Murder on the Minneapolis (13 page)

‘Maybe.’ Flora frowned, recalling her father’s anguished, haunted gaze that appeared whenever her mother was mentioned.

She pressed a finger into the crumbs on her plate and carried it to her mouth, uncomfortable with the conversation but unsure as to how to change it. ‘I can’t really remember her, apart from one scene that repeats in my dreams like a stage play.’

‘Then use it. Strip it of the dread, the panic that makes you shy away from that image and remember exactly what you saw.’ He leaned closer and picked up the teapot, the view of his exposed neck between his collar and hairline strangely sensuous.

‘What, now? This minute?’ Flora buried her shaking hands in the folds of her skirt, though not quick enough for Bunny.

‘No. Wait until you’re alone, and in control.’ He poured more tea for both of them. ‘What do you intend to do when Eddy no longer needs a governess, even for holidays?’

Flora shrugged. ‘I could never see a life beyond Cleeve Abbey.’

‘I couldn’t imagine leaving Winterbourne, either.’ He
helped himself to another sandwich. ‘I had to face a different sort of life when my father died. Daunting in many ways, yet I’m glad it happened.’

‘Glad your father died, or you had to sell the family jewels?’

‘The second premise. I took my privileged, sheltered way for granted, living on an income I hadn’t earned, but with no real idea of how the world worked. Then I came to realize the society parties, shooting house weekends and the social round I was brought up to think important, didn’t matter at all. Besides, I meet some far more interesting people these days.’ He lifted the bar of his glasses with one hand and adjusted them on his nose. ‘You, for instance. That’s worth missing a hunt ball or two.’

Flora stared at her lap as a blush threatened. He had not meant it as a declaration, and for her to read something into it would confuse him, and she had already revealed too much of herself.

‘Where did you grow up?’

‘In Surrey,’ he replied, apparently happy to indulge her. ‘A lonely, only child with an absent father who travelled a great deal, and – oh my goodness.’ Bunny twisted his wrist, indicating his watch. ‘Is that the time? The dinner bugle will go in less than an hour.’

Flora surveyed the array of empty plates on the table in front of them, on which sat smears of cream among a few crumbs. The thought of more food made her feel slightly sick. ‘To be honest, I don’t think I can face dinner after all this.’

‘You could be right,’ Bunny said, rising, one hand held out to help her up. ‘How about I call at your suite in about an hour? We could take a walk on deck to work off all that whipped cream, then have a coffee in the bar later on.’

‘As long as you think your friend won’t mind.’ The second she had spoken Flora regretted it. Warmth crept into her neck, an apology on her lips, but the only emotion in his face was bewilderment.

‘Who?’ He guided Flora into the staircase lobby, a frown on his face as if trying to recall whom she meant. Then his face brightened. ‘Oh, her. Why on earth should she?’

‘No reason.’ Flora shrugged.

‘She asked to see Matilda, but it soon became obvious she wasn’t interested in engines. Halfway through an explanation on horsepower and suspension, she asked if we could sit together inside. I told her she wouldn’t be able to see the engine from there, but—’

‘You’re teasing me!’ she said, accusing, but unable to stop the broad smile that crept into her face.

‘A little.’

‘What did you do with … um?’ She couldn’t bring herself to ask the girl’s name in case it made her too real.

‘Oh, I prattled on about the engine until she got bored and gave up. She stormed off actually. Called me a boorish, insensitive ninny.’

‘Instead of which, you are actually a calculating ninny.’

He hunched both shoulders in a depreciating shrug.

Flora clamped her lips together, trying not to laugh. ‘I’ll be ready in an hour.’

On her way back to her suite, Flora scolded herself for having almost spoiled their lovely afternoon with her stupid jealousy.

F
LORA KEPT
B
UNNY
waiting for a full minute before opening the suite door to his ring, gratified to see his start of admiring surprise when he took in her appearance. After a slow walk round the deck, they climbed to the tiny bar on the Upper Promenade deck, where he held out a chair and bade her sit. His gaze lingered on the rhinestone ornament in her hair, though he made no comment.

Conscious of how her neckline dipped in front, Flora adjusted her shawl around her shoulders while giving the room a surreptitious glance.

‘Have you given any more thought as to what I said earlier about those nightmares you have about your mother?’ Bunny lowered himself into the chair beside her.

‘I wasn’t aware I had discussed my dreams with you in any detail, much less referred to them as nightmares,’ she said, bemused by the way he restarted conversations they had left off hours before or switched subjects. Though she enjoyed the challenge of having to think fast to keep up with him.

‘That’s true. But I’m a good listener, and I’m observant.’ He slanted a sideways look at her too quick for her to read the emotion behind it. ‘Did I exaggerate?’

‘No, you didn’t.’ She glanced away, still uneasy. ‘Thus, because I cannot solve the mystery of my own mother’s death, you think I turn my attentions to those of strangers?’

‘Something like that.’ He offered her a plate of almond biscuits, laughing when she feigned horror. ‘I have an amateur interest in the work of Sigmund Freud, have you heard of him?’

‘The Austrian doctor who hypothesizes the existence of libido?’ Flora stifled a giggle when he slopped coffee into the saucer while pouring. ‘I do know what the word means.’

‘Oh, er, of course, I would never suggest otherwise.’ He eased his collar away from his throat with one hand. ‘Actually, I was referring to his theory on the unconscious mind and the mechanism of repression.’

‘In that dialogue helps us exorcise bad past experiences?’

‘Psychoanalysis, yes.’ Bunny stared at her in admiration. ‘What a surprising young woman you are, Miss Maguire.’

‘Thank you.’ Flora accepted his compliment along with her coffee cup. ‘My father bought a copy of
The Interpretation of Dreams
, when it came out last year. However, after reading it, he said Freud’s ideas are thin excuses for unhealthy sexual practices amongst relatives.’

‘Your father discussed Freud with you?’ Bunny’s eyebrows appeared to have taken up permanent residence halfway up his forehead.

‘Of course. He’s quite a reactionary. Though I haven’t yet convinced him to approve of my joining a suffragette club.’

‘And um – what do you think?’ Bunny cleared his throat nosily. ‘About Freud, not the women’s suffrage movement.’

‘I’m not convinced.’ She decided to stop teasing him, though his discomfort delighted her. ‘He ascribes most
female ailments to hysteria, no matter what the symptoms. I doubt his male patients receive such casual dismissal.’

‘Talking through your dreams may help you.’

‘My mother’s death isn’t a problem, only the circumstances. I believe she was attacked by someone.’

‘Your father is probably the one person who knows what really happened. You must ask him, or risk never being at peace with the past.’

‘He won’t give me a straight answer. He’ll prevaricate until I give up.’

‘Give him some credit, Flora. You’re an adult now. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to ask. It makes a sort of logical sense.’

‘Possibly.’ Still uncomfortable, she turned her attention to the appearance of the other passengers replete from their evening meal. The first to arrive were Gerald and Monica, followed closely by Max and Eloise, then Mrs Penry-Jones, who accepted a chair from Carl Hersch with a condescension that would have shamed Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Max’s head bent close to Eloise as they talked, her hand straying occasionally to caress his arm. Mrs Penry-Jones glared at them with eagle-like intensity from her chair opposite, matched only by Hester’s sulky glare.

Max glanced up and caught the old lady’s eye, gave a self-conscious start, and slid his arm from beneath Eloise’s grasp. He cleared his throat noisily and leaned backwards, putting another foot of space between them.

‘What did I say about honeymooners?’ Bunny nodded at a disconcerted Max. ‘Poor chap cannot make a move without everyone passing judgement.’ He tapped Flora’s arm. ‘Here’s the blushing bride now. Let’s see if she notices.’

Cynthia paused on the threshold, her gaze roaming the room until it alighted on Max, then switched to Eloise with such malice, Flora could almost feel the heat.

‘Ah yes, I think she has,’ Bunny coughed and looked away.

As far as Flora could see, Max was simply being charming, but Eloise certainly came in for more than her fair share of dislike.

Max muttered something to his companion, then rose to greet his wife, leaving Eloise isolated but undaunted at her table until Gus Crowe took the vacated seat.

Flora’s ablutions took longer than usual the next morning, hampered by the pitch of the ship in heavy seas. She braced a foot against the basin to steady herself as bottles on the shelf above the sink slid to one side, then without warning, changed direction and threatened to topple onto the floor.

Four days of unsteady floors had made her long for the familiar smells of grass, earth, even manure. The clop of horses’ hooves and the swish of tree branches in the wind were preferable to the stark loneliness in the creak of bulwarks, or the wind’s mournful howl as it sang through the winch lines.

Struggling into her corset, it occurred to her that if she ate any more cream cakes, she would be pounds heavier by the time they reached England. However, the thought of breakfast made her mouth water, so she decided abstemiousness could wait.

In the sitting room, a fully-dressed Eddy greeted her
with raised eyebrows and an exaggerated study of his wristwatch.

‘I know I’m late, but I didn’t sleep particularly well.’ Images of being caught in Parnell’s cabin had plagued her sleep, making her night less than restful.

‘I like it.’ Eddy giggled as the deck tipped sideways, sloshing his tea onto the carpet. ‘Maybe we’re in for a real storm.’

‘I do hope not.’ Her gaze went to the tray at his elbow. ‘You’ll have no room for breakfast if you eat all those biscuits.’

‘Can’t help it.’ He grinned. ‘This sea air makes me ravenous. I’d better not be late either, or Ozzy will snaffle all the sausages.’ He snatched his jacket from a chair by the door and raced out.

Almost immediately, a muffled knock announced the arrival of Eloise.

‘I thought that boy would never leave.’ She declined Flora’s invitation to enter, her head turning back and forth as she raked the deck. ‘Ready?’

‘I suppose so,’ Flora muttered, fighting the stiff wind that threatened to pull the door from her grasp.

Flora’s second foray into burglary proved a lot less stressful than her first, in that all she was required to do was to pace the covered deck outside Parnell’s stateroom while Eloise made her search.

Guilt made her feel conspicuous, but those who passed by ventured no more than a polite, ‘Good morning,’ or a casually delivered, ‘Blustery weather, isn’t it?’ from the more adventurous passengers.

‘Did you find it?’ Flora asked when Eloise finally emerged again.

Her black curls bounced as she shook her head. ‘No.’

‘You must have!’ Flora hissed. ‘I didn’t lie to you. It was there the last time we searched.’

‘Did I say you had?’ Eloise snapped. ‘Frank’s stateroom has been completely emptied since we were last there. His clothes are all gone.’

‘What about the bureau by the—’ she broke off at Eloise’s hard look. ‘Sorry, of course you looked there.’

‘I can only hope the job was done by some clueless steward who doesn’t know how important that photograph is.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Flora asked.

‘There’s nothing I can do but hope no one challenges me before we reach London.’ She glanced past Flora’s shoulder. ‘Now hush.’

Flora suppressed a groan as she caught sight of Bunny striding towards them.

Eloise peered up at him through her mascara-ed lashes. ‘My, you look handsome today, Mr Harrington.’

‘Good morning, Eloise, Flora.’ He pushed his glasses further up his nose with a middle finger. Had he not flushed a deep red and made a feeble attempt to shy away from Eloise’s grasp, Flora might have been jealous. How had such an attractive man not learned to handle compliments with grace, even contrived ones?

‘I came to see if you were up to breakfast in this rough weather.’ Bunny aimed his remark at Flora.

As if on cue, a gentleman rushed past them, a handkerchief clutched to his mouth.

Eloise backed away. ‘I don’t mind the wind, but the food on this ship is too rich for my girlish figure, so I’ll make do with coffee in my stateroom.’

‘Eloise!’ Flora aimed a pointed glare in her direction, but with a brief wave through the gap in her door, she
closed it on Flora’s protests.

‘Did I interrupt something?’ Bunny asked.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Flora said through gritted teeth, slipped her arm through his and drew him in the direction of the dining room. ‘I’ll catch up with her later.’

‘Are you sure you want to sit out here?’ Flora asked Bunny for the third time since he had suggested the idea over breakfast.

With a firm hand in the small of her back, he guided her onto the boat deck, where passengers scurried past them, their backs to the bulwarks to avoid being showering with salt spray from an angry sea.

‘Why not? Look, the Gilmores are game.’ He nodded to where Monica and Gerald occupied steamer chairs set in the shelter of the main superstructure. ‘Hersch and Gus Crowe are here too. C’mon, Flora, you can’t back out now.’

‘All right,’ Flora muttered, grabbing onto a winch line, the metal slick and sharply cold beneath her fingers. ‘I warn you though, if it gets too bad, I’m going back in.’ She took her chair with bad grace, wishing she had remained in her suite.

A door banged behind them, announcing the arrival of Max and Cynthia, the latter a few steps behind.

‘How did I let you talk me into this, Max?’ Cynthia tottered across the slick deck, wrapped from head to toe in a beige fur coat with a matching hat that could never have been mistaken for anything but real fur.

‘Rubbish!’ Max wrapped his overcoat tighter round himself. ‘It’s no worse than a walk on Brighton beach in November. Character building.’

Cynthia didn’t look convinced, her cheekbones
highlighted with angry colour as she took the chair Max had dragged into line for her.

Miss Ames bustled to join them, arms splayed to keep her balance in a calf-length mink coat which might have conceivably survived the early half of the last century. At the end of the row, Mr Hersch resembled an amiable polar bear in his white fur coat that reached to the floor, a matching hat pulled down over his ears.

Ignoring the steamer chairs, Eloise leaned against the rail, her head thrown back and her long jacket flaps spread behind her like wings. She didn’t appear at all worried, in stark contrast to earlier when she was frantic the German might see that picture. Had she lied about finding it, after all and didn’t want Flora to know? Or had someone already been into the cabin and taken it? If so, who? Mr Hersch? A crewman, or the killer?

She shook her ungracious thoughts away, reluctant to believe Eloise would deceive her – again.

‘This Atlantic air is certainly exhilarating.’ Gus Crowe said, shivering in his raincoat and thin trousers.

Taking pity on him, Flora handed him the spare blanket from beneath her chair.

‘Thanks, awfully.’ Like a small boy offered a treat, he grabbed it to his chest as if it were a lifebelt. ‘Ankles getting a bit chilled, what?’

A steward staggered along the line, a tureen of hot bouillon balanced precariously on a tray. He paused in front of Bunny, one foot hooked round the metal support to prevent his slide across the deck as he poured for the flurry of orders thrown his way.

Flora accepted a cup of the savoury-smelling brew with a smile, while huddled into a fox-fur coat, Monica cupped her gloved hands round her steaming mug.

The thought struck Flora as she ran her gaze along the line of chairs that they might have raided a zoo with so much fur on display.

Bunny scraped his chair closer with a screech of wood. ‘That’s better. Now, why do you keep staring at Eloise like that? The two of you looked friendly enough before breakfast.’

Flora debated explaining about the photograph but thought better of it. ‘Eloise told me she had been married once. Her husband died.’ She turned to gauge his reaction, which was satisfyingly astonished.

‘She just came out with it?’

‘I saw a bracelet with an inscription on it.’

‘Flora,’ he lowered his voice in warning. ‘Don’t you think you’re taking this investigation business too far? We all have something we don’t wish to world to know. If all Eloise has to hide is a photograph and a bangle, she’s doing better than most.’

‘According to Eloise, she hasn’t got the photograph. Though she admitted Parnell had blackmailed her into giving him that money.’

‘Money that hasn’t been found,’ Bunny reminded her.

’No, but Parnell claimed to have evidence Eloise had killed her husband.’

‘Did she? Kill him, I mean?’

‘Parnell or her husband?’

‘Both. Either. Goodness, Flora, are you saying Eloise murdered Parnell to stop him revealing she had killed her own husband?’

‘I don’t know, I—’ Her gaze flicked to where Max had joined Eloise at the rail, despite Cynthia’s jutted lower lip. The moan of the wind made their conversation silent, so they looked as though they were miming.

‘She promised to explain everything, but now she’s avoiding me again,’ Flora muttered into her bouillon. ‘I could help her if she was honest with me. I wouldn’t judge her.’

‘If you insist on sympathizing with suspects, you’ll never be a detective,’ Bunny said, his low chuckle making her insides melt.