Dangerous Sea (14 page)

‘Come on, this place is as empty as Washington in August. Your friend Lord Corinth or whatever I’m supposed to call him –.’

‘You mean Edward or Frank?’

‘Edward, and may I add – in parenthesis – are you aware that he’s stuck on you like –?’

‘Not for discussion, Sam. Sorry, but I don’t know you well enough.’

‘That can be attended to . . .’ Seeing a look on her face which, had he known it, had also on occasion made Edward pause, he changed tack. ‘He says, though he wraps it up in all sorts of circumlocutions, that Mr Barrett wasn’t just Lord Benyon’s valet but also his “heavy”. In passing, may I say that – being a good, blue-collar worker – until this last week I’d never met a lord and now I’m drowning in them.’ The ship gave a particularly violent jerk and he added, ‘And maybe drowning
with
them. I thought you English could build ships?’

‘So someone wants to stop Lord Benyon meeting your President. That’s clear. But why kill Tom Barrett and not Benyon? Whatever we do to try and protect him, we could hardly defend him against a man with a gun.’

‘Lord Edward told you why. Barrett must have recognized this man – perhaps he followed him into the bowels of the ship and got hit on the head.’

‘Yes, that must be it and we’ll never know who. There are – what? – at least two thousand souls on board. Could be any one of them.’

‘Not true. It has to be either a member of the crew – and not an ordinary seaman, I mean a steward or officer, someone who wouldn’t attract any attention in First Class – or one of the First Class passengers. The stewards keep a lookout for interlopers from the other classes. It makes me very uneasy. I realize now I ought to be in Tourist but there we are . . .’

‘You know, Sam, you said you were drowning in lords? Well, I don’t agree. There are a few celebrities – like Warren Fairley – but there aren’t many what I would call aristocrats on board, or even diplomats. They’re mostly rich Americans.’

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Who has money since the Depression? Not dukes and earls but Americans whose shares are beginning to pay dividends at last.’

‘Right. That was why I was quite surprised by Major Cranton and his wife.’

‘Who?’

‘You know – that English couple with a cabin next to Frank’s. How can they afford to be travelling First Class to the States on the
Queen Mary
?’

‘You should ask them.’

‘I think I will,’ Verity said meditatively. ‘I’m such a curious cat. It must be why I’m such a good journalist.’

‘Sure, and you’re real smart, no question,’ Sam responded, but his agreement made Verity uneasy. What had been a little joke now sounded like bragging. She found herself thinking that Edward would not have let her get away with it.

‘Edward’s with Lord Benyon, isn’t he? Let’s go and relieve him,’ she said abruptly.

As they staggered from one pillar to another, clutching at each other to remain upright, Sam said, ‘This would be a dandy time and place to murder someone. In a ship in a storm, any sort of accident is possible and who could say if a man who broke his neck falling down a gangway was pushed?’

‘But it makes it harder if the victim never leaves his cabin because of seasickness,’ Verity pointed out.

Edward was sitting beside Benyon’s bed reading him Dr Johnson.

‘Where’s Fenton?’ Verity inquired.

‘I sent him off to sleuth among the crew but I doubt he’ll turn up anything interesting.’

‘Why are you boring the invalid with Dr Johnson?’ Verity asked, leaning over Edward’s shoulder.

‘He’s a favourite of mine,’ Benyon explained, ‘and so wise and rational I thought he would be an antidote to stormy seas.’

‘Does he have anything to say about ships?’ Verity inquired, looking anxiously at Benyon’s bright, feverish eyes. She put her hand on his forehead and it was clammy.

Reading her mind, he said with a wan smile, ‘Don’t worry, my dear, though at this particular moment I would give anything to be dead, I have, paradoxically, no intention of dying. Make sense of that if you can.’

Edward was thumbing through his book. ‘Dr Johnson doesn’t say much about ships. He says somewhere that men who have never been soldiers or sailors feel as though they are not quite men.’

‘Nonsense!’ Benyon mumbled but, overcome with a desire to retch, was unable to expatiate on why it was nonsense.

Verity mopped his brow with a damp sponge and, when he gave her his hand like a sick child, she held it until he was calm again.

‘Oh, and listen to this,’ Edward said turning over a page. ‘The good doctor also says that being in a ship is like being in gaol, with the chance of being drowned. Rather good, eh?’

At that moment, Marcus Fern put his head round the door. ‘Are you all right, Benyon?’

It was a silly question but Benyon managed a smile. ‘In that case, could I borrow Lord Edward for a moment?’

‘Yes, you go and get some air,’ Verity said. ‘Sam and I will keep an eye on the patient.’

With a grateful glance at her and a slightly suspicious look at Forrest, Edward got up. He stretched himself and almost tipped over as the ship tilted alarmingly.

‘Won’t this ever end?’ The cry, wrung out of the sick man, made all three of them look at one another in consternation.

‘I’ll go and ask the Captain,’ Edward said. ‘I’m sure the worst must be over.’

When they had gone, Verity and Forrest left Benyon to try and sleep and went to sit in the outer cabin. In a low voice, so as not to disturb the patient, Sam said, ‘It seems real bad we can do nothing to find who killed Tom Barrett.’

‘I know,’ Verity agreed. ‘That’s just what I’ve been thinking. We are on guard and on the defensive. I was wondering if there was something we could do to get him to reveal himself. What we need is a beater.’

‘How’s that?’

‘You know, someone who beats the game towards the guns. Surely you have that sort of thing in the States?’

‘Not in my city, you don’t, but I guess I know what you mean.’

‘Or,’ Verity continued meditatively, ‘we could hang out a dead goat and see if the smell of blood flushes him out.’

‘Hey! What a bloodthirsty little thing you are.’

‘Don’t call me “little”,’ she snapped at him.

‘I was only admiring your get-up-and-go.’ Sam tried to retrieve the situation. ‘I meant no offence.’ He hurried on, ‘So who’s volunteering to be the carcass which will attract the murderer?’

‘It has to be Lord Benyon himself,’ Verity said more calmly. ‘We need to plan an ambush. We leave the cabin unguarded as obviously as possible, hide round the corner and then . . .’

‘We catch him in the act.’

‘Before the act,’ Verity corrected him. ‘The idea, dunderhead, is to stop Lord Benyon being killed, not facilitate it.’

‘Dunderhead? I’ve never been called that before. Is it worse than me calling you . . .?’ He registered her expression and decided not to pursue this line of defence but capitulate gracefully. ‘When shall we try it?’

Verity went over to the connecting door and peered at the patient. ‘He seems to be asleep. Why don’t we try now?’

‘But what if the enemy doesn’t notice the room’s unguarded?’

‘We try again later.’

Sam looked dubious. ‘I don’t know. Shouldn’t we check first with Corinth? We said we’d protect Benyon, not tie him to a stake.’

‘What possible harm can there be? Look, I noticed there was a little cupboard or something just round the corner. I saw a maid open it and put something in.’

‘Won’t it be locked?’

‘It shouldn’t be. I slipped a wedge in the door to stop it closing properly. Go and see.’

‘You’re amazing! So this isn’t some idea you’ve just cooked up? You’ve planned it.’

‘Sure have, pardner,’ Verity said, in a feeble attempt at an American accent. She was pleased with herself. What a coup it would be if she – if they, she corrected herself – could capture the big bad wolf while Edward did nothing but sit around waiting for something to happen. ‘I think I shall call you Peter.’ Sam looked puzzled. ‘Like Peter and the wolf.’

He smiled uncomprehendingly and slipped out of the cabin, returning a moment later.

‘Yep, the cupboard door’s open. Shall we try it?’

‘We have to be obvious but not obviously obvious, if you get me,’ she said, taking command.

As noisily as they dared – not wishing to wake Benyon but trying to advertise their departure – they left the cabin joking and laughing. Turning the corner into the small passage between the cabins and finding the coast clear, they slipped into the cupboard. It was a tight squeeze and the only light came through the slightly open door.

After about a minute, although it seemed very much longer, Verity said, ‘It’s just like sardines, isn’t it?’

‘Sardines?’

‘You must have played sardines when you were a child. Sort of like hide-and-seek. You hid in a cupboard or under the stairs with some nice boy and hoped for a kiss before you were found.’

Realizing what she had said, she added hurriedly, ‘Not now, of course. I didn’t mean . . .’

Sam Forrest, appreciating that this invitation was not going to be repeated, took Verity in his arms and kissed her on the mouth. She struggled, more for convention’s sake than in genuine surprise, and then gave herself up to the pleasure of the kiss. It went through her mind that it had been some time since she had been kissed – not since she and Edward had gone to Spain to search for Frank. As they kissed, she found herself wondering why Edward had not tried to kiss her in that horrible little hotel outside Madrid where they had spent two nights while passes and other papers were prepared for them. It was true he was worried – they both were – but might it not have been comforting . . .?

Suddenly she noticed that it was quite dark. The cupboard door had closed. She released herself from Sam’s embrace by standing on his toes.

‘Ouch. Why did you do that? I was sort of enjoying myself.’

‘I couldn’t get your attention any other way. Open the door, will you? We won’t see anyone creeping around if we’re stuck in here.’

It was pitch dark now and, swearing, Sam felt around for a door catch.

‘Damn it, I can’t see what I’m doing. Have you got a match?’

‘Of course not, you oaf. Sorry, I’m just panicking. I’m the oaf. I didn’t bring my bag with me. Here, let me . . .’ They fumbled around but there was no catch or knob on the inside of the cupboard door. ‘Gosh, I’m going to write such a stinker to the chairman of Cunard about the design of their cupboards when I get out of here.’

‘Oh yes?’ whispered Sam. ‘And how are you going to explain how you discovered the defect? Have you noticed, it’s getting very hot in here?’

They were both very uncomfortable now and worried that, while they were locked in the cupboard in this absurd way, their charge might be being butchered.

‘Break it open,’ Verity commanded.

‘But how will we explain . . . I must have been nuts to go along with this crazy –’

‘Just get on with it, will you?’

Sam put his shoulder to the door but in the confined space it was difficult to get any purchase. He huffed and puffed while Verity became more and more irritable.

‘Don’t get sore with me, lady. This was all your stupid idea. I should have known better than to –’

‘There was nothing wrong with the plan if you had kept your foot in the door.’

‘Do you think someone closed the door on us deliberately?’ he said, suddenly alarmed. ‘I don’t see how it could have shut by itself.’

‘Of course it could with the ship rolling like this. Look, you’d better get us out. I’m beginning to feel rather sick and there isn’t much room to be sick in here.’

‘Oh Christ!’ he cried and slammed himself against the door with as much force as he could muster. As he did so and – as Verity remarked later – with all the timing of an Aldwych farce, the door was opened from the outside and Forrest fell into the arms of Edward Corinth. Both men collapsed on to the floor and a particularly violent roll led them to embrace each other with something like fervour.

A cabin door opened gingerly and a face appeared. It belonged to Senator Day.

‘Could you gentlemen be a little quieter?’ he inquired mildly. ‘Marlene ain’t full weight right now, on account of her stomach bein’ shrunk up. The doc says she’s real sick and needs her rest.’

Apologizing profusely, the two men disentangled themselves and found Benyon standing at the door of his cabin in his pyjamas. It was not an edifying spectacle, as Lord Benyon said in mild reproof when they had regained the cabin. ‘I don’t doubt your motives,’ he said, with a kindly pat on Verity’s back, ‘but next time do tell me what you’re planning so I can come and get you out of trouble.’

By the following morning the storm had abated although the seas were still huge, at least to Verity’s eyes, and the
Queen Mary
was still wallowing and rolling like an angry hippopotamus.

‘I am so disappointed,’ Edward was saying. They were sitting on deck, the lifeboats hanging from davits above them. ‘I was convinced, if there were a storm, we would hardly notice it but this is far worse than the
Normandie
. They will have to do something about it. The Captain was apologetic but, of course, it’s the design which is at fault. It’s nothing he can do anything about.’