Dangerous Sea

by David Roberts

  Having made up her mind, she summoned him and, as usual, he came to her with his tail wagging. ‘Have you forgiven me? Say you aren’t mad at me. I can’t help . . . you know . . . admiring you. We Americans don’t have women like you who go and do things without husbands and so on. We like to put them on pedestals – not make partners of them.’

  ‘You thought I was just some slut who would sleep with anyone,’ Verity said unforgivingly. ‘Anyway, we’re not going to talk about that any more.’

  ‘But you are going to talk to me?’ he said, his eyes shining.

  ‘We forgot ourselves. That’s all there is to it but we stopped it in time. Our political purpose is what is important. We have to be worthy of that.’ Damn it, she was sounding like the worst sort of prig. ‘I just mean, I’ve got a job to do when we get to the States and I intend to do it.’

  ‘If I can be of any help . . .’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said grudgingly. ‘You may be able to help and, of course, I should like to meet your family.’

  After a moment, Sam asked, ‘Do you think I killed Senator Day?’

  Verity was momentarily taken aback but answered honestly. ‘You had motive and opportunity but . . .’ she relented, ‘since you ask me, I don’t think you did. You may be a ratbag but I don’t see you as a murderer. Who do you think killed him?’

  Encouraged at being asked a question to which an answer was required, he replied, ‘I’d vote for that fag art dealer, Bernard Hunt. A nasty piece of work and Frank says he has a motive. He says Day stopped him getting a top job in the art world or something. He was an expert at putting spokes in wheels, that man. No wonder he was killed. Good riddance, I say.’

  ‘Yes, Frank told me about hearing Mr Hunt’s confession but I’m not sure. It’s true he could have done it but did he have the will? He seems a weak, shallow man to me.’

  ‘They’re just the sort of men who commit murder,’ Sam said eagerly. ‘Strong men can live with slights and setbacks but weak men are spiteful. And Frank says he wasn’t there when he and Corinth were racing.’

  ‘Nor were several prime suspects – most noticably you,’ Verity responded snarkily. ‘Still, I agree he’s in the frame. He calls himself a Communist sympathizer but I hope the Party can do without people like him sympathizing.’

  Sam risked a tease. ‘That’s not very democratic of you. I’d say the Party would value a man like him – over you, I mean . . . but what would I know?’ he added hurriedly.

  She found Edward propped against a rail, gazing gloomily out to sea. He was smoking a cigarette which, given the stiff breeze, was not a very worthwhile pastime.

  ‘There you are!’ she greeted him. ‘How’s the knee? Shouldn’t you be lying down quietly?’ He looked at her strangely, wondering if Jane Barclay was right to entrust her fate to her. ‘Stop looking at me like that. Have I got a smut on my nose or something?’

  ‘Come with me,’ he said, tossing his cigarette over the side and taking up his crutch.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To my cabin. I have something important to discuss with you.’

  ‘About the murder?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. I think it’s time we thrashed out the whys and wherefores.’

  ‘I know the whys and wherefores,’ he said grimly. ‘It’s the “Does she go to the gallows?” I have to talk to you about.’

  When they reached the cabin, Edward threw himself down on his bed and motioned to Verity to pour him a drink. ‘Something strong. I think there’s scotch in the cupboard.’

  ‘Tell!’ she commanded. ‘I know, let me guess: Jane Barclay has told you she killed Senator Day.’

  He raised himself on his elbows. ‘Good Lord! How did you guess that?’

  ‘You mean she really has confessed? I was joking.’

  Edward gave her a concise account of their conversation and ended with the comment, ‘It’s hardly fair but she’s left it to you to decide whether we tell the police or not.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘She said she would abide by your decision on what I should do with her confession.’

  ‘Oh no! That’s not fair. It’s not my problem. You decide. I’m not having anything to do with it.’

  ‘Well, it’s not quite as cut and dried as that. If I were to tell the police, when we reach New York, that Jane Barclay has confessed to murder they would almost certainly think I was off my head. Particularly if, as seems most likely, she denied telling me anything of the sort.’

  ‘Have you thought of something else? Just because she confessed to murdering Day doesn’t mean she did it. She may know – or may think she knows – that Warren did it.’

  ‘She could be protecting him? I hadn’t got round to that. Still,’ he said ruminatively, ‘I’m almost certain her “accident” in the steam room was self-inflicted.’

  ‘Could she have been trying to kill herself? It’s possible.’

  ‘She doesn’t look the suicide type to me, and why do it in such a complicated and public way?’

  Verity tried to shift the conversation away from Jane Barclay. ‘Anyway, if you think a woman did it, why not Philly Roosevelt?’

  ‘It’s so unlikely. She’s too weak, physically, for one thing.’

  Edward thought privately that Verity was just a little bit jealous of Frank’s attachment to the girl. It wasn’t, of course, that Verity had any designs on his nephew’s virtue but only a few months before he had almost worshipped her. Since the Spanish escapade, his admiration had visibly cooled.

  ‘I don’t know anything except that I’m going to do absolutely nothing which might send Jane Barclay to . . . the electric chair. It’s quite barbaric and I don’t approve of capital punishment.’

  ‘Except for members of the aristocracy,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Except for them, of course.’

  ‘And any Nazis caught, if you will excuse the pun, red-handed.’

  ‘Them too,’ she agreed.

  ‘And . . . be honest . . . you don’t want anything to happen which might affect Warren Fairley . . . cast a shadow over his reputation.’

  ‘He’s a great man and a member of the Party – a leading member of the Party – but that doesn’t put him above the law. It’s quite absurd to think for a moment he would ever be involved in anything so . . . so grubby.’

  ‘Hmm. That sounds like me talking – a bit priggish. Of course, some people are above the law. Look at Hitler and Stalin. The law will never catch up with them.’

  Verity said slowly, ‘I have never seen any evidence that Stalin has committed crimes and to bracket him with Hitler is ridiculous. Perhaps I mean justice – not the law. Justice will catch up with Hitler.’

  ‘I think you’ve been seeing too many Westerns. Wyatt Earp isn’t going to ride into town and, if he did, he would probably be shot down before he could unbutton his holster. You must have learnt that in Spain.’

  ‘It’s not like you to be so cynical,’ she said with dignity. ‘I would have thought, if we shared one belief, it was in justice.’

  ‘I believe in the possibility of justice but I also believe it needs a helping hand. Well, nothing’s been resolved then? I’ll have to tell Jane something.’

  ‘Tell her we have decided to leave it to her conscience. Tell her to discuss the rights and wrongs of murder with her husband,’ Verity said with sudden anger. ‘You remember, of course, that a wife cannot be made to testify against her husband and vice versa. At least, that’s the case in England. I assume it’s the same in the States.’

  At that moment there was a knock on the door and Frank put his head in. ‘Oh, am I interrupting something?’

  ‘No, come in. We were just discussing the nature of justice but I think we’ve finished . . . for the moment. What can we do for you?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Verity said.

  ‘No,’ Frank insisted, ‘I’d like you to stay. You’d know soon enough anyway.’

  ‘Know what?’
Edward said sharply. ‘You haven’t done something silly, have you?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ the boy said, with a trace of doubt in his voice. ‘I’ve got engaged. That’s all.’

  12

  Edward looked at his nephew incredulously. ‘You’ve done what?’

  ‘I think I’d better go,’ Verity said once again, starting to get up from her chair.

  ‘No, no, please stay,’ Frank beseeched her. ‘Uncle Ned, I don’t know why you should be upset. She’s a smashing girl and she’s . . . you know . . . out of the top drawer. I mean, as far as there are top drawers in the States,’ he added with embarrassment.

  ‘I assume,’ Edward said frigidly, ‘that you have engaged yourself to Philly Roosevelt. Let’s get that clear, anyway.’

  ‘Yes, who else would it be? I don’t go around proposing to every girl I meet, dash it.’

  Verity was pleased to hear the spirit come back into his voice. He had obviously decided to fight and she always approved of standing up for oneself.

  ‘Edward, don’t be such a . . . you sound just like the Duke,’ she ventured.

  ‘I’ll thank you to keep out of this.’ The truth was Edward had a vision of his elder brother asking him what he meant by allowing his son to be shot at and then to become engaged to a girl he had known just three days. The term ‘in loco parentis’ came into his mind and his blood chilled.

  Frank, too, seemed a little disturbed by Verity’s mention of his father. The Duke had not been pleased when he had run away to Spain but, in deference to the feelings of his wife, he had shown commendable restraint, grateful that the boy had returned unscathed. He had not even preached at him when he had refused to return to school. He had been more bewildered than angry but, when he learnt that he had engaged himself to an American girl he had met on the boat . . . Frank cleared his throat nervously.

  ‘I don’t know why you are making such a fuss, Uncle. She’s a wonderful girl and I love her. She’s got leukaemia and I’ll have to look after her, but I’ll like that.’

  ‘Leukaemia!’ Verity said in alarm.

  ‘Yes, Uncle Ned spotted it at once. I must say I didn’t, but that’s partly why her skin is so transparent . . . why she looks like an angel.’

  ‘Let’s get this straight,’ Edward said, trying to be sensible. ‘You’ve asked this girl to marry you and she has said yes?’

  ‘That’s right. Why do you keep on repeating it? She’s as good as gold. In fact, it was she who raised it.’

  ‘Raised what?’

  ‘Whether you’d make a fuss. She asked me if my people would object and, of course, I said they wouldn’t. Why should they?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, the Roosevelts aren’t quite what they seem.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean, Uncle?’

  ‘I used this miracle of modern technology,’ he said, gesturing towards the telephone beside his bed, ‘to check up on your new friends when I saw how stuck on the girl you were.’

  ‘You checked up on Philly?’ Frank was aghast.

  ‘For your own good, my boy.’

  ‘And . . .?’

  ‘And the father is a disgraced politician serving five years for fraud. Their name is really Ravelstein and they make a practice of conning the rich and foolish.’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’

  ‘Ask her.’

  ‘Are you saying Philly isn’t ill?’ Verity demanded.

  ‘She probably is ill. It’s sympathy which gets them the cash they need. When you try to get out of your engagement, you will be asked to part with a decent sum of money – my guess is ten thousand dollars – if you don’t want to be sued for breach of promise.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. You’re just trying to frighten me. Anyway, if it’s true, why didn’t you tell me this before?’

  ‘I saw no reason to interfere with a harmless flirtation. It never occurred to me that you would be silly enough to get engaged to the girl. Oh, and I have a theory. While Perry, you and I were running round the deck like headless chickens, your Philly was knocking George Earle Day on the head.’

  Verity wouldn’t let him get away with that. ‘Hang on, just a moment ago you said you didn’t believe it. You said – sorry, Frank – she wouldn’t have the strength.’

  ‘Well, I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘But why?’ Frank said helplessly, and Verity’s heart went out to him.

  ‘Because the all-wise, all-knowing, all-blackmailing Senator knew exactly who the Roosevelt family were and was demanding his share of the profits. And how did he know, you ask? I’ll tell you. Senator Day was an old friend and political associate of their father’s.’

  There was silence in the cabin, which was becoming hot and stuffy with so much emotion on display.

  Frank looked as though he had been hit over the head with a blackjack. ‘So what am I supposed to do?’ He looked around him and Verity saw he was close to tears. She put out her hand to him but he ignored her, staring wild-eyed at his uncle who remained silent. ‘Damn it! I don’t believe you! Hell and damnation, why should I believe you?’

  ‘Very well, wait and see. At the dance tonight, Philly will look entrancing and she will ask you . . . or Perry will ask you . . . for money. See if I’m not right.’

  ‘Damn you . . . both of you. You’ve ruined my life. I’ll never trust anyone ever again.’ Frank flung open the door and left them.

  ‘Weren’t you a bit hard on the boy?’ Verity said.

  ‘He’s got to learn to be careful. It’s the same impetuosity that made him take off to Spain with that dreadful man, John Devon. He’s got to learn not to wear his heart on his sleeve.’

  ‘God, you can be so pompous. Weren’t you ever young? Weren’t you ever rash? You’re just a . . . a rice pudding – soggy and indigestible.’

  As the cabin door slammed for the second time, Edward decided he had every reason to feel sorry for himself. His knee hurt like fury. His best efforts at being a good uncle had earned him nothing but abuse. Jane Barclay had set him a moral problem to which there was no right answer and he still had to deliver his charge alive and kicking in New York. A shout halfway to a scream interrupted his self-pity and he struggled to his feet. The cry had come from the next cabin. Was he now to have Lord Benyon slaughtered by some Fascist madman virtually in front of his eyes? He cursed and cursed again.

  ‘Sorry, Corinth, did I wake you?’ Marcus Fern said. ‘I managed to drop this briefcase on my foot. I don’t know why it’s so heavy.’ He was alone in the cabin, sitting at the writing-desk working on some papers.

  ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ Edward said shortly. ‘I was just resting my knee. Here, let me give you a hand with that.’ He leant over to help Fern lift the bag, which was lying on its side on the floor. As he did so he stumbled and nearly fell, pulling the bag violently as he tried to support himself against the wall. ‘No damage done,’ he began and then stopped. As he took a proper hold on the briefcase, a black object fell heavily to the floor. It was a .38 automatic.

  Edward looked at Fern inquiringly. ‘It’s mine,’ he acknowledged. ‘I thought, if there was any trouble . . .’

  ‘But I remember asking, after Barrett was killed, if anyone had a gun and only Sam Forrest said he had. Why didn’t you declare it then?’

  ‘I didn’t think it was a good idea, that’s all,’ Fern said stiffly. ‘How was I to know if one of the people in the cabin then might not be . . . you know . . . in the employ of the enemy?’

  ‘You didn’t think I was?’

  ‘No, but I knew very little about you. As for Sam Forrest – who, as you say, was armed – what little I knew about him I didn’t like at all. I thought you were far too ready to trust an American rabble-rousing union organizer with the safety of a government representative. There was no reason to trust you or your judgement. Forgive me for being frank but, in my business, I trust no one. Perhaps you think that odd but the City is by no means the league of gentlemen some people think it is. Or, if it is
, it excludes scholarship boys. I had a hard struggle to get where I am and I didn’t get here by trusting people.’

  ‘Doesn’t that make for a lonely life? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  ‘I made a few enemies on the way but the friends I have made are not casual acquaintances. They’ve been tried and tested.’

  ‘But surely you’ve never needed a gun? I can’t believe that’s the way business rivals fight their battles.’

  ‘No, but when I knew I was to accompany Lord Benyon on this trip, I thought it wise to bring a weapon with me. Was that wrong?’

  ‘No,’ Edward said slowly, ‘but I wish you had told me. Where did you get it, if I may ask?’

  ‘I bought it last time I was in the States.’

  ‘And you can use it?’

  ‘I took a few lessons, yes. Now, if you’ll forgive me, Corinth, I must get this finished before we reach New York. I gather that’ll be about 3 p.m. tomorrow?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘The storm did not delay us as much as the Captain feared?’

  ‘No. Will you be attending the fancy-dress ball tonight?’

  ‘I hope to. Benyon says we ought to enjoy our last night on board before the rigours of our New York schedule.’

  ‘Where is he, by the way?’

  ‘I believe your man Fenton has taken him for a constitutional on the promenade deck. Good man, Fenton. You’re lucky to have him. I can’t be bothered with a valet myself but, I confess, sometimes it would be useful. I know Benyon means to ask you if he can take him – Fenton, I mean – as his valet while he’s in the States. Without Barrett . . . I suppose he could hire someone in New York but we haven’t really got time to interview servants and, anyway, could one trust a stranger?’