Murder on the Lusitania (5 page)

“You tell me, Mr. Barcroft,” he said. “You’re the journalist.”

As soon as he received the message from him, Dillman went straight to the purser’s cabin. Charles Halliday was a thin, almost ascetic-looking man with hollowed cheeks and piercing eyes but he was an efficient and resourceful purser. There was a touch of self-importance about him, but Dillman ignored that. Purser Halliday was a crucial figure aboard the ship and the American had to work in harness with him and with the other purser. When his guest arrived, Halliday poured him a drink of whiskey, then sipped from his own glass.

“Thank you for coming so promptly, Mr. Dillman.”

“Problems, Mr. Halliday?”

“One or two. I had a chat with the chief steward earlier. He’s spotted one of our regulars.”

“Regulars?”

“Chap by the name of Collins. Edward Collins. At least, that is the name he always travels under. Passes himself off as an art dealer but the only art he practices is at a card table.”

“A professional gambler?”

“Yes, and a highly successful one at that.”

“What do you want me to do, Mr. Halliday?”

“Keep an eye on the rogue,” said the other. “There’s no law against playing cards but we have to make sure he doesn’t fleece the other passengers and we don’t want them signing IOUs which they can’t honor. Not everyone in first class is a millionaire.”

Dillman grinned. “I can vouch for that.”

“Collins will repay watching. If he goes too far, you may need to step in with a quiet warning. Can’t have him upsetting people. It will give the
Lusitania
a bad name.”

“Leave it to me, Mr. Halliday.” He tasted his own drink. “This is an excellent malt whiskey, by the way. Thank you.”

“I needed something to revive me,” said Halliday. “A purser is always in the line of fire and the bullets have been coming thick and fast today.” He drained his glass. “The other problem concerns a British journalist who’s been making a bit of a nuisance of himself.”

“I think I can guess whom you mean.”

“We had to have the press aboard on a maiden voyage. Necessary evil, I’m afraid. Most of them hunt in packs and are easy to control but this fellow is something of a loner. Wanders off where he’s not wanted. Pries into parts of the ship which are out of bounds.”

“Would his name happen to be Henry Barcroft?”

“You know him?”

“I had a rather abrasive meeting with him yesterday. Mr. Barcroft is indeed a nuisance. He pops up in the most unwelcome places.”

“Put him on your list for surveillance.”

“I will, Mr. Halliday. Anyone else?”

“Not as yet. But there will be, I fear.”

“Yes.” Dillman sighed. “The pickings are too easy. People tend to be off guard on a transatlantic voyage. Far too trusting. An ideal situation for gamblers and confidence tricksters.”

“That’s why the passengers need our protection, Mr. Dillman.”

“I know.” He finished his drink. “That was very welcome, sir.”

“No time for another, alas. Have to see to the needs of the ladies.”

“Ladies?”

“Yes,” said Halliday wearily. “Dress was very informal on our first night at sea but it will be different this evening. The men will be in their best bib and tucker and the ladies will want to wear their jewelry. That means I’ll have to take it out of the safe and get them to sign for it. I tell you, Mr. Dillman, we have a veritable treasure chest under lock and key. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and goodness knows what else. Much of it will be on display in the dining saloon this evening.” He wagged a finger. “Let’s make sure that none of it goes astray.”

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

“
Nothing
must go wrong on this voyage.”

“No, Mr. Halliday.”

“Nothing at all.”

Genevieve Masefield took extra pains that evening. Always careful with her appearance, she knew that she had to make a real impact over dinner and she had chosen her most striking dress for that purpose. It was made of rippling silk and its turquoise hue matched her eyes perfectly. Much as she liked the Hubermanns, she was beginning to regret that she had let them get so close to her. They might keep away unwelcome suitors but they would also deter gentlemen in whom she might actually take an interest. Carlotta Hubermann was not the stumbling block. If a romantic entanglement did present itself to Genevieve, she felt sure that Carlotta would both encourage her into it and support her
throughout it, but Abigail Hubermann was a totally different matter. She was more likely to scupper it before it even got started. Genevieve needed to be tactful.

When she finished her makeup and brushed her hair, she stood up to examine the results in the full-length mirror. Highly satisfied, she twirled around to inspect the rear view and made the silk dress swish. Genevieve reached for her purse, checked its contents, then snapped it shut. With the purse under her arm, she let herself out of the cabin and walked down the corridor. At that precise moment, a man came around a corner ahead of her and tossed her a casual glance. Henry Barcroft stopped when he recognized her and gave her a broad grin.

“Good evening, Miss Masefield!”

“Good evening.”

“I didn’t realize that your cabin was along here.”

“Didn’t you?” she said, wondering if his appearance was the result of accident or clever timing. “I hope you will not try to interrogate me any further, Mr. Barcroft. I have no more to add to what I said last night.”

“Rest assured there will be no more questions,” he said warmly. “And I do apologize for keeping you up the way that I did. You and your friends must have been dropping with fatigue.”

“We survived.”

“Yes, they were tough old birds, those two.”

“The Hubermanns are delightful ladies.”

“Oh, I meant no criticism,” he said, appraising her dress and the diamond necklace above it. “It was a privilege to meet them—and to meet you, of course. May I say how ravishing you look this evening?”

“Thank you, Mr. Barcroft.”

He waited for an answering compliment from her but it did not come. Wearing white tie and tails, the journalist preened himself for a moment. He gave her an admiring smile.

“Will you be dining with the Hubermanns this evening?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Barcroft.”

“Well, I hope they will release you at some stage, Miss Masefield.”

“Why?” she said coldly.

“I remembered your saying that you would be interested to meet Lord Carradine, the tobacco baron. As it happens, I interviewed him this afternoon. A most approachable man. I’d be very happy to introduce you to him if the notion appeals to you.”

Her manner softened at once. “Thank you, Mr. Barcroft.”

“We might even catch him before dinner.”

“Lead the way.”

Barcroft offered his arm but Genevieve ignored it, preferring to walk beside him. Other couples were also converging on the dining saloon and there was a small queue when they reached the entrance. Barcroft saw the tall, elegant man in evening dress who was talking nearby to one of the stewards. He waved a hand.

“The mystery man returns!”

“Good evening,” said Dillman, peeved to see whom the journalist was accompanying. He extended a hand to Genevieve. “I don’t believe that we’ve met.”

“No,” she said, looking past him. “We haven’t, sir. Excuse us.”

“Enjoy your meal,” added Barcroft.

Then the two of them brushed past him and went to join a group of people who were standing in the middle of the room. Dillman was taken aback. He watched the journalist introduce his companion to a balding man in his thirties with a monocle in his right eye. Dillman could see that she made an immediate impression on him. He sidled across to the head waiter and spoke in an undertone.

“Who is that man?” he asked.

“Which man, sir?”

“The one with the monocle. In the center of the room.”

“That is Lord Carradine, sir.”

Dillman ransacked his memory. “Carradine? That name rings a bell. Isn’t he something to do with tobacco?”

“I believe that he is
everything
to do with it, sir.”

The headwaiter moved off to welcome some newcomers and Dillman was left to study the group from the sidelines. Lord Carradine was evidently charmed by his new acquaintance and was introducing her to his friends. Henry Barcroft floated discreetly away. Dillman was still watching the scene when the Hubermanns came up behind him.

Abigail summed up the situation at a glance.

“Are you still lurking, young man?” she said accusingly.

“Oh, good evening!” said Dillman, turning to see them. “No, I was just looking around for some friends.”

“We know whom you had in your sights, don’t we, Carlotta?”

“Yes, Abigail,” agreed her sister.

“How many times do you need to be told, sir?”

There was an asperity in her tone that made Dillman step back. They moved past, shooting him separate looks of disdain, then went to collect their young friend from the attentions of Lord Carradine. It had been an unpromising start to the evening for Dillman and there was worse to come. Cyril and Ada Weekes suddenly appeared at his elbow. When greetings had been exchanged, Weekes gave his arm a squeeze.

“Ada and I are so glad that you’re joining us for dinner. We took the liberty of inviting someone you already know to sit beside you.”

“Who is that, Mr. Weekes?”

“Mr. Erskine. The two of you seemed to get on so well.”

Dillman’s heart sank, but he contrived a grateful smile.

“Yes,” he lied bravely. “I look forward to meeting him again.”

Philip Garrow spent most of the day finding his way around the ship and learning something about its rules and regulations. Anxious to make contact with Violet Rymer, he knew that he would have to bide his time. She would still be under the close supervision of her parents. Since the three of them were traveling first class, he opted for a second-class ticket so there would be no accidental meeting. Matthew and Sylvia Rymer had to be avoided at all costs or there would be severe repercussions. The problem
lay in eluding them and reaching their daughter. It would not be easy. Clear demarcation lines existed between the different classes of passengers. Warning notices kept interlopers out of forbidden areas.

Garrow obviously needed an accomplice. He chose one of the older stewards, a man seasoned in the ways of the world and accustomed to hearing odd requests from the passengers.

“What’s your name?” asked Garrow.

“Albert, sir.”

“Do you like being a steward, Albert?”

“’ave to like it, sir. It’s my calling.”

“Does it bring in a decent wage?”

“Not so as you’d notice, sir.”

“But there must be extras. Tips and so on.”

“Now and again,” admitted the other, curiosity aroused. “Why do you ask, sir? You don’t look as if you want to be a steward aboard a liner. Where’s all this leading?”

“That’s up to you, Albert.”

They were standing outside Garrow’s cabin and he fell silent while a quartet of people went past on their way to the second-class dining saloon. Sensing a chance to make money, the steward waited patiently. He was a short, stout man with graying hair. A florid complexion hinted at a fondness for alcohol. His eyes were bloodshot.

“Well, sir?” he nudged.

“Are you allowed into the first-class quarters?”

“Not unless I want to lose my job, sir. I’m confined to the second-class and, to tell you the truth, I prefers it that way. Too many airs and graces in first-class. The passengers there can be very demanding. Some of them treats you like dirt. No, sir,” he decided. “I’m ’appier here.”

“But you must know some of the stewards in first class.”

“Dozens of them. My own brother for one.”

“You have a brother on the ship?”

“Two, sir. Tom and me’s second-class. Jack’s first.”

“Can you get in touch with Jack?”

“Easily.” A considered pause. “If there was a good reason.”

“I’d like him to do a favor for me.”

“What sort of favor, sir?”

“A very simple one, Albert. I have a special friend aboard this ship. In first-class. I just want to know which cabin she’s in.”

The steward sniggered. “Like that, is it?”

“Do you think that Jack could help me?”

“’e’s not supposed to,” said the other, shaking his head. “What you asks for is confidential information. Jack’d be taking a risk.”

“I’ll make it worth his while.”

“Would you, sir?”

“And you’ll get the same, of course. After all, you’re the go-between. What do you say, Albert? Can you and your brother help me?”

“I’ll ’ave to think it over, sir.”

“Don’t be too long about it. This is important.”

“I gathered that, sir. Sweetheart, is she?”

“I need the number of her cabin.”

“Then what?”

“I might need a second favor.”

Another snigger. “Thought you might, sir. You’ll be wanting our Jack to deliver a message, I daresay. Better warn you now, this’ll cost you. A sovereign apiece won’t cover this. Risks, see? Dangers.”

“Name your price.”

The steward squinted up at him. Philip Garrow was patently a driven man with an edge of desperation about him. He was ripe for exploitation. At the same time, Albert felt inclined to help him. The thought of playing Cupid appealed to a romantic streak in his nature.

“Let me speak to Jack,” he said at length. “Me and ’im needs to chew this one over. Who knows? Maybe we can do a bit more for you than is being asked of us. That suit you, sir?”

FIVE

T
he mood of celebration continued and intensified throughout the evening until the
Lusitania
seemed to be hosting one enormous party. People who would normally have been attending Evensong at that hour or reading to their children from the family Bible were happily ignoring all precepts about the nature of the Sabbath. Passengers in first class might be attending a banquet but those in third class were not excluded from the sense of occasion. Jollity and camaraderie ran along the serried ranks of wooden benches, and a cheer went up when someone began to play a concertina. The vessel was traveling in international waters. It was outside time and outside the normal restraints of social life.

Decorum was, however, still maintained to a degree in the first-class dining saloon. Notwithstanding the festive atmosphere, there was a visible display of hierarchy with the most distinguished guests seated at the captain’s table and others of note also taking up favored positions. George Porter Dillman was at once a participant in, and observer of, the glittering occasion, enjoying a splendid meal for its own sake while keeping the entire room under observation. Seated near one wall of the saloon, he was well placed to let his gaze roam, and his first general impression was one of
dazzling opulence. Purser Halliday’s prediction had been accurate. The ladies had reclaimed their jewelry from the safe with a vengeance. There were so many diamond tiaras, costly earrings, sparkling necklaces, and gold brooches on show that Dillman felt he was attending a royal function.

Lord Carradine was at the captain’s table, dispensing small talk with consummate ease and evincing all the attributes of a bon vivant. Dillman was interested to see that the Rymers had forsaken their private eyrie to dine in public. Matthew Rymer seemed to be delivering one of his lectures to the rest of the table with occasional comments from his wife but Violet Rymer was as reserved and distrait as usual. Alone of the dinner guests, she was clearly suffering.

Whenever he looked around, Dillman’s eye always ended up on the same person. Seated between the Hubermanns, she was poised and yet vivacious, taking a full part in the general discussion and entrancing every man at the table. Dillman thought she was the perfect example of English beauty. What surprised him was that there was no sign of the journalist who had escorted her into the saloon. Unless he was hidden by one of the pillars or potted palms, Henry Barcroft had vanished. Dillman half expected him to have wangled himself a place at her table, but Fortress Hubermann had obviously proved impregnable.

Two other surprises lay in store for Dillman. Steeling himself to endure an evening’s proximity to the morose Jeremiah Erskine, he instead found the man in an almost lighthearted vein. Champagne was the main reason for this transformation but the other was the presence of his wife, Dorothea. She was the biggest surprise of all. Years younger than her husband, she was a slender woman in a most striking pink evening gown and wearing a diamond necklace the equal of any piece of jewelry in the room. Dillman was amazed that Erskine was even married. The man’s funereal manner suggested a lonely and disappointed bachelor. That his wife should be so young and handsome was astonishing,
but it certainly made for a more pleasant meal as far as the American was concerned.

Dorothea Erskine was an alert, intelligent woman with firm opinions on every subject that came up. She was even ready to contradict her husband from time to time. Instead of resenting her opposition, Erskine reveled in it, chortling into his beard at each new polite rebuke. Cyril Weekes also came into his own at the table, revealing a gift for humorous anecdote that brought titters of amusement from all of them, including his wife—even though the stories must all have been wearisomely familiar to her. There were five other people at the table and Dillman was glad of the opportunity to widen his circle of friends. As the only American present, he came in for some gentle ribbing and fielded the inevitable questions about New York.

“Is it really as different as they say?” asked Ada Weekes.

“In some ways,” replied Dillman.

“New York is surprisingly civilized,” added Erskine with a muted guffaw. “One might almost be in London!”

“I hope not,” said Weekes. “I want it to be delightfully
foreign
.”

“I’m sure that none of you will be disappointed,” said Dillman, looking around the table. “Visitors from England are always given a warm welcome. You just have to allow for the idiosyncrasies of the American way of life.”

Dorothea Erskine agreed with him and started a debate about national characteristics. It carried them right through the main course. Dillman was just about to eat his dessert when he became conscious that someone was watching him. It was a strange feeling, and he could not make out if it was pleasant or unsettling. His initial hope was that he was arousing interest in a certain person between the Hubermanns, but he saw that she was, in fact, giving instructions to one of the waiters. His gaze searched the saloon until it finally rested at the Rymers’ table. It was the pale blue eyes of Violet Rymer that were fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and appeal. Dillman felt that she was issuing a silent cry for help. When he met her gaze, she gave a brief smile, then
seemed to lose her nerve and look away. It was puzzling.

When the meal was over, some guests remained at their tables to prolong their conversations but most began to disperse. Dillman saw the alacrity with which Lord Carradine crossed to the Hubermanns’ table to extend an invitation to his new young acquaintance. Since he wisely included the two sisters in his invitation, it was readily accepted and all three ladies rose from their seats. Dillman accepted that she was beyond reach for the rest of the evening. Lord Carradine would have a private lounge to which he could adjourn with his select friends. Dillman had already noted that the aristocrat was unencumbered by a wife or a partner. It allowed him to be singularly attentive to the young lady who had sparked his interest.

“I feel the need of a cigar,” declared Erskine.

“Then go to the smoking room,” urged his wife. “You know how much I hate the smell of those foul cigars.”

“Of course, my dear.” He glanced up. “Anyone care to join me?”

“I will,” said Weekes.

“Anyone else? Dillman?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Erskine. I don’t smoke.”

“How bizarre!”

Everyone at the table rose to their feet and made for the door. Cyril Weekes fell in beside Dillman and gave him a companionable nudge.

“Keep an eye on the ladies, old chap, will you?”

“With pleasure.”

“Don’t want them being abducted, do we?”

“How long do you expect to be?”

“One cigar leads to another. You know how it is. Besides,” he said, lowering his voice. “Much as I adore the fairer sex, I do like to retreat into a male preserve on occasion. No ladies in the smoking room.”

“Quite so, Mr. Weekes.”

“Old Erskine was in fine form this evening, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Dillman.

“I meant to ask you about something he said this afternoon.”

“Mr. Erskine?”

“Over tea. What exactly is this Mafia Society?”

“Why?” teased the other. “Do you wish to become a member?”

Weekes burst out laughing, then shared the joke with Erskine as he led him off to the smoking room. Watching them go, Dillman began to see the affinity between the two men. He suspected that they had a bond that went far deeper than a mutual passion for cigars. Most of the ladies in the group repaired to the powder room and the American was left to settle into an armchair and chat with two abandoned husbands and a lone banker. He was rescued by the appearance of Violet Rymer, who slipped into the lounge on her own with the clear intention of speaking to him. Dillman excused himself and went across to meet her.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Miss Rymer!” he said, indicating the chair he has just vacated. “Would you care to join us?”

“I can’t stay, Mr. Dillman.”

“Are your parents coming into the lounge?”

“No, they’re going back to our suite.”

“I’m so glad you all ventured out this evening. It was a veritable banquet. I’m only sorry that you didn’t seem to enjoy it.”

She lowered her head. “Was it that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I did try.”

“I’m sure you did. It’s not a crime to be shy. Though I don’t think it was only a case of shyness, was it?”

She looked up searched his eyes. “No, Mr. Dillman. There was something else. But I musn’t keep you from your friends. I only came to ask you a favor.”

“Consider it done, Miss Rymer.”

“I wondered if you’d dine with us again sometime.”

“Of course.”

“You’re the only friend I have on board this ship. It’s an agony for me to be in the dining saloon with all the other passengers. I feel that they’re all staring at me. That they all
know
.”

“Know what?”

“Nothing,” she said evasively. “So you will come?”

“If your parents have no objection.”

“None at all. They like you.” Affection suddenly welled up in her eyes but she could not put it into words. She bit her lip. “I must go.”

“May I ask one question first?”

“If you wish.”

“When exactly is your birthday, Miss Rymer?”

“A week tomorrow.”

“So you’ll celebrate it in New York?”

“There won’t be any celebration involved.” She sighed.

“But there has to be,” he insisted. “Reaching the age of twenty-one is an achievement. A vital turning point in anyone’s life. You’ll be a fully fledged adult. Able to make your own decisions. Pursue your own ambitions. You may not have voting rights, of course, but everyone will have to treat you differently.” He nodded meaningfully. “Everyone, Miss Rymer. Including your parents.”

Tears threatened instantly. Squeezing his arm in gratitude, she took out a handkerchief from her purse, then hurried away before she needed to use it. Violent Rymer was in pain and Dillman feared that he had just added to it with his comment. Moved by her plight, he had to resist an urge to go after her. He would have to help her by stealth.

Philip Garrow had to wait until late into the evening before he got the information he wanted. Having smoked a cigarette on the boat deck and maintained a desultory conversation with some chance acquaintances, he was making his way back down to his cabin when he heard a loud whisper behind him.

“ ’Arf a mo, sir!”

He turned to see Albert furtively beckoning him back down the corridor. Garrow followed the steward until they came to a storeroom. After checking that nobody could see them, Albert ushered him inside before shutting the door behind them and switching on the light. The steward was panting slightly and there was a light film of perspiration on his brow. He gave a conspiratorial smirk.

“More private in ’ere, sir.”

“Have you spoken to your brother?”

“Don’t rush me,” said the other, holding up a palm. “Been all over the place, looking for you. Give me time to catch my breath.”

“I thought you’d forgotten me,” said Garrow.

“Not that stupid, sir. Never forget someone as generous as you. Not that I ’aven’t earned my money, mind you,” he asserted, flicking a speck of dust off his white jacket. “Broke lots of rules on your be’alf. Lots.”

“Does that mean you made contact with your brother?”

“Yes. Wasn’t easy, though.”

“But you managed it.”

“Me and Jack is old ’ands at this, sir.”

“Did he agree to do it?”

“Only when I gave him your fiver.”

“And?” pressed Garrow, twitching with impatience. “What, then?”

“Jack said he’d do what he could. Not as simple as it sounds. Stewards only cover their own cabins. They don’t get to see the full list of passengers. Jack ’ad to do a bit of snooping. Took time.”

“But he got results?”

“Eventually.”

“Wonderful! Which cabin is it?”

“Suite, sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“Two bedrooms leading off a shared lounge and dining room. One of the regal suites. ’er parents must have money.”

Garrow was dejected. “So she doesn’t have a separate cabin?”

“No, sir. You’d ’ave to go past them to get to ’er.”

“That’s nothing new!”

“Tricky situation.”

“Yes,” said the other, running a pensive hand across his chin. “I suppose that I should have expected something like this. They never let her out of their sight. No wonder she feels suffocated.” He stepped closer to the steward. “Could your brother get a message to her?”

“Depends.”

“He won’t lose by it. Nor will you, Albert.”

The steward grinned. “Expensive young lady!”

“Worth every penny.”

“Take your word for it, sir. Jack
might
be able to get a message to her. On the quiet, like. But there’s no telling when that might be. If they got a suite, they might be taking their meals in there as well.”

“They’re bound to let her out at some stage.”

“Jack’ll be waiting.”

“How will he recognize her?”

“ ’e knows ’er name. And he’ll speak to the steward who looks after their suite. Casual, like. Ask ’im what sort of people these Rymers is. Probe ’im about the daughter. We always gossips about passengers, sir. Don’t you worry. Jack will pick ’er out.” He gave another smirk. “Don’t want my brother slipping a love letter to the wrong young lady, do we? Could be embarrassing, that.”

“Actually, it won’t
be
a letter.”

“Oh?”

“I want your brother to give her this,” he said, feeling gingerly in his pocket. “And he must be discreet. Completely discreet.”

“Family characteristic of ours, sir.”

The steward held out his hand and Garrow placed a small object into his palm. Albert squinted down at it and then wrinkled his brow.

“A tie pin, sir?”

“She’ll understand.”

Dorothea Erskine began the exodus. After sitting in the lounge with the others for the best part of an hour, she decided it was time to leave.

“I’m ready for bed,” she announced, brushing her necklace with a reverential palm. “And I must have this locked up in the safe again.”