Murder on the Mauretania (2 page)

TWO

G
enevieve Masefield was glad to be aboard at last. Unlike most of her fellow travelers on the boat train, she’d had a very enjoyable journey from London, sharing a first-class compartment with a congenial group of people who welcomed her into their circle without reservation. She had passed her first test with flying colors. Her confidence soared. In the lighthearted atmosphere, time had flown. There had been so much laughter and harmless fun that none of them had even noticed the jolting lurches of the train or the rhythmical clicking of its wheels. It was almost like being at a party. Long before they reached Liverpool, they were intoxicated with each other’s company and further inebriated by the very idea of sailing on the
Mauretania
.

Notwithstanding all that, Genevieve was grateful to be alone again, if only to catch her breath. When she was conducted to her quarters, she was pleased to see that her luggage was already there, neatly stacked against a wall. The single-berth cabin in which she would spend the next five and a half days was luxurious to the point of excess. It was superbly appointed. Gilt-framed mirrors were artfully placed to give an impression of spaciousness and to reflect to their best advantage the intricate decorations on the paneled walls, the ornate lighting fixtures and the beautifully upholstered furniture. Beneath her feet was a
delicately woven patterned carpet. All around her were expensive attempts to convince her that she was not in a ship at all, but in a luxury suite in some palatial hotel. The sense of newness was almost tangible.

Genevieve was thrilled. When she had sailed on the maiden voyage of the
Lusitania
, she had been highly impressed by the quality of the first-class accommodation, but she was overwhelmed by what now confronted her. Enormous care and artistic talent had gone into the design of the interior of her sister ship. In the first-class cabins, comfort was paramount. It made Genevieve realize how truly fortunate she was. Her first voyage to America had theoretically also been her last because she had planned to settle on the other side of the Atlantic and make a fresh start there. Yet here she was, barely two months later, boarding another ocean liner in Liverpool for its maiden voyage and doing so in a far happier state of mind. So much had changed in the intervening weeks. She had a different outlook, increased zest, and a whole new purpose in life.

She removed her gloves, took off her hat, then slipped out of her coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. Genevieve felt at home. Appraising herself in a mirror, she gave a quiet smile of approval. Now in her mid-twenties, she had lost none of her youthful charms. Her face had a classical beauty that was enhanced by the silken sheen of her skin and her generous lips; her large blue eyes were surmounted by eyebrows that arched expressively; the high cheekbones and slight upturn of nose gave her a pleasing individuality. She brushed a strand of fair hair neatly back into place, then studied herself once more. Striking enough to turn men’s heads, her face also suggested a wealth and social position that she did not, in fact, have but that enabled her to move easily in high society and gained her acceptance by the leisured class as one of its own. It would be a vital asset during the week that lay ahead.

A respectful tap on the door curtailed her scrutiny. Expecting it to be her cabin steward, she was surprised to open the door and find herself looking instead at two of her erstwhile companions from the train. Harvey Denning was a suave, smiling, dark-haired man of thirty with the kind of dazzling good looks that seemed faintly unreal. His smile broadened into a complimentary grin as he ran a polite eye over
Genevieve’s slender body. Susan Faulconbridge was a beaming, bright-eyed, vivacious young woman with dimples in her cheeks and auburn hair peeping out from beneath her hat. Both visitors were still wearing their overcoats and scarves.

“We’ve come to collect you,” announced Denning courteously.

“Collect me?” said Genevieve.

“Aren’t you coming out on deck? We’re about to set sail.”

“Oh, do join us,” urged Susan Faulconbridge effusively. “We had such a lovely time together on the train that I wanted to share this experience as well. You’re one of us now. Please say you’ll come.”

“I will, I will,” agreed Genevieve.

“Good,” said Denning. “After all, you’re the expert.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, Genevieve. You hold the whip hand over us. You sailed on the
Lusitania
. We’re the innocents here. You can teach us the ropes. The moment when we actually set sail must be so uplifting.”

“It is, Harvey.”

“That’s the other thing,” said Susan happily. “We’re on first-name terms already. That so rarely happens, doesn’t it, Harvey? Do you remember that dreadful couple, the Williamsons? It was months before I could bring myself to call that odious creature ‘Ellen.’ Then there was Mr. Ransome, whom we met at the Ecclestones’ house party in the Lake District. We played bridge with him regularly after that, but it was over a year before he allowed us to use his first name.”

Denning grimaced. “Obadiah! No wonder he kept it to himself.”

“Obadiah Ransome.”

“ ‘He of the Unfortunate Teeth.’ ” They laughed together at a private joke.

“I’ll be out on deck shortly,” said Genevieve, “but I’m not quite ready yet.”

“Do you want us to wait?” asked Susan.

“No, no. I’ll find you.”

“There’ll be a huge crowd out there.”

“I’ll track you down somehow.”

“We’ll be on the promenade deck.”

“Right.”

“Don’t keep us waiting too long.”

“I won’t, Susan, I promise you.”

“Happy with your accommodation?” asked Denning, glancing into the cabin over Genevieve’s shoulder as if angling for an invitation to enter. “Our cabins are splendid. Needless to say, Donald and Theodora have one of the regal suites. Only the very best for them, what? We’ll be able to hold private parties there. Won’t that be fun? All our cabins are on the promenade deck,” he added, pointing at the floor. “Next one down. In fact, with luck, mine may be directly below yours, Genevieve. That would be convenient, wouldn’t it? If you hear someone burrowing up through your carpet, you’ll know who it is.”

“Behave yourself, Harvey,” said Susan with a giggle.

“You’ve changed your tune, Miss Faulconbridge,” he teased.

They shared another private joke and Genevieve felt momentarily excluded.

“I do beg your pardon,” said Denning, recovering quickly to make a gesture of appeasement to her. “Frightful bad manners. We must let you go, Genevieve.”

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” she replied.

“We’ll be with Donald and Theodora,” said Susan. “And with Ruth, of course.”

“Look for Theo’s hat,” advised Denning. “Even in a crowd, you can’t miss that. It must be the largest chapeau on board, but then, that’s Theodora. She and Donald must have the largest of everything. Including income, lucky devils! Search for the hat and you’ll find all five of us sheltering underneath it.”

“I’ll be there.”

After an exchange of farewells, the visitors walked away and Genevieve was able to withdraw into her cabin again. Of her new friends, Harvey Denning and Susan Faulconbridge were by far the most amiable and talkative. Genevieve had still not worked out the precise nature of their relationship but felt that it would emerge in time. Donald and Theodora Belfrage were a pleasant young couple, still basking in the novelty of marriage. Ruth Constantine was both the outsider and the still center of the quintet. They were an interesting group and Genevieve
felt at ease in their company. She was glad to have been invited to join them on deck. It was only when she was putting on her coat again that a sudden thought struck her.

How had they known what cabin she was in?

Dismal weather did not deter either the passengers or the spectators. As the moment of departure drew close, the former moved to the decks or the windows and the latter surged forward along the landing stage. At 7.30
P.M
., Captain John T. Pritchard gave the signal and the
Mauretania’
s siren rang out boldly. To cheering and applause, the lines were cast off and the tugs pulled the vessel clear of the land. The maiden voyage had begun. River craft of all sizes added their own salutation with whistles and hooters. When she passed the New Brighton pier, a fireworks display was set off in her honor, brightening the sky for fleeting seconds and drawing gasps of pleasure from all those watching. A new chapter in maritime history was being written. It was an invigorating experience.

Genevieve Masefield found it even more stimulating than the moment of the
Lusitania’s
departure, a fact she put down to her change of attitude and improved circumstances. Wedged in at the rail between Susan Faulconbridge and Ruth Constantine, she waved as long and energetically as either of them at the slowly disappearing well-wishers, wondering what it was that drove people who would never make a transatlantic voyage themselves to give such a wonderful send-off to those who did. For more reasons than one, she felt highly privileged.

Susan Faulconbridge was shaking visibly with excitement. “Wasn’t that marvelous?” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” said Genevieve.

“Oh, I’m so glad we decided to sail on her. Actually,” she confided, turning to face Genevieve, “we wanted to go on the maiden voyage of the
Lusitania
, but Donald and Theodora were on their honeymoon in Italy in September, so that was ruled out.”

“Do you always take your holidays together, Susan?”

“Of course. We’re friends.”

“That’s right,” said Ruth Constantine, joining in the conversation.
“Holidays are a true test of friendship. If you can spend three weeks skiing in the Alps with people and still be civil to them afterward, then you’ve found kindred spirits.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Susan. “Do you remember the Glovers? What fools we were to go on a Mediterranean cruise with that gruesome pair! We found them out after only two days, and the holiday lasted a month. It was excruciating.”

“One learns from experience.”

“I hope so, Ruth.”

“Instincts are sharpened by time.”

Genevieve liked Ruth Constantine. It was not simply her poise and elegance that were so attractive. She had a deep, melodious voice that was informed by a clever brain and a keen sense of humor. Though she lacked the conventional beauty of Theodora Belfrage and Susan Faulconbridge, she had a composure that neither of them could match and a way of dealing with the two men in the party that compelled their respect. Genevieve hoped to get to know Ruth a lot better.

“Well, this is it!” declared Harvey Denning. “Doctor Johnson time.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” asked Susan.

“The moment when we should take his warning to heart.”

“Warning?”

“Yes, Susan,” he continued, raising his voice so that the whole group could hear him. “Do you know what Samuel Johnson said about the sea? ‘No man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough to get himself into jail, since being in a ship is being in jail, with the chance of getting drowned.’ Good point.”

“Harvey!” reproached Susan. “That’s a terrible thing to say!”

“Especially at a time like this, old chap,” noted Donald Belfrage, tightening an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Don’t want to spread gloom and despondency, do we? Occasion for celebration. Why try to upset the ladies?”

“He sent a shiver down my spine,” confessed Theodora Belfrage.

“And mine,” said Susan.

“Harvey never frightens me,” said Ruth calmly. “It’s just one more way of drawing attention to himself. Ignore him. Besides,” she observed dryly, “there’s something he forgot to mention about Samuel Johnson.”

Denning smiled tolerantly. “What’s that, Ruth?”

“He never sailed on a vessel the size of the
Mauretania
.”

“I have,” volunteered Genevieve, “and it didn’t feel at all like being in jail. It was liberating. The
Lusitania
was as solid as a rock beneath our feet.”

“I bow to your superior wisdom,” said Denning with mock humility.

“We’re not really in danger, are we, darling?” asked Theodora, snuggling up to her husband. “I thought that this was the safest ship afloat.”

“It is, Theo,” he said, ducking under the brim of her hat to plant a reassuring kiss on her cheek. “Harvey is being Harvey, that’s all. Look at those names we saw in the newspaper. The Princess de Poix, Prince Andre Poniazowski, Sir Clifton and Lady Robinson, and dozens of other famous people. Do you think they’d step aboard any ship that wasn’t one-hundred-percent safe? Then there’s Mr. Hunter, from the firm that actually built the
Mauretania
. He has complete faith in the vessel.”

“So do the sundry millionaires who are traveling with us,” conceded Denning. “Believe it or not, Donald, there may be people on board with more money than you.”

Belfrage wrinked his nose. “Ghastly Americans, most of them.”

“That’s a contradiction in terms,” said Genevieve loyally. “All the Americans I’ve encountered have been quite delightful.”

“Well, yes, there are always exceptions to the rule.”

“How many have you actually met, Donald?”

“Enough to know that they’re a different species.”

“Different perhaps, but not inferior.”

“Let’s not make an issue out of it,” he said dismissively. “The truth is that I don’t give a damn about Americans.”

“Then why are you so eager to visit their country?”

“Don’t pester him, Genevieve,” complained Theodora, coming to her husband’s defense. “We’re here because we’ve never been on a maiden voyage before. Isn’t that justification enough? As for Americans, we must just live and let live.”

“You’ll have to do more than that, Theodora,” cautioned Ruth.

“What do you mean?”

“A large number of first-class passengers will have hailed from the
other side of the Atlantic. Indeed, I suspect there may be more of them than us. You’ll be rubbing shoulders with Americans every day. Overcome your prejudices and make friends.”

“I don’t have any prejudices,” squeaked the other. “Do I, Donald?”