‘I met him for the first time last night at dinner.’ Bunny’s hand squeezed Flora’s shoulder, reminding her he had not removed it. ‘Miss Maguire ate dinner here in her suite, so they never met.’
‘I believe Mr Parnell won a good deal of money in a card game last evening?’ Captain Gates said with a slight trace of accusation. ‘What, might I ask, were the reactions among the players to his good fortune?’
‘Gilmore took it in his stride,’ Bunny replied. ‘Although perhaps a chap called Crowe might have been more put out. He was one of our dining companions who joined the poker game. Parnell goaded him a little, and I suppose you could say Crowe appeared rattled, but there was no real hostility between them.’
Bunny hadn’t yet mentioned this man Crowe to Flora, but then they had been interrupted quite early on in his description of their fellow passengers. There were likely to be others she knew nothing about as yet, which might prove interesting if her suspicions about Mr Parnell’s so-called accident proved true.
‘You didn’t join this game, Mr Harrington?’ the captain asked. Again that mild accusatory tone. Officer Martin continued scribbling in his notebook.
‘I’m no gambler, Captain. Not for money at least.’
‘Are either of you acquainted with’ – Officer Martin paused, flicked back a page or two and squinted at what was written there – ‘a Miss Eloise Lane?’
Flora shook her head. Raised voices heard through bulwarks didn’t count.
‘Again,’ Bunny said, ‘I met her for the first time last night. She and Mr Parnell were travelling together.’
Flora straightened, easing forward slightly. So Parnell was travelling with Miss Lane? Was he also the man who was in her stateroom last night? If so, she might know more about his death.
‘Together?’ the officer prompted Bunny. ‘Do you happen to know the nature of their relationship?’
‘That I cannot say. But I do know they had separate staterooms.’ Bunny’s slight hesitation told Flora he was uncomfortable, though she couldn’t see his face to confirm this without twisting round in her seat.
‘In your opinion, Mr Harrington,’ Officer Martin asked, ‘were Mr Parnell and Miss Lane amiable towards one another?’
‘I got the impression their association was a business arrangement.’ The vibration of Bunny’s shrug went through Flora’s shoulder. ‘One where the lady’s expectations outweighed Parnell’s promises.’
‘In what way?’
The interview had become a three-way discussion, with Flora relegated to that of spectator, which she found mildly annoying seeing as they occupied her suite. Though what Bunny had to say about his dining companions was infinitely more interesting than the snippets he had imparted to her. Perhaps he was right and she shouldn’t have avoided the dining room and relished the chance to observe these people for herself.
‘Miss Lane intimated Parnell had got her a part in a London production of School for Scandal at the Theatre Royal once they reached London. He claimed acquaintance with Cyril Maude, the producer.’
‘How did Mr Parnell react to this claim?’
‘Yes, how did he react?’ Flora slanted a glance up at Bunny over one shoulder.
He gave a small start as if reminded she was there, then extended his look to Officer Martin.
‘He appeared embarrassed, actually.’ He said as if the thought had just that moment occurred to him. ‘He tried to dismiss it. Told her it wasn’t a definite agreement and she still had to audition when they reached England.’
‘And the lady? Was she disappointed? Angry?’
The captain sat with his forearms on his thighs, his head lowered but silently watching both her and Bunny. When she caught his eye his mobile face broke into an amiable smile, almost encouraging as if to tell her that he at least had not forgotten her.
‘More like petulant,’ Bunny scoffed. ‘She was adamant Parnell had guaranteed the part was hers and didn’t like him denying it.’
‘Did they argue?’
‘Not that I saw. Miss Lane exchanged a few cross words with him and left abruptly, but Parnell carried on playing as if nothing had happened. I’ve no idea if it developed into a row afterwards.’
‘Did anything out of the ordinary occur amongst other members of the company last night?’ Captain Gates asked. ‘An argument perhaps, or harsh words?’
‘Well, I ah—’ Bunny began, but when Captain Gates shot him a sudden, eager look, whatever he had been about to say went unsaid. ‘Nothing, other than I’ve already mentioned.’
‘You and Miss Maguire, sir?’ Officer Martin pointed his pen at each of them in turn. ‘The two of you had not met before yesterday?’
‘That’s correct,’ Bunny replied, as if he resented an implication it might be otherwise.
A loaded look passed between the two crewmen, then Captain Gates cleared his throat and rose. ‘I think that’s all we need for the moment, Sir. Miss.’ He waited until his companion had pocketed his notebook, then cocked his chin as a signal for them to leave.
‘What do you think happened to Mr Parnell?’ Flora blurted at them, irritated at being virtually ignored in her own suite. And what did Captain Gates mean by ‘at the moment’? They had told him everything they knew. Or at least she had.
Captain Gates turned back at the door, his expression bland. ‘We have no reason to believe the gentleman's death was anything other than an unfortunate accident. I hope this incident doesn’t spoil the rest of your voyage,’ the captain went on. ‘If there’s anything you need – either of you – do feel free to call upon myself or one of my crew.’
Bunny saw them both out and Flora slumped back in her chair, disappointed but not surprised. After all, people died all the time from falls. Maybe the most obvious explanation was correct, and it had been an accident after all. Then an image of the body on the deck intruded and her disquiet surged again. They were wrong.
Chapter 4
‘It’s quite evident they believe the man fell,’ Bunny said, when he returned from seeing the crewmen out.
‘They weren’t prepared to discuss the alternative either, were they, for instance—’ she broke off, wincing at the strident note of a bugle from outside announcing the first meal of the day. ‘I’m never quite prepared for that sound.’
‘It does take a little getting used to.’ Bunny laughed. ‘It’s been a long morning already, yet it’s only breakfast time. Shall we go in together?'
‘Eddy has elected to eat without me, so I shall have to do without his company from now on,’ Flora said, forgetting her resolve to avoid the dining room; not with Bunny offering to be her escort. ‘I hope he hasn’t been upset by this incident.’ She had almost said killing, but to persist with her suspicions would make her look foolish. ‘Despite his mischievous nature, he’s a sensitive boy.’
‘He didn’t look too upset when he ran out of here earlier.’ Bunny retrieved Flora’s shawl.
‘No, he didn’t, did he?’ She stood passive as he draped the soft wool over her shoulders. ‘Will Captain Gates make an announcement during divine service about what happened?’
‘Probably.’ He reached past her and opened the door while shooting her a mischievous sideways look. ‘I doubt he’ll mention you, though. Women on board are considered bad luck. Sailors are superstitious that way.’
‘You aren’t making me feel any better about this at all, Mr Harrington.’ She cast him an oblique look as she stepped out onto the deck.
‘Sorry, just my perverse sense of humour. And I wish you’d call me Bunny.’
She smiled in response, not quite ready to enquire as to how he might have acquired such a name.
They reached an open suite door further along the deck, from which a young woman in a cream and white gown stepped into their path, her head turned to address someone behind her.
‘Oh, do hurry up, Max,’ she urged, both annoyed and seductive. ‘I want my breakfast.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Cavendish.’ Bunny slowed,
bringing Flora to a gentle halt beside him.
The woman turned to face them, her face lit to perfection by her bright smile. ‘Good morning to you, Mr Harrington. How nice to see you again.’
His use of her name identified the female honeymooner who argued with Parnell on deck. So where did Miss Lane come in? Or did Parnell make a habit of upsetting women? Was Flora even sure it was Parnell Miss Lane was with, or had she made the wrong assumption? Which raised the question as to why Mrs Cavendish was also arguing with him? And was it significant her husband wasn’t present at the time?
‘Flora, did you hear me?’ Bunny nudged her gently. ‘I was just introducing you to Mrs Cavendish.’
‘Oh, do forgive me, I was miles away.’ Flora took the lady’s limply extended hand.
‘Call me Cynthia,’ she gushed in a clipped Home Counties accent as if conveying a rare privilege, while her gaze swept Flora’s navy skirt and matching plain jacket.
Flora returned her smile, aware of how a sparrow must feel in the company of a kingfisher. Clumsy, brown and invisible.
‘How did you sleep on your first night aboard, Mrs Cavendish?’ Bunny asked.
‘Perfectly fine, thank you.’ Mrs Cavendish’s wide, grey gaze slid over Flora before returning to Bunny. ‘That is, until what sounded like the entire crew stampeded past our window at some ridiculously early hour.’ She puckered her cupid bow lips and fluttered her sweeping eyelashes. ‘I’ve a good mind to complain to the captain.’
‘I’m afraid there was an accident earlier, which explains all the activity,’ Bunny said. ‘One of the passengers fell down a companionway.’
‘Really? How inconvenient.’ Cynthia fussed with her scarf. ‘Anyone we know?’
‘I’m not sure if you remember him. It was that Parnell chap from last night.’
‘How awful!’ Cynthia froze in the act of tugging on a white glove. ‘W-was he badly hurt?’
‘He’s dead,’ Flora said, watching her closely.
The blood drained from Cynthia’s face, her hand stilled in mid-air, her glove dangling from the end of her fingers. ‘He can’t be!’
‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’ Bunny said, seemingly oblivious of her discomfort. ‘Seems he hit his head as he fell. Shocked all of us, especially Flora here, who was unfortunate enough to have found the body.’
‘I’m sorry to have upset you,’ Flora said, matching Bunny’s bland expression. ‘I didn’t realise you were acquainted with him.’
‘Whatever made you think I was? In fact we met for the first time at dinner last night.’ Cynthia’s pigeon wing eyes rounded in an innocence that Flora found unconvincing.
Aware of Bunny’s puzzled frown directed at her profile, Flora couldn’t resist pushing a little further. ‘Really? Only, I’m sure you and he were having some sort of disagreement when we boarded yesterday.’
‘Was that the same man?’ Cynthia’s shaky laugh was unconvincing ‘I have to admit I didn’t look at him properly. He bumped me with his suitcase and bruised my ankle.’ She looked down at an extended foot but there was nothing to see beneath her boot and skirt hem. ‘I gave him quite a set down, I can tell you.’ She cleared her throat and looked away. ‘Anyway, I mustn’t keep you.’
‘We were just on our way to breakfast actually,’ Bunny waylaid her at the last second. ‘Won’t you join us?’
Cynthia smoothed her gloves over each wrist in turn, as if giving herself time to think. ‘I have to wait for Max. We’ll be along in a moment.’ She backed hurriedly through the suite door and closed it firmly behind her.
‘As I’m sure you realised, Cynthia is one half of our honeymoon couple,’ Bunny said as they reached the door to the interior lobby.
It was on the tip of Flora’s tongue to ask him if he thought Cynthia was pretty, but changed her mind and she simply smiled at him instead. It would be like probing a sore tooth to check it still hurt.
‘Did you really see her arguing with Parnell yesterday?’ Bunny asked, frowning as they descended the staircase to the saloon lower deck where the dining room was located at the stern.
‘That’s what it looked like. I didn’t see any suitcase either.’
‘But she said she didn’t know him.’
‘She did, didn’t she?’
*
The dining room door flapped open at Bunny’s touch, releasing a low murmur of voices. Panelled in light oak with a domed, stained-glass ceiling that rose through two storeys, a blaze of jewel-tinted light flooded the scene below.
Long maple wood tables filled the room, arranged like a school dormitory; while wide windows gave onto the glistening ocean on one side, and tall gilt mirrors made the room appear twice its size.
Heads swivelled in their direction as Bunny guided Flora across the room to their table, a whispered remark aimed at a companion, who watched them pass.
Flora fought the urge to turn tail and run, but Bunny’s grip on her arm prevented her. ‘Keep walking. It won’t be nearly as bad as you imagine.’
She didn’t believe him.
‘There you are, Harrington.’ A broad-shouldered man unfurled from his chair as they reached the table. A wing of silver graced one temple in his black hair; a hereditary trait more than a sign of age, as Flora judged him to be no more than forty.
He clasped Flora’s hand in both of his and held on. ‘Is this the young lady who eschewed our company last night?’ He raised her hand briefly to his lips. ‘Gerald Gilmore. Lovely to meet you, my dear.’
‘This is my wife, Monica,’ he indicated a lady in a dove-grey silk gown which did little for her sallow skin. Gerald Gilmore’s solid build and inherent calm made a marked contrast to his wife’s gushing mannerisms and flapping hands.
‘How do you do, Miss Maguire.’ Monica offered Flora her a limp hand as if conveying a blessing. ‘I’m Ozzy’s mother,’ she added unnecessarily. ‘This awful business about Mr Parnell is all over the ship. You must tell us all about it.’ She waved Flora into a chair as if she had taken charge of the seating arrangements for the table, then ushered Gerald in beside her.
‘Ah yes,’ a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair said. ‘The finder of our unfortunate dinner companion.’ His words tinged with a slight Germanic accent.
‘You didn’t mention him either,’ Flora said, sotto voice.
‘I would have, had the Captain not interrupted,’ Bunny whispered back. ‘Though I know nothing about him.’
‘Carl Hersch.’ The stranger introduced himself, taking Flora’s hand in a firm, dry grip that was not unpleasant, though the contact lasted longer than politeness required. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Mr Hersch.’ Flora retrieved her hand gently. ‘I hope my reputation won’t be held against me.’
‘I’m sure it won’t be.’ His eyes softened with something like understanding.
‘Nothing to fret about. Storm in a teacup. Forgotten by tomorrow.’ Gerald’s clipped manner appeared to be his normal mode of speech.
‘It could have been far worse,’ Monica Gilmore said. ‘I mean, he wasn’t anyone of consequence was he? Nor did anyone on this table actually know him, not after only one night.’
‘Miss Lane did.’ Mr Hersch took his seat. ‘They were travelling together.’
Flora watched each face in turn but no one reacted to this comment.
‘Have you met Miss Ames, our resident author, Miss Maguire?’ Monica indicated a grey-haired lady beside her in her purple-frilled blouse coupled with a bright orange skirt.
‘No, I haven’t.’ Flora examined another character Bunny had not mentioned, which surprised her as the lady was hard to forget. She had either dressed in the dark or simply desired to be noticed. Or maybe as a lady of a certain age she no longer cared about appearances or fashion. Flora hoped she had the courage to be so individual herself one day.
‘Mary Ames, how nice to meet you.’ Her firm handshake and voice were as loud as her clothes. Her place was taken immediately by a young man of around twenty-five with untidy dark hair
and a waxen complexion which made him look as if he suffered from a chronic illness. His eyes were hooded, the lower lids sporting dark lines like bruises, though his cheery, ‘Morning, everyone,’ ascertained he was fitter than he looked.
‘I’m Gus Crowe.’ His lingering gaze slid over her in a way that made her want to shake it off. ‘Nice to see another attractive face.’ His limp, slightly clammy handshake repulsed her and she released his hand rapidly with a fixed smile.
‘Sorry, I should have warned you about him,’ Bunny whispered as Crowe threw himself carelessly into an empty chair, sending Mr Hersch’s napkin onto the floor. A steward rushed forwards to replace it, while the German flicked an exasperated look at the miscreant.
‘I take it everyone has heard about that Parnell chap?’ Crowe addressed the table. ‘Took a header down a flight of steps I was told. Quite dead, y’know.’ He appeared oblivious of the combined looks of censure aimed his way.
‘We’re very aware of the situation, Mr Crowe.’ Monica glared at him. ‘They ought to put warning notices on those companionways. They’re positively dangerous.’
‘They do, Monica,’ her husband said with a world-weary sigh. ‘You need to wear your glasses more often.’
‘Oh pish, Gerald, I barely need them.’ Monica flushed as she spoke, the subject an evident issue between them.
‘Is that all we know? That Mr Parnell sustained a fall?’ Miss Ames asked.
‘What’s to know?’ Crowe spread butter liberally on a slice of toast, took a large bite and chewed. ‘He bashed his head and copped it.’
Flora bit her bottom lip, resisting the urge to offer her own opinion when it had not yet been asked for, though the sharp looks directed her way told her it was only a matter of time.
‘Surely not everyone is ill this morning?’ Miss Ames indicated that half the places at table were empty. ‘I’m aware some people aren’t accustomed to ocean travel and find themselves disturbed by the smallest swell.’
‘That’s odd.’ Bunny glanced at the door. ‘Cynthia said she and Max would be along for breakfast. Yet neither of them have turned up yet.’
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