Murder on the Marmora (11 page)

As the ship altered course to head northeast toward Marseilles, the wind blew the rain in to sweep the decks more purposefully. Genevieve went off to her cabin to get out of her wet coat and hat. As she entered the passageway, however, she found her way blocked by the man who had hitherto ignored her. Nigel Wilmshurst smiled broadly.

“Hello, Jenny,” he said, arms wide apart. “We meet at last.”

TEN

G
enevieve was so shocked by the unexpected confrontation that she was rooted to the spot. Having convinced herself that he would avoid her at all costs, she was now face-to-face with a man who revived some extremely unpleasant memories for her, and it was unsettling. There had been a time when she’d thought she had loved him, but there was not even the most vestigial fondness left. Genevieve disliked him intensely. What made her feel even more uncomfortable in his presence was that, for his part, Wilmshurst seemed delighted to see her.

“Don’t I even get a kiss?” he asked, moving toward her.

“No,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him. “Stay back, Nigel.”

“Why? We’re old friends, aren’t we?”

“You weren’t very friendly when you first saw that I was aboard.”

“That’s because I was taken aback, Jenny. Dash it all!” he said, running his eyes appreciatively over her. “When a chap comes on his honeymoon, the last person he expects to find on the same ship is the gorgeous woman to whom he was once engaged.”

“That’s all in the past, Nigel. I suggest that we let it stay there.”

“Do I detect a note of bitterness?”

“I’m just being practical,” said Genevieve, resenting the boldness of his scrutiny. “We live in different worlds now. You’re married to a beautiful woman and I wish you both well. But you and I have nothing to say to each other.”

“Oh, but we do,” argued Wilmshurst. “We’ve heaps of things to talk about.”

“I don’t think so.”

“To start with, you can tell me what you’re doing on this ship.”

“That’s my business,” she said. “Now, please let me pass.”

“Not until you agree to have a proper chat with me sometime.”

“In the circumstances, it would hardly be appropriate.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t think that your wife would approve, would she?” said Genevieve. “Have you told her that I’m sailing on the same vessel as you?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Does she know that you were engaged to someone else before she met you?”

“Of course—and there’s no reason why Araminta should be reminded of it, especially on her honeymoon. That would be bad form. I’m determined to make this an unforgettable experience for my wife.”

“How can you do that when you’re out here, pestering me?”

“I’m pestering nobody,” he said with an appeasing smile. “I simply wanted the pleasure of meeting you again and taking a proper look at you. Time has been very kind to you, Jenny. You look as wonderful as ever.”

“Thank you,” she said, “but you should save your compliments for your wife.”

“Araminta has more than her share of those, I can promise you. After all, I’ve paid her the greatest compliment that a man can pay
a woman. I married her.” He arched an eyebrow. “Instead of you.”

“We both know why I broke off the engagement.”

“It was a silly mistake on my part, Jenny. I’ve regretted it ever since.”

“Then you’ll have as much reason as I do to leave it buried in the past.”

“But I don’t,” he said. “I feel that I owe you an apology. Anger has a cruel way of distorting the truth. In the heat of the moment, we both said things that were very unkind. I’m profoundly sorry about that.”

“So am I, Nigel. It’s not something I look back on with any pride.”

“Then why can’t we kiss to show that there are no hard feelings?”

“Because I don’t wish to,” Genevieve said crisply. “Put yourself in my position and you’ll understand why.” She took a deep breath and tried to sound calm. “We did have some happy times together—I’d be the first to concede that—but they were completely overshadowed by what happened later. I want to be left alone, Nigel. I can’t put it any plainer than that.”

“Won’t you even tell me where you’re going on the
Marmora
?”

“To Australia.”

He was appalled. “Australia? Are you serious? It’s a barbarous place. We used to send convicts there.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“You deserve better than that, Jenny,” he said. “Much, much better. I expected you to have made a good marriage yourself by now. And how is it that you’re traveling alone? You were never short of admirers before I came along.”

“You came along and went, Nigel,” she reminded him. “And you’re on your honeymoon, which means—or
should
mean—that you’re far too busy to pay any attention to someone from your distant past.”

“It wasn’t all that distant. When I look at you now, it seems like only yesterday.”

“Yesterday, you snubbed me in the dining room for the second time.”

“I thought that you’d prefer it if I kept my distance.”

“I do, believe me.”

“Then I began thinking about all the fun we had together,” he said, “and I realized how stupid I was being. Yes, I’m married and I’m devoted to Araminta. But that doesn’t mean I’ve turned my back on you, Jenny.”

Their eyes locked and she felt a tremor of alarm. Nigel Wilmhurst had been furious when she had broken off their engagement, and he had vowed to get back at her at some point. Chance had now contrived to put her in a position where he could do just that. There was a lot of affection in his gaze but it was fringed with malice. She knew that he could be a dangerous enemy and did not wish to antagonize him. At the same time, she was not going to submit to any interrogation. Wounds that had healed some time ago now threatened to open again. Genevieve needed to get away.

“Excuse me, please,” she said pointedly.

“Certainly,” he said, politely stepping aside for her to pass.

“Good-bye, Nigel.”

“Good-bye, Jenny,” he said cheerily. “Until the next time.”

Brian Kilhendry was seated at his desk when Dillman came into the office. The purser looked up from the letter he was writing. He was more hospitable than usual.

“Ah, good,” he said. “I was hoping that you’d pop in to see me. Any progress?”

“A little, Mr. Kilhendry. We’re still feeling our way into the case.”

“Well, don’t be too long about it.”

“I came to look at those items that Mr. Dugdale left for safekeeping.”

“Yes,” said Kilhendry, opening a drawer to take out a small box.
“They’re in here, Mr. Dillman. Unlike some of our passengers, Walter Dugdale was a sensible man. He put everything of value under lock and key.”

“Thank you,” said Dillman, taking the box from him to sift through its contents. “Now, then, what have we got here?”

“Some money, his passport, his return ticket, and a set of keys. Oh, and there’s a gold watch that must have cost a pretty penny. His name is inscribed on the back.”

Dillman examined the pocket watch first. It was large, expensive, and attached to a thick gold chain. On the back, beneath Dugdale’s name, were the initials
C.P.C
.

“Is that some kind of academic qualification in your country?” said Kilhendry.

“No, I suspect that the initials stand for someone who gave him the watch.”

“There are three letters. Some society or association, perhaps?”

“Not necessarily,” said Dillman. “Americans tend to use their middle names more than anyone else. ‘C.P.C.’ could well be a person. A woman, possibly.”

“Then she was not short of cash. Nor was Mr. Dugdale.”

Dillman flicked through the wads of notes. Pounds sterling and U.S. dollars were there in equal amounts. Dugdale was taking a lot of money with him on his trip. A glance through his passport showed how well-traveled he had been. The pages had been stamped in well over a dozen different countries, some of which he had visited more than once. He was a man who, it appeared, had been in perpetual motion.

“What we don’t yet know,” said Kilhendry, indicating the sheet of stationery on his desk, “is his next of kin. I was drafting a letter of explanation to them when you came in. Was he married? He wore no wedding ring.”

“He was married,” said Dillman. “Twice, as it happens. But he had the air of a single man so I don’t think he still has a wife. I
fancy that the next of kin will be his daughter, Anna. I found an address for her in New York City.”

“Let me have it, please.”

“There was a photograph of her in his billfold. I’d say she is in her twenties but the photo could have been taken some time ago.”

Kilhendry sighed. “There’s no easy way to explain what happened,” he said. “She’ll be informed by telegraph first, of course, and that will be brutally short. I feel that she deserved a fuller account, though I’ll omit the more gory details.”

“That’s very considerate of you, Mr. Kilhendry.”

“It’s the least I can do,” said the purser. “I’ve been in touch with our agent in Marseilles. Preparations are in hand to unload the body there. All I told him was that we had a death on board. He can take over from there. It may well be that Mr. Dugdale’s daughter wants the body sent back to America for burial. My letter can go with it.”

“How did the captain react?”

“Badly,” said the purser. “It’s the worst thing that could happen at the very start of a voyage. He wants the murder solved as quickly as possible.”

“So do the rest of us,” said Dillman. “Where’s the body now?”

“Locked securely away on a bed of ice. I’ll be glad when we can smuggle it ashore in France.” A note of rancor intruded. “Well,” he continued, sitting back in his chair. “I suppose that this is what you were hoping for, Mr. Dillman: a chance to prove yourself as a detective.”

“I certainly didn’t hope for a murder, Mr. Kilhendry, and I resent the suggestion.”

“Oh, come now. You and Miss Masefield wanted a case that you could get your teeth into. Then you could show us all the tricks of the trade you learned on the Cunard Line. You solved more than one murder for them.”

“Not by using any tricks,” said Dillman. “One of the reasons we
had a degree of success was that we always enjoyed the full confidence of the purser.”

Kilhendry glared. “That certainly isn’t the case on the
Marmora
.”

“I can’t believe that even you would want us to fail.”

“Of course not, Mr. Dillman. Nothing would please me more than if you and your partner were to find the killer and hand him over to us. Then I might actually believe some of the things that are said about you. As it is,” said Kilhendry, “I dislike the way that you suddenly have to assume so much responsibility on my ship.”

“Not from choice,” said Dillman.

“Martin Grandage may have great faith in you, but I don’t.”

“All we ask is that you don’t hinder the investigation, Mr. Kilhendry.”

“I’d never do that,” snapped the other. “I have a vested interest in getting this mess cleaned up. It’s bad for the reputation of P and O.”

“I thought you were more concerned with the reputation of Brian Kilhendry.”

“The two go hand in hand.”

“It could have been worse,” Dillman pointed out. “We have the opportunity to get the body ashore in Marseilles and explain to the friends he made aboard that Mr. Dugdale is ‘too ill’ to continue the voyage. That’s a major hurdle out of the way. Imagine how much more difficult it might have been if his death had occurred at some later stage when we were a long way from the next port of call.”

“Whenever it happened,” said Kilhendry, “it would have been a catastrophe.”

“There are mitigating circumstances here. Supposing we had just left Marseilles when the crime took place. It’s a long way to Port Said,” Dillman argued. “Where else do we bunker on our way to Sydney?”

“Aden, Columbo, and Freemantle.”

“There you are, then. We’ve got some lengthy stretches at sea ahead of us.”

“Yes,” the purser said sourly, “and I look to you and Miss Masefield to ensure that they’re entirely free of trouble. We don’t want to unload a murder victim every time we stop to take on coal. You’d better start to think of
your
reputation, Mr. Dillman.”

When she heard the tap on the door of her cabin, Genevieve Masefield trembled with apprehension. Afraid that Nigel Wilmshurst might be calling on her, she decided to ignore the sound and finish dressing for dinner. But her visitor was too insistent to be put off by the silence from within the cabin. Knuckles were rapped harder on the timber and Genevieve eventually responded.

“Who is it?” she asked, standing by the door.

“It’s me,” said Lilian Cathcart. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”

Relieved that it was not her former fiancé, Genevieve opened the door and let Lilian in. She was pleased to see Lilian alone for once because it gave her the chance to gather some more details about a late-night discussion with Walter Dugdale that had taken place in the lounge. Wearing a pale green evening dress and an anxious expression, Lilian had come specifically to talk about the man.

“I feel so guilty about Mr. Dugdale,” she said, eyes full of compassion. “There was I, wishing that he would go away, and he’s struck down by a terrible illness. It’s almost as if I wished it on him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Genevieve assured her. “You’re not to blame.”

“I was so unkind toward him.”

“He meant you no harm.”

“I can see that now,” said Lilian. “I was very selfish earlier on.”

“It’s not a crime for a man to show fondness toward your mother. She has such vivacity; that will always turn heads. I was there when Mr. Dugdale first met her,” said Genevieve, “and I could see that she’d made an impression.”

“I know, Miss Masefield, and it was wrong of me to criticize her for that. Mother is so upset by what’s happened to him. She’s desperate to visit Mr. Dugdale.”

“That won’t be possible, I’m afraid.”

“How long will this attack last?”

“You’d have to ask the doctor. All I know is that he’s doing very poorly. Malaria is a cruel disease. One minute a patient is running a high fever; the next minute, he’s shivering uncontrollably with cold. Nobody wants to be seen in that condition,” said Genevieve. “Mr. Dugdale is best left alone.”

“I do feel sorry for him,” said Lilian, biting her lip. “He looked so healthy earlier on. This will ruin his holiday completely.”

“Well, I hope that you won’t let it ruin yours. Or your mother’s.”

“It was a blow for both of us, especially for Mother. I hadn’t realized how much she cared for Mr. Dugdale. That’s why I’m so full of remorse; Mother is very distraught.”