Murder on the Caronia (7 page)

“By heck!” he said. “What did you make of that?”

SIX

J
ohn Heritage had grown increasingly worried about the condition of Carrie Peterson. Not having seen or communicated with her for over twenty-four hours, he began to fear the worst. She was not the most robust person, and the predicament in which she found herself would be almost unbearable. He blamed himself for landing the two of them in the dire situation they faced, and longed for an opportunity to relieve her suffering in some way. Locked in his cabin, he could do little but anxiously pace up and down. However, when he was accompanied to the bathroom by Inspector Redfern, he saw his opportunity. They had to walk right past Carrie Peterson’s cabin. He was under no restraint. On the way back from the bathroom, therefore, he waited until he reached her cabin, then broke away to bang hard on the door.

“Carrie, it’s me!” he yelled. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, John!” she called. “What about you?”

“Come away from there,” said Redfern, grabbing him by the arm.

“You must eat, Carrie,” urged Heritage. “Keep up your strength.”

The inspector dragged him away. “This way, sir.”

“I love you, John,” she declared from the other side of the door, waiting for a reply that never came. “John!” she said. “John, are you still there?”

But Heritage was already being hustled into his own cabin by Redfern. Hearing the commotion, Sergeant Mulcaster came in from next door to see if he was needed.

“What was all that about?” he asked.

“Mr. Heritage broke the rules,” Redfern said irritably.

The prisoner gave a shrug. “I simply wanted to speak to her.”

“That comes under the heading of ‘privilege,’ ” said Mulcaster, “and you don’t have any. That was a very silly thing to do.”

“I just wanted to know how she was.”

“Safe and sound.”

“Has she had any food yet? You told me she wouldn’t touch anything.”

“She ate some lunch,” said Redfern. “Not very much, it’s true. But we did coax her into eating a sandwich. At least, Sergeant Mulcaster did.”

Mulcaster grinned. “I want to keep her alive for the trial.”

“Do you need to take quite so much pleasure out of it, Sergeant?” complained Heritage. “Miss Peterson and I are completely innocent. It’s demeaning to be treated like a pair of convicts.”

“In my book, that’s what you are.”

“They’re suspects in a murder investigation, Sergeant,” corrected Redfern. “The burden of proof lies with the prosecution. Not that I have any qualms on that score,” he said, flicking his eyes to Heritage. “As for you, sir, we’ll have no more of the stupidity I just witnessed. If you try to make contact with Miss Peterson again—even by calling out to her—I’ll have to take you to the bathroom with a gag in your mouth.”

“Let me do that,” Mulcaster suggested, eager to take on the role.

“I’m hoping it won’t be necessary. Will it, Mr. Heritage?”

“Perhaps not,” mumbled the prisoner.

“I want your word on that,” said Redfern.

“You have it, Inspector—as long as you treat Miss Peterson with respect.”

“We do, sir.”

“Yes,” added Mulcaster. “I always bow three times when I enter her cabin.”

“That’s enough, Sergeant,” warned Redfern. “There’s no call to gloat.”

“She needs the company of another woman,” Heritage argued. “Not someone like Sergeant Mulcaster. He doesn’t know how to behave with a lady.”

“I don’t see her as a lady,” Mulcaster retorted. “Only as your accomplice.”

“That’s absurd.”

“So you keep telling us.”

“She’s the last person in the world to lend herself to any type of crime.”

“Unless she was driven to it by desperation,” said Redfern.

“We wanted to be together, Inspector. Can’t you understand that?”

“Only too well. But there was the small matter of your wife.”

“That’s why we ran away to Ireland.”

“Having killed her beforehand.”

“No, Inspector.”

“Then why bother to flee like that?” asked Redfern. “If your wife died by natural causes, then you had everything you wanted. Freedom to marry Miss Peterson and to spend the rest of your life together.”

“It was not as simple as that.”

“It never is, Mr. Heritage. We talked to the family doctor. He told us your wife was in the rudest of health. Not surprising, when she was married to a trained pharmacist. You could cure any minor ailments she had, couldn’t you?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Mrs. Heritage came to trust you,” said Mulcaster. “When you
brought pills and potions back from the shop, she took them without questioning your judgment.”

“You know nothing about my marriage, Sergeant,” said Heritage testily.

“We know that it came to a sudden end.”

“Death by unnatural means,” said Redfern. “And you did not even stay around to mourn your wife’s passing. You planned it very well, didn’t you? When you shut up the shop on Saturday evening, you told your business partner you’d be taking a few days off at the start of the following week. That gave you ample time to make your escape. You also sent a note to the cleaning lady, telling her not to come on her usual day. That delayed the discovery of the body.”

“It may look like that, Inspector,” said Heritage, “but you’re quite wrong.”

“Am I?”

“I’ve told you a dozen times what really happened.”

“You’ve told us what you want us to
believe
happened,” Redfern said firmly, “but we’re not that easily fooled. I’d bet a month’s wages that you were responsible for the death of Winifred Heritage. The only point on which I have the slightest doubt concerns Miss Peterson. Was she a party to the murder or not?”

“
Not
, Inspector,” pleaded Heritage. “I swear it!”

“You’re two of a kind,” Mulcaster decided. “Both of you were involved.”

“No!”

“She’s more or less confessed it by her behavior.”

“How can she confess to something that she never did?”

“Guilt expresses itself in a variety of ways,” said the inspector. “We know the signs and the pair of you have started to show them in abundance.”

Heritage took a deep breath. “For the last time, Inspector, we are innocent.”

“Then why has there been no remorse over the death of your wife?” Heritage lowered his head to his chest. “It’s because you
gloried in it, isn’t it? Look at you, Mr. Heritage. You’re a middle-aged man who was trapped in an unhappy marriage. You became infatuated with a younger woman. Miss Peterson, in turn, fell in love with you.”

“Lord knows why!” said Mulcaster.

“It’s a situation that we’ve seen dozens of times before. Two people have an overpowering urge to be together. Because it’s not possible, they’re driven to extreme measures. In this case, the murder of a wife.”

“That’s simply not true, Inspector!” exclaimed Heritage.

“No?” Redfern replied calmly. “Then answer me this. Whenever poison is sold at your pharmacy, you keep a strict record of its sale. Your partner let us examine the record book, and what did we find? A certain John Heritage—the pharmacist himself, no less—is listed as having bought some arsenic and certain other drugs that could be used to induce acute poisoning.” He watched his prisoner closely. “Now, sir, perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell us why you did that?”

John Heritage had no answer. Slumping into his chair, he looked desolate.

Genevieve Masefield did not escape her for long. No sooner had she sat down in the first-class lounge than Isadora Singleton came looking for her. The girl was glad to be released at last from the company of her parents and their friends. She talked at length about the extended boredom of her lunch.

“I missed you so much, Genevieve,” she said. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course,” Genevieve said politely.

“Whom did you sit with?”

“Theo Wright and his coach.”

Isadora was mystified. “Theo Wright?”

“You won’t have heard of him but he’s very famous in his own circles. He’s a professional cyclist, on his way to compete in a race in France that takes almost twenty-four hours to complete. Theo is a very engaging young man,” said Genevieve,
“though I was not so taken with his coach, Mr. Odell.”

“I’ve never met a professional cyclist,” said Isadora.

“You can see him in action twice a day.”

“On board ship?”

“Yes, Isadora. He trains on deck, last thing at night and first thing in the morning. If you get up at the crack of dawn, you’ll see him speeding past.”

“What fun!”

“Theo Wright is the American champion.”

“Then maybe I should get acquainted with him,” said Isadora. “He sounds like livelier company than the Van Wessels. The problem is that Mother and Father would disapprove,” she sighed. “Mother, in particular. I can imagine how she would react to a man who made his living on a bicycle.”

“There are rich rewards in the sport, apparently.”

“It’s not a question of money, Genevieve, but of class.”

“Your mother will very much be at home in England, then. It’s even more class-ridden than Boston.”

Isadora grimaced. “I refuse to believe that!”

“Take my word for it. We
invented
class.”

Genevieve looked up as a tall figure approached. Stanley Chase stopped beside them to exchange a warm greeting with Genevieve and to be introduced to Isadora.

“It’s not fair,” he teased.

“What isn’t, Mr. Chase?” asked Genevieve.

“The two most beautiful young ladies on the ship are sitting together, on the principle that there’s safety in numbers. The
Caronia
is full of amorous young men in search of romance. Why deny them their opportunity?”

“That’s not what we’re doing.”

“I’m sure, Miss Masefield,” he said, winking an eye, “and I was only joking. In any case, nothing you could do would prevent admirers from queuing up. I can’t speak for Miss Singleton but I know you’ve already set one heart alight.”

“Has she?” said Isadora, agog. “Who is he?”

“A certain cyclist who sat opposite her at lunch.”

“Theo Wright?”

“That’s the chap.”

“Genevieve was just talking about him.” She turned to her companion. “Is it true? Have you made a conquest?”

“Of course not,” said Genevieve. “Theo was just being friendly.”

“I think it may go deeper than that,” said Chase. “That’s why his coach kept shooting you those dark looks. He could see how fond of you Theo was. Talking of Mr. Odell,” he went on, glancing up and down the lounge, “have you seen him around? I wanted a brief chat with him.”

“I haven’t seen either of them since lunch,” said Genevieve.

“Oh, you will, Miss Masefield. I guarantee it. Sooner or later Theo will come in search of you. He can’t spend all the time training for his race.” He smiled at Isadora. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Singleton. Enjoy the voyage.”

“I will, Mr. Chase,” said Isadora. She watched him walk off. “What a charming man. He had such a kind smile. But he was wrong about one thing, Genevieve.”

“Was he?”

“Yes. He said that you already had an admirer. I think you have two.”

“Two.”

“Theo Wright and Stanley Chase.”

“That’s nonsense!” said Genevieve.

“I saw the way his eyes twinkled whenever he looked at you. My guess is that he’s carrying a torch for you as well.”

“I only met him a couple of hours ago.”

“There’s such a thing as love at first sight.”

“Not in this case.”

“He’s such an attractive man. I’d be flattered.”

“Forget about Mr. Chase,” Genevieve ordered. “And about any other imaginary suitors I’m supposed to have. You’re the one who’s being taken to look for a potential husband. Have you spotted any possibilities on board?”

“I haven’t been given the chance.”

“There’s more than one member of the British aristocracy on the
Caronia
.”

“My parents are well aware of that,” said Isadora with a sigh. “That’s why they’re dragging me off for drinks before dinner this evening.”

“Dragging you off?”

“To the Openshaws’ cabin. Frank Openshaw comes from somewhere called Yorkshire. That’s up north, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Isadora.”

“He’s one of those men who went from rags to riches and who insists on describing the journey in detail. He has a voice like a foghorn. Father thought he was frightful and Mother couldn’t bear him until he mentioned his close friendships with several aristocrats.”

“ ‘Friendships’?”

“That’s what he said,” she explained. “Mind you, he did go on to say that he liked to have someone from the nobility on the boards of his companies. It always looked impressive on letter-headings, he claimed. But it was no empty boast. He knows Lord Eddington, who’s a passenger on the ship, and there’s another friend called Sir Harry Fox-Holroyd, apparently. Both will be there this evening with their wives. That’s why Mother insisted we should go as well.”

“Even though both these gentlemen are already married?”

“Mr. Openshaw confided that Lord and Lady Eddington have a son who is one of the most eligible bachelors in Sussex. But that isn’t the only reason my parents were keen to meet them both. They’re hoping it will gain them an introduction to the circles that really matter in England.”

“Those aren’t all to be found in the aristocracy,” said Genevieve.

“Mother believes that they are.”

“Then I hope someone enlightens her.”

“Will you come with us this evening, please?”

“What?”

“I hate the idea of being on show,” said Isadora, “like a china
doll in a store window. I don’t want Lord and Lady Eddington to look down their noses at me and decide that I’m not good enough for their son. I want you there so I’ll have somebody I can enjoy talking to.”

“But I haven’t been invited.”

“I’m inviting you now.”

“No, Isadora. It would be quite improper.”

“Father can speak to Mr. Openshaw. He seemed very approachable. Oh, by the way,” she continued, “I asked my parents if you could use our bath and they agreed without any argument. Do you see, Genevieve? You’re one of the family now.”

“Not really.”