Murder on the Lusitania (17 page)

“I do!”

“I thought you wanted me, Violet.”

“Yes. But the first time must be special. We always promised each other that it would be. I can’t be rushed into it like this. I want it to be perfect. In a hotel room. In a bed. With no pressures. Perfect.”

“Wherever it happens, it will be perfect,” he said, stroking her hair. “It’s me, Violet. You’ve nothing to be afraid of here. I’m your lover. I’m going to be your husband. Why must we wait?”

He exerted a little more force and she consented to perch on the very edge of the bed. As soon as he started to fondle her with more urgency, however, Violet grew frightened and broke away from him. She stood up and crossed to the other side of the cabin.

“This isn’t at all as I hoped it would be,” she complained.

“No, it isn’t!” he said ruefully.

“We haven’t even talked properly yet.”

He stood up wearily. “What is there to talk about?”

“In the first place, how on earth you come to be here.”

“I bought a ticket, embarked at Queenstown.”

“But where did you get the money from, Philip? And how could you afford that new suit? You had nothing when you were in England. I had to lend you some of my own savings.”

“And I’ll repay every penny of that,” he said quickly.

“Have you got a new job or something?”

“Not exactly.”

“Did someone loan you the money, then?”

“No, Violet. I’m paying my own way.”

“That’s wonderful! How are you managing to do it?”

“Don’t bother about that.”

“But I do bother. You said we were to have no secrets from each other. Three weeks ago, I thought I’d lost you forever. My parents told me that they were taking me on this voyage to get me away from you. Daddy swore that I’d never see you again. He was horrid to me.” She quailed at the memory, then looked plaintively across at him. “So tell me, Philip. Where did the money come from?”

“Where do you think?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“No!” she cried. “I don’t believe it.”

“Couldn’t you work it out for yourself?”

“It never occurred to me.”

“Well, that’s how it was, Violet.”

“But they told me that they’d simply warned you off.”

“I don’t warn off easily.”

“My father actually
paid
you?”

“Handsomely,” said Garrow with a smirk. “He’s the sort of man who thinks you can solve any problem if you throw enough money at it. So he bought me off. Or tried to, anyway. He gave me a large amount of cash on condition that I stopped bothering you. So I did.” Another smirk. “For the time being, at any rate. I went back to Ireland and booked a passage on the
Lusitania
. Had this suit made up by a tailor in Dublin. Bought a whole new wardrobe, in fact. Daddy was very generous.”

“That’s dreadful!” she said. “Paying you off like that.”

“I wasn’t going to refuse the money, Violet. Especially as it enabled me to get close to you again. Don’t you see? That’s the beauty of it. In trying to get rid of me, your father made it possible for us to be together. The joke is on him!”

“I’d hardly call it a joke.”

“Would you rather I hadn’t come?”

“No, no, of course not,” she said, going back to him to take his hands in hers. “I’m just shocked, that’s all. It’s a terrible thing to do. Giving you money to leave me alone.”

“Happens every day, Violet,” he said. “All over London, there are anxious fathers trying to get rid of their daughters’ unwelcome suitors.”

“You’re not unwelcome to me!”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that.”

“I just wish you’d thrown the money back in my father’s face.”

“And miss the chance of this voyage?”

She let him kiss her again but it was a perfunctory embrace. Her mind was deeply troubled. Violet was still trying to make sense of what she had just heard. It forced her to revalue her relationship with her parents in the most profound way. When she looked up at him, she was completely bewildered.

“Philip?”

“Yes?”

“All of a sudden, I’ve lost my bearings.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know where I am—where
we
are.”

“Together, Violet. Where we’ve always wanted to be.”

“Yes,” she said. “But whatever are we going to do now?”

When they left Itzak Weiss, they went straight back to the purser’s cabin. Charles Halliday closed the door behind them, then snatched off his hat and flung it down on the desk.

“It never rains but it pours!” he wailed. “And I’m the idiot who’s caught in the middle of the downpour without an umbrella.”

“It’s not that bad, Mr. Halliday,” said Dillman.

“How could it possibly be worse? We have a serious theft from the chief engineer’s cabin. The violent murder of a passenger. A purse is stolen from an elderly lady. A retired couple have their cabin rifled. And a celebrated violinist has just had his Stradivarius taken.” He slumped in a chair. “What’s next? Mass suicide? Rape and pillage? A typhoon?”

“Every crime will be solved in due course,” argued Dillman. “We’ve already returned those stolen items from Mr. Rourke’s cabin. I have every confidence that we’ll retrieve everything else that was taken.”

“Put the violin at the top of the list!”

“I’m sorry that Mr. Weiss rounded on you like that.”

“Everyone seems to be rounding on me today. Honestly, I feel as if I’ve got a target painted on my back.” He ran a hand through his hair, then pulled himself together. “No bleating! I took the job so I have to take the blows that come with it. Now, what do you want me to do?”

“Get me a list of everyone who went to that music concert.”

“There is no list. They just rolled up.”

“I know,” said Dillman, “but you must have had stewards on duty at the door to sell programs and act as ushers.”

“Four of them, at least.”

“Between them, they’ll have recognized dozens of the passengers who were there. That gives us a start. And each person who went to the concert will be able to give us additional names.”

“Are you certain that the thief was in the audience?”

“I’m certain that he used the concert as his cover. And I’m certain that the thefts are related to each other in some way.”

“That doesn’t seem possible.”

“Oh, it is, Mr. Halliday, believe me.”

“What sort of man steals a woman’s purse, a French Empire clock, and a Stradivarius in one afternoon?”

“A very cunning man.”

“Cunning?”

“Yes,” said Dillman. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Mr. Weiss because it was important to calm him down before he had a seizure, but there is a possibility which has to be taken into account. In my view, it’s a rather strong possibility.”

“I don’t follow.”

“What we have here is another dog show.”

“Dog show?”

“Don’t you remember why I suggested that you organize one?”

“Of course. To create a diversion.”

“Well?”

The purser’s face registered bafflement, surprise, then amazement in three separate stages. When he leaped from his chair, it was covered by an expression of mild hysteria.

“Do I understand you aright, Mr. Dillman? Are you suggesting that the killer and the thief are one and the same man?”

“What better way to throw you off the scent than by getting you entangled in a series of thefts? Especially the one from Itzak Weiss’s cabin. That’s really rung the alarm bells. It’s bound to cut into the amount of time you can devote to solving a murder.”

“Yet that must remain a priority.”

“Don’t tell that to Itzak Weiss. Nothing is more important to him than getting his precious violin back. In his opinion, a massacre of the ship’s complement would take second place to that. But if your theory is correct, Mr. Dillman—”

“It is only a theory.”

“Then the man we’re after may not have such an interest in music.”

“I still believe that he does, and I’m sure he treated that Stradivarius with great respect. After all, it may help him to escape arrest for murder. That’s the plan, anyway.” Dillman pondered, then snapped his fingers. “The couple who had that clock stolen. Remind me of their name?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Anstruther.”

“Find out who sat at their table for luncheon.”

“Luncheon?”

“And dinner last night,” said Dillman. “They probably talked about going to that concert this afternoon. That’s how the thief may have picked up the information. He planned that break-in. I don’t think he waited to see who turned up in the music room before sloping off to their cabin. The Anstruthers were deliberately picked out.”

“What about Mr. Weiss and his wife? They weren’t at the concert. How could the thief be sure that their cabin would be empty as well?”

“By studying routine.”

“Routine?”

“Musicians are usually very methodical. They keep strictly to a set pattern. So many hours of practice a day and so on. Mr. and Mrs. Weiss have had a walk on deck every afternoon since we sailed. They’re rather distinctive people. Nobody could miss them.”

“I’m more confused than ever,” admitted Halliday. “Stealing an old lady’s purse would have been relatively easy, particularly as, I suspect, she left it on her chair. She was a rather absentminded old dear. But how did the thief get into two locked cabins? Neither showed signs of forced entry.”

“Then he must have had a master key.”

“Impossible!”

“Is it? If I’m right, we’re talking about a man who can commit a murder, leave no clues behind him, and vanish into the night.
He’s cool and calculating. My guess is that he can get into any cabin he chooses.”

Halliday stiffened. “I’m going to alert every member of the crew and institute patrols. Passengers must be protected from this man.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’ll be any further crimes,” decided the American. “Prevention is not the problem. He’s already given you more than enough to keep you occupied. He’ll just keep his head down now.”

“I hope so. We can’t cope with anything else.”

“You’re stretched enough as it is.”

“So how do we catch him, Mr. Dillman?”

“You don’t, sir. I do. He can see you coming in that uniform, but he can’t see me. I’ve probably rubbed shoulders with him already. Even talked to him, perhaps.” He opened the door. “We’ll catch him.”

“When?”

“When he slips up. They always do.”

When the concert was over, Sylvia Rymer adjourned to the lounge for tea in the company of Dorothea Erskine and Ada Weekes. All three lingered there for the best part of an hour as they chatted away.

“I do wish Matthew had come,” said Sylvia. “He missed a treat.”

“Yes,” agreed Ada Weekes. “I can’t understand why Cyril left at the interval. I thought he was enjoying it as much as I did. And the second half was even better than the first. I loved the Tchaikovsky.”

“Oh, I preferred the Mozart. Mrs. Erskine?”

“Give me Beethoven any day. He’s the one who stirs my blood!”

“Does your husband know that?” teased the other.

“Oh, yes. Jeremiah knows everything about me by now!”

“How long have you been married?” asked Ada Weekes.

“Twelve years.”

“Cyril and I have been together for thirty-three. Our children
have long since flown the nest. Do you have any children, Mrs. Erskine?”

“No,” said the other briskly. “Only stepchildren. Two boys. They’ve also left home to strike out on their own.” She turned to Sylvia Rymer. “It will be Violet’s turn next. Does she have a young man in view?”

“No,” said Sylvia Rymer firmly. “Not at the moment.”

“That will soon change. Such an attractive girl!”

“We think so, Mrs. Erskine.”

“Is she your only child?”

“Sadly, yes. We wanted more but …” She glanced around to make sure that nobody was within earshot. “Well, you see, there were severe complications after Violet’s birth. I had an operation but the surgeon told me that I could never have any more children. It was a terrible blow at the time but one gets used to that kind of thing. And there are, after all, certain compensations.”

“Compensations?” echoed Ada Weekes.

“For a woman.”

“I’m not sure that I follow.”

Sylvia Rymer looked from one to the other to see if she could entrust them with a confidence. Both smiled encouragingly. In a short time, they had become good friends. They would be sympathetic.

“To be candid,” she continued, lowering her voice, “I never really enjoyed that side of marriage. Not because of Matthew,” she added hastily, “I wouldn’t want you to think that. He was always considerate. It was just the way that I was brought up. My mother led me to believe that it was something a woman endured in order to bring children into the world. Once that became impossible, there seemed no need anymore. I felt so relieved.”

“I’m not sure that I would have done so in your place,” confessed Dorothea Erskine. “I think a woman is entitled to take some pleasure from that aspect of married life. In the right way, that is. When all is said and done, it is an act of love.”

“Sometimes,” murmured Sylvia Rymer.

“I’m not sure that I can remember anymore,” said Ada Weekes.

And their laughter dissolved the faint embarrassment that had sprung up. Sylvia Rymer was glad to see her daughter coming into the lounge at that point. She raised a hand to signal to Violet, then frowned as she saw how pale and drawn she looked. Greetings were exchanged all round.

“Where have you been, Violet?” said her mother anxiously.

“Just walking on deck. I watched a game of quoits.”

“You must have been out there for hours. How is your headache?”

“It’s gone, Mother. I’m fine now.”

“You don’t look fine. You seem so strained.”

“Do I?” said Violet, contriving a smile. “I’m not, really I’m not.”

“A nice bath will revive you,” said her mother, getting up from the chair. “Will you excuse us, please, ladies? We have to go now.”

“We’ll be on your tail as soon as we’ve drained our cups,” said Ada Weekes, waving them off. As soon as they had left, she looked over at her companion. “What did you make of all that?”

“It didn’t surprise me, Mrs. Weekes.”

“No?”

“I wondered why her husband looked so grim at times.”