Murder on the Titanic

by Evelyn Weiss

think. But then I suspect that my duties in this search have been designed mainly to keep me away from trouble and danger.

  There is only one person in the Reading and Writing Room; an over-dressed middle-aged woman. Better, I think, for me to pretend to be looking on the bookshelves for something to read, than to talk to her and try to convince her that I’m checking the hygiene of the room. There are four bookshelves, mostly popular novels and magazines, with the inscription ‘Library’ carved in the mahogany frontage above them. Looking at the ‘Library’ I can see that the books are shelved in such a way that it might be possible to conceal single sticks of dynamite behind them. But if explosives were hidden there, any passenger looking for something to read might chance upon them. It seems unlikely that the Gophers or their accomplices would be so foolish as to use it for a hiding place.

  I pull out a book from the shelf, peer behind it. Of course there’s nothing, and nothing behind the next book either. The woman is now watching my odd behavior. When I pull out a third book she sighs with annoyance, stands up and leaves.

  I do what anyone would do. I go over to the table and look at the book she was reading.

  It’s not a book, it’s a Macy’s catalogue. I look at the pages, remembering the excitement of reading one of these, looking at the glamorous illustrations, long ago back in Putnam. I can’t help it: I leaf through the pages.

  The volume falls open at a section on men’s shoes. And suddenly I’m reading something, with a sharp intake of breath.

  “Newly imported from Pirmasens, Germany’s shoe town! Astounding quality and construction using the finest quality Rhineland leather and the unique Pirmasens triple-stitched sole…”

  I hear a voice.

  “Are you – busy?”

  I look up. Standing in the library doorway is Rufus du Pavey.

  “Hello.” I look at him: something has changed in his face, his eyes, even the way he stands.

  “Agnes. May I sit down?”

  “Of course. In fact I’m glad to see you, because I didn’t get a chance to say how sorry I was, that the hypnosis made you so ill.”

  “I seem to have developed a habit of getting ill and making a damned fool of myself at key moments in my life. Moments when you happen to be around too, Agnes. So – I just wanted to say sorry.”

  “I agree, you need to apologize to me.” I grin at him to show him I’m joking. “After all, you went uninvited into my room at the Rosedene Hotel, didn’t you?”

  “That’s funny, that you should think of that. Yes I did. The morning of the flight – I went over to your room. I don’t know why I just walked into a young lady’s room like that. I was feeling – over-excited. Pumped up. If my must know, it would have felt like a boost to my ego: thought you might let me in, talk to me before you’d dressed for the day.”

  “Flirt with you, in my nightclothes – that’s what you mean, isn’t it? I’m not that sort of girl, Rufus.” I keep smiling, hold his eyes in mine to let him know I am not judging him. “But then, from what I think I know now of Rufus du Pavey, when you go to a young woman’s room – which you’ve done before: I know I’m not the first – you would be doing that purely to bolster your sense of being attractive to women. Not because you wanted to take things further. You’re an incorrigible flirt because you like to be able to tell yourself that you’re irresistible. It makes you feel good about yourself.”

  “Yes.”

  “And, most of all, it’s a good way of distracting people from the truth about your personal feelings. Your romantic feelings about women – and men.”

  “Yes. That too. Again, you see right through me.” He’s avoiding my eyes now, looking down. We both know what I’m talking about – but to even refer to it feels almost physically shocking. I’m only aware of it because of whispers in the schoolyard. It’s the one thing that, in our society, is never spoken of.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Rufus. I was a little cross about you going into my room, because you acted like a child. But we all do that at times.”

  His face is in his hands.

  “But the other thing that I now know about you – about, as I put it, your romantic feelings – that doesn’t bother me, in the least. I don’t know much about these matters, but I don’t judge people. Who am I, to say that how you feel is wrong? If I did, I would be no better than those bullies at your old school.”

  His hands still cover his face. But I sense that he’s listening to me.

  “Rufus –you used to know someone else who was like you, someone who liked to play the flirt with women. Although I sense that he was more subtle – how can I put it? – more controlled, than you are. Because his main aim was quite coldly calculated: to give the world the false impression he was a womanizer, a kind of aristocratic Lothario. Antics to draw attention from the obvious question: why is such an eligible man forever a bachelor? But the whole thing was an act, a smokescreen: the truth was very different. For example, when you and that man visited Soho, the last thing on your minds was to spend time with women.”

  “You’re right again, Miss Agnes. Percy and I – “

  “You can say it, Rufus. You loved Percy Spence. And he loved you. Since he died, you’ve been grieving for a terrible, terrible loss. I might be a quiet New England girl. But when I read my Bible as a little girl, the one story that I always remember was the woman at the well. The woman taken in adultery, although I had no idea at the time what that meant. The Pharisees wanted to stone her to death. When he stopped them, Jesus said ‘let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’ Seems to me to be a good motto for the way to live life, Rufus.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s fine. Everything is fine, Rufus. Really, really, it is. I hope you have a happy life. I think it’s a shame for you, because the law, and public prejudice, mean that you’ll have to live much of your life in secret.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But there is something I need to know. About the letter you wrote. You wrote a blackmail letter, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not like that. I’m not a blackmailer, not at heart. I was desperate, I…”

  “I believe you. Because you never sent the blackmail letter, did you? It was another bit of childish, selfish foolishness. Percy found out about it, didn’t he? I think he talked you out of sending it.”

  “He always was so much wiser than me…”

  “He took the letter from you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. He took the letter from me, he said ‘Don’t be silly, Rufus. We can sort this out another way.’ That was the last time I saw Percy Spence. Except for…”

  “Except for what?”

  “Later that night. I went back to his cabin. I wanted to thank him, and – to spend some time with him. I wanted –”

  “What happened?”

  “I approached his cabin. I’d been drinking with some admirers – female admirers, of course. Playing up to my usual part: flirting, as you describe it. But inside I felt desperate, and all I could think about was what Percy would be thinking about me, now that he knew that I had written such a letter. He knew that I would stoop to blackmail… Had I lost his good opinion forever? I was so scared, terrified that his feelings about me might have changed.”

  “So – you approached Percy’s cabin.”

  “I went down the Grand Staircase. Percy’s cabin was along the corridor immediately beyond the staircase. I stood on the stairs, gathering my nerves. And then I saw something that I didn’t expect. Percy had opened his door, he’d come out and was talking in the corridor to a tall, blond young man. This young man – he had an air – it’s hard to say. An air of utter confidence. The thing I’ve never had but always pretended to have.”

  “Had you seen him before, this young man?”

  “I didn’t recognize him at all. But you can imagine what I concluded… about him, and Percy. I hesitated on the staircase. Percy came out of his cabin, and he and the man walked together along the corridor, towards th
e staircase, towards me. I went down one flight of steps to avoid them seeing me. I could just about hear the noise of them talking in whispers, but I couldn’t make out any words at all. I was desperately trying to overheard them, but without being seen. After a while, the whispers died away, and I concluded they’d both gone back to Percy’s cabin. That they’d gone in there – together. Then, I just became overwhelmed with shame and jealousy. I ran away to my own cabin.”

  “Would you recognize him again? This man?”

  “Oh yes, definitely. In fact, I know that he’s on this sailing of the Olympic. I’ve seen him this morning, taking a stroll on the Boat Deck.”

  I have to let the other members of the search party know. For no reason I can name, I find it more chilling that Daniel Carver is aboard, than that somewhere on the Olympic is Nolan and enough explosives to kill us all. As I did at the New York Metropole I see the blond hair, the strong forehead and nose, the calm eyes: so assured, such an air of easy superiority. He looked at me like I was a plaything. Like a willful boy who would break a toy, just for fun.

  28.Lethally dangerous

  I step into the wireless room. Harold Bride is surrounded by telegraphic equipment. I tell him that I’ve a message for Captain Haddock and the others, and I see him nod his head at a very young-looking man – a boy, almost – who is standing there with him. The youth runs off with the message. I smile at Bride.

  “He looks like a