“I’d noticed the time, ma’am, and thought you’d be wanting me back at Rose Mont.”
“Well, that’s conscientious of you, but I’m actually glad that you’re here.”
“Ma’am?”
“I have a task for you and I was dreading having to wait. Now you can go do it for me, posthaste.” I brushed the front of my tan-and-yellow-striped day dress and straightened my hat with matching yellow silk roses. I’d thought I looked smart this morning. Now nothing mattered. I took a deep breath, banishing thoughts of Walter and his disagreeable mother.
“Yes, what is it you’d like me to do?”
“Search Gideon’s yacht again.”
Not that again, I thought, letting a sigh escape my lips. I looked immediately at Mrs. Mayhew to see if she noticed my reaction to her request. If she did, she didn’t comment on it. I was lucky. She might’ve taken offense.
“Ma’am? Am I looking for something new?” Why would she send me back to search an empty yacht?
“No, with Mr. Mayhew in New York, I simply want you to look again.” She obviously had her suspicions but wasn’t going to share them with me.
“For evidence that someone is staying on the yacht?”
“Yes,” she said, stopping as we both heard footsteps approaching. “I’d like you to do it right now, while I visit with Jane.”
“Of course,” I said as Nick Whitwell came into sight.
“Oh, Nick,” Mrs. Mayhew said. “I’m so sorry about your father.” Nick walked right past me without a word or glance, into Mrs. Mayhew’s outstretched arms. She patted him on the back before he stepped away. “I’m going up to see your mother. Will you escort me?”
“Of course, Charlotte,” he said.
“I’ll be back at Rose Mont in an hour or so,” Charlotte Mayhew said to me, placing her hand on Nick Whitwell’s arm. An hour? That would barely be enough time for me to get to the yacht and back to Rose Mont. At least it would give me something else to think about. She began climbing the stairs, talking over her shoulder as she went. “I’d like a full report by then. It needn’t be typed up. You can tell me what you found.”
“Yes, Mrs. Mayhew,” I said as Nick Whitwell looked down at me and sneered. “Be careful,” I added but left unsaid, You may be holding the arm of a killer.
CHAPTER 35
“Mack, is that you?” I shouted.
No answer. The same boatman as before had been kind enough to row me back to Mr. Mayhew’s yacht, no questions asked. But why would he come aboard? I called again. Still no answer.
I’d been aboard the Invictus a few minutes and saw nothing that indicated a woman had been here. Yet Mrs. Mayhew may have been partially right; someone had been here. A man’s waistcoat and tie were tossed over a chair. An ashtray filled with the butts of several cigars, a dirty glass that smelled of port, and a pair of spectacles sat on a table in the yacht’s small library. A small set of dumbbells lay in the middle of an unmade bed. Were members of the yacht crew living aboard the ship? I wondered. From the sound of footsteps I’d heard, whoever it was may have returned.
“Hello? Who’s there?” No one answered my call. I climbed the stairs and peered around the deck. I saw no one. If a member of the yacht crew had returned, why weren’t they answering my call?
“Mack?” I called again. I stepped onto the deck and looked down to where the boatman and the dinghy should be. They were nowhere in sight. A surge of fear and panic shot through my body.
Where did he go? How was I going to get back? And if Mack was gone, then whose footsteps had I heard? I grabbed hold of the railing and yelled, “Mack! Where are you? Mack!”
I heard no reply from the boatman but instead heard the quiet tap of footsteps merely feet away. I started to look back, but suddenly two hands twisted my head, snapping my face forward. The brim of my straw hat crunched loudly as it broke, blinding me.
“Help!” I screamed.
My attacker put a hand in the middle of my back and shoved me hard. I pitched forward, losing my grip, and tumbled over the railing. My hat flew off my head, but it was too late. I didn’t see who pushed me. My hand smacked the side of the boat as I flailed in mid-air, desperate to stop my fall. And then I slammed into the water. I opened my mouth from the shock of the hit and water surged in. Gasping for breath, I forced my head above the surface, spitting water and gulping for air at the same time. I thrashed about, splashing my arms, trying to stay above the water, but the weight of my sodden dress, corset, and shoes conspired to pull me under. I went down a second time. I struggled to the surface again but could barely get my face out of the water. I gulped for air, desperate to breathe, to scream for help, but I gagged on the water filling my lungs before I slipped beneath the water again.
Splash!
The sound was muffled, but the dark blot above me, blocking the sun’s rays as they reached their tendrils toward me in the deep, confirmed something or someone else had entered the water. Have they come to finish me? I struggled to swim away as the darkness drew closer, but I grew tired, light-headed, and my vision began to fade as I slipped farther and farther under the waves. I closed my eyes to the approaching darkness and floated weightless with the sun’s sparkle dancing like stars around me. Suddenly I felt pressure again. I felt arms wrapping around me. I was moving upward, rushing toward the sun, toward the surface. I was forcibly propelled into the air and gasped once again.
“Walter,” I said, sputtering. The doctor had one arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me along with him as he swam toward a rowboat bobbing on the water a few yards away. “Walter,” I said again before everything went black.
“She gonna be okay?” a man said.
I came to abruptly, violently coughing up water. I rolled onto my side and then my knees. I was on the dock with Walter kneeling beside me.
“That a girl,” Walter said, placing a hand on my back. “Get it all out.”
“What happened?” I said.
“You were drowning, Hattie. Thank goodness, I got to you in time.”
“How did I get onshore?”
“I helped him pull you from the water,” the man said. “You’re undeniably a landlubber, aren’t ya, miss?”
“Mack?” I said, peering up at the boatman standing above me.
“Yup.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you both.”
Walter chuckled. “I told you I needed to chaperone you more.” Then his smile disappeared as he helped me to sit up. He leaned forward and whispered, “To tell you the truth, you had me quite worried. Try to stay still and quiet for a moment.” He pulled out his watch, placed his fingers on my wrist, and watched the hands tick. Walter dropped his hand from my wrist and then crawled behind me, placing his ear against my back. I blushed and gazed at the ground, the boatman looming over me, witness to one of the more intimate moments between me and Walter.
“Take a deep breath,” the doctor said. I did as I was told. He moved his head slightly. “And another.” He sat back on his heels. “It’s hard to be sure without my stethoscope, but your lungs sound clear.”
“I’m fine,” I said, the words sounding as hollow to me as I knew they did to him. I wasn’t fine. I’d almost drowned. Mother was right. People died on boats.
“I’ve heard that too many times from you to take your word for it, Miss Davish.” He took a plain brown wool blanket offered by Mack and draped it over my shoulders. Then he wrapped his warm arm around me. I hadn’t realized how cold I’d felt in my soaked clothes. “What happened?”
“I was on the yacht,” I said, pointing to the Invictus. “I can’t swim and . . .” I hesitated. My memory was a blur. I’d heard footsteps. My hat brim broke over my eyes. I remembered the feel of someone’s hands on my back. “And someone pushed me.”
“What? Someone pushed you into the water?”
I nodded. “I called for you, Mack. Where did you go?”
“I went back to the dock, remember?” In my panic, I’d forgotten we’d a
greed for him to return in thirty minutes’ time. “Thought I’d be back by the time you were ready to go.”
“Yes, of course. I forgot. Did you see anyone on the yacht?”
The boatman shook his head. “No.”
“Did you, Walter?”
“No.”
“By the way, why were you here, Walter?” I said. Disappointed and confused, I spoke more harshly than I’d planned.
“I followed you. Mack and I were halfway to the yacht when we heard you scream.”
“But why?”
“I heard what my mother said to you. I didn’t want you to believe for one moment longer that our relationship means nothing to me.” I looked into his eyes and wondered how I could’ve ever doubted him. He tried to pull me toward him, but I resisted. “What’s wrong?”
“Having this conversation for a second time makes me wonder if your mother isn’t right. It will never work between us, Walter.”
“How can you say that?”
“We’re only here for the summer. Then what? I’ll get a new position and travel to who knows where and you will go back to Arkansas.”
“We’ll figure something out.” I looked at him dubiously. He took both of my hands in his and kissed them. Mack suddenly found an extreme interest in a flock of seagulls soaring over the harbor. “I love you, Hattie,” Walter whispered. “And I almost lost you just now. I can’t even bear the thought of it.”
“But—” Walter’s mouth on mine as he kissed me cut short my feeble protest.
“If they weren’t Mack’s or Dr. Grice’s footsteps you heard, who was on the yacht with you?” Chief Preble said.
“I don’t know.”
Walter had driven me back to Rose Mont to change into dry clothes and report back to Mrs. Mayhew. After the jarring ride with Nick Whitwell in the motorcar, I’d expected the swift jaunt in Walter’s rented gig to feel familiar and tame. I was wrong. I bounced and lurched about until, no longer able to control myself, I leaned over the side and choked up water still in my lungs and stomach. Walter took pity on me, offering me his handkerchief and slowing the horse down to a walk.
Mrs. Mayhew was dismayed but not surprised by my news of finding evidence that someone was staying on the yacht. She was dismissive, however, when I suggested a man, most likely a crew member, was aboard and not the mistress she suspected.
“Why would a crew member shove you into the water?” she’d said. She had a point. But whoever it was, he had wanted me off the boat in a hurry. Why?
When I told her of my near drowning, she relinquished me from all further duties for the day and encouraged me to continue working with the police. I suspect she was as hopeful of catching the phantom mistress as she was sympathetic to my plight. Walter, insisting on not leaving my side until he felt I was fully recovered, drove me, this time at a pace I could’ve kept up with had I walked.
He must care for me, indeed, I’d thought.
“But you suspect someone?” Chief Preble asked.
“I went there on Mrs. Mayhew’s request. She had a suspicion someone was staying on the boat while Mr. Mayhew was in New York. That person may be who pushed me.”
“Mrs. Mayhew suspected a vagrant of living on the Mayhew yacht?”
“No, a mistress.”
“Ah,” the policeman said. “I see. And that’s who you think pushed you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It could be.”
“Or?” Chief Preble said, hearing my hesitation.
“Or it could’ve been Nick Whitwell.”
“Why Nick Whitwell?”
I told him of all the evidence against the man. “He said he was staying on his father’s yacht, but maybe he’s been living on the Invictus instead. He overheard Mrs. Mayhew instruct me about the yacht. In his motorcar he could’ve gotten there quite fast.”
“Did you see Nick Whitwell or his motorcar, Dr. Grice?”
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t see anyone, except the boatman. We arrived only to see Hattie go under the water.”
“Whoever it was probably hid on the yacht while Dr. Grice and the boatman rescued me.”
“And they could be long gone by now,” Chief Preble said.
“Yes, probably,” I admitted.
“So there’s nothing we can do. I’m sorry, Miss Davish.”
“At least you can do as Mrs. Mayhew wants and search the yacht?” Walter said.
“Without Mr. Mayhew’s permission? No, we can’t do that.”
“But surely there’s enough suspicion surrounding Nick Whitwell to investigate further?” Walter said.
“Never mind, Walter,” I said with a sigh. “The police chief and I have already had this conversation.”
Chief Preble glanced at me with raised eyebrows as he answered Walter’s question.
“Without concrete proof, there’s nothing more we can do.”
“Can do or will do?” Walter said.
Sam Preble shrugged. “We’re talking about the Whitwells, Dr. Grice. I’m not going to risk scandal and my job on mere speculation. Sorry.”
“You did what?” Gideon Mayhew said, again dressed in his athletic clothes and towel around his neck, but at least now he wore a bathrobe to cover him.
“Don’t deflect the blame elsewhere, Gideon. I’m the one who should be demanding answers.”
I’d taken an early morning hike as usual, staying well away from the coastline, had a short but pleasant conversation introducing myself to Mrs. Broadbank, the new housekeeper, upon my return and then a simple breakfast of coffee, toast, and jam. When the bell rang for me, I went up to Mrs. Mayhew’s drawing room, refreshed, relaxed, and eager to do something I was trained to do. Instead I was to be witness to an ambush. As soon as I arrived, Mrs. Mayhew told her husband what she had discovered, through me, about someone living on his yacht.
“Davish here can tell you,” Mrs. Mayhew said, pointing to me without looking at me. “Who is she, Gideon?”
“What is your secretary doing here anyway, Charlotte?” Mr. Mayhew said, avoiding the question. I wondered the same thing. I’d much rather be attending to the pile of mail lying unopened upon her table than acting witness to a domestic squabble.
“Leave us, Miss Davish,” Mr. Mayhew said. I turned to leave, happy to oblige. “By the way,” he said as I put my hand on the doorknob, “you’re fired.” I froze. I didn’t know how to react. I’d never been dismissed from any position before. Can he do that? I wondered. I’m Mrs. Mayhew’s secretary after all. I looked at Mrs. Mayhew for direction.
“What?” his wife screamed. “How dare you! She’s my secretary.” I felt a flicker of hope.
“Get another one. I will not have a meddler in this house.”
Meddler? I thought. I was only doing what I was told to do.
“First Mrs. Crankshaw and now this. I’ve had enough of you interfering in the domestic affairs of this house. I run this house, not you. I say Davish stays.”
“But I pay your allowance. And I say she goes. And I’ll not hear another word about it.” He stared at me, his eyes boring into me, unblinking.
“Don’t worry, Davish,” she said, looking at me for the first time. “I won’t let you go without an excellent reference.” She glanced back at her husband. “You and I know what loyalty really means. Don’t we, Davish?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Now get out!” Gideon Mayhew said.
I promptly left the room but stayed just outside in the hall.
“I just got done hiring the new housekeeper,” Mrs. Mayhew said, sighing. “Do you have any idea what it will take for me to get another secretary? Let alone one as trustworthy and loyal as Davish.” Despite my sudden dismissal, I beamed at Mrs. Mayhew’s praise. With a good reference I shouldn’t have trouble finding a new position. But what would Sir Arthur think?
“Everyone’s replaceable, dear,” her husband said. “They’ll be lining up to work for you. I have to say promising that troublemak
er a reference is more than generous. I wouldn’t have been so kind.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have discharged her in the first place.”
“Then we are both satisfied. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the club.”
I scuttled down the hall, hiding in a darkened doorway, hoping he wouldn’t catch me eavesdropping. But what if he did? I asked myself. He’s already fired me. What more could he do? A shiver went down my spine at the thought. I held my breath. I didn’t want to know the answer.
I heard him cross the threshold and step into the hall when Mrs. Mayhew said, “You never did have an answer for my accusation, Gideon.”
“Because your suspicions aren’t worthy of you, my dear,” her husband replied as he strode down the hall. “Tell Davies I won’t be back for dinner.”
CHAPTER 36
“Here’s your key, Miss Culver,” the desk clerk said. I’d been admiring the young woman’s hat, an ecru fancy braid with lace edge and a very high front brim, trimmed with matching ecru satin bow and feathers, as I waited for my turn to register.
When I left Rose Mont, reference in hand, I considered where to go. Lady Phillippa, without Sir Arthur’s influence, wouldn’t have me back. Miss Lizzie and Miss Lucy might oblige me, but I couldn’t fathom living under the same roof as Mrs. Grice. I’d decided to check into the Ocean House Hotel, where Walter was staying.
If I can’t be with Walter, at least I can be close, I thought.
A young woman, very pretty with porcelain skin, wide blue eyes, and pale yellow hair, took the key. As she turned away, I noticed a single beggar’s-tick seed attached to the front brim of her bonnet.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Miss Culver?” Any other time, I would never have intruded into this stranger’s personal affairs, but I couldn’t ignore the coincidence.
“Yes?”
“I couldn’t help but admire your beautiful hat. I saw one like it in the latest edition of La Mode Illustrée.”
A Sense of Entitlement (A Hattie Davish Mystery) Page 27