‘Hmm, what about this lady you told the officer he was with?’ The hot tea began to relax her and she began to enjoy the exchange.
‘Ah yes, the actress.’ Bunny’s eyes lit at the recollection. ‘A petite, dark-haired girl who spoke with a Southern accent. Difficult to understand sometimes, but appealing on several levels. Despite her slow speech she was clearly more intelligent than him, if not in intellect then common sense. I was surprised they were together.’
This description sounded nothing like the lady Flora had seen talking to Parnell.
‘She appears to have made quite an impression on you.’ Instantly she regretted the sharp edge to her voice. Why should it worry her if he found another woman attractive? To cover her conflicted thoughts, she poured more tea into her cup and held the pot up in a silent question. ‘Was it a high stakes poker game?’
He held his cup out for a refill. ‘Depends what you mean by high. One chap lost $1,000 in the game.’
‘A thousand?’ The handle of the teapot slipped from Flora’s fingers, though she managed to catch it before it hit the table.
‘He didn’t seem particularly upset by it.’ Bunny shrugged. ‘He is quite well-heeled, I imagine by the look of his wife’s clothes at least.’
‘That could be ocean-liner talk.’ In response to his sideways look, she continued, ‘my employers warned me that when separated from our ordinary lives, one’s history can often be embellished.’
‘His wife’s diamonds are definitely real.’
‘Isn’t it bad form to wear one’s jewels at sea?’ Flora recalled Lady Vaughn always locked up her jewellery on sea voyages, claiming that any well-travelled lady knew, that sea air spoiled the stones’ lustre.
‘Maybe so,’ Bunny said, laughing. ‘I don’t claim to know much about it. Gerald Gilmore is a solid chap. I quite like him.’
‘Gilmore,’ Flora mused. ‘That was the name Eddy mentioned.’ His friend Ozzy must be their son. ‘Had you met the Gilmores before this trip?’
‘I don’t know anyone on this voyage.’ He turned his intense gaze on her and smiled. ‘Except you, of course.’
Her stomach performed a lurching flip, and she dipped her nose to her teacup to hide the heat that flooded her face.
‘I hope you don’t mind my hanging about, treating you like an old friend?’ He placed his cup and saucer on the table between them, and eased forwards, resting his forearms on his thighs. ‘Actually, I wondered about why you left me so abruptly last night when I imagined we were getting along famously. Did I say something to offend you?’
‘No, not at all.’ She dropped her gaze to her lap. ‘It’s just that, well, Eddy—’
‘Ah, yes, I see. Eddy.’ He nodded slowly. ‘I quite understand. You’re his governess, aren’t you?’
Flora nodded, while her heart fluttered like a distressed bird. ‘How did you know?’
‘He mentioned at dinner that he was travelling with his governess. I consider it my sheer good luck I ran into you later admiring Matilda.’
Her face warmed even more at the compliment, hopeful that at least now he wouldn’t make an excuse and leave if he already knew who she was.
‘The Minneapolis was the first ship with accommodation available when my employer booked passage.’ She was about to add that she had a third-class cabin on The Oceanic during the outward voyage, but feared it sounded too much like an apology.
‘I don’t see why that would send you rushing away like you did,’ Bunny went on. ‘I have very happy memories of my governess.’ He produced a handkerchief from somewhere, removed his spectacles and proceeded to polish the lenses.
Flora focused on the tiny red mark the metal bridge had caused on his nose and had to resist the urge to stroke it away. It was only the thought of what Lady Vaughn would say about entertaining young men in her suite that prevented her.
‘Tell me about the other passengers.’ She offered him the plate of biscuits, hoping he wouldn’t notice that her hand shook, but this time not with shock.
‘If you hadn’t avoided the dining room last night’ – he took a garibaldi, pointing it at her – ‘you would have met them yourself.’
‘Well, I didn’t.’ She returned the plate to the tray, feeling more confident. ‘Therefore I rely on you to paint me a picture.’
‘Let’s see.’ He took a bite of the biscuit and chewed. ‘Gerald Gilmore is English, a businessman of some sort, though he didn’t boast about it like some. Either he’s extremely modest or he’s involved in something not quite kosher. His wife is a social climber and spent the whole evening running through names on the passenger list to see with whom she should strike up acquaintances.’
‘Eddy mentioned something like that.’ Flora smiled. ‘Do go on.’
‘They have a son about Eddy’s age. Ozzy’s a nice lad, bright and knowledgeable, if young for his age and a little awkward. He got on well with your young charge at dinner.’
‘Yes, Eddy mentioned him too.’ A surge of guilt welled at her having abandoned Eddy to a room full of strangers the night before, but was immediately suppressed at the memory of his enthusiasm over Bunny’s motor car.
‘Yes, well, I’m in no position to comment on unusual names.’ Bunny fidgeted on his chair.
Flora reminded herself she must ask him about his own some time, when the occasion presented itself.
‘The Cavendishes are our on-board honeymoon couple,’ Bunny continued. ‘What the newly marrieds forget is that getting away from everyone they know for a while might seem like a good thing, but can backfire on them.’
‘Why do you say that?’ She recalled the young couple who had been so eager to wave off the grief stricken woman when the ship left New York.
‘Because take it from me, the people you know are not half as bad as those you don’t know. They will be observed by the other passengers with fierce intensity.’
‘What for?’ Flora relaxed in her chair, enjoying his obvious enthusiasm of the subject.
‘Schadenfreude, my dear Miss Maguire. The need to take pleasure in another’s misfortune. The acquired knowledge that nothing good will last and has its origins in a misconception.’
‘Oh dear, that sounds cynical. What sort of things are said about them?’
‘That if the groom leaves his bride’s side for a moment, his love is growing cold; if she gives her attention to another male passenger under fifty, she’s a flirt who will never settle down. If the husband dozes in his steamer chair, he must be tiring of her. Should she dare to yawn in his company, married life is beginning to pall; if he dares raise his voice to her, he is a typical bullying husband, and if—’
‘Enough!’ Flora slapped his arm gently, turning an amused snort into a delicate laugh. ‘You make your fellow passengers sound like a judge and jury.’
‘It’s the plain truth. I’ve seen it myself. If he doesn’t call her Sweetheart, he’s a cold-blooded wretch, and if she wears more expensive clothes than he does, then he must have married her for her money.’
‘What a depressing outlook, Mr Harrington. I dread to think how many new marriages have been thus tainted by shipboard gossip.’
‘Dozens I should think.’ He shook his head in mock dismay, and she joined him in a moment of companionable laughter. When they fell silent again, he asked, ‘As to all these questions, are you an Arthur Conan Doyle fan, by any chance? I ask, because when I was a boy I enjoyed his detective stories when they were serialized in The Strand Magazine.’
‘Isn’t everyone?’ She returned his flirtatious look with one of her own, becoming relaxed in his company. It was as if she had always known him, which seemed a strange thought to enter her head and one she would never have been able to explain. ‘I read Marked “Personal” by Anna Katharine Green when I was in New York. Her father was a lawyer, so she gets the legal aspects spot on, and—’she broke off at the rattle of the doorknob which announced the arrival of Eddy, who fumbled with the cord of his blue and red plaid dressing gown as he
entered the room.
‘Why is everyone up so early?’ he demanded in a voice heavy with sleep, pushing one hand into his disarrayed hair. ‘There are people running along the deck past my window. Is the ship on fire?’ He blinked as he realized Flora wasn’t alone. ‘Oh, hello, Mr Harrington. What are you doing here?’
‘The situation isn’t quite as dramatic as that, Eddy,’ Flora said. ‘Mr Harrington escorted me back to my room after an incident this morning. But it’s nothing for you to worry about, there’s no fire.’ She exchanged a glance with Bunny, hoping he might take her cue to break the news gently. ‘I’m afraid one of the gentlemen passengers has met with an accident. A Mr Parnell.’
‘He’s the one with the eyebrows that meet in the middle isn’t he?’ Eddy perched on the edge of the third armchair and peered at the tea tray, frowning.
‘I’m afraid Mr Harrington used your cup,’ Flora explained. ‘You’ll have to wait until breakfast.’
‘I don’t mind.’ Eddy shrugged, plucked a biscuit from the tray and nibbled at it, one knee looped over the arm of his chair. ‘What sort of accident?’
‘He suffered a bad fall on the companionway steps,’ she replied carefully. ‘He was badly injured.’
‘How badly? Will he die?’ Eddy whispered round a mouthful of crumbs, his eyes wide, making Flora regret her having introduced him to Arthur Conan Doyle. Or would his penchant for blood and destruction have emerged in any case?
‘Already dead,’ Bunny replied, ignoring Flora’s frantic hand signal pleading for discretion.
‘Spiffing!’ Eddy dropped his unfinished biscuit on the tray and headed for his room. ‘Must get dressed and find Ozzy. He’ll want to hear about this.’
‘Mr Harrington, I really don’t think you should-’ Flora tried to intervene but no one appeared to be listening.
‘You can tell him Flora found the body,’ Bunny called after Eddy on his way out.
‘Excellent!’ Eddy’s delighted yell came from behind his closed door.
‘Why on earth did you tell him that?’ Flora said, aghast.
‘Don’t look so disapproving.’ Bunny smiled, unabashed. ‘Shipboard gossip will soon fill in the gory details anyway.’ He swept one of the two remaining biscuit from the plate. ‘Besides, it will give Eddy some kudos amongst the other boys. These things matter, you know.’
‘Hmm.’ Flora narrowed her eyes at the strange proclivities of young boys, and older ones. ‘Slightly morbid if you ask me. Besides, weren’t you about to describe the honeymooners?’
‘Hmm, I sense you are attempting to root out possible suspects for your alleged murderer.’
‘Maybe, but Mr Parnell’s death might very well be one. And isn’t that what all sleuths do in the best crime novels?’
‘As far as I know, but no one thinks he was murdered except you.’
‘Indulge me then. What harm could it do?’
The crease between his brows told her he did so with reluctance but didn’t wish to argue with her. ‘Max Cavendish is in his early thirties I would say, affluent English businessman who puts me in mind of a bulldog puppy – no grace, but plenty of enthusiasm.’
‘Very descriptive, which means I shall be hard put not to smile when we meet, and thus I will completely baffle him.’ She conjured the young man with the woman she had thought might be honeymooners, but Bunny’s description didn’t resemble him at all. She dragged her gaze back to her cup. ‘What’s his bride like?’
‘Cynthia? She’s what one might call a society beauty, all brittle aloofness and perfect features. Quite a stunner. Slim with reddish hair and startling cerulean eyes. Extremely wealthy, if her wardrobe is anything to go by.’ He waved his teaspoon in the air. ‘Several chaps I went to school with had sisters just like her.’
‘Really?’ Flora said slowly. He had described the lady she had seen talking to the dead man on deck the previous day perfectly. But why was she arguing with a man who wasn’t her husband? Had it had something to do with Mr Parnell’s death?
‘Did you really find the body, Flora?’ Eddy reappeared in the doorway to his room, having apparently thrown on whatever clothes came to hand.
‘Have you washed, Eddy?’ Flora asked, suspicious.
‘Was there much blood?’ Eddy avoided her question, his head bent as he tied a loose shoelace.
‘Not enough,’ Flora said under her breath, then more loudly, ‘never mind that now, Eddy. I rather think a yellow sweater with red socks is a little—’
‘No time. The nursery breakfast is about to start.’ Without glancing at either of them, he left, banging the door behind him.
The mention of breakfast made Flora’s stomach lurch, though not from hunger. To be the focus of a roomful of strangers speculating on what part she had played in the death of a passenger did not appeal. She was bound to be the talk of the ship by luncheon.
Almost immediately, the doorbell rang, and sighing, Flora rose and flung it open, adopting her most patient tone. ‘What have you forgotten?’ The words froze on her tongue at the sight of the two uniformed men who filled the door frame. One of whom was Second Officer Martin.
‘Miss Flora Maguire?’ an older man asked, four rings of gold braid on his sleeves identifying him as the captain.
Her mouth dried but she gathered herself enough to nod.
‘Captain Gates, how do you do.’ Of medium height and a stocky build without being fat, his eyes glinted with amusement in a face that Flora expected to break into a laugh at any second. An aroma of old tobacco hung about him, echoed by the polished walnut pipe poking out of his breast pocket. ‘Would you mind answering a few questions about this morning’s ah, unfortunate mishap?’
‘Of course not. Please come in.’ She stepped aside to allow them to enter, her attention caught by the sight of a crewman in front of a cabin two doors down. A diminutive maid stood, feet planted apart, in front of him, a pile of white towels hugged to her chest.
‘You had no cause to throw me out,’ the maid said. ‘I have to clean the cabin, or I’ll lose my job.’
‘I can’t help that,’ the crewman snapped, unmoved. ‘Mr Parnell’s stateroom must not be touched. Captain’s orders.’
‘Then just you be sure to tell the housekeeper those things are missing, and it wasn’t me who took ’em.’ With a final sniff at the unbending sailor, she stomped off along the deck.
The crewman mouthed something at the girl’s back before locking the door of the cabin, then pocketed the key before striding off in the other direction.
So Mr Parnell had occupied the cabin on the other side of Miss Lane’s. Not that it mattered now. He wouldn’t be using it.
Flora closed the door, aware the neat sitting room felt suddenly crowded with the addition of the officers, both of whom stood with their caps tucked neatly beneath their arms.
‘Captain Gates, this is Mr Harrington, who was also at the scene of the accident earlier.’
‘Mr Harrington,’ the captain shook his hand firmly, then turned a smile on Flora. ‘And you must be Miss Maguire?’
Flora nodded shyly and resumed her seat, slightly overwhelmed by the presence of the captain in her suite as she directed them to the remaining chairs.
‘Should I leave you alone?’ Bunny asked, the question in stark contrast to his possessive occupation of the room.
‘Actually, Mr Harrington.’ Officer Martin turned an amiable smile on him. ‘It might be better if you remained, seeing as you were both at the scene, as it were.’ He produced a notebook and pen from a pocket, at the same time looking to the captain for approval, which was given with a nod.
‘As you wish.’ Bunny now stood by Flora’s chair, positioning himself at her shoulder; a gesture she found both protective and reassuring.
‘What was the first thing you saw this morning, Miss Maguire?’ Officer Martin’s pen hovered above the page.
‘You know what I saw.’ Flora frowned, slightly confused. ‘You were there too.’
‘I’m sorry.�
� He exchanged a look with Captain Gates, who nodded. ‘This needs to be kept formal as an official record.’
‘I see.’ Flora took a deep breath. ‘Well then. I was out for a walk and about to descend the companionway to the saloon deck, when I spotted something at the bottom.’
‘You didn’t use the internal staircase lobby to get to the lower deck?’ the captain interrupted.
‘Well, no. I wanted some air and it was a lovely morning.’ Flora flinched. ‘At least, it was before…’
‘Quite.’ Captain Gates instilled a world of speculation in the words. ‘Do go on.’
‘I-I thought it was a bundle of clothing at first, but a closer look told me it was a man. A dead one.’ She aimed a nod at the younger office. ‘Which is when you arrived.’
‘That’s true, sir.’ Officer Martin nodded. ‘When I got there, the young lady was bent over the body.’
‘Of course it’s true.’ Flora tensed, then felt Bunny’s hand come down on her shoulder in warning. ‘I apologize, I don’t mean to be sharp.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m still rather shocked. It was the last thing I expected to see.’ Not that she was in the least upset any more, but as an excuse, it would do.
‘Did you see the man fall?’ Captain Gates asked.
‘No. In fact the blood on his head had congealed, so it must have happened some time before I discovered him. Hours possibly.’
‘We doubt that was the case.’ Captain Gates twisted his cap repeatedly between his splayed knees. ‘The decks are washed every morning at six. None of the crew reported a body in that location then.’
‘What did Dr Fletcher say?’ Flora glanced up at Bunny, who shrugged.
‘He didn’t appear to regard the fact as important.’ Officer Martin cleared his throat.
Flora gave him a hard look. ‘How could it not be important when a man died?’
‘The doctor could only give the body a cursory examination,’ Captain Gates said. ‘The post-mortem will have to wait until we reach England.’ His gaze shifted from her to Bunny. ‘Were either of you acquainted with the deceased?’
The deceased. Flora shivered. A few hours ago he had been a living, breathing human being. Now his life was reduced to two stark words.
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