Murder on the Minneapolis (6 page)

Flora blinked, having expected the exquisite Cynthia to be married to someone more physically impressive than this well-fed puppy of a man.

‘I run Beaufort’s department store,’ Max said, pausing when Flora hesitated. ‘I can see you’ve not heard of it, but we’re opening a branch in London this year.’

‘I’ll be sure to pay a visit when I’m next in the city,’ Flora said, suspecting her salary was unlikely to run to such extravagance.

Amongst the ensuing clink of crockery and low hum of conversation, the doors opened again to admit Cynthia, who entered with the measured walk of a woman seemingly oblivious of her surroundings but who was aware she commanded attention. At the table she bent slowly and dropped a lingering kiss on her husband’s head before taking her seat.

‘Steady on, old girl, everyone’s watching.’ Max flushed and ducked his head.

‘Give the busybodies something to talk about,’ Cynthia
murmured, her eyes narrowed in response to Mrs Penry-Jones’s critical tut.

The companion, Hester, ignored the new arrivals, and nibbled at a bread roll as if the dining room was the last place she wished to be. Flora idly wondered if her red-rimmed eyes were her normal appearance, or her employer’s treatment had been a cause of her tears.

‘It was the Scotch with us,’ Mrs Penry-Jones drawled, continuing a thread already abandoned. ‘I believe Queen Victoria insists all her servants are Scotch.’

‘I think you’ll find the inhabitants of that country are called Scots or Scottish, Mrs Penry-Jones,’ Mr Hersch said slowly. ‘Scotch is whisky.’

‘Indeed?’ The old lady sniffed and narrowed her eyes at him, which made him smile.

Flora’s hunger was back in full force when a waiter slid a plate of lemon sole in lobster sauce in front of her. She began loading her fork when she became aware of Mrs Penry-Jones peering at her.

‘Didn’t Lord Vaughn’s eldest girl marry one of the Astor boys last month?’ She dabbed puckered lips with a napkin. ‘You must be one of the sisters.’

Flora’s fork hovered enticingly an inch below her lips before she laid it down carefully, steadying herself for the moment she had dreaded since boarding.

‘Actually, Viscount Trent is my charge. I’m escorting him home so he can start at Marlborough next term.’

‘Charge? You mean you’re his gov-er-ness?’ She gave the word three syllables, her upper lip curled in disdain. ‘How unconventional! When did it become acceptable for such persons to eat in first class dining rooms?’

‘When they have a ticket?’ Flora replied, emboldened by Bunny’s arm pressing against hers.

‘Bravo, Miss Maguire.’ Mr Hersch hid a knowing smile behind his napkin. ‘We have entered a new millennium.

These are modern times, and we must all learn to adapt.’ ‘Not to my mind.’ Mrs Penry-Jones’s tone implied she ought to have been consulted on the matter. ‘Being forced to share a table with those of another class is most galling.’

‘I quite like it,’ Gerald said. ‘I’ve made some extremely good scrapers on board steamships.’

‘What, may I ask, is a “scraper”?’ Miss Ames reached for her notebook that sat beside her plate.

‘It’s what they call shipboard friendships.’ Gerald ignored Mrs Penry-Jones’ sour look. ‘On board, everyone is what they appear to be.’

‘Or pretend to be,’ Flora said under her breath, her thoughts still on the late Mr Parnell.

‘Has anyone seen Miss Lane this morning?’ Monica asked, giving the room a sweeping glance. ‘I should imagine she was distraught to hear of Mr Parnell’s accident.’

Mrs Penry-Jones mumbled something incoherent, while beside her, Hester flushed a deep red. Flora didn’t hear what was said, but assumed Hester was being reprimanded.

Miss Ames leaned forward, her pen still poised. ‘Miss Maguire doesn’t think it was an accident at all. Do you, Miss Maguire?’

‘Really?’ Max’s ever-present smile congealed. ‘What do you think happened?’

Flora caught Bunny’s ‘you are on your own’ look and sighed. ‘I have no sound reason or any proof. Merely an impression.’

‘Trusting your instincts is a creed of which I always approve.’ Miss Ames underlined something in her
notebook with a flourish. ‘The man may very well have been murdered.’

Hester stopped chewing and inhaled a noisy breath, her face suffused with red. She began to cough, but before it could turn into a full-blown crisis, Mr Hersch delivered a single, hard slap between her shoulder blades.

Thanking him, she patted her upper chest, blushing furiously.

‘I’m quite all right now.’

‘What exactly are you suggesting?’ Ignoring Hester, Mrs Penry-Jones glared at Flora.

‘I didn’t mean to suggest anything.’ Flora bit her lip, aware all eyes had turned towards her. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken.’

‘I heard a rumour he was a professional gambler. Perhaps he cheated at cards,’ Monica said.

‘One can’t accuse the man of being a broadsman without proof, Monica,’ Gerald snapped.

Hester fumbled her water glass, which tipped half its contents across the table. ‘I-I’m so sorry, Mrs Penry-Jones,’ she stammered, oblivious to the fact it was Max who was forced to leap out of the way to avoid his trousers being soaked.

‘Clumsy!’ Mrs Penry-Jones’s thin lips twisted into a sneer.

The companion dabbed at the spillage with her napkin, but her feeble efforts seemed to annoy the old lady more.

‘Oh, do stop that. Hester, you’re making it worse. Summon a steward.’

Gus Crowe watched the small drama with a self-satisfied smirk. Flora had seen his type before. He would never begin an argument, but provided ammunition for others to do so.

‘I don’t believe this speculation about Parnell helps matters.’ Mr Hersch topped up his wine glass before ostentatiously offering the bottle to the rest of the table. ‘Starting rumours will only make the situation worse.’

Cynthia toyed with the pendant at her throat, pulling the jewel along its gold chain. ‘I agree. This voyage is going to be unutterably boring if that man’s demise is the only topic of conversation.’

‘One cannot stop people talking, my dear.’ Miss Ames spoke with the relish of someone who was glad of the fact. ‘We’re all captive on this ship for another week.’

‘If it’s not inconvenient, Mrs Penry-Jones, may I return to the suite?’ Hester discarded her plate and rose. ‘The movement of the ship is making me queasy.’

‘Oh, if you must.’ The old lady sighed, and turned away.

‘Poor Miss Smith, she’s such a timid little thing,’ Monica whispered, her gaze on Hester as she manhandled the cumbersome bag between waiters and passengers on her way out. ‘She made a dreadful fuss about tipping over a water glass.’

Flora nodded but stayed silent, her gaze on Hester’s retreating back. It wasn’t the falling glass that had upset her, but something that was said earlier. Flora wished she could recall what it was.

‘I
WENT STRAIGHT
back to my stateroom after dinner last night, so missed all the excitement.’ Miss Ames slid into Hester’s vacated chair.

‘There was none,’ Gerald said. ‘When Parnell left the bar he was in perfect health.’

‘Oh well, anyway, I had this idea for a novel you see, and simply had to write it down.’

‘Do share it with us,’ Monica gushed. ‘We could do with a distraction from this horrible business, couldn’t we, Gerald?’

‘Can’t wait.’ Gerald’s lip curled. He cast a resigned look at Max, who rolled his eyes in sympathy.

The dining room had begun to clear. Bunny made his move to leave and Flora rose, though her contrived excuse to take her leave proved unnecessary. Mr Hersch and the Cavendishes had already left, and Miss Ames gave her no more than a distracted wave, returning immediately to an enraptured Monica and a clearly bored Gerald.

Bunny joined her at the rail on the boat deck, where a warm breeze lifted the loose hair at Flora’s temples. The sea was like glass, and the only sounds above the thrum of the engines below them was the whoosh of the waves
as the vast ship cut through the ocean beneath a clear sky.

‘How about a game of poker?’ Gus Crowe appeared at Bunny’s shoulder, nudging him hard.

‘Good idea.’ Max came into view, rubbing his hands together. ‘Cynthia’s busy writing letters this afternoon.’

‘Thank you, no.’ Bunny clutched his arm, a weak smile directed at the two men. ‘Though I’m sure Gilmore will be happy to join you.’ He nodded to where Gerald had emerged onto the deck.

‘Is that right, Gerald?’ Max asked. ‘Are you game for a hand or two?’

‘Long as Monica doesn’t find out.’ Gerald gave the door behind him a swift furtive glance. ‘Let’s repair to the smoking room before she finds something for me to do.’

‘Ah well, see you later then, Harrington, Miss Maguire.’ Crowe drawled, as the three of them sloped away like schoolboys intent on mischief.

‘Please don’t feel you need to miss the game on my account,’ Flora said.

‘I’m not a card player, and those three play for very high stakes.’ Bunny twisted toward her. ‘I see you are sticking to your theory that Parnell was murdered.’

‘For all the good it will do me.’ She fell into step beside him as he set off along the deck, her face turned into the wind, dislodging strands of hair that blew into her eyes. ‘Besides, Mr Hersch was right about idle speculation. I should be more careful what I say until I have some proof.’

‘You’re probably wise. By the way,’ he asked in a change of subject she suspected was deliberate. ‘Did I hear you mention Eddy was enrolled at Marlborough?’

Flora nodded. ‘I hope he’ll be all right, he’s never been
away from home on his own before. He’s a sensitive boy.’ When she had ventured her misgivings to Lord Vaughn, he had dismissed her with talk of family tradition.

‘I’m sure Eddy will cope beautifully.’ He leaned his back against the aft rail, both forearms balanced behind him while the wind tugged his hair into disarray. ‘I’m an old Marlburian myself.’

Flora blinked, surprised, though there was no reason why she should have been.

‘My father claimed it was because Charterhouse wouldn’t take me. Which I suspect was a ploy aimed to keep me on my toes.’

‘Did it work?’

His face cleared and his lop-sided smile appeared. ‘Oh yes. Top marks all the way through to Oxford, and then a first.’

‘Impressive. Shall I see you in the Commons, your speeches quoted verbatim in
The Times
?’

‘Definitely not.’ His snort of derision spoke volumes. He angled his head toward her. ‘What’s that look for? My motor car isn’t simply an indulgence, you know. It’s how I intend making my living.’

‘I just thought—’ Her gaze slid over his immaculate dark blue blazer, the diamond pin that held his tie in place, then down to the hand-made shoes of soft leather.

‘Appearances mean little,’ he said, following her look. ‘Granted, I benefitted from a privileged upbringing, but after my father died and the debts were paid, all that was left was a crumbling mansion and an annuity.’

‘You have no other family?’

‘Only my mother.’ His change of tone reflected his devotion to his lone parent. ‘She sold the crumbling pile, and we now share a charming eight-bedroom house on
the Thames in Richmond and an annuity. I’ve had to apply my expensive education to earn my living.’

Flora hid a smile, bemused that his idea of reduced circumstances was a house with eight bedrooms and a private income. She doubted Bunny Harrington had ever woken to a winter’s dawn in an attic bedroom with a quarter inch of ice inside the glass.

‘May I take you in to dinner this evening?’ Bunny asked, suddenly.

She turned her face into the wind in order to hide the sudden warmth that flooded her face.

‘I appreciate the offer, but I don’t expect you to escort me to every meal.’ His face fell and she rushed on, ‘I’ll look forward to your company, though. After all, we occupy the same table.’

His unsmiling nod told her this was poor consolation. The next few moments passed in mildly embarrassed silence, until he indicated a man in an overcoat who stood between two lifeboats smoking a cigar.

‘That chap over there asked to see my designs, so if you don’t mind, I—’

‘Of course not, please go ahead.’

Flora watched him go, surprised at the depth of her attachment to him, when twenty-four hours ago she had never heard the name Bunny Harrington. He didn’t seem to mind she was a governess, but then why would he? To him she was most likely a temporary amusement with whom to pass a few days aboard ship. Or was she denying herself the chance of getting to know a perfectly nice man who seemed genuinely interested in spending time with her?

A dilemma for her to ponder, and almost as mysterious as who might have killed Mr Parnell.

Flora pushed open the double doors of the library, where tapestry upholstered sofas formed horseshoe arrangements set round low tables in a room divided into alcoves, marked by supporting pillars. Like the dining room, a glass lantern ceiling flooded the space with light, while rows of polished walnut bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling; every one entirely empty.

‘Where are all the books?’ she enquired of a passing steward.

‘They were pledged as a gift by the City of Minneapolis in recognition of the ship bearing the same name,’ the freckle-faced young man she had accosted informed her with the air of a tour guide. ‘Though, unfortunately they didn’t reach New York before we sailed.’

‘What a shame.’ Flora had intended to give Eddy some work in preparation for school.

‘We do, however have a few magazines to accompany afternoon tea perhaps?’ He handed her a copy of
London
Illustrated News
. ‘It’s two months old, though I could find more if you wish.’

‘This one is perfect, thank you.’

So engrossed in an article about Ramsay MacDonald’s new Labour Party, only Mr Hersch’s distinctive timbre from a nearby table told Flora she wasn’t alone.

‘You’re certain as to the cause of that head wound?’ he asked someone else.

Flora straightened, confident the white painted pillar she sat behind shielded her from sight, but could just made out Dr Fletcher’s profile on the sofa to her right.

‘I cannot be sure,’ he replied. ‘However, the signs indicate a fall.’

‘Might it have been administered by something heavy?’
Hersch persisted. ‘An ashtray, perhaps?’

Flora smiled. Of course. The square brass ashtrays were a feature of every cabin, and would be the perfect weapon. Eddy had knocked theirs off the table onto his foot, his subsequent yell attesting to its considerable weight.

‘That’s somewhat specific,’ the doctor said. ‘What made you mention that?’

‘A maid reported the one in Parnell’s cabin went missing after he was found. Poor girl was worried she would be made to pay for it.’

‘The housekeeping staff have their wages docked for breakages, most of which never happen,’ Dr Fletcher said. ‘Harsh, maybe, but company policy.’

‘When the crew were questioned, they said the deck was washed before Parnell’s body was discovered, but insisted there was no blood on the steps, or beneath the body.’

‘I found that somewhat unusual, but fear it’s destined to be one of life’s mysteries.’

‘What about the lividity on his face?’

‘What about it?’ The doctor’s voice took on a sharp edge.

‘Can you explain it?’

‘I am qualified, you know,’ Dr Fletcher snapped. ‘I suppose you could say it was odd if he had only lain there a short while, but hardly conclusive.’

Flora hunched against the pillar, taking small bites of a shortbread biscuit, her excitement growing at the knowledge she wasn’t the only one who believed Parnell may have been dead for hours, not minutes.

‘Could he have been killed elsewhere?’ Hersch asked. ‘And his body left on the steps to make it appear as if he had fallen?’

‘Steady on.’ The doctor dropped his voice to a fierce whisper Flora struggled to hear. ‘You could damage my reputation with such talk.’

‘What is more significant, is that it would mean there’s a murderer on board.’ Hersch appeared to be losing patience with the good doctor.

‘Quiet, man! You don’t want to go spreading rumours like that.’

Flora imagined the doctor giving the room a swift, nervous glance to see if they had been heard.

‘What do you expect me to do about it?’ he continued in a fierce whisper.

‘Nothing, for the moment,’ Hersch said, unfailingly calm. ‘However, I suggest you ensure your record-keeping is flawless, or this could come back to haunt you.’

‘I hope you’re wrong, Hersch.’ The creak of leather signalled the doctor was about to leave. ‘Anyway, I must be off, I’ve a patient due with a boil that needs lancing. One of the few ailments I can charge for as it didn’t occur on board.’

His footsteps tapped across the polished floor, followed by his cheery greeting to someone on his way out. The room fell silent, the clink of china and the slap of the door the only sounds as stewards and passengers came and went.

‘He didn’t appear particularly interested in my theory, did he, Miss Maguire?’

Flora froze. Aware it would be pointless to pretend she hadn’t heard, she peeked around the pillar to where Carl Hersch stirred his tea, the silver spoon dwarfed by his manicured hands. His immaculate nails were the first thing she had noticed about him.

‘Did you know I was here all the time?’ She rose and
eased round the pillar whilst bidding a mental farewell to the last remnants of her reputation. As if tripping over dead bodies wasn’t enough, she had now been caught blatantly eavesdropping.

‘I doubt you wear perfume, my dear, but your soap is distinctive. Jasmine, I think.’ He gave a low chuckle, indicating the seat the surgeon had vacated. ‘Would you care to join me?’

Flora sat. ‘Is it my imagination, or did Dr Fletcher seem nervous?’

‘You noticed that, did you?’ Hersch lifted the teapot in invitation. ‘You don’t suffer fools gladly, do you, Miss Maguire?’

‘He’s not a fool, but I think he’s lazy.’ Flora declined his offer of tea, but his compliment gave her confidence. ‘Do I understand you saw Mr Parnell’s body after it was taken to the doctor’s office?’

‘How did you know that?’ He took a slow sip from his cup before returning it to the table.

‘You mentioned the purple bruise on Parnell’s cheek, which you wouldn’t have known about had you not seen it for yourself.’

‘Very astute of you.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners as his probing gaze met hers.

Flora stiffened, suspecting she was being teased. ‘It’s not merely idle curiosity. I have responsibility for a young boy whose safety is my chief concern.’

‘I apologize, Miss Maguire. I don’t mean to be flippant.’ He leaned back in his chair as if settling in for a long talk.

‘Tell me, what were your impressions when you first came upon the body?’

‘Well.’ Flora cast her mind back to her initial horror at
discovering the pile of clothes was in fact a dead man. ‘He lay face down with a gash on the back of his head that had already congealed. I couldn’t see blood anywhere else. Not on the steps or the handrail.’ Hersch looked about to ask a question, but she rushed on, ‘I have no medical training, but on a large country estate, injuries occur quite often from farm equipment and horses. I can tell an old wound from a fresh one.’

‘All this told you what?’ He steepled his fingers below his chin.

‘That if Mr Parnell fell down those steps, he did not do so in the half hour before I got there.’ When he did not correct her she asked, ‘Is lividity what that purple mark was? It covered half his face.’

Hersch’s mouth twitched, but did not expand into a smile. ‘Indeed yes. It’s what happens when the heart stops pumping. The blood in the veins pools at the lowest points, causing that purplish blue colour. It doesn’t appear for at least half an hour after death. Parnell’s injury would have rendered him either dead or unconscious, so I doubt he could have moved on his own.’

‘There was a small amount of dried blood on his shirt collar,’ Flora ventured.

‘Dried, you say?’ His brows drew together, his glance drifting to the ceiling. ‘The body had already been stripped when I saw him, but that puts the time of death into dispute as well.’

‘There’s something else.’ Her enthusiasm grew at the fact she was being taken seriously at last. ‘Why was he still wearing his dinner suit at six in the morning?’

‘A good point.’ He stroked a thumb and forefinger down his clean shaven chin.

‘Mr Hersch? Is it possible Mr Parnell died much earlier
and his body was thrown down those steps to make it look like an accident?’

‘I’ll reserve judgement until more information comes to light.’ He leaned towards her, lowering his voice. ‘But between you and me, Miss Maguire, I’m not happy about the circumstances of this man’s death. It doesn’t look right.’

A rush of excitement fizzed through her veins that she wasn’t alone in her opinion. Though as he said, they needed more proof. In which case, she would have to find some.