by Carola Dunn
By mid-afternoon, the majority of the passengers were outside standing at the bows or the front rail of the boat-deck. The life-boat crews gathered by their boats, ready to lower away. The fog had thinned since Daisy was out in it, or rather, it was now intermittent. Long patches, sometimes several hundred yards, were clear, with the sun just visible through a haze. The Talavera crept along, cutting through the sable waves. If the sinking ship was wallowing in the fog-bank ahead, Captain Dane was not risking his vessel running into it, errand of mercy or no.
“Hush!” someone shouted, and the chattering crowd grew still. “I thought I heard a fog-horn.”
The Talavera’s fog-horn hooted deafeningly just above them. Everyone laughed, then fell silent again, straining their ears. Faintly through the still air came a distant answer.
A moment later, the Talavera replied. At the same time she altered course slightly. As she steamed on, the far-off call grew gradually more distinct. Second Officer Harvey came running down the companion-way from the boat-deck and made the passengers move back from the bows, just as they plunged again into heavy fog.
Arbuckle stopped Harvey. “What’s the chance of us hitting one of those two ships?” he asked bluntly.
“Very little, sir. As you can tell, we are moving very slowly, but the Captain must take obvious precautions. The Garibaldi has been abandoned and the Mary Jane has no wireless, so our only contact, our only fix on their position now is the fog-horn.”
“No wireless,” Phillip exclaimed, “in this modern age!”
“Many freighters don’t, sir. Excuse me, I must get back to the bridge.”
The fog began to turn to drizzle, seeping down from the invisible sky. Many of the passengers headed indoors. Daisy was tempted, but the Mary Jane’s fog-horn was so clear now that the meeting was obviously imminent. She turned up her collar, wishing for a sou’wester.
The Talavera slid through the unravelling fog and suddenly emerged. Through the rain the intent watchers saw a small, broad-beamed ship, stern on. Every inch of its deck was crammed with people. When they saw the Talavera, a shout went up.
“Why, it’s nothing but a tramp steamer!” Arbuckle cried, as the Talavera abruptly reversed engines.
The crowd moved back to the rail. “Looks like a regular rust bucket,” said Riddman.
“Gee, those poor folks must be soaked to the skin,” Gloria commented.
“And freezing,” Daisy said with a shiver.
“I wonder whether anyone has thought to prepare hot drinks.” Miss Oliphant trotted off.
“Where’s the Garibaldi?” Brenda asked.
Alec pointed. Little more than superstructure, funnels, and masts was visible. The stricken vessel lay tilted, half of its upper deck under water, the rest awash. They regarded the sobering sight in silence for a moment.
Arbuckle shook his head sadly and said, “The Eyeties build those emigrant ships outa tinfoil. Fletcher, one of these days I wanna word with you about airplanes.”
“I merely flew them, sir.”
“So you can tell me about that side of things.”
“Look,” said Phillip, “there’s a couple of boats put off from the Mary Jane.”
The Talavera’s boats were swinging out and down. Soon the sea between the two ships was crawling with small craft. As the first boats from the freighter—one of her own and three of the Garibaldi’s—reached the side, Talavera crewmen saw their wretched cargo up the ladders. At the top, stewards helped them over the rail and hurried them inside. Then the pace of arrivals quickened. The stewards were busy settling people, and passengers started to lend a hand.
Alec and Arbuckle stationed themselves at the head of a rope-ladder. As each exhausted, shivering Italian reached them, they lifted them aboard. Every now and then a sailor swarmed up one-handed with a baby or small child under his arm.
Daisy’s knowledge of Italian was just enough to greet them, ask them to wait a minute, and then tell them to go with her. As soon as a small group gathered, she would escort them to the Grand Salon. It was there that she first saw Gotobed. His guard must have answered the call for all hands.
He saw her and came over to her. “I thowt happen I’d be able to help,” he said.
“You speak Italian, don’t you? I’d forgotten. If they don’t need you here—”
“A couple of the stewards know enough to cope.”
“—then I’m sure you’d be useful on deck. These poor people arrive so confused and disorientated, just having someone speak their language would ease their minds.”
He went with her. Thereafter, she saw him everywhere, tirelessly translating, reuniting separated families, holding babies or crouching to blot the tears of little children. What a pity Wanda did not want children!
The thought made Daisy wonder where Miss Oliphant was. Probably dispensing tea somewhere, perhaps with one of her remedies added to the warming brew.
Daisy lost count of the number of groups she had led inside. They were still coming, an unending stream as the little boats plied back and forth. Several injured people were hoisted up in slings and carried below to the unoccupied cabins, where Dr. Amboyne could tend them.
Gotobed approached Daisy again. “I’m afraid Wanda will take on, but it’s time to give up our sitting room. It’s getting right crowded in the Grand Salon. Would you mind, lass, going and warning her I’ll be sending summun down?”
Daisy’s fingers and toes were growing numb, and the drizzle, though light, was beginning to soak through her coat. She was glad of a respite, an excuse to stay in the dry and warm for more than a couple of minutes at a time. After delivering her next group, she went on down to the Gotobeds’ suite.
Her knock went unanswered. After a moment, she opened the door and went in. The door to the bedroom was ajar. From within came Wanda’s furious voice.
“I’ve wrecked two bloody nails trying to open the bloody porthole. I don’t give a damn what the bloody stewards are busy with, you get one in here right this minute.”
“But, madam,” Baines protested.
“Now, d’you hear me? And bring me some more seltzer water. Get a move on!”
Baines sped through into the sitting room. As she closed the door behind her, something crashed against it. Her lips tightened in her set face.
Seeing Daisy, she burst out, “I won’t put up with it! She’s never been easy, but this is the last straw. Soon as we get to New York, I’m leaving, and I’ll forfeit my wages ’stead of notice. There’re plenty of American ladies on this very ship’ve asked me if I’d like to work for them. And I’m sorry to let Mr. Gotobed down, who’s as nice a gentleman as can be, but I won’t put up with being thrown things at!”
“I don’t blame you,” Daisy sympathized, wondering whether there was any point in continuing with her errand with Wanda already in a terrific bait. “Perhaps I can open the porthole for her, at least.”
“Shouldn’t think so, madam, it’s ever so difficult without the steward’s special key. She says she’s too hot and she’s been drinking water like a whale.”
“Oh dear, does she look feverish?”
“She’s red in the face, madam, but I put it down to temper.”
“I dare say you’re right. I’d better ask her if she’d like me to send the doctor along, though.”
“Upon your head be it, madam. I’ll go and fetch her seltzer, but she’ll have to come out here to get it. I’m not going back in there to be thrown things at.”
The maid left. Daisy went to the inner door, knocked, put her head around the door, and said quickly, “Wanda, it’s Daisy. Would you like me to ask Dr. Amboyne …”
With a scream of rage, Wanda flung something at her. Daisy ducked and slammed the door shut. She heard whatever it was shatter against the wood.
Not a good moment to send down a distressed Italian family, and so she told Gotobed, not quite explaining that his wife was in the middle of a royal tantrum. Daisy was no keener than Baines on “being thrown things
at,” but Gotobed had troubles enough without hearing about it.
Dusk was closing in, an hour or so later, when he again approached Daisy. This time he shepherded a wet and weary youngish couple with two handsome and still lively boys of about Belinda’s age and a younger girl.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ferelli and the children will sleep in my suite,” he said. “Will you be so kind as to show them the way, Mrs. Fletcher? Please tell Wanda I’ll be down shortly, and ask her to make them comfortable—if you feel there’s any chance she might,” he added wryly.
“I’ll take them down,” Daisy agreed. She did not promise to speak to Wanda, half intending to show them in and flee. But when they reached the suite, Baines was peacefully sewing in the sitting room, so Daisy went in.
“Madam’s asleep,” said the maid.
“Good! I’m sure it’ll do her good.” In a mixture of Italian and sign language, Daisy explained the situation to the Ferellis, warning them to keep quiet. She asked Baines to fetch them towels and hot drinks and do anything else she could for them. “Mr. Gotobed will be down very soon. The last two boatloads are on their way. Can you manage till he comes?”
“Certainly, madam.”
“I’ll just peek in and make sure Mrs. Gotobed is sleeping soundly.” Turning to the Ferellis, Daisy put her finger to her lips. She tiptoed to the bedroom door, inched it open, and looked in. Wanda, sprawled untidily on the bed amid rumpled blankets, did not stir. Her tantrum must have worn her out.
Daisy was pretty worn out, too. Deciding she had done her bit, she went along to the cabin. A harassed-looking stewardess was just coming out.
“Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, madam, I’m that glad you’ve come. Maybe you can do something with her.” She hoicked a thumb over her shoulder. “Her name’s Loochiya Crochet, or something like. I’ve got her into dry clothes, but she won’t do anything but cry.”
Daisy suppressed a sigh. She had forgotten that she and Alec had volunteered to take someone in. Squaring her shoulders, she went in.
Lucia Croce was small, plump, and scarcely more than a child. In donated tweeds too large for her and utterly inappropriate for her olive-skinned southern prettiness, she huddled on one of the fold-down seats, a steady stream of tears flowing down her cheeks. As a first step, Daisy gave her a hankie.
Asking what was the matter stretched Daisy’s Italian. From the passionate flood of words which followed, she managed to extract two, frequently recurring, “mio marito.”
Obviously Lucia, who looked far too young to be married, was worried about her husband. Daisy assumed they had been parted in the exodus from the Mary Jane. Her heart sank at the prospect of trying to find one young man amongst the crowds. But what if she had guessed wrong, if Mr. Croce awaited his bride in New York and she was only concerned for his feelings when he heard the Garibaldi had sunk?
Gotobed could find out. Telling Lucia to come with her, Daisy headed back to the Gotobeds’ suite.
Gotobed opened the door. Behind him was a lot of excited chatter, including the shrill voices of the boys. No sign of Wanda, though, Daisy was relieved to see. She explained her problem and Gotobed asked Lucia a question. He listened intently to the ensuing flood. The Ferellis gathered around, making soothing noises.
“Her husband was hurt in the collision,” Gotobed explained to Daisy. “Since she has not been reunited with him, she’s afraid he is dead.”
“Oh, poor thing! He’ll be in one of the spare cabins, under Dr. Amboyne’s care.”
“I think I’d better take her along to find him. Mrs. Fletcher, I can’t wake Wanda and I’m a bit concerned. Would you take a look at her for me?”
“Of course, but I expect she’s just taken one of her powders. Perhaps she took what Miss Oliphant gave her, too, and they’ve reinforced each other. Thanks for dealing with Lucia.”
Wanda was still sprawled on the bed in much the same position. No doubt her husband had been too gentle with her, trying to wake her by talking to her. Daisy had no objection to giving her a good shaking, but she started by calling her name. No reaction, not so much as the flicker of an eyelid.
Daisy sat on the edge of the bed and took Wanda’s hand. It was hot and dry, as was her forehead. Her breathing seemed unnaturally rapid. Beginning to worry, Daisy felt for a pulse in her wrist. That too, when at last she found it, seemed too fast and weak.
On the bedside table stood an empty tumbler. Beside it lay a ship’s stationery envelope and a torn paper, the kind used to hold medical powders, with a few white grains clinging to it. Alarmed now, Daisy picked up the envelope. Inside was greenish stuff which looked like chopped-up leaves, like one of Miss Oliphant’s remedies. She sniffed and decided it smelt just like the lemon balm tea she had drunk a few days ago.
But she could not forget what Wanda had said about the witch being out to catch a husband.
“Baines, will you come and sit with Mrs. Gotobed? I’m afraid she’s ill, and I don’t want to leave her alone while I go for the doctor.”
Daisy headed for the doctor’s office. If he was not there, as seemed likely, she ought to be able to find out where he was. On the way, she came across Alec and Miss Oliphant talking together in the corridor.
As soon as he saw her face, he asked, “What’s wrong, Daisy?”
“Darling, I’m so glad I found you. I may be making a mountain out of a molehill, but …”
“I’ll leave you,” said Miss Oliphant tactfully.
“Oh no, please stay. You may be able to help. Wanda seems to be in a sort of stupor—I can’t wake her. I’m pretty certain she’s taken at least one of her powders, and she may have taken lemon balm, too, if that’s what you gave her, Miss Oliphant.”
“I told her not to mix them!” exclaimed the witch. “Lemon balm on its own is entirely harmless, but one can never be sure of the effects of untested combinations of medications. Fetch Dr. Amboyne. I shall go to her at once.” She set off at a near trot.
“Is Wanda alone?” Alec asked.
“No, Baines is with her. I was just going for Dr. Amboyne.”
“Where’s Gotobed?”
Daisy explained about Lucia Croce. “So he’s probably with the doctor now. He’ll come straight back when he hears about Wanda. He was already concerned about her.”
“I’ve been wondering whether she takes something else, whether she’s addicted to hashish or cocaine. Have you noticed her dilated pupils?”
“I think that’s from the eye-drops she uses. Alec, you don’t suppose Miss Oliphant gave her the wrong stuff? By mistake, of course.”
“Of course. Go and get the doctor.” Alec strode swiftly after Miss Oliphant.
19
Alec was damp to the skin and tired from the unaccustomed exertion of hauling the Garibaldi’s passengers over the rail. With the last of them brought aboard, he had gone down to change. When he’d met Miss Oliphant, he’d stopped for a moment to exchange impressions of the rescue. He had been about to go on, hoping to find Daisy in their cabin, when she had arrived looking disturbed.
Now, dampness and fatigue forgotten, he hurried towards the Gotobeds’ suite, considering the hint Daisy had reluctantly voiced.
Miss Oliphant as murderess? Surely she had not shot Pertwee, and she had certainly not pushed Welford down the companion-way. Could she have deliberately poisoned Wanda? The animosity between them was as obvious as the sympathy between Miss Oliphant and Gotobed. Daisy had told him of Wanda’s accusations that the old maid was husband-hunting and would not turn up her nose at a millionaire, American or English.
Wanda was inclined to speak without taking into account the effect of her words. Had she said something to Gotobed which had led him to believe she was romantically involved with Pertwee? Or had Gotobed seen them together and reached his own conclusions?
Either would explain Pertwee’s murder—which still left the puzzles of Welford’s fatal and Denton’s near-fatal plunges.
In any case, Gotobed was the obvious villain where Pertwee was concer
ned and the only possible murderer if Welford had been murdered. But would he poison his wife, whom he seemed genuinely to love in spite of her faults? Or had Miss Oliphant given her some dangerous herb?
Always supposing she had in fact been poisoned. Alec hoped it was a false alarm, a mountain created by Daisy out of a molehill. More than likely, Wanda had simply taken too many of her sleeping powders.
At that point in his reflections, Alec caught up with Miss Oliphant at the door of the suite.
“I knocked, Mr. Fletcher. There is no answer.”
“We’ll go in. This is no time to stand on ceremony.” He opened the door. “Great Scott!”
Five pairs of dark eyes stared at him.
“I’d forgotten Gotobed offered to take in a family.”
“I speak a little Italian,” said Miss Oliphant. “I shall endeavour to explain our presence. You had better go straight to Mrs. Gotobed. Call me if matters appear urgent.”
Alec went through to the bedroom. Wanda lay on the bed with the counterpane spread loosely over her. The lady’s maid stood up.
“Mrs. Baines?” It never hurt to give a woman a courtesy title, however she was normally addressed, and Mrs., if wrong, was less likely to give offence than Miss. “I’m Alec Fletcher. Has Mrs. Gotobed’s condition changed since my wife left?”
“It’s Miss Baines, sir. She hasn’t changed, not so’s you’d notice. But then, I’m not a nurse. She hasn’t moved a muscle, that I can tell you.”
“Thank you.” Alec checked Wanda’s pulse and found it weak and fast but steady. Deciding to take advantage of Miss Oliphant’s being delayed, he picked up a scrap of paper from the bedside table. “Can you tell me what this is?”
“It looks to me like she took one of her powders, sir, to help her sleep. She was in a bit of a state earlier. I s’pose she thought a good nap would set her to rights.”
“No doubt. And this?” He held up the envelope.
“That’s what Miss Oliphant gave her, sir. I don’t think she can’ve had any of that, because she’d’ve had to send me for hot water, which she didn’t. It’s a sort of herbal tea. There’s no tea-pot nor cup and saucer like the steward would have brought, either, besides them all being so busy with those poor shipwrecked souls.”