by Conrad Allen
Constance snorted. “Thank heaven she was no daughter of mine!”
“I rather admire her,” confessed Tabitha.
“Don’t be silly, Tabby. What is there to admire?”
“Her courage, for a start.”
“And her resilience,” noted Genevieve. “Mary Anne had one setback after another yet she somehow kept going. Thank you, Mr. Rollins. This has been a revelation to me. The only women at sea I’ve heard of before were the ones who became pirates.”
“Women pirates!” said Constance with polite derision. “Now, that is something I simply refuse to believe.”
“Then you’ve never come across Mary Read and Anne Bonney,” said Rollins, wagging a finger. “They were true buccaneers, Mrs. Simcoe—every bit as ruthless and bloodthirsty as the men. Yes,” he added, glancing around the room. “I know that it’s hard to credit when you look at all the charming ladies here this evening, but women are capable of committing the most appalling crimes.”
While the rest of the passengers were enjoying a delicious meal and making new acquaintances, the thief slipped into the cabin and subjected it to a swift search. The visit was productive. When the lid of a hatbox was removed, something glinted at the bottom of it. Pocketing the haul, the thief opened the door, checked that nobody was in the corridor, then left. The whole thing had taken less than two minutes.
FOUR
As the meal progressed and the wine flowed, Major Romford Kinnersley became steadily more expansive and even offered a few anecdotes from his military career, but his wife remained cold and humorless. Dillman sensed a deep bitterness in the woman, concealed for the most part behind her supercilious manner, but showing itself from time to time in her gratuitous barbed remarks. Food and drink were of such high quality that Dudley Nevin had liberal quantities of both. Mellowing as dinner wore on, he forgot all about his hatred of India and started to quote Kipling’s poems. When the meal was over, Matilda Kinnersley pleaded tiredness and excused herself from the table, leaving the three men to adjourn to the lounge for a brandy. The major was apologetic.
“You must forgive Matilda,” he said. “We’ve been in India for so long now that she has grave misgivings about going back to England. It makes her tense and waspish.”
“Do you have any reservations about going home?” said Dillman.
“Dozens, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because the country is going to the dogs.”
“I wouldn’t entirely agree with that, Major,” said Nevin.
“Then you obviously haven’t kept track of what’s going on. These past few years have been nothing short of disastrous. England now has a Liberal government with a huge majority to create what mischief they will, a confounded Labor Party pouring its poison into the ears of the lower orders, and strident women demanding the vote. Then there’s all this dangerous talk of an eight-hour day, old age pensions, health insurance, free school meals, and—God forbid—a measure of independence for Ireland. Yes,” concluded Kinnersley, after sipping his brandy, “and there’s even a move to stop religion being taught to the children. It’s scandalous.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Nevin said easily. “I had far too much Christianity rammed down my throat at Winchester. And we all got chilblains from sitting in that icy cathedral during winter months.”
“That’s neither here nor there, Mr. Nevin.”
“Yes, it is. Those chilblains were painful.”
“If you ask me,” continued the major, darkly, “the rot set in when some fools elected an Indian to the House of Commons. A foreigner, for heaven’s sake! An alien in the seat of government.”
“India has aliens in its seat of government,” argued Dillman.
“That’s a false comparison.”
“I don’t think so. It has a viceroy imposed upon it.”
“For its own good, man. Can’t you understand that?”
“Frankly, no.”
“I told you that he was a political agitator,” said Nevin, amused.
“As a matter of fact,” returned Dillman, “I admire some aspects of your parliamentary system—now that we’re free from its dictates. But I think that it’s only right that India should be represented in the House of Commons. That’s where decisions are made about their country. Indians should be able to take part in those decisions.”
“Poppycock, sir!” snapped Kinnersley.
“Yes,” said Nevin. “Follow that specious line of argument and you’d have members of Parliament from every corner of the Empire. Black faces would outnumber the white. That would be intolerable.”
“Indecent!”
“You’ll be suggesting that we become a republic next.”
“No, Mr. Nevin,” said Dillman. “I’d never advocate that. You have a system that’s evolved over the years and that suits you perfectly. In America, we prefer to do things differently, that’s all.”
“Differently and ruinously,” asserted the major.
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“You’ve heard mine.”
“We’re a young country, Major. We’re still finding our feet.”
“America is also a backward country,” said Nevins, rolling his glass between his palms. “Let’s face it. Fifty years ago, you still had slavery.”
“Granted,” said Dillman sadly, “and it was a mark of disgrace upon us. But, unlike you, we had the sense to put an end to it. You still have slavery in India.”
“That’s a monstrous suggestion!” protested the major.
“What else would you call it?”
“A civilizing process.”
“There’s nothing very civilized about a turning a vast population into nothing more than servants. You may not keep them in chains,” said Dillman, reasonably, “but you keep them in subjection. If that’s not a form of slavery, what is it?”
The major rose to his feet. “I’ll hear no more of this nonsense.”
“Don’t go,” urged Nevin, enjoying the argument. “Stay and fight your corner, Major. We can’t give in to all this American twaddle.”
“It’s too late,” the other man said curtly. “Good night, gentlemen.”
With a nod of his head, he turned on his heel and walked off.
“I think that you upset him, Mr. Dillman,” said Nevin.
“It was quite unintentional.”
“Such a pity. I was really starting to enjoy his company now that his wife was no longer with us. What did you make of her?”
“She seemed a rather unhappy woman.”
“Unhappy? That’s putting it mildly. I thought that Mrs. Kinnersley was sour to the core. No wonder her husband has doubts about going back home. With a wife like that in tow, I’d be terrified.”
“I’m sure that the lady has her virtues.”
“I dread to think what they might be!” Nevin drained his glass with satisfaction. “Another brandy?”
“Not for me, thank you,” said Dillman. “I think I’ll turn in.” He was about to get up when he remembered something. “Unless, of course, this is the right moment.”
“For what?”
“For you to tell me the reason you left England under a cloud.”
Nevin laughed. “Oh, that!” he said. “No, not this evening. If you want to hear about that little peccadillo, you’ll have to share a lot more than one brandy with me.”
First to arrive, they were the last to leave the dining saloon. Constance Simcoe preferred to be helped into the Bath chair with a degree of privacy so that she did not have an audience. Genevieve Masefield waited with her friends until Morelli was summoned to wheel the older woman back to her cabin. It had been a pleasant evening. Both Tabitha and Genevieve had been enthralled by what they had been told by Wilbur Rollins, and they hoped to hear more about women at sea. Constance, on the other hand, still found it too incredible to take seriously.
After an exchange of farewells, Genevieve went off to her own cabin. When she found a letter awaiting
her, she hoped that it was from Dillman but it turned out to be a summons from Max Cannadine. She went straight off to the purser’s office. He was glad to see her.
“I’m sorry to call you so late,” he said, indicating a seat, “but we have a slight problem on our hands.”
Genevieve sat down. “That’s what we’re here for, Mr. Cannadine,” she said. “Night and day, George and I are always on duty.”
“ ‘We Never Sleep.’ Isn’t that the Pinkerton motto?”
“It applies to us as well. Have you sent for George?”
“No, Miss Masefield,” he told her. “I thought that you were the person to handle this assignment. How good is your French?”
“It’s passable.”
“Excellent. I’ll need you to interview a lady called Madame Roussel in second class. She had some valuables stolen from her cabin.”
“Why didn’t she ask you to lock them away in your safe?”
“She didn’t think that it was necessary,” he explained. “Ordinarily, she would have been right. The Salsette has a reputation for its security. As a rule, you could leave the Crown Jewels in your cabin with impunity. But not tonight, it seems.”
“What was taken?”
“Some money and several items of jewelry.”
“I’ll need a full list,” said Genevieve.
“Yes, I told Madame Roussel that you’d call on her first thing in the morning. She was too distressed to talk any more about it this evening.”
“What sort of woman is she?”
“Rather theatrical, Miss Masefield. She came storming in here and gabbled at me in French. It took me some time to calm her down. With luck, she may be less hysterical tomorrow.”
“When did she discover the theft?”
“When she got back from dinner,” said Cannadine. “She took off her necklace to put it with the rest of her jewelry and found that it wasn’t in its hiding place.”
“Hiding place?”
“Tucked away at the bottom of a hatbox.”
“That narrows down the time when it must have been stolen,” said Genevieve. “We’ll have to start looking at any passengers who were not in either of the dining saloons.”
“It’s not as easy as that, I’m afraid. Madame Roussel was out of her cabin for a couple of hours before dinner. I’m not sure of the details, because she was in a highly emotional state, but what it amounts to is this. She has an admirer aboard. Madame Roussel was with him for some time. In fact,” he went on, “my guess is that she may have gone back to his cabin after dinner.”
“What makes you think that?”
“She’s a very desirable lady, and she did drop more than a few hints. Anyway, Miss Masefield,” he said, “you can see why I want you to handle this case. It requires tact, diplomacy, and the feminine touch.”
“I’ll speak to her tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“And I’ll talk to this admirer of hers, as well.”
“Why?”
“Because he may be implicated,” said Genevieve. “If he lured her away for a couple of hours before dinner, he may have been distracting her so that a confederate could search her cabin.”
“But she spoke so fondly of the man.”
“We have to consider all the options, Mr. Cannadine. He may turn out to be completely innocent—I hope that he is—but he still has to go on my list.” She got up from the chair with a sigh. “Oh, dear! And there you were, saying that we’d have a quiet time of it on the Salsette.”
“I prefer to take a more positive attitude.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m very upset that this has happened, naturally. It reflects badly on us. However,” he said with a grin, “it will give me the chance to see you in action, so I regard that as a bonus.”
It was quite late when Dillman left the lounge but he had no intention of going to bed yet. That was just an excuse to detach himself from Dudley Nevin’s company. What the detective really wanted to do was to explore the ship when almost nobody was about, so that he could familiarize himself with its layout. To that end, he began with the orlop deck and worked his way slowly upward, checking the accommodations, looking into all the public rooms, establishing where the kitchens were, and generally getting his bearings.
Dillman was on the promenade deck when the accident happened. It was a fine night but the place seemed deserted. There were no couples enjoying a romantic moment under the moon, and no members of the crew visible. Standing at the rail, Dillman gazed out across the water, picking out the lights of another vessel in the distance. A rumbling sound then came into his ears, getting closer and louder all the time. Before he could work out what had produced the noise, he was too late. Someone came hurtling around the angle of a bulkhead on roller skates and collided with him.
Thrown backward against the rail, Dillman put out both arms instinctively and found that he was holding a vivacious young woman. Torn between amusement and dismay, Lois Greenwood gave an apology that was punctuated with loud giggles.
“Look,” she said, disentangling herself from Dillman, “I’m awfully sorry to run into you like that. I didn’t expect anyone to be here at this time of night. I thought the coast was clear.”
“It was my fault,” said Dillman. “I should have got out of the way.”
“I didn’t give you much chance.”
“No, I suppose that you didn’t.”
“Are you all right?” she asked. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“I think I’ll survive.”
They introduced themselves. Lois was tickled by the fact that the person she had inadvertently hit was a courteous American, and for his part, Dillman was pleased to meet such a friendly and open young woman. After spending dinner sitting opposite the Kinnersleys, he found Lois an absolute delight. She was so exuberant. Sixteen years old, she came from London and was traveling with her parents.
“What were you doing, Miss Greenwood?” he asked.
“Practicing.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that roller-skating was quite the thing for a young lady to take up. Isn’t it rather hazardous?”
“Only when someone gets in the way,” she said, bringing a hand up to stifle a giggle. “I don’t simply skate, Mr. Dillman. I play for a team.”
“What sort of team?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Yes, I would. You have an honest face.”
“Are you teasing me?”
“Of course not,” he assured her. “I’m genuinely interested. Now tell me what sort of team it is.”
“We play football on roller skates.”
Dillman was taken aback. “Are you serious, Miss Greenwood?”
“Never more so. We have a league. You’d be surprised how many teams there are. The standard is really quite high.”
“Where on earth do you play?”
“On a roller-skating rink,” she explained. “Having to kick a football makes it much more difficult. It’s a wonderful sport. The only trouble is that we have a few cheats in it.”
“Cheats?”
“Girls who skate into you on purpose, or trip you up when you go for the ball. If you take a tumble, it can be very painful.”
Dillman rubbed his back. “You don’t need to tell me that.”
“Of course, Mummy and Daddy think that I’m mad even wanting to play. They’ve done everything they can to stop me but it’s what I want to do. It’s so much more fun than just skating around.”
“Wouldn’t it be safer to play football on grass?”
“Yes, but not nearly as exciting,” she said scornfully. “I tried ice hockey, but the rink is miles away and I was never really good enough. I’m much better on wheels. I scored two goals in the last match I played.”
“I’d like to hear more about this new sport,” decided Dillman, “only not now. I think I’ll take my bruises off to bed and leave the field clear for you, Miss Greenwood.”
“Thank you. I’m so glad it was you that I hit.”
“Why?”
“There are so many stuffy people aboard. They wouldn’t have been as nice about it as you are, Mr. Dillman.” She looked worried. “You won’t tell my parents about this, will you?”
“I’ve no reason to do so.”
“That’s a relief. It would give Daddy just the excuse he needs to confiscate my skates. He doesn’t even realize that I’m out on deck. He and Mummy went to bed early.” She grinned up at him. “It was lovely to meet you. I don’t know any Americans. I do hope we’ll bump into each other again.”
“Not if you’re wearing those roller skates. It hurts too much.”
Lois Greenwood went off into another series of giggles. As he made his way up the steps to the boat deck, Dillman could hear her girlish laughter echoing in the half-dark behind him.
After an early breakfast, Genevieve went into the second-class area of the ship to call on Madame Berthe Roussel. Though she had been warned that the lady was inclined to histrionics, she found her very subdued that morning. Madame Roussel was a buxom woman in her thirties who wore a flamboyant silk dressing gown, and whose lustrous brown hair was brushed back neatly into a chignon. Her face was disfigured by a morose expression but Genevieve could see why the purser had found her desirable. The Frenchwoman had a mature beauty that, allied to her poise, would turn most male heads.
Madame Roussel was surprised that her visitor was a detective.
“But you do not look like the policeman,” she said.
“That’s the idea, Madame Roussel. My appearance is my disguise. By the way,” offered Genevieve, “I can try to talk in French, if you prefer.”
“No, no. My English, it is good, I think. Is only when I get excited that I need to speak in my own language. Last night, with the purser, I could not get all the English words out. You understand me now. Yes?”