Murder on the Minneapolis (12 page)

‘I tried, but…’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘The longer I prevaricated, the more ridiculous it sounded. Almost as if I had imagined it.’

He pulled her closer, rubbing her back with one hand. ‘I won’t let anything to happen to you, or Eddy. Do you believe that?’

She nodded, inhaling the indefinable maleness of him, combined with the clean smell of starched linen. His touch made her blood sing in her veins and she blinked back gathering tears. She wanted nothing more than to lean into him, feel his arms close round her with her cheek pressed against his chest. Fearful of his rejection, she stood quite still until he released her.

‘Have you told anyone about this?’ he demanded, all business now.

His sudden withdrawal left her hollow, and lost. Turning, she paced the room, rubbing one arm with the other hand as she walked. ‘I tried to tell Dr Fletcher, who didn’t listen to me, and Mr Hersch, who did. He thinks there’s something odd about Parnell’s death too.’

‘When was this?’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘And do sit down, Flora, you’re making me nervous. What exactly did Hersch say?’

She shook her head. ‘I think better if I keep moving. He
asked my opinion, so I told him what I thought about the lack of blood and everything. He said the captain agreed, and my croaky-voiced man appeared to confirm all our suspicions.’

‘It’s beginning to make sense,’ Bunny mused. ‘Did Hersch have any ideas as to who might have been responsible for Parnell’s death?’

‘Not that he’s told me.’

‘Maybe it’s someone with access to all the suites and staterooms?’ Bunny suggested. ‘A member of the crew maybe, or a chambermaid?’

‘How typical!’ Flora halted and turned sharply, facing him. ‘The upper classes always assume the servants are the culprits. As if your own kind couldn’t possibly be avaricious or violent, even though the reverse is true.’

‘Which is a prejudice in itself.’ Bunny polished his glasses with a handkerchief then replaced them on his nose. ‘A badly treated valet or an abused maid could just as easily seek revenge for some slight or bad treatment. A steward or barman may have seen how much money Parnell won at cards, decided to rob him, killing him in the process. It’s not unheard of.’

‘In which case, the captain should search the crew’s quarters for the missing money.’ Flora sighed, dissatisfied. ‘Oh, but it’s too simplistic. There’s more at play here than a straightforward robbery.’ What Eloise said about her husband’s death and lawyers came back to her.

‘I’m inclined to agree. If, as you believe, the body was moved to confuse when he was killed, that smacks of an above average intelligence at work here.’

‘Then why the a-servant-did-it theory?’ On a sudden impulse, Flora grabbed the brass ashtray from a low table, and swung it in an arc towards his head.

His eyes widened, and his free hand shot out, the fingers closing around her wrist, while he fended her off with the other hand. ‘Hey! When did I become the enemy?’

‘I wasn’t going to hit you. Your reflexes are excellent, by the way.’ The thought occurred to her then that maybe Parnell’s weren’t so good, and his killer had surprised him.

He took the ashtray from her and weighed the object in his hands. ‘It’s heavy enough. What made you think of it?’

‘Mr Hersch did. There’s one of those in every stateroom. The maid discovered Parnell’s was missing, so the killer must have got rid of if there was blood on it.’ She sighed, one hand balanced on her hip. ‘A pity, as it’s probably somewhere in the Atlantic by now. There’s one thing that still puzzles me though.’

‘Only one?’ Bunny slid the ashtray back onto the table, his eyes dancing with laughter behind the lenses.

‘
If
the killer had sense enough to throw the weapon overboard,’ she said, refusing to let him goad her. ‘Why not the body too?’

‘Not as easy as it sounds. He would have had to carry it down to the next deck, where he risked being seen, even at that time in the morning.’

‘Difficult, agreed, but not impossible. So why didn’t he?’ Flora chewed at a thumbnail and continued her pacing.

‘I cannot possibly answer that. It’s not a dilemma I have ever had to wrestle with.’

Supressing a yawn, he pushed himself away from the fireplace. ‘This is all very interesting, but it’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted. As a gentleman, I should also preserve your reputation and be on my way.’ He raised his hand level with her shoulder but then used it to push up
the bridge of his glasses. ‘Well, um. I expect I shall see you tomorrow.’

The firm click of the door left Flora bereft, stranded in the middle of the room. After the intimacy of their near hug earlier, he hadn’t even shaken her hand. Even a brotherly tap on her shoulder was rejected at the last second.

He had even refused to sit while she remained on her feet.

‘You are indeed a gentleman, Mr Harrington.’ Flora sighed as the door clicked shut. ‘Too much of one in some respects.’

A
FTER BREAKFAST
NEXT
morning, Flora emerged onto the boat deck where Gerald was overseeing a noisy game of shuffleboard with several young boys, which included Ozzy and Eddy. Gerald greeted her by raising his hat, though she gently declined his invitation to take a turn.

‘Have you seen Mr Harrington this morning?’ Flora asked him. ‘He wasn’t at breakfast.’

‘I believe he went to check on his motor car first thing.’ Gerald replaced his panama on the back of his head. ‘He mentioned the straps had worked loose or something.’

‘I see, thank you.’

Ozzy called out something to Gerald from the end of the deck.

‘What ho.’ Gerald lifted a hand in acknowledgement of his son. ‘Looks like my turn again.’ He loped away.

Flora watched the game for a while, then a burst of male laughter brought her attention to the upper deck where Bunny strolled beside a young woman. She tilted her chin and kept turning to face him as she walked.

Disappointment conjured a bitter taste in Flora’s mouth
as she recognized the extremely pretty blonde girl as one who occupied the table next to theirs.

She waited until the pair had moved out of sight, then turned and strode in the opposite direction, muttering a curt ‘excuse me’ to a couple who barred her way, resulting in their surprised stares as she shouldered past.

Once inside the suite, she threw her jacket onto a chair, slammed the door of her room and sprawled on the bed, one arm flung over her head. After an initial rush of anger, common sense prevailed and she chastised herself for stupidity. What did she expect? Charming young men from good families did not take up with governesses too meek to enter a dining room alone.

The bugle sounded for luncheon, and unwilling to witness Bunny flirt with someone else, Flora stubbornly remained where she was. A shaft of light drew patterns on the ceiling as occasional footsteps and an odd murmured comment came from outside. Footsteps filed past her window, but no light knock came at her door, and eventually the deck fell silent.

Flora woke, disoriented, easing up on an elbow, and groaned. The clock on her bedside stood at after four. Half the afternoon had gone, and having missed luncheon, she was ravenously hungry.

Throwing off the coverlet, she washed her face and hands before swapping her creased skirt and blouse for a pastel, flower-print dress with a high collar and mutton leg sleeves.

In the sitting room, Eddy and Ozzy had come and gone, their occupation evidenced by a half-finished game of snakes-and-ladders, beside an empty packet that once contained garibaldi biscuits.

Out on the boat deck, the line of steamer chairs were filled with dozing or reading passengers, but neither Bunny nor the blonde girl were amongst them.

In search of something to eat to still her growling stomach, she headed up the grand staircase to the library, at the top of which Gus Crowe stood talking to a crewman. Flora paused on the half-landing, conscious their discussion was becoming less a talk and more a lecture, delivered by Crowe and accepted with occasional, subservient nods by a sailor who was little more than a boy.

Finally, Crowe wagged a pointed finger beneath the crewman’s nose, and headed toward the door to the deck. Flora was about to follow, when Crowe halted, his gaze fixed on the door that led to the Upper Promenade deck that gently swung closed.

From that angle, she couldn’t see what had caught his attention, but Crowe continued to stare for long seconds as if pondering his next action. Then he straightened his shoulders and pushed through it onto the deck.

Flora hitched her skirt and ascended the remaining stairs, but before she reached the door, collided with the same crewman Crowe had been talking to on his way down.

‘I’m so sorry, miss.’ He pressed his back against the wall to let her pass, his frowning expression altering in an instant to abject apology.

‘That’s quite all right.’ Flora took in a pair of troubled eyes that peered out from beneath close-cut sandy hair before she continued on to the library.

The same steward who had attended her last time greeted her at the door with an eager, ‘Would you like tea, miss?’

‘Thank you. I’ll be over there.’ She indicated the sofa
she had occupied on her last visit, though she had not quite reached it when Bunny’s face appeared round a white-painted pillar.

‘Thought it was you,’ he said, peering over his spectacles. ‘Had the same idea myself. Why don’t you join me?’ He shifted sideways to make room for her, and waved to the steward. ‘Miss Maguire will take her tea here.’

Flora sat, the words ‘Is your friend not with you?’ sprang to her lips, but she swallowed them unsaid.

‘Those cakes look nice.’ She debated whether she dared order a plate of her own and devour them all.

Bunny’s heart-breaking smile appeared, and her stomach lurched as she imagined him directing that same gaze at the girl she had seen him with earlier; but it hurt too much and she pushed it away.

He poured tea for them both, handing her a full cup, then moved the sugar bowl out of her reach. ‘You don’t use this, do you?’

She shook her head, unaccountably touched that he had remembered.

‘It’s a pity about the books not having arrived in time before we sailed,’ Flora said, partly for something to break the awkward silence. ‘I had hoped to give Eddy some work to do in preparation for school.’ She eyed the finger sandwiches hungrily.

‘Talking of Eddy. I heard he and the Gilmore boy persuaded the purser to let them see the engine room this afternoon.’

‘Really?’ Flora peered at him over the rim of her cup. ‘Eddy was determined to get there somehow. I’ve tried to keep a closer eye on him, especially since that incident outside the dining room, but Monica says I fuss over him too much.’

‘Er – I meant to tell you before.’ The look he shot her over his glasses was sheepish. ‘I slipped a few dollars to one of the stewards to keep an eye on him.’

‘Why did you do that?’ Flora’s cup hit the saucer with a clink.

‘Because I took that threat you received seriously. I also hate to see you so agitated about Eddy all the time.’

‘That’s–that’s really kind of you,’ Flora said, touched. ‘I wish I had thought of it myself.’

‘My pleasure.’ He grinned, looking pleased with himself. ‘I take it you’ve heard no more from our mysterious man?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘If I find out who the fellow was, he’ll regret it.’ He stirred sugar into his tea with a minute silver spoon. ‘Menacing ladies is not to be tolerated.’

‘Brave talk, Mr Harrington.’ Flora hid the rush of pleasure this gave her behind a challenge.

‘Excuse me, but I was boxing champion at school.’ He crossed one ankle over the other, revealing an expanse of sock. ‘You missed luncheon, not seasick, I hope?’

‘I wasn’t hungry,’ she lied, as shame stabbed at her for her jealousy earlier.

‘Do help yourself.’ He nodded to the delicate finger sandwiches.

Needing no second prompting, Flora took one and bit into it, savouring the crisp cucumber with piquant salmon, to which the kitchen had added exactly the right amount of vinegar.

‘Could we have some more please?’ Bunny asked a passing waiter, pointing to the nearly empty plate. The man bowed and disappeared.

‘I like a girl with a proper appetite.’ Bunny watched her
finish the sandwich. ‘Not like these silly society ‘gels’ who push everything away with distaste. So false.’

‘I imagine you know quite a few society girls.’ She tried to sound casual but her throat constricted, making her voice high.

‘Too many,’ he murmured into his cup, so Flora almost missed it.

‘Here, have one of these.’ He offered her the cakes that had caught her eye on arrival.

Flora took her first bite of a vanilla slice, relishing the combination of cream, sweet icing and strawberry jam on her tongue. In no time at all the cake was gone, leaving her wondering if she dared take another.

Following her gaze, Bunny lifted the plate and held it out towards her.

Flora hesitated.

‘Go on, I know you want one,’ he urged, waving the plate slowly from side to side an inch beneath her nose. ‘Besides, it will appear greedy if I do, and I hate eating alone.’

‘You were alone when I arrived,’ Flora reminded him. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, about to consume the entire contents of the tray by yourself.’ She held her breath, hoping he wasn’t going to say he was waiting for someone.

‘That’s different. Now go on, I can’t eat while you watch.’

Flora obeyed.

‘Tell me about yourself.’ He sat back and folded his slender hands across his midriff.

She licked cream from her fingers, giving her time to construct a suitably fascinating answer, but failed. ‘My life is quite ordinary, I’m afraid. I’ve spent most of it in the schoolroom of a country mansion called Cleeve Abbey, in
Gloucestershire.’ Somehow the second cream slice did not taste quite as inviting as the first.

Bunny finished his in three mouthfuls, then wiped his fingers theatrically on a napkin. ‘What made you become a governess?’

‘It wasn’t so much a choice, more a transition. My father is Lord Vaughn’s head butler, whose daughters were educated by governesses. Lord Vaughn doesn’t believe in girls attending school. I was the same age as the youngest, Lady Jocasta, so I joined them in the schoolroom. Lady Vaughn had Eddy late in life and when I was eighteen, it seemed a natural progression for me to become his governess.’ She lifted her chin proudly. ‘In fact, you could say I’ve been educated far above my station.’

‘It doesn’t appear to have done you any harm.’

Flora smiled in agreement. She’d felt privileged at having shared a schoolroom with the earl’s children, played games with them in the Capability Brown gardens, and rode ponies across the fields. She didn’t mention that when the Vaughn girls dined in a room where painted cherubs graced a ceiling two storeys high above an Adam fireplace, Flora ate with her father in the butler’s pantry, a candle between them to lift the gloom of the half-basement.

‘When Eddy begins at Marlborough, my duties will be confined to school holidays. I’ve begun teaching the daughters of gentlemen in the village for extra money. I’m cheaper than boarding school, and anyway, I quite enjoy it. The money is useful. I’ve saved quite a bit.’

‘What are you saving for?’

Flora frowned. No one had ever asked her that before. ‘My future I suppose, whatever that is.’

‘You don’t have something you want to do? Or are you
content living in someone else’s house and teaching young ladies?’

His words struck her hard, and she returned the rest of her cake to her plate. She had always regarded Cleeve Abbey as her home. And yet – a distant memory lingered in the back of her mind, of a time where home was a room with a black-leaded range and a scrubbed pine table where the door opened into a sunny garden that threw a pool of sunlight onto grey flagstones.

Other sensations intruded, of distress mingled with the coppery smell of blood and the scrape of wool on her hands. Pictures too elusive to put a name to, but before she could make sense of them, a shadow filled her head.

‘Are you all right, Flora? You’ve gone pale.’ Bunny plucked her hand from her lap, her fingers sandwiched in his; a touch that was comforting and exciting at the same time.

Embarrassed, she snatched her hand away, then wished she hadn’t. ‘Too much cake, perhaps,’ she said, her voice high and brittle.

‘You’ve mentioned your father before, but not your mother.’

‘She died. At least, that’s what I’ve always been told.’ She attempted a laugh but it fell flat. ‘I mean, I’ve never seen her grave, and whenever I broach the subject with Father, he cuts me off. He’s Ulster Scots and quite, well – private. He can avoid a direct question with such subtlety, you don’t even realize until the moment has passed and you cannot ask again.’

‘What’s Ulster Scots?’

‘I’m surprised at you, Mr Harrington.’ She tucked in her chin in mock surprise. ‘Don’t they teach history at Marlborough?’

‘They tried, but I dozed off sometime between the Wars of the Roses and the Repeal of the Corn Laws. I was more interested in the sciences.’

‘That’s a lot of history you missed. Anyway, in the seventeenth century,’ she began, in the same way she would deliver one of Eddy’s lessons, ‘The Scots Border Reivers were banished to Ulster as punishment for their murdering, cattle stealing and other dastardly deeds. Over the next hundred years or so, one of my ancestors married a Maguire, which makes me a mixture of Scots and Irish.’

‘From what little I gleaned from the perpetual drone of my history master, those border raiders had a hard life, with little choice but to steal other people’s livestock to survive.’

‘A generous view, but not everyone was a victim,’ Flora sighed.

‘Was your mother never mentioned when you were younger?’

‘Once, when I was about twelve, I heard the housekeeper say “that poor Lily Maguire” in a tone that implied something dreadful had happened to her.’

‘You never discovered what it was?’

‘No. No one would have satisfied a child’s curiosity about something whispered in hallways. I have dreams about her though, all the time. Disjointed, frightening dreams where I know she’s hurt and I cannot help her.’ She turned to face him. ‘I’ve never told that to a soul before. Not even my father.’

‘Has it occurred to you,’ he began, jiggling his foot, ‘that your obsession with Parnell’s death could stem from unresolved questions about your mother?’

‘It’s not an obsess—’

‘No, don’t interrupt.’ He held up a hand. ‘Maybe you
look for complicated explanations for straightforward things.’

‘I thought we agreed Parnell’s death
wasn’t
an accident. What changed your mind?’ Flora bridled at the fact he doubted her – again.

‘You’re avoiding my suggestion about your mother.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, not knowing quite what she was apologizing for. ‘I’m accustomed to pretending whatever happened, didn’t.’

‘Perhaps you need answers so you can make peace with it. With her. Then perhaps those dreams might stop.’