Murder on the Minnesota (14 page)

Her other would-be suitor was paying no attention to Genevieve. Having somehow engineered a place at a table close to hers, Willoughby Kincaid had his back to her and was holding his companions in thrall with tales of his travels. Kincaid’s move had an effect on Dillman’s own dining arrangements. He was sharing a table for six once again with Rutherford Blaine and the Changs. Angela Van Bergen was also there, but the absence of her bridge partner had discountenanced her. Hoping to dine with Kincaid, she felt betrayed when she saw that he had deserted her. She lapsed into a brooding silence and offered no welcome when the waiter escorted a new guest to the table.

“I hope that you don’t mind my joining you,” said Fay Brinkley, taking a seat beside Dillman and looking around the table. “I did want to sit in a smaller gathering.”

“Small but eminently civilized,” said Blaine.

“Oh, I took that for granted.”

Introductions were made and Fay settled down with her new dinner companions. Having heard so much about the woman, Dillman was glad to meet her at last and knew that he could count on her for more interesting conversation than any supplied by Mrs. Van Bergen or by Willoughby Kincaid. Since she was traveling to China, she was very pleased to have Li Chang and his wife at hand to give her advice. Mrs. Van Bergen was polite to her but unusually taciturn. Fay struck up an instant rapport with Rutherford Blaine.

“So you’re from Washington, D.C., as well, Mr. Blaine?” she observed.

“Frederick, Maryland, to be exact,” he replied. “A little town not far away.”

“We’re practically neighbors. I live in Georgetown.”

“I’ve been there. It’s an attractive part of the city.”

“Is your wife not traveling with you?” she asked, noting his wedding ring.

“No, Mrs. Brinkley. She hates trailing along after me when I make a business trip. Marie is a poor traveler, I’m afraid. She’d rather stay at home with the grandchildren.”

“How many do you have?”

“Six.”

“Heavens!”

“Do you have any children?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” said Fay, pursing her lips. “It just never happened.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“We’ve got three grandchildren,” announced Mrs. Van Bergen, entering the conversation at last. “Alexander, Waldo, and Louise. There may be more to come.”

“You have such small families in America,” said Li Chang with a grin. “I had five brothers and four sisters. My father bring us up on little money.”

“All credit to him,” said Dillman.

“You have brothers and sisters, Mr. Dillman?”

“One sister, that’s all, Mr. Chang. That’s what disappointed my father the most. His only son was not prepared to carry on the family business.”

Fay turned to him. “What sort of business was that, Mr. Dillman?”

Conversation ebbed and flowed pleasantly throughout the meal. Though she was keen to hear everything the Changs could tell her about China, her main interest was patently in Dillman. She wanted to know where he was going, when he
would return, and what he would do when he got back to America. He gave plausible answers to all of her questions and quizzed her in return. When Fay mentioned her work on behalf of the women’s suffrage movement, Mrs. Van Bergen erupted into life like an extinct volcano.

“What nonsense!” she said. “Why on earth should women want a vote?”

“It’s a basic human right,” countered Fay.

“Then how have we managed so long without it?”

“We haven’t, Mrs. Van Bergen. That’s the point.”

“Politics is a man’s world. We should leave it to them.”

“And let them get us into even worse messes?”

“Women have no place in government,” asserted the other, reddening visibly. “Who would bring up the children?”

“Who brought up yours, Mrs. Van Bergen?”

“I did, Mrs. Brinkley.”

“With the help of a governess, I daresay.”

“Well, naturally. We do things properly in our household.”

“In other words, most of the work was taken off your hands.”

Mrs. Van Bergen spluttered. “What else are servants for?” she demanded.

“Most American women can’t afford servants,” said Fay calmly. “People like you do untold damage to our cause, Mrs. Van Bergen. You collude with those who want to keep us disenfranchised. I don’t think that women are a lesser order of creation. I’m sorry that you do.”

“Women can have power in China,” said Chang softly. “We have a dowager empress and everyone respects her.”

“Quite rightly,” added Blaine. “Look at England. Queen Victoria ruled over a vast empire for more than sixty years. I know that she was only a figurehead, but she did exert considerable personal influence.”

“We’re not talking about China or England,” said Mrs. Van Bergen obstinately. “We’re talking about America, and I’d hate to see an American woman given the vote. We have no experience
in such matters.” She rounded on Dillman. “You agree with me, Mr. Dillman, surely?”

“I’m afraid that I don’t, Mrs. Van Bergen,” he replied.

“Why not?”

“I happen to believe in the principle of equality.”

She was aghast. “You actually support this ridiculous idea?”

“Let me put it this way,” he said calmly. “I’ve had the pleasure of working alongside women, and that taught me a great deal. Women can do most jobs as well as men and some of them rather better.”

“Fiddlesticks!”

“I’m not sure that I’d go that far, Mr. Dillman,” said Blaine, “but I do agree with Mrs. Brinkley that women haven’t had a fair deal. Their time is yet to come. However,” he went on with a conciliatory smile, “this is rather an emotive topic for a dinner party. I suggest that we discuss a safer subject or our digestions will all suffer.” He turned to Fay. “How long has your brother been in the colonial service, Mrs. Brinkley?”

“Four years.”

“Does he enjoy his work?”

Fay chatted easily about her brother. Her coolness during the argument had come in sharp contrast to the belligerence shown by Mrs. Van Bergen. Sullen and withdrawn, the latter said virtually nothing. When the main course was over, she spurned the dessert and excused herself from the table to retire. Dillman saw the hurt look that she shot Willoughby Kincaid as she walked past his table. Blaine hunched his shoulders.

“We seem to have upset Mrs. Van Bergen,” he said regretfully.

Fay was blunt. “She upset herself.”

“She no need to get so angry,” said Chang. “We all friends here.”

“What possessed her to explode like that?” asked Blaine, scratching his head. “It took me completely by surprise. She was almost as bellicose as Father Slattery.”

“Father Slattery?” repeated Chang.

“A Catholic priest that Mr. Dillman and I have encountered.”

“Oh, yes,” said Fay. “I know the man you mean.”

“Everyone on the ship must know him by now.”

“He is rather memorable, Mr. Blaine.”

“It’s that crusading zest of his, Mrs. Brinkley,” he said. “The odd thing is that I haven’t seen him around all day. Have you, Mr. Dillman?”

“No,” said Dillman smoothly. “He must be indisposed.”

After knocking hard on the door, the man knelt down to peer through the keyhole. He took out a knife, selected a narrow blade, and inserted it into the lock. It was a full minute before he heard a telltale click. He entered the cabin swiftly and shut the door behind him. When he put on the light, he was puzzled by what he saw. The place had an abandoned air about it. He instituted a quick search. Sheets and pillowcases had been stripped from the bed. Towels had been removed from the bathroom. Nothing was on the table or the little desk. It was only in the wardrobe that he found signs of habitation. The meager supply of clothing had been neatly hung up. In the bottom of the wardrobe there was a pile of Catholic tracts beside a crucifix and a Bible.

The man took out one item and held it up. He shook his head in bewilderment. After a last look around the cabin, he tossed Father Slattery’s clerical collar back into the wardrobe and closed the door. He had seen enough.

The meal was less of an ordeal than Genevieve Masefield had feared. Some of the credit for this went to Horace and Etta Langmead. At their most genial, the couple befriended everyone around the table and kept the conversation sparkling. There was another bonus. In talking about his business dealings abroad, Langmead aroused Rance Gilpatrick’s interest, and the latter talked fondly of the Orient, saying how much he enjoyed trading with both Japan and China. Though he was careful to give no specific details, he did provide Genevieve
with some information about his activities. While talking to Maxine, she kept one ear on what Gilpatrick was saying to the others.

Spared any attention by Willoughby Kincaid, she was kept under surveillance by David Seymour-Jones, but his unwavering stare gradually ceased to disturb her. Indeed, once the meal was underway and the conversation bubbled, she forgot all about him. When she did look up, it was usually in the direction of Dillman’s table. Genevieve was pleased to note that he had finally met Fay Brinkley, and wanted to see how they were getting on together. However, she did not neglect one of her main duties that evening. Somehow she had to work the name of Father Slattery into the conversation.

“I don’t know how I’ll be able to sing after this,” complained Maxine, finishing her dessert. “I’ve eaten far too much.”

“We could always postpone the rehearsal,” suggested Genevieve.

“No, honey. We stick to our schedule.”

“It will be rather late before we have the place to ourselves.”

“That’ll give my food time to go down. Evenings are best for me, Jenny,” she said. “Rance will smoke those damn cigars in our cabin. When I wake up in the morning, I croak like a frog. You should hear me.”

“There’s a concert on tomorrow afternoon,” said Genevieve. “It might be an idea to go along to get some idea of the acoustics.”

“They’ll hear me, honey,” boasted Maxine, “don’t worry. If you can make yourself heard in a rowdy saloon, you can handle anything. But you’re right. We ought to take a look at the competition. Let’s go together.”

“We will, Maxine.”

“Listen, I don’t want to monopolize you. It’s lovely having you around, but you mustn’t feel that we have to live in each other’s pockets. Apart from anything else, it cuts down your opportunities.”

“For what?”

“Tempting offers from handsome gentlemen.”

Genevieve smiled. “I’m happy to forego some of those.”

“Has that wily Mr. Kincaid been on your tail again?”

“Not yet, Maxine. I think he’s biding his time.”

“He can’t touch you in the Ladies’ Boudoir. And if he does get to be a nuisance, just let me know. Rance will take care of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He has friends aboard who can be very persuasive. They’ll get rid of Kincaid.”

“I think I’d rather handle it myself,” said Genevieve firmly. She looked up as Gilpatrick burst into laughter and slapped his thigh in appreciation. “I’m so glad your husband is getting on with the Langmeads.”

“They’re nice people.”

“They’ve been very kind to me.”

“I like them both,” said Maxine tolerantly, “but, then, I like most people. If he wasn’t such a liar, I could even like Kincaid. Then there was Fay Brinkley That woman has such a sharp mind. Rance couldn’t stand her, but I admire someone like that.”

“So do I. Fay is a good friend. In fact,” she said artlessly, “everyone I’ve met onboard has been very friendly. There’s only been one exception.”

“Who was that?”

“A Catholic priest called Father Slattery.”

Maxine bridled. “Not that guy!”

“You’ve met him?”

“It was difficult not to, Jenny. He was wandering around the boat deck yesterday, giving out tracts. He had the gall to ask Rance if he was saved.” She gave a cackle. “I don’t think his reverend ears had ever heard language like that before. My husband is not the religious type.”

“What exactly happened?”

“They yelled at each other for a bit, then the priest gave up.
Just as well,” she added meaningfully. “If Rance had lost his temper, things could have got out of control.”

Li Chang and his wife left the table after coffee was served, but Dillman and Blaine lingered over a brandy. Though she refused the offer of a drink, Fay Brinkley stayed with the two men, supremely at ease in their company. Dillman felt that he had known her for weeks, rather than hours. Blaine, too, was enjoying her conversation. His pleasure was soon curtailed. A waiter delivered a small envelope to him. When he read the message inside, a flicker of dismay appeared on his face, but he swiftly banished it behind an apologetic smile. Finishing his brandy in one gulp, he rose from his seat and excused himself. Fay was surprised at his sudden departure.

“Who can be sending him notes at this time of night?”

“I have no idea, Mrs. Brinkley.”

“You don’t suppose that it was a billet-doux?” she asked teasingly.

“I doubt that very much. Mr. Blaine is married.”

“Mrs. Blaine is thousands of miles away.”

“He’s a decent man,” said Dillman. “I’ve got to know him quite well. I don’t think that he’d dream of being unfaithful. In any case, it’s none of our business.”

“Quite so.” She studied him for a moment. “You’re a real enigma, you know.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, Mr. Dillman. I haven’t quite worked you out yet.”

“What is there to work out?”

“All sorts of things. The obvious question to ask is why a handsome young man like you is sitting with a Chinese couple, a staid American, and that rather disagreeable woman called Mrs. Van Bergen.”

“Where would you expect me to sit?”

“With a lady of your choice.”

“I’m doing that right now, Mrs. Brinkley,” he said gallantly.

She grinned. “
Touché!
”

“In any case, you’re wrong about Mr. Blaine. He’s not staid at all. He’s a highly educated man with a wicked sense of humor. As for the Changs, I couldn’t meet a more pleasant couple. And Mrs. Van Bergen was far less disagreeable than on the first occasion we shared a table.” Dillman spread his arms. “I’m where I want to be.”

“You’re evading my question.”