Flora's Secret

by Anita Davison

  She lifted her teacup to her lips in an effort to hide the blush that threatened. At the same time she told herself he wasn’t making a declaration. For her to read something into his words would confuse him, and she had already revealed too much of herself.

  ‘Where did you grow up?’ she asked when she could trust herself to speak.

  ‘In Surrey,’ he replied, apparently happy to indulge her. ‘A lonely, only child with an absent father who travelled a great deal, and – oh my goodness.’ Bunny twisted his wrist, indicating his watch. ‘Is that the time? The dinner bugle will go in less than an hour.’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t think I can face dinner after all this.’ Flora surveyed the array of empty plates on the table in front of them, on which sat smears of cream among a scattering of crumbs. The thought of more food made her feel slightly sick.

  ‘You could be right,’ Bunny said, rising, one hand extended to help her up. ‘How about I call at your suite in about an hour? We could take a walk on deck to work off all that whipped cream, then have a coffee in the bar later on.’

  ‘As long as you think your friend won’t mind.’ The second the words were out she regretted them. Warmth crept into her neck, but the only emotion in his face was bewilderment.

  ‘Who?’ He guided Flora into the staircase lobby, frowning as if trying to recall whom she meant. Then his face brightened. ‘Oh, her. Why on earth should she?’

  ‘No reason.’ Flora shrugged.

  ‘She asked to see Matilda, but I seriously doubt she was interested in engines. Halfway through an explanation on horsepower and suspension, she asked if we could sit together inside. I told her she wouldn’t be able to see the engine from there, but—’

  ‘Are you making fun of me?’ Flora’s voice was hard but she couldn’t help the broad smile that crept into her face.

  ‘No - well, just a little.’

  ‘What did you say to-um?’ She couldn't bring herself to ask the girl’s name in case it made her too real.

  ‘Oh, I prattled on about the engine until she got bored and gave up. She stormed off actually. Called me a boorish, insensitive ninny.’

  ‘Instead of which, you are actually a calculating ninny.’ She clamped her lips together, trying not to laugh as he hunched both shoulders in a depreciating shrug. ‘I’ll be ready in an hour.’

  On her way back to her suite, Flora scolded herself for having almost spoiled their lovely afternoon with her stupid jealousy.

  Chapter 10

  Flora kept Bunny waiting for a full minute before answering his ring at the suite door, gratified to see his start of admiring surprise when he took in her appearance.

  They climbed to the tiny bar on the upper promenade deck, where he held out a chair and bade her sit. Conscious of how her neckline dipped in front, Flora adjusted her shawl around her shoulders, aware his gaze lingered on the rhinestone ornament in her hair.

  ‘Have you given any more thought as to what I said earlier about those nightmares you have about your mother?’ Bunny asked, lowering himself into the chair beside her.

  ‘I wasn’t aware I had discussed my dreams with you in any detail, much less referred to them as nightmares,’ she said, bemused by the way he restarted conversations they had left off hours before, enjoying the challenge of having to think fast to keep up with him.

  ‘That’s true. But I’m a good listener, and I’m observant.’ He slanted a sideways look at her, too quick for her to read the emotion behind it. ‘Did I exaggerate?’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ She glanced away, mildly uneasy. ‘Therefore, because I cannot solve the mystery of my own mother’s death, you think I turn my attentions to the enigmas of strangers?’

  ‘Something like that.’ He offered her a plate of almond biscuits, laughing when she feigned horror at the sight of more food. ‘I have an amateur interest in the work of a man named Sigmund Freud who has some interesting theories about how our minds work.’

  ‘The Austrian doctor who hypothesizes the existence of libido?’ Flora stifled a giggle when he slopped coffee into the saucer while pouring. ‘I do know what the word means.’

  ‘Oh, er, of course, I would never suggest otherwise.’ He set down the coffee pot and eased his collar away from his throat with one hand, though his eyes held surprised admiration. ‘What a surprising young woman you are, Miss Maguire.’

  ‘I like to think so.’ She accepted his compliment along with her coffee cup. ‘Lord Vaughn was given a copy of a book, The Interpretation of Dreams which was published last year. Lord Vaughn is a friend of the publisher, who doubts it will sell so the book isn’t widely available yet. Anyway, my father has read it and in his opinion, Freud’s ideas are thin excuses for unhealthy sexual practices amongst relatives.’

  ‘Your father discussed his ideas with you?’ Bunny’s eyebrows appeared to have taken up permanent residence halfway up his forehead.

  ‘Of course. He’s quite a reactionary. Though I haven’t yet convinced him to approve of my joining a suffragette club.’

  ‘And um – what do you think?’ Bunny cleared his throat nosily. ‘About Freud I mean, not the suffrage movement.’

  ‘I’m not convinced.’ She decided to stop teasing him, though his discomfort delighted her. ‘He ascribes most female ailments to hysteria, no matter what the symptoms. I doubt his male patients receive such casual dismissal.’

  ‘Hmm, I shall have to examine his theories in more detail. However, I do believe talking through your dreams might help you.’

  ‘My mother’s death isn’t a problem, only the circumstances. I believe she was attacked by someone.’

  ‘Then you must ask your father what happened, or risk never being at peace with the past.’

  ‘You don’t know my father. I doubt he would give me a straight answer. Instead, he’ll prevaricate until I give up.’

  ‘Give him some credit, Flora. You’re an adult now. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to ask.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Flora said, still uneasy with the conversation, relieved when the door opened to let in a stream of passengers; laughing and chattering they spread into the room.

  Gerald and Monica arrived first, followed closely by Max and Eloise, then Mrs Penry-Jones, who accepted a chair from Max with a condescension that would have shamed Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The lack of seating in the small bar on the upper deck necessitated a reorganization of chairs, which the men allocated to the ladies, leaving the gentlemen to perch on stools. The activity gave Flora time to count heads, noting everyone from their table was present apart from Cynthia and Mr Hersch.

  Max’s head bent close to Eloise as they talked, her hand straying occasionally to caress his arm. Mrs Penry-Jones glared at them with eagle-like intensity from her chair opposite, matched only by Hester’s sulky glare. Max glanced up and caught the old lady’s eye, gave a self-conscious start, and slid his arm from beneath Eloise’s grasp. He cleared his throat noisily and leaned backwards, putting another foot of space between them.

  ‘What did I say about honeymooners?’ Bunny nodded at a disconcerted Max. ‘Poor chap cannot talk to another lady without everyone passing judgement.’ He tapped Flora’s arm. ‘Here’s the blushing bride now. Let’s see if she notices.’

  ‘Of course she’ll notice,’ Flora said. ‘If you think otherwise you don’t know women very well.’

  Cynthia paused on the threshold, her gaze roaming the room until it alighted on Max, then switched to Eloise with such malice, Flora could almost feel the heat.

  ‘Ah, I see you are quite right.’ Bunny coughed and looked away as Max muttered something to his companion, then rose to greet his wife, leaving Eloise isolated but undaunted at her table until Gus Crowe sidled into the vacated seat uninvited.

  Flora had made several calls at Eloise’s stateroom during the day, all of which had gone unanswered. On the rare occasions she had seen her on deck, she always contrived to disappear into the crowd before reaching her.

  ‘I must have drop
ped my tiepin somewhere.’ Max rummaged through his pockets before taking his seat ‘The catch is loose, so it’s probably my own fault.’

  ‘Is it valuable?' Miss Ames asked, her jaunty walk across the room to join them sent the pink bows she had attached to her upswept hair bobbing like butterflies.

  ‘I suppose so, it’s set with a rather exquisite diamond.’ Max turned to where Gerald scoured the floor around the table.

  ‘It’s not there, old boy. Take my word for it. I’ll ask the barman to keep a lookout.’

  ‘Don’t fuss so, Max. It’s only jewellery.’ Cynthia waved an unconcerned hand in his direction ‘At least, that's what you’re always telling me.’ She exchanged a knowing look with Monica, who rolled her eyes in silent sympathy.

  Once settled, Max ordered coffee and drinks for everyone, while Gerald’s insistence he share the tab was garrulously declined, as was Bunny’s offer to cover the next round.

  Flora tried to catch Eloise’s eye, but after several attempts, Eloise shifted her chair so her shoulder was turned in Flora’s direction.

  ‘I knew it!’ Flora’s sharp nudge dislodged Bunny’s elbow from his chair arm. ‘She is avoiding me.’

  ‘Maybe she’s embarrassed about last evening?’ Bunny suggested.

  ‘I doubt that. Eloise isn’t easily embarrassed,’ Flora said, ignoring his oblique criticism. ‘She won’t escape me that easily.’ Eloise’s parting words when Flora had left her stateroom stayed with her. That she wasn’t going to be accused of murder – again.

  Gus Crowe glanced up and saw Flora looking at him. She looked away but not quick enough to miss his inclined head and reptilian smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  Flora wrinkled her nose in distaste and was about to make a disparaging remark about him to Bunny, but he was deep in conversation with someone at the next table.

  ‘He knows Frederick Lanchester, the inventor of the disc brake,’ Bunny broke off to inform the others, including Flora in his enthusiasm. ‘The man who invented the electric starter.’

  She adopted a suitably enraptured expression, though he might have been speaking Chinese for all she understood. Instead, she listened to one of Monica’s anecdotes about the four-year-old twin daughters they had left at home. It seemed Gerald had refused point blank to let ‘Monica’s darlings’ accompany them on their trip, with the excuse they were too young to appreciate it, let alone behave in a civilized manner. Monica ended her charming story – though one which would only appeal to other doting mothers – with an ostentatious dab at her dry cheeks with a lace handkerchief.

  ‘No waterworks tonight, please.’ Gerald grimaced. ‘We’ll be back with the little harridans within the week. Then you’ll complain you never get a moment to yourself, despite having a house full of servants.’

  ‘I don’t expect a mere man to understand a woman’s maternal feelings.’ Monica threw him a glare cold enough to freeze lava. ‘

  ‘Have you any children, Mrs Penry-Jones?’ Miss Ames asked, distracting attention from the Gilmores’ burgeoning spat.

  The old lady’s sharp gaze flicked to her questioner over a pair of rectangular pince-nez. ‘I had a son, once.’

  Flora waited for more, but no further explanation was forthcoming.

  ‘How sad,’ Miss Ames also seemed eager to hear more. ‘Though nature tends to soften the blow with time, don’t you find?’

  ‘I do not.’ Mrs Penry-Jones sniffed. ‘Nor should one comment on another’s misfortunes unless acquainted with the circumstances.’ She rose unsteadily to her feet, setting the stool behind her into a precarious wobble. ‘It’s quite stuffy in here and too crowded. I think I’ll retire.’

  Hester scrambled to her feet, stopped in her tracks by her employer’s long-suffering sigh.

  ‘Really, girl, I wish you wouldn’t bob up and down whenever I move. I’m quite capable of returning to the suite alone. I shan’t require you until the morning.’ Manoeuvring with her stick, she caught an arriving passenger on the shin, and almost tripped the steward who sprang forwards to assist her.’

  ‘Oh, dear, I seem to have upset her.’ Miss Ames said once the door flapped shut on the old lady. She dropped two cubes of sugar into her coffee with a shrug. ‘Funny old thing.’

  ‘Mrs Penry-Jones is rather too fond of grand exits,’ Gerald quipped, earning him a glare from Monica.

  ‘It’s still a shame about her son.’ Flora turned an enquiring look on Miss Smith that she hoped would invite gossip, but Hester’s attention remained squarely focused on her tiny glass of brandy.

  ‘Perhaps her pain is too raw to speak about.’ Cynthia pinned Hester with a look filled with dislike, which Hester appeared not to notice. Instead, she turned a flirtatious look on Mr Crowe, which did not sit right on her plain features. If she was trying to make him think she was attracted to him, it was a poor show.

  ‘You promised me a game of poker,’ she called to him across the room. ‘I’m free now if you have the time?’

  Nodding to Eloise, who was busy chatting to a gentleman to her left, Crowe sidled over to their table. ‘Always happy to oblige.’ He delved into a pocket and withdrew a pack of cards.

  ‘The first rule of gambling for money, Miss Smith,’ Mr Hersch’s round tones with its hint of an accent interrupted their conversation, ‘is never trust a man who uses his own cards.’

  Flora’s head jerked up in surprise, for she had not noticed him arrive. Her gaze slid to the brown envelope he tucked hurriedly into an inside pocket of his jacket.

  ‘My advice,’ the German continued, taking the chair vacated by Mrs Penry-Jones, ‘would be to ensure the pack is unsealed in front of you.’

  ‘Are you accusing me of underhand dealings?’ Crowe’s handsome but sly features suffused with colour.

  ‘Not at all,’ Hersch said, unruffled. ‘Though I doubt the lady is in your league.’

  ‘I’m not quite such a novice as you might think, Mr Hersch,’ Hester said, her eyes narrowed.

  ‘If you intend to make a game of it, Crowe, I’ll join you for a hand or two,’ Gerald said.

  Crowe rubbed his hands together and gestured to Eloise his intention to move to a table that had become vacant moments before. Gerald offered Hester his arm, and the pair joined him, both emptying their pockets of change onto the table.

  Monica threw her husband a long-suffering look, before she continued her conversation with Miss Ames.

  ‘Do you mind, Cyn?’ Max pleaded, flicking glances at the card game.

  ‘Of course not, Darling,’ Cynthia gushed, although her smile did not reach her eyes.

  Flora’s gaze slid again to Eloise, who hunched over her untouched glass as she ran her pendant absently through the gold chain round her neck. Then she snatched her bag from the table and rose, shouldering her way through the crowd round the bar without a word to anyone.

  ‘Excuse me. I won’t be a moment,’ Flora whispered to Bunny before hurrying after her.

  Chapter 11

  Flora entered the lobby in time to see the door to the ladies’ powder room swing shut on Eloise. Following her inside, she stepped into a subdued haven of pink and gold, where elaborate gilt mirrors graced the walls. Intricate crystal bottles containing perfume, lotions and fragrant soaps had been piled into porcelain dishes, along with piles of fluffy towels set at intervals along a marble-topped counter that ran beneath the mirrors. Apart from a uniformed attendant in a corner who sat reading a book, Eloise was the only occupant. She stood before a wide mirror, her chin jutted forward as she applied an unnecessary coat of lipstick.

  ‘Oh, hello, Flora,’ she said as if surprised to see her, before continuing what she was doing. ‘Where have you been hiding?’

  ‘I’m not the one who’s been hiding.’ Flora slapped her velvet clutch bag onto the counter. ‘You’ve been avoiding me.’

  Eloise pouted, her hand which held the lipstick halted in mid-air. ‘I thought you and your young man preferred some privacy to get to know one another.’ She turn
ed back to the mirror, smoothing her lower lip with a finger.

  ‘He isn’t my young man. Bunny’s simply been very kind to me since—’

  ‘Kind? You shouldn’t be so modest.’ Eloise returned the lipstick to her bag, withdrew a tiny sheet of oiled paper and applied it to her lips. ‘The pair of you have been inseparable since we left New York.’

  Flora’s immediate rush of pleasure dissolved as common sense reasserted itself. ‘I think he’s attentive to any woman he meets. He’s been brought up that way.’ At the same time the idea of Bunny as her beau appealed.

  ‘I know infatuation when I see it.’ Eloise pouted at her reflection. ‘Those delicious glasses are quite appealing, don’t you find?’

  Flora pushed away from the wall and stepped closer. ‘I would rather know about your young man, not speculate on mine.’

  Eloise’s eyes darkened for half a second before she gave a decisive shake of her head.

  ‘I don’t have one. My career is too important to me. Besides, what man would be willing to traipse round the theatres of the world after his wife?’

  ‘Who said anything about a wife?’ Flora said, triumphant when Eloise’s face paled.

  ‘Don’t you find these electric lights unflattering?’ Eloise’s gaze flicked to the attendant in a silent plea for discretion. ‘Too stark for me, but then I suppose it’s cleaner than gaslight. All that sticky soot ruins everything.’

  The attendant took the unspoken cue and disappeared through a door marked ‘Private’.

  ‘Now, will you kindly tell me what this is all about?’ Eloise demanded.

  ‘The night we searched Mr Parnell’s cabin, I found a photograph in his shirt drawer.’

  ‘Really, what sort of photograph?’ Eloise plucked a bottle of perfume from the counter. Her voice remained causal, but as she removed the stopper her hand shook.