Flora's Secret

by Anita Davison

  ‘That’s honeymooners for you.’ Gerald winked as he sawed vigorously at a sausage. ‘Most likely they had a tray sent to their suite.’

  ‘Mrs Penry-Jones isn’t here either, nor is Miss Lane.’ Monica’s brow creased in concern that formed ruffles on her forehead.

  ‘I’m not surprised the actress isn’t here,’ Miss Ames said. ‘She’s probably too distressed after hearing what happened.’

  ‘Doesn’t explain the old lady, though.’ Gerald appeared thoughtful. ‘She struck me as an up-at-the-crack-of-dawn sort of person.’

  ‘I should imagine Captain Gates and his first officer are still interviewing everyone, which might explain their absence. I saw him on the way here and he’s asked me to make myself available later this morning.’ Mr Hersch reached for the last bread roll from a basket, which Gus Crowe snatched from beneath his fingers, grinning like a schoolboy.

  Hersch sighed and withdrew his hand, gesturing to a waiter to bring more.

  ‘We’ve already been interviewed by the captain.’ Bunny included Flora in his response. ‘There will be a post-mortem when we reach London.’

  ‘What sort of questions did he ask?’ Miss Ames produced a moleskin-covered notebook and pen from her handbag.

  ‘Only what we saw, which was very little,’ Flora replied, then before she could stop herself, said, ‘when I pointed out there should have been more blood on the deck, he didn’t agree.’

  Bunny’s eyes narrowed and he gave a tiny shake of his head which Flora pretended not to see.

  ‘How interesting.’ Miss Ames unsheathed her pen. ‘Do share your theory, Miss Maguire. I love a good mystery.’

  ‘I don’t have a theory, as such,’ Flora said, regretting her impulse when Miss Ames began writing. ‘I thought it odd, that’s all.’ She refrained from mentioning the gash on Parnell’s head, or what the maid had said about the missing items from his stateroom, though the temptation to do so was almost irresistible.

  Bunny gave an annoyed sigh, which sent a rush of defiance through her. ‘Actually, I did wonder how Mr Parnell came to still be in his dinner suit at six-forty in the morning.’ She jumped as Bunny’s shoe lightly connected with her shin.

  ‘You mean he was there all night?’ Monica asked, her eyes round.

  Flora narrowed her eyes briefly at Bunny before turning back to her questioner. ‘Not according to the captain.’

  ‘How curious.’ Miss Ames held each of their gazes in turn then carried on writing.

  Gerald gave a half amused snort. ‘Something for your next book, Miss Ames? Fiction is more interesting than fact, after all.’

  ‘I don’t agree with you on that, Mr Gilmore.’ Flora exchanged a defiant look with Bunny, who rolled his eyes but stayed silent.

  *

  At the end of the meal, Flora excused herself with vague promises of catching up with Bunny later. His disapproval of her thoughts regarding Mr Parnell’s death had annoyed her, though on her walk back to her suite, she had to admit no solid evidence existed to disprove the accident theory.

  Despite that, her head buzzed with unanswered questions. Had Miss Lane and Parnell been more than travelling companions, and the argument she had heard through the bulkhead turned into a lover’s quarrel, followed by a crack on the head? If so, how did Parnell end up at the bottom of a staircase hours later? And did Cynthia lie about knowing Parnell, or had she another reason for disassociating herself from him? A face from her past maybe she didn’t want to acknowledge? Intrigued, she relished solving all the puzzles of human behaviour which had led to a man’s death.

  Thus preoccupied, Flora wasn’t looking where she was going and collided with another lady passenger; the impact sending her sideways into a steamer chair.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ Flora righted herself and made a leap for a clutch bag that had skittered across the deck. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ the young woman replied in a soft, lilting drawl. Her cloud of black curls contrasted sharply with porcelain skin and a heavy layer of blood-red lipstick.

  ‘I’m Flora, Flora Maguire. I don’t think we’ve met.’

  ‘How do you do, I’m Est—’ her bag slipped from her fingers and hit the deck again. ‘Oh, please excuse me I’m so clumsy this mornin’. I’m Eloise, Eloise Lane.’ She dipped to retrieve the bag before extending her hand. Flora accepted it as if in a daze as she realized who the young woman was. The occupant of the suite next to hers. The actress travelling with Mr Parnell.

  ‘You’re the lady who found Frank’s body, aren’t you?’ Eloise blurted.

  ‘What?’ Flora broke off from staring. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Gossip moves faster’n a moth in a mitten, especially in small places like a ship.’ She cast a teasing eye on Flora, then gestured for her to join her at the rail. Eloise leaned both forearms on the top and stared out to sea, her scarf whipping behind her in the wind like a small sail.

  ‘You were missed at breakfast,’ Flora said in the hope of instigating a conversation, though Eloise appeared in no hurry to leave.

  ‘Was I indeed?’ Her cornflower blue eyes beneath thick lashes widened, then sharpened. ‘By whom, ex-a-ctly?’ She gave the last word three syllables.

  Flora thought quickly. ‘The gentlemen, naturally.’

  ‘Huh! I’ll wager their wives didn’t miss me one bit.’ Eloise propped one elbow on top of the rail and dropped her chin into her hand; a gesture so perfect, Flora guessed she practised it in front of a mirror. ‘I had no appetite after Frank—’ she broke off and bit her lip.

  ‘It must have been such a shock to hear he had died,’ Flora said carefully.

  ‘It was. Awful. I’ve just spent the most ghastly hour with the captain. He wanted to know everything. How long we had known each other? How did we meet? How close were we?’ She ran the end of her scarf repeatedly through her fingers. ‘Such impertinent questions, and all because the silly man fell down a set of stairs.’

  ‘They’re only doing their job. I doubt they think you had anything to do with it.’ Flora’s speculation as to any romantic involvement answered.

  ‘O’ course I didn’t!’ Her cheeks coloured, eyes flashing in an outrage that struck Flora as genuine. But then, Flora reminded herself, she was an actress. ‘Now what am I goin’ to do? I can’t present myself to Mr Cyril Maude without Frank?’ she demanded, apparently not expecting an answer. ‘He promised to get me a part in a play.’ She inclined her head, her thick lashes coming down slowly over her eyes. ‘I’m an actress, ya know?’

  ‘Is Mr Maude the producer?’ Eloise nodded and Flora tried to think of something profound to keep the conversation going, finally settling on flattery. ‘Perhaps you don’t need his influence to get you the part. You could impress this Mr Maude with your acting ability alone.’

  For a long second, Flora imagined she had overdone the flattery, but a few seconds passed in which Eloise seemed to consider this remark. Then she gave an acknowledging nod and puffed out her boyish chest.

  ‘You’re absolutely right. I don’t need Frank. I’ll go to that audition and prove to everyone what a wonderful Lady Teazle I’ll make.’ A beatific smile softened her expression as she consigned Mr Parnell to the past without a flicker of emotion.

  ‘Of course you will.’ Though as far as she could remember, Lady Teazle did not speak with a Southern drawl.

  ‘I only wish I’d realized that before I—’ Eloise broke off as gust of wind unravelled the knot in her scarf.

  ‘Before you what?’ Flora watched her as she caught the billowing end.

  ‘It’s nothin’.’ Her eyes hardened. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘Even if you were most probably the last person to see him alive?’ Flora wasn’t going to let that go.

  Her head whipped round, pinning Flora with a direct stare. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Flora hesitated. Challenging her directly was a gamble, but this verbal dance was getting her
nowhere. ‘I don’t mean to imply anything, but I heard you arguing with someone last night. A man.’ She broke eye contact and pretended to study a group of children playing hopscotch on the deck below. ‘My suite is right next door to yours and I heard you quite clearly.’

  ‘Oh, o’ course. I remember now.’ Eloise’s feigned memory lapse indicated she had been caught out. ‘Frank arrived at some ungodly hour last night wanting to talk. He smelled of whisky, so after a few sharp words I sent him away. That’s what you must’a heard.’

  Flora was tempted to probe further, but Eloise had already turned away. ‘I need to go and lie down. It’s been a stressful morning and this wind is giving me a headache. Maybe we’ll see each other later?’

  ‘I expect so.’ Flora watched her take small but confident steps back along the deck, unsure whether to believe her or not. Her story hung together, but loosely. Still undecided, she pushed away from the rail, turned to where a woman stood in the centre of the deck openly staring at her.

  A few years older than herself, she wore a drab grey dress that clung to her ample curves wherever it touched, though with no actual shape or style. A flat, brown velvet hat covered her hair above features so bland, the woman’s plainness might easily be mistaken for hostility. Flora couldn’t recall having seen her before but wondered if her conversation with Eloise had been overheard.

  Flora smiled in greeting, but the woman’s pinched mouth and hard brown eyes refused to meet hers. Instead, she turned abruptly away and marched off down the deck. Dismissing her as the unfriendly sort and someone she wasn’t likely to encounter again, Flora returned to her suite.

  Chapter 5

  Flora descended to the companionway to the deck below, a wide brimmed straw hat to keep off the sun, a woollen wrap to fend off the wind and a copy of Northanger Abbey to while away the morning. After a brief search, she located the steamer chair with her name attached in a row lined up facing the rail. When Lady Vaughn had volunteered to pay the eight shillings hire on two chairs for the duration of the voyage, Flora had deemed this unnecessary as Eddy was unlikely to use one. Her employer had insisted, suggesting Flora might find someone congenial to sit with in the afternoons. She doubted Bunny Harrington had featured in her ladyship’s calculations, but was now grateful for her ladyship’s foresight.

  She settled down to read her Jane Austen, and having reached the part where Catherine had endured Mr Tilney’s indignant tirade for trespassing in a private area of the house, Flora slapped the book face down in her lap with a sigh.

  ‘I would have gone looking too,’ she said aloud, her sympathies lodged firmly with the misunderstood heroine.

  ‘It’s a sign of madness you know, talking to yourself?’ a male voice said.

  Flora raised a hand to her eyes to where Bunny, the sun at his back, was little more than a shadowy outline staring down at her.

  ‘Sort of. Won’t you join me?’

  ‘An attractive idea.’ He eyed the row of labelled steamer chairs. ‘Though I’d better not occupy someone else’s seat, or I’ll be in disgrace for the rest of the voyage.’

  ‘Borrow Eddy’s chair, I doubt he’ll notice. He’s at divine service with the Gilmores.’

  ‘In that case, I will.’ Bunny dragged the appropriate chair closer, tugged up his trousers and sat.

  ‘I suppose everyone is still talking about this morning’s drama?’ Flora fidgeted as a man in a clerical collar turned to state at her as he passed. His shoulders hunched beneath a long black coat and stovepipe hat reminded her of a disgruntled blackbird with his hunt and peck mannerism.

  ‘Does that surprise you?’ Bunny plucked a cushion from a pile beside his chair and tucked it behind his neck, his head tilted back and eyes closed against the morning sun. ‘He’s the last person you need worry about.’ He nodded to the disgruntled blackbird. ‘He’s going to England to evade being implicated in a rather nasty fraud case. The dog collar is fake, by the way.’

  ‘How on earth do you know that?’ Flora gaped as she stared after the retreating man.

  ‘I have a friend who works for the New York Times who wrote an article about him.’

  ‘Then everyone aboard will know who he is, the poor man.’ Her voice trailed off, distracted by a savoury aroma that drifted towards her on the wind, covering the salt water and carbolic smell of recently scrubbed deck boards.

  ‘Poor man nothing. He’s quite guilty, but by virtue of being the brother-in-law of a Governor, he’s off to Europe to re-invent himself. My friend’s editor cancelled the article in favour of some latest news about McKinley, so you are quite wrong in that everyone will know. Although gossip does have a life of its own aboard ship.’

  ‘What’s that wonderful smell?’ Flora sniffed appreciatively only half listening.

  ‘Bouillon.’ Bunny indicated to where a steward moved along the line of chairs, pausing at each one. ‘It’s served with these delicious soft floury rolls, which for some reason the Americans call biscuits. Would you like some?’

  Without waiting for an answer, he beckoned the man over and requested two cups. Handing one to Flora, he tossed a coin onto the tray.

  The steward examined the coin so closely, Flora half expected him to bite it. Then giving Bunny his effusive thanks, he pocketed it with a flourish before moving on to the next steamer chair.

  ‘I see you’re a generous tipper.’ Flora wrapped both hands round the cup, allowing the steam to drift over her face.

  ‘Stewardship work is demanding for those Southampton boys. Long hours for derisory pay, so they tend to rely on passenger’s tips.’

  ‘The housemaids at Cleeve Abbey work equally hard, but they never get more than a day-old cake or cut of left-over pork to take to their mothers on a Sunday.’ She looked up from her cup and took in his expression. ‘Oh dear, that sounds bitter, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not really. I’m impressed you consider those less fortunate than yourself with some charity. So many people don’t.’

  ‘The same applies to yourself, apparently. Anyway, don’t stewards have to hand their tips in to the steamship treasury?’ Flora repeated what Lord Vaughn had used as an excuse for a measly gratuity on the outward voyage. ‘It’s not all added to their wages, either.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t know that.’ He adjusted his spectacles with a disgruntled sniff. ‘I’d like to think good tips keep them honest. The temptation to cheat must be irresistible amongst all this luxury.’ He broke off to acknowledge a nod from Gus Crowe who stood twenty feet away in conversation with a prosperous-looking man in a fur coat.

  ‘Talking of cheating,’ Flora began, changing the subject, ‘you told the captain Mr Crowe was angry when he lost at cards. Is it possible he suspected Parnell of double-dealing?’

  ‘Ah, we’re back to that, are we?’ He kept one eye closed as he slanted a sideways look at her.

  ‘I don’t like mysteries.’ Flora shrugged, mildly resentful at being dismissed, however politely.

  Bunny shook his head. ‘I doubt Parnell employed sleight of hand. He was just lucky. Biscuit?’

  He held up one of the golden biscuits, twirling it like a conjurer.

  Flora took it eagerly, surprised at how hungry she was, despite having eaten a good breakfast. Everyone who told her that sea air increased the appetite must have been right.

  ‘What did the ladies do while the men played poker last night?’ She bit into the still warm, floury biscuit, following it with a mouthful of hot, salty bouillon that slid warmly into her stomach.

  ‘The old lady from Baltimore loudly disapproved of card games played for money.’

  ‘The one who didn’t make an appearance at breakfast?’ Flora asked round a mouthful of crumbs.

  ‘Mrs Penry-Jones. That’s right. She claims to be one of the four hundred.’

  ‘Forgive my ignorance, but what’s the four hundred?’

  ‘Fascinating American idiosyncrasy.’ Bunny chewed his biscuit and twisted to face her. ‘Four hundred was the number of gue
sts who could fit into Mrs William Backhouse Astor Junior’s ballroom; thus that was the number of New York society considered the elite.’

  ‘Really.’ Flora silently resolved to avoid Mrs Penry-Jones, not least because she’d been the one to dismiss Eddy to the children’s meals, then remembered she was seated at the same dining table, making it unlikely.

  ‘Perhaps she tripped Parnell with her cane and sent him to the bottom of the stairs because she objected to gambling.’ Bunny grinned at her over the rim of his cup.

  ‘I shan’t rise to that, Mr Harrington.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘And you? What did you do all evening?’

  ‘Me?’ He blinked, then thought for a moment. ‘I chatted to Cynthia for a while, and then Mr Hersch joined us.’

  ‘An interesting man, I thought. He’s German, isn’t he?’

  ‘Originally.’ Bunny swallowed a mouthful of bouillon, nodding. ‘He’s been a resident in New York this past twenty years, or so he said. Affable chap, but, well, buttoned-up is a good description.’

  ‘Did he play cards last night?’ Flora asked, not sure of the relevance of this game, but employed it as a starting point.

  ‘For a while, but he folded early on. He was winning too, which struck me as odd. I asked him what he did for a living at one point, but he was vague. It wasn’t until later I realized he hadn’t answered my question.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose he only agreed to play to be sociable. Not like Parnell.’

  ‘What about Parnell?’

  ‘Hah! He played as if his life depended on it.’ He caught her eye and winced. ‘Sorry, bit inappropriate in the circumstances. Ah, here’s young Eddy.’ He glanced to where Eddy and a boy of similar age but more athletic appearance approached them along the deck.

  ‘What are you doing here, Eddy?’ Flora cocked her ear to where the strains of ‘Eternal Father Strong to Save’ drifted from the deck above. ‘Divine Service hasn’t finished yet.’

  ‘Um.’ Eddy shuffled his feet, rubbing both hands down the side of his trousers. ‘Me and Ozzy, we didn’t go.’ He indicated the boy with blunt-cut straight blond hair and mouse-brown eyes beside him. ‘We played shuffleboard instead.’