‘Look, let us think about this for a moment. Whatever happened to Bertram I doubt they could have risked letting him leave by the front door when they were going to deny he had ever been there.’
Rory nodded. ‘There must be another exit.’
‘I am sure we could take another turn around the docks without arousing too much suspicion. The rain has stopped and we might even be lucky enough to see some tracks.’
Reluctantly, after some more persuasion including suggesting to Rory I might not be safe alone, I managed to convince him that we should both check. The building was small enough for us to perambulate around in a few minutes. There were two doors at the front and one at the back. Bertram had obviously been taken from the rear.
We retreated to the tearoom once more. Rory got us both tea, but also managed to get a large paper napkin and procure a pencil from somewhere. We sat in a corner as he drew out a rough plan of the area around the shipping office. When he had finished he sat back and looked at it.
‘I think there would be only two ways of quickly getting rid of someone,’ he said. ‘There are plenty of carts and automobile vans along the quayside. He could have been put in one of those and transported elsewhere.’
‘Or he could have been put on board a ship.’
Rory sucked his teeth, producing a most unpleasant sound. ‘Actually, I was going to say they could have thrown him in the water.’
‘He would not have gone easily.’
‘Knock him out beforehand. He might well have had a heart attack when they tried to apprehend him.’
I decided to ignore this last catastrophic suggestion. ‘Either they would have needed several men to have lowered him slowly, or they would have had to have been prepared to make a large splash. Either of these would have drawn attention. We had the luxury of withdrawing from the rain, but the dockers and suppliers did not.’
‘If he was put in a van he could have been taken anywhere,’ said Rory glumly.
‘I do not think he was. Whatever was done, it had to have been done quickly. There was no time to arrange a clever plan. However unlucky Bertram was in running into someone who had reason to … we are missing the point. Why did they take Bertram?’
‘I am not missing any point, Euphemia. I am trying to act in a timely manner,’ answered Rory shortly.
‘It must mean something happened to Fitzroy at these docks. Do you realise he may never have got on the liner at all? He may still be alive! He may be being held prisoner somewhere.’ I heard my voice rise with excitement.
‘Maybe,’ said Rory flatly, ‘but I think we should get Bertram back first if we can. You were beginning to say how unlucky Bertram was. Was there a point you were trying to make?’
‘Yes,’ I said shortly.
‘This is no time to be moody,’ said Rory. ‘Think of your beloved Bertram.’
I bristled, but ignored this. He was right. Time was of the essence. Especially if what I suspected was correct. ‘I do not believe for one moment that everyone working at these docks was involved with either the kidnapping of Bertram or Fitzroy. Bertram must have drawn too much attention to himself yesterday when he first went to the office.’
‘Quite likely,’ said Rory drily.
‘He must have made enough noise for whoever did not want enquiries into Fitzroy to continue to have heard about him.’
‘So you are suggesting that the clerk on duty today was someone involved in whatever the original Fitzroy plot was. That he was waiting to see if Bertram returned.’
I nodded. ‘I imagine he was hoping he would not, but he could not take the risk.’
‘Would that have been enough time for him to conjure a plan?’ asked Rory.
‘I imagine that if you have kidnapped someone, not that I ever have, that the last thing you would want to do would be to do the same thing again.’
‘Drawing attention to yourself, you mean?’ said Rory. ‘Bertram is clearly a gentleman of some means and is bound to be missed.’
‘Exactly. I imagine that whoever this clerk is, he was hoping he could put Bertram off the scent easily. If he simply confirmed that Fitzroy had boarded the Titanic that would have been the end of our enquiries.’
Rory rubbed his hand along his chin. ‘When you put it like that, it would have been very easy to get rid of Bertram. I mean simply to tell him that lie and send him on his way. Something must have happened.’
‘But you see what I mean about there being no time to make a grand plan? The simplest thing was to give Bertram the lie and send him on his way.’
‘But something went wrong,’ said Rory.
‘Obviously, and the clerk had to handle a situation he did not expect.’
‘Well, it would not have been too hard to knock Bertram out,’ said Rory. ‘Not if you had any experience with that sort of thing. But what would you do with the body?’
I looked out at the busy dock. It was so obvious now I understood. ‘They put him on a ship,’ I said. ‘Tied up, I would imagine, and hidden somewhere where he would not be discovered until he was out at sea.’
Rory’s eyes widened. ‘Even if they believed he had been put aboard against his will, the captain would not turn the ship around for him.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘and that means it would have bought the clerk and his allies more time.’
Rory gave a low whistle. ‘So Fitzroy is still alive.’
‘It seems likely.’
‘But how do we work out which ship Bertram is on. And more to the point where he has been put?’
‘I think I have an idea,’ I said, ‘but I can guarantee Bertram is not going to like it.’
Rory gave an evil grin.
‘This is sounding better and better,’ he said.
Chapter Eighteen
In which I make an exhibition of myself at the
docks
‘So you’re telling me your little brother is stowing away on board one of these ships.’
The harbourmaster was a tall craggy man, whose face had been so weathered by the sea his age could have been anything between thirty and fifty-five. He wore a tightly curled beard, but my impression was this was out of necessity from the battering of cruel winds at sea rather than any sartorial sense. His harbourmaster’s hat was jammed down tightly over his head, so that he appeared to have no ears. His eyes were wide, blue, and filled with suspicion.
‘My brother is a full thirty-three years of age,’ I said slowly and clearly. ‘But he has the mental age of a small child. He sounds like a man, but this is completely misleading.’
‘He is prone to tantrums,’ added Rory. ‘And when he is in a rage can be a danger to himself or others.’
I flashed him a look of alarm. The last thing we wanted was for the harbourmaster to decide he had to get the police involved.
‘Not that he would mean to hurt anyone,’ I said quickly.
‘Aye, disn’t ken his ain strength,’ said Rory becoming gruffly Scotch under my rebuke.
‘And this is him, is it?’ said the harbour master picking up the sketch Rory had done for him. ‘Is a good likeness?’
‘Yes,’ I said truthfully. Rory’s talent was as obvious as it was surprising.
‘Right, I’d better round up some men,’ said the harbourmaster. ‘I have more than one ship going out on the tide in an hour.’
‘You won’t hurt him, will you?’ I asked with real fear in my voice.
‘Might be better if you came along, sir,’ he said to Rory. ‘Help calm him down if necessary.’
Rory and I exchanged a look.
‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘it’s his sister that’s best at that. I tend to enrage him more often than not. Seeing as how I am often called to restrain him.’
‘Right,’ said the harbourmaster, ‘if you’re used to restraining him you are definitely coming with us. We’ll call you, miss, if we need to talk him out from somewhere.’
‘Thank you,’ I said sincerely. I could only pray that Bertram was unconscious when they found
him. If the pretence was that he was a stowaway I hoped that they had not tied him up. That would led to the most awkward of questions and as yet I could think of no response.
At least this time I was waiting in the harbourmaster’s office. It was not as warm as the tearoom, but the seats were comfortable and the views out of the window unhampered by steam.
The rain had continued to slow and was now no more than a relentless drizzle. Fog hovered on the horizon, but far enough out, that I had a good view of the open expanse of sea beyond. Before I had sailed with Hans and Richenda such a view would have gladdened and uplifted me. Now I knew that no matter how beautiful the sea might seem she could be wild and cruel. There were two liners in dock. The dockside itself was now awash with both the suppliers loading the ships and the passengers arriving for their voyages. The harbourmaster’s office allowed both draughts and sound to pass freely through and I heard the excited exclamations of those seeing their ship for the first time. With the fate of the Titanic so few months behind us it surprised me that so many people were still so eager for sea travel.
I knew the White Star Line had seemingly been ruthless in distancing itself from the disaster. All the surviving crew and staff had been relieved of their employment the next day, so no one on one of the White Star ships would find themselves sailing with a ‘Jonah’. [17]
The thought of Bertram being unwillingly, unwittingly, sent out to sea made the pit of my stomach lurch. To the best of my knowledge he had never sailed before, and his home in the Fens had engendered in him a deep dislike of all forms of unconfined water. I feared his finding himself suddenly at sea might bring on a heart attack – if his capture had not already done so. I knew he would be furious at my ruse to find him, but I would so much rather bear his wrath than see him further endangered.
There was nothing for me to do for the moment but worry. I would have much rather been out looking for him, but I knew all too well how large these ships were. The cargo ships that were also in dock I assumed would be vastly cavernous inside; the cargo bays as large and dark as any unlit cathedral.
The enormity of all the ships unsettled me. That structures much larger than most buildings on land should pitch and roll their way across the depths of the ocean awakened a primeval fear. But perhaps if one had not been associated with a disaster at sea one could forget the darkness beneath. Perhaps Bertram would awaken and think only of the sumptuousness of his surroundings. If we failed to find him perhaps he would find the motion of the sea gentle and reassuring.
The thoughts turned round and over in my head. I felt nauseous and dizzy. The drinks from the tea-shop must have been even poorer than they had tasted. The draughts in here were bad enough that I was shivering. I must have indeed presented a sorry sight when, what felt like hours later, a docker burst through the door.
‘Are you the man’s sister, ma’am?’ he asked. ‘You’re badly needed.’
I had been sitting still for so long that my legs shook when I stood and I almost fell.
‘Is he alive?’ I asked.
‘Aye, ma’am,’ said the docker with a grin. ‘He’s certainly that.’
These words seemed to bring strength back to my limbs. ‘I’m ready,’ I said.
‘Would you mind if we ran, ma’am?’ asked the young docker. ‘Only it’s urgent.’
‘Lead the way,’ I said, and hitched up my skirts to a degree that would have made even my lion-hearted mother faint.
We ran across the docks in the direction of one of the cargo ships. ‘Make way! Make way! Coming through!’ the docker cried. People scattered before us. As a number of dockers who were not involved in the search called out comments, I tried hard not to hear and I am fairly sure one older lady crumpled in shock as I flashed by. My ankles were on display for all to see and I did not care. My mother had been right being involved with the Staplefords had not been good for my moral well-being, but I was so afraid of what I might find on that cargo ship. I needed to know. I needed to get there as fast as I could. It could be that only I could divert Bertram’s fury and thus negate the risk of a heart attack. What were bare ankles compared to a man’s life?
The boy in front of me pelted up a gangway and I followed. The wooden platform bounced under our feet. The gangway led directly into the side of the ship, so that at the top I hesitated to allow my eyes to adjust to the gloom. The boy ran between a number of loaded pallets and disappeared. I followed and soon found myself at the top of a short ladder. There was nothing for it: I would have to shimmer down and hope that no one at the bottom was watching. I scooped my skirts up over my arm and holding on with one hand managed to climb awkwardly down. I was now in a narrow, metal corridor. I saw the boy waiting a decent distance ahead on the other side of an oval bulkhead door. ‘In ’ere, ma’am,’ he called.
I rushed over to find a small room so filled with people that I could not enter. It was a cold storage place of some sort. There were sacks and shelves filled with all sorts of things. We must have been below the waterline because the air was decidedly chilly. Backed up against one wall was Bertram, his hair and eyes wild. He was holding a large knife in front of him. Rory was engaged in trying to reason with him, but his voice was getting louder and louder and more and more Scotch. The harbourmaster and three dockers had edged round the side. I glimpsed at least one cudgel.
‘What on earth is going on?’ I cried.
The harbourmaster’s head whipped round. ‘What the damnation is she doing down here?’
‘You said to fetch help!’ said the young docker. ‘And she was the only one in the office. I thought you meant her.’
The harbourmaster’s eyes widened. ‘Did you climb down here in those skirts?’ he asked, I felt somewhat indelicately.
‘I certainly didn’t take them off,’ I responded tartly. ‘Now, what seems to be the problem? I am glad to see you have found my brother and that he appears to be well. Why have you not brought him off the ship?’ I said trying my best to imitate the grande dame that my mother could do so well. I tuned my tone to that of nurse and demanded, ‘And why on earth do you have a knife, Bertram? That is not acceptable behaviour. Put it down.’
‘Get out, Euphemia,’ yelled Bertram. ‘Save yourself! They are murderers and kidnappers.’
‘Don’t be silly, dear,’ I said, trying to convey the message he needed to play with my eyes to Bertram. ‘These nice men have helped me find you. And you know Rory. He would never hurt you.’
It seemed to me that the tension in the room was lessening slightly. Certainly, the cudgels had been tucked back out of sight. I hoped my teacherly no-nonsense approach was making them all feel just a little stupid.
However, Bertram did not put his knife down.
‘Don’t you understand, Euphemia?’ he roared. ‘These men knocked me out and locked me up down here. Now, they have come to finish me off.’
‘Nonsense,’ I tried again to indicate that he needed to play along. ‘No one has harmed you.’
‘I suppose I hit myself on the back of the head,’ snapped back Bertram. ‘I have a tremendous bump and there is blood in my hair.’
‘That explains it,’ I said kindly. ‘You must have fallen. It is very dark in the cargo hold.’
Bertram began to protest again, but I quickly spoke over him. ‘I will take you to see Dr Fitzroy,’ I said loudly. ‘You know how he always makes you better.’
Bertram looked quite manic at this, but then suddenly his expression changed. ‘Dr Fitzroy,’ he said. ‘You mean this whole situation is down to Dr Fitzroy?’
‘Indeed,’ I replied, ‘and no matter how much these men want to help you none of them work with Dr Fitzroy or his friends.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Bertram. He handed the knife to Rory. ‘Sorry, old chap. Blow to the head confused me a bit like Euphemia said. Can we leave now?’
‘Certainly,’ I said, ‘but if you gentlemen will please do me the courtesy of giving me a head start? Ladders and skirts do not mix well.’
There was a degree of embarrassed shuffling, and the last vestiges of male bravado faded from the room.
[17] In sea lore superstition a Jonah is one who will bring disaster on a ship and her crew. It was rumoured that the White Star Line felt anyone who had survived the Titanic would remind passengers of the disaster seemed to be the company’s ruling. It seemed that as far as they were concerned, the best thing was to forget the whole incident as quickly as possible. After all, her sister ship, the Olympic, was still sailing. I found the whole situation most disheartening.
Chapter Nineteen
In which a good dinner is ruined by discussion
By the time we reached the hotel it became clear that Bertram had suffered a severe blow to the head. Rory helped him upstairs and I summoned the hotel doctor. He was able to assure us that the chances were that Bertram would not suffer lasting damage, but that he required complete bed rest for at least the rest of the day, if not tomorrow as well. He also suggested that someone should sit with him, so that should he become nauseous or further confused a doctor could be called at once. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what such changes would mean, but I decided I would rather not know.
‘I’ll stay with him, Doctor,’ said Rory. ‘I am sure the hotel will allow a cot bed or some such thing to be brought in under the circumstances.’
‘How did he come by the injury?’ asked the doctor.
‘He fell,’ I said quickly.
‘Rushing down steps,’ added Rory. ‘Man is always in a hurry.’ He made the mildly disgruntled noise of a servant who finds his master tiresome.
‘So he was not inebriated or in a fight?’
‘Goodness, no!’ I said. ‘My brother is not that kind of man.’
The doctor lowered his eyebrows and appeared to consider me for a moment. ‘In that case I will advise the hotel of your requirements and ensure they comply. I imagine there will be an extra charge.’
‘Oh, that is not an issue,’ I said, careless of Bertram’s expenses. He had never appeared to be short of money, so I assumed he could easily pay whatever charges were incurred. Rory gave me a curious look.
A Death for King and Country - A Euphemia Martins Murder Mystery (Euphemia Martins Mysteries Book 7) Page 10