Peccadillo at the Palace

by Kari Bovee

  “Miss Oakley?” Dr. Adams reached for her arm. “Are you unwell?”

  Annie shook her head, trying to clear it. “Yes, I was saying—I was saying—” Her vision blurred and then she saw nothing.

  “Annie? Annie, can you hear me?” Annie heard Frank’s voice in the distance.

  “Mr. Butler, please step aside.” Another male voice penetrated the whirr in her ears. “Miss Oakley.” Annie felt a tapping on her cheek. She struggled to open her eyes, and saw Dr. Adams leaning over her and Frank next to him, his face etched with worry.

  “What happened?” she asked, trying to sit up.

  “Don’t get up just yet,” the doctor said. “You fainted.”

  “Fainted?” She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. She’d never fainted in her life. Her vision came in and out of focus, and she saw the black spots again. She closed her eyes, willing the spots away.

  “Let’s get her to bed,” she heard Dr. Adams say. “I can examine her there.”

  She felt someone lift her, and could tell by the aroma of cigar smoke and leather that it was Frank who was carrying her. She let herself sink into the softness of his buckskin coat and fell again into unconsciousness.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was lying in a bed. The doctor loomed above her, watching her face.

  “You’re back,” he said.

  “Where am I? Frank?”

  “I’m right here, darling. We’re in our stateroom.” Frank approached the other side of the bed and took her hand. “You fainted again.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” she asked Dr. Adams.

  “I don’t think it’s anything serious. You’ve had quite a day,” he said, pulling the covers up to her neck.

  It all came flooding back. Buck and Frank going overboard. Mr. Bhakta.

  “Yes, I suppose I have, but what about—?”

  “No more talking or questions. You need to get some rest,” Dr. Adams told her. He turned to Frank. “See that she stays put tonight. She should be fine in the morning, but if not, send for me.”

  “Will do, Doc.” Frank said. Annie watched the doctor leave the room.

  “But I—what about Buck?” Annie asked. “Where’s Hulda?”

  Frank ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “Mr. Everett is keeping his eye on Buck. Hulda is next door in her room. She, like the rest of us, is exhausted from the events of the day.”

  Annie relaxed into the pillow. Her head was still pounding, her stomach churned, and she felt exhausted.

  “I’ll see that Hulda has some supper and gets safely back to her room. But you sleep. I’ll return in a while.”

  As much as she wanted to further protest and insist that she felt fine and could accompany them to supper, she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. She closed them and then heard the doorknob click as Frank left the room.

  But the truth of the matter remained. Someone may have killed the queen’s friend, and that someone might be looking to kill her husband. That she could not let happen.

  So tonight she would obey the doctor’s orders and rest. Tomorrow, she would find out what happened to Mr. Bhakta and why.

  The following morning, Annie woke early, grateful for a good night’s sleep, but concerned that she still felt woozy. Thinking the sensation would pass, she got out of bed quietly to avoid disturbing Frank, who was snoring in blissful slumber. After quickly dressing, Annie headed upstairs to the main deck to see Buck.

  The storm had given way to gleaming sunshine, and the blue water sparkled so bright that Annie had to shade her eyes with her hand. Even the brim of her straw hat could not keep the glare at bay. The wood of the deck, still damp with rain and warmed by the sun, infused the air with the woodsy smell of teak. It helped to diffuse the horrible, spoiled-milk odor coming from the ocean.

  Annie pushed her straw hat further down on her head, the pressure making a squishing sound within the fibers. She walked toward the corrals to find her beloved Buck eating from a stack of hay in the corner of his pen. Someone had wrapped his legs—Mr. Post, probably. It looked like Mr. Post had also spent some time brushing Buck’s coat and getting the tangles out of his black mane and tail. His body gleamed like the sun. And as Mr. Everett had predicted, Buck seemed no longer frightened, if not almost completely at ease on board the ship.

  Annie entered his stall and laid a hand on his back, his coat soft as silk, watching him eat. She loved the way his eyes partially closed as he chewed the hay.

  “He’s a fine looking horse.”

  Annie turned to see the woman with the oversized coat who’d glowered at her when they’d boarded the ship. She was standing at the stall door. Her hardened face contrasted with the warmth in her eyes when she looked at the horse. When they shifted to Annie, the glow dissipated.

  “Thank you,” Annie said.

  “I’m glad he’s doing well this morning.”

  “Oh, yes. You must have heard.”

  “I saw the whole thing.”

  “I see.” Annie furrowed her brow. “Why were you on deck during that horrendous storm?”

  The woman pulled her coat tighter around her middle. “I’m sleeping in one of the cabins below. No fancy room for me. Third-class passenger. Only time I can stand being down there is if I’m asleep. Can’t breathe. I need to be in the air.”

  Annie could certainly understand that. She was an outdoor girl herself. She left Buck and walked over to the stall door. “I’m Annie Oakley.” She held out her hand.

  “Yes, I know.” As the woman took Annie’s hand, her calloused palm indicated hard work and toil. “Gail Tessen.”

  “Pleased to meet you. You must like horses.”

  “Used to have them as a girl. A stable full.”

  “My. How fortunate.” Annie eyed the shabby coat and the fraying hat. Obviously, the woman had fallen upon hard times. From the look of the weariness on her face, the hard times had outweighed and outlived the good ones.

  “It was a different time, then.” The woman’s eyes slid over to Buck and a faint smile crossed her lips.

  “What takes you to London?” Annie asked.

  The woman’s eyes darted away from Buck and away from Annie. “Family business.”

  Annie let silence fill the air. She wanted to observe Miss Tessen more intimately. Now that Annie had come closer, the woman avoided meeting her eyes.

  “You say you were on the deck yesterday afternoon, during the storm?” Annie asked again. She didn’t want to spook the woman so tried to proceed as gently as possible.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual? Anything that might stick out in your mind?”

  Miss Tessen’s lip curled. “You mean other than a horse soaring overboard? No.”

  “Whom did you see on deck?”

  “What is this? Why all the questions?” Miss Tessen frowned, a look of insult skittering across her features. “I merely came by to look at your fine horse and see that he hadn’t come to any harm.” The woman’s blue eyes finally met Annie’s, cutting through her like a knife.

  “I’m sorry,” Annie said, taken aback at the woman’s venom.

  “Ta.” Miss Tessen waved her hand. Her expression softened. “It’s I who should apologize. I’ve a bit of a temper. And I didn’t sleep well last night. That tomb down there will take some getting used to. All those savages with their crying babes. I’m sorry; of course you’d want to know what upset your horse. All I saw yesterday afternoon was the poor creature, scared out of his mind, you and your husband, the vet, and the Punjabi fellows rushing to the rail. I was sitting over there—” she indicated the wooden crates stacked against the ship’s railing—“for cover, and waited till they hauled your horse back on deck. I took a chill and went down to the tomb to warm my bones.”

  Annie looked over again at the crates, and realized from that angle, Miss Tessen wouldn’t have seen them bring Mr. Bhakta aboard.

  “Thank you, Miss Tessen.”

  “That horse is s
pecial.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m so happy he’s alive and well. I just wish Mr. Bhakta had survived the incident.”

  “What do you mean?” Miss Tessen flinched at Annie’s words.

  “Well, Mr. Bhakta went overboard, but he didn’t survive the fall. He drowned.” Annie paid special attention to Miss Tessen’s expression. Her face went blank.

  “Pity. Who was he?”

  “Our escort to England. A friend of Queen Victoria’s.”

  “Someone important.” Miss Tessen nodded, her eyebrows raised.

  “Yes.”

  A flurry of chocolate and tan striped taffeta skirts pulled Annie’s attention away from Miss Tessen.

  “Annie, dear.” Emma Wilson was cruising toward them, wearing a large, floral-brimmed hat dipped below one eye.

  “Emma, just the person I want to see.”

  “Glorious day, is it not?” Emma grabbed the brim of her hat on both sides and turned her face to the sun.

  Annie turned to introduce Emma to Miss Tessen, but the woman had gone. Just as well, Annie thought. She had important matters to discuss with Emma.

  “I saw Frank in passing,” Emma said. “He said you fainted.”

  “When did he tell you this?” Annie asked.

  “At breakfast in the dining room just now. Are you all right, dear?”

  “Yes, I am quite restored. It was nothing. Just exhaustion.” She didn’t want to mention her queasiness. “Did he say anything else?”

  “Nothing.” Emma shrugged.

  Annie pulled Emma away from Buck’s stall and led her to the ship’s railing where she could see anyone who might pass by.

  “Did anyone say anything to you about what happened yesterday afternoon?” Annie asked.

  “No. Terrible storm. I stayed in my stateroom writing. Why, what happened?”

  Annie told her of Buck’s mad escape and Mr. Bhakta’s death. She also mentioned the Fenians, and the possibility that Frank might be in danger—a possible target.

  “But is he affiliated with the Fenians?”

  “He says no, although he had an uncle who was involved in political causes,” Annie said, wringing her hands. The mere idea of Frank in danger made her blood run cold.

  “And you doubt him?”

  “I intend to discuss it with him further,” Annie said, feeling the little crease between her eyes deepen.

  “Don’t look so downhearted, darling. You let me question Frank,” said Emma. “I’ll be discreet. It might be less harsh coming from me. And, as you know, I’m naturally nosy.”

  “Some would say curious.” Annie smiled at her flamboyant friend.

  “No. Nosy. An absolute busybody. That’s why I make such a good reporter.”

  “Which brings me to another, similar matter.” Annie batted her eyes at Emma.

  “I see an assignment coming on.”

  “The captain has asked the doctor to conduct an investigation of sorts in regards to the incident yesterday, but . . . someone could be after Frank. I want to conduct a little investigation of my own. We need to question everyone.”

  “Everyone?” Emma’s eyes widened.

  “Yes. Most everyone is with the Wild West Show. I’ve only seen a handful of people who aren’t. I’m not sure I want to interrogate my coworkers.”

  “I can see how that would be uncomfortable for you. Not to mention exhausting. Are you suggesting that we team up? Holmes and Watson?”

  Annie laughed. “Yes, I suppose.”

  “Then I’d be delighted. When do we start?”

  Chapter Six

  In the dining room, early that afternoon, Annie and Frank sat at the elegant table laid for luncheon, their baked mutton cutlets and roasted sweet potatoes growing cold as they waited for Hulda to arrive.

  Annie tapped her fingers on the white lace tablecloth with one hand and clenched the linen napkin in her lap in the other. In addition to her irritation at her sister’s tardiness, the conversation she’d had with Emma about investigating Mr. Bhakta’s murder and the possible threat to Frank’s life had made her twitchy. Initial inquiry had been easy with Gail Tessen. The woman had walked up to her to see her horse. Could she engage the other passengers in casual conversation as well, or should she approach them in a more direct manner?

  The smell of rosemary wafting upward from her plate distracted her from her worries. She wished she could have someone remove her lunch. The smell made her want to retch—and reminded her of Hulda’s delay. She sipped at the ginger tea she’d ordered.

  “Really. As I live and breathe. That girl must think all day long of ways to vex me.”

  Frank, his face buried in a newspaper, didn’t say a word.

  Annie knew her tiffs with her sister annoyed him, and he tried to steer clear of them as much as possible, but still, it made her even more anxious when he seemed oblivious to her irritation, or her unease with the fact that someone may have tried to kill him. Why wasn’t he more concerned?

  She studied his posture: relaxed, at ease, intent on the paper. They’d been married for almost two years, and she thought she knew him well, but he’d lived more of a life than she had because of his age, and she knew there were things about him she didn’t know. Up to now, there’d been no reason to ask.

  “The chef has gone out of his way to provide such a lovely luncheon for us.” Annie slapped her hand down on the table. “Can’t she see she is being rude?” Annie cast a glance at Frank who nodded his head and murmured an agreement under his breath, never taking his eyes off the newspaper.

  Annie’s attention was drawn to the ornate wooden arch, flanked with large potted palms, at the entrance to the dining room. Hulda breezed through it wearing a bright crimson frock trimmed with white lace. She stood out among the others—a blood-red poppy in a field of white roses.

  As she boldly approached the table, a white-gloved waiter instantly appeared at her side, pulling her chair out for her.

  “Why, thank you, kind sir.” Hulda flashed a bright smile and batted her eyelashes at the waiter. Annie refrained from rolling her eyes, embarrassed at her sister’s boldness.

  “What’s for lunch?” Hulda asked, holding up the silver filigree spoon to inspect her hair in its reflection.

  “For heaven’s sake, Hulda, show some decorum,” Annie gasped in exasperation.

  Hulda put the spoon down with a scowl on her face. “I thought I had a hair out of place. Besides, is it really wrong to make sure one looks presentable?”

  Annie took a moment to observe her sister’s attire. She’d been so preoccupied with the glowing color of the dress she hadn’t paid attention to the way its square collar plunged deep at the corners, showing off her sister’s prematurely developed, ample bosom. She wore a thin silver chain around her neck, culminating in a tiny silver heart, nestled strategically between her breasts.

  “That dress, Hulda. Where did you get it? I know I’ve never seen it before. And the necklace.”

  “I made the dress. Lillie told me I was beautiful and I should . . . enhance my beauty. She gave me the necklace.” Hulda self-consciously pulled up the neckline of the dress.

  “I should have known.” Annie bit down her annoyance. “Lillie dresses . . . inappropriately.” She wanted to say “like a harlot” but didn’t want to seem unkind or lose her temper again. Annie always thought Lillie’s boldness with her dress and sexuality was a ploy to hide her lack of accuracy with the rifle. Sometimes it worked. Lillie had a knack for riling Annie, but enlisting her younger sister to do her dirty work made it more of a personal affront.

  “You know we don’t present ourselves—that way. And you shouldn’t accept gifts.”

  “Says the famous Annie Oakley, who just received a very expensive Winchester from the colonel.”

  “That’s different. It’s part of my job.”

  Hulda smiled, but not in a way that Annie appreciated. “It’s my job to make pretty costumes and clothes,” she said. “It might be nice if you weren’t always so d
rab. You are in show business. Don’t you want to feel pretty?”

  Annie looked down at her tan woolen jacket, brown leather belt, and equally lackluster skirt. She could have worn something a little fancier for the luncheon, but the thought of the confinement of a starched blouse and tight silk skirts made her throat close. She wouldn’t have been able to speak at all.

  “Feeling pretty is beside the point, Hulda. ‘When one is truly trying to seek first the Kingdom of God, he will not be a slave to fashion.’”

  “Really Annie, you sound like Friend Percival from home.” Hulda curled her lip.

  Annie bit back a retort, embarrassed at her own hypocrisy. Had she not enjoyed all that came with being famous? She’d received a number of gifts, dresses included, from fans and admirers. When she first joined the show, Frank had bought her a set of Colt .45 pearl-handled pistols that Annie had thought the most beautiful piece of fashion and weaponry ever, not to mention the beautiful costumes Kimi used to make for her. She’d like to think she used that fame toward bettering her fellow man, but sometimes she did struggle with her own competitiveness and ego.

  “Well, if you must know, little sister, I’m not just known for my superior shooting skills; I’m also known for my frank opinions and modesty.”

  Hulda shot her a look. “By modesty, you mean your buttoned-up attire?”

  Annie took in a deep breath at her sister’s insolence. “Enough, Hulda. Our mother raised proper Quaker girls. In the future, try to be a bit more modest. Don’t embarrass yourself—or me—and eat your lunch.” Annie realized her voice had risen an octave and looked around to see if anyone had witnessed her outburst. She noticed for the first time the ornate wood paneling, the beautiful inlaid parquet floors, and the opulent crystal-and-china table settings. Perhaps her sister was right. The environment might call for more elegant attire, but she’d never admit it to Hulda.

  Annie sensed Hulda squirming in her chair and looked around the room to see what might be causing her distress. Bobby, seated a few tables over, was staring open-mouthed at Hulda in her peacock’s attire, but Hulda didn’t seem to notice him. Something or someone else held her attention. To her left, Annie spotted Mr. Everett taking leave from his table and walking toward them. Hulda visibly beamed as he sauntered over, his chocolate brown eyes trained on her. A connection had sparked between the two, and Annie felt her protective instincts kick in.