Dangerous Sea (11 page)

‘I don’t blame
you
, Edward. Don’t think I was questioning your judgement. I just can’t –’

At that moment Marcus Fern came in, looking scared. ‘The Purser telephoned me and said something bad had happened and I was to come here. Thank God you’re all right, Benyon. I thought you might have been taken ill.’

Edward gave him a concise account of the discovery of Barrett’s body. When he had finished, the three men looked at one another in consternation. Simultaneously, they recognized they were in a trap. The
Queen Mary
had seemed so safe. They had been cocooned in luxury, lulled into a false sense of security, but now they realized that, behind a veneer of civilization at its most artificial, there lurked very real danger. The worst of it was that, for the next few days, there was no escape . . . no turning back. It was feasible, Edward supposed, to have a warship rendezvous with them and take off Benyon but the logistics were daunting. He wasn’t even sure exactly how someone was conveyed from one ship to another in mid-ocean. He had a vision of ropes and a man bobbing over the waves on some sort of boatswain’s chair. He shuddered. In any case, the publicity of such a manoeuvre would be just what Benyon did not want. No, they must go on but never let their man out of sight.

‘Thank God I brought my man, Fenton, with me. He’s totally trustworthy and with your permission, Benyon, I’ll have him sleep in my suite, in Barrett’s bed.’

Benyon nodded so Edward went to the telephone and summoned Fenton. Verity arrived, accompanied, as always, by Sam Forrest. Edward was tempted to tell him this was no business of his and ask him to leave but he restrained himself.

‘Verity, could you come into the next cabin for a moment. If you will forgive me, Benyon, there’s just a couple of things I need to say to Verity in private.’

Reluctantly, she followed him into his cabin and he shut the door after them.

‘What’s this all about?’ she said truculently. ‘I suppose you want to shut me up.’

‘How’s Mrs Dolmen?’ Edward asked, ignoring her question.

‘The doctor’s given her a sedative. Her husband’s with her. By the way,’ she said meaningfully, ‘if you want to know, the doctor told me about finding the body on the meat rack. Tom Barrett was murdered. Presumably, that has something to do with his being Lord Benyon’s valet. If that
is
what he was. There’s no good you looking like that. It’s much better that you are open with me. I haven’t discussed this with anyone except Sam but rumours are flying round the ship. You can’t keep this sort of thing secret.’

‘Does that mean it’s your duty to send a report through to the
New Gazette
? I suppose it would be quite a coup for you.’

‘Damn you, Edward, I’ll do what I think fit. Don’t preach at me. I knew you wanted to put pressure on me to keep quiet. So far, you’ve given me no reason why I should. I’m not promising anything.’

‘If I admitted to you that Barrett’s death was, almost certainly, to do with Benyon because he wasn’t just his valet but also his bodyguard, would that satisfy you?’

‘Why does he need a bodyguard?’

‘He is going to the States on business of national importance . . . to talk to the President. I can’t tell you anything more.’

‘I’d worked that out for myself,’ she said shortly. ‘Why else would he be killed? It has to be because of who he was with.’

‘All right, but from now on anything I tell you about why Lord Benyon is going to America is confidential and not for publication.’

‘I don’t want to know why he’s going to the States. Anything you tell me in confidence you’ll never read in a newspaper I write for – you ought to know that by now – but the murder
will
be reported in newspapers on both sides of the Atlantic and I might as well report it as anyone else. At least I will be accurate.’

‘As long as we understand each other because, of course, I want your help . . . yours and Sam’s, but our investigation has to be confidential. Will you tell Sam the rules?’

She took this as an apology of sorts and decided she would be forgiving.

‘I will.’

They shook hands on the deal, a little embarrassed but glad to have straightened things out.

They returned to Benyon’s cabin to find Sam, Marcus Fern and Benyon still trying to come to terms with the death. Fenton had also joined them so the suite was beginning to look overcrowded.

‘For it to be so ugly . . .’ Fern was saying. ‘Did it need to be so beastly?’

‘It’s obscene,’ Sam said vehemently, hitting his fist against the wall. ‘To kill him and then strip him and hang him on a rack of carcasses . . .!’

‘Horrible!’ Verity agreed. ‘I saw bad things in Spain but over there you expect people to do awful things to each other. Not here . . . not on the
Queen Mary
.’

‘Terrible wherever it happened,’ Benyon murmured.

‘But how do you know that’s what did happen?’ Marcus Fern said, surprisingly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, Miss Browne, how do you know the killer stripped Barrett
after
he had killed him and when did he hang him up? Was it some sort of awful joke? The murderer can’t have thought the body would not be found. I’m sorry to sound callous but it may be important. It may tell us why the killer did what he did.’

‘As you say, it was just a sick-making joke.’ Despite the cabin being hot and stuffy, Verity shivered.

‘Maybe, but perhaps he wanted to distract us from seeing something else,’ Fern said, looking at Edward.

‘The horror might blind us to something which could incriminate him?’ Edward mused, interested. ‘That’s true. The doctor will be able to tell us how he died and whether he was dead before he was strung up. I’m sorry . . .’ he said, seeing a look of disgust on Benyon’s face. ‘We must do all we can to catch this man, whoever it is, before he strikes again. Fern is right, we must try and understand him.’

Forrest said, ‘I suppose his clothes might have been taken off him because they gave something away. Perhaps they had the murderer’s blood on them?’

‘But his underclothes? Why take them?’ Verity demanded. ‘That was just too beastly.’

‘By taking all his clothes,’ Forrest said gently, ‘he hoped to confuse us.’

‘I’m pretty certain he was killed by a blow to the head – or at least knocked unconscious – so he would not have known what else the killer did to him, if that makes it easier, Verity,’ Edward said. ‘There was very little blood but, of course, at such a low temperature that’s hardly surprising. Still, there’s one other thing we have to take into account. We have to assume that, along with his clothes, the killer took his gun.’ Edward surveyed the cabin bleakly. ‘We are up against a man with a .38 automatic.’

There was a knock on the door and the Purser and Captain appeared, the latter white-faced and clearly badly upset. First the insult to Warren Fairley and now this savage killing of the man charged with protecting Lord Benyon – this crossing was turning into a nightmare.

‘I will put out an announcement in the ship’s newspaper that there has been an accident and a man has died,’ the Captain said. ‘We’ll have to hope that scotches any rumours of something worse. The freezer room’s been sealed off and I have alerted the New York Police Department. They will board the ship as soon as we dock. In the meantime, the doctor is examining the body. We’ll have his preliminary report in an hour or two. I suppose we must take it that this was an attack on you, Lord Benyon?’ The tone of his voice was disapproving. ‘I don’t quite know what to do, short of imprisoning you in your cabin. If the storm comes upon us tomorrow, as is forecast, you will have every excuse to keep to your berth.’

Benyon looked as though he might burst into tears but said stoutly enough, ‘I am not concerned with my own safety, Captain, but with this horrible murder . . . Is there anything we can do to apprehend the man? I suppose it was a man?’

‘It must have been a man and a reasonably strong one too. The hooks come down from the rail on a wire and once the carcass is attached, it is winched up until the hook reaches the rail. Even so, one can’t envisage a woman doing it – not without help.’

‘We’re up against someone quite ruthless then?’

‘I fear so. Mr Fern . . . Lord Edward . . . I rely on you to see that Lord Benyon is never left alone.’

‘Of course, Captain,’ Fern said. ‘Lord Edward and I will keep him safe.’

‘We’ll do our best, certainly. My man here, Fenton, is going to replace Tom Barrett, Captain Peel. He’s thoroughly trustworthy and worth two of me in a scrap.’

The Captain looked at Fenton doubtfully. The latter returned his stare but said nothing.

‘I promise you, he’s a sound man and with Mr Forrest’s aid – if he’s willing to help . . .’

‘Count me in, Corinth.’

‘Good! As I was saying, with Mr Forrest’s help and Mr Fern and my nephew Frank, we ought to be all right. By the way, where is that boy? Purser, do you think you could run him to ground for me? I would guess he’s drooling over the Roosevelt girl.’

‘Certainly, my lord. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll do that and then go about my duties. It’s important everything should appear normal as far as is possible.’

‘Yes,’ the Captain said. ‘I must go to the bridge. We’ll talk again tomorrow morning, gentlemen.’

‘Captain. I must get in touch with the authorities in London and report what has happened. Is it safe to use the telephone in my cabin? Is it secure?’

‘Secure? Ah, I see what you mean. Perhaps it will be better if you come to the bridge with me. I too must put in my report. The chairman will want to be informed. Dear me, this is a terrible business. Goodnight, all of you, and I hope you are able to sleep tonight. I confess, I am not sure I will.’

All this time, Frank was blissfully unaware that his employer was in need of his support and assistance. As his uncle had suspected, he was in the Verandah Grill which, after dinner, turned into a nightclub. It had a small, sycamore dance floor surrounded by candlelit tables at which couples could sit out, watch the dancers, drink wine or cocktails and gaze into each other’s eyes. Behind a balustrade there was a raised floor with tables at which one could eatà la carte if one wanted a change from the restaurant. On a fine night, the windows – twenty-two in all – might be thrown open. The sills were heated to maintain the temperature in the room and the views over the darkened sea were guaranteed to engender romance.

It had been an unexpected but delightful release for Frank when, at the end of dinner, Lord Benyon had decided to go back to his cabin to work and not join the tour of the engine room. Frank had asked permission to ‘go and explore’ and Benyon, who knew what it was like to be infatuated with a girl, told him ‘to make himself scarce.’ Like a puppy let off its lead, he went running off in search of Philly. He found her at last in the bar, perched on a stool, her long legs swinging idly, a cigarette in her mouth. She was practising making smoke rings and flirting with Roger, the bar steward. She wore more of a silver sheath than a dress, by Mainbocher – a name Frank might have been tempted to mention in his prayers had he ever heard it. It was quite unlike anything he had seen on an English girl and showed her boyish figure to perfection. Her shoulders were bare – the dress was strapless – and around her neck was a pearl choker and on her hands, long white gloves.

‘Oh there you are, Philly.’ He scowled at the barman who shrugged and started polishing glasses. ‘Come and dance, will you? They say there may be a storm tomorrow so this could be our last chance for a bit.’

‘Oughtn’t you to be sitting by your master?’ she said nastily, not liking to be ordered about.

Frank flushed. ‘I’ve got an hour or two. Please, Philly, don’t be awkward.’

‘Shan’t!’

‘Please, Philly, don’t tease.’

‘Beg my pardon for being a horrid bully.’

‘What? Oh, yes, all right. Beg pardon, m’lady.’ He bowed ironically.

She stubbed out her cigarette. He held out his hand and she put hers in his, waving at Roger with the other. ‘See you,’ she said, as though apologizing.

When they had left the bar, Frank said, ‘I wish you wouldn’t flirt with the barman. It’s not the done thing, you know.’

‘Not the done thing,’ she mimicked. She tugged at him to make him stop. ‘But it is the “done thing” to fool around with me?’

‘What do you mean, Philly?’ Frank said, looking at her with surprise.

‘Well, I just mean . . . Oh, I don’t know what I mean. Come on then.’

She kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘Let’s fool around. Why not? As you say, we may not have much time.’

Frank had no idea what she meant, unless she was referring to the coming storm, but, with the taste of her lips on his, he wasn’t capable of thinking clearly.

When they reached the dance floor, Frank saw it as some enchanted place. It was bathed by coloured lights reflecting off a glass ball spinning high above the dancers and leaving pools of darkness, deep enough for lovers to drown in. There were two or three other couples on the floor, each in their own little world, ignoring anything and anyone else. When the girl wrapped her bare arms around his neck and put her cheek against his, Frank found he could float. He knew he ought to be surprised but with this girl nothing surprised him. The scent of her made him almost swoon and, when she raised her head, and invited his kisses, her breath stole his away. They had been dancing for the best part of an hour before Frank realized that one of the other couples consisted of Perry Roosevelt glued to some girl he had never seen before.

At last they sat down and a waiter brought them champagne. Frank wanted to say something interesting to impress Philly. He wanted to be witty and compliment her on her dress and ask her about herself but he was tongue-tied. She put her hand on his cheek and stroked it. ‘Almost a man,’ she said with a sigh.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Frank said, indignation giving him back the power of speech.

‘Nothing, only . . .’

‘Only what? I suppose you are going to say I’m too young to know what it means to be in love but that’s poppycock. I know I love you, Philly. You’re the loveliest girl I ever met and . . .’