Dangerous Sea

by David Roberts

  ‘That is so good of you, my lord,’ Dolmen said, seizing his benefactor by the arm. ‘I knew, as an English gentleman, you would come to my aid. The Herr Senator is not a gentleman. He is a . . .’ The English words escaped him. ‘Ich hasse das schwein,’ he ended and the look of fury which convulsed his face shocked Benyon. This determined little man was not an enemy to be underestimated.

  ‘I say, old boy, mind if I join you? I used to be rather good at this.’

  The distraction caused Frank to miss his shot and Philly laughed heartily.

  ‘Damn boat! Why can’t it keep still?’ he said crossly.

  ‘Sorry, old boy, did I put you off your stroke? Didn’t mean to and all that rot. Major Cranton’s the name, what?’

  He put out his hand and held it outstretched until, reluctantly, Frank had to take it. From his ramrod-straight back, watery blue eyes and small moustache cut to a bristle, to the heavy brogues on his feet, there could be no mistaking Major Cranton. Everything about him said ex-Army and his sallow complexion suggested some years in India. He only needed a swagger stick to complete the picture.

  ‘Or am I de trop, as the froggies say?’

  There was something a little desperate in his attempt to be seen as a ‘good fellow’ and Frank softened. ‘Of course not, sir. By all means join us, Major Cranton. We were only fooling around. By the way, my name’s Frank Corinth. This young idiot is Perry Roosevelt and this is his sister, Philly.’

  After hands were shaken, Cranton took hold of a shovel and soon proved himself adept at the game. After ten minutes, Frank threw down his shovel. ‘You’re too good for us, Major. What about a drink?’

  They collapsed in deck chairs and the steward brought them fruit juices.

  ‘You have the cabin next to mine, don’t you, Major?’

  ‘I do. And may I ask whether you are going to America on holiday?’

  ‘I’m working for Lord Benyon,’ Frank said, importantly.

  ‘Lord Benyon? Is that who it is? I thought I recognized his face. In distinguished company, what? Reminds me of when I was in India. The Viceroy was visiting my chief and I was parading the guard of honour. Dash it, do you know, I failed to recognize the blighter. Felt the most awful ass and the CO didn’t half tear me off a strip. Deserved it, too, I dare say . . .’

  The Major went on to tell a long and involved story of a scandal in Poona twenty years before and Frank’s attention wandered. He wondered how he was to detach Philly from her twin long enough to impress on her that she was the love of his life. He had heard that moonlight was good for that sort of thing and, with the skies clearing, perhaps tonight he might be able to lure her on deck. He had started rehearsing speeches he might make when suddenly he realized Major Cranton had stopped talking and was watching him with interest.

  ‘I was just saying, I met your father once. Very fine man, the Duke. Do give him my regards when next you see him.’

  There was something banal yet rather odd about the Major’s chatter. It was as if he was determined to rub it in that he was a typical ex-Army bore but there was something in his face which made Frank suspect it must be an act. He had certainly been in the Army – no doubt about that – but what was he doing in a First Class cabin on the Queen Mary and, without wishing to sound snobbish, where had he met the Duke of Mersham?

  Before he could ask any probing questions, however, they were joined by Verity and Sam Forrest and the Major made a surprisingly speedy exit.

  ‘Who the hell was that guy?’ Sam inquired.

  ‘A Major Cranton. He has the cabin next to mine.’

  ‘I thought there was something fishy about him,’ Philly said.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Frank agreed.

  Edward knocked on the door of Warren Fairley’s cabin and heard a muttering – almost a cooing – which persuaded him that his visit was inopportune but, as he turned away, the door opened and Fairley appeared. In the doorway, he looked enormous and his face threatening but, when he saw who it was, his expression softened and he bade Edward enter.

  ‘My wife owes her life to you.’ His voice resonated bizarrely in the enclosed space.

  ‘Oh, it was nothing at all. The main thing is she’s all right. She is all right, I trust?’

  ‘She’s sleeping now,’ Fairley replied, indicating the inner cabin. ‘But, Lord Edward, I say again, we owe you so much. If there is anything . . .’

  ‘Please, Mr Fairley –’

  ‘You will call me Warren, I hope.’

  ‘Yes, of course, thank you. But all three of us heard your wife’s cries and we all – including the masseurs – went to see what was wrong. You mustn’t think it was I alone . . . She’s not badly scalded? The steam was lethal.’

  ‘Thank God, no, but she is weak and the doctor has given her a sedative. But tell me, Lord Edward, could it have been an accident?’

  ‘It might have been,’ Edward said slowly.

  ‘But you don’t think it was?’

  ‘I don’t see how it could have been. Someone had twisted the knob controlling the heat. It would be hard to do that accidentally. Have you spoken to the Captain?’

  ‘He has been to visit us and he is very concerned. He has instructed the door to the control panel in the Turkish bath to be locked and the key to be held by the senior masseur on duty. Locking the door after the horse has bolted, I fear. I agree with you: I don’t believe it was an accident.’

  ‘Does she remember what happened?’

  ‘Not much. She says she must have fallen asleep and not noticed the rise in temperature.’

  ‘I picked this up from beside your wife when we found her.’ Edward held out a strip of linen. ‘Smell it. There is just the hint of chloroform.’

  ‘You think Jane was put to sleep by whoever turned up the temperature?’

  ‘It looks that way but, fortunately, she can’t have been deeply unconscious or she would not have screamed. I think she must have regained consciousness, screamed and then fainted. But who would wish to harm Miss Barclay?’

  ‘That, of course, is the question. It may be that they wished to hurt me by hurting Jane. I have many enemies and I don’t know the faces of all of them.’

  ‘We live in evil days, Mr Fairley . . . Warren. It seems no one is safe. Perhaps it is as well that I tell you, in the strictest confidence, that the death of Mr Barrett, Lord Benyon’s valet, may not have been an accident. In fact, it was murder. It is important that we do not alarm passengers so – at least until we reach New York – the Captain has ascribed his death to the ship’s violent movements in the storm – a tragic fall. Though, as you know, his body was discovered before the weather worsened.’

  ‘I see,’ Fairley said, sombrely. ‘And you think Mr Barrett’s death and the attack on my wife are connected?’

  ‘I don’t know how, but it is possible.’

  ‘And what should I do?’

  ‘There is nothing to do except watch and wait. I very much hope that now we are on the alert for danger, our murderer will go to ground. Or wherever it is you go on a ship to avoid detection,’ he added, trying not to sound too alarmist.

  ‘But you don’t think so?’ Fairley said, shrewdly. ‘You don’t think the murderer, whoever he is, will “go to ground”?’

  ‘No.’ There was a noise from the inner cabin. Edward said, ‘I will go now but if there is anything I can do or if you see anything suspicious, you will please tell me – or the Captain, of course, but he has so much else to worry about. This storm has shown up some inadequacies in the stabilizers and the propellers may need replacing, I understand. All of which is making the Captain lose sleep, without unexplained sudden death adding to his burden.’

  With the seas now calm, anxious passengers hauled themselves out of their berths determined to get their money’s worth from all the facilities the Queen Mary had to offer. The hairdressers, who had been sitting around filing their nails and discussing what they would do when they reached New York, were suddenly too busy to ch
atter. The massage room was full and there were complaints that the steam room had been sealed off pending a visit from the safety inspectors and the police in New York.

  The swimming-bath was packed with shrieking children and energetic young men and women showing off to each other. In the gymnasium, much huffing and puffing indicated that gentlemen wished to be at their physical peak when they reached the New World. On the promenade decks, less energetic passengers paraded, stopping to chat with one another as though trapped in some never-ending cocktail party. The storm provided a topic of conversation for everyone and interesting injuries were a passport to social intercourse. Soon complete strangers were swapping seasick cures and showing each other bruises gained when, unable to find a hand-rail in the passageways, they had been tossed around ‘like rag dolls’. It was rumoured that a stowaway had been apprehended in the engine room, more dead than alive. And there was Tom Barrett’s death and Jane Barclay’s ‘accident’ in the steam room to discuss.

  The Purser and his assistants were organizing all sorts of entertainments from deck sports to Lotto, and a Mrs Pillman won £833 in the auction pool with a guess of 747 miles for the ship’s noon-to-noon run, which reflected a highly satisfactory speed of twenty-eight knots. But the main topic of conversation was the race between Perry Roosevelt, Lord Edward Corinth and his nephew. It was to take place at seven o’clock with the participants in full evening dress. To the disappointment of many, the Captain had ruled that it was too dangerous for them to race the four hundred yards round the promenade deck together. There had been enough accidents and he was not going to risk another. Each would run alone, timed by the Purser on his massive stop-watch. Lots were drawn and Edward was to go first, Frank second and Perry last.

  Verity had urged Sam Forrest to take part but he had refused on the grounds that – strong as he was – he was no athlete and, in any case, to butt in on a private challenge would not be good manners.

  ‘But then there’s no one to represent the workers,’ she protested.

  ‘Don’t get mad at me,’ he said, in mock fear at her scowling face. ‘This isn’t a political contest. You’re still feeling sore because you think we ought to be travelling in steerage. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘No, certainly not,’ she replied uncertainly. ‘I don’t care who wins these stupid games but it would be nice if Edward had a bit of competition. That’s all.’

  ‘Young Frank was telling me that Lord Edward was something of an athlete at school and university. Cricket and . . . what was the other? . . . yes, I remember . . . rackets. Frank had to tell me about that. I’d never heard of it. Frank says it’s a fast version of squash.’

  ‘Oh, who cares! He’s middle-aged now and that was all a long time ago.’

  ‘Hey, honey, what’s eating you? I guess the poor sap’s got under your skin. What did he do? Ask you to marry him?’

  Verity was so stunned that Sam had guessed the source of her irritation that she was silent but her face told him everything.

  ‘So, that’s it! He asked you to marry him. You said no, and now you’re regretting it.’

  ‘I’m not regretting it,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘And don’t call me “honey”. I’m nobody’s sweet-little-thing. As for Edward, it’s against my principles to marry into the aristocracy and I told him so. In fact, it’s against my principles to marry anyone.’

  ‘So why the bad temper?’

  ‘I’m not in a bad temper,’ she said crossly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, becoming serious. ‘I didn’t mean to tease but, from what I’ve seen of him, he’s a good man. Perhaps you should marry him.’

  ‘Not you, too! I’m fed up with people telling me what a “good chap” Edward is. I know he’s a good chap and I like him – I even love him, if you must know – but I don’t want to marry him. Is that a crime? Sex, maybe, but marriage . . . only over my dead body.’

  Sam Forrest prided himself on being broad-minded but he had never heard a respectable woman talk this way. He had certainly never heard a lady say she preferred sex to marriage and he tried not to feel shocked.

  ‘Stop looking shocked,’ Verity said sharply. ‘You’re all a lot of schoolgirls.’ After this rather inappropriate rebuke – she knew better than anyone just how frank schoolgirls could be in private talk – she stalked off.

  Sam whistled, took out a cigarette, lit it and leaned against the deck rail looking out to sea. There was nothing in view except endless waves rolling blue-green against the blue backdrop of sky. It was five o’clock but the sun still glared as though hoping to make up for the storm clouds of the previous day. It was borne in on him that Verity was very different from the girls he knew back home. Politics, where he came from, were left to the men and the unions were all-male organizations. The idea that a woman could play a man’s role in the world was new to him. Edward had told him something of what Verity had seen and suffered in Spain and Sam wondered if her experiences had coarsened her, and then was ashamed of himself. This was, after all, 1937 and, if there were to be a war, women would have to take on men’s jobs in many spheres and occupations, as they had done in the previous conflict.

  He thought he would follow her down to her cabin. If he were honest with himself – which he was trying not to be – there was just the thought in the back of his mind that he might get Verity into bed and that was certainly something he would be happy to engineer. To his dismay, he literally bumped into Senator Day, a man whose views he abhorred and whom he found physically repulsive.

  ‘I was lookin’ for you, young man, and – having found you – I would be grateful for a moment of your time.’ Sam opened his mouth to make his excuses when Day forestalled him. ‘Now don’t deny me this courtesy. You and I don’t see eye to eye particularly – never have, never will – but I have something to tell you which I guess you’ll thank me for.’

  Without causing a row, it was hard for Sam to refuse and, in any case, his curiosity was aroused. What could this odious man possibly have to tell him?

  ‘Sure, shall we talk here or in the bar?’

  ‘In my cabin, if you please. Some people have long ears and I’d as soon say what I have to say away from prying eyes.’

  When the Senator had closed the door behind them, Sam said, ‘Well, then, what is it you have to say to me?’

  ‘I’m not sure whether you are aware of this, Mr Forrest, but I have business interests in South Carolina, my own state, and also in Tennessee.’

  ‘I did not know, Senator, and I have no idea why you should think I would want to know.’

  The Senator ignored the interruption. ‘Three years ago we – myself and several other businessmen – established in that great state of Tennessee what I am proud to say is the largest electricity generating station in the USA. Our work will bring light and power to many thousands of our citizens who have, up to the present time, had to rely on the strength of their arms to warm their bodies. As the Prophet Isaiah says in the Good Book, “The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light.” ’

  ‘You must think me dumb, Senator, but I still don’t understand what you are driving at.’

  ‘I merely wished you to rejoice with me that we are doing good work in our great country.’

  ‘Right. You are doing great work and no doubt hope to be rewarded for it.’

  ‘Not on this earth,’ sighed the Senator unconvincingly. ‘If I thought that, I’d be whistling Dixie. However – and this is where you can help me – I also invest in coal and copper mines in Tennessee. Once again my aim – and it’s an honourable aim – is to bring wealth and power to our southern states. Unfortunately, just lately, we have had threats and intimidation from your union – from your friend Mr John L. Lewis to be precise – who wishes to infiltrate Communists and Jews into our mines.’

  ‘You mean your mineworkers want to join the union?’

  ‘The Negro is not like us,’ the Senator said, attempting to put his arm round Sam’s shoulders but fai
ling. ‘The black man has no head for business. He’s nothing but a child in business and that’s the way we look after him – like he’s ours – and he don’t need unions to be high in hog heaven.’

  Sam looked at him with contempt. ‘Let me get this straight. You want me to use my influence – such as it is – to discourage our people from unionizing your mines? From what I’ve heard, your mineworkers are treated little better than slaves.’

  ‘Now that is a slander, Mr Forrest, and I am surprised at you for giving it credence. As the psalmist says, “I have not seen the righteous forsaken nor his seed begging bread.” ’

  ‘Senator Day, I am going to pretend this conversation never took place. I will not hear another word from you.’

  ‘You won’t help me with my little problem?’ he inquired mildly.

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘And if I were to tell the authorities you have been consorting with known Communists – sleeping with the enemy of our great nation –’

  ‘Is this some sort of clumsy blackmail attempt?’ Sam cut in, suddenly angrier than he had ever been in his life.

  ‘Not blackmail – just a warning. You know how it is – you got to ride the herd. Things can get out however hard you try to keep them to your bosom. Take Miss Browne, for instance –’

  ‘Leave Miss Browne out of this.’

  ‘Does Miss Browne know that you have a wife and child back home? No, I thought not. And how puzzled your friends in the union would be to know that you travel First Class on this great ship and mingle with the British aristocracy. Would your reputation be enhanced, I wonder?’

  More than anything in the world, Sam wanted to punch this man in the face but he retained enough control over himself to know that this was just what the devil wanted. He was hoping for a scandal which would be interpreted and misinterpreted back home as an unprovoked attack on a member of the Senate. There would be talk of some shady deal and his reputation would be lost for ever.