The Clairvoyant Curse (19 page)

“Stop!” Madame Sosostras, who
was in cabin 7, had heard enough. She had witnessed religious mania
in all its guises – Catholic, Orthodox, Jewish, Muslim - and had
heard every reason put forward for accepting unreason. She agreed
to transfer to another cabin, but which one?

Mrs Merle proved a godsend.
“What star sign are you?”

“I’m a Pisces,” said the
gypsy.

“Well, why don’t you take cabin
12. It is on B deck but it is a fortunate number for you, being the
twelfth sign of the zodiac, and you will be closer to water, most
auspicious for a water sign, which should help you to stay in
harmony with the universe.”

Right now being in harmony with
herself was what mattered. “Very well,” she agreed.

Of course that meant that
Monsieur Croquemort, who happened to be in cabin 12 on B deck,
would have to shift as well. Luckily, he agreed to take cabin 3 on
the Promenade deck from the reverend. So the trio did a three-way
swap.

Dr Watson moved to the
hand-rail to gaze at the banks of the Clyde one last time and to
try and dismiss from his mind that he was aboard the ship of fools,
afloat on a sea of superstition, where the tongues of men and
angels had been supplanted by that of gibbering idiots.

The Countess had no trouble
entering into the idiocy of the voyage of the damned. “I don’t
suppose it has occurred to anyone that we are sailing on the
Pleiades – the constellation named after the seven sisters. The
entire ship is a seven!”

Reverend Blackadder brightened
up considerably. “That’s augers well.”

“Since we are still talking
numbers,” pouted Madame Moghra magisterially. “I must insist on
taking cabin 5 which relates to my sign - Leo.”

She aimed some enormous leonine
eyes directly at Mr Crispin Ffrench.

“Oh, for pity’s sake! This is
childish! You can have cabin 5! I shall go down to B deck! I don’t
care what number it is! I shall go to cabin 13 just to prove that
the number doesn’t make any difference at all to the universe!”

And off he stormed to get his
bags.

Miss Morningstar looked
wistfully at the back of the man marching off before gazing
longingly at her cabin number then looking back sadly at the
receding back of the man soon to be ensconced below deck. She had
liked number 6 because it corresponded to Virgo, the Virgin of the
zodiac, but in the interests of universal harmony and wishful
thinking she decided to give it up to Mrs Merle who was also a
Virgo, though the two women could not have been greater polar
opposites much to the bemusement of any adherent of astrological
theory. Without further ado Miss Morningstar took herself off to B
deck and into cabin 11, which happened to be right next door to Mr
Ffrench.

Thus the cabins were decided.
Cabin 1 was vacant. Monsieur Croquemort was in 3, Madame Moghra in
5, Reverend Blackadder in 7 – all on the starboard side. Port side
was the Countess in cabin 2, Dr Watson in 4, Mrs Merle in 6, and Dr
Hu in 8. On B deck could be found Madame Sosostras in 12, Xenia and
Fedir in 14 and 16 respectively, Miss Morningstar in 11 and Mr
Ffrench in unlucky number 13.

When Dr Hu placed an amulet on
his door handle to ward off evil spirits it set off another chain
of events. Everyone agreed that because of the possible confusion
that might arise from swapping cabins at the last minute it was in
everyone’s best interests to place some sort of symbol on their
door to avoid going into the wrong cabin. No one called it a lucky
charm except Dr Watson who refused to hang anything on his door at
all. Wrong cabin, indeed! That’s why numbers were put on doors in
the first place!

“I refuse to be part of such
superstitious nonsense!” he remonstrated. “People will know it is
my
cabin because it
won’t
display a talismanic
charm!”

Dr Hu chose the yin-yang symbol
for promoting good balance between male and female energy. Monsieur
Croquemort chose the item he sometimes used for hypnotizing his
stage victims – a carnelian gemstone on a gold chain. Mrs Merle
hung a dream-catcher on her door. This was a circlet of eagle
feathers and wolf’s teeth given to her by a genuine Sioux chieftan.
Reverend Blackadder placed the Theosophist symbol of a serpent
swallowing its own tail on his door. Madame Sosostras had a silver
bullet on a fine silver chain which she said was handy for warding
off vampires – giving rise to the suspicion that perhaps she was a
member of the persecuted and much maligned Romany race and not
Hungarian after all. Madame Moghra chose a traditional Celtic cross
on an imitation gold chain. It was made of brass and had a bit of
verdigris on it which lent it a lovely antique patina. The
Countess, who did not own a talisman as such, decided to enter into
the novelty of the thing and chose a black velvet ribbon with a
cameo brooch attached to it. It was a pretty bauble and the least
valuable of her jewels.

Miss Morningstar was tempted to
tie a blue ribbon to her handle. The only thing that stopped her
was the violent ribbing she would receive from Mr Ffrench.

Competition was fierce between
rival shipping lines, particularly the Norwegian, Germanic and
British lines, and the newer steam ships made it part of company
policy to entertain their first class passengers. Promenading on
deck was well and good but luxury travel was all about amusement.
On the aft deck was an area set aside for games. There was
something called ‘deck shuffleboard’ which was a bit like hockey
without the physical exertion. It involved long-handled wooden
paddles, wooden pucks called biscuits, and an elongated rectangle
about twenty feet long with numbered sections marked on it, not
unlike hopscotch, which earned points if you landed your biscuit on
the right number.

Mr Ffrench, Miss Morningstar,
Countess Volodymyrovna and Reverend Blackadder decided to give deck
shuffleboard a go. The first two teamed up against the second two.
Miss Morningstar proved to be extremely co-ordinated with her
paddle and biscuit and could land it in the scoring area more often
than not. Mr Ffrench had a decent reach but his co-ordination was
not all it could have been because of his shaky hands. Reverend
Blackadder tried to block their game by planting his biscuit in
their way but tended to disadvantage himself by landing in the
10-off section and losing points. He had a minus forty score within
a short time and it quickly got worse. He was a sore loser who
argued every point. It spoiled the enjoyment of the game. The game
ended on a rancorous note when he called Mr Ffrench a cheat.

Madame Moghra, who was still
looking morbidly pale and distracted, was persuaded by Dr Hu to
participate in a game of quoits – this involved tossing a small,
stiff, coiled rope onto an upright stick. It was, like most
childish pastimes, much harder than it looked. Neither had much
success.

Dr Watson and Monsieur
Croquemort preferred darts and were soon joined by Madame
Sosostras. The men offered to make it easier for her since she was
a woman and suggested she stand closer but she declined and amazed
them with her accuracy. Beginner’s luck, she laughed! She scored a
bull’s eye so often it became embarrassing.

When Madame Moghra retired to
the library with a headache, the gypsy moved to join the Chinaman
at quoits and even there she proved that beginner’s luck had
nothing to do with it. She rarely missed nailing the quoit.

Lunch was served in the lavish
dining saloon. It was a buffet repast of equally lavish proportions
that pleased Mrs Merle, who had spent the preceding hour plonked in
a deck chair, faint with hunger. They sat at a large round table
for ten centred with one of those ship’s-in-a-glass-bottle made by
Monsieur Bresant in his spare time.

Dr Watson was still wondering
about the dead girl and it was not something he could let go of.
Was her death suicide or murder? Now that they were cruising the
Irish Sea he felt it safe to broach the subject. Little did he know
it would be like firing a cannonball into the centre of the table
and blowing it to smithereens!

“It seems that Sissy may have
been murdered?” he said matter-of-factly.

“What makes you say that?”
queried Monsieur Croquemort.

“I heard someone say it back in
Glasgow,” replied the doctor vaguely.

“Probably that inexperienced
young constable!” sneered Reverend Blackadder.

“The silly young man was out of
his depth,” disdained Madame Moghra. “If Sissy
was
murdered
he will never find the killer.”

“He was practically
illiterate,” said Mrs Merle snidely. “I could see his notes. You
couldn’t make head or tail of the scrawl.”

“I thought he looked
intelligent,” offered Miss Morningstar.

“You would,” said Mr Ffrench
sardonically.

She tried not to take offence.
“He cocked his head the way a dog does,” she defended. “I think
that shows intelligence. I knew a dog that did that and he was
really smart.”

“You mean he could fetch and
play dead!” jibed Mr Ffrench.

The young lady concentrated on
her lobster bisque after that unkind put-down and there was a
moment of awkward silence.

“It was a good night for
murder,” said Dr Hu, who felt he should say something to keep up
the conversation his end the way the English expected.

“What do you mean by that?”
snapped Monsieur Croquemort.

“I mean nothing,” defended the
Chinaman. “I mean it was making foggy.”

“And a full moon,” added Madame
Sosostras coming to the rescue of the little Oriental.

“It was
not
a full
moon,” argued the American astrologer.

“Well, not that you could see
it,” agreed the gypsy, “through that blanket of fog.”

“I meant it was
not
a
full moon at all, regardless of the fog. The full moon takes place
tonight in the sign of Taurus. We are currently in Scorpio, meaning
the sun is travelling through the constellation of Scorpio. The new
moon always falls in the sign the sun is travelling through and the
full moon falls in the opposite sign. That’s why emotions are
running high.”

“Emotions are running high
because my maid was found dead!” reminded Madame Moghra with
asperity.

“She was
not
your maid,”
pointed out the reverend bluntly. “She just play-acted the part the
way she play-acted being hypnotized.”

“Mesmerised,” corrected Dr
Watson. “Don’t you mean mesmerised?”

“No,” contradicted the brainiac
among them. “Monsieur Croquemort might be a mesmerist but he was
pretending to be a hypnotist therefore Sissy was pretending to be
hypnotized not mesmerised.”

While everyone else was getting
their heads around the difference between hypnotism and mesmerism,
Mrs Merle got back to the subject. “Did she have a gentleman
friend?”

“No,” said Madame Moghra. “We
were always travelling. It’s a lonely life for a young girl. Even
though she was
not
my maid I would have known if she had had
a friend, especially a gentleman friend. Girls are silly about that
sort of thing. They lose their heads too easily. And it is written
all over their faces for all to see.”

“There is more to heaven and
earth than is dreamt of in your philosophy,” jibed Mr Ffrench.

“But she must have known
someone in Glasgow,” argued the American, ignoring the facetious
young man.

“Why do you say that?”
questioned Monsieur Croquemort, shooting a dark look at Crispin,
his drinking really was getting worse. Perhaps he should seek a
replacement there too.

“I saw her on the street
outside the hotel,” explained Mrs Merle. “She was dressed for going
out walking but instead of going off right away as I expected on
such a cold night she appeared to be waiting for someone to join
her. What makes it so odd is that it was midnight.”

“I saw her too,” piped up the
gypsy. “She did meet up with someone. I saw a man. They went off
together.”

“That’s impossible,” said
Madame Moghra. “I know for sure Sissy didn’t know anyone in
Glasgow.”

“How do you know?” quizzed the
reverend.

“She told me.”

“Perhaps she was lying,”
suggested Mrs Merle. “What star sign was she? Some star signs are
more mendacious than others.”

“The fault, my dears, is not in
the stars but in ourselves,” gibed the bard.

“Everyone tells lies - it has
nothing to do with star signs,” offered Madame Sosostras. “That is
why I trust the cards. They never lie.”

“I-Ching never lie,” added Dr
Hu, keeping up his end without inflaming the situation.

“Sissy wasn’t the sort to tell
lies,” argued Madame Moghra indignantly. “She was an honest,
simple, foolish girl.”

Mr Ffrench laughed loudly. “So
honest and simple she didn’t bother to tell you about the piece of
paper wrapped in her handkerchief that she dropped under the table
after dinner last night and waited to retrieve only after we all
left the dining room.”

“What paper?” asked Monsieur
Croquemort.

Mr Ffrench shrugged.

Miss Morningstar sighed softly.
“A love note perhaps?”

“What are you suggesting?”
demanded the reverend, directing his question not at the young
damsel but at the brainiac.

“I’m not suggesting anything,”
asserted Mr Ffrench.

“She must have been going out
to meet a beau!” sighed Miss Morningstar dreamily.

“And he is murdler,” said the
Chinaman, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

The afternoon was spent on less
strenuous pursuits. The wind off the Irish Sea picked up and the
deckchairs were quickly abandoned after Mrs Merle’s millinery bore
wings and took flight. After this, the alcove with the card table
became popular for Solitaire, and the library table was taken over
for demonstrations of I-Ching, tarot card reading and
palmistry.