Dangerous Sea (22 page)

‘The same thought had occurred to me,’ Edward said. ‘I telephoned Barrett’s boss back in London and asked him to do some digging. I hope to get some answers soon. I was given a list of the First Class passengers but it doesn’t say when their reservations were made. And I’ll ask Benyon to tell me exactly when he or his staff made the booking.’

‘My lord, could Mr Barrett’s killer be a member of the crew or one of the servants?’

‘It’s possible, Fenton, but I doubt it unless you have noticed anything which might suggest otherwise. There are relatively few crew members who are free to wander about First Class without a good reason. There’s the Purser, of course, the bartender – Roger, isn’t it? – and various waiters and so on. I think, Fenton, you could make it your job to see if any of them are exhibiting signs of wanting to murder the passengers. As for the ladies’ maids and the valets – again, I’ll have to leave that to you to investigate.’

‘Very good, my lord. I will attend to it.’

‘Are we looking for a man?’ Verity inquired.

‘As far as Tom Barrett is concerned, the answer is yes. Even with the winch, there is no way a woman could have lifted his body on to the hook. And the blow to his head was very heavy.’

‘Is it significant that Barrett and Day were both hit on the head with a blunt instrument?’

‘It may be but, until the police forensic bods examine the bodies, we have no way of knowing whether it was the same blunt instrument. It’s not very likely even if both killings were by the same person. He would hardly hold on to some – no doubt bloodied – truncheon or hammer after killing Tom. He would bung it overboard. There’s never any shortage of blunt instruments.’

‘Ugh!’ Verity exclaimed. ‘What a horrible picture you paint of some madman going around battering people to death.’

‘I think it’s most unlikely the two killings are related,’ Edward said.

‘I agree,’ Frank chipped in. ‘Day had lots of enemies but they weren’t Barrett’s enemies.’

‘Well,’ Verity said, stubbing out her half-smoked cigarette, ‘let’s concentrate on Day’s death for a moment.’ She waved her finger at Edward, ‘I know you said “only so far as it sheds light on Barrett” but still we cannot ignore it. I mean, two unconnected murders on one Atlantic crossing . . .? How likely is that? Do we know if Day was dead before he hit the water?’

‘The doctor thinks not. He drowned. There was water in his lungs.’

‘Oh, how awful! I have always hated the thought of drowning. But doesn’t that suggest it might
not
have been a man who knocked him on the head? All it needed was a light blow, just enough to unsteady him and tip him into the pool.’

Frank reached for his uncle’s gold cigarette case which lay on the bed but Edward grabbed his arm.

‘Uncle! Don’t be an ass. I’m sorry but I don’t see why I shouldn’t smoke. You two puff away like Stephenson’s Rocket. Anyway, look at this packet.’ He held up Verity’s packet of Camels. ‘It says Camels soothe the throat and my throat needs soothing.’

‘Oh all right then, if you must!’ Edward surrendered. ‘Fenton?’

‘No thank you, my lord. Might I suggest, my lord, it might help if we make a list of the Senator’s known enemies?’

‘Good idea,’ Frank said. ‘Day had plenty of people gunning for him. Will you take notes, Fenton?’ He counted off on his fingers. ‘Warren Fairley has to be top of the list. He hated Day and never pretended otherwise. They were political enemies and Day was doing his best to prevent Warren performing in the States. You heard what he said about this new committee to investigate – what did he call it? – un-American activities – whatever that means.’

‘And Sam hated him too,’ Verity put in, her voice sounding rather choked.

‘Oh?’ Edward encouraged her as non-committally as he could.

‘Yes. Day thought he was a Communist and Sam told me he had tried to blackmail him to help deal with some industrial dispute – I don’t know quite what. Anyway, Sam wasn’t having any of it. Still,’ she could not prevent herself from adding, ‘I can’t imagine Sam murdering anyone, even if he is a bit of a heel.’

There was a silence. Frank and Edward tried not to look expectant but failed. Verity wrestled with herself. She did not quite know why she owed Edward an explanation of her recent ill-temper. It was none of his business. On the other hand she liked honesty, hated muddle and misunderstanding. ‘I suppose I had better tell you – though it has nothing to do with anything – he rather misled me into thinking he was unmarried but in fact he
is
married.’

No one wished to make any comment. Edward said, ‘Benyon has just told me Professor Dolmen has a motive as well. Apparently Day was going to try and prevent his being allowed to enter the United States. It turns out he is or was a Nazi – believe it or not – even though he’s a Jew. But Dolmen is a scientist. He wanted above all to be allowed to work and he couldn’t work if he did not join the Party.’ As he said this, it flashed through Edward’s mind that he could imagine the mirror image of this situation occurring in Stalin’s Soviet Union. Would the Communist Party allow anyone to have a government job without joining the Party? He doubted it. He wondered if there would come a time when Verity might understand the nature of the beast to which she had attached herself. ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘Day was planning to use this against him – or so Dolmen believed.’

‘Gosh!’ Verity exclaimed. ‘That’s extraordinary. Some people are just so naive.’

Edward grinned wryly to himself.

‘Everyone hated Day,’ Frank said. ‘The Roosevelts couldn’t stand him. Oh God, if we went through the First Class passengers we could probably find a hundred who’d have been quite happy to see the end of that man.’

‘Why did the Roosevelts hate him?’ Edward asked.

‘Oh, let me think . . . I don’t really know. Perry must have said something . . . I suppose I could ask him?’

‘No, leave that to me. It might be embarrassing for you,’ Edward told him.

‘Who had the opportunity to kill Day?’ Verity asked.

‘Put it the other way, V. Who wasn’t at the race? I did a list but, of course, the murderer might be someone quite different . . .’

‘Like Major Cranton, for instance,’ Frank said, puffing at his cigarette. ‘There’s something wrong about him. And there’s Doris Zinkeisen although she’s not my idea of a murderer. I rather like her, despite the clothes she wears and the stories she tells, but she is Jewish and makes her living working in Hollywood. She might easily have made an enemy of Day.’

‘I know,’ Edward agreed, ‘and, if the attack on her mural had happened before Day was killed, she would certainly be a prime suspect . . .’

‘And anyway, as you say, she doesn’t look like a murderer – whatever a murderer looks like. She’s too . . . too fey,’ Verity said.

‘Cranton was very much in evidence during the race. We can dismiss any idea of his being Day’s killer.’ Edward spoke a trifle regretfully.

‘There’s Bernard Hunt,’ Frank put in. ‘I told you the dirty old man put a hand on my knee.’

‘Gosh, no, really?’

‘I don’t see why you are so surprised, V. Some people think I’m rather good-looking. Just joking,’ he added, as Verity threw a cushion at him.

‘Now, children,’ Edward rebuked them, ‘this is serious. Mind you, we’ve all noticed the girl – Philly. She seems to think you’re handsome.’

Frank blushed. ‘Tommy rot! Still, what about Philly’s mother? Do you know she has arsenic beside her bed?’

‘Mrs Roosevelt has arsenic?’ Edward exclaimed.

‘Yes, in a bottle. I saw it when I went to her cabin during the storm to see how she was.’

‘Perhaps that’s why she has so many headaches?’ Verity suggested.

Edward looked as though he was going to say something but in the end kept silent.

‘There was one odd thing about Philly,’ Verity said pensively. ‘She went down below deck just before the race and when she reappeared she was wearing a different dress.’

‘Very good, V! That’s just the sort of thing a woman sees and a man doesn’t.’

‘But – haven’t you noticed? Philly’s as clean as a cat.’ Frank was eager in her defence. ‘She’s always changing her clothes and washing . . . she washes all the time. It’s a sort of phobia. Still, you can’t really think Philly killed anyone? It’s ridiculous. Day was a bear of a man. He could have broken her with a flick of his finger. She couldn’t have killed him.’ There was silence and Frank went on in panic. ‘Are you suggesting Philly had to change her dress because she had blood on it?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything, Frank. I’m just saying what I saw.’

‘And women don’t kill men. Or, if they do, they poison them,’ he said, suddenly remembering that Lord Weaver’s stepdaughter had poisoned old General Craig, or so his uncle had told him, over a fine port one evening at Mersham Castle.

‘But going back to Hunt,’ Verity continued, ‘he may be a homosexual but that doesn’t mean he’s a murderer.’

‘No,’ Frank agreed, ‘but he also told me – when he was drunk in the storm – that he was a “fellow-traveller”.’

‘ “Fellow-traveller”! Horrible jargon! Do you have to use it?’

‘I just mean, Uncle, that he’s not a Party member but he thinks along the same lines as us.’

‘I know what it means but it’s such a . . . Oh, I suppose I’m old-fashioned.’

‘But we love you,’ Very said jokingly and then wished she had not. She hurried on, ‘We haven’t mentioned the attack on Jane Barclay. It’s not much fun being poached to death. I suppose that’s related to everything else in some way?’

‘I’ve got an idea about that,’ Edward interjected, ‘but I don’t want to say anything for the moment,’ he added irritatingly. ‘I’m probably wrong. In fact, I thought I might totter along and have a word with her. While I do that, Fenton, will you pursue your investigations into any of the crew with access to First Class and among the passengers’ servants? Verity, will you have a talk to Bernard Hunt? As he’s a fellow what-do-y’-call-it and you are a full-blown “traveller”, you may have something in common. No, better not get into politics. Ask him for some advice on a picture . . . say you are thinking of commissioning Doris Zinkeisen to do a portrait for you.’

‘Of whom?’

‘How do I know? Me, perhaps. It would be a nice gesture.’

‘Huh!’

‘What shall I do?’ Frank asked.

‘Well, I think you should talk to Perry Roosevelt.’

‘But you said you’d ask him about –’

‘Not about why he didn’t like Day. Just try and find out something about the Roosevelts as a family – their background and so on. You really know nothing.’

‘I do. When we first met, we had a sort of mutual catechism. He asked me about my family and I asked him about his. Not that it really amounted to much, I suppose,’ he added, wrinkling his brow. ‘But I didn’t like it at the time. I hate talking about my people.’

‘We
do
embarrass you, I realize,’ Edward smiled, ‘but that’s the purpose of relations.’ Frank opened his mouth to protest but Edward had something else to say. ‘I think you will find there’s something important he hasn’t told you, Frank.’

‘What sort of thing?’

‘About Philly.’

‘About Philly?’ Frank echoed.

‘Your inamorata,’ Edward said drily.

Frank looked at his uncle in dismay.

As Edward limped off to find Jane Barclay he met the Purser, who said the Captain would be grateful for a word and asked him to go on to the bridge.

By the time he had negotiated the various steps and stairs to the wheelhouse, Edward’s gammy leg was hurting badly and he was cursing under his breath with a fluency and command of the vernacular which might have impressed his nephew, had he heard him. However, the effort was worthwhile. Standing on the bridge of the
Queen Mary
, surrounded by smartly uniformed officers, was, he imagined, rather like being with the gods on top of Mount Olympus. The views were vast and his eye, having nowhere to rest except on wave after wave cresting in lacy foam as the great ship cleaved the water, reverted to the shining equipment directly in front of him. There were all sorts of dials and wheels, mostly cased in brass, and he suddenly felt what it must be like to be an illiterate. He knew roughly what he was looking at but none of it made any sense to him.

As he watched, fascinated and humbled by the complexity of the gadgets and dials which were being operated with so much confidence and efficiency, he realized how cushioned the passengers were against the reality of their environment. They were little more aware of what it means to be at sea than babies in a perambulator. The Captain was deep in conversation with his first officer but, catching sight of Edward, he came over with a smile at his evident awe.

‘It is remarkable, isn’t it, Lord Edward? The engines are, of course, the beating heart of our great ship but the wheelhouse is the eyes and ears. You see this,’ he said, pointing to a fan-shaped instrument on a metal trunk. ‘We have a gyro compass and a gyro pilot. The gyro compass provides a permanent indication of true north and is unaffected by the movement of the ship. Then these, on each side of the bridge, are steering repeaters. They “repeat” the master compass. This one,’ he said, tapping the dial, ‘is operated in conjunction with a wireless direction-finding installation. There’s also a thirty-day continuous course-recording instrument – you see, over here – in which all changes of course and the time of their occurrence are automatically registered.’

‘I see, or rather I don’t see,’ Edward said, unable to take it all in. ‘It’s good to know you can’t get lost in this trackless waste. Is this the steering gear?’

‘Yes, but it’s not just your ordinary helm. It detects any variation of course and determines the amount of helm required to correct it.’

‘And those, over there?’

‘Searchlights. High intensity arc lights. Come up to the bridge again tonight and you can see the way they illumine the ocean. It’s pretty impressive. Do you want to hold the helm? It’s quite something to say you’ve steered the
Queen Mary
.’

Edward grasped a little wheel fitted to the main steering apparatus. ‘Does this really steer the ship?’ he asked in amazement.

‘It allows ordinary hand steering but, for most of the time, she’s on automatic.’