To Davy Jones Below

by Carola Dunn

  The doctor laughed. “I’m not about to recommend witchcraft to my patients! The Captain would have me in irons.”

  Pluming themselves on their immunity to sickness, Daisy and Alec continued their brisk stroll along the boat-deck, circling the central massif of the bridge, funnels, masts, skylights, and mysterious machinery. The sun was warm, but it was after all an October morning so most deck-chairs were set out on the enclosed promenade deck below. There were plenty of other obstacles to walkers, however, in the shape of ventilation ducts and game players.

  They passed Arbuckle, Gotobed, and Miss Oliphant—in purple bloomers—playing shuffle-board.

  “The blooming bride’s probably still doing her face,” Daisy observed.

  “Cat. She may feel games are beneath her dignity. People who feel inferior have to stand on their dignity.”

  “It raises them in their own estimation, if no one else’s,” Daisy quipped. “No, that was beastly of me. I must try to be nice to her. I wish I liked her.”

  “You can’t like everyone, love.”

  “Why do I feel I shall very shortly dislike Phillip extremely?” she asked, as that gentleman hallooed and waved them over to where he and Gloria were playing deck tennis against another couple.

  “Daisy, Fletcher, we’ll take you on next!”

  “Phil, you know perfectly well I’m hopeless at games.”

  “Gee, Daisy, that doesn’t matter,” Gloria assured her earnestly. “It’s only for fun.”

  “As long as you don’t chuck too many quoits overboard,” Phillip teased.

  With deep misgivings, Daisy allowed herself to be persuaded. On their next circuit, she and Alec stopped to play. The best that could be said of her game was that not a single quoit was actually lost, but she enjoyed it anyway.

  A second game with Phillip partnering her and Gloria playing with Alec was more evenly matched. At the end, quite a few spectators were there to applaud, including Arbuckle and Gotobed. Turning over the court to a waiting group, Phillip picked up his discarded jacket and offered his cigarette case to Alec.

  “No, no,” interjected Arbuckle, “have a Havana.” He opened his cigar case.

  Alec shook his head. “Thank you.” With identical gestures, he and Gotobed felt in their pockets and produced pipes and tobacco pouches, Alec’s embroidered by Belinda with a wobbly “A. F.” Phillip took a cigar.

  Daisy was not going to wait around for clouds of tobacco smoke. Besides, she was dripping. (Her nanny’s maxim: “Horses sweat, gentlemen perspire, ladies merely glow,” had clearly not been intended to apply to deck tennis.)

  “I’m going to change, darling,” she said.

  “Me too,” said Gloria, who really was glowing, her golden curls slightly tousled but prettier than ever. “Daisy, have you figured out what you’re wearing for the Fancy Dress Ball?”

  “No,” Daisy admitted. “What about you?”

  Together they went down the forward companion-way to the open area of the promenade deck, in the bows, where more deck games were in progress around the cargo-hatch. On each side was a door into the enclosed area, the glassed-in promenade encircling the public rooms. Here they parted, Gloria to the port door and thence down the port companionway to the Arbuckle suite, Daisy taking the starboard door and the stairs just within.

  As Daisy moved from the door to the companion-way, she caught sight of Mrs. Gotobed some way along the promenade, sitting in one of the slatted, wooden deck-chairs. She was talking earnestly with the men in the chairs on either side of her.

  The one facing Daisy was large and dark, good-looking in a rather flashy way. She rather thought she had seen him with the young American poker-player, Chester, going into the Smoking Room. The other was unmemorable, smaller, wiry, with thinning, mousy hair. Both sat stiffly, leaning slightly towards Wanda Gotobed, giving an impression of nervousness.

  Hot and sticky, Daisy had no intention of going to speak to the blooming bride. She was about to turn to go down the stairs when Mrs. Gotobed raised one hand and touched the smaller man’s cheek.

  Daisy must have made some involuntary gesture which caught the other man’s attention, for he stared straight at her. He said something which made Mrs. Gotobed look round and speak sharply. Both men at once rose and, with slight bows, hurried away.

  Mrs. Gotobed waved to Daisy, an unmistakable summons.

  Reluctantly, Daisy went over to her. “I was on my way to change,” she said. “We’ve been playing a rather energetic game of deck tennis.”

  “Oh, games! So undignified. Mrs. Fletcher, I suppose you’ve heard I was on the stage?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I wasn’t a fancy actress or anything, not a star, but I did have my fans,” she said coyly. “That was a couple of them, just a couple of stage-door Johnnies, like they say. They recognized me and had the blooming cheek to come and introduce themselves, would you believe?”

  “How … er … flattering.”

  “Well, if you want the truth, it was, and no mistake. Ever so disappointed they was when I told ‘em I’m a married woman now and they wasn’t to hang about. So I talked to them for just a minute, just to cheer ’em up a bit, like. Only Mr. Gotobed doesn’t care to be reminded of what I was, so be a sport and don’t tell, eh?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of carrying tales,” said Daisy, trying not to sound indignant. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must go and change.”

  If Mrs. Gotobed wanted to flirt with her admirers, it was none of Daisy’s business, though it didn’t make her like the woman any better. She just hoped Mr. Gotobed would not find out, since she did rather like him.

  They all met at the group of deck-chairs reserved by Mr. Arbuckle, forward, where they would catch the afternoon sun as long as possible. Here the deck stewards served hot bouillon, Bath Olivers, and digestive biscuits. It was very pleasant with the sun shining through the glass, the vast Atlantic spread glittering before them. They were still close enough to land for a few seagulls to sail alongside the ship, peering in hopefully. Gloria persuaded a steward to open a window so that she could throw them crumbs. Swooping, they caught them in mid-air, to her delight.

  The Talavera’s gentle pitch as she cut through the swells was cradle-like, soporific. Daisy started to drift off, only to be rudely awoken by the noon whistle.

  Arbuckle jumped up. “Time for the mileage pool,” he said. “I’m not a gambling man in the general way, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “Oh aye, it’s like putting a fiver each way on the Derby,” Gotobed agreed. “Almost a patriotic duty.” He and his wife went off with Arbuckle to find out whether the distance the ship had sailed from Liverpool matched any of the numbers they had acquired in the auction pool last evening.

  As half the take would go to seamen’s charities, the others had each put a shilling in one of the lesser pools. Each drew a single digit to match against the last digit of the mileage. One of the stewards came round the promenade deck to report the result.

  In spite of the one-in-ten odds, none of the four had won. However, a few minutes later Miss Oliphant came up to them, glowing with delight at her winnings of seventeen and sixpence.

  They congratulated her and invited her to join them. She was a “nice old bird,” as Phillip later remarked to Daisy.

  Arbuckle and the Gotobeds returned.

  “Nowt doing today,” Gotobed reported.

  “If you was to ask me,” said the blooming bride resentfully, “that American Riddman rigged it with the stewards. I ought to’ve won, if he hadn’t got hold of my number.”

  “You sold it to him, lass,” Gotobed reminded her with a smile. “And I seem to remember you were right pleased with the price he paid.”

  After glowering at him momentarily, she switched on a blinding smile and squeezed his arm. “That’s right, love; and after all, it was you bought the ticket for me in the first place. So kind he is to his little Wanda!” She mouthed a kiss at him, then turned her glowe
r on Miss Oliphant. “Hey, that’s my chair!”

  “I’m so sorry,” said the witch, flustered by the attack, and floundering as she tried to stand at the same time as retrieving her handbag from beneath the chair.

  Alec sprang up to lend her his arm, and Phillip knelt down to fish for her bag.

  “Don’t go, ma’am,” said Arbuckle. “We can easily get ahold of another seat.”

  “No, no, I really must go and tidy myself for lunch.”

  “Me too,” said Daisy, trying—as were all the rest—not to look at Gotobed’s red face. As she and Miss Oliphant walked towards the ladies’ room, Daisy apologised. “My fault. I should have offered you my chair, or Mr. Arbuckle’s.”

  “My dear, how could you have guessed that Mrs. Gotobed was so ferociously attached to that particular seat?”

  “I couldn’t, of course. After all, I only met her yesterday. But I’m afraid she seems to be rather on the look out for slights.”

  “Only natural in her position,” said the witch forgivingly. “Lavender, I think, to lift her spirits and calm her nerves. Perhaps even St. ’John’s-wort. It must be difficult for her, married to a gentleman so superior to her.”

  “Oh, but she’s not,” Daisy protested. “That is, Mr. Gotobed has lots of money now, but his antecedents are no better than hers.”

  “One cannot help but notice the influence of Yorkshire in his speech. However, I referred to his manners, not his birth.”

  “Only the most inveterate snob could hold his birth against him,” Daisy agreed. “From all I’ve seen, he’s thoroughly nice.”

  “So I have observed. I do not believe him a weakling, however, except in having married a … No, I must not cast invidious aspersions! But if I were her, I should take great care how I behaved in his presence.”

  “He’s no doormat,” Daisy agreed, “or he couldn’t have made his millions. You’re right, he worships the ground she treads; but it wouldn’t surprise me if he put his foot down if she carries on carrying on.”

  Mrs. Gotobed was quite subdued at lunch, so perhaps her husband had put his foot down. In fact, Alec told Daisy later that he had whisked her off willy-nilly to their suite on the specious excuse of changing his tie before lunch. She even invited Daisy and Gloria to call her Wanda, forcing them to reciprocate.

  After lunch, Alec and Daisy attended the dancing lesson, the teacher adding the tango to the curriculum. Alec emerged confident of having mastered the fox-trot. Daisy hoped she’d be able to follow his lead.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when he said apologetically, “I’m not sure I’m prepared to attempt the tango in public, not among experts like the Petries and the Gotobeds.”

  “Let’s not,” Daisy said fervently.

  Next on the programme came the life-boat drill. Wanda didn’t turn up.

  “She said she wouldn’t be seen dead in one of these hulking great things,” Gotobed explained, as they tried on the clumsy life-jackets under the direction of the second mate, Mr. Harvey. “Leastways, she wouldn’t be seen in one unless the alternative was imminent death.”

  “There are always a few who don’t come,” sighed Harvey. “Ladies who’d rather risk their lives than don anything so unfashionable, and men who refuse to be told what to do.”

  “That’s why Chester wouldn’t leave his blasted poker game.” Lady Brenda, who had created a fuss at the next boat station until she was transferred to Harvey’s boat, batted her eyelashes at him. “I’ll do anything you tell me,” she cooed, “but may I take it off now? It’s frightfully uncomfortable.”

  With great solicitude, he helped her undo the straps. If Wanda had bothered to attend, she could have learnt a lesson about making the best of the most unpromising occasion.

  Later that afternoon, Wanda did unbend sufficiently to join Gotobed and Arbuckle in a decorous game of shuffle-board, at which she proved surprisingly adept.

  “Not so surprising,” Gloria said when Daisy commented, as they watched. “Dancing in a chorus line, you’d have to make every move real precise, so your muscles and reflexes would get trained. I guess she’d be good at deck tennis, too, but I doubt she’ll play. It might mess up her hair-do.”

  Daisy giggled, but said, “We really must try to be more charitable to the blooming bride. We have the rest of the voyage to get through, and then you’ll be entertaining her at the other end, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Poppa invited Mr. Gotobed to stay before he married, of course; but he can’t very well take back the invitation, let alone exclude Wanda. You’re right, Daisy, I’ll try to like her. Come and have a game of tennis now. You’ll get better with practice.”

  “Not me! I’ve always been hopeless at sports, though I liked bicycling and climbing trees. Besides, what with playing this morning and dancing and everything, I’m going to be so stiff by tomorrow I shan’t be able to move.”

  “What you need’s a bit of gentle exercise to loosen up those muscles,” said Gloria ruthlessly. “Come on, I’ll coach you so when we play tomorrow you’ll dazzle them all.”

  “A hot bath, followed by poplar-bark salve,” came a murmur from behind.

  “Miss Oliphant!”

  “Sorry,” said the witch. “I do endeavour not to push my remedies, and I promised Dr. Amboyne …”

  “You’re not competing with him,” Daisy said, “since I wouldn’t go to him anyway, not for stiffness. Your prescription sounds much pleasanter than Gloria’s, though it doesn’t seem likely that the shop sells poplar salve.”

  “I can let you have some,” offered Miss Oliphant hesitantly.

  “Spiffing! Gloria, if the salve works, you can coach me tomorrow, I promise; but it really is time I did a bit of work before I forget my first impressions of the voyage. Lead the way, Miss Oliphant. I’ll stagger along after you.”

  In a third-class cabin shared with three strangers, the witch showed Daisy her medicine chest, a plain but well-polished teak box with a brass lock. It was lined with green plush, with dozens of blue glass vials and jars, neatly labelled, resting each in its own niche. Some of the labels were bright red, Daisy noted, perhaps those of dangerous herbs like foxglove which had both therapeutic and deadly qualities.

  No wonder herbalists had been regarded as witches with mysterious powers for good and evil. She wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of someone with that sort of knowledge.

  Luckily, Miss Oliphant was a good witch. She refused payment for the salve, saying, “You will not need a great deal. Rub a little into the stiff muscles and please return the rest.”

  “Of course. Thank you so much; it’s very kind of you.”

  Daisy left the jar in her cabin and went to the writing room. One wall, or bulkhead as it was called by those in the know, was devoted to the ship’s library. This was kept in glass-fronted cabinets, not because of its value—it consisted of all the books passengers had brought to read on board and not considered worth keeping—but to stop the volumes flying about in rough seas.

  The several writing desks, like the swivel chairs in front of them, were securely fastened to the deck. Like school desks, they had holes to hold sunken inkwells, with the addition of hinged caps to stop ink sploshing about in a storm. At one of the desks, Alec was already intent on the stacks of information his superiors at the Met considered necessary to his job in Washington.

  Daisy glanced around. All those reading and writing seemed to be minding their own business, so she kissed the back of Alec’s neck, where the crisp, dark hair she loved turned into tiny, curly wisps. He jumped.

  “Darling, I couldn’t resist. How is it going?”

  “Ghastly. Great Scott, they expect me to be a diplomat and a bureaucrat crossed with a don, not a policeman!”

  “What a frightful miscegenation! But I know you can handle it, darling. You’ll show Mr. Arbuckle’s J. Edgar Whatsit what’s what. I’ll leave you in peace—I’ve got to get deck tennis and life-boat drills and dancing lessons down on paper, and the auction pool Mr. Gotobed
explained to me. Not to mention fellow passengers!”

  “I wonder if I ought to warn them?” Alec mused.

  “Don’t you dare! They won’t be half so amusing if they know they might turn up in a magazine article. Names changed to protect the guilty, of course.”

  “I hope so. The A.C. would have a fit if you were sued for libel.”

  They both stayed there for a couple of hours. Daisy did not have to go in search of tea. A steward brought it around, complete with triangular, crustless cucumber and gentleman’s relish sandwiches, assorted biscuits, and those decorative petits fours which look so much better than they taste, as Daisy told herself firmly.

  In due time, she went down to bag the bathroom they shared with three other cabins. Whether it was the poplar-bark salve or simply the hot sea-water, she felt much less stiff after her bath. She returned to the cabin feeling able to face an evening of dancing.

  Under Lucy’s critical eye, Daisy had bought two new evening frocks for the trip. Both were simple, so that their appearance could be altered with a coloured scarf or a length of the newly fashionable coloured glass beads.

  The black she had worn last night. Tonight she put on the dark blue, silk charmeuse, the shade of the sky when the first stars come out. It consisted of a thigh-length tunic over a straight underskirt to just above the ankles, more flattering to her figure, according to Lucy, than anything with a belt around the hips.

  Alec came in just as she put a long string of azure blue beads over her head.

  “Just the colour of your eyes,” he said approvingly, kissing the tip of her nose. “You look stunning, love. Every man there will want to dance with you.”

  “Oh, gosh, I do hope not!”

  “Don’t sound so panic-stricken. We’ll tell them we’re still honeymooning.”

  Daisy breathed a sigh of relief.

  After dinner, they waltzed together to “Swanee River Moon,” watched a tango, then tackled a fox-trot while the tenor warbled some sort of twaddle with a chorus beginning, “Stealing, stealing with your eyes appealing …” Daisy didn’t think she utterly disgraced Alec, but in spite of his strong lead, she was so tense she was exhausted by the end.