Murder on the Lusitania (21 page)

“Both,” he conceded quietly. “The something I went after was the most precarious profession in existence. Acting. I’ve been stagestruck since the moment I paid my first visit to the theater. It was like a fire, smoldering inside me. Eventually it got too hot to ignore. That was the something I went off after. The theater.”

“There was a somebody as well.”

“George Porter, actor. I ran off in search of him. That was what my father could never pardon. I not only left him in the lurch to seek my fortune on the boards, I even dropped the family name of Dillman. My stage name was George Porter. Juvenile lead.”

“You’ve certainly got the voice and appearance for it.”

“But not the temperament, alas.”

“Temperament?”

“I didn’t realize that I’d spend most of my time out of work. That can be very galling, Miss Masefield. It’s not simply unemployment. It’s downright rejection. It means someone else is getting all the parts you think you ought to be playing.” He hunched his shoulders. “I didn’t have the temperament to cope with that. So I retired. After a couple of years as George Porter, the actor who never was, I’ve come back to being George Porter Dillman, the enigma.”

“There’s a lot of acting involved in being an enigma.”

“I think we both know that.”

Their eyes locked and they held their gaze, fascinated, tempted, enlarged with a new vision of each other. It was Genevieve who broke away. She finished her drink and got up, offering her hand.

“Thank you, again,” she said as he covered her palm in a gentle handshake. “You saved me from freezing to death up there on
deck. I’ve thawed out now but I still think I need a hot bath. Do excuse me.”

Dillman was on his feet. “Good night, Miss Masefield.”

“I can see what Ellen Tolley means about you.”

“I can see why Lord Carradine is so attentive to you.”

The wince was unmistakable this time. Genevieve hurried away. Dillman watched her go. Some sort of rift had clearly occurred with her aristocratic admirer but he had no time to speculate on her private life. Duty called. He had noticed Dorothea Erksine when they came into the lounge. She was sitting with Ada Weekes and two other ladies. Dillman strode across to them and exchanged greetings with the quartet.

“We missed you at dinner, Mrs. Erskine,” he observed.

“Yes, we dined in private this evening,” she said.

He looked around. “Is your husband not with you?”

“You’ll find him in the smoking room, Mr. Dillman. At least, that’s where he said he’d be. Jeremiah had somewhere to go immediately after dinner but he won’t have stayed away from that card table for long.”

“Cyril is the same,” said Ada Weekes. “He’s in there as well.”

The ladies were enjoying a gossip over coffee and looked as if they might be there for some time. If Jeremiah Erskine was trapped at the card table, it would be an ideal opportunity to search their cabin. Dillman took his leave, adjourned to the smoking room to confirm that Erskine was there before going in search of Charles Halliday. The purser was already on his way to find Dillman. They met in a long corridor.

“I’m glad I found you!” said Halliday.

“Do you have that master key for me?”

“Yes, but I’ve got something else for you as well.”

“What is it?”

“This,” said the other, holding up an envelope. “It was put under Itzak Weiss’s door. A ransom note. He can have his violin back at a price. An enormous price at that.”

“Let me see it, Mr. Halliday.”

“You may not be able to make head or tail of it.”

“Why not?” said Dillman, taking the envelope.

“It’s written in German.”

When they got back to their suite, Violet Rymer announced that she wanted an early night, and fled to her own room. She wanted to escape her mother’s incessant enquiries about her health and to have time alone to reflect once more on her relationship with Philip Garrow. Doubts still assailed her. The meeting in his cabin seemed to have created more problems than it solved and left both of them feeling unsatisfied. She loved him desperately and could not understand why their reunion had fallen so far short of what she hoped it would be. He had done the right thing, that was what she kept telling herself. In coming on the voyage, he had displayed love, loyalty, and bravery. Most young men in his position would have taken the money and deserted the young ladies to whom they had made such ardent promises. Not Philip Garrow. He was hers.

Still in her evening gown, she sat on the edge of the bed and gave an involuntary grin. Horrified when he first told her about her father’s attempt to buy him off, she was slowly coming to appreciate the irony of the situation. Matthew Rymer was subsidizing their reunion. There was a poetic justice in that. The father who had treated her so harshly in the past was now unwittingly securing her future happiness. Yet there were still many obstacles to overcome. Philip would advise her. She promised herself that she would be more forthcoming when they met next day, more willing to let him dictate everything. He was much shrewder than she, more experienced, more mature.

Yet Violet was still uncertain about how fully she should yield herself. They were pledged to each other and would one day marry. In her opinion, that was the time to surrender her virtue, when their union had been blessed by God. His impatience was worrying. Though the idea of lying in his arms was exhilarating, it was also rather frightening to a young woman like Violet Rymer
with a natural modesty reinforced by a sheltered upbringing. The studied absence of any physical contact between her parents had also helped to shape her perceptions.

Everything would become clear on the next day. Both of them would have been able to think over what had happened in his cabin. They would come to their second meeting with more realistic hopes and all doubts would vanish. Violet smiled wistfully. She missed Philip Garrow so much. While she languished in her cabin, she was comforted by the thought that he would be alone on his own bed, pining for her and planning for their future together.

“It’s beautiful out here at night, isn’t it?” said Philip Garrow.

“Beautiful but rather cold,” she said.

“Look at those stars, Rosemary. Have you ever seen the like?”

“Not from the deck of an ocean liner.”

“That’s one new experience I’ve given you, anyway.”

She gave an encouraging laugh and he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Rosemary Hilliard did not resist. Both of them had taken the precaution of putting on coats and hats before they came out on the boat deck. The sea was volatile but the
Lusitania
was undaunted by the angry waves, cutting its way across the ocean with a confidence that bordered on outright arrogance. Other couples had ventured on deck and the two lookouts in the crows’ nest shared a quiet snigger when they turned their binoculars away from the sea ahead to snatch a glimpse at some of the budding romances taking place immediately below them.

“I’m sorry about last night,” said Philip softly.

“Don’t keep apologizing.”

“I feel such an idiot.”

“We were both to blame, Philip.”

“I suppose so.”

“Let’s try to put it behind us.”

“Yes,” he said, tightening his grip. “I’m so glad you gave me a second chance. It will make up for everything.”

“We’ll see about that.” She gave shudder. “The wind is getting up. I think I’m ready to go inside now.”

“So am I.”

He escorted her to the nearest door and they stepped through it.

“You can take your arm away now,” she said pleasantly. “I’m fine now we’re out of that wind. Well, thank you, Philip, it was a lovely idea of yours to go out on deck but standing out there has rather tired me.”

“Let me walk you back to your cabin,” he said with a grin.

“I can find it on my own.”

“Oh.” The grin vanished. “All right, Rosemary.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps.”

She kissed him on the cheek and walked away. Garrow grinned afresh. It was a firm promise. He would hold her to it.

Dillman moved swiftly. Charles Halliday had been stationed at the end of the corridor to keep watch in case the Erskines returned sooner than expected. Dillman did not wish to be caught in their cabin. There could be awkward repercussions. Letting himself in with the master key, he switched on the light and looked around. It was a large and luxurious cabin on the promenade deck with two portholes. Books, papers, and a box of cigars lay on the table. He checked each item, opened every drawer then searched the wardrobe. Dorothea Erskine had a large number of extremely expensive dresses but it was her husband’s clothing that interested the visitor. Dillman went through the pockets of every jacket and pair of trousers. Then he found the tails.

He surmised that Erskine must have brought a second set because he would not be seen in the first-class public rooms in a suit during the evening. The coat and trousers that he pulled out of the wardrobe must have been the ones he was wearing on the night when he blundered out of the smoking room after heavy losses at the card table. Dorothea Erskine had spoken of soiled clothing on his return. Dillman saw what she meant. One arm of the coat was smudged with what seemed to be grease and both
cuffs had been stained with something. Dillman wondered if it was the blood of Henry Barcroft. Exposed shirt cuffs would also have been stained but he could find no dress shirt with blood on it. He decided that Erksine could have disposed of a shirt that might be beyond recall, whereas the coat could be cleaned more effectively.

When he replaced the items in the wardrobe, he saw something poked away in a corner. It was a large camera, complete with its own tripod. Taking both out to inspect them, he saw that the tripod was made of stout wood. Folded up and wielded with force, it would be more than capable of crushing a man’s skull. Dillman put camera and tripod back where he found them and crossed over to the bathroom. Expecting to find nothing incriminating there, he was startled when he put on the light. A large metal tray stood on a shelf beside bottles of chemicals. More equipment rested on the floor. Jeremiah Erskine did not simply possess a camera. He had the means of developing his own photographs.

After a troubled night, Genevieve Masefield rose early to take a bath. It was time to reevaluate her situation. Lord Carradine had called her bluff and brought a premature end to the relationship. Though she had shown enough righteous indignation to cover her departure from his suite, she knew that she would never be invited into it again. Nor would she grace the captain’s table in the company of the tobacco millionaire. It was a bitter disappointment but she had the resilience to overcome it. Instead of crying over spilled milk, she would simply look for another jug of it.

When she went off to have breakfast, her spirits were partially restored and there was no hint in her face or manner of the crippling blow dealt to her by Lord Carradine. She floated into the dining saloon with all of her usual aplomb. Only a scattering of passengers were there, but one of them spotted her instantly and signaled a greeting.

“Hello!” said Ellen Tolley. “Care to join us, Miss Masefield?”

Genevieve had hoped to be left alone but it was difficult to refuse the invitation. When she was introduced to Caleb Tolley,
she sat down and studied the breakfast menu. Ellen began to recommend some items.

“What’s the purpose of your visit, Miss Masefield?” Mr. Tolley asked. “Vacation? Visiting friends?”

“Both, Mr. Tolley. I’ll be staying in New York for the first few couple of weeks, then I’ll be going to Virginia to stay with the Hubermanns. Have you come across them yet?”

“The two sisters who are usually trailing you?”

“I see that you’ve been watching.”

“Oh, I’m only part of a large and appreciative audience.”

“What did I tell you, Miss Masefield?” said Ellen with a grin. “But what about Lord Carradine? He’s done everything so far but fall to his knee and beg you to marry him. Will you be seeing him in America?”

“It’s possible,” said Genevieve, hiding her discomfort.

“Hey,” Ellen said, winking at Genevieve, “do you reckon an English aristocrat would take his monocle out when he has a bath? Or goes to bed?”

“You’re being very impertinent, Ellen!”

“Miss Masefield doesn’t mind.”

“Well, I do, young lady. Now act your age and show some manners.” He turned to Genevieve. “Ellen should have gone to a finishing school in England. That might have knocked the rough edges off her.”

“I rather like rough edges, Mr. Tolley,” said Genevieve.

“That depends how close you have to get to them. Let’s come back to this vacation of yours. How long is it due to last and where exactly do you intend to go?”

“Wherever I can.”

Caleb Tolley moved his arm and accidentally knocked over the walking stick balanced against the table. Genevieve instinctively reached down for it at the same time as Caleb Tolley bent over from his chair. Their faces were only inches away from each other. Genevieve saw the curious look in his eye. She was not sure whether to be flattered or offended. Her hand closed on the stick and she gave it back to him.

“Thank you, Miss Masefield, he said, pulling himself back up into his chair. “I’m lost without that. Now, what were you saying?”

* * *

“What did I tell you?” said Dillman cheerily. “A trouble-free night.”

“The calm before the storm.”

“He’s got what he wants. No need for anything else.”

“There’s still a lot of unfinished business for us, though.”

“That’s why we must have a hearty breakfast.”

Charles Halliday had gone early to Dillman’s cabin and they were discussing their tactics over the first meal of the day. A quiet night had done little to still the demons that haunted the purser.

“I still believe that we should challenge Erskine,” he said.

“Not enough evidence.”

“You found that photographic equipment in his cabin. You saw what might have been bloodstains on the jacket he wore the night of the murder. What more do you want?”

“A stolen violin, for a start.”

“He may have stashed that away somewhere else.”