Murder on the Titanic

by Evelyn Weiss

back to New York and prepare for the return voyage. I trembled when I first saw our homeward ship – but in fact I was glad to get aboard, to take the next step towards normality, to return to our life here in England, even if it did mean crossing that ocean again.

  On the voyage back to Southampton, I tried several times to talk to Kitty. But she seemed like she was not aware of other people, like she was sleep-walking all the time. She hardly spoke to me on that return journey. In fact, she hardly spoke at all, to anyone.”

  Axelson nods at me. “I knew – by an intertwined combination of logic and intuition – that Miss Kitty was indeed one and the same as the young woman who had dragged Viscount Spence into the lifeboat. Your cabin being next door to Spence’s made it likely – but once I saw her, I knew that it must be she. I recognized in her the symptoms of someone who has witnessed not just disaster, but murder. And her breathing problems – they come not from her body, but from her mind. She is mimicking the asphyxiation that happens when strychnine paralyses the victim’s chest. There is an unconscious part of her brain that is constantly reliving, through her own body, Spence’s awful death.”

  Finally, we hear the awaited knock at the front door. Without a word, we all gather in the hall. Baxter opens the door to reveal a thin man in a long gray overcoat. Behind him, two uniformed policemen fill the doorway. As the man enters the hall, he pulls off the bowler hat which is crammed down over his brows, to reveal wisps of gray hair on an almost-bald head. He’s maybe sixty, and he speaks quietly and slowly.

  “I’m Inspector Trench, Scotland Yard. I’m pleased to meet you, but I’m sorry about these circumstances. The report that was given to me states that a young lady has vanished.”

  “Been forcibly abducted.” Chisholm is speaking. “We found a man’s boot print on a ledge which can be reached across the rooftops from Kitty Murray’s window. The window was wide open, and we also found a handwritten note, jammed in the frame of the window that she was taken through.”

  “Well, I suggest that I take statements from each of you, separately, in turn. If we begin with? –” he turns to me.

  “I’m Agnes Frocester.”

  “I’ll begin by conducting my interview with Miss Frocester. Then, she can retire to bed first. It’s already well past midnight. Then I’ll interview you two gentlemen in turn.”

  Chisholm smiles, for the first time since Kitty’s disappearance. “Thank you very much, Inspector. We’re truly grateful to you. While you are carrying out your interview with Agnes, is there anything more we can do to help?”

  “Indeed there is, Sir Chisholm. While I am speaking to Miss Frocester, if one of you gentlemen could show my officers the young lady’s room, and the way out onto the rooftops, and we’ll take a plaster cast of that boot print.”

  The servants have kept the fire going in Chisholm’s study. The room is warm, slightly stuffy, and I yawn as I enter it with Inspector Trench.

  “I’m sorry, Inspector. I will try to keep awake and attentive.”

  “It’s normal to yawn after exertion. Or excitement. Don’t worry, I’m sure you will be a perfect witness.” We sit down in the two easy chairs that occupy a corner of the study, and Baxter brings us tea as the Inspector’s sober face shows me a slow, thin smile. He’s trying to put me at ease.

  He gets out a leather-bound notebook. “I can tell, you are not a native of this country. So, begin at the very beginning. Tell me how you came to England, and how you entered Lady Lockesley’s employment.”

  “Well, those two stories are actually the same…” I tell him about growing up in Putnam, my hometown. I talk about my family, my schooling, my search for a job, my travel to England, my employment with the Lockesleys in Sussex, our visits to Chisholm’s house in London, the Titanic, Professor Axelson and the Spence case, Kitty. Everything. The Inspector’s speedy note-taking, effortlessly keeping pace with my narrative, contrasts with his ponderous manner. After listening carefully for over an hour he says “Just as I knew it would be. A perfect account. Sir Chisholm and the professor may add some details, but I have the gist here. Thank you.” After saying that he sits quietly, notebook open.

  “I hope I’ve told you everything you need, Inspector.”

  “Yes.” Again the wintry smile, and he makes no move to go. I sip the last of my tea. I wonder: have we finished?

  “You seem a trustworthy young woman, Miss Frocester. I can understand Sir Chisholm and Professor Axelson placing their reliance in you to assist with their investigation.”

  “Thank you. Although my role was purely to provide female company and reassurance to Kitty while she was hypnotized. So after what has happened this evening, I think that’s the end of my involvement in the case.” And then I add “I’m don’t think Lady Blanche – who is, after all, my employer – was happy about me using my time to help Professor Axelson.”

  “I sense, Miss Frocester, that although your future life may have challenges, it will also have much greater scope than simply being a companion to Lady Lockesley. You’re not content with your current position, are you?”

  “How did you know that?” But he doesn’t answer: he simply smiles, as if to himself. I look into his level, steady eyes. A long face, full of vertical lines and wrinkles, but kindly. He quietly thanks me for my time, and tells me that I can go to bed.

  But for an hour I lie awake, thinking. Selfishly, my thoughts are not all about Kitty: many of them are in fact about Blanche, and the two years I’ve spent with her. At first she liked me: I think my accent and homespun American small-town-girl manners amused her. But then she found out that I had my own thoughts and opinions. She thinks I’m outspoken – perhaps insolent. And she seemed annoyed and jealous to find me speaking in German to a visitor from Berlin, even though the job advertisement had required that candidates speak French, and I know both languages equally. Then, there’s her husband, Sir Edward Lockesley. He’s extremely rich: he inherited the fortune his father made in business. His wealth was such that he received a knighthood; since then, he’s embraced country life in Sussex. He bought the Flimwell Manor estate, and he loves local society, especially the hunting. Oscar Wilde’s description of fox-hunting – ‘The unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable’ – runs through my mind every time I see the man’s fat, red face. And I sense that Blanche and he are unhappy together, and that she’s embarrassed by him. Three weeks ago he came home from a hunt meeting horribly drunk, swearing at the servants. Of course I said nothing, but Blanche saw the curl of my lip, my silent judging of his behavior and character. I sense that she can’t forgive me for what she and I share. She and I share the knowledge that her husband is a weak and cowardly bully.

  6.A list of suspects

  It’s exactly one month since Kitty vanished, and we’re hurrying through the thronging crowds of London to catch our train. The shouts of newsboys and traders ring out in the entrance of Liverpool Street Station entrance, replaced by the calls of porters as we pass through the ticket barrier. Then as we walk along the platform we hear the station master’s voice echoing among the hissing engines and the noise of whistles. “Five-fifteen to Cambridge.” Our first-class carriage is at the far end, nearest the engine. I see the gleam of the locomotive’s wheels and pistons, and the distinctive deep blue engine livery of the Great Eastern Railway.

  “Here’s our compartment.” Chisholm opens the door for me, and once inside the compartment, he lifts my bag into the netting above my head. “We should arrive at Cambridge station in good time to catch the seven o’clock branch line service to Fen Dutton. Professor, you said that the Spence family’s carriage will be waiting for us at?...”

  “At half-past seven, at Fen Dutton Halt. Then, the drive in the carriage from Fen Dutton to Sweynsey Hall takes about twenty minutes. Mordaunt – Spence’s secretary – has arranged dinner for us at eight-thirty.”

  The guard’s flag falls, the whistle blows. Looking out of the window I see clouds of steam blowing past us, and then the platform
slides away from my view as we start to move. I hear the train gathering speed, the chuntering of the engine. There is nothing more for us to do in London for the moment – blind and almost clueless, we have left the investigation of Kitty’s kidnapping to Scotland Yard.

  So we are going to meet Ernest Mordaunt, at Viscount Spence’s ancestral home in East Anglia. Mordaunt was not with Spence on the Titanic, and he has not agreed to hypnosis. However, as the train sets off, Professor Axelson explains to Chisholm and I that Mordaunt has agreed to be as helpful as he can in telling us about any matters that may be relevant to our investigation. Mordaunt told the professor that Spence’s aunt, who has inherited the estate, has granted him full freedom to show us all Spence’s papers and documents. We have just two nights and one full day at Sweynsey Hall – then, when we return, we must pack and leave again, for a much longer journey across the Atlantic. The professor’s plan for our trip to America is to meet, and hypnotize, other key witnesses that he has identified in the month since Kitty was kidnapped.

  I’m tired, and I gaze blankly out of the window. The prospect of so much travel might feel exciting – or daunting – but for the moment I feel only one simple thing: cold. The