In Dublin's Fair City (6 page)

This was quickly turning into another case of “be careful what you wish for.” Growing up in Ballykillin I’d have given anything to be a lady, living the life of ease and not having to work from morning until night. Now I was living in the lap of luxury, had absolutely nothing to do but enjoy myself, and I was going mad with boredom.

After a couple of days, I was sorely tempted to go against our bargain, wash off the makeup, take off the wig, and go out as myself for a while. What would be the harm in it, I reasoned with myself. But of course I had promised. We’d made a bargain, and I was in possession of that check for a hundred dollars. So I stuck it out for six long days. Often during those days my thoughts turned to Daniel. I realized now, with a pang of guilt, that I had been treating him badly when he needed my support. Of course he was bad tempered because he was scared. His whole future hung in the balance. I suppose if I analyzed it, I hadn’t forgiven him for what he had put me through, even though he didn’t know the half of it and would never know. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it must be true because I found myself missing him and remembering only the good things. I wrote him a cheerful littlenote, to be posted as soon as we set foot ashore, assuring him that all would soon be well and promising to return home to him as quickly as possible.

“There's to be a fancy dress party tonight, Miss Sheehan,” Frederick reported to me on our last day at sea. “And you seem so much better, I was thinking, if you’d a mind to go, nobody need know it was you.”

I looked up from my latest hand of Patience. “A fancy dress party?”

“A costume ball, as they say in America, I believe.”

“But I have no costume.”

“That's no problem. It's easy enough to hire one. They keep a big selection on board for those passengers who haven’t brought their own costumes with them. Your maid could bring some up to your cabin for you to try on.”

“That's a splendid idea, Frederick,” I said. “To tell you the truth, I have been feeling too cooped up, stuck in here all the time. I’ll send for my maid and see if there are any costumes that would disguise me completely.”

Rose appeared a little later, red faced with exertion at having carried so many costume boxes up to my cabin. What fun it was to open each of those boxes and to be in turn Maid Marion, Columbine, a Spanish senorita...I finally settled on Marie Antoinette and added a stylish black mask for good measure. With that big powdered wig and the mask, I could be anybody.

For once I did need help getting dressed and Rose fussed around me, lacing me into the costume, adjusting the wig, even putting on a fake beauty spot for good measure. “You look lovely, miss,” she said wistfully.

“You could come too, if you wanted to,” I suggested. “Slip into one of these costumes. Nobody would know who you were.”

She looked horrified. “Me, miss? Go to a grand party? Holy Mother of God, I could never do something like that.”

“I’m just a plain Irish peasant like you, and I’m planning to go,” I said.

“But you don’t act like one of us, miss,” she said. “You’ve got—well, more of an air to you. Like you were used to fine things.”

I tried not to grin at the compliment. “One thing you learn in NewYork is that you are as good as the next person, Rose. So will you come with me? It would be a lark, wouldn’t it—them not knowing they were dancing with a couple of peasant girls from the Old Sod?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Oh no, miss. Not me. You go and have a good time and good luck to you.”

At last I sallied forth, a little nervously. In truth, the air Rose said I had about me was mostly bravado. Inside I still felt like an interloper. Being a prisoner in my cabin all week, I had had little chance to explore the first-class section of the ship. Now I walked into the gracious public rooms and tried not to stare like a peasant girl. I had been to fancy restaurants and even inside the mansions of New York's high society, but this matched any luxury I had seen so far. Lovely Greek statues, carved pillars, huge potted plants, mirrored walls. On a center table there was even a sculpture of a graceful swan carved out of ice. What would they think of next!

Music was spilling out through a doorway, and I followed the strangest-looking crowd you’ve ever seen into the grand ballroom— priests and nuns, gorillas and cats, cavemen and courtesans all made their way through that door, laughing with anticipation. The dance-floor was already full of costumed couples. It didn’t take me long to realize that everyone else was there as part of a group or at least a couple. I suddenly felt like an awful wallflower and almost turned right around to go out again. What on earth had made me think I’d have a good time gate-crashing a party at which I knew nobody?

I was close to the door when a male figure blocked my path. He was dressed head to toe in black, with a frightening black-hooded mask.

“And where might you be trying to escape to, my lady?” he asked in smooth, upper-class English tones. “Her royal majesty Queen Marie Antoinette, if I’m not wrong. We have a confirmed assignation, you and I?”

“We do?” I asked cautiously. “I’ve no idea who you are, and I made no assignation.”

“But can’t you see who I am?” he demanded. “I’m your executioner.” Then he revealed the axe he had been carrying behind his back.

“Wrong executioner,” I said, in what I hoped was a confident voice. “I’m waiting for the guillotine. If you don’t have one of those behind your back, then I’m afraid I’m not interested.”

I left him standing there and hurried forward as if to join a loud and merry party on the other side of the room. I was relieved to find a seat at a table around the perimeter, where I could observe from behind my black mask. People nodded as they passed me. Some commented on the excellence of my costume, but nobody claimed to recognize me.

After a while I was asked to dance and managed a waltz without disgracing myself too much. Luckily the dance floor was so crowded that a shuffle was all that was required. I danced again and again, made small talk, drank punch, and had a good time. Several young bucks tried to find out who I was, and why they hadn’t encountered me before, but I remained mysteriously enigmatic. All I would say was that I was a young Irishwoman going home on family matters. A couple of my partners even tried to extract an address from me so that they could visit me once we were in Ireland, but I declined tactfully.

When the dance ended at midnight, I felt like Cinderella, rushing back before my carriage changed back into a pumpkin. I made my way to my cabin, past happy revelers who had been at the punch bowl more frequently than I. Frederick was off duty by this time. I expected to see Henry, the night steward, sitting in his little cubby, but the small room was empty as I passed. I presumed he was attending to another passenger's needs. I let myself into my cabin, closed the door behind me and gave a sigh of relief. Tomorrow we’d dock in Queenstown. I could stop pretending to be Oona Sheehan and get on with my own work. I was looking forward to being anonymous again. I took off the wig, even warmer and more scratchy than the one I’d been suffering with all week, and went over to the daybed where the costume boxes awaited it.come to think of it, the whole darned costume had been hugely uncomfortable. I couldn’t wait to get out of it. That was when it struck me that I probably couldn’t get out of the costume alone. It had taken a lot of lacing to strap me into it in the first place. I wondered whether it would be fair to summon Rose at this late hour.

As I turned back toward the door, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Someone was lying in my bed. The satin coverlet was pulled right up, but I could see red hair on the pillow. Had Oona Sheehan decided that she was fed up with sleeping in a second-class bunk and decided to reclaim her own, seeing that we’d be docking tomorrow?

At least she could have notified me of her intentions, I thought angrily. Was I now supposed to find my way back to my own cabin in the middle of the night? And what about my clothes? I could hardly make my way down to second class dressed as Marie Antoinette, could I?

Then it occurred to me that maybe she was angry at finding I had dared to leave the cabin to go to the costume ball. Maybe she had intended to talk to me tonight or even to change places again, but when I wasn’t to be seen, decided to go to bed instead.

I went over and tapped at the shape under the coverlet.

“Miss Sheehan,” I said gently, “it's Molly. I’m back. Do you want to wake up and tell me what you’d like me to do now?”

She didn’t stir. I prodded her again. She didn’t move.

I pulled back the coverlet and stifled a scream. It wasn’t Oona Sheehan at all who was lying there. It was a strange woman dressed as a Spanish senorita. Her black lace shawl was partly hiding her face. I lifted it away, recoiling instantly in horror. Rose was staring up at me with dead eyes.

Eight

S
he can’t be dead, was my first thought. She's only asleep, or fainted. Then I touched her bare arm and it was cold. And I had seen enough dead people to know death when I saw it. She couldn’t just have climbed into my bed and died, surely. She was young and healthy and I’d been joking with her only a couple of hours ago. I walked around the bed, staring at her, trying to think. There was no sign of any struggle, but somebody must have covered her up and arranged her peacefully. Which meant that somebody had killed her.

My heart was racing so fast I thought I might faint. It occurred to me that whoever had done this might still be in the room, waiting for me to return. I backed cautiously until I was within easy reach of the door, my eyes darting nervously from one side of the room to the other. “Get help. Get the steward” was my first coherent thought. I reached for the doorknob, opened the door and peered out into the corridor. It was empty. I ran back to the steward's cubby, but there was no sign of him there either. I was truly terrified now.

I half believed I was suffering from a hallucination. I had read about drugs being slipped into drinks. Somebody had put something in the punch bowl to make me drunk. I forced myself to creep back to my door and peer around it. The figure still lay on the bed. As far as I could see there was nowhere in the cabin to hide, apart from the wardrobe, and that was full of clothes. But I wasn’t going to go looking on my own. Then a hand tapped my shoulder. My heart leaped so wildly Icouldn’t even scream. I turned to see Henry, the familiar night steward standing there.

“Where do you think you are going, miss?” he asked.

I realized, of course, as I turned to face him, that I was no longer wearing Oona Sheehan's wig, but my own hair, which had now been flattened under the powdered wig of Marie Antoinette. I put my hand up to my face, and of course I was still wearing the black mask.

“This is my cabin, Henry,” I said in my deep Oona Sheehan whisper. “Don’t you recognize me?” I pulled off the mask and made some ineffectual pats at my rattaily hair.

“Oh, beg pardon, Miss Sheehan. I got a shock seeing someone creeping up to your cabin door, especially since I’d popped off duty for a couple of minutes when I should have been keeping an eye out here.”

“How long have you been away from your post?” I asked.

“Oh, no more than fifteen minutes or so,” he said. “There was a bit of shindig downstairs in the staff quarters to celebrate last night at sea, and a steward showed up with yet another floral tribute for you. He offered to deliver it for me and said he’d keep an eye on things for a while so that I could pop down and enjoy myself for a few minutes. It was such good fun down there, I might have stayed away a little longer than I planned.”

“Which steward was it?”

“I couldn’t rightly say, miss,” he said. “That blessed flower display was bigger than he was.”

“So you didn’t recognize him?”

“I can’t say I thought much about it, miss. With a ship this size, you don’t know all the crew. I just took in the uniform jacket and those flowers really. Why, is something wrong?”

“Something's very wrong,” I said. “You’d better come inside and take a look.”

I opened the door and stood aside for him to enter first. He gasped when he saw what I was pointing to.

“Oh, my lawks. Is she—?” he stammered.

“Yes, she's dead,” I said. “I came back to find her tucked up in bed.” “Do you know who it is?” he stammered. Beads of sweat were now trickling down his face.

“It's my maid.” As I said these words, I realized of course that I waslying. She wasn’t my maid at all. She was Oona Sheehan's maid. This could become complicated.

“Your maid?” He examined her more closely. “Why so it is. What the deuce is she doing dressed up in that outfit?”

“It could be possible that her killer dressed her in those clothes,” I said, “but I can’t think why.” Then I came up with a more probable answer, and one that sent chills down my spine. “What if she tried on the costume for a lark, and her killer thought she was me?”

“But how could anyone have got into your cabin, that's what I want to know,” Henry said. “I’m always here, on duty—especially late at night when the young men have been drinking and think they are brave enough to pay you a visit.”

“But you weren’t here tonight, Henry. You just said so yourself. Another steward took your place.”

“But only for a few minutes, miss.”

“Long enough to kill somebody,” I said.

He looked at me, horror struck. “But surely you don’t think—”

“That's exactly what I’m thinking. I’m wondering if he really was a steward or if he used the disguise and the flowers to get rid of you and enter this cabin.”

“Oh no, miss. Don’t say that.” Henry put a hand to his mouth. “I’d never live with myself if I thought—”

“You weren’t to know, Henry,” I said. “Try to remember everything you can about him.”

“But I told you. I didn’t really take too much notice.”

“Was he young or old?”

“He had a good head of dark hair, miss. I can tell you that much.” “Tall?”

“Taller than me.”

“And his voice? A young voice or an old voice?”

“Youngish, I’d say. And there was something about it—posher than the average steward.”

“There you are, you’ve already given us something to go on.”

“We should start hunting for him right away,” Henry said.

“He’ll have discarded that steward's uniform long ago. Now he's probably lying safely in his cabin.”

“You mean one of the passengers?” He looked horrified.

“It's possible. Somebody killed Rose. That means either a crew member or a passenger.”

“Stay where you are, miss,” Henry said, regaining his composure. “I’ll go and get help, and I’ll bring you a brandy.”

“No, don’t leave me,” I said, grabbing at his sleeve. “What if he's still here? Is there anywhere in here he could hide?”

Henry searched patiently around the cabin, opening the wardrobe with great caution, looking under the daybed. But he found nothing.

“I’ll be back before you can say Jack Robinson,” he said.

As he went out, I caught a glimpse of myself in the dressing table mirror. I presented quite a sight with my white face, my matted hair, the improbable costume. Nobody would possibly take me for Oona Shee-han looking like this. My wig, I thought. I must put on Oona's wig before Henry comes back. They mustn’t know. As my clumsy fingers struggled to put on Oona's red wig, I realized that they’d have to know. I had promised Oona that we would trade places for the journey. But surely now I’d have to go back on that promise. Oona would understand that I’d have to come clean. She’d want to know what had happened to Rose. She’d want Rose's killer found and brought to justice.

But I continued to put on the wig. It was mainly vanity at this stage, I suppose. My own hair was so flattened and unattractive, that I didn’t want to be seen like that. And I wanted to get my thoughts straight before I let the truth come out. I hadn’t finished straightening the wig before there were the sounds of heavy feet in the corridor outside and Henry reappeared with a couple of ship's officers.

“In here, sir. On the bed.”

The bearded one went straight over to Rose's body. “I’m the ship's doctor, Miss Sheehan,” he said. “I understand that the victim is your maid. This is most distressing for you. Most.”

“And I am First Officer Stratton, Miss Sheehan,” the other one said. “So you found this young girl dead in your bed?”

I nodded. “And I suspect she's been murdered.”

He peered at the body, which indeed did look quite peaceful. “Are you sure we’re not jumping to conclusions that foul play was involvedhere? People do die unexpectedly—heart attacks, fatal asthma, that kind of thing—even young people.”

“But they don’t take the trouble to arrange themselves neatly in bed and cover themselves up first,” I said.

“I see what you mean. The captain has been notified. He was asleep, but he will be with us as soon as he can. Why don’t we remove ourselves from here and let the doctor get on with his examination. Henry, will you tell the captain that we’ll be in the reading room? We’re not likely to be disturbed there at this time of night.”

He took my elbow and steered me firmly out of the door, up the stairs to the main promenade deck, and then into a quiet lounge. It had paneled walls, comfortable armchairs, and several writing desks. It was in darkness when we arrived, and Henry went around switching on table lamps that threw a warm glow onto the polished furniture.

“If it's all right with you, sir, I thought I’d fetch Miss Sheehan a brandy,” Henry said. “She looks as if she's about to faint.”

“By all means. Good idea,” First Officer Stratton agreed. He pulled out a leather armchair for me.

I wasn’t normally one likely to faint and was about to say so. Then I realized that in truth I didn’t feel too steady on my feet. Rose had laced me firmly into my costume, and it felt as if my body was locked into a steel cage at this moment, with breathing virtually impossible. I sank, gratefully, into the chair. Henry returned with the brandy,- and I sipped, coughed, and sipped again, feeling the comforting warmth of the liquor spreading through me.

In a few minutes we were joined by the captain, a distinguished-looking man with graying beard, looking none-the-less distinguished in a dressing gown and slippers. He barged into the room, bristling with indignation.

“What's all this about, Stratton?” he asked. “We’ve a death on board?”

“A suspicious death, sir. The doctor is currently examining the body.”

“Do we know who the victim is?”

I opened my mouth, but the words would not come out.

“This lady's maid,” Henry said for me.

“And you are?” The captain turned a keen gaze onto me.

“This is Miss Oona Sheehan,” Henry said proudly.

“Good God,” the captain said. He stared at me for a second. “Bless my soul,” he said again. “Saw one of your plays once. Dashed good. The one where you were disguised as a boy. Stupid romantic story, but you were splendid. What was it called again?”

Mercifully I was spared having to answer this question by the arrival of the doctor.

“Captain Hammond, sir,” he said. “I’ve completed a brief preliminary examination.”

“And what's your opinion, Doctor? Are we dealing with a death from natural causes, or does it indeed look suspicious to you?”

“I think it's safe to say that she was suffocated, sir,” the doctor said. “Probably by the pillow on the bed. There are signs of bruising around the neck where she was held down forcibly. However, she had not— uh—been assaulted or interfered with in any way.” He lowered his voice as he said this with a quick glance in my direction.

“Blast it. This is most unfortunate,” the captain said. “Right. Well, I suppose I’d better go and take a look for myself. If you don’t mind waiting here, Miss Sheehan, I’ll have the doctor escort me back to your cabin.”

“Make sure you don’t touch anything unnecessarily, sir,” the first officer called after him. “I’m sure the police will want the crime scene undisturbed when they come aboard.”

“I’m not a complete fool, Stratton,” the captain barked back. “Besides, I am the law on this ship while we are at sea, and I’ll conduct my own inquiry. It only becomes a police matter when we dock, and if I choose to report it. Ideally I’d like to have the whole thing sewn up before we get to Ireland.”

“Fat chance of that, I should say,” the first officer muttered as the door closed behind the captain and doctor. Henry nodded.

I waited, shivering, even though the room was comfortably warm. This whole voyage had been so unreal, and now had taken on a nightmare quality The first officer, Henry and I waited in uneasy silence. Iwas conscious of a clock, ticking on one wall, the gentle pitching of the ship as we ran with the waves. After what seemed an age, the captain and doctor returned.

“Horrible business,” the captain was muttering as he came in. “Quite horrible. Poor girl. We’re going to find the blighter who did this, damn his eyes. Well, I suppose we had better get down to it. The girl was Irish, I take it. I suppose that means notifying the police when we dock in Queenstown.”