Dangerous Sea (16 page)

The girl looked at him, perhaps quizzically. He could not read her expression. She stood up. ‘Please forgive me, Lord Edward, but I must go see my mother. She is still in her cabin. It is taking her a long time to find her “sea legs”.’

‘Of course,’ Edward said also rising. ‘Perhaps you and your mother and your brother, of course, would care to join us for dinner in the Verandah Grill this evening?’

She hesitated. ‘That is very kind of you but doesn’t the Captain demand your presence?’

‘Oh no. He has a lot of passengers to keep happy so he extends the compliment of an invitation to his table to as many as possible during the crossing. I’ve heard the food in the Verandah Grill is better than in the restaurant,’ he added as an inducement.

‘I am sure, if my mother is well enough, we would be delighted to accept your invitation,’ the girl said formally and made a little bow which Edward felt held a hint of mockery. She was enchanting, he had to agree with his nephew, and her presence made it easier to forget his snubbing by Verity.

The two boys stopped playing, Perry claiming victory. Despite the wind, both were sweating and Perry suggested they should try out the Turkish bath. Not waiting to be formally introduced to Edward, he said, ‘What about you, sir? Will you come?’

Edward was about to refuse but then thought, Why not? It was ridiculous not to make use of the ship’s facilities and it might help him slough off his depression.

‘If it wouldn’t be a bore, I would like to. By the way, I don’t think we have been properly introduced. I’m Edward Corinth, but I expect you had worked that out. I have just asked your sister if you and your mother would dine with us tonight.’

‘Indeed, sir. That’s very kind of you.’ Playfully, he banged Frank on the shoulder. ‘Frank speaks very well of you, sir, which is more than I would of my uncle.’

Edward was pleased but tried not to show it. ‘Elderly relatives usually put a damper on the pleasures of their younger kinsfolk, eh Frank? But please don’t keep calling me “sir”. That does make me feel my age.’

‘What shall I call you?’

‘How about Edward?’ he found himself saying. It was usually many months before he invited this sort of intimacy and he saw Frank glance at him in surprise. There was something charming about these two young Americans which made them hard to resist. Was it just good manners or some natural gift – a grace with which you are either born or not?

‘For goodness sake, Uncle, you sound like some Edwardian roué. Though to be honest, I’m not sure what a roué has to do to become one.’

Abashed, Edward retreated but Frank took him by the arm, which he squeezed companionably. ‘Of course we’d like you to come with us and try out the
hammam
. Who knows, we may need a chaperon.’

Edward looked at the two boys doubtfully but their invitation seemed genuine so together they trooped down to the swimming-bath on C Deck.

Edward lay prostrate upon the stainless-steel massage slab, like a body in the morgue, considering the strangeness of it all. Here he was, in the middle of the Atlantic, being pummelled by a masseur with hands like pistons, but always aware of the sway of the great ship slicing through the water. His muscles were relaxed and he felt all the strains of the past few days falling away. When he got back to London, he told himself, he must use the gym regularly. He had, not so many years ago, been fit enough to run a mile not much over the four minute mark. Now, he thought ruefully, he was sinking into middle age and its attendant physical deterioration.

He opened one eye and saw, on two adjoining slabs, his nephew and the young American, both semi-comatose in the hands of their masseurs. He could not help noticing that, while Frank had the strength and animal physicality of a young man reaching his natural peak, Perry Roosevelt had the airy grace of the athlete. Not as heavily muscled as Frank, he was wiry and, Edward thought, might make up in speed what he lacked in endurance.

Apart from the slap of flesh on flesh and the occasional shout from someone in the swimming-pool, there was silence. Without thinking about it, he said, ‘You boys ought to race each other. The Purser was telling me that, on the
Queen Mary
’s maiden voyage, Lord Burghley ran just over four hundred yards round the promenade deck, in full evening dress, in under sixty seconds. Of course, he’s an Olympic runner but it would be interesting to see if you could get near his time.’

Frank, his eyes still closed, said, ‘Sounds like hard work to me.’

‘But think how you would impress Philly,’ Perry urged him. ‘I’m game if you are.’

‘I’m much more likely to make a fool of myself than impress anyone.’

‘You’re not yellow, are you?’ Perry goaded. ‘Think of the interest: England versus America. I can see myself attracting a lot of money.’

‘Betting? Here, I say!’ Edward said in alarm. ‘I don’t think that’s on.’

‘I tell you what, Uncle, I’ll do it if you will.’

‘Race you? I’d say not. I would look the most awful idiot. They’d think I was trying to prove something.’

‘Why not? Why not prove you’re not an antique quite yet?’

At that moment they heard a strange noise which made the masseurs stop and listen. There it was again – a stifled scream.

‘Is there anyone else down here?’ Edward demanded of his masseur.

‘Only Miss Barclay, sir, in the steam room.’

With one accord, Edward and the two boys rose from their slabs and, followed by the masseurs, went through the door into the tepidarium. There was no one there so they continued through into the steam room. Through the steam, which swirled about them like a miasma, they could just make out the figure of a woman. As Edward approached, he recognized the bottle-blonde hair. Jane Barclay, dressed in nothing but a swimsuit, lay on her back on a wooden bench. Her head was twisted, as if she had lost consciousness seeking air. The room temperature was almost unbearable and the steam scalding. There was a strip of white linen on the floor beside the bench.

‘Turn off the steam! Quick, man,’ Edward shouted at his masseur as he stared unbelieving at the body laid out in front of him.

The masseur left the room and the others helped Frank lift the girl and carry her out.

‘Gently, gently!’ Edward said. ‘Lay her on one of the massage slabs.’ When they had done so, he put his hand on her wrist and then his ear to her chest.

‘Is she alive?’ Frank asked, his eyes wide with alarm.

‘Perry, run and call the doctor, will you? There’s a telephone beside the swimming-pool with the emergency number on it. She’s still alive but her pulse is very weak, so hurry.’ Still in his bathing trunks with a bathrobe thrown over his shoulders, the boy disappeared to get help.

Frank looked at his uncle. ‘A nasty accident. I wonder how it could have happened.’

Edward looked at him curiously. ‘What makes you think it was an accident?’

‘What else could it be?’

‘Go and look at the temperature controls. They’re in a box over there, do you see?’ He pointed to a corner cupboard and Frank went over and opened it. There were a series of gauges and switches marked with the different rooms they controlled. There were six rooms in all: the massage room, the tepidarium, the steam room in which Jane Barclay had almost scalded herself to death, the calidarium, the laconicum and an attendant’s room.

Edward turned to his masseur. ‘This is the only control panel?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Did you notice the setting for the steam room before you switched it off?’

‘It was on red – maximum heat and steam.’

‘Shouldn’t the control box be kept locked?’ Frank asked.

The masseur looked troubled. ‘We thought there was no need to lock it when the rooms are in use. There’s always at least one of us present and, if the box was locked, it might be difficult to alter the temperature of any of the rooms quickly. We keep adjusting them so the rooms are kept at the regulation temperature. You see here, sir? The temperature norm is clearly marked on each dial.’

‘How could the temperature in the steam room have fluctuated to such an extreme degree?’

‘I don’t know. We will have it thoroughly checked when we reach New York, my lord, but I don’t see how it is possible. It’s never happened before. Someone must have been playing with the controls.’

The doctor arrived with a nurse and Edward was happy to see some signs of the girl reviving. She had had a narrow escape. He found he was shivering so he put on a bathrobe and prepared to go back to his cabin and change.

As he was leaving, he asked the masseur, ‘How long would it take for the steam room to reach the temperature we found it at?’

‘About twenty or thirty minutes I would think, my lord. The fact is we’ve never had it that high so I can’t be sure.’

Reaching the door, Edward was met by a distraught Warren Fairley. Brushing Edward aside, he ran over to the slab on which his wife lay. Taking no notice of the doctor and nurse, he picked her up and cradled her against his chest. He bowed his head over her and began to kiss her forehead and then her lips. Then, with a howl of anguish, he looked for the first time at the others. ‘Who has done this thing?’ he roared. ‘Tell me, for God’s sake, who has done this?’

‘We don’t know,’ Edward said. ‘It may have been an accident. We heard a scream and went into the steam room and found your wife . . .’

It came to Edward that they were acting out a scene from
Othello
. The noble Moor weeping over the body of his Desdemona as the Venetian nobles looked on. Only this time, thank God, Desdemona was not quite dead. She opened her eyes and the doctor gently took her from her husband and laid her back on the slab with a towel over her.

‘She’ll be all right,’ he said to Fairley. ‘Let her rest for a minute or two and then we’ll take her to the sick-bay.’

Aware that there was nothing more he could do, and not wishing to intrude on so private a grief, Edward took Frank by the arm.

‘Mr Fairley, we’re going to get dressed and then, if there is anything we can do . . .’

But Fairley was not listening. There could be no doubt about one thing, at least. Warren Fairley might be something of a womanizer but his love for his wife was genuine enough.

The Captain looked at Edward in consternation. ‘You’re not trying to tell me, Lord Edward, that this terrible accident wasn’t an accident?’

‘I don’t see how it can have been. There appears to be nothing wrong with the controls to the steam room – though, of course, they will have to be thorougly tested after we dock in New York. Someone altered the temperature control to asphyxiate or scald to death Jane Barclay.’

‘That’s unbelievable! Who on earth would want to do a thing like that?’

‘It’s not for me to speculate,’ Edward said, infuriatingly.

‘Well, I think it’s absolute nonsense.’

The Captain’s nerves were being tested to the limit. He had seen the barometer drop five millibars in three hours, revealing serious deficiencies in the ship’s stabilizers. Several people had been hurt falling down companionways and, in one case, out of bed. The propellers were noisy and the vibration so severe he had to face the fact that they would probably have to be replaced. That might mean – horror of horrors – three months in dry dock. There had been a host of complaints and three passengers – of whom Senator Day was the most aggressive – were threatening to sue Cunard. Then there had been the unexplained murder of the fellow guarding their most important passenger, Lord Benyon, and now this! The potential for bad publicity and subsequent loss of revenue was enormous and he, as Captain, carried the responsibility.

’You must give me your word, Lord Edward, that you will repeat none of this . . . speculation to anyone else. You understand that we must not alarm the passengers?’

Edward looked at him critically. ‘I understand the difficulty you are in, Captain Peel, but you must realize that there is a murderer on board. The death of Tom Barrett proves it even if we persuade ourselves that Miss Barclay’s life was put in danger by faulty temperature contols. Don’t look so glum, Captain. The company can hardly be blamed for the presence of a murderer but it is open to claims for negligence if, indeed, Miss Barclay’s life was threatened by malfunctioning steam controls.’ The Captain went grey. His mouth worked but no words came out. ‘Either way,’ Edward went on inexorably, ‘if we fail to take any action, the police may accuse us of playing fast and loose with the lives of innocent people.’

‘By “us”, you mean me.’

‘No. I too am charged with the protection of one passenger, Lord Benyon.’ He sighed and relented a little. ‘Nevertheless, I agree with you that there is no point in alarming the passengers unnecessarily. The situation won’t be improved by having a lot of frightened people imagining things.’

The Captain’s brow cleared. ‘Then we are agreed in calling Miss Barclay’s . . . accident . . . an accident?’

‘Yes, but you should insist on taking witness-statements from all those involved, myself included. That would show the authorities that you hadn’t taken the matter lightly.’

‘Yes, indeed . . . witness-statements.’

‘You will put something in the
Ocean Times
?’ This was the ship’s newspaper which was delivered to every cabin each morning.

‘Yes. I will say that, owing to a technical fault, the Turkish bath will be closed but massages, ultra-violet, infra-red and diathermic treatments can still be booked.’

Edward nodded. ‘I will leave you, Captain. I know how much you have to do and I wish you did not have to deal with this as well. By the way, I thought it might help to take people’s minds off things if we staged a race tonight before dinner.’

‘A race?’

‘Yes. You remember Lord Burghley ran round the ship in some extraordinary time on the maiden voyage. I have wagered my nephew and his young friend, Perry Roosevelt, they can’t better it. The boys have agreed to take a shot at it and, much against my better judgement, they have persuaded me to run too . . . on behalf of the antiques, don’t you know.’

‘Very good! I am most grateful to you for thinking of such a thing. You may be certain, Lord Edward, that my report to the chairman, Sir Percy Bates, will emphasize the manner in which you have put yourself out to help us. Will you dine with me tonight after the race?’