‘Lack of sleep,’ said Maisie. ‘A touch of indigestion, I think.’
Miss Jeroboam looked at her keenly. ‘I suppose a diet of exclusively Indian fare might unsettle one,’ she said.
‘What do you think about this business?’ Maisie asked, on impulse.
‘Are you gathering views?’ Miss Jeroboam laughed. ‘I saw you with Mrs Fortescue and the Jenningses yesterday evening, and I did wonder if you were putting your heads together.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Maisie. ‘Discussing our experiences, perhaps.’
‘I see.’ Miss Jeroboam’s eyes twinkled. ‘I think it is a storm in a teacup. The ambassador has probably mislaid whatever it is, and is making a fuss to cover up his own mistake. I dare say it will come to light under a newspaper, or in a drawer, and no one will be any the worse for it.’ She checked her watch. ‘Speaking of indigestion, as we were a moment ago, I believe it will be time for breakfast in approximately fifteen minutes.’
‘Oh, good heavens!’ cried Maisie. ‘I must go and dress properly. Goodbye for now, Miss Jeroboam.’
Luckily Ruth was waiting in her cabin, looking impatient. ‘The steward let me in,’ she said. ‘Eventually. I had to convince him that I was really your maid.’ She frowned. ‘Everyone’s very … cagey.’
‘If I appear at breakfast in my current state,’ Maisie replied, ‘then I dare say I should be suspected of criminal activity.’ She sat down at the dressing table, and submitted to Ruth’s ministrations.
People seemed rather cheerful than otherwise at breakfast; Mrs Fortescue, particularly, was in high spirits. ‘Port Said today!’ she said, rubbing her hands. ‘I cannot wait to see the Pyramids again.’
‘Oh, the Pyramids!’ exclaimed Mrs Jennings. ‘If there is one thing I have always longed to see, it is the Pyramids.’
Captain Carstairs opened his mouth, then at a significant look from Inspector Hamilton closed it.
‘Are you booked on the excursion, Mrs Jennings?’ asked Mrs Fortescue.
‘I think so,’ replied Mrs Jennings. ‘I shall ask when we are finished here.’
‘Do,’ replied Mrs Fortescue. ‘Maybe we can get up a small party. I shall be in the library after breakfast finishing off my letters for port, so you can find me there.’
Maisie glanced at the inspector; but his face was as unreadable, and as pale, as a blank sheet of paper.
Her suspicions were confirmed when, having returned to her cabin to fetch her novel, a smart knock was followed by an envelope pushed under the door.
Maisie opened the envelope and unfolded the note. The paper was headed From the Captain, and the note was typewritten.
I regret to inform you that today’s excursion to Cairo and the Pyramids has been cancelled. Due to pressure of time, only those passengers who are leaving the ship at Port Said will be able to disembark.
I also regret to inform you that, partly due to the volume of mail to be delivered, no further letters can be taken ashore.
I am sure that you will understand the reasons for this decision, and I appreciate your cooperation.
Yours sincerely,
Captain S Carstairs
Maisie reread the letter, put it back in its envelope, then took her Bible from its shelf and placed the note at the beginning of Exodus. She was bitterly disappointed, but not surprised. Any letter sent to the post after the document went missing will not get ashore, she thought. She could understand why these precautions were taken; but all the same it was suddenly hard to breathe, and she sat down hurriedly. She picked up her novel and tried to read, but the letters danced in front of her eyes, rearranging themselves into words like confidential, and betrayal, and consequences, until she laid the book down again.
When she felt the ship beginning to slow, Maisie made for the promenade deck. She might not be able to leave the ship; but at least she could see the port. There was no preferential treatment for the captain’s table today, and she had to squeeze herself into a narrow space along with all the other first-class passengers.
‘What a mess,’ said Jasper Randall.
‘Were you looking forward to the excursion, Mr Randall?’ Maisie asked.
‘Indeed I was,’ he said, looking like a small boy deprived of a treat. ‘These careless ambassadors spoil things for everybody.’
‘Shush,’ muttered Maisie. ‘He might hear you.’
Mr Randall laughed. ‘He won’t,’ he replied. ‘He’s probably shut in his cabin. If he had done that for the first part of this voyage, we would all be preparing to disembark right now.’
The ship was barely moving. Maisie gazed at the bridge, where the captain’s straight-backed figure was clearly visible.
‘Did you get a little note, Miss Frobisher?’ Mr Randall murmured in her ear. His breath tickled.
‘Yes, I did,’ she said, and could not help smiling at the absurdity of it.
‘I imagine they did it so that there wouldn’t be an outcry at the breakfast table,’ said Jasper Randall. ‘I wonder what they’ve told the other passengers.’
‘Probably the same thing,’ said Maisie. ‘It was a very general message.’
The ship was in port; the anchor was lowered, and the gangway went down. ‘Those poor men and women,’ said Mr Randall. ‘I would wager ten pounds that their luggage has been taken apart and gone through until it would barely know itself. As for the poor passengers —’ He gestured at a huddle of people who did look rather ruffled, now Maisie came to think of it.
The passengers disembarked, watched closely by the second lieutenant, and their luggage was wheeled after them. ‘That’s probably taken hours to go through,’ chuckled Mr Randall. ‘No wonder we’ve all been kept on board.’
Maisie tore her gaze from the dejected shuffling of the persons leaving the ship, and focused on dry land. A small boy in a green jacket with gold braid and a matching cap was jumping up and down on the quay, waving a yellow envelope. He was shouting, too, but she was too far away to hear what he was saying.
Next came the sacks of mail, wheeled on trolleys by a procession of crew members. An official bearing a pennant stood with his own complement of men; and the mail was delivered.
‘That’s that, then,’ said Mrs Fortescue, sounding disgusted. ‘So much for Cairo.’
Once the second lieutenant had finished with the passengers and luggage, he walked across to the telegraph boy, towering over him. The boy stopped capering and stood still.
The second lieutenant held out his hand, and the little telegraph boy, speaking rapidly, put the yellow envelope into it and bowed low. The second lieutenant raised his hat a fraction and walked up the gangway, which was raised after him. A few minutes later he appeared on the upper deck, bearing the envelope, and handed it to the captain. But the captain did not open the envelope. Instead he spoke to the second lieutenant, who saluted and clattered down the steps to the promenade deck. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, making his way through the crowds, ‘excuse me, please,’ and vanished into the corridor leading to the first-class cabins.
‘What’s going on?’ asked the colonel, and was shushed by his neighbours.
All eyes were on the door, and were rewarded shortly afterwards when the lieutenant reappeared with Mr Smythe. His face was set and stern, as if he were about to face a great ordeal. He climbed the steps behind the lieutenant with the air of a condemned man.
The captain handed Mr Smythe the yellow envelope. He opened it and read the contents, then looked utterly lost. ‘They know — they know — but how?’ His legs gave way under him, and he fell to the deck.
‘Good heavens, he’s fainted!’ exclaimed the colonel, and no one shushed him this time.
Chapter 9
There were two empty places at the captain’s table again when Maisie arrived for dinner. Everyone was doing their best to ignore them, turning from the empty chairs and making conversation with their neighbour about anything and everything.
Maisie saw a change in Miss Jeroboam’s face, as
her gaze shifted from her neighbour to a spot beyond the table. ‘Mr Smythe!’ she said. ‘We are glad to see you.’
The whole table gazed at the ambassador and his wife as they approached the table. Both seemed striving to appear normal; but Maisie could see in the set of both their shoulders how difficult it was for them.
‘Thank you, Miss Jeroboam,’ replied Mr Smythe. ‘I am sorry that we are a little late.’
‘We were worried, you know,’ scolded Mrs Fortescue. ‘When you were carried off on that stretcher —’
Mr Smythe held up a hand. ‘I would rather not speak of it. A momentary indisposition, I assure you.’ A steward was at his elbow the moment he took his seat and after a brief exchange, brought him his starter and a glass of wine. ‘If I may, I should like to propose a toast,’ said Mr Smythe, raising his glass. ‘To the cruise!’
‘To the cruise,’ the rest of the table echoed, in tones ranging from enthusiasm to doubt.
‘Good,’ said Mr Smythe, and drained his glass. ‘I intend to enjoy the rest of the voyage, and I hope you do too.’ The steward refilled his glass.
‘David, please —’ said his wife, putting her hand on his arm.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ he replied, not looking at her. ‘If this is my last posting, I may as well make the most of it. What about some dancing tomorrow night, Captain?’
The captain started. ‘Dancing? Why yes, I suppose we could.’
‘Excellent. Dancing it is.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Amelia, you can organise something, can’t you? Dance cards, or a programme, or…’ He waved his hand vaguely.
His wife looked down at her plate, where her starter sat untouched.
‘And we shall have the excitement of the Suez Canal tomorrow, shan’t we?’ Mr Smythe nodded in satisfaction. ‘I think a dance will round that off nicely.’ He took another draught of his wine, and began to eat his food with appetite.
Maisie tore her gaze from the ambassador and focused on her own food, eating almost automatically. Her mind was in a whirl. What had been in that telegram? Who had sent it? She had wondered if it could be family news — it clearly was not. It was something to do with the missing document. She was scared to muse on it at the dinner table, in case she spoke her thoughts out loud. Instead she stole glances at her fellow-passengers. The colonel and Mrs Fortescue seemed merely glad that the Smythes were back at the table. Mrs Jennings looked as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders — what was that about? Mr Randall and Mr Merritt seemed entirely their usual selves, as did Miss Jeroboam. When she looked at the inspector she met his eyes, and looked away again hurriedly. She felt the warmth rising in her, stealing up her neck to her face, and prayed that there was no outward sign of it. She concentrated on her food until her plate was empty.
Everyone was on the promenade deck in readiness the next day, and there was no need for the captain to summon anybody. In fact, Mrs Fortescue had knocked on Maisie’s cabin door herself. ‘I hope you don’t mind, my dear,’ she said, ‘but Suez is a sight well worth seeing, and I should not want you to miss it.’
‘What is it like?’ asked Maisie.
A series of expressions flitted across Mrs Fortescue’s face. ‘Indescribable,’ she said.
And now they were approaching the passage. Maisie clutched at Mrs Fortescue’s arm in a sudden panic. ‘We won’t fit through!’ she cried. ‘The ship is too wide!’
Mrs Fortescue patted her hand. ‘I felt just the same my first time. Don’t worry, Miss Frobisher, we shall fit. Captain Carstairs has probably been through the canal more times than you have had a hot dinner, young lady.’
I hope you’re right, thought Maisie, as the channel approached. She held her breath as the ship eased into it.
‘There,’ said Mrs Fortescue, triumphantly. ‘What did I tell you?’
‘What happens if we meet another ship?’
Miss Jennings made an inarticulate noise, said ‘Excuse me,’ and hurried away with Mrs Jennings in hot pursuit.
‘Now this,’ said Mr Merritt approvingly, ‘is a miracle of engineering. What wonderful things man can achieve when he puts his mind to it!’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Randall. ‘Shortening the journey to India for lazy beasts like me.’
‘That canal caused all sorts of trouble, you know,’ said the colonel. ‘Nearly sunk the company. Wrong sort of ships, you see. Had to build new ones with shallow bottoms.’
His wife nudged him and giggled. ‘You and your history, Alfred. No one cares about that.’
The colonel drew himself up. ‘Well, they should,’ he said, looking very military all of a sudden. ‘We can learn a lot from history.’
Maisie gazed at the shore, where a little village sprawled. Two children jumped up and down and waved, and she waved back. ‘It’s incredible,’ she breathed.
‘Yes,’ said Jasper Randall. ‘If I ever want to know what it’s like to be trapped in a long pipe, this is what I shall think of.’
Maisie stared at him. ‘Does it not stir your emotions?’ she asked.
Laughing, he shook his head. ‘Merely a lot of men with tools and machines.’
‘That is what makes it so incredible,’ said Mr Merritt.
Maisie peered at the long stretch of water before them and shivered, despite the warm day. ‘It’s so odd,’ she said.
‘Here.’ The inspector was beside her, offering an afghan.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him, and wrapped herself in the cosy wool.
‘We’re fairly in now,’ said the colonel, squinting ahead. ‘And we won’t be out for some time.’
‘So perhaps we should go and get ready for merriment,’ said Miss Jeroboam.
‘Oh yes!’ exclaimed Maisie, clapping her hands. ‘I love dancing. Tell me, what is the etiquette? Do we dress for a ball? Do we dress before dinner?’
‘So many questions!’ said Miss Jeroboam, in the tone of a strict schoolmistress. ‘It is an impromptu dance, not a formal ball, so you wear something that you can dance in, rather than a ballgown. And yes, change before dinner, as we shall proceed straight to dancing.’
‘Well, not straight to dancing,’ said Mrs Smythe. ‘They will have to clear the dining room first.’
‘Oh yes, indeed,’ said Miss Jeroboam. ‘Do forgive me, Mrs Smythe, I did not realise you were here. As you are in charge, perhaps you would explain to Miss Frobisher.’
‘You have done most of the work for me, Miss Jeroboam.’ To a casual observer Mrs Smythe seemed her usual self, but Maisie saw wariness in her eyes. ‘As you say, not formal ballgowns, but dresses suitable for dancing in. All ladies will have a dance card, which they will be given at afternoon tea. I have secured the services of a band who are travelling in second class and they will play a variety of dances, so there should be something for everyone. The dance ends at ten o’clock, when the buffet supper is brought out.’
‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Maisie, smiling broadly at Mrs Smythe, who brightened a fraction. ‘I am looking forward to it so much.’ She gazed at the straight waterway ahead with a song in her heart. At last, something to enjoy before the end of the voyage!
‘What will you wear, Miss Frobisher?’ enquired Miss Jeroboam.
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Maisie. ‘A dress that goes with my dancing slippers, I suppose. I shall send Ruth to the trunk room and see what she comes back with.’ In truth Maisie had no such intention, knowing very well what she planned to wear; but she did not wish to seem over-keen, especially in front of the gentlemen of the party. ‘And you?’
‘Probably my royal blue,’ said Miss Jeroboam. ‘I am somewhat limited in my occasion wear.’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Maisie. ‘But your royal blue is delightful. It suits you so well.’
‘Why, Miss Frobisher, I’m blushing,’ said Miss Jeroboam, with a wink.
‘You’ll set aside a dance or two for me, Miss Frobisher, won’t you?’ said Mr Randall, twinkling at her.
‘Yes, Mr Randall,’ Maisie repl
ied. ‘If you ask nicely, I shall.’ Maisie preened a little, pleased that her dance card was filling up before she had even received it. She wondered if Mr Merritt or the inspector would follow suit; but they were too busy watching the progress of the ship.
The rest of the afternoon flew past in anticipation, and by the time Maisie retreated to dress for the dance, two-thirds of her dance card was full. It had been an extremely satisfactory experience, with several young men approaching shyly to ask her for a dance at afternoon tea. Now to enjoy myself, she thought with satisfaction, eyeing the crimson silk dress hanging ready, and sat at the dressing table to let Ruth do her work.
‘How fancy would you like it, Miss Maisie?’ asked Ruth, unpinning her hair and brushing it out.
‘Loose at the back, and the side hair caught up with a flower,’ said Maisie. ‘I don’t want people to think I’ve bothered.’
‘Shall I curl the ends?’
‘Of course,’ said Maisie indignantly. ‘It’s a dance, not my grandmother’s tea party.’
‘Very well, Miss Frobisher,’ said Ruth, and winked.
In the mirror Maisie watched her curl, and pin, and tweak, to her entire satisfaction. Dinner seemed a disagreeable necessity to be got through before the dance. For who knows what may happen tonight? she thought, butterflies dancing in her stomach.
Chapter 10
‘Please take your partners for the waltz!’ called Captain Carstairs, and Maisie saw Jasper Randall moving confidently towards her.
‘May I have this dance?’ he asked.
Maisie affected to glance at her dance card, though she knew full well that his name was written there. ‘Of course you may,’ she said, and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.
Mrs Jennings gave her an injured look; but Miss Jennings, who was sitting beside her, did not seem at all low in spirits.
Mr Merritt strolled over and said, ‘I find I am free for this dance, Miss Jennings. Would you care to join me?’ Miss Jennings sprang up, and before her mother could protest about tiredness, was on her way.
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