Murder on Board

by Mark Rice

  Day 8

  Tuesday 10th January.

  Still at sea. Mid North Atlantic.

  The ship heaved and lurched all night. It was like trying to sleep in a flight simulator. Add to that, what sounded like someone at irregular periods banging on a metal door somewhere beneath our bed. The banging was so loud, that the bed and walls of the cabin shuddered and vibrated for many seconds after each and every blow.

  That said, I had a relatively good nights sleep, all in all. Margaret appeared to sleep well too, but, when questioned, she claimed to have been awake most of the night.

  "Don’t you remember me watching television?" she asked.

  "No," I answered truthfully.

  "Didn’t you see the wardrobe doors fly open and the suitcases fall out?" she continued.

  I shook my head. "No." I made us both a cup of coffee and wondered how the older passengers would cope with the conditions onboard today. I know this cruise is an adult’s only cruise, but that label doesn't quite describe the age profile of a large number of passengers on board. Many are well into their eighties and older still.

  In one respect, these adult cruises are actually, convalescent nursing homes, at sea. For us, in some respects, it’s as if we signed up to spend seven weeks’ in a nautical nursing home. If I’m honest it's also a peek into the future, at what sort of mental and physical shape we may well have ourselves, in thirty year’s time.

  Remember also, these people we see before us, are life’s survivors. Those who have made it this far and can afford on their savings and pensions, to travel the world.

  It’s now 08:00 and for many of the passengers, taking a shower or walking to the buffet will be a major challenge, as we are still being bounced about this vast ocean like a cork. I felt a bit rough myself and was on the verge of taking seasick tablets.

  We made our way to the Palace restaurant for the buffet breakfast. Once inside, I felt much better and had tea with scrambled eggs, sausages and croissants while Margaret managed a little fruit but not much else.

  10:00. Beginners Bridge Class

  All tables played the same hand, learning how to bid and why to bid the amounts Brendan dictated. A good class was again spoiled by the crowding and loud talking of the intermediate class that hover over me and my chair with at least five minutes of our class left to run. They really are the rudest and most badly behaved mob I have encountered for years.

  I just know they will also be the most unsympathetic players when we, beginners, eventually, join a club and start to play for real. They will punish our mistakes, expose our ignorance of standard coded messages and destroy us in games without a moment’s hesitation.

  Well, this time I was ready for them. While my playing partners were packing up and getting ready to leave the table, I deliberately knocked the tray of cards under the table and while down there I swapped it for the identical tray and cards that I had worked on last night. Straightening up, I slipped my card tray onto the table and, looking around I smiled graciously to the newcomers who barely registered my existence.

  Swept away in the crowd, out of the room, into the hallway, I stood waiting for Margaret and Jennifer to collect the daily newspaper from the library.

  I’m not quite sure what the effect of the poison I used will have. It’s a naturally occurring nightshade flower, ground down with a hint of arsenic added for good measure. Just a little concoction I mixed myself in preparation for our holiday, so I’ll just have to wait and see. I had tried it out at home on a mouse I’d caught in a trap and he was stiff as a board when I found him the next morning.

  We spent the next hour completing the daily crossword before attending the choir session.

  12.15. Ships Choir

  Another two new songs were added, No Business like Show Business and Annie’s Song. Several other songs were revisited and yes, we won two "Gorgeous!" pronouncements from Lorcan. Still, there are too few photocopied lyric sheets to go around so I'm without the lyrics, again. A fact that didn’t miss Margaret’s all-seeing eyes.

  When we reunited at the theatre door she said "Why am I not surprised you gave away your sheets? You’d give away your seat in a lifeboat!"

  The concert date is now known, as Saturday 28th January but no venue is yet confirmed. We ate lunch and then attended a classical recital by the Harmony Twist in the Pacific Lounge. To add atmosphere to the occasion, the curtains are always pulled across during these performances turning day into night. The small stage was subtly lit with the sleek black piano already in position.

  We took a seat near the back and at the end of a row. I sat in the outer seat.

  Margaret’s eyes closed as she let the music waft over her. She slept through most songs, occasionally roused by the applause of the audience, before resuming her deep sleep. While she slept through a particularly long Wagnerian piece, I slid out of my seat and revisited the now empty Lawton’s bridge room. I slipped on a pair of disposable surgical gloves I’d brought along and retrieved the marked poisoned cards and tray from the unlocked cabinet.

  Exiting the room I threw the poisoned cards and tray into a litter bin outside the men’s toilets and covered its contents with a few reams of scrunched up toilet paper. I was back, seated by her dozing body within minutes and caught the final notes of the piece.

  The afternoon found us meeting Brian and Anita for another round of mini bridge. This time we swapped partners and Margaret and I played together for the first time. More to the point Brian and Anita, forty-seven years married, played as a team and, frankly, it was touch and go as to whether they would complete one hand together, they bickered so much.

  Margaret was still feeling the effect of seasickness and we dropped out of the evening meal and opted for a light snack in the buffet restaurant.

  Day 9

  Wednesday 11th January.

  At sea and two days to Bermuda.

  It was another rough night. but we were so exhausted it didn’t take long for us to drift off.

  10:15. Beginners Bridge Class

  We were a player down until near the end when Jimmy appeared, clutching an invoice from the medical centre. His wife had a fall in the cabin some days ago and her condition had worsened. He explained she has chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, thanks to a lifetime of smoking, and the fall had exasperated her condition. The doctors in the medical centre had now placed her permanently on oxygen. She has a cylinder and facemask in their cabin where she will spend her immediate future.

  The class was interrupted when the captain carried out a turn for the ship and announced that, at last, we were over the worst of the weather and were heading towards Bermuda and smoother sailing conditions.

  The class continued and as the clock slowly ticked around to 10:55, I was curious to see who would turn up from the intermediate class to take over our table. The answer was two women I’d never seen before and two of our regular male tormentors who had made nuisances of themselves on previous days.

  Margaret innocently challenged the women as they took their seats. “I’m sorry I think you’ll find two other ladies normally sit here for the intermediate class”

  “That’s okay,” said one of the men. “Lily and Rebecca were both very ill last night and we had to call the doctor to them. I didn’t feel too good myself.”

  Even now he looked awfully pale and grey. He also seemed to be visibly trembling.

  “Nothing serious I hope?” I said.

  “No, I think not. We think it was food poisoning” he uttered before gesturing that the conversation was over and he headed for the toilets, again. I made a mental note to strengthen the concoction as it appeared that it was only a partial success this time around. We went for elevenses and attempted the daily ship’s crossword while sipping coffee.

  Soon it was noon and we joined the choir for today’s rehearsal. Lorcan recorded our efforts as we sang each song that we have rehearsed thus far and he will narrow down the selection by the next rehearsal, which will be in thre
e days’ time as we are two days’ docked in Bermuda. We achieved one “gorgeous!” and he said we were so good that he considered keeping all the songs in the show. This decision will probably exhaust whatever limited goodwill we may have with our fellow passengers.

  After lunch we retreated to the cabin for a rest. I awoke with a start at 16:10. We ran up the stairs to Lawton’s where a patient Anita and Brian accepted our apologies and we played a few hands of mini bridge. Midway through our session Brian spoke.

  “I heard that a woman died last night” he said, absentmindedly, as he studied his hand of cards. My ears pricked up.

  “Really?” said Anita. “What happened?”

  “I overheard two men talking in the lounge while I was waiting for you, my dear. Seems she’d been taken ill the day before and, despite moving her to the medical centre, she passed away overnight.” Brian still scrutinised his hand. He laid down the Ace of Spades on the table and looked me straight in the eye.

  I jumped out of my skin and must have looked flustered. My initial reaction was that he knows something.

  But then I got it.

  I’m his partner.

  His look in my direction was checking that I understood his action. I shouldn’t try to win this hand as he’s got it won already with his cards. Just throw away something, any old card. That’s what his card was telling me.

  Christ, that was unnerving.

  I nodded in agreement and duly tossed down a two of Clubs and the game proceeded.

  At dinner, our table was one down as Jill was poorly and Frank ultimately disappeared towards the end of the meal with a plate of food for her.

  I had turned to spying in recent evenings and the table of four, on the other side of the pillar next to us, have been fascinating me for some time as they sat in silence every night. There had been a brief exchange this evening where one party spoke to the other. The response was a negative swing of the head and that was the extent of dinner conversation. Two hours later they rose and left. What a sad way to waste an evening.

  Across the ship in the Gaiety Theatre, the Topstars presented Dance around the world. We sat in one of the front rows and the show was one continuous burst of colour and high octane energy. They sang and danced brilliantly and the lighting and sound was superb. The performance is truly West End theatre standard.

  We sat next to a Swedish couple, Oscar and Agnes, who had flown from Stockholm to join the cruise in Southampton.

  “English passengers,” Agnes said, “have so much more luggage and clothing to wear than I have, as, like you, we had flights to catch and the airline’s baggage restrictions to comply with.”

  Margaret nodded her agreement. It wouldn’t be long before a bit of re-using of her limited wardrobe would be required.

  “One English woman had boarded with fourteen bags and one of those was just for her shoes,” Agnes added with a laugh.

  Day 10

  Thursday 12th January.

  Docked in Bermuda.

  Bermuda is a collection of one hundred and eighty islands in British hands, six hundred nautical miles off the east coast of the United States. The seven largest islands are linked by causeways and bridges. The Bermudan population is a mere sixty-four thousand souls.

  Bermudan dollars are the local currency, which is equal to the US dollar, however I was warned not to get stuck with them as they are worthless outside the islands. We have $100 US dollars and hoped it might be enough for two one-day travel passes and the odd cup of coffee.

  I wanted Margaret to have breakfast in bed, and after showering, visited the restaurant, returning to the cabin with hot milk, porridge draped in honey, a plate of croissants, cheese and slices of cold meat. This was no mean feat, as it involved a walk across an open windy deck, the forcing open a heavy sea door, taking a lift ride followed by traversing interminably long corridors before eventually reaching our cabin.

  The ship docked at Kings Wharf at 09:00. It had followed the Cunard ship, Queen Victoria, into the dock. Disembarkation was set for 09:30. We visited the Palace restaurant for coffee while we waited and chatted to a couple, Matt and Irene, with whom we shared the table.

  “So, where is your cabin?” Margaret asked while polishing off a hot buttered croissant.

  Matt cleared his throat. “On deck 7 is where we are now and have been since day three.”

  “Yes, it’s mid-ship,” said Irene, “and so quiet.”

  “Sounds like you landed on your feet,” I said with a hint of envy.

  Matt wiped his mouth on a napkin. “It wasn’t always so. We started the cruise in cabin F103 but we had two really rough nights and I got to breaking point and rang reception at 04:30 on the second night. I said to them that the clanging and banging was not the ships normal movement but was unsecured equipment rolling about. I said we hadn’t got a wink of sleep in forty-eight hours and we were absolutely exhausted.”

  “And they moved you? Just like that?” I said incredulously, almost dropping my toast. “We were three doors away from you, had the same noise and had our cabin flooded twice! We complained and failed to get moved!” The injustice of it all really irked.

  Matt shrugged his shoulders and bit into another plump sausage skewered on his fork. “Not only that, Luke, but we were moved to a peaceful external cabin for one night and then to passenger heaven, cabin A200, a spacious cabin with a bath in the middle of the ship.”

  “A bath” sighed Margaret, “how lovely.”

  The gangplanks were put in place and the first passengers had disembarked by 10:00. A long queue formed at the bus and ferry ticket office so we walked on and into the British Naval Shipyard where a shopping centre with a clock tower offered us the first glimpse of prices in Bermuda. They seemed not too outlandish in some shops but vastly inflated in others.

  We queued, for twenty-five minutes, to buy four bus/ferry coin tokens which enabled us to visit the island’s capital city, Hamilton, and return to the ship. The journey takes one hour by bus and only thirty-five minutes by ferry. Just as we neared the front of the queue, the woman immediately in front of us turned her head and beckoned six other passengers to join her at the desk, which irked at the time, us having stood there for almost half an hour.

  But the lost time would prove more costly than I expected. Due to the delay collecting the tokens, we missed the once hourly ferry sailing by just twenty feet. We stood helpless on the jetty and watched it pull away, the steam from its funnels rising up into the clear blue sky. At the back of the ferry waving happily were the woman and her friends.

  Resorting to Plan B, I got directions to the nearest bus stop and joined a women and her wheelchair bound husband, waiting for the next bus. When it finally arrived, I saw further passengers approaching the bus stop at speed, so I brushed past the slow-moving couple and we boarded the bus ahead of them squeezing into the last two available seats.

  Someone near the front of the bus gave their seat to the woman’s husband when he was finally helped on board the bus. I felt a bit of a rat but sometimes it’s dog-eat-dog out there and Margaret’s arthritic hips benefited from the padded seat.

  The bus takes the scenic route to the capital and, peering through the dusty window, I could clearly see how the causeways link and combine the multiple islands into one single entity. The roar of the diesel engine drowned out any hopes of a conversation and I settled for studying the countryside as we bounced along the pot-holed roads. The inhabitants appeared to be deeply religious as there were a great many churches scattered about the island. The local school children wore nice old-fashioned navy blue school uniforms with a large crest and letters “BI” on the breast pocket of the blazers. They were very polite and well behaved, even the teenagers amongst them, and even when in groups. On the bus and ferry, the mobile phones kept the kids quiet. Free Wi-Fi is everywhere, except on the ship of course.

  The island is extraordinarily green and I overheard a woman saying that they had experienced four inches of rain the week before.
Regular rainfall would certainly encourage plant life and luscious grass to cover the land. The pitched roofs had an unusual structure in that the rows of cement tiles were laid like steps, like the sides of the Egyptian pyramids. Also, there was no visible guttering or drains as we have in Ireland. Apparently, rainwater is captured as it falls off the roof and is stored in large basements under the houses. They can store up to thirty thousand gallons in some houses.

  There is a pronounced English feeling about the island with many town names like Somerset, Lincoln, Twickenham and Richmond featuring on our bus route. Several towns had cricket pitches. We saw no signs of kids hanging about street corners or graffiti drawn on walls. The society here seemed to respect law and order. It’s just a group of beautiful islands filled with stunning white or light blue houses and surrounded by bays with many, many yachts.

  When we arrived at Hamilton we stayed on the bus until we reached the terminus in the centre of the town. The terminus was a large concrete and tin-roofed area, heaving with travellers, both locals and tourists. We fought our way through the crowd to the street outside. In warm sunshine, we walked to a nearby Anglican cathedral and went inside the three hundred-years-old building. The church could have been built in England and transported to the Caribbean, stone by stone, so perfectly did it mirror churches in the homeland. The high ceilings, the dark wooden pews, the stained glass windows which flooded the large interior with light, all harked back to its colonial times. The flags that hung from the ceiling were mostly military and related to the two world wars, which are now distant memories. We spent some time reading the inscriptions, remembering those that gave their young lives, all those years ago, before kneeling in prayer.