No! thought Maisie. She could not follow him, for that would make her intentions obvious to everyone else at the table. She resolved to repair to the library as soon as decently possible, and make sure that Mr Hamilton really was there.
Of course, he was not. Maisie stood at the door for a full minute, scanning the various curved backs and bent heads, but of Mr Hamilton there was no sign. Next she tried the music room, and made the same discovery.
I have lost him.
He was not anywhere to be found on the promenade deck, either. Perhaps, you goose, he is writing business letters in his cabin, Maisie told herself. But why can’t he write his letters in public like everyone else? What is so secret about his business correspondence? Furtive, I tell you. And in a fine state of indignation she went to fetch her journal, and spent a satisfying hour in the library noting down various well-argued points against Mr Hamilton.
That gentleman appeared punctually at lunch, and again did not contribute to the conversation one bit. Most people spoke of the news they had received from their nearest and dearest, or the pleasantness of the weather, but Mr Hamilton bothered with none of that, giving his attention to his sag aloo and mutton sukka, except when addressed directly.
The man is like an oyster, thought Maisie. She had never liked oysters. Unpleasant, slippery things.
After lunch she took her usual walk on the promenade deck and somehow found herself watching Jasper Randall, who was playing skittles with a passenger Maisie didn’t know. When he saw her he tipped his cap, said, ‘I need a breather,’ to his companion, and joined her on one of the conveniently-placed deckchairs. ‘Warm, isn’t it, Miss Frobisher?’ he said, taking off his cap and pushing back his chestnut-brown hair. Maisie wished that he would not replace his cap, but he did.
‘It is, rather,’ said Maisie. ‘But I find it delightful in comparison with our British climate.’
‘That is true,’ he said, laughing. ‘So cold, damp and unpleasant.’
‘Yes,’ said Maisie. ‘Tell me, Mr Randall, how do you find Mr Hamilton?’
Her companion gave her a sly glance and chortled. ‘I don’t find him at all,’ he said. ‘He is hard to get to know. But I think he is just solitary in nature. After all, he has a cabin to himself. I much prefer to room with somebody.’
‘Perhaps he has nobody to room with,’ said Maisie. ‘I am in the same situation.’
‘But that is different, Miss Frobisher,’ said Mr Randall. ‘You are a young lady, and your friends may not be in a position to accompany you on a sea voyage. For us men there is always a chap from the club, or from school, or who was once in a boating party with you, who is genuinely glad to come along and share your adventure.’
‘Is that what happened with you and Mr Merritt?’ asked Maisie.
Mr Randall looked a little uncomfortable. ‘More or less,’ he said, then lowered his voice. ‘To be perfectly frank with you, Miss Frobisher, I extended the invitation to young Merritt. I knew he was taking a position in Bombay, I had a mind to visit a friend out here and have some fun, and it seemed the right thing to do to offer him a bunk in my cabin, if you see what I mean.’
‘That is uncommonly kind of you,’ said Maisie.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ said Mr Randall with an embarrassed yet slightly proud smile on his face. Maisie noted approvingly that despite being a man, there was a faint hint of pink in his cheeks. ‘It’s what any good chap would do for a friend.’ A look of consternation crossed his face. ‘Please don’t say anything to Merritt or anyone else, will you, Miss Frobisher? If Christopher knew I’d mentioned it —’
‘No one will hear a word of it from me,’ said Maisie. ‘That I promise you.’
‘I had better get back to my game,’ said Mr Randall. He stood, tipped his cap to Maisie, and strolled to the arena of the deck sports.
What a nice man, thought Maisie, to help his friend in such a way without hope of return! She even felt some affection for Mr Merritt, as the object of Mr Randall’s friendship. Maisie allowed herself to watch Mr Randall play skittles for a while, bowling a very straight ball. He’s probably good at cricket too…
She came to with a start as eight bells chimed. Good heavens, afternoon tea! The promenade deck was deserted. And here am I dozing in a deckchair like an elderly dowager. Maisie felt slightly hurt that Mr Randall had not awakened her. Then again, what could he have done? He could hardly have touched her. Perhaps he had called her name, and receiving no response, decided that she needed to rest. Yes. That must be what it was.
Maisie was about to rise and hurry downstairs when the door from the cabin area burst open and Mr Smythe appeared. His face was dead white, and he was muttering to himself. He made straight for the staircase to the bridge, moving almost at a run. He had not seen Maisie.
Unable to stop herself, Maisie walked quietly along the deck, stood at the foot of the staircase, and listened. She did not have to climb a step to hear what was going on; Mr Smythe’s voice was all too clear.
‘Someone has broken into my cabin, I tell you! An important document has disappeared, and I shall not be answerable for the consequences.’
A pause, and then the captain’s voice, puzzled. ‘Are you sure that someone has broken in, Mr Smythe? Has a lock been forced?’
‘No, it has not! I went back to my cabin half an hour ago to pick up my Panama hat, and found it open!’
‘So you had left it unlocked?’ said the captain.
‘No!’ Mr Smythe insisted. ‘I made damn sure that door was locked after what happened a few days ago —’
‘What happened?’ the captain enquired.
Mr Smythe did not reply for a few seconds. Then he spoke as if the words had to be dragged out of him. ‘My wife thought some gimcrack jewellery had gone missing. I told her she was imagining things, but now I see she was right. She is so damn vague sometimes, how’s a man to know?’
‘Is it possible that you or your wife could have moved the document, or put it in a different drawer, and forgotten about it? Perhaps she has moved it, and forgotten to tell you,’ said the captain, in a reasonable tone.
‘Amelia is expressly forbidden to touch any documents relating to my work,’ said Mr Smythe grandly. Maisie could visualise him looking down his long nose at the captain. ‘That document was there after breakfast. I checked myself.’
The captain said something, but his voice was a little too low for Maisie to hear, and she essayed a step upwards. The metal creaked alarmingly, and a moment later two heads appeared.
‘Miss Frobisher, what are you doing here?’ snapped Mr Smythe. ‘You should be at afternoon tea, not eavesdropping on conversations which are not meant for your ears.’
‘Perhaps I can help,’ said Maisie composedly, ascending the stairs. She waited until she was at the top before speaking again. ‘Your wife, Mrs Smythe, confided in me about the missing jewellery. I advised her she should inform the captain, but obviously she did not follow my advice. However, following our conversation I have been observing our fellow-passengers, and I have noted suspicious behaviour on the part of Mr Hamilton. He is on business — yet none of us know what it is. He is travelling alone, with nobody to track his movements. He was late to breakfast this morning, and left early. After breakfast he disappeared completely from view till lunch. And what I find perhaps most interesting is that he said he had business in Marseilles which obliged him to go off alone, yet when Miss Jeroboam and I returned to the ship there he was, despite having said that he might meet us for coffee. I don’t believe he left the ship at all! He was probably looking for an opportunity to enter your cabin.’ Maisie, pleased with herself at this clear account of matters, nodded. ‘Therefore, captain, I think you should apprehend Mr Hamilton without delay and conduct a search of his rooms. No doubt you will find the missing jewellery and the document in his possession.’
‘I see,’ said the captain. ‘And you are sure of your facts, Miss Frobisher?’
‘Absolutely,’ replied Maisie.
‘Well, Miss Frobisher,’ said Mr Smythe, ‘I am indebted to you for your powers of observation. Hopefully this matter will have a speedier resolution than I feared.’
The captain appraised Maisie for some seconds before beckoning a steward towards him. ‘Please could you ask Mr Hamilton to come up to the bridge,’ he said.
It was all Maisie could do not to gloat openly. That rude, ill-bred man would be unmasked as a thief, and she had done it! What a letter I shall write to Connie! Perhaps when my adventures are done I can help her with her detective work, if they have a particularly difficult case on hand.
She did not have to wait long for her victory. Within a few minutes the door onto the promenade deck creaked open and a measured tread advanced towards the bridge. The first step creaked in exactly the same way as it had when Maisie placed a foot on it, and Maisie hid a smile as first the dark hair, then the well-suited form of Mr Hamilton came into view.
‘Captain Carstairs,’ he said, ‘I believe you wanted to see me.’
‘That’s right,’ said the captain. ‘Rather a strange situation has come to light. Miss Frobisher, Mr Smythe: Inspector Hamilton.’
Chapter 6
In that moment Maisie understood what it must be like to be a fish, rudely plucked from one’s ocean home and forced to breathe an entirely new element. ‘You’re a — a policeman?’ she gasped.
‘I am afraid so,’ said Mr — Inspector Hamilton, gravely.
‘Why aren’t you wearing a uniform?’ She could not keep a note of accusation out of her voice.
‘Because I am not currently at work,’ he replied. ‘Do you suppose that the captain here wears his epaulettes to bed, or at dinner parties?’
Maisie looked at the captain, who appeared to be having difficulty keeping his face straight. ‘I think that is rather underhand of you,’ she scolded.
‘I must say,’ said Mr Smythe, glaring at Inspector Hamilton, ‘if I had known we had a policeman on board, things might have been considerably more straightforward.’
‘As it happens,’ said the inspector, ‘I did know about the jewellery.’
Maisie stared at him. ‘How?’
‘On the day when Mrs Smythe took you into her confidence, I had noticed that she seemed particularly anxious to get hold of you. Therefore I excused myself early from the smoking-room conversation to contemplate the sea, which I did outside the saloon. The window had been left slightly open to let in the refreshing sea breeze, and I do not think I need to say more.’
‘So that’s why you were sneaking around!’ cried Maisie.
‘I prefer to think of it as conducting a covert investigation,’ replied the inspector.
‘Well, what’s to be done now?’ said Captain Carstairs.
‘Now that the matter is out in the open,’ said Inspector Hamilton, giving Mr Smythe a significant look, ‘there is no time to be lost. Missing costume jewellery is one thing; missing diplomatic documents are quite another. Might I enquire … but no, that is best done privately,’ he said, with a glance at Maisie. ‘The first thing to do is establish when the document might have been taken, and then ascertain who was in a position to take it. Mr Smythe, please will you ask your wife to join us?’ The inspector turned to the captain. ‘Captain Carstairs, is there a room that I may use? An empty state room, perhaps?’
‘Unfortunately all the first-class state rooms are occupied,’ said the captain. ‘My sitting room is probably the best place to conduct such a conversation. I can station a steward outside the door of my quarters.’
‘Thank you, captain. I’m sorry to put you to such inconvenience.’ Inspector Hamilton’s glance fell on Maisie. ‘Miss Frobisher, I am not quite sure how you come to be here at this time, but I must swear you to secrecy, at least for the time being. I am sure that the captain will not want what has happened to be common knowledge throughout the ship.’
‘Indeed, no!’ cried both the captain and the ambassador.
‘Of course, once we have identified potential suspects we shall interview them,’ said the inspector. ‘However, until then I see no reason to broadcast what has happened. Mr Smythe, I shall expect to see you and Mrs Smythe in the captain’s quarters in fifteen minutes. Miss Frobisher, you may go.’
Mr Smythe turned without a word and began to descend the steps. Maisie found herself following. Her head spun, and she gripped the handrail to steady herself. Mr Hamilton a policeman! And what was a police inspector doing at the captain’s table? A friend of the captain, no doubt, she thought sourly. He probably receives preferential treatment. Then she recalled the inspector’s well-cut suit, and frowned.
When Maisie reached the promenade deck, she took a few seconds to compose herself before making her way down to the dining room. It was easy to explain her slightly dishevelled appearance by saying that she had fallen asleep and only just realised what time it was. She was glad to secure a plate of finger sandwiches and a cup of weak Earl Grey tea, and sit quietly with Miss Jennings. She observed the easy chatter among the ladies, the talk of hats and the latest plays, and wondered how that would change when what she knew came to light.
***
Maisie had expected that nothing would happen until the following day. She was astonished when, as she was about to commence dressing for dinner, a light knock sounded at the door of her cabin. Ruth peered round the door, and Maisie heard the deferential tones of a steward. ‘Please can you wait a minute,’ said Ruth and, closing the door, bustled over to her mistress.
‘The steward said you are wanted in the captain’s quarters, Miss Frobisher.’ It was not a question; but Ruth’s eyebrows were doing their best to make it one.
Maisie sighed and got up, giving her blue silk a regretful glance. ‘Hopefully I shall not be kept too long,’ she said.
The steward escorted her across the quiet promenade deck, up to the bridge, and they approached a door that Maisie had never noticed before. She was at the rear of the ship now. They went down a short corridor and arrived at a door marked CAPTAIN. The steward knocked, and a voice which Maisie recognised — not the captain’s voice — said ‘Come!’
The steward opened the door, bowed Maisie in, and shut it gently behind her.
Inspector Hamilton was sitting at a mahogany desk in the corner of a sizeable parlour, and stood as she approached. ‘Miss Frobisher, do take a seat.’ A chair was placed ready on the other side of the desk.
Maisie took her time settling herself in the chair and arranging her skirts. ‘Are you quite ready?’ inquired the inspector, his face expressionless.
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Maisie. ‘You may begin.’
‘Thank you so much, Miss Frobisher.’ The inspector drew a sheet of paper towards him and uncapped his fountain pen. ‘So… Interview with Miss Maisie Frobisher at 6:15 pm, 29th September 1893.’ He looked up from the sheet of paper. ‘Miss Frobisher, please tell me your movements between the times of ten am and four pm today.’
Maisie’s eyebrows rose of their own accord. ‘I’m a suspect?’
‘Not necessarily,’ said the inspector. ‘If it turns out that you were not in a position to steal the ambassador’s papers, then of course you will be free of suspicion.’
‘But why would I do such a thing?’ Maisie cried. ‘Why would I want to steal a stupid document?’
‘At the moment I am interested in opportunity, not motivation,’ said the inspector. ‘Every first-class passenger could advance the same argument as to why it couldn’t possibly be them.’ He smiled. ‘Your answer please, Miss Frobisher.’ He sat, calm, composed, his pen hovering above the page.
Maisie felt herself growing warm as she remembered her fruitless quest to smoke the inspector out this morning. He didn’t need to know that, though. ‘I did what I usually do. After morning coffee I spent time on the promenade deck and then wrote in the library till lunch. I was on the promenade deck again after lunch, and I fell asleep until the bells woke me for tea.’
‘Can anyone vouch for your
presence?’ The inspector was looking at Maisie rather keenly, and she squirmed.
‘I imagine they would if you asked them,’ she said.
‘But can you be definite about that?’
‘Anyone who took coffee with me can vouch for that. There were other people in the library. And I talked to Mr Randall on the promenade deck.’
She watched the inspector’s pen scratch rapidly at the paper. ‘I shall check that,’ he said, laying down his pen. ‘Now we move on to a slightly different matter. Miss Frobisher, I understand from the captain that you had engaged in observing your fellow-passengers, following Mrs Smythe’s confidence to you a few days ago. Please can you inform me of the result?’
‘To be quite frank,’ said Maisie, ‘I thought you were the most likely culprit, since I had seen you sneaking around, not keeping your appointments, and arriving late to meals.’
The inspector gave her a steady look. Unlike Mr Randall, there was no hint of colour in his cheeks, which remained pale. The man doesn’t care a bit what I think of him!
‘I see,’ he said eventually. ‘Was I your sole suspect?’
Maisie could feel her own cheeks growing warm. ‘I did wonder about Mr Merritt. He clearly doesn’t have much money; you only have to look at his suit to see that. And Mr Randall told me —’
‘Mr Randall told you what?’ The inspector leaned forward.
‘I can’t say. I would be breaking a confidence.’
‘Would you prefer me to ask Mr Randall what he told you concerning Mr Merritt?’ The inspector’s voice was smooth as velvet; as a cat’s paw before the claws come out.
Maisie bit her lip. ‘Will you promise that, if I tell you, you will not divulge the source of your information?’
The inspector considered. ‘If I can manage without doing so, then I shall. And if you do not tell me, I shall ask the two gentlemen for clarification.’
All at Sea Page 4