by Carola Dunn
“Here’s your shield,” said Brenda, producing a round teatray covered with a Union Jack. “The steward gave us a broom-handle for a lance, but we’re still working on it.”
Resignedly, Daisy tried on the armour. There was one good thing about it: encased in cardboard and carrying lance and shield, she could not be expected to tango. She was glad, too, that the two girls were having fun, apparently unaffected by the unpleasant events around them.
“What are you going as, Birdie?” she asked.
“A bird, of course. One of the stewardesses gave us a feather boa a passenger left behind on the last voyage. And Gloria’s going to be a Glow-worm, only we’re having trouble fixing the electric torch inside her caterpillar costume.”
“I rather think glow-worms are actually beetles.” She had learnt that when writing her Natural History Museum article.
They stared at her in dismay. “Gee whiz!” said Gloria. “It’s too late to change. Never mind, I guess not many people know that.”
“Hardly anyone, I should think,” said Daisy, sorry she had spoken. “But if the torch won’t work, make a hookah and you can be the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland. I must go. Thanks for my costume—it’s spiffing. And thanks for not making me be a daisy, which is what I always ended up as when I was little. Gloria, do you know where your father is?”
“Poppa and Phil came for their coats; they were talking about going outside for some fresh air. There haven’t been any wild gusts in a while, and the ocean’s calmed some, too. But if you go after them, take care.”
On the way to fetch her coat, Daisy realized that the Talavera was once again forging steadily through regular swells. Their mischief done, wind and wave had subsided, or the ship had escaped beyond the patch of unruly weather. The thrumming of the engines held an urgent note. Captain Dane was doubtless trying to make up for lost time.
It was chilly outside, but the wind had died completely, and the only white froth on the sea was the wakes. Quite a few passengers had taken advantage of the improvement to go out on deck. Daisy found Arbuckle taking a turn around the boat-deck in Miss Oliphant’s company, while Phillip had coerced Riddman into a game of deck tennis. Chester Riddman actually appeared to be enjoying himself.
As expected, Arbuckle was highly indignant to hear his friend had been confined to his suite. “Gotobed wouldn’t hurt a fly! What in tarnation’s got into Fletcher’s head?”
Miss Oliphant said not a word, but her tightly folded lips expressed her feelings. Daisy hastened to remind them of Gotobed’s proximity to two men now dead.
“But unless he’s a homicidal maniac,” Arbuckle exploded, “why the heck would he wanna bump them off?”
“I would take my oath that Mr. Gotobed is not a maniac of any kind,” said Miss Oliphant quietly.
Daisy looked around. No one seemed to have noticed Arbuckle’s outburst. “If he did it, which I don’t believe any more than you do, he had a reason,” she said. “I can tell you, but only if you give me your word not to talk about it, even to each other. Because if he doesn’t know, then finding out would at best upset him, at worst just might really lead to murder.”
“Whatever it is, I do not wish to know,” Miss Oliphant declared. “I am prepared to trust Mr. Fletcher’s judgement that there may be good and sufficient reason. I believe I shall go in now. No doubt I shall see you both later.” With a slight bow, she turned towards the nearest companion-way.
Daisy was quite certain the witch had guessed that the imbroglio in which Mr. Gotobed found himself was at least partly his wife’s fault.
“I honour the lady for not prying,” growled Arbuckle, “but darn it, Gotobed’s my pal and I can’t defend him if I don’t know what’s what. I want you to give me the low-down. You have my word I won’t spill the beans.”
“I saw her talking with Pertwee and Welford the day after we sailed. Maybe flirting a bit, that’s all. There’s no evidence that there was ever anything more. But Pertwee was a good-looking chap in a way which might appeal to Wanda. Gotobed could easily misinterpret the situation. I never breathed a word to him, of course, nor to anyone but Alec; but as Alec says, other people must have seen them and someone might have mentioned it to him.”
“Gotobed wouldn’t kill a guy for making sheep’s-eyes at his wife!”
“But you must see that Alec couldn’t just ignore it,” Daisy argued.
“I guess not,” Arbuckle conceded.
“And he’s not resting on his laurels. He’s still investigating, and so is Sergeant Tring at home. There’s no proof Gotobed did in Pertwee and Welford, nor is there likely to be any; but with the circumstantial evidence, he simply can’t be allowed to go about as usual.”
“I guess not. Waal, you’ve given me plenty to think about, Mrs. Fletcher. I can go and see him, can I?”
“Oh yes. But do be careful what you say. And I shouldn’t go just yet if I were you. When we left them, they were being rather lovey-dovey.”
“Don’t sound to me like he thinks she’s been two-timing him!” Arbuckle exclaimed.
“Ah, but he knows he has her all to himself now.”
Daisy left him looking unhappy but thoughtful. She hoped he would come up with a way to exculpate Gotobed. Even if nothing was ever proved, having the suspicion of murder hanging over one for the rest of one’s life would be perfectly beastly.
In spite of the two fatal “accidents” aboard, the Fancy Dress Ball was to proceed as planned. When Daisy met Alec in their cabin to change for dinner—costume was not to be donned until after the meal—he refused categorically to wear his uniform as a Detective Chief Inspector of the Metropolitan Police, which he had brought in case he needed it in Washington.
“It’s not fancy dress,” he said.
“Most passengers don’t know that,” Daisy argued, working on his collar studs.
“They do now, since I interviewed the three who admitted having met Pertwee and Welford.”
“Oh yes, what did they say?”
“Nothing useful. One had chatted with them in the Smoking Room. The others had each played a game or two in Riddman’s suite and decided the stakes were too high. Ouch! I’ll tell you what, I’ll go as a plumber, in my shirtsleeves and no collar!”
“And the old boots and old trousers we brought for country walks, with string around the knees. Good idea! I bet Gloria will know where to get hold of a plumber’s wrench.”
Gloria did. She came to the ball with a torch hung around her neck and dangling inside her bright green caterpillar costume. Brenda had feathers sewn all over her frock, with wide feathered sleeves to flap and a cardboard beak protruding from her forehead. Arbuckle wore chaps, fringed buckskin vest, and what he called a bolo tie, acquired on a trip to the Wild West.
Miss Oliphant turned up in a borrowed ship’s boy’s uniform jacket and cap, worn over matching bloomers, announcing herself as a ship’s girl. She did not win a prize from the master of ceremonies, but Arbuckle awarded her a bottle of ginger wine.
Phillip and Riddman were the official winners of the group. They were a pair of charwomen, wrapped in bright, flowered overalls, with carpet slippers on their feet, flowered hats on their heads, and mops and buckets in hand. As they returned to their seats after accepting their prizes—a half-bottle of Scotch each—walking tipsily and pretending to swig from the bottles, the fog-horn’s mournful blast boomed out.
There was a sudden silence in the Grand Salon, followed by a collective groan.
“What next?” Arbuckle shook his head. “Storms, gales, people falling overboard and drowning. I’m beginning to think Gotobed’s right and I should invest in airplanes. What next?”
“Icebergs?” Brenda said with a shiver.
“Wrong season,” Arbuckle assured her. “The Titanic sailed in April, when the Arctic ice starts breaking up.”
“Wasn’t it the Republic which collided with another ship in a fog and sank?” Phillip asked tactlessly. Gloria pinched him, and he added hastily, “A
ll souls on board saved, as I recall. I must have been fourteen or fifteen, and I remember the excitement when the radio operator, Binns, got back to England. He was the hero of the hour.”
“He remained at his post on the sinking ship, guiding the Baltic to the rescue,” Miss Oliphant reminisced.
“I don’t suppose young Kitchener will get his chance to show equal heroism,” Alec said dryly. “The sea is wide and ships are small, and we are outside the usual shipping lanes because of avoiding that storm. Have you seen the wireless apparatus yet, Petrie?”
Phillip had visited Kitchener in his den, but Daisy had not, what with the weather and the events of the day. She resolved to go next morning, come hail, snow, hurricane, or iceberg—not to mention murder or mayhem—or it would be too late to fit it into her article.
The Talavera glided snail-like through a white nothingness. Up on deck, her throttled-back engines were no more than a whisper of vibration. The tops of the masts were invisible, the funnels wreathed in shifting veils. When Daisy looked over the side, she saw the tops of the swells emerging from the fog, one by one, dark and glassy as obsidian.
Every two minutes, the fog-horn wailed its warning. It reminded country-bred Daisy of a cow which had lost its calf—a very large cow. The sound reverberated, seemed to echo back off the all-enveloping fog. Presumably it penetrated at least far enough to warn off any vessel close enough to pose a danger.
The sound died away into a hushed stillness without a breath of wind, then once again blared forth. The damp cold seeped into Daisy’s bones. She went on to the wireless room.
Kitchener was delighted to see her and pleased to answer her questions, though because of the fog he never doffed his earphones. At intervals he tapped out the ship’s identification and position, but his fingers performed this exercise almost automatically, without interrupting the interview.
Now and then, the young wireless operator fell silent, listening intently for a minute or two. He explained that in bad weather a regular period was left clear of other messages to allow for emergency transmissions.
Daisy asked him about the sinking of the Republic in 1909. He was telling her the story of CQD Binns—CQD being the old emergency call letters, standing for Come Quick, Danger—when suddenly he stopped and held up his hand.
“SOS,” he hissed. He listened a moment longer. “Sorry, miss, you’ll have to go. I think we’re the nearest ship.”
18
The Talavera altered course and inched open her throttles. The first officer told the passengers, again herded into the Grand Salon, that they were heading for the spot where a freighter had holed the Garibaldi, an Italian emigrant ship.
Captain Dane had not ordered full speed ahead on the grounds that if his vessel came to grief, he could be of no service. Several hours must elapse before the Talavera reached the position of the disaster. However, the Garibaldi was sinking slowly, and its surviving passengers and crew were being transferred by life-boat to freighter, the Mary Jane.
“The Mary Jane is apparently seaworthy, but she has considerable damage to her bows, and of course she has no accommodations for passengers. We haven’t a great deal,” the first mate continued ruefully, “but at least we can give them all shelter from the elements. I understand there are over one thousand. All passengers who are willing to share their space are requested to give their names and cabin numbers to the Purser.”
“A thousand!” Daisy exclaimed. “And the Talavera has cabins for two hundred, most occupied. I suppose someone could sleep on the floor between our berths, darling.”
“At a pinch,” Alec agreed, and went to join the queue at the Purser’s table.
Arbuckle was first in line. Of course, he and the Petries had a sitting-room. So did the Gotobeds, neither of whom was present. Daisy decided to go down and ask whether they would be willing to put up some of the Garibaldi’s unfortunate passengers.
As she had rather expected, Gotobed was eager to do everything possible to help, while Wanda pouted and complained but gave in.
“I know you don’t feel very well, my dear,” Gotobed apologized, “but think of those poor souls, cold, very likely soaked to the skin, having lost all their possessions and nearly lost their lives. It is the least we can do.”
“I said all right, didn’t I? I’m going to lie down for a bit in the other room while we’ve still got some privacy. Daisy, can I have a word with you?”
Daisy followed her. Wanda sat down on the chaise longue, kicked off her shoes, and lay back. “Give us a fag,” she requested.
“Sorry, I don’t smoke. I didn’t think you did.”
“Dickie doesn’t like women smoking. It’s my nerves. I hardly slept a wink last night. Dickie doesn’t like me to take my powders.” She jumped up and started to pace in stockinged feet. “I can’t sit still.”
“Do you want to move to another cabin, after all? Or have Mr. Gotobed move? I’m sure it could be managed, even with …”
“No, no, I’m not afraid of Dickie. Daisy, is Miss Oliphant really hot under the collar?”
“She’s pretty upset with you,” Daisy said candidly. “Why? Do you want her to give you something to help you sleep? I should think she might.”
“Will you ask her to come and see me? You can tell her I want to say I’m sorry and I’ve changed my mind about you know what, if you think that’ll help.”
“I’ll ask her to come.” She was not prepared to pass on what she suspected to be an insincere repentance.
In the sitting-room, Gotobed started to rise as she returned. He looked old and disheartened. She waved him back to his seat: “I’m just passing through. Wanda wants to consult the witch.”
His face brightened. “That’s grand. I have great faith in Miss Oliphant.”
As Daisy expected, Miss Oliphant bridled at Wanda’s request, but she softened when she heard of Gotobed’s confidence in her and agreed to go.
Daisy had found her with Arbuckle sitting in deck-chairs in the enclosed promenade. Many passengers were there, their numbers increased by those who had emerged from their cabins with the return of calm seas. Others were outside, standing at the rail, peering fruitlessly into the fog.
“Gloria and Phillip are out there,” Arbuckle said to Daisy as Miss Oliphant left them, “with Lady Brenda and Riddman. That young fella seems to have gotten his act together some.”
“Yes, he’s pulled his socks up since Alec’s heart-to-heart, and Brenda seems as keen on him as ever. I wonder whether their quarrel was a storm in a tea-cup or if there’s trouble ahead.”
“Don’t you worry your head about it, honey.”
“I don’t, not really. I’m just sorry for Mr. Harvey. I suppose his duties kept him from spending enough time with her to win her over.”
“He’s better off without her,” said Arbuckle cynically. “She’s an expensive and flighty young lady.”
“I expect you’re right. Do you happen to know where Alec is?”
Arbuckle shook his head. “I can tell you where he isn’t: in the Grand Salon. It’s off limits. They’re preparing it to house twelve hundred unexpected passengers.”
The Talavera carried few spare mattresses and no great stock of blankets. Many passengers had volunteered to give up a blanket or two and bedspreads, and all the clean sheets and towels in the ship were added to the collection. The Purser had sent out an appeal for clothes. Daisy went down to the cabin and sorted out a few things she thought she and Alec could spare. She made sure they all had laundry marks, in case there was a chance they might be returned.
She had just started folding everything neatly when Alec came in. He looked at the small heaps on the bunks and said, “For the shipwreck victims? Good. Give them all my stiff shirts and collars. I’ll buy new shirts with attached soft collars when we get to New York. Riddman tells me they’re all the rage.”
“You’d better keep a shirt and a couple of collars for extra special occasions, darling,” Daisy said judiciously, “like the Ca
ptain’s dinner, though I suppose that will have to be cancelled.”
“Dane will be delighted. Oh, and you can give them that maroon cardigan. It’s warm but I can’t stand the colour. I’ve been looking for an excuse to get rid of it for years, only Mother knitted it.”
“I know, that’s why I didn’t put it out. Right-oh, all in a good cause, as long as when she asks where it’s gone you make it plain it wasn’t my idea. You’ve been talking to Riddman?”
“Just to see if he remembered anything else about Pertwee or Welford, which he doesn’t. Nor do the three men who admitted to having met them—or Pertwee at least—and a fourth has come forward who is no more helpful.” He sat down on a berth and watched Daisy folding. “If Tom doesn’t come up with something useful, I’m stymied.”
“You mean you’ll have to let Gotobed go?”
“I haven’t really much excuse for holding him now. Opportunity, yes. As for means: yes in Welford’s case—it would only have taken a good shove; but no proof he had a gun or any other means to cause Pertwee to fall. Motive: I’m inclined to believe Wanda that Pertwee was never her lover, so it comes down to the pair having been admirers, a decidedly feeble motive even if I had evidence that Gotobed knew.”
“Which you don’t.”
“Which I don’t.” Alec stood up. “I must go and talk to both of them again before chaos descends upon the ship. I’ll give you a hand carrying those up first.”
They delivered the clothes to the Purser’s office. Alec rejected Daisy’s offer to assist at the interviews with the Gotobeds, so she went to write up her wireless-room notes and add a bit about preparations for receiving vast numbers of refugees.
Then it was just a matter of waiting. Lunch was served to all first-class passengers in their cabins—Daisy and Alec joined Arbuckle and the Petries in their suite. A few others ate in the library at the desks, and everyone else balanced their plates on the arms of deck-chairs.
The rest of the voyage was not going to be comfortable. Fortunately, in spite of the many delays, the Talavera was expected to dock in New York just two days hence.