Flora's Secret

by Anita Davison

  ‘I even insisted you take it.’ Bunny shook his head, his face white. ‘Thank goodness you defied me.’ He sniffed ostentatiously. ‘Come to think of it, it does smell a bit like a confectioners’ emporium in here.’

  Flora giggled, a sound too close to hysteria for comfort.

  ‘I suppose doctors are the best qualified to kill people,’ Flora said, as an image of Eloise broke through the cotton wool in her head. ‘Dr Fletcher didn’t kill Eloise though did he? She was stabbed.’

  ‘That would make everything conveniently simple, wouldn’t it?’ Hersch sighed. ‘But no, I think not. However, you may rest assured, the net is closing in.’ He rubbed his hands together and backed towards the door.

  Once he had gone, Flora became keenly aware of Bunny’s presence. The fact he had been so angry at the doctor’s actions thrilled her on the one hand, but a niggling thought scraped incessantly at the edge of her brain.

  ‘Bunny? Do you happen to have an interest in antique oriental daggers?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ His brows drew together as he reached to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘Are you sure you didn’t take more of that laudanum than we thought?’

  ‘Nothing, just something that occurred to me.’ She raised her chin to meet the angle of his gaze, searching for something in his eyes, but there was nothing to fear. There never had been.

  Chapter 26

  Flora hobbled along the deck at Bunny’s side, her coat buttoned to her neck, one arm tucked through his. The Minneapolis would dock at Tilbury the next afternoon, and she found herself counting each hour before she would have to say goodbye to him.

  ‘I’m sorry to drag you out into the cold, but I needed some air after being in the cabin most of the day. Taking meals in the suite may sound like an unheard of luxury, but it palls after a while.’

  ‘Cabin fever, I believe they call it.’ He pressed her elbow into his side. ‘I don’t feel at all dragged. Should whoever attacked you reappear, I intend to be on hand to protect you.’

  ‘I take it Dr Fletcher still insists he didn’t push me, or that he killed Eloise?’ The last she did not believe herself, but she wouldn’t reject it completely until the truth was revealed.

  ‘He will only admit to battering Marlon van Elder.’ Bunny slowed his pace so she could keep up. ‘Who, incidentally, used his real name for that land fraud.’

  Flora bit her lip. The thought that whoever shoved her down the companionway still roamed the ship remained an uncomfortable one.

  ‘That suggestion of yours for hot and cold compresses on my ankle worked well.’ She eased closer, determined to relish every moment of their last day together. ‘It still aches, but it’s not unbearable.’ When he didn’t respond, she shook his arm. ‘Are you listening?’

  ‘Sort of, I was just wondering what was going on over there?’

  ‘Where?’ Flora followed his gaze to where Mr Hersch stood with the captain and two crewmen beside Mrs Penry-Jones’ suite. ‘Is something happening?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Bunny shifted his hold on her arm, pulling her in the reverse direction. ‘Though whatever it is, they won’t want us listening to a private conversation. Shall we go back?’

  ‘Not on your life.’ Flora carried on walking, though it was more of a hop and stagger. ‘I’m going to find out what’s going on.’

  He capitulated with a sigh, though Flora suspected his reluctance was feigned.

  ‘Good evening, Flora, Mr Harrington.’ Mr Hersch greeted them with a tilt of his head at the suite door. ‘How nice to see you out and about again, my dear.’

  ‘Thank you. We were just getting some air.’ She tried to peer round him but his bulk effectively blocked the door. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Do feel free to make a party of it!’ Mrs Penry-Jones’s harsh voice reached her from inside. ‘Come in, come in, the governess and her inamorato may as well witness my downfall.’

  Flora directed an astonished look at Bunny, who blinked behind his glasses.

  Mr Hersch stepped to one side, a hand extended as an invitation for them to enter.

  ‘Are you sure we ought to?’ Bunny asked, hesitant.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Flora risked a glance at Captain Gates, prepared for his dismissal, but he didn’t react, so requiring no further encouragement, she pulled Bunny behind her as she limped into the suite.

  Mrs Penry-Jones dominated the room from one of the ubiquitous wicker chairs with their plush red upholstery, her complexion pale but for two spots of red high up on her sharp cheeks; her back held straight, though her head wobbled on her thin neck. With one hand, she gripped her silver-topped cane propped beside her right knee, the other plucking nervously at a pleat of her skirt.

  Max occupied another chair against the wall, the plaster on his forehead reduced to the size of a half-crown, his injured arm still strapped to his chest.

  Cynthia paced the room, chewing a thumbnail, her slate grey gown matching her troubled eyes.

  ‘Do sit down, Cynthia,’ Max snapped, apparently at the end of his patience.

  Cynthia broke off her restless pacing to look at Flora and Bunny, her gaze hardened as she turned it on Hersch. ‘Are we a public spectacle now?’ she demanded, making no attempt to sit.

  ‘Where’s Miss Smith?’ the detective asked, ignoring Cynthia’s question.

  ‘I sent her to fetch me some tea to help calm my nerves at this dreadful intrusion,’ Mrs Penry-Jones clamped her lips into a hard line.

  ‘I shan’t intrude long,’ the detective said archly. ‘I merely wished to ask if any of you has seen this before?’ From an inside pocket he withdrew the knife Flora had left in his stateroom, slid the blade from its wooden sheath and held it up. ‘I shall ask Miss Smith the same question when she returns.’

  Flora may have imagined it, but though no one spoke, backs stiffened perceptively.

  ‘It belongs to me,’ Mrs Penry-Jones said after a moment. ‘My first husband brought it back from Korea thirty years ago.’

  ‘I suspect it’s considerably older than that.’ Hersch returned the blade to its sheath. ‘May I ask why you brought it with you on this voyage?’

  She gave a mild shrug, her gaze sliding to Cynthia.

  ‘Don’t look at me!’ Cynthia squeaked. ‘The last time I saw that – that thing’ – she waved her hand in Hersch’s direction – ‘it was in Grandmamma’s vanity case.’

  Cynthia’s jutted chin, the superior gaze and the wagging finger were all Mrs Penry-Jones, but in a younger body. Flora bit her lip to prevent a smile, surprised she hadn’t noticed before, but explained it away by the fact she had rarely seen them so close together.

  ‘She’s her grandmother?’ Bunny whispered in awe, though he did not appear to require a response.

  ‘Apparently so,’ Flora replied with a smile, having no intention to admitting to him that she had only come to this conclusion since they entered the suite. But it certainly made sense.

  ‘I keep that dagger for protection,’ Mrs Penry-Jones continued as if Cynthia hadn’t spoken. ‘I didn’t even know it was missing.’

  ‘What about you, Mrs Cavendish?’ Hersch turned to Cynthia ‘Might you have used this to stab Estelle van Elder?’

  Cynthia’s mouth worked but no sound came.

  ‘How could you, Cynthia?’ Mrs Penry-Jones released a horrified gasp. ‘We agreed! To seek justice for Theo, not bloody revenge. Why couldn't you have simply waited?’

  ‘Grandmamma! How could you think such a thing?’ Cynthia rounded on the old lady, her lovely eyes flashing with anger and a keen intelligence she seemed to have masked up until now.

  ‘Would someone care to explain?’ Captain Gates asked, bemused.

  ‘I wish they would too,’ Bunny muttered, confused.

  ‘Don’t you see? Everything makes sense,’ Flora said. ‘I’d like to find out if Mr Hersch is about to blow their story apart, or give them all alibis?’

  ‘What do you mean, how—’

  Flora shus
hed him. ‘Just listen.’

  ‘It was all her idea.’ Cynthia cocked her chin at Mrs Penry-Jones. ‘No one was supposed to die!’

  ‘We’re every bit as responsible, Cyn,’ Max began. ‘If only we had let the authorities—’

  ‘Shut up, Max!’ Mrs Penry-Jones snapped. ‘You don’t have to say anything. You cannot be compelled to give evidence against her anyway. She’s your wife.’

  A look of patient sympathy crossed Max’s slightly chubby face, before he reverted to resigned silence.

  ‘For the benefit of Miss Maguire and Mr Harrington, allow me to return to the beginning.’ Hersch closed the knife which he set on the low table in front of him with a sharp click. ‘Earlier this year, Mr Theodore van Elder took, as his second wife, Estelle Montgomery, a woman considerably younger than himself.’

  The old lady straightened slowly, as if gathering her dignity around her like a cape. ‘That girl was nothing more than a scheming trollop!’

  ‘However,’ Hersch drew out the word in warning, ‘a week after the wedding, Mr van Elder unfortunately died.’

  ‘I told you that the obituary was suspicious,’ Bunny said with a snort.

  ‘Exactly!’ Mrs Penry-Jones pinned the detective with a triumphant glare.

  The detective shook his head. ‘The coroner’s report stated Theodore van Elder succumbed to a bout of gastritis. There was nothing suspicious about his death.’

  ‘Fiddlesticks!’ Mrs Penry-Jones sniffed. ‘My son was only forty-two. No, Estelle, or Eloise or whatever she called herself, persuaded him into a hole-in-the-wall wedding, only to murder him for his money.’

  ‘They were married,’ Flora said. ‘She already had access to his money. Besides, to kill him within a week would have been too obvious. And who killed Eloise?’

  ‘Mrs Cavendish?’ Hersch raised an enquiring eyebrow in her direction.

  ‘Are you accusing my wife of murder?’ Max’s furious gaze raked the detective.

  ‘I’m quite capable of answering for myself, Max.’ Two spots of red bloomed on Cynthia’s porcelain cheeks as she waved him away. ‘I didn’t kill Eloise.’

  ‘No, Mrs Cavendish,’ Hersch said slowly. ‘I don’t believe you did. After the stewardess helped you dress for the bridge tournament that afternoon, you called at Miss Lane’s stateroom with the tea you promised her. The reason you received no answer, was because she was already dead.’

  ‘There, you see, Grandmamma!’ Cynthia flung at the old woman in triumph. ‘Now do you believe me?’

  Mrs Penry-Jones did not respond, her knuckles whitening on the top of her walking stick.

  ‘Is that why you all came on board together?’ Flora was unable to help herself. ‘To confront Eloise?’

  ‘Of course! I wanted her exposed.’ Mrs Penry-Jones narrowed her eyes at Flora. ‘Which was Marlon’s job, but he fluffed it.’ Her disdainful sniff conveyed her lack of surprise at his failure.

  ‘Marlon was my nephew by marriage, estranged from the family due to some disreputable behaviour I won’t go into here.’ She closed her eyes briefly as if the embarrassment was too much. ‘After Theodore’s tragic death, he came crawling to me, asking for a chance to redeem himself. I charged him with befriending Theodore’s widow in order to discover how to make her pay for what she had done.’

  ‘Then why engage Pinkertons?’ The term ‘belt-and-braces’ jumped into Flora’s head.

  ‘Insurance.’ Mrs Penry-Jones glared at her. ‘When Marlon told me Eloise had booked passage for England, I couldn’t risk her getting away before I could expose her. I had no idea he worked for the agency.’ She waved her stick at Mr Hersch before bringing it down on the floor again with a thump.

  ‘That’s quite true,’ Hersch said. ‘I was engaged to follow Miss Lane to London and interview her there. I had no idea Mrs Penry-Jones or her granddaughter were on board.’

  ‘You weren’t meant to know!’ Mrs Penry-Jones snapped, then her eyes glinted. ‘And have you forgotten you work for me? I won’t tolerate being questioned in this way.’

  ‘The young lady’s death ended our agreement, Mrs Penry-Jones.’ Hersch brooked no argument. ‘As a result of which I offered my services to Captain Gates.’

  Mrs Penry-Jones grunted, but offered no response.

  ‘Now if you don’t mind, I’ll continue for the benefit of you, Flora, and Mr Harrington,’ Hersch said. ‘Mrs Cavendish, how did you become involved when you reside in England and have done for the past fifteen years?’

  Cynthia sighed, as if whatever fight remained drained out of her. ‘Max and I were about to leave for Rome on our honeymoon when a telegram arrived saying Daddy had been murdered.’ Her eyes brightening with unshed tears. ‘I didn’t know him that well, but he was still my father. We changed our booking and sailed to New York instead. Grandmamma was adamant the girl he married had killed Daddy, so Max and I agreed to help.’

  Max gave a snort that implied his agreement had not been sought, but no one took any notice.

  ‘On that first night,’ Mrs Penry-Jones took up the story, ‘Marlon told me he had obtained the evidence I needed. He was supposed to bring it to me the next morning, but he never arrived. When I heard he had been found dead, I thought—’

  ‘That Eloise had killed him to prevent him doing so?’ Hersch finished for her.

  She nodded stiffly.

  ‘I’m afraid he deceived you, dear lady.’ The detective sighed. ‘Marlon possessed no such evidence. We cannot know exactly what happened between him and Miss Lane, but we assume he convinced her to part with money in exchange for his silence.’

  ‘That’s what Eloise told me,’ Flora said. ‘I wondered at the time why she would agree to it if she wasn’t guilty, but if she was being blackmailed by Parnell, it makes sense.’

  She saw no reason to mention Eloise had tried to retrieve it from Parnell, much less her own part in that particular venture.

  ‘Eloise had never met you or your family.’ Flora glared at the old lady.. ‘She had no idea you were on board, but was convinced you had hired Mr Hersch.’

  ‘If she was innocent, she would have had nothing to fear.’ Mrs Penry-Jones sniffed.

  ‘Don’t you see? She must have been desperate, imagining she would never be rid of a family prepared to hound her across the Atlantic? She was right about one thing, you did hire Mr Hersch.’

  .Not to intimidate her, merely to uncover the truth,’ Cynthia added.

  ‘Actually, those letters we sent were pretty intimidating, I-’

  ‘Be quiet, Max!’ Cynthia and the old lady snapped in chorus.

  ‘If you believed that your stepmother killed your father, Mrs Cavendish,’ Hersch asked, ‘it’s understandable you would wish her dead.’

  ‘I did wish her dead,’ Cynthia spat. ‘Stepmother, indeed! She was a year younger than me.’

  Flora experienced belated sympathy for Eloise, caught up in this twisted family. Recently widowed and with no one else to turn to, she had fled for a new life in another country. Then Parnell, a man who had pretended to be a friend, revealed that her husband’s vengeful mother was on board issuing threats. Being offered a lifeline in exchange for money must have seemed not only attractive, but her only hope

  ‘And you, Mrs Penry-Jones, could you bring yourself to plunge a dagger into a young woman's chest?’ Hersch asked.

  ‘Most assuredly.’ The old lady’s eyes fluttered closed for a second. ‘In my head I did so several times. But no, I didn’t kill the girl. I wanted her to suffer for the rest of her life, and for the world to know what she had done. Dead, she provides me with no satisfaction.’

  ‘Then who did kill Eloise?’ Flora demanded.

  Chapter 27

  Hester nudged the suite door open with a hip and manhandled a tray inside that Flora could tell at a glance held a good deal more than a solitary cup of tea.

  ‘I’m sorry I was so long, Mrs Penry-Jones, but the kitchen didn’t have any cucumber sandwiches left.’

  She took in the
now silent room with a slow sweeping glance, then with a dismayed cry, the tray of sandwiches, plate of cakes and crockery flew from her hands.

  Mrs Penry-Jones let out a horrified shriek as the lid separated from the teapot, spraying her skirt with scalding liquid. Sandwiches and cakes went in one direction, the milk jug and crockery in another. A slice of smoked salmon splattered onto Cynthia’s arm, eliciting a howl of protest, while Bunny backed against the wall, avoiding the trajectory of the hot water jug.

  The sugar bowl had upended on the floor, bounced once on the carpet before it rolled to a halt against the fireplace leaving squares of white sugar scattered across the rug; the scene reminding Flora of a farce in a West End play. Hester appeared to have gone for full-out melodrama rather than simply letting the tray drop to the floor.

  The mounting laugh which worked its way into Flora’s chest was short-lived when she realized the one person who had made no effort to help bring order to the chaos was Hester herself. She had backed away before the tray did its devastating work and disappeared.

  Flora rose unsteadily to her feet, signalling frantically to Mr Hersch, who was occupied with collecting debris from the floor. ‘Mr Hersch,’ she said again, bringing his head round to face her. ‘Hester’s gone.’

  Uttering a curse under his breath, the detective ran for the door, followed by an equally disgruntled Captain Gates, who wiped cream from his jacket as he hurried out.

  Cynthia picked her way over the scattered sandwiches and squashed cakes that littered the floor, and ran outside.

  ‘Now what?’ Max muttered, heaving himself awkwardly from his chair. He was about to follow, when Mrs Penry-Jones caught him on the shin with her stick.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ she snarled, raising both arms. ‘Help me up. I’m coming too.’

  Sighing, Max did as he was told, though with one useable arm, the process was seriously protracted.

  ‘I take it you wish to go too?’ Bunny asked, applying a napkin to remove a blob of chocolate icing from his trouser leg.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Flora limped out onto the promenade deck, gazing frantically around to see which direction the captain and Hersch had gone. There was no sign of Hester, but the clatter of heavy shoes on metal steps told her she descended the companionway to the saloon deck.