shout in order to be heard.
‘Well, Captain Kendall was the one who realized that Crippen and Ethel LeNeve were present, in disguise, on board his ship. It isn’t everyone who would have made the connection. If he hadn’t contacted us, there’s no way I would have tracked him down this far away. He would have arrived in Canada safely and disappeared for ever. We never would have caught him. All I’ve done is get on a boat and wait for another to arrive. Not so heroic really, when you think about it.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Taylor, unwilling to allow the captain of another vessel to claim any of the credit. ‘We are the ones who gave chase. We are the ones who risked life and limb in our pursuit of the madman. You and I, Inspector. And if I hadn’t pushed the Laurentic to her full capacity, why, they might have got here first and he would have escaped. I wouldn’t like to suggest that I should be considered a hero, but there are those who will.’
‘With all these crowds here?’ Dew asked sceptically, ignoring the other man’s bravado. ‘I don’t think he could have escaped somehow. He would have been arrested immediately.’
After disembarking and allowing his picture to be taken by the hordes of newspaper photographers gathered at the port, Inspector Dew was escorted to the headquarters of the Québécois police force, where he was introduced to Inspector Alphonse Caroux, his opposite number, who had been tracking both ships ever since the chase began.
‘You made good time, Inspector,’ Caroux said, looking him up and down with interest. He had spent the past week waiting to see what the famous Walter Dew looked like. Very English, he decided. Overweight and pasty. ‘We weren’t sure at first whether you would manage to get here in time or not. Of course, we would have arrested this Crippen fellow ourselves if you hadn’t.’
‘No need now,’ said Dew, becoming suddenly aware how everyone else wanted to take the credit for this capture. ‘Although I do need to get in touch with Captain Kendall as soon as possible. How far away is he now?’
Caroux consulted a file on his desk and ran a finger along a line of numbers. ‘Less than twenty-four hours,’ he said. ‘It’s four o’clock in the afternoon now. The Montrose will arrive by three tomorrow.’
‘Right,’ said Dew. ‘Well then, I need to send a telegraph to Captain Kendall immediately.’
‘Of course.’
‘Tell him to come to a full stop at noon tomorrow, three hours before he reaches Quebec.’
‘A ful
l stop?’ Caroux asked suspiciously.
‘I’m going to sail out to the vessel myself and arrest Crippen before he arrives in Canada. I’ll need a boat and sailor to take me there.’
Inspector Caroux frowned. ‘That’s not a good idea,’ he said. ‘I’ve already alerted some of our newspapers. The photographers will be returning here tomorrow afternoon. They will want to capture the moment. It’s best you arrest him on Canadian soil.’
‘This is not a free-for-all, Inspector,’ Dew said irritably. ‘And the poor man does not need to be involved in some sort of media circus, no matter what he’s done. No, I will sail out to the Montrose and arrest him, and then the ship can continue on for Canada. After that, he will be immediately transferred to your prison here until the third of August when, I believe, the next crossing to England will take place.’
Disappointed, but in no position to get his own way, Caroux nodded and wrote out Dew’s instructions on a piece of paper, before handing it to one of his officers to transmit.
‘Don’t worry, Inspector,’ Dew said, aware of the other man’s disappointment. ‘The photographers will get their pictures. Just tell them to be ready when we lead Dr Crippen in handcuffs off the boat tomorrow afternoon. That’s their front-page story.’
‘You’ve met him before, haven’t you?’ Caroux asked. ‘This Dr Crippen.’ He emphasized the title, as if he did not believe it for a moment.
‘Twice,’ Dew admitted.
‘But you didn’t arrest him then?’
‘No, I didn’t believe he’d committed any crime.’
‘Really. But it was you who discovered the body of his wife, was it not?’
Dew sighed. ‘I went back to tie up a few loose ends at his home and discovered that Dr Crippen and Miss LeNeve had fled. So I searched it. That’s when I found her. In truth, he would have got away with his crime if he hadn’t run off. He must have thought that I knew something.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No,’ he admitted without embarrassment. ‘I didn’t suspect a thing.’