In Dublin’s City

by Rhys Bowen

  If gangplanks had already been raised to the ship, then it was possible that the local police had already come on board. I could be summoned at any moment. I dressed hastily in Oona Sheehan's least flamboyant outfit, one of the few things I had brought down with me from her cabin the night before. It was a black-and-white-striped two-piece costume and a jaunty little black hat with an ostrich feather. I couldn’t see myself wearing the hat, however. In fact, I felt strange putting on her clothing, now that I knew the truth of the situation and more disturbing questions entered my head. What if she denied ever making the pact with me? What if she accused me of stealing her clothes, or even worse? Then I remembered something—she had given me a check for a hundred dollars. I had it safely in my traveling case with her signature quite legible on it. At least I could prove she had hired me to do something for her!

  Feeling slightly better now, I brushed out my own hair and tied it back, glad that I wasn’t going to have to wear that hateful wig again, then went in search of some breakfast. I got strange looks when I had to ask my way to the second-class dining room and then find a place that wasn’t assigned to another passenger, but I ate a surprisingly hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, toast and marmalade, and frankly enjoyed it all the more after a week of dainty invalid delicacies from the first-class kitchen.

  As I made my way back to my cabin, I saw Wally, the steward who had been summoned to the meeting last night, standing outside my cabin door talking with a big, stocky man in a tweed overcoat.

  “Were you wanting me?” I asked, as I approached.

  “Oh, there you are, miss.” The steward looked decidedly relieved. “We thought for a moment that you’d done a bunk.”

  “‘Done a bunk’?” I demanded. “And why would I want to do that? And what did you think I’d done—dived out through the porthole?”

  I saw just the hint of a smile twitch on the big man's face. He was middle aged, with impressive muttonchop whiskers, a ruddy complexion that hinted at a life in the outdoors, and perhaps the love of a good whisky.

  “So you’re the young lady, are you? Miss Murphy?” he asked. His accent was English, with a just a touch of an Irish lilt to it. “How do you do.” He stuck out a big, meaty hand. “Inspector Harris. I’ve just got here by train from Dublin, and I gather you’re the only one who can throw any light onto this whole strange, sordid business.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said.

  “Well, to start with, I’ve been told you’ve been impersonating the famous actress, Miss Oona Sheehan, for the entire voyage. Is that correct?”

  “It is,” I said, and started to tell him how that had come about.

  Raised voices could be heard coming in our direction. “Where is the damned purser? I’d like to know. Why aren’t we being allowed ashore? The gangways are clearly in place.”

  Inspector Harris glanced down the hallway then opened my cabin door. “Right. Let's go into your cabin and talk then, shall we?”

  “It's not very big,” I warned. “I can scarcely turn around in it myself.”

  I opened the door. He took a look inside and retreated again. “I see what you mean. Not enough room to swing a cat, as they say. Okay, why don’t we go up to the cabin you’ve been occupying all week? I’ve got men going over it as we speak and maybe you can answer some of their questions. Will you show us the way, my man?”

  Wally nodded and led us back along the hall. I followed reluctantly. I had no wish to see Rose's dead face in daylight. Our feet resonated as we climbed the steep steps back to Oona Sheehan's cabin and the opulence of the first-class quarters. A police constable was standing guard at the entrance to Miss Sheehan's passage, and there were two more policemen in the cabin itself.

  “We haven’t found anything so far, sir.” One of them looked up from his hands and knees beside the bed as Inspector Harris stood aside to usher me into the cabin. “No signs of a struggle. I think we shouldprobably call in the police surgeon to verify the ship doctor's diagnosis. Isn’t it possible she died of natural causes, and this is all a flap over nothing? She looks peaceful enough.”

  Rose's body had obviously been covered in a sheet all night, but this had now been pulled back. I stole a hurried look at her in spite of myself. Luckily someone had now closed her eyes so she was no longer staring at me. She looked very peaceful, lying there as if asleep, and I felt tears well up into my eyes.

  “People who die of natural causes don’t end up with bruises on their throats,” the inspector said dryly. “He didn’t strangle her enough to kill her but probably enough to make her pass out. Not enough broken blood vessels in her eyes. Then he must have rammed her face into the pillow to finish her off.”

  I felt a sob rising in my throat, put an embarrassed hand up to my mouth, and managed to turn the sob into a sniff. Inspector Harris touched my arm. “I’m sure this must be most distressing for you, Miss Murphy.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, although I didn’t feel that way. “It's just seeing her there. Such a waste of a young life.”

  The inspector took my arm. “Maybe if we go and sit over there at the porthole—you take that sofa and I’ll take the chair. Now, first things first. Let's start with your discovering the body. This happened exactly when?” He took out a notebook and pencil and looked at me expectantly.

  “It was after midnight, I know that much. The band had played ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ and I left the ball with everyone else.”

  “Go back a bit.” He held up his hand. “You had been occupying this cabin the entire voyage, correct? But you left it yesterday evening?”

  “That's right, sir. I had been told by Miss Sheehan to keep to my cabin as much as possible. But yesterday the steward told me there was to be a fancy dress ball and suggested I might like to obtain a costume and go to it.”

  “Which steward was this?”

  “Frederick, the day steward for this cabin.”

  He scribbled down the name. “So you decided to go in spite of being told to keep to your cabin.”

  “Yes. I’d been cooped up in here throughout the voyage. A costume ball was too much of a temptation, and I felt I could safely join in the fun. So I had some costumes sent down from the ship's rental store, tried them on, and kept a couple of them. One was Marie Antoinette and one was the Spanish senorita's costume that Rose is now wearing. I decided to go as Marie Antoinette because of the big, powdered wig and the mask. I thought there was no chance of my being recognized.”

  “And were you recognized?”

  A picture came into my head of that executioner stepping forward to block my path and saying those alarming things to me. Then I shook my head. He couldn’t have known who I was. He was only acting, enjoying playing such a macabre part.

  “Absolutely not,” I said.

  “So you came back here after midnight. Anything unusual happen? Did you pass anybody in the corridors?”

  “Of course. Revelers from the ball were all making their way to their cabins. The only strange thing was that there was no steward on duty in his little room at the end of the hall. Later, when I found the regular night attendant, Henry, he told me that a strange steward had shown up with a floral display for this cabin and had offered to take his place while he went down to the crew party.” I looked around the room. “It must be that big arrangement of chrysanthamums on the dresser.”

  “You hear that, Jonesy?” Inspector Harris alerted one of the policemen. “Big display of mums over there. There might be fingerprints on the vase. See what you can do, eh?”

  He turned back to me. “Did you know you can identify people by their fingerprints? No two are alike, apparently. And Scotland Yard has now come up with a way to dust objects so that the fingerprints show up. So all we’d have to do is to take the fingerprints of all the men on this ship, and... “

  “There don’t appear to be any fingerprints on the vase, sir,” the young policeman called back. “It appears to have been wiped clean.”

  “Ah, a though
tful criminal then.” He nodded. “Right. Back to square one. So you came in and...”

  “And saw someone asleep in my bed. I thought it must have been Miss Sheehan herself, come back to her own cabin for the last night atsea, and I was rather annoyed that she hadn’t warned me. I went to wake her gently and that's when I found it was Rose.” “What made you think it was Miss Sheehan?”

  “They both had red hair and that's all I could see. The coverlet was pulled right up, you see. All nice and smooth. No sign of foul play.” “And what did you do then?”

  “Went for help, of course. Henry, the cabin steward came in, and then he went to fetch the first officer and the ship's doctor. That's all I can tell you.”

  He cocked his head on one side, staring at me. “So who knew you were going to be at this ball?”

  “Only Frederick, the day steward, and Henry. And Rose, of course.” “And the people working in the costume rental place?” “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

  “So it wouldn’t have been too hard to ascertain that you were out of the cabin last night.”

  “No, probably not. But what would the motive for entering this cabin have been if someone thought it was unoccupied?”

  “Robbery, of course. I expect Miss Sheehan was quite a rich woman. She probably had a nice little collection of jewels with her.”

  “If she had, I can assure you they weren’t left in this cabin for my use,” I said. “Or if they are here, they are very well hidden. She must have taken them with her, or put them in the ship's safe, or even given them to Rose for safekeeping.”

  “I’ll be taking a look at Rose's cabin in a moment,” the inspector said, “and my sergeant can check on whether Miss Sheehan left anything in the ship's safe. In either case, Rose would have known where the jewels were, correct? So the intruder comes in, tries to get the truth out of Rose, wants to frighten her by shoving her face into a pillow, and goes too far. Kills her accidentally, then covers up his crime and flees.”

  “You think it was as simple as that, do you?” I asked.

  “It usually is. Most crimes I’ve handled are bungled attempts of some sort or another.” He chewed on the end of his pencil. “You obviously have other thoughts on the matter.come on, now. Out with it.”

  “It struck me that the intended target was Miss Sheehan herself. Rose was dressed up in the other costume I had hired.”

  “Yes, that was strange, wasn’t it? Was she dressed that way when you left her? Was she hoping to sneak into the ball?”

  I shook my head. “No. I actually suggested she come to the ball with me, but she was horrified at the thought. I expect she probably put on the costume for a lark when nobody was looking. So my thought was that someone took the chance to be alone with Miss Sheehan and killed Rose by mistake.”

  “And why would someone want to kill Miss Sheehan, in your opinion?”

  “Unrequited love? She had plenty of admirers, some of whom bordered on the fanatic. Maybe she spurned one of them and it was too much for him. You know—if I can’t have her then nobody can.”

  “I see.” He cocked his head again, studying me. “These admirers you talk about—did she mention any of them by name?”

  “No, but she said she was growing tired of being pestered by them, and when I encountered a couple myself, I could see why.”

  An eyebrow raised, almost imperceptibly. “You said you were instructed to stay in your cabin throughout the voyage, did you not? So where did you encounter these admirers?”

  “I didn’t say I was told not to leave my cabin. I was advised keep to it for most of the journey by feigning sickness. But when I tried a turn about the deck, I saw instantly what Miss Sheehan had to go through. I was accosted almost immediately by love-sick young men.”

  “Any names you can give me?”

  I frowned, recreating the times I had been on deck. “One of them had a very silly name—Artie something. Rotweiler? Something Germanic sounding. Fortwrangler, that was it, Artie Fortwrangler,- but he seemed like a harmless sort of boy.”

  “Fortwrangler,” the inspector said slowly as he wrote it down. “Did he make threats?”

  “Oh no. Exactly the opposite. He professed undying love. He was like a love-sick puppy dog.”

  “And who else?”

  “There was a good-looking young man, spoke with an American accent but he was obviously of Irish heritage. Black Irish, you know. Now what was he called? Fitzwilliam, maybe? No, I think it was Fitzpatrick.

  But he didn’t act the love-sick oaf like the other one. He was polite. He just said he was sorry to hear I was indisposed and expressed the hope that we’d meet again in Ireland.”

  Inspector Harris nodded. “And then?”

  “He went on his way.”

  “Anyone else?”

  I shook my head. “After that, if I left the cabin at all, I went out early, when fashionable young men are still asleep and there was nobody—except there was an older man who followed me at a distance sometimes. Tweed overcoat. Mustaches rather like your own. But he never approached me. It could have been that we both took our morning constitutional at the same time.”

  “And that's it? Any young men try to come to the cabin?”

  “All the time, but the stewards kept them out. There was someone called Teddy and someone called Bertie, who constantly sent me flowers. Teddy sent big displays like that one and gushing love notes. Bertie sent a dozen red roses every day. And there were others who sent me flowers, champagne, chocolates.”

  “Do you have any of these notes?”

  “I threw most of them away, I’m afraid, after I had a good laugh- but one or two may still be lying around or in the wastebasket.”

  “Wastepaper basket, Jonesy,” the inspector said. He stretched out his legs, leaned back on the chaise, and studied me. “So tell me a little about yourself, Miss Murphy. It's not too often that a second-class passenger gets approached by a famous actress with the offer to trade cabins with her. You knew Miss Sheehan, did you, or was this a random selection on her part?”

  “I had met her recently at a theatrical party. I gather she found out that I would be traveling on the same ship.”

  “Exactly why were you making this voyage?”

  I wasn’t sure how truthful to be and decided to play it safe. “Apart from visiting friends and relatives at home in Ireland, you mean? I’d been asked to look up the sister of a friend in New York.”

  “You’re not married, I take it.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “So you must have done pretty well for yourself in America if you can afford the passage home, just for a visit.”

  “I’ve done well enough,” I said, and left it at that.

  “And Miss Sheehan just happened to pick you to change cabins with her on the spur of the moment, did she?”

  “Yes. Apparently I looked sufficiently like her to be able to carry off the switch.”

  “Did you?” He sounded skeptical. I realized that after an almost sleepless night and with my hair still looking decidedly rattaily, I hardly looked like a famous actress.

  “And this girl Rose was in on the plot?” he went on, before I could tell him about how I’d dressed up to impersonate the actress.

  “She was, sir.”

  “And what did she think of it?”

  “I’ve no idea. She was always pleasant enough to me and respectful too. She said Miss Sheehan had instructed her to act as if I was her real mistress for the whole voyage, and she certainly did act that way.”

  Inspector Harris leaned toward me. “You strike me as an intelligent young woman, Miss Murphy. Did Miss Sheehan's request ever seem odd to you?”

  “To begin with, yes. Why would anyone want to trade this cabin for my little cupboard of a place. But then I saw how much she was pestered by unwanted admirers every time she went out, and I began to understand a little more.”

  “Did you?” He continued to stare hard at me. “So you hardly left your cabin all week and had you
r meals brought to you?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “And so why couldn’t Miss Sheehan just have stayed in her own cabin all week long and have her food brought to her the way you did? Why was there a need to exchange cabins?”

  I put my hand up to my mouth. “I see what you mean. Unless...”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless she suspected her life might be in danger, so she got me to take her place,” I finished in a hushed voice. “That never struck you before?”

  “Only after I found Rose's body last night. Then it did occur to me that the person who killed Rose might have thought he was killing Oona Sheehan. I mean, who would want to take that risk, go to all that trouble just to kill a servant girl?”

  “My sentiments exactly.” Inspector Harris nodded. “Not a very nice lady then, our Miss Sheehan, duping you into thinking you were getting a few days’ luxury and a paycheck for very little, when it was, in fact, in exchange for your life.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t really believe . . .” I started to say.

  “She's no longer on board. Then why did she disembark at the last moment? Either she never meant to travel at all and wanted you as a decoy, or she saw someone she didn’t trust and made a last-minute decision to put herself out of harm's way.”

  I was afraid I had to agree with him. Miss Sheehan was definitely not a nice lady.

  “I’m sure she’ll feel badly when she finds out that it was her maid who was killed and not me,” I said.

  Eleven

  Inspector Harris glanced up as the policemen muttered something to each other. “Have you found something, Shaw?” “Under the bed, sir. A piece of broken glass, and a wet patch on the carpet.”

  He held up a curved piece of glass, touching it with a clean handkerchief.

  “That looks like a piece of the carafe from the bedside table,” I said. “It had water in it.”