by Lori Bond
The Turntons led the way back to the First-Class accommodations while Wellburn brought up the rear. Jerry felt as if he were part of an honor guard protecting two princesses on their triumphant procession back to their palace. Both girls chatted during the short journey, each sharing the details about the meals they had eaten. Jerry wondered if the servants had learned anything germane to their mission, but he knew that a discussion like that was best held behind closed doors. The group turned the corner to the girls’ room. Jerry had given the Turntons the room number, so they still led. Mrs. Turnton noticed Mr. Bickle first.
“Can we help you?” she asked in a tone that implied that the answer better be “no.”
“Madam. Sir.” Mr. Bickle gave the group a small bow. Beside Jerry, each of the girls stiffened but neither acknowledge the man directly.
Mrs. Turnton gave Mr. Bickle a long considering stare. “I realize we have not been formally introduced, but I deduced from the unfortunate scene this morning that you are acquainted with my good friend the Countess of Wickshire,” Mrs. Turnton said after a moment.
Mr. Bickle looked uncomfortable, but he agreed that he was known to the Countess.
“Good,” Mrs. Turnton said. “You will join me for tea tomorrow, so that I might hear how my friend and her family are doing. I would also like to hear of your courtship with my goddaughter. The last I heard she was too sick to leave her bed. How did you come to woo such an invalid? I am curious at the very least to learn how you met.”
Jerry turned to Caroline, but she looked as confused as he. He tried to ask her what was going on. Was Mrs. Turnton really her godmother? Caroline gave the faintest of shrugs. By the little crease that had formed between her eyes, he realized that she was equally ignorant and that the revelation was foreign to her as well.
By that point, Mr. Bickle’s eyes were darting up and down the hall as if searching for an exit. Fumbling through his pockets, he pulled out a key. After thanking Mrs. Turnton for the invitation, he mumbled something about a prior engagement and scurried around the corner down the hall. Wellburn followed at a discrete distance and reported in a moment that Mr. Bickle appeared to have entered his room.
“That gets rid of him for the moment,” Mrs. Turnton said. She brushed her hands together as if ridding her satin gloves of invisible dust. “Girls, perhaps it best you get in your room.”
Both girls looked a bit shaken by the encounter although Caroline managed to collect herself enough to bid the Turnton’s adieu. Jerry waited by the door until he heard the lock engage. He then tried the door to assure himself it had locked fully.
Turning, he found both Turntons nodding at him in approval.
“I didn’t wish to alarm your young cousin,” said Mrs. Turnton, “but I believe that man was trying to locate her room.”
Wellburn and Jerry exchanged a grim look.
“We fear the same,” Jerry said. “We have arranged for the maid Olive to share Mrs. Wickingham’s room so that neither might be alone.”
Mrs. Turnton nodded as if thinking. She gave Wellburn a long, thoughtful look that the man returned with his usual impassive stare. Then her gaze returned back to Jerry. “Then you are concerned that this is more than just the lovelorn mourning of a jilted suitor.”
Wellburn interjected before Jerry could respond. “We are concerned that man has fixated on a complete stranger.”
“Yes, of course, that,” Mrs. Turnton said. She gave Jerry another long look. “You and your cousin should join me tomorrow at tea.”
Jerry recognized the command behind the request. He nodded not committing one way or the other. As much as he would like the problem with Mr. Bickle to go away, he could not guarantee he would not be on the trail of the Russian agent during tea.
“Yes,” Mrs. Turnton added after bidding the viscount good evening. “I fear something may need to be done with that man.”
Chapter 18
Caroline and Olive stood with their ears pressed to the locked door, listening to the conversation on the other side. The door, although ornately carved, was not particularly thick.
“Not alarm the girls, indeed,” Caroline said pushing away from the door once the Turntons and Jerry had left. “We’d have to be fools not to realize what Mr. Bickle was doing in the corridor.”
Olive shook her head and then dragged the room’s sofa before the door. Caroline helped her wedge it under the door’s handle. The sofa wouldn’t keep someone out indefinitely, but it would create quite a ruckus while someone was trying to break in. The girls had never had to keep out an ill-favored suitor before, but they had wedged chairs against doors in the past to keep Caroline’s younger brother from annoying them.
“I wonder what Mrs. Turnton plans to do?” Olive asked. “I mean, what can she do?”
Caroline shrugged and started unbuttoning Olive’s dress for her. “No idea, but the woman seems dead efficient. I might have actually felt a little sorry for Mr. Bickle if it wasn’t Mr. Bickle. I can’t believe I’m supposed to take tea with him tomorrow.”
Olive slipped into her nightdress, and then she turned so that she could help Caroline out of her bulkier evening gown. “It’s a good opportunity to act as un-Lady Caroline-like as possible. It also might not be so bad with the viscount there. He won’t let Mr. Bickle say the kinds of things your parents used to let him get away with.”
Tea with her parents and Mr. Bickle had often consisted of vague allusions that Caroline didn’t understand but caused her mother to sit tight-lipped and her father to look resigned when he looked her direction at all. To see her father bowing to this man because Mr. Bickle held his debt was lowering enough. To know that something beyond old-fashioned snobbery tainted the man in her parents’ eyes was depressing.
Caroline shivered and pretended it was from the chill in the air. Olive helped her pull on her nightdress. “We can’t worry about him now,” Caroline said. “In the end, saving the bayonet drawings for the empire must come first. Too many lives are on the line. I must tell you about Miss Hayes, the actress, the one I told you about this afternoon. At dinner she positively ran from the room when I mentioned the word bayonet.”
Olive clapped her hands. “We may have news too. Mr. Wellburn and I met the most interesting man tonight.”
“Oh, really?” Caroline climbed into her berth. It was like a regular bed except attached to the room’s wall. “Just how interesting?” She propped her head up on one hand so she could grin at her friend.
Olive flushed. “As interesting as you find the viscount,” she retorted.
Caroline rolled onto her back to avoid her dearest friend’s knowing stare. “So, dead dull. Did I see the man when we came downstairs to fetch you?”
Olive laughed. “I doubt it. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off Lord St. David.”
Caroline rolled her eyes although Olive couldn’t see it. “I do not stare at his lordship. I noticed several appealing-looking men in the room.”
“Mr. Hillard is about as tall as your lord and nearly as well proportioned. He has the yellowest hair and ocean-blue eyes.”
“He isn’t my lord,” Caroline muttered. “And I’m not the one that sounds besotted. What makes this Mr. Hillard so interesting, beyond his ocean-blue eyes?”
“Mr. Hillard was hired on recently by a couple, the Kimbleys.”
Caroline began to see where this might be going. Of course, any servant of a person named on the list would be of note.
“Mr. Hillard is Mr. Kimbley’s new valet, so he’s been in their stateroom. The Kimbleys travel with some large rectangular flats, perfectly sized to carry paintings or drawings. What’s odd is that they are in the Kimbleys’ room and not down in the cargo hold.”
“Curious.”
“Mr. Hillard is concerned that the Kimbleys are smuggling something. He doesn’t want to find himself in an unfortunate situation if it turns out they are doing something illegal. He was asking Mr. Wellburn’s advice as the viscount’s man.”
Caroline couldn’t tell if that was suspicious or just one servant showing deference to a higher-ranking servant with a higher-ranking employer. “Did it seem odd to you that he volunteered such sensitive information?”
“A bit,” Olive admitted, climbing into her own berth. “Although gossip is common, most servants don’t reveal things of that nature to strangers. Of course, Mr. Hillard is new and may not feel a great deal of loyalty to his employer. Also, I believe he only spoke of this with Mr. Wellburn. I only overheard, and I don’t believe Mr. Hillard realized I listened to their conversation. He wasn’t making this a bit of common gossip.”
Caroline thought about it. “I wish we knew better how to gauge the situation. I hate having to rely on Wellburn and Jerry, I mean Lord St. David, to interpret events. You and I have been kept isolated for far too long.”
“At least I had the other servants and my weekly afternoons free,” Olive said. Caroline heard the pity in her younger friend’s voice, but she chose to ignore it.
“I have no idea what will come of this adventure, if we will be able to elude Mr. Bickle or capture the spy, but I for one am glad that I have been able to embark on it. I’m doubly glad that you were able to join me, Olive. I should never have attempted to leave without you.”
“Just don’t try to do it again,” Olive warned, putting in the last word on the matter.
Chapter 19
Caroline woke the next morning to a moan coming from beside her. The ship seemed to have reached a stretch of rough water. Caroline’s bed tilted at an extreme angle back and forth as if stuck on the edge of a crazy clock’s pendulum. She tried to stand and nearly pitched back on her bed. She stumbled for the door but tripped on the sofa they had shoved in front of it. The bulky piece of furniture seemed unbothered by the ship’s pitching and swaying, but the towels hanging by the two washbasins in the room swayed in time with one another.
Olive moaned, a gut-wrenching sound that had Caroline dashing to her maid’s side. She tried to find out what ailed the girl, but Olive could do no more than toss her head from side to side between groans. Frantic now, Caroline ran and shoved away the sofa they had moved in front of the door the previous evening. She needed to reach whatever help was on the other side of the door. With a final shove, Caroline got the sofa out of the way. It had been so much easier to shift when the floor hadn’t been slanting back and forth.
Caroline stuck her head into the corridor, but no one was there. Jerry didn’t magically appear as if answering her internal summons. Caroline backed into her room and pulled the cord to summon a steward. When the man arrived, she asked him to fetch Wellburn, Lord St. David’s man.
While she waited, Caroline tried to struggle into her dress as best she could. But with no one to do up her laces or button the intricate little pearls down her back, she only managed to be halfway decent.
Wellburn appeared with Jerry tagging along behind. “You asked for me,” Wellburn said.
Caroline waved both of them into the room, unconcerned that she stood half-dressed. This was a moment of crisis, and normal social mores had to be dispensed. When the men didn’t seem to agree, Caroline grabbed Wellburn’s hand, dragging him into the room. “She’s dying.”
Other than a slight raise of his eyebrows, Wellburn didn’t react to the dire pronouncement. “I think she may have been poisoned.” Caroline turned to Jerry while Wellburn bent over to investigate the patient. “She was telling me last night about a servant to the Kimbleys, a valet named Hillard.”
Jerry nodded. “Hillard suspects the Kimbleys of smuggling art. Wellburn told me the tale.”
“Do you think this Hillard was trying to cast suspicion on the Kimbleys but for some reason felt that Olive needed to be gotten out of the way as well? If he is the Russian agent, then he murdered Mr. Alset to steal the plans. We cannot assume he would be above murdering again, even if the victim was someone as sweet as Olive.”
Jerry’s face twitched as if he were trying not to laugh. Caroline had the urge to cry. Her dearest friend lay dying, and Jerry wanted to laugh. She clutched her hands worried that she couldn’t do anything
“I do think Hillard is trying to make us suspect the Kimbleys, and that does worry me for various reasons,” Jerry said. He managed to regain control of his features. He took her shivering hands in his. “I don’t think, though, that Hillard has any reason to harm Olive. I suspect she’s overcome by the motion of the ship.”
“The motion?” Caroline felt blank as if Jerry were speaking in a language she had never learned. She recognized the sounds, but his speech had no meaning.
“The motion of the ship,” Wellburn clarified, coming over to join them. “Some people are unable to maintain their good health in the face of such uncertain rocking. The young Olive appears to be one of those. Fortunately, your ladyship seems to possess a stronger constitution.”
“She isn’t going to die?” Caroline asked. It was hard to credit that an ailment that caused such distress was not fatal.
Wellburn gave a faint smile. “She may only wish she would.” He turned to Jerry. “I suggest we request Mrs. Turnton to join us. She may be able to render aid.”
“Mrs. Turnton?” Jerry seemed as surprised as Caroline.
“Mrs. Turnton,” Wellburn said firmly with a small decisive nod to emphasize his point.
Jerry shrugged and pulled the cord for the steward. When the man arrived, he was asked to locate Mrs. Turnton and ask her to join them in Mrs. Wickingham’s room.
While they waited, Caroline went and sat next to Olive’s bed. Wellburn left to get something, and Jerry hovered uncertainly in the background.
“Mr. Wellburn says I’ll be fine,” Olive murmured, finally able to speak. Her voice was so weak, Caroline had to lean over to hear her. Olive gagged as the boat tipped lower than it had before. Caroline straightened up quickly, and the chair she sat on slid a few inches. Jerry grabbed onto the back to steady both the chair and himself.
“Such a touching scene,” said Mrs. Turnton from the doorway. “It would be much more affecting if the young lady’s dress wasn’t gaping open in the back.” Mrs. Turnton entered, and Wellburn followed in behind her carrying a bucket and shutting the stateroom’s door.
Mrs. Turnton peered down at Olive and tutted a bit before turning to Jerry. “My lord, make yourself useful and help Caroline get dressed before I send for my maid. I’ll help Wellburn here.”
“You mean Mrs. Wickingham,” Jerry tried to correct her.
Mrs. Turnton shot the little lord a look that reminded Caroline of one of her fiercer governesses. “Don’t give me that nonsense in the privacy of these rooms. Unlike you two, I wasn’t lying when I said I was the girl’s godmother.”
“I don’t understand,” Caroline said. “My godmother is Lady Mann, one of my mother’s oldest friends.”
“I was Lady Mann eighteen years ago,” said Mrs. Turnton. “I married Horace after Mann died.” She placed her hands on her hips and looked Caroline up and down. “You are the spitting image of Eloise at that age. I would have guessed you for her daughter anywhere. And if I had possessed any doubts those plausible but ridiculous stories you’ve been conjuring out of the air would have convinced me. Your mother also had the knack of making the impossible sound believable. There was this one time with the vicar’s cow.” Mrs. Turnton trailed off with a small smile as if remembering amusing times from the past.
Caroline couldn’t even begin to imagine her mother as the sort of woman Mrs. Turnton described, much less picture her mother as a girl.
Mrs. Turnton snapped back from her reminisces. “My lord, get that girl laced in and buttoned up.”
Caroline presented her back to Jerry so he could do what Mrs. Turnton had commanded. Mrs. Turnton wasn’t the sort of lady one contradicted. If she wanted Jerry to lace up her stays, then Jerry was just going to have to lace them up.
Jerry’s hands hovered over her back, not quite touching her, but she could still feel the warmth radiating off them.
The sway of the boat knocked her off balance a bit and she fell against him. Jerry pulled his hands back as if her back had been made of hot embers.
Jerry cleared his throat. “I don’t believe I know how to help Lady Caroline.”
Mrs. Turnton had bent over Olive. She looked up and gave Jerry the sort of look a governess gives an exasperating charge. “It’s the opposite of unlacing. Surely you’ve done that before.”
Jerry didn’t answer, and Mrs. Turnton’s eyebrows began to creep up her head. She glanced at Wellburn, but he just shrugged.
Caroline glanced back at Jerry, confused at why he had turned such a bright red color. He looked a bit like he was about to fall down in a fit.
“But why would Lord St. David have experience unlacing corsets?” Caroline asked the room. “He doesn’t wear them, and he isn’t a lady’s maid.”
Behind her Jerry made a sort of gurgling sound, like he was choking. Caroline wondered if he was actually having a fit. She turned, concerned, but Jerry seemed to be struggling to decide whether to laugh or choke.
Mrs. Turnton shook her head. “I have no idea why any of you thought this child could pass as a widow. Wellburn, I can’t believe you allowed this.”
“Allowed it?” asked St. David. “Why would Wellburn have a say?”
“I see we are going to need to have a long talk once I get this child situated.” With no intention of discussing the subject further until her patient had been settled, Mrs. Turnton turned to Olive groaning in her bed.
Chapter 20
Wellburn helped Caroline into her dress. Jerry watched the process, intent on learning the secrets. If he spent much time out in the world hunting down foreign agents for his father, there was no knowing what kind of skills he might need. True, he had not suspected that lacing a woman’s corset would be one of them, but he had no idea what situations he might find himself in again.