Flora's Secret

by Anita Davison

  ‘Not now you have owned up. Off you go to breakfast, Eddy. I’ll deal with this.’ Then she noticed something she hoped Eddy had not; where the blade met the hilt was a reddish-brown stain that looked very much like dried blood. Was she holding the weapon used to stab Eloise?

  And what was it doing in Bunny’s motor car?

  *

  Having reminded Eddy for the third time that finders are most definitely not keepers, Flora sent him off to breakfast in the company of a steward, with express instructions to go straight to the Gilmores’ suite afterwards.

  Alone again, and with the blade safely re-sheathed, Flora debated what to do. Her first instinct had been to tell Bunny, but suppose it was his? She shook the thought away as ridiculous. Bunny wasn’t a killer.

  A quick glance at the mantle clock told her it was still forty minutes to the breakfast bugle. Tucking the knife under her jacket, she let herself out onto the deck.

  Her halting walk to the port side of the promenade deck took a frustratingly long time, and when she finally reached the correct stateroom, a dull, persistent throbbing radiated up her thigh.

  She leaned her shoulder against the door frame and rang the bell, fretting. Bunny’s stateroom was two doors away, and she hoped he wouldn’t go to breakfast early and see her. She didn’t want to have to explain, and the fewer people who knew about the knife the better. The door swung open, and Mr Hersch imposing figure filled the frame, his brows drawn together in an enquiring scowl.

  ‘Good morning, Flora.’ A fleck of shaving foam clung to his skin below one ear, and his tie was undone. His gaze slid to her tightly bound ankle and the slipper that was the only footwear she could fit over it. ‘Should you be on your feet?’

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you this early, but there’s something you should see.’ She clamped her arm tight against her jacket, where the knife pressed into her side.

  ‘You’d better come in.’ He scanned the empty deck both ways before stepping aside.

  Flora made for the nearest chair and lowered herself into it with a relieved sigh.

  ‘Forgive me for failing to put in an appearance last night.’ Mr Hersch dabbed the foam from his face with a towel he then draped over his shoulder. ‘Officer Martin reported your er– mishap to me but assured me you weren’t badly hurt. I assumed questions could wait until this morning.’

  ‘I hardly expected you to come rushing to my side, though I must ask.’ The knife clicked against her ribs and she swallowed before continuing. ‘Do you believe I’m suffering delusions? That I had one glass of punch too many and imagined someone pushed me down those steps?’

  He held her gaze unflinching for long seconds as he fastened his collar studs, wiped his hands on the towel, and discarded it onto a chair. ‘No, Flora, I do not.’

  Satisfied, she withdrew the knife from inside her jacket and held it out.

  He took it from her without speaking, subjecting it to an intense, unhurried study.

  ‘Eddy and the Gilmore boy found it.’ Flora filled the silence. ‘It’s a—’

  ‘A Korean ceremonial dagger.’ He slid open the two ends as if he had done the same thing a hundred times before. ‘A particularly nice piece.’ He closed it again with a click.

  ‘You’ve seen it before?’

  ‘I’ve seen one like it. This one’s quite old. Valuable too, I imagine.’ His gaze lifted to meet hers. ‘Where did young Eddy get it?’

  ‘In Mr Harrington’s motor car.’ She let the implication settle in. ‘Take a closer look at the blade.’

  He flicked her a swift enquiring glance before he obeyed, frowning. Then gave a slow, thoughtful nod. ‘Blood. Do I take it you believe this is the weapon you think was used to kill Miss Lane?’

  ‘Don’t you? Then whoever did it hid the knife in the motor car. And before you ask, I doubt Bunny had anything to do with it. The killer simply used the motor car as a convenient hiding place.’

  ‘Do you have any theories as to who that might have been?’

  ‘Not a clue though I doubt it was Gus Crowe. Where would he get a ceremonial dagger?’ He straddled the arm of a chair, the knife held loosely between both hands where it resembled nothing more dangerous than a wooden stick.

  ‘Where indeed,’ He mused, his brows lowered in thought. ‘Miss Maguire, Flora, I apologise if you thought I did not take you seriously in the library yesterday.’ He tapped the knife against the palm of his other hand. ‘In fact you were right, there is another killer on board. My inquiries are not yet over, but I’m getting close.’

  ‘That’s something, I suppose.’ Flora shifted in the chair in an effort to get comfortable, releasing a low groan when the ache in her hip flared. Her satisfaction at being right would come later, when she wasn’t so uncomfortable.

  ‘Are you in pain, Flora?’

  ‘I have some colourful bruises, but the discomfort is easing,’ she lied. ’It’s a shame so many people have touched that knife. We might have got a fingerprint from the blade which could prove who used it on Eloise.’

  ‘Fingerprint?’ Hersch’s brows lifted in amused surprise. ‘You know of such things?’

  Flora glared at him, insulted. ‘Sir Francis Galton attended a house party at Cleeve Abbey last year. He’s a fascinating man, we had quite an enlightening discussion.’

  ‘Galton? The British anthropologist?’ Hersch’s eyes widened.

  ‘Charles Darwin is his cousin,’ Flora added, unable to resist the chance to show off a little. ‘Sir Francis published a book on the subject. Did you know that no two people in the entire world share the same fingerprint?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did. However, even Pinkerton’s has yet to establish them as a reliable method of identification. No court in the land would accept them as evidence.’

  ‘No, I suppose you’re right,’ Flora said, disappointed. ‘We’ll have to think of another way.’

  ‘We?’ He placed the knife on a table at his elbow and sat back in his chair, the fingers of both hands linked together over his stomach. ‘Flora,’ he began, his rare use of her given name dragging her gaze to his face, ‘if I reveal something, I trust you’ll keep it to yourself?’

  She nodded, her throat dry in anticipation.

  ‘The van Elder family—’

  ‘—Employed you to follow Eloise and find evidence against her.’ The expression of startled astonishment on his face almost made up for all his secretive behaviour thus far.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Eloise told me she had her suspicions, though they weren’t conclusive. She was too afraid to approach you in case you intended handing her in to the police.’

  ‘Actually, that’s not quite—’ he broke off at the look on her face. ‘I’m aware Parnell claimed to have such evidence, which is why she gave him the money.’

  ‘Then you were hired by Cynthia Cavendish?’ The fact Eloise hadn’t lied about everything made Flora feel her faith in her had been justified.

  A glint of surprise lightened his eyes, but was gone in a second. ‘That information is confidential. As is whatever evidence I might have uncovered in the course of my enquiries.’ His smile hinted at a greater amusement he had no intention of sharing with her.

  ‘Why must you be so evasive after everything that has happened?’ Flora’s jaw clicked in temper. ‘Don’t I have a right to know? After all, someone tried to kill me last night.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, my dear, but you must admit you have put yourself in his way.’

  Flora squirmed, acknowledging the truth of his remark, but still she refused to be treated like an annoyance, or worse, a useless female. ‘Why won’t you tell me what you really think?'

  Hersch tucked a hand beneath Flora’s elbow and tugged her gently to her feet. ‘I think, that if I don’t leave now, I will miss my breakfast.’

  ‘There’s something else before you throw me out,’ Flora snapped, hopping on her good foot, her arm braced against the door frame. ‘You ought to ask Max Cavendish
why he was on deck that day.’

  ‘Mr Cavendish suffered a concussion which has affected his memory.’

  ‘Rubbish. If you believe that, you’re more easily deceived than I thought. He’s keeping something back. He told me not to involve myself in his business.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’

  Flora hesitated. ‘Well, actually it’s not so much what he said. But I’m sure he’s protecting Cynthia, but from whom or what I don’t know.’

  ‘Return to your suite and rest that foot.’ He stepped back and closed his door, leaving her standing there with her mouth open.

  By the time Flora reached her sitting room, her ankle throbbed painfully. She slumped into the chair and scratched the area of itchy skin she could reach inside the bandage, going over what Hersch had said, and more importantly what he hadn’t revealed. The van Elders could easily have had something to do with Eloise’s death, but if the German was on their payroll, would he be prepared to expose them?

  Then she remembered she had left the knife in the German’s stateroom and released a frustrated groan.

  Chapter 24

  The stewardess set Flora’s morning tea in front of her, then straightened sharply when the doorbell sounded. ‘That’s most probably the doctor, Miss Maguire.’ She rubbed both hands down her apron. ‘I’ll let him in as I leave.’

  ‘How is the ankle this morning?’ Dr Fletcher’s cheery greeting was in stark contrast to Flora’s mood. ‘You should have slept well last night with the help of my sedative.’

  ‘It helped, but every time I moved, the pain woke me.’ Nor had her early morning jaunt to Mr Hersch’s cabin helped either.

  ‘I have something a little stronger which might help.’ He set his leather bag on the low table in the middle of the room and rummaged inside. ‘Although wouldn’t you be more comfortable in bed?’

  ‘I’d rather not. I hate lying in bed during the day.’ Ignoring his disapproving frown, she submitted meekly to having her temperature taken, followed by another painful manipulation of her ankle.

  ‘The swelling isn’t as bad as I thought, but you do look peaked this morning and your eyes are dull. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head when you fell?’

  ‘I did not fall,’ Flora replied, her words distorted by the six-inch long thermometer he inserted under her tongue. ‘I was pushed. I cannot remember whether I hit my head or not. I had rather a lot to think about at the time.’

  ‘Hmm, any nausea, headache or dizziness?’ He held her wrist lightly in his fingers and peered at his watch.

  ‘All three, actually, but I’ll get over it. Especially if the person who pushed me is found.’ She caught his sceptical look beneath the concerned façade. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’

  ‘Let me put it this way.’ His ingratiating smile put Flora’s teeth on edge. ‘In my experience, young females can be particularly fanciful when not kept busy. And you have been running around this ship making some startling claims during this voyage.’ He tipped some of the contents from a small brown bottle into a tiny glass and held it out, removing the glass tube from her mouth with his other hand.

  ‘What claims? I haven’t said anything that Mr Hersch hasn’t.’ She took the glass from him and downed the cloudy liquid in one swallow, shuddering as the bitter taste hit the back of her throat. ‘Besides, I must have discovered something important to unsettle our killer. And I don’t mean Mr Crowe, either.’

  He released a derisive chuckle while examining the readings on the thermometer under the light. ‘Mr Crowe is most certainly the culprit, and he will face the authorities when we reach England.’

  ‘You’ve accepted he killed Mr Parnell then?’ Flora frowned. ‘Didn’t your report state he died in a fall?’

  ‘Uh, well, I couldn’t do a full post-mortem, so perhaps I was mistaken. Besides, he killed that young lady, didn’t he? The actress?’

  ‘Parnell was an opportunist thief, not a cold-hearted killer.’ The urge to display her superior knowledge was strong. The memory of the telegram she had seen on Seaman Croft’s desk rose into her head, but she wasn’t sure why. ‘He had something to do with Montana, I think. Or was that Gerald Gilmore?’ Her head spun and the details slipped frustratingly out of reach.

  ‘That friend of yours, the German who turned out to be a Pinkerton’s man -’ – his eyes narrowed, making them appear closer together than they already were – ‘has been asking a lot of impertinent questions.’

  ‘Hardly impertinent. He’s only trying to unearth the truth, and between us we’ve managed to –’ she broke off as the dizziness returned.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off in bed?’ He placed a cool hand against her brow, which should have been pleasant, but wasn’t. ‘It might be the best place for you right now.’

  ‘I’m sure. I only injured my foot. And would you ask Captain Gates to come and see me? I want to tell him what happened formally.’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself, my dear. The captain knows all he needs to about this affair.’ His dismissive grin made her want to slap him. ‘As your doctor, I suggest you concentrate on getting better. I’m still worried about your head. You appear to be rambling somewhat.’

  ‘Do I?’ Flora gave this idea consideration. He might be right. She did seem to be chattering away to no purpose. ‘All right, I’ll stop talking and let you do your job.’

  ‘Now,’ he began, all smiles now that she was doing as she was told. ‘I want you to take another dose of this in an hour. Could you do that for me?’ He placed the brown ridged bottle on the table with a firm click.

  Flora grimaced. ‘If I must, though it makes me groggy and I can’t think straight.’

  ‘That’s what potassium bromide solution is supposed to do, young lady.’

  *

  Flora couldn’t remember the doctor leaving; the pain in her hip was markedly dulled by the sedative, while the passing of time took on an unreal quality. She dozed and dreamed, woke then dozed again, and the next time she opened her eyes, Bunny was standing in front of her.

  ‘I brought your breakfast.’ He placed a loaded tray on the table in front of her.

  Flora surveyed the array of sausage, fried eggs, bacon, fruit compote, toast and marmalade. ‘I doubt I could eat half that, though the coffee smells good. Would you mind pouring me a cup?’

  ‘How are you this morning?’ He handed her a steaming cup.

  ‘Sore, drowsy, definitely not myself.’ She took a delicious sip of aromatic coffee and eased back in her chair. ‘Did I ruin Cynthia’s dress?’

  ‘Not at all. Simply a few dirty marks the laundry are confident they can remove. This is hardly the time to worry about a dress.’

  ‘I’m a woman. Clothes matter, especially when they aren’t mine.’

  ‘Dr Fletcher thinks you imagined that push, you know.’ Bunny perched on the arm of the chair opposite and rested his forearms on his knees. ‘He said I was to ensure you don’t exert yourself for the next couple of days. He suspects you have a head injury.’

  Flora dismissed him with a wave, judging the good doctor must be severely under-employed to create problems where none existed.

  Flora picked desultorily at her food, resenting Bunny’s critical eye observing her every bite. At the same time, a tiny voice in her head told her she should appreciate his concern instead of being annoyed by it.

  ‘Did you notice if anyone was missing from the dance last night?’ she asked after a moment, unable to remember herself where everyone was when she left the dining room.

  ‘Not that I noticed.’ Bunny stroked his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. ‘Mrs Penry-Jones got quite voluble on the fruit punch and had to be escorted back to her suite by a crewman.’

  ‘Where was Hester when this was going on?’

  ‘She had gone to be sick in the powder room and returned looking quite green. I suspect she had overdone the punch too, I imagine. Then Cynthia sulked when Max announced he was tired and insisted on leaving. Poor ch
ap looked quite worn out.’

  ‘What about Gerald and Monica?’

  ‘Like me, they stayed until they turned the lights out.’ He poured coffee for himself and stirred sugar into it. ‘Miss Ames proved to be quite an accomplished dancer. Couldn’t get her off the floor.’

  ‘I had this strange dream last night,’ Flora began as a memory resurfaced, ‘where you told me you had been named after some ancient Greek.’ She peered at him over the rim of her cup.

  The rhythmic clink of his spoon halted. Slowly, he set it down gently in the saucer. ‘Ah, you did hear me. No dream, I’m afraid. A whim of my father’s. Ptolemy was Alexander the Great’s boyhood companion at Mieza, you know.’

  ‘No, I don’t know. What’s Mieza?’

  ‘A sort of boarding school for Macedonian nobles. Alexander studied there under Aristotle.’

  Flora cut up her sausage into small pieces, mainly to disguise the fact she hadn’t eaten any, while speculating on how such a royal name got abbreviated to that of a small furry creature with oversized ears.

  ‘Many believed that Ptolemy was Alexander’s illegitimate half-brother.’ Bunny balanced the coffee cup in one hand and plucked a slice of toast from the silver rack with the other. ‘I like to think that’s true, anyway.’

  ‘Why didn’t your parents call you Alexander? That wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows.’

  ‘They did, it’s my second name.’ He pointed his toast at her, eyes narrowed. ‘I would appreciate it if we dropped the subject now.’

  ‘As you wish.’ She paused with her fork held in mid-air, a roundel of sausage clinging to the tines. ‘You do believe I was pushed down those steps, don’t you?’

  ‘I’ll admit I wasn’t sure at first. No, take that look off your face. It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that your mind played tricks after everything that has happened. However, I lay awake last night thinking about it.’

  ‘And what conclusion did you come to?’ Flora held her breath. If he dismissed her again she hadn’t the strength to fight him. Her limbs felt heavy and his voice kept receding, then growing louder again. Even the room seemed to be moving, though she attributed that to the motion of the ship.