Queen of Hearts (Royal Spyness Mysteries) (3 page)

T
HURSDAY
, J
ULY
12, 1934

We sail today! Dying to see the
Berengaria
. America, here I come. Can’t wait. But I do wish I could have told Darcy where I was going. He is so infuriating!!!!

The next days were a whirlwind of Mummy doing her own shopping for essentials that apparently couldn’t be obtained in America—like toothpaste, getting her hair done, getting my hair done, buying new luggage for me and new hats for us both. I must say it was rather exciting to be caught up in this shopping whirlwind. I hoped Max didn’t have a fit when he saw the bills and decide not to marry her after all.

Then the day of departure dawned. It was almost like a dream as our bags were whisked downstairs and into taxicabs. Soon our train was steaming out of Waterloo Station, bound for Southampton. My only wish was that my hateful sister-in-law, Fig, might have been there to watch me depart in style. (Usually I have a nice nature but Fig had certainly made my life miserable for quite a while and deserved comeuppance.) My other wish was that I could have told Darcy where I was going. As usual I had no way to contact him. Better still I would have wished that he was coming too!

I had crossed the Channel plenty of times but I’d never seen an actual ocean liner. My jaw dropped as we pulled up beside the
Berengaria
. She was enormous with three shiny red funnels, already puffing out wisps of smoke. It was like staring up at the Dorchester.

“Come along, darling, don’t dawdle,” Mummy said, heading for the first class gangway. “And try not to gawp. You look like a country bumpkin.”

We were welcomed on board in the effusive manner that Mummy expected, and escorted up to A deck where Mummy was to have a suite. I had once had a cabin on an overnight Channel crossing from Ostend so I was expecting something like a railway sleeping car with bunks on one side and a washbasin. Therefore I was not prepared when the steward opened the door and we stepped into a spacious sitting room with a sofa and armchairs, a writing desk between two picture windows and thick pile carpeting. There were flowers on the table and champagne on ice.

Mummy nodded with satisfaction. “Oh yes, this will do nicely,” she said. “I suppose the bedroom is through here.” And I followed her through to a pretty bedroom with dainty white wood furniture and chintz covers. Two picture windows opened onto the deck. I observed there were two beds.

“Am I to be sharing this with you?” I asked.

“Good heavens, no.” She sounded horrified. “Sharing with my daughter would definitely cramp my style. You never know whom I might want to invite up to visit me.”

I didn’t like to point out that she was on her way to get a divorce so that she could marry a rather puritanical German and news of shipboard antics wouldn’t go down well with him. Also that he was paying for this little jaunt. The steward gave a discreet cough, making Mummy break off and grin. “Thank you. That will be all,” she said. “Please show Lady Georgiana to her quarters.”

My cabin was farther along A deck. Not a suite and not as grand but rather more to my liking with a big window looking onto the deck and the ocean beyond. It also had a lovely big bathroom and I was feeling extremely satisfied when Queenie arrived with the first of the luggage.

“They’re bringing up the last lot now,” she said. “Cor—this ain’t bad, is it? You ought to find yourself a bloke what’s got money like her German.”

“Queenie!” I wagged a finger. “You can start unpacking while I go and explore.”

“Your mum’s maid is right hoity-toity, ain’t she? I had to travel all the way down in the train with her and she hardly gave me the time of day. And we’ve got to share a cabin for the next five days too—and I bet it won’t be as big as this one.”

I had accepted Queenie’s failings, knowing that I wouldn’t find another maid for what I paid her, but enough was enough. It was about time I behaved like a proper lady of my class and didn’t let my servant treat me as an equal. I took a deep breath. “Queenie, I’m rather concerned about you,” I said. “You seem to be doing an awful lot of complaining recently. May I remind you how lucky you are to have a job with a good family, and enough to eat and a roof over your head when frankly nobody else would employ you. If you were smart you would study Claudette and see how a good lady’s maid behaves. She certainly doesn’t speak to her employer the way you speak to me or she would be out on her ear in five minutes.”

She gave me an apologetic grin. “Sorry, miss. You’re right. My old dad said I was getting too big for me boots when I went to see them last time. He said pride comes before a fall.”

“Then listen to your old dad,” I said. “And find an ironing board. Some of these things crumple easily.” I headed for the door. At the door I turned around. “Oh, and Queenie, one does not use a hot iron on silk. It will melt.”

“Bob’s yer uncle, miss,” she said. I sighed. She was never going to learn and I was stuck with her.

I left her to unpack and went out onto the deck. I stood looking down at the impossibly small people moving like ants on the dock below. The wind in my hair was fresh and had the tang of salt in it. I felt so excited that I did a little dance—a sort of hop, skip and jump as I went toward the railing.

“Very attractive,” said a voice behind me. I spun around, blushing, to see a young man leaning against the railing, smoking. “I must make a note to secure you as my first partner in the ballroom.”

“I’m afraid I’m a hopeless dancer when it comes to ballroom,” I said. “I hardly know a fox-trot from a two-step.”

“You prefer the more primitive sort of dance, like the one you just did?” His eyes were challenging me and I felt distinctly uneasy.

“That wasn’t really a dance, just letting off steam after being cooped up with my mother for days.”

He came over to me. “So you’re traveling with your mother, are you? Off to find a rich American husband? I’m afraid there aren’t so many of them these days.”

Under moments of stress I always seem to channel my great-grandmother Queen Victoria. “You know, you’re frightfully rude and we haven’t even been introduced, so I shouldn’t be speaking to you,” I said.

He threw back his head and laughed. “We’re on a ship. Anything goes. No outdated society rules here, and a lot of cabin hopping too.”

“Not to my cabin,” I said. “I have a young man, thank you, and do not need a rich American.”

He opened his cigarette case. “Do you smoke?” he said. “I’m Tubby Halliday, by the way. And you are?”

“Georgiana Rannoch,” I said, accepting a cigarette although I’d never quite learned the taste for them and certainly had never inhaled the smoke.

“Are you? Good heavens. And your mother is the actress Claire Daniels? I thought I recognized her when she was being whisked on board. What are you going to be doing in America, may one ask?”

“Mummy has a spot of business. I’m keeping her company,” I said.

“A spot of business. How intriguing. Is she planning to buy land out West? There’s plenty to be going for a song these days.”

“You really do ask a lot of questions,” I said. “What will you be doing in America, then?”

“Amusing myself. It’s what I always do. And things have become more amusing since I met you. It’s usually only old fogies on board—the young rarely have the money to travel these days.”

I leaned over the railing and looked down. “It’s so big, isn’t it? Like being at the top of St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

“Is this your first time on the ship?”

“First time crossing the Atlantic,” I said.

“Good heavens. Then let me give you a tour so that you can find your way around,” he said.

I hesitated. I had been planning to explore the ship and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be too friendly with the chatty Mr. Halliday. But in the end I decided that having a tour would be better than wandering around on my own. “All right. Thank you,” I said.

“We’ll start at the top, at the promenade deck,” he said and led me to some outside stairs. “There are just a few very swank suites up here.”

“Dear me. Mummy will be upset to know she’s not on the most exclusive level,” I chuckled.

“They are usually empty. Reserved for royalty and millionaires.” He went ahead and helped me up the last stairs onto the promenade deck. “The ballroom’s also up here, and the first class lounge. And the ladies’ lounge where you and your mother will undoubtedly be sitting to escape from bores like me.”

“I don’t think my mother is the ladies’ lounge type,” I said.

“Ah, is that it?” he asked. “She’s going to America with a man? Or to meet a man?”

“You know, you’re frightfully rude, either on or off a ship,” I said. “My mother isn’t meeting anyone and her private life is nothing to do with you.”

I started to stalk away. He came after me. “I say, I’m awfully sorry. My father tells me I put my foot in my mouth every time I talk. I’m just interested in people’s lives, that’s all. I’m a writer of sorts.” He held out a meaty hand. “Can we be friends? I promise not to mention your mother’s private life again.”

I took it, reluctantly. “All right,” I said.

We started to walk together, looking first into the ballroom and then the lounge, each with impressive stained glass skylights. “How long will the crossing take?” I asked.

“I think with this old tub it’s usually five days,” he said. “Other ships have done it in four but since the
Mauretania
retired the English don’t really have a contender for the record. We’ll have to wait until they finish the new
Queen Mary
. Then we should win back the Blue Riband from the Germans.”

He started down the grand central staircase. “She used to be a German ship, you know. There was a big portrait of the kaiser on that wall.” He pointed to a nautical scene that now graced it. “Their pride and joy. The
Imperator,
she was called—or should that be ‘he was called’ since it’s a male name. They had to hand it over as war reparations and it was rechristened
Berengaria
.”

“What exactly does ‘Berengaria’ mean?” I asked.

“It’s an old-fashioned female name,” Tubby Halliday said. “I seem to remember I had a great-aunt called Berengaria. Phew, I’m glad that one’s gone out of style, aren’t you?”

“I’m not madly keen on Georgiana,” I said, “but since my other names are Victoria, Charlotte and Eugenie they’re all equally stuffy.”

“They’re all royal, aren’t they. You lot are always stuck with that sort of name. But my name is actually more hideous. I’m stuck with Montmorency. Nothing could be worse than that, could it? Which is why I go by Tubby.”

“I go by Georgie,” I said and rather wished I hadn’t. He seemed nice enough, just a little too friendly.

Tubby guided me through the various decks, through the Winter Garden with its wicker furniture, the palm court with full-size palm trees and a stage for the orchestra, the first class dining salon and finally into the bowels of the ship.

“What’s down here?” I asked nervously as there was no sign of anybody else heading this way.

“You’ll see. Best part of the whole ship.”

It crossed my mind that he was luring me down here to have his way with me. He didn’t seem like the type of person who had his way with unsuspecting females, but then I’d been surprised in the past by frightfully proper English boys with horribly groping hands.

“This way,” he said and his voice sounded strange and echoing. I hung back. He disappeared through a doorway. I followed, stopped and said, “Golly.”

It was a swimming pool. And not just any swimming pool—it was flanked by Greek columns, marble everywhere, subtle lighting in the ceiling.

“Pretty neat, wouldn’t you say? Maybe you’ll join me for a swim one day?”

“What happens if it gets rough?” I asked.

“The water slops around a bit. But it’s no fun in a storm. You get tossed about like a cork. They close the pool if it’s too rough.”

“Does it often get rough?” I asked, realizing that I had no idea whether I was a good sailor or not.

“All the time. The Atlantic’s notorious for it. Haven’t you noticed the furniture is all bolted down?” He saw my face and laughed. “Just teasing,” he said. “It should be fine at this time of year. No icebergs either. We’d better get back on deck. We’ll be sailing soon and you don’t want to miss the grand departure.”

When we came out onto the deck again it was lined with people, some with champagne glasses in their hands. Down on the quayside a band was now playing “Anchors Aweigh.” The ship’s siren sounded a great blast and they were just starting to release the great ropes that held the ship fast when I thought I spotted someone I recognized. Surely nobody else had that shock of unruly dark curls and that purposeful, confident, almost arrogant way of walking. He was forcing his way through the crowd still clustered around the last gangway. My heart did a complete flip-flop.

“Darcy!” I yelled but my voice was drowned by a second blast of the ship’s siren. Smoke wafted across the deck and when I looked again I couldn’t see him. The crowd had backed away from the liner and were now waving handkerchiefs furiously. We were inching away from the dock. I was leaning over so far that I felt a hand yanking me back. “Don’t want to lose you, young woman,” said an elderly military-looking man. “It’s a long way down, you know.”