Peccadillo at the Palace

by Kari Bovee

  “No family. I am alone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Non, non, do not be sorry. This is my choice. My parents are long dead, and I had no siblings. I am used to being alone.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how do you support yourself?”

  “I have done many things in my life.”

  Annie waited to hear of the many things Madame Mattei had done to make a living, but she offered nothing more. It didn’t matter. Given the woman’s sensitivity to light, her advanced age, and the fact that she probably weighed eighty pounds at the most, Annie doubted she could be the killer. She probably had not left her stateroom since she’d boarded the ship.

  “Well, I’ve troubled you long enough,” Annie said. “I should be going. I need to see to my horse. He had some difficulty when we first boarded.”

  “You have been no trouble, chérie. I have enjoyed your company.”

  Annie smiled, realizing she felt much better after having spent time with this strange yet sweet woman. “And I yours.” Annie stood up and walked toward the door to let herself out.

  “Miss Oakley,” Madame Mattei called after her.

  “Yes?” Annie turned around to face her again.

  “You will find your answers—in time. Your husband means you no harm. He loves you very much.”

  Annie stared at her, uncertain what to say. The woman couldn’t have heard her tiff with Frank—their staterooms were separated by two others—and they hadn’t raised their voices. At a loss for words, Annie simply smiled at her, turned, and left the room.

  Annie stood in the hallway, thinking about what Madame Mattei had just said. It defied explanation how she could have known she had been upset at Frank, but Annie knew the woman was correct. Frank did love her. Beyond what she ever could have expected. She shouldn’t have been so cross with him.

  She went down the hallway to her stateroom and opened the door. Frank had gone back to bed and was sleeping. She walked over to him and lightly kissed his cheek. His skin still felt warm, but he looked much improved. Tiptoeing out of the room, she quietly closed the door, and went in search of Emma.

  Annie found Emma on deck, seated in a deck chair next to Red Shirt and Bobby. They looked as if they had just shared a joke. Emma tilted her head back, letting out a cheerful burst of laughter.

  “Hey, Annie.” Bobby tipped his hat to her, his freckled face beaming into a smile.

  “Hello, Bobby, Chief. Emma, I need a word.”

  “Little Miss Sure Shot. Come sit.” Red Shirt indicated a deck chair next to them.

  Annie held up a hand in protest. “I really can’t at this moment, Chief. Please accept my apologies.”

  “You need not apologize. It seems you have important business with this lovely lady.” His eyes lingered on Emma and her cheeks flushed pink. Annie pulled in her breath and took hold of Emma’s elbow. Emma rose from her chair, and the two of them walked to the railing, out of Bobby and the chief’s hearing.

  “I hope you are treading lightly with the chief, Emma.” Annie gave her a pointed stare.

  “Yes, dear. I’ve told him I’m engaged.”

  “You’re engaged? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m not really engaged. Just a little white lie to thwart the chief’s attentions. Doesn’t seem to be working though. The man positively adores me.” Emma reached a hand to the back of her perfectly coifed blond hair and patted it.

  Unwilling to encourage Emma’s vanity, and still a bit stunned from her conversation with Madame Mattei, Annie wanted to focus on her discovery of the fingerprints.

  “I’ve done it Emma. I’ve found fingerprints that match the fingerprints on the tear catcher.”

  Emma’s mouth dropped open. “Bloody brilliant!” she said.

  Annie twitched at Emma’s words. “Bloody?”

  “Oh, don’t look so shocked, Annie,” Emma said, reading her thoughts. “It’s just an expression. The Brits use it all the time.”

  “It sounds like a swear word to me.”

  “It is, but that’s beside the point.” Emma swatted the air. “Tell me, tell me. Whose prints are they?”

  “I can’t say for sure. I compared some fingerprints off the tear catcher with those off of a glass Frank brought into our room. Miss Brady and Miss Pars—Parnell gave it to him with a mixture of sodium bicarbonate and water in it.”

  “Really?” Emma’s eyes flared, large and green as an owl’s.

  Annie nodded. “We also need to look into Mr. Patel. The doctor said the tear catcher contained viper venom—from a snake that hails from Sri Lanka—Patel’s home country. He himself told the doctor he’d just been there to visit.”

  “Good work, Sherlock,” Emma said. “I’ve done some more digging myself into Miss Parnell. According to some of the newspaper accounts, she may have had a dalliance with Mr. Davitt.”

  “Who is he?” Annie asked.

  “He started the Fenian movement in the States.”

  “Really! What about Miss Brady? Anything on her?”

  “Nothing.”

  Just as Annie was about to ask Emma another question, the captain strolled up to them, stiff in his uniform, with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Good afternoon, Captain.” Emma batted her long, brown eyelashes at him.

  “Hello, ladies. Are you enjoying the weather?”

  “Yes. Thank you for commanding such a lovely, fine day.” Emma touched the captain on the shoulder, transforming his stoic expression into the slightest of smiles.

  Lillie came up from behind the captain and leaned against the rail, her body swaying, her complexion ruddy, and her eyes heavy and droopy. She’d been drinking. Annie’s heart leapt to her throat.

  “Where is Hulda, Lillie?”

  “Her? She went strolling with Mr. Everett. He came by the cabin and invited her out. I know when I’m not wanted, so I’ve been belooow decks with the cowboys, if you know what I mean.” She winked at the captain, whose lip curled up on one side. Annie blushed for all of them.

  The captain cleared his throat. “Miss Oakley, I would like to extend an invitation for you and your husband to dine at my table tonight.”

  Annie tilted her head. Could this be an apology of sorts? “Oh, dear, Captain. Frank is still not well. I’m afraid dinner is out of the question for him. Bread and milk, more like.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Well, the invitation is still open.”

  Annie didn’t really feel like dining with the stuffed shirt, but thought it might be rude to refuse. Besides, she needed to keep an eye out for any suspicious behavior from the other passengers.

  “Thank you, Captain.” She smiled at him.

  “Perhaps Miss Wilson could be your dinner companion?” he asked, turning to Emma.

  “That sounds—” Emma began, but Lillie interrupted her.

  “I’m available, too, Captain. What time do we diiiine?”

  The captain shot Annie a glance, the expression on his face pained, as if he’d just had a tooth extracted.

  “Eight o’clock, Miss Wilson?”

  “I’d be delighted.” Emma beamed up at him.

  “Captain, if I might be so bold—” Annie figured this might be the perfect opportunity for her and Emma to obtain the needed fingerprints. “I had planned to invite Miss Parsons, her companion, and Mr. O’Brien to dine with me tonight. Would there be room for them at your table? If not, I completely understand and I will ask them another time. . . .”

  The captain forced a tense smile. Annie knew she may have crossed the line of politeness, but it would be so convenient to her plan. She’d have to come up with something else for Mr. Patel.

  “Of course. I’ll make the arrangements.” The captain bowed to them, turned on his heel, and left them at the railing.

  “I do love a man in uniform,” Lillie said, her eyes lingering on the captain’s backside as he walked away. “Even if he doesn’t pick up on a lady’s subtle hint for a dinner invita
tion.”

  “Subtle?” Annie said. Really, did Lillie have no boundaries?

  Lillie smirked at her and walked off.

  “She’s right about one thing,” Emma said. “The uniform does lend a certain panache.”

  “Oh dear,” Annie said. She spotted Hulda and Mr. Everett near the horses’ stalls. Mr. Everett let himself into Buck’s stall while Hulda waited outside the stall door. Annie’s heart skipped a beat. She hoped nothing was ailing her horse. She’d just checked on him a few hours ago.

  To her annoyance, Hulda had changed her dress again. This time she wore a powder-blue gingham trimmed in white eyelet lace. Her sister had never produced so many garments so fast. She must be trying to impress the veterinarian with a new frock every day. While bemused with her sister’s industriousness, she didn’t fancy the reason for it.

  “Emma, I’ll see you at dinner,” Annie said.

  “Right-o.” Emma walked back to Bobby and the chief, still sitting in the deck chairs.

  “Is Buck all right?” Annie asked, approaching her horse’s stall. Mr. Everett was running his hand along Buck’s legs.

  “Yes.” Mr. Everett removed his hat when he saw Annie. “Just checking his legs for inflammation. He is a little swollen. He could do with a walk on deck.”

  Hulda suddenly squealed, and Annie turned to see what had caused the outburst. Bobby had come over and tossed Hulda a bean bag. The two started a game of catch, Hulda’s ladylike decorum vanishing.

  Annie cast a glance at Mr. Everett, who watched Hulda playing the game with complete enthusiasm, showing the inner child that still lurked in her woman’s body. He pressed his lips together as if considering the same thing Annie knew to be true about her sister.

  He caught Annie’s gaze before refocusing on Buck. Annie hoped that Mr. Everett now saw Hulda’s true self: a girl of thirteen who liked to play dress-up and still enjoyed a game of catch with the boys.

  “That’s a good idea, Mr. Everett. I’ll take Buck for a walk.” Annie said, distracting him from Hulda and Bobby. The two came over to the stall, sunny-faced and laughing from their game.

  “Taking Buck out?” Bobby grinned. “I’d be happy to take him for a walk for you, Annie.”

  “I’ll come too.” Hulda said, her cheeks pink from exertion.

  “I’ll just check on the rest of the animals,” Mr. Everett said, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. He replaced his hat and made his way out of the stall, nodding at Hulda, who smiled, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  Bobby took Buck’s halter from the hook on the stall door, and Annie stepped aside, letting him attach the halter. She stroked Buck’s forelock, and he nuzzled the waist of her dress. She let Buck and Bobby pass through, and she and Mr. Everett watched Bobby, Buck, and Hulda walk down the deck, talking like old friends.

  “She’s quite young, although she doesn’t always seem it,” Annie said as she closed the stall door.

  “She is, Miss Oakley. Quite young. A lovely girl.” As he walked away from her, there was resignation in his voice. Annie sighed with relief.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After dinner at the captain’s table, Emma accompanied Annie to her stateroom. To Annie’s concern, Frank was not in the room, although he’d left a note on the bed.

  “He says he’s gone for a walk on deck. I should go up and find him.” Annie imagined him struggling with every step or, worse yet, being ambushed by someone who wanted to push him overboard again.

  “Frank is a big boy. Poor man has been cooped up in here the entire voyage. The fresh air will do him good.” Emma, still wearing her gloves, pulled silverware and a demitasse cup from her handbag. “Let’s look at the evidence.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. But if he isn’t back soon, I’m going to go look for him.”

  “Give him some space, Annie. He’s a grown man.”

  “You’re right. I’m being a mother hen. Let’s set to work.”

  “The demitasse cup is from Miss Parnell’s place setting,” Emma said. “The spoon from Miss Brady’s, the fork from Mr. O’Brien’s, and the knife from Mr. Patel’s—I had to work my way over to his table. Made up some excuse to ask him about the queen and how he enjoyed her employ.”

  “And how does Mr. Patel enjoy her employ?” Annie asked.

  “Greatly. He seems to believe that he will replace Mr. Bhakta, as he was his assistant.”

  “Interesting.” Annie tried to remember how Mr. Bhakta and Mr. Patel got on, but she really hadn’t gotten to know either one of them very well. “You’ve covered the lot, all in one meal, Emma.”

  “I like being Watson to your Sherlock. It’s quite fun.”

  Annie frowned at her friend. “We’re dealing with murder here, Emma.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  Annie bent her head over the objects and started the process of lifting the fingerprints to compare. Emma hung over her shoulder, so close Annie could feel her breath on the nape of her neck.

  Annie compared the fingerprints from the glass and tear catcher with the fingerprints of Miss Parnell’s demitasse cup. Not a match. Then the knife from Mr. Patel and fork from O’Brien.

  “What are you doing now?” Emma whispered.

  “Same thing I did with the other three objects.” Annie tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. She loved being around Emma, but the woman’s intensity wore on her nerves.

  Annie then compared the fingerprints from the glass with the fingerprints from Miss Brady’s spoon and the tear catcher. She turned to look into Emma’s face, still as close as if she were a bird perched on Annie’s shoulder.

  “We have a match.” Annie said.

  Emma’s mouth fell open. “Who?” Emma spoke with such force that Annie could feel the champagne vapor from the woman’s breath on her face. Annie reached up and pushed Emma’s shoulder.

  “Please, Emma. Some room.”

  “I’m sorry. This is just so exciting. Whose fingerprints match?”

  Just as Annie was about to tell her, Frank walked into the room.

  “How was your stroll?” Annie asked. “You look better.”

  He took his hat and coat off, seated himself in the rocking chair next to the porthole, and took up a book.

  “The pain and nausea comes and goes. Right now, I’m feeling better.” Frank said. “The sea air is a restorative.”

  “Would you like for us to arrange to have dinner brought down?” Annie asked.

  Frank winced.

  “Perhaps soup?” said Emma.

  “Maybe later. What gives us the pleasure of your company, Miss Wilson?”

  “Fingerprints,” she said.

  Frank shot a look at Annie. “Ah, the big story. I thought we agreed you wouldn’t pursue this.”

  “I never agreed or disagreed,” Annie said. “Please don’t be upset, Frank. I think we’re on to something here.”

  “Your wife has good instincts. She’s actually quite skilled at investigating.” Emma smiled at Annie with pride.

  “My wife is skilled at a number of things, sharpshooting primarily, which is her job, Miss Wilson. As her husband and manager, it is my job to see she comes to no harm and arrives in England safely and ready to perform.”

  “Exactly,” beamed Emma. “She can outshoot anyone. I’m counting on her to protect me.”

  “I haven’t been carrying my pistol with me, but I will if it will make you more comfortable,” Annie said to Frank.

  “It’s so touching to see your concern for one another.” Emma clasped her hands together, her face glowing with admiration. Annie stifled a grin. Emma was trying to work her magic on Frank. It was almost like watching a game between two cardsharps, knowing what cards each player had in their hand, but not knowing how they would play them.

  “I’m getting the sense that I am outnumbered here. Neither one of you is going to give up on this quest to solve the crime.”

  “Then join us,” said Emma.

  “Yes, Frank, help us,” Annie en
treated.

  “That way, you two can keep an eye on one another—and me.” Emma looked very pleased with herself.

  “Then it’s settled,” Annie said. “What do you say, Frank?”

  Frank held a hand up in acquiescence.

  “Excellent. So back to this glass and this spoon. What I see doesn’t make sense,” she said, engrossed in studying the two objects on the desk. “The prints match those of Miss Brady, but Frank said she wore gloves when she handed Miss Parnell the glass for the sodium bicarbonate, didn’t you Frank? You remembered the shade of puce.”

  “Right. Miss Parsons was wearing gloves when she handed me the glass.” Frank said.

  “But I asked you about Miss Brady, and you said she was wearing gloves. You remembered the color.”

  Frank rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Honestly, my dear. I felt so horrible at the time, I doubt I could have remembered my own name.”

  “Come to think of it—” Emma interjected. “I’ve not seen Miss Parsons—I mean Miss Parnell—without her gloves unless she is at table. And I’ve never seen Miss Brady wear gloves at all.”

  “Well, my goodness.” Annie let out her breath, not realizing she’d been holding it for most of the conversation. “I think we’ve found the murderer, but why on earth would Miss Brady want to kill the queen?”

  Emma squared her hands on her hips. “More to the point, who exactly is Miss Brady?”

  The next morning when Annie woke, she turned over and found Frank sweating profusely and moaning with delirium. He clutched at his stomach, and Annie could smell vomit coming from the chamber pot on his side of the bed. He’d taken a turn for the worse.

  Annie and Emma had planned to visit Miss Parnell and Miss Brady for further questioning first thing before breakfast, but it would have to wait.

  Annie jumped out of bed, took up the chamber pot, and put it outside the door for the staff to retrieve. She placed her unused one next to the bed. Then she dashed to the pitcher on the bureau and soaked a rag in the cool water. She leaned over Frank, placing the rag on his burning, damp forehead.

  “Darling, I’m going to fetch Dr. Adams. Please don’t try to get up.”