Murder on the Minneapolis (16 page)

Crewmen surrounded them six feet from the door and dragged them into the lobby where they collapsed; their sodden clothes forming a wide, wet pool on the floor.

‘Be careful with him!’ Bunny shouted as a sailor helped him to his feet. He braced an arm against the wall and dragged in laboured breaths, his chest heaving.

His glasses were gone and his hair hung in dark rats’ tails on his forehead and neck, his drenched jacket clung to his shoulders, accentuating his muscular build.

Weak with relief, Flora pushed her way through the group who clustered round him and threw her arms round his neck. Freezing moisture leached through the bodice of her blouse, but she clung on, inhaling the male scent of him, her throat clogged with grateful tears.

‘Hang on now, Flora. It’s all over now. No need for theatrics.’ Embarrassed, Bunny disentangled her hands, holding them down at her sides while his gaze swept the row of faces around them.

‘Sorry, I—’ She stepped back, her possessive pride dissolving like mist. He was right, she had no claim on him. But at least he was alive. ‘You’ve lost your glasses,’ was the only thing she could think of to say.

‘Drat, those were my favourites too.’ He peered out to the storm-ravaged deck with a bemused expression, as if somehow he could detect the lost spectacles.

Gerald Gilmore pounded his back in a loud, wet slap, distracting him, while Gus Crowe murmured, ‘Good show, old man.’

Flora tugged her coat round her to cover the damp patch on her skirt, as if she could hold in her mortification at what she had just done. She had hugged him, in public! No wonder he had shied away from her!

She longed to apologize, but his focus was now entirely on the rescued man, who now lay on a stretcher slung between two sailors. A lady bent over him, only partly visible through the throng of people, one of his hands sandwiched in both of hers.

‘Darling,’ she cried piteously. ‘Can you hear me? Please say you can hear me.’

‘I doubt it, ma’am,’ a crewman answered. ‘He’s out cold, I’m afraid. We’ll get the doctor up here in a trice to see to him. He’s a lucky chap, we nearly lost him overboard.’

The woman lifted her head, and Flora released a shocked gasp. ‘Bunny, that’s Cynthia! The man you rescued was Max.’

‘Really?’ Bunny blinked, then with mock seriousness, added, ‘I must have been too preoccupied in keeping from falling overboard to notice.’

The sailors lifted the stretcher and moved off toward the doctor’s room, with Cynthia tottering awkwardly alongside the stretcher.

‘What was Max doing out there in such heavy seas?’ Flora asked, as the crowd dispersed around them, leaving herself and Bunny stranded in the middle of the lobby.

‘He most probably didn’t realize the danger,’ Bunny said. ‘Not everyone is an experienced sailor.’

‘Are you all right, sir?’ The concerned face of Officer Martin appeared at Bunny’s side. ‘Shall I ask the doctor to
take a look at you as well?’

Bunny shook his head, casting a myopic glance at the now deserted deck. ‘I’m fine. My priority is to make sure my motor car is still in once piece.’ Without a glance at Flora, he stepped outside.

A stone settled beneath Flora’s breastbone as she watched him stride away across a deck that a few moments before had been tilted at forty degrees and beneath several feet deep in freezing sea water. Bunny may have been right about Max being an inexperienced sailor, but if so, why had he headed for the aft deck when the dining room lay in the opposite direction?

O
NLY THE MOST
stalwart of the passengers turned up for the late luncheon, which consisted of sandwiches and coffee arranged in the dining room. Flora noted that neither Eloise nor Hester had put in an appearance, but had little time to ponder on this, kept occupied by the fact the plates and cutlery skittered across table tops. Eating became a balancing act, the ensuing embarrassment covered by uneasy laughter.

Bunny’s bravery and Max’s lucky escape became the main topic of conversation, however, Dr Fletcher’s pronouncement that his injuries were little more than a wrenched arm and concussion, proved something of an anti-climax.

‘Probably didn’t realize how powerful a rogue wave could be,’ Gerald said when someone posed the question as to what Max was doing outside. He swiped a ham sandwich from a tray, pointing it at the group of animated young boys at the far end of the room. ‘The storm doesn’t appear to have spoiled their appetites.’

Miss Ames’s mouth puckered in distaste at the group of children who darted between the tables.

‘There’s Ozzy! Yoo-hoo, Ozzy, darling!’ Monica’s high
pitched wail made Flora wince, while red-faced, her son hid behind Eddy.

Flora’s gaze shifted to the attentive young steward who stood a few feet away, and gave thanks for Bunny’s thoughtfulness.

A ship’s officer called for quiet, and when the general chatter had died down, announced what everyone already knew, that although the wind and rain had dropped, outside activities were still hazardous, although the bridge tournament would go ahead after luncheon as scheduled; this statement was greeted by light clapping and a wave of sighs.

‘That’s something anyway.’ Gus Crowe’s face visibly brightened.

‘I doubt they’ll be playing for money,’ Gerald warned.

‘Not even a little side bet, my friend?’ Crowe gave a knowing wink.

Gerald didn’t reply, at which Crowe narrowed his eyes, one finger placed against his nose. ‘Ah, I get it, the little woman wouldn’t approve, eh?’

Monica scrambled to her feet, carefully avoiding Crowe’s gaze. ‘Flora, dear, there’s a musical recital planned in the saloon this afternoon. I thought it would keep the boys occupied whilst we play bridge. I’ll cut along and escort them both there, shall I?’

‘That’s very kind of you, Monica.’ Flora’s words were accompanied by a discordant scraping back of chairs as the passengers made their way out to the staircase lobby.

‘It’s so kind of you to put up with Eddy’s company for so long, Mrs Gilmore.’ Flora caught up with Monica at the door, intent on putting some space between herself and Bunny. ‘I’ve been a bit distracted lately.’ How was she was going to face him again after that episode in the lobby? Regret mixed
with longing as she recalled the feel of his chest pressed against her bodice, his cold breath on her cheek.

‘Think nothing of it,’ Monica called over her shoulder as they gained the promenade deck. ‘I’m only delighted Ozzy has found such a congenial friend.’

Flora returned to her suite in order to check her appearance, mortified to find her soft bun had lost half its pins and her bodice, though now dry was badly creased. No wonder Bunny had pulled away from her so abruptly. With a dismayed sigh she set to repairing the damage.

In the library, sofas and armchairs had been pushed against the walls, the open space occupied by an arrangement of card tables, each containing four chairs. Flora took the empty chair beside Monica, who was quick to reassure her that Eddy was settled at the recital which was scheduled to last until tea time.

‘Anyone care to wager who’ll turn up after that gale?’ Gerald eased past Monica’s chair and hovered beside Flora. ‘I saw Dr Fletcher dashing about a while ago, I imagine he’s kept busy with seasickness. I’ll lay evens on Miss Smith not coming.’

‘I’ll accept that bet, old man.’ Crowe swept two glasses from a tray borne aloft by a passing waiter, one of which he set before Gerald. ‘Miss Lane didn’t come to luncheon, either. I should imagine she’s got her head over a bowl at this very moment.’

‘How indelicate of you, Mr Crowe.’ Miss Ames inhaled sharply through narrowed nostrils. ‘The poor girl could be suffering.’

‘Just a little joke, you know.’

Crowe reddened, and eased his collar away from his neck.

Flora hid a smile, noting how crass Crowe could be with the men, but reverted to an embarrassed schoolboy when chastised by a woman.

There was still no sign of Eloise, who had yet to fulfil her promise to explain everything.

Banting or not, Eloise must have been ravenous by lunchtime.

‘I see the weather hasn’t affected you, dear lady?’ Gerald called out to Mrs Penry-Jones as if she were deaf, though she occupied a table not six feet away.

‘I never get seasick.’ She sipped from one of the glasses handed to her by a waiter, then peered at it, her nose wrinkled. ‘Hester, on the other hand, turned positively green earlier and had to lie down. I expect her presently. She would never miss a game of bridge.’ She moved her cane from one side of her chair to the other, catching Crowe sharply on the ankle.

Crowe drew his foot rapidly under the table, apparently too proud to rub it in company, though Flora imagined it must have hurt.

‘I hope our young hero is fully recovered without any long-term effects,’ Gerald said, taking the empty seat beside Flora.

‘Oh yes,’ Miss Ames simpered, though she had neither the build nor the face for it. ‘That was valiant of him to go after Max like that.’

‘Foolhardy if you ask me,’ Crowe said, then at Flora’s hard look, qualified it by adding, ‘But very brave.’

‘Ah, here’s our young hero now.’ Gerald waved to where the crowd had parted to allow Bunny through.

Flora’s stomach did a strange flip that had become a habit when in his company.

He had changed his clothes, his still wet hair slicked
back. He worked his way towards her, whilst being subjected to a round of back slapping from those who had not been present at the time, but had heard about his heroic effort.

‘I persuaded one of the crewmen to help me get Matilda back under canvas,’ Bunny said when he reached Flora. ‘Odd how she managed to shake loose from the ropes. I checked them myself earlier. No damage though, thank goodness.’ He accepted a glass from a waiter of what looked like fruit punch, but which probably wasn’t. ‘Has anyone found out how Max is?’

Flora sneaked a sideways look at him and away again, but his expression held no embarrassment.

Gus Crowe recounted Dr Fletcher’s diagnosis. ‘I imagine he’s tucked up in bed with his devoted bride in attendance.’ He gave a knowing wink.

‘Do you play bridge, Flora?’ Monica asked, her nostrils narrowed in distaste at Crowe’s insensitivity.

‘I’m afraid I don’t, though I’m happy to learn.’

‘It’s not difficult.’ Bunny picked up a pack of cards and proceeded to shuffle them. ‘Bridge is similar to whist, in that each player takes a turn as dummy, and a trump suit is chosen. The players then bid the number of tricks they expect to achieve, and whether they wish to have a trump suit or no trump.’

‘You must follow the suit of the player who starts, but if unable to do so, you can play any card,’ Monica added.

‘The trick is won by the highest trump, if there are trumps in the trick.’ Bunny said, evidently getting into his stride. ‘Points are also awarded for honours, and—’

‘Enough!’ Flora lifted her hands in surrender. ‘All these rules are giving me a headache.’

‘It will make more sense when Flora is actually playing,’
Monica said.

‘Or maybe not.’ Bunny cast Flora a sideways look she pretended not to see.

Crowe nudged Gerald, their combined gazes on Hester, her wide hips swaying with the motion of the deck as she made her way gingerly towards them. As she squeezed past Flora’s chair, she caught a whiff of a spicy scent, whose musk undertones struck her as too heavy for Hester. Had she made a special effort for a man? If so, whom?

‘Didn’t I say she would never miss a game of bridge?’ Mrs Penry-Jones muttered darkly.

Gerald held out a chair for Hester, while his other hand extended behind her back, into which Crowe slid a folded banknote.

Gerald held the note up to the light, squinted at it ostentatiously, then pocketed it.

‘Quite a character that Gerald, isn’t he?’ Bunny said,
sotto voce
. Then before she could respond, his smile dissolved into a frown. ‘Look, Flora, about earlier. I didn’t mean to—’

‘Please don’t worry.’ She stared at her lap, her cheeks burning. ‘I would sooner forget about it if you don’t mind.’

She wanted nothing of the sort, but recoiled at having her indiscretion discussed in company.

‘
I
don’t want to forget,’ he insisted in a fierce whisper. ‘What’s wrong? You keep staring at the door.’

‘Eloise didn’t come to luncheon and she’s not here now.’ Flora voiced the worry that had nagged at her all morning. ‘She’s avoiding me again.’

‘There’s not a great deal you can do about it if she’s reluctant to explain.’

‘We had an agreement.’ Rising, Flora skirted the table.
‘I’m going to find her. I won’t accept any excuses, either.’

‘Flora!’ Bunny half rose, but she ignored him.

‘Never mind her, Mr Harrington.’ Mrs Penry-Jones’ stentorian voice accompanied the loud drum of her fingers on the table top. ‘Are you going no trumps, Monica?’

At the bottom of the stairs leading to the promenade deck, Flora leaned her back against the wall, her eyes closed as she recalled Bunny’s stern expression which she took to imply such intimacy between them was never to occur again.

Well, if that was what he wanted, he could have his wish. She would be nothing but coolly polite to Mr Bunny Harrington for the rest of the voyage.

Pushing away from the wall, she set off for Eloise’s stateroom, past an elderly matron who blocked the door to the promenade deck, uncaring of the outraged, ‘Well!’ that sounded from behind her.

The wind still sang through the winch lines, but outside Eloise’s stateroom, the rain had reduced to little more than a light drizzle, which failed to penetrate the deck canopy.

Flora gave the door a determined rap with her knuckles, then immediately did it again, but no sound came from inside.

‘Open the door, Eloise,’ she muttered, then louder, ‘You’ve avoided me for long enough!’ She rattled the door handle, but it refused to turn.

She blew air between pursed lips and peered in at the window beside the door, but the blind was pulled down, leaving only a small gap at the bottom where it had snagged on something.

Flora crouched lower, her hands cupped round her
eyes to block out her reflection in the glass. ‘Eloise!’ She called in a harsh whisper through the thick glass.

At first glance, the room looked empty, apart from a shoe that poked out from behind the partition.

A shoe with a foot inside it.

A trickle of dread squeezed her chest. She jumped backwards, glancing both ways in search of help, but the deck remained deserted.

Rhythmic footsteps from the boat deck sent her to the rail where the purser walked across the boards below her.

‘Mr Willis,’ she called, slightly panicked. ‘I need your help.’

He glanced up and back at her, nodded, then changed direction and bounded up the outside companionway.

Flora closed the space between them in a few strides. ‘Mr Willis, do you have a key to these staterooms?’

He looked down at her from his considerable height, a frown between his brows. ‘Is something wrong, miss?’

At his brief nod, and anticipating his caveat about company policy, Flora grasped his arm, pulling him towards Eloise’s door. ‘There’s something terribly wrong with my friend.’

‘I-I’m not sure I ought to simply barge in. Perhaps she’s sleeping?’ He gave the door a tentative knock with his knuckles.

‘I’ve already tried that.’ Flora clenched her fists at her sides. ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious. I looked in at the window just now and I – well, I saw something. I’ll wait out here if you wish. All I ask is that you take a look.’

He looked about to say something but then changed his mind.

She could see he was weakening. ‘Please.’

With a resigned sigh, he rummaged in a pocket,
withdrew a key and unlocked the door that gave with a sharp click.

Forgetting her promise, Flora pushed past him and burst inside where she jerked to an abrupt halt at the end of the bed. The cabin tilted and her stomach heaved.

‘Hey, miss, I can’t just let you in, I have to—’ He came up behind her, where he broke off. ‘Oh, my.’

Eloise lay on her back on the floor, her arms flung outwards from her sides. The area between her neckline and mid-thigh was a bright scarlet against the cream silk of her dress, becoming a deeper crimson on her bodice. Her unnaturally black hair formed a cloud of curls round her head, her vivid blue eyes open, but seeing nothing; devoid of pain or even surprise.

Flora brought a hand to her mouth, her palm dampened by rapid breaths through her fingers.

‘Don’t look, miss.’ Strong hands pulled her backwards, though his voice seemed to come from underwater.

Her knees crumpled. She hung onto his arm to keep herself upright, her gaze fixed on the wide splash of red that seemed to grow and fill her vision.

This couldn’t be happening. It had to be one her dreams and she would wake soon, shivering and tearful.

‘Is everything all right, Mr Willis?’ a tentative male voice called from behind them, followed by a shocked gasp.

‘Thank goodness.’ The purser sighed in relief. ‘Fetch the doctor, would you, Brady? Be quick, and then inform the captain.’

Heavy footfalls marked the man’s retreat. The purser gripped Flora’s upper arms and twisted her around to face him. ‘Miss Maguire, please come outside. I must lock this door again until the captain arrives.’ He hustled her
back out onto the deck where the wind tugged at her skirt. ‘Shall I send for a stewardess to stay with you?’

‘Bunny,’ Flora murmured his name as a reflex.

‘Who, sorry?’

‘Mr Harrington. He’s at the bridge tournament.’ The deck spun and she grabbed an upright support to steady herself. Bile rose into her throat and despite a salt-tinged wind rushing past her face, she couldn’t breathe.