Read To Davy Jones Below Online

Authors: Carola Dunn

To Davy Jones Below (19 page)

BOOK: To Davy Jones Below
6.08Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
The thought made Daisy wonder where Miss Oliphant was. Probably dispensing tea somewhere, perhaps with one of her remedies added to the warming brew.
Daisy lost count of the number of groups she had led inside. They were still coming, an unending stream as the little boats plied back and forth. Several injured people were hoisted up in slings and carried below to the unoccupied cabins, where Dr. Amboyne could tend them.
Gotobed approached Daisy again. “I'm afraid Wanda will take on, but it's time to give up our sitting room. It's getting right crowded in the Grand Salon. Would you mind, lass, going and warning her I'll be sending summun down?”
Daisy's fingers and toes were growing numb, and the drizzle, though light, was beginning to soak through her coat. She was glad of a respite, an excuse to stay in the dry and warm for more than a couple of minutes at a time. After delivering her next group, she went on down to the Gotobeds' suite.
Her knock went unanswered. After a moment, she opened
the door and went in. The door to the bedroom was ajar. From within came Wanda's furious voice.
“I've wrecked two bloody nails trying to open the bloody porthole. I don't give a damn what the bloody stewards are busy with, you get one in here right this minute.”
“But, madam,” Baines protested.
“Now,
d'you hear me? And bring me some more seltzer water. Get a move on!”
Baines sped through into the sitting room. As she closed the door behind her, something crashed against it. Her lips tightened in her set face.
Seeing Daisy, she burst out, “I won't put up with it! She's never been easy, but this is the last straw. Soon as we get to New York, I'm leaving, and I'll forfeit my wages 'stead of notice. There're plenty of American ladies on this very ship've asked me if I'd like to work for them. And I'm sorry to let Mr. Gotobed down, who's as nice a gentleman as can be, but I won't put up with being thrown things at!”
“I don't blame you,” Daisy sympathized, wondering whether there was any point in continuing with her errand with Wanda already in a terrific bait. “Perhaps I can open the porthole for her, at least.”
“Shouldn't think so, madam, it's ever so difficult without the steward's special key. She says she's too hot and she's been drinking water like a whale.”
“Oh dear, does she look feverish?”
“She's red in the face, madam, but I put it down to temper.”
“I dare say you're right. I'd better ask her if she'd like me to send the doctor along, though.”
“Upon your head be it, madam. I'll go and fetch her seltzer, but she'll have to come out here to get it. I'm not going back in there to be thrown things at.”
The maid left. Daisy went to the inner door, knocked, put
her head around the door, and said quickly, “Wanda, it's Daisy. Would you like me to ask Dr. Amboyne …”
With a scream of rage, Wanda flung something at her. Daisy ducked and slammed the door shut. She heard whatever it was shatter against the wood.
Not a good moment to send down a distressed Italian family, and so she told Gotobed, not quite explaining that his wife was in the middle of a royal tantrum. Daisy was no keener than Baines on “being thrown things at,” but Gotobed had troubles enough without hearing about it.
Dusk was closing in, an hour or so later, when he again approached Daisy. This time he shepherded a wet and weary youngish couple with two handsome and still lively boys of about Belinda's age and a younger girl.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ferelli and the children will sleep in my suite,” he said. “Will you be so kind as to show them the way, Mrs. Fletcher? Please tell Wanda I'll be down shortly, and ask her to make them comfortable—if you feel there's any chance she might,” he added wryly.
“I'll take them down,” Daisy agreed. She did not promise to speak to Wanda, half intending to show them in and flee. But when they reached the suite, Baines was peacefully sewing in the sitting room, so Daisy went in.
“Madam's asleep,” said the maid.
“Good! I'm sure it'll do her good.” In a mixture of Italian and sign language, Daisy explained the situation to the Ferellis, warning them to keep quiet. She asked Baines to fetch them towels and hot drinks and do anything else she could for them. “Mr. Gotobed will be down very soon. The last two boatloads are on their way. Can you manage till he comes?”
“Certainly, madam.”
“I'll just peek in and make sure Mrs. Gotobed is sleeping soundly.” Turning to the Ferellis, Daisy put her finger to her lips. She tiptoed to the bedroom door, inched it open, and
looked in. Wanda, sprawled untidily on the bed amid rumpled blankets, did not stir. Her tantrum must have worn her out.
Daisy was pretty worn out, too. Deciding she had done her bit, she went along to the cabin. A harassed-looking stewardess was just coming out.
“Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, madam, I'm that glad you've come. Maybe you can do something with her.” She hoicked a thumb over her shoulder. “Her name's Loochiya Crochet, or something like. I've got her into dry clothes, but she won't do anything but cry.”
Daisy suppressed a sigh. She had forgotten that she and Alec had volunteered to take someone in. Squaring her shoulders, she went in.
Lucia Croce was small, plump, and scarcely more than a child. In donated tweeds too large for her and utterly inappropriate for her olive-skinned southern prettiness, she huddled on one of the fold-down seats, a steady stream of tears flowing down her cheeks. As a first step, Daisy gave her a hankie.
Asking what was the matter stretched Daisy's Italian. From the passionate flood of words which followed, she managed to extract two, frequently recurring, “
mio marito.
”
Obviously Lucia, who looked far too young to be married, was worried about her husband. Daisy assumed they had been parted in the exodus from the
Mary Jane.
Her heart sank at the prospect of trying to find one young man amongst the crowds. But what if she had guessed wrong, if Mr. Croce awaited his bride in New York and she was only concerned for his feelings when he heard the
Garibaldi
had sunk?
Gotobed could find out. Telling Lucia to come with her, Daisy headed back to the Gotobeds' suite.
Gotobed opened the door. Behind him was a lot of excited chatter, including the shrill voices of the boys. No sign of Wanda, though, Daisy was relieved to see. She explained her
problem and Gotobed asked Lucia a question. He listened intently to the ensuing flood. The Ferellis gathered around, making soothing noises.
“Her husband was hurt in the collision,” Gotobed explained to Daisy. “Since she has not been reunited with him, she's afraid he is dead.”
“Oh, poor thing! He'll be in one of the spare cabins, under Dr. Amboyne's care.”
“I think I'd better take her along to find him. Mrs. Fletcher, I can't wake Wanda and I'm a bit concerned. Would you take a look at her for me?”
“Of course, but I expect she's just taken one of her powders. Perhaps she took what Miss Oliphant gave her, too, and they've reinforced each other. Thanks for dealing with Lucia.”
Wanda was still sprawled on the bed in much the same position. No doubt her husband had been too gentle with her, trying to wake her by talking to her. Daisy had no objection to giving her a good shaking, but she started by calling her name. No reaction, not so much as the flicker of an eyelid.
Daisy sat on the edge of the bed and took Wanda's hand. It was hot and dry, as was her forehead. Her breathing seemed unnaturally rapid. Beginning to worry, Daisy felt for a pulse in her wrist. That too, when at last she found it, seemed too fast and weak.
On the bedside table stood an empty tumbler. Beside it lay a ship's stationery envelope and a torn paper, the kind used to hold medical powders, with a few white grains clinging to it. Alarmed now, Daisy picked up the envelope. Inside was greenish stuff which looked like chopped-up leaves, like one of Miss Oliphant's remedies. She sniffed and decided it smelt just like the lemon balm tea she had drunk a few days ago.
But she could not forget what Wanda had said about the witch being out to catch a husband.
“Baines, will you come and sit with Mrs. Gotobed? I'm
afraid she's ill, and I don't want to leave her alone while I go for the doctor.”
Daisy headed for the doctor's office. If he was not there, as seemed likely, she ought to be able to find out where he was. On the way, she came across Alec and Miss Oliphant talking together in the corridor.
As soon as he saw her face, he asked, “What's wrong, Daisy?”
“Darling, I'm so glad I found you. I may be making a mountain out of a molehill, but …”
“I'll leave you,” said Miss Oliphant tactfully.
“Oh no, please stay. You may be able to help. Wanda seems to be in a sort of stupor—I can't wake her. I'm pretty certain she's taken at least one of her powders, and she may have taken lemon balm, too, if that's what you gave her, Miss Oliphant.”
“I told her not to mix them!” exclaimed the witch. “Lemon balm on its own is entirely harmless, but one can never be sure of the effects of untested combinations of medications. Fetch Dr. Amboyne. I shall go to her at once.” She set off at a near trot.
“Is Wanda alone?” Alec asked.
“No, Baines is with her. I was just going for Dr. Amboyne.”
“Where's Gotobed?”
Daisy explained about Lucia Croce. “So he's probably with the doctor now. He'll come straight back when he hears about Wanda. He was already concerned about her.”
“I've been wondering whether she takes something else, whether she's addicted to hashish or cocaine. Have you noticed her dilated pupils?”
“I think that's from the eye-drops she uses. Alec, you don't suppose Miss Oliphant gave her the wrong stuff? By mistake, of course.”
“Of course. Go and get the doctor.” Alec strode swiftly after Miss Oliphant.
A
lec was damp to the skin and tired from the unaccustomed exertion of hauling the
Garibaldi's
passengers over the rail. With the last of them brought aboard, he had gone down to change. When he'd met Miss Oliphant, he'd stopped for a moment to exchange impressions of the rescue. He had been about to go on, hoping to find Daisy in their cabin, when she had arrived looking disturbed.
Now, dampness and fatigue forgotten, he hurried towards the Gotobeds' suite, considering the hint Daisy had reluctantly voiced.
Miss Oliphant as murderess? Surely she had not shot Pertwee, and she had certainly not pushed Welford down the companion-way. Could she have deliberately poisoned Wanda? The animosity between them was as obvious as the sympathy between Miss Oliphant and Gotobed. Daisy had told him of Wanda's accusations that the old maid was husband-hunting and would not turn up her nose at a millionaire, American or English.
Wanda was inclined to speak without taking into account the effect of her words. Had she said something to Gotobed which had led him to believe she was romantically involved
with Pertwee? Or had Gotobed seen them together and reached his own conclusions?
Either would explain Pertwee's murder—which still left the puzzles of Welford's fatal and Denton's near-fatal plunges.
In any case, Gotobed was the obvious villain where Pertwee was concerned and the only possible murderer if Welford had been murdered. But would he poison his wife, whom he seemed genuinely to love in spite of her faults? Or had Miss Oliphant given her some dangerous herb?
Always supposing she had in fact been poisoned. Alec hoped it was a false alarm, a mountain created by Daisy out of a molehill. More than likely, Wanda had simply taken too many of her sleeping powders.
At that point in his reflections, Alec caught up with Miss Oliphant at the door of the suite.
“I knocked, Mr. Fletcher. There is no answer.”
“We'll go in. This is no time to stand on ceremony.” He opened the door. “Great Scott!”
Five pairs of dark eyes stared at him.
“I'd forgotten Gotobed offered to take in a family.”
“I speak a little Italian,” said Miss Oliphant. “I shall endeavour to explain our presence. You had better go straight to Mrs. Gotobed. Call me if matters appear urgent.”
Alec went through to the bedroom. Wanda lay on the bed with the counterpane spread loosely over her. The lady's maid stood up.
“Mrs. Baines?” It never hurt to give a woman a courtesy title, however she was normally addressed, and Mrs., if wrong, was less likely to give offence than Miss. “I'm Alec Fletcher. Has Mrs. Gotobed's condition changed since my wife left?”
“It's Miss Baines, sir. She hasn't changed, not so's you'd notice. But then, I'm not a nurse. She hasn't moved a muscle, that I can tell you.”
“Thank you.” Alec checked Wanda's pulse and found it
weak and fast but steady. Deciding to take advantage of Miss Oliphant's being delayed, he picked up a scrap of paper from the bedside table. “Can you tell me what this is?”
“It looks to me like she took one of her powders, sir, to help her sleep. She was in a bit of a state earlier. I s'pose she thought a good nap would set her to rights.”
“No doubt. And this?” He held up the envelope.
“That's what Miss Oliphant gave her, sir. I don't think she can've had any of that, because she'd've had to send me for hot water, which she didn't. It's a sort of herbal tea. There's no tea-pot nor cup and saucer like the steward would have brought, either, besides them all being so busy with those poor shipwrecked souls.”
“And you didn't bring her the glass of water for the powder?”
“No, sir, she must've got it from the washstand. She sent me to get seltzer water; ever so thirsty she was this afternoon. It took ever such a long time, what with everyone being busy, and when I came back, she was already asleep. Truth to tell, I was relieved.” Baines hesitated. “D'you think she's taken too many powders, sir?”
“Have you seen any papers other than this?” Alec countered.
“No, sir. I looked under the bed and in the waste-paper basket, too.”
“Good for you. You won't be offended if I take a look around for myself? You may have heard that I'm a police officer. I'm trained to see things that other people miss.”
As he searched, his eye was caught by the array of gold-topped pots on the dressing-table. Finishing the search, without finding any papers, he went over to regard them with a frown.
“Which of these would be her eye-drops? No, don't touch, please.” Damn, he thought, no fingerprint kit, but on
glass he might be able to bring up dabs with flour. The bottle Baines indicated was nearly empty. “Do you know what it is?”
“Belladonna,” said Miss Oliphant, coming in. “I warned her to stop using it. It is a highly dangerous preparation. It has its uses medically, but I never touch it.”
“Deadly nightshade,” Alec said. He turned to look down at Wanda, lying motionless. “Could it produce this effect if too much was introduced into the eyes?”
“I don't believe so, but you must ask Dr. Amboyne.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and took Wanda's wrist in her fingers. Her hands were square and strong, with shortcut nails. “I see she has taken some lemon balm,” she said, noticing the envelope on the table.
“That's what you gave her? You couldn't have got it mixed up with something else?”
“Not possibly,” Miss Oliphant said sharply. Nonetheless, she reached for the envelope and sniffed at the contents. “Baines, fetch some hot water, please. I shall drink a cup myself to prove it harmless.”
“I didn't mean to imply …” Alec began, rather less than truthfully.
“I shall drink a cup. It is soothing to the nerves, and after the various occurrences of this voyage, I find my nerves in need of support.”
“I should never have guessed it, ma'am,” Alec said sincerely, as Baines went out. “Am I to take it that you consider Mrs. Gotobed's life to be in danger?”
“I am not qualified to pronounce a prognosis, Mr. Fletcher. If she has taken two or three of her powders, I doubt it. If, on the other hand, she has ingested belladonna, I fear she is unlikely to survive. Immediate treatment can save victims, usually children who have eaten the sweet berries, but coma is the last stage before death.”
Alec stood looking down at Wanda. He didn't like her,
but she didn't deserve to die. “Where's the doctor?” he said irritably, turning towards the door.
As if in answer, Amboyne hurried in, black bag in hand. “What's up? What's up?” he asked equally irritably. “I have a great many patients at present. What seems to be the matter, Miss Oliphant?”
“What's wrong?” An agitated Gotobed came in behind the doctor. “Is Wanda ill? Seriously?”
Amboyne swung round. “I don't know yet, and it will be easier to find out if you will please wait in the other room. I shall inform you as soon as I have a diagnosis, I assure you.”
“You too, Daisy,” said Alec, seeing her behind Gotobed.
Swallowing a protest, Daisy took Gotobed's arm and gently led him out. He slumped into a chair, looking dazed. The Ferellis gathered around him, asking questions, chattering in sympathetic tones. The little girl climbed into his lap, and he put his arm around her.
Daisy took a chair at what little distance the room allowed. She was glad of the Ferellis' concern. She did not want to have to try to answer Gotobed's questions.
A couple of minutes later, Alec entered and came over to her. “Tired, love?” he asked.
“Yes! What's the verdict?”
“Amboyne can't tell yet,” he said loudly enough for Gotobed to hear, then went on more quietly, “He needs more information. Do you happen to know of any symptoms she suffered before she fell asleep?”
“Baines said she was very thirsty and her face was rather red. It sounded to me as if she might be running a fever.”
“You didn't see her yourself?”
“No, she was in a filthy temper. In the end I put down the red face to sheer spleen. Alec, I feel dreadful. I ought to have done something straight away.”
“It might have been sheer temper, and if not, you couldn't
possibly have guessed, love. I must go back. Send Baines right in when she returns, will you?”
“Oh, darling, perhaps you'd better tell Dr. Amboyne that when I went in later, after she fell asleep, the bedclothes were all tumbled and tangled as if she'd tossed and turned like mad. If she took a powder, wouldn't she have fallen asleep at once?”
“Unless she took it because she couldn't fall asleep. I'll tell him anyway.” Alec dropped a quick kiss on Daisy's cheek, straightened to see all the Ferellis staring, blushed, and fled back to the bedroom.
“Mio marito,
” Daisy informed the smiling Italians.
Gotobed jumped up, the child still in his arms, and started towards the bedroom door. “What did Fletcher say? Is Wanda … ?”
“Dr. Amboyne is examining her,” Daisy said firmly, standing up to bar his way. “You will only delay him if you …”
Alec came back. “Amboyne thinks it's belladonna poisoning.” He watched Gotobed's face as he spoke, as did Daisy. She saw nothing but shock. “He wants to take her to the sick-bay immediately. Daisy, will you please go and find the nurse and have her bring a couple of men with a stretcher.”
“A stretcher!” cried Gotobed. “If it is urgent to get her there, surely we can carry her. It's not far.”
“I'll see what he says. But in the meantime, Daisy …”
“I'm on my way.”
Daisy met the nurse—as starched as ever despite the influx of patients—just bustling out of the surgery door to the passage, with a trayful of medicines.
“Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, you'll be wanting to know about that Mrs. Crotchy. The gentleman that brought her along said she's assigned to your cabin; but you needn't worry, she won't leave her husband, poor lamb, not that he's as bad off as some.”
“I'm glad.” Daisy had forgotten Lucia. “But actually I've
come with a message from Dr. Amboyne.” She explained the urgent need of a stretcher.
As she spoke, the nurse turned back into the surgery and set the tray down on the doctor's desk. “Mostly pink pills, to keep them happy,” she explained briefly, “and the rest can wait; but we won't wait to find a pair of men, never there when they're wanted. If you'll just give me a hand with this, madam.”
She opened a cupboard and took out a rolled-up stretcher. Carrying an end each, they manoeuvred it out of the surgery. It was more awkward than heavy.
The nurse locked the door and they set off along the corridor. They hadn't gone far when they came across a couple of stewards and roped them in to do the donkey-work. Nurse and Daisy followed.
And all the while, Daisy was thinking. Belladonna? The eye-drops of course. Suicide? Why should Wanda commit suicide? She didn't seem the type, besides having a rich and adoring husband ready to cater to her every whim. But if not suicide, surely not murder? Daisy could not bring herself to believe the adoring husband had deliberately poisoned his bride.
Miss Oliphant? The lemon balm seemed innocent enough, but could the herbalist have given Wanda something else as well? Yet surely the principles which had made her refuse to help abort a foetus would not permit her to kill the mother carrying that foetus.
It
must
have been an accident.
Daisy failed to see how an accident could have happened. She had just reached this unsatisfactory conclusion when the procession reached the Gotobeds' suite. The two Italian boys were on the watch. They ran in, calling out to “Signor Gottabetta.”
Wanda was moved onto the stretcher. The procession
wended back, led by doctor and nurse. Gotobed and Miss Oliphant followed the stretcher, and Daisy and Alec brought up the rear, several paces back.
“I don't know,” said Alec softly, shaking his head. “I just don't know. If he only had a stronger motive. He says she seemed perfectly well after lunch, quite cheerful, in fact. She actually encouraged him to go up on deck to help, when they discovered the guard had left his post. But then, Amboyne says the symptoms of belladonna poisoning normally take several hours to develop. He had a case when he was a country G.P., a child who ate deadly nightshade berries.”
“Did he save the child?” Daisy asked.
“No. And he doesn't hold out much hope for Wanda.”
“Oh, darling!”
“He agrees with Miss Oliphant that she's reached the last stage before death. What she already had in her system from the eye-drops may have speeded things up.”
BOOK: To Davy Jones Below
6.08Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Art on Fire by Hilary Sloin
The Hanging Judge by Michael Ponsor
Mafia Girl by Deborah Blumenthal
The Inside Job by Jackson Pearce
A Little Fate by Nora Roberts