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Authors: Carola Dunn

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BOOK: To Davy Jones Below
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“It looks as if she took it at lunchtime?”
“It seems probable. I'll have to get a description of the meal from Gotobed and talk to the steward who served them, see if their stories match. I'm sure Gotobed is too clever to be caught out. I doubt I'll ever find proof that it wasn't accident or suicide, which of course it may be. Why should he have killed her? If you marry a chorus-girl, you must surely expect admirers from her past to bob up now and then.”
“Sir! Mr. Fletcher, sir!”
They turned to find Kitchener hurrying after them. The wireless operator was waving several sheets of paper.
“Ah, from Scotland Yard?”
“Yes, sir. It came in awhile ago. I'm awf'ly sorry, I just haven't had a moment to decode it till now, what with all that's been going on. It's … It looks to me rather nasty, sir.”
Alec gave him a stern look. “You're to forget what you have read. Not a word to
anyone.”
“My lips are sealed, sir, honestly.”
“Good. Thank you, Kitchener. You have been most helpful.”
There were three sheets covered in Kitchener's sprawling writing. As Alec scanned them, Daisy heard his sharply indrawn breath, and then he exclaimed, “Great Scott!”
“What is it?” she asked, trying to read the scrawl upside down. “Darling, what has Tom Tring discovered?”
“Motive enough for any man,” he said grimly. He read on to the end, while Daisy bobbed about on tiptoe in her efforts to see over his shoulder. Folding the papers, he thrust them into his pocket.
“Alec!”
“Pertwee and Welford were well known as petty con men,” he told her, “though nothing was ever proved against them. Welford was the brains of the pair and used his public school background to good effect, while Pertwee brought in marks attracted by those flashy good looks. But more to the point: Tom sent Ernie Piper to Somerset House to search the Births, Marriages, and Deaths records. It turns out Pertwee was Wanda's brother …”
“What!”
“And Welford was her husband.”
“B
igamy!” breathed Daisy, looking stunned.
Alec put his arm around her shoulders. “It's one possibility which never crossed my mind,” he admitted.
“Nor mine. Blackmail?”
“I imagine so. If Gotobed repudiated Wanda or didn't pay up, the press would have a field day. He'd be held up to public ridicule. Can you imagine what that would do to a man like him?”
She shook her head, but said stubbornly, “I believe he's strong enough to get over it. And anyway, he might not have known.”
“Come now, love, a pair of confidence tricksters would hardly be likely to ignore such a marvellous opportunity. In fact, I don't doubt that the marriage was planned and carried through with blackmail in mind.”
Alec hesitated. He could not be in two places at once, yet he was far from sure he ought to trust Daisy to observe and report impartially. If only Tring were here! But he had no choice.
“Daisy, I must talk to the steward who served the Gotobeds
lunch. Will you go along to the sick-bay and keep an eye on things there for me? You won't mention anything about this, of course.” He touched the pocket where he had stowed the papers.
“Right-oh, darling. Gosh, I do hope Dr. Amboyne manages to save Wanda!” She went off after the others.
It took Alec some time to run his quarry to earth. The steward, one Bailey, was perfectly willing to talk. He had gone to the Gotobeds' suite to set the table and take their orders. The gentleman had been writing, the lady painting her fingernails. They consulted the menu cards together while the steward dealt with napery, silver, and glass.
“I bet I can tell you exactly what they had, sir. Soup oaks onions first, it was, for both of them. Fillet der sole twice for the fish, oh, burr and citron—that's a lemon-butter sauce, and very nice, too. Then, lessee, they both had the beef, turnydose chaser, with new potatoes and petty peas. They didn't neither of them want salad. ‘That's for rabbits,' said Mr. Gotobed, I recall. He finished up with cheese and biscuits, and madam had the fruit compote with cream.”
“Very comprehensive, thank you. Wine?”
“Nah. He had a beer, and she only had water, seltzer water. Always talking about slimming, she was.”
“Did you stay there to serve the meal?” Alec asked, without much hope.
“Not me, sir. Nipping in and out, I was. I had to fetch everything from the kitchens, and all my passengers was eating in their cabins on account of the Grand Salon being otherwise engaged, you might say.”
“When you were in the Gotobeds' suite, you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary?”
“Not a thing, sir. Wait, I tell a lie.”
“Yes?” Alec asked eagerly.
“Oh, nothing much. Only most people when they sit down to lunch, they stay put, like. But one time when I went in, Mr. and Mrs. Gotobed was in the bedroom. I heard ‘em.”
“What did you hear?”
“I don't listen at doors,” Bailey protested. “'Sides, I was too busy. Run off my feet, I was. I heard 'em talking, but I couldn't tell what they was saying.”
“Pity.” Still, if Wanda had gone out first, that was the opportunity Alec had sought for Gotobed to poison her food without her seeing.
Means, motive, opportunity, the unholy trinity; he had them all. It gave him no pleasure.
 
Daisy had found Gotobed and Miss Oliphant in the doctor's waiting room. Gotobed was alert, head cocked, listening for sounds in the sick-bay. His face was tired and careworn. He glanced round as Daisy entered but did not appear to take in her presence, so intent was he. The witch sat quietly beside him, hands folded in her lap, head bowed. She looked up, rose, and came to Daisy.
“Camomile and linden, I think,” she said, her tone hushed but matter-of-fact. “Will you stay with him while I fetch it?”
“Of course.”
Could
Miss Oliphant have poisoned Wanda? Could she have claimed to have changed her mind about helping her end her pregnancy and given her a draught of belladonna, saying it was an abortifacient? But that would kill the child too—Daisy came round full circle yet again. At any rate, if the witch's aim was to marry Gotobed, she was not going to poison him.
When Miss Oliphant returned, she was followed by a steward with a tray holding a steaming tea-pot, three cups and saucers, a plate of biscuits, and a large book. She herself carried her medicine chest.
All the paraphernalia were set on the desk, and the steward enquired, “Shall I pour, madam?”
“No, thank you, let it steep a little longer.”
“Very well, madam. What with everything at sixes and sevens, dinner tonight will be soup and sandwiches. Stewards will bring them around for passengers to eat wherever they wish.”
As he left, Miss Oliphant sat down at the desk and pulled the book towards her. “This is my best reference book,” she explained to Daisy. “Should Mrs. Gotobed survive, I wish to be prepared to suggest appropriate stimulants to Dr. Amboyne, though whether he will make use of them is another matter.”
“What a good idea. May I take a look at the contents of your chest?”
“Certainly, but please do not disarrange them. It is not locked.”
Daisy raised the lid. The blue glass jars and bottles nestled in their green plush niches, a place for everything and no space wasted. What interested her were the red labels that she recalled. Warning labels, she had presumed when she first glimpsed them.
But she found no foxglove, nor anything else she recognized as dangerous as well as therapeutic. Instead, the red-labelled containers held lemon balm, camomile, mint, calendula petals and calendula ointment, comfrey balm, rosewater, eyebright, and other harmless-sounding preparations. Daisy decided that far from being a warning, the red was simply to make it easier to pick out frequently used items.
Miss Oliphant poured the tea and Daisy took a cup to Gotobed. He drank thirstily. Daisy sipped hers, feeling a soothing warmth spread through her. After a while she noticed that Gotobed had relaxed his tense posture. He still
looked weary and deeply unhappy, but no longer overwrought.
Time passed. Occasionally uninterpretable sounds came from the sick-bay, but for the most part the only sound was the turning of pages in Miss Oliphant's book. Daisy kept catching herself nodding off.
Then Dr. Amboyne came through, shoulders slumped, shaking his head. “I've done everything I can. She's not going to pull through. If you'd like to go in, sir.”
Gotobed rose heavily and plodded into the sick-bay. Miss Oliphant closed her book. Amboyne went over to her and they talked quietly. Daisy simply could not summon up the energy to move.
Alec came in a few minutes later. He looked even grimmer than last time she saw him. “Where is Gotobed?” he asked curtly.
“With his wife,” said Amboyne. “She may go at any moment. By the way, Denton is fit to answer questions at last.”
“Thank you. I shan't intrude now.” Alec sat down beside Daisy. In a low voice, he told her what the steward had said. “So you see, there's the opportunity, the last piece of the puzzle.”
“You must hear his side of the story,” she objected.
“I shall, but I have Captain Dane's authorization to arrest him. When the
Talavera
sails back, he'll be taken back to England to stand trial.”
Daisy had no answer.
The doctor went off to see his other patients. Daisy, Alec, and Miss Oliphant sat in silence, waiting. How long they waited Daisy had no idea. It seemed like forever, yet when the nurse came in, she thought, “Not already!”
“She's gone, poor lamb.” From the open door behind her came racking sobs. Miss Oliphant started up, her face twisting. The nurse shut the door. “Mrs. Denton's with him and
maybe that's best, madam; she doesn't know anything but he's lost a loved one, nothing on her mind except to comfort him as best she can.”
Miss Oliphant subsided, looking distressed but conscious that she was by no means so disinterested.
“He's shattered!” Daisy said to Alec.
“That doesn't mean he didn't kill her. Which in turn doesn't mean his reaction is not perfectly sincere.”
Daisy unhappily acknowledged the possibility. Her heart went out to Gotobed, guilty or not.
 
“Why did Mrs. Gotobed leave the room in the middle of the meal?” asked Alec.
“I left first.” Gotobed's face was alarmingly grey. He looked quite incapable of leaving the armchair where he drooped in the suite's sitting room, the Ferellis having been evicted. “She asked me to fetch her a handkerchief. She said they were in a drawer in the dressing-table, in a sachet on top, but I couldn't find them without pawing through her … things, which I didn't care to do. So I called her to come and look for herself.”
“And you went back to the table.”
“Not until she'd found the damned sachet. It was right at the bottom. She blamed Baines.”
Alec tried a different approach. “At what stage in the meal was this?”
Gotobed thought. “It must have been after the steward brought the main course. The tournedos were already on the plates, under covers, but the potatoes and vegetables were in serving dishes. He'd brought carrots instead of peas, which suited me fine, but Wanda insisted on peas. He went off to get them, and that's when she decided she wanted a handkerchief.”
“So she went into the bedroom to fetch one.”
“I went,” said Gotobed, shaking his head. “I was happy to do such little errands for her. I loved her. That's why I married her. I would never have done anything to harm her.”
“Not even when you discovered that she was not really your wife?” Alec infused his voice with disbelief.
“What?” Gotobed sat up straight, a hint of colour touching his cheeks. “What the devil do you mean by that, Fletcher?”
“There is irrefutable evidence that Wanda Fairchild—to start with her stage name—was born Wanda Pertwee and, some fifteen years ago, married Henry Welford.”
“Pertwee? Welford?” Gotobed gaped at him, angry colour rising. “Poppycock!”
“Detective Constable Piper found the records at Somerset House and obtained certified copies. There was no divorce.”
Alec jumped up as every vestige of colour fled from Gotobed's face. He seemed to crumple, looking old and ill. If it was a performance, it was a very convincing performance, Alec thought uneasily. Unless the shock was not the facts but having his motive discovered?
“Shall I fetch the doctor, sir?” As Gotobed shook his head, Alec went over to the small cabinet in the corner where his search of the suite had turned up a bottle of whisky. He poured half a tumbler, added a splash of water from a carafe, and took the glass to Gotobed.
“Thank you. Help yourself.” He took a gulp.
Alec hesitated, then poured himself a more modest drink and returned to his seat. He was no longer quite ready to arrest Gotobed. Yet what solution could there be other than that Gotobed had murdered Pertwee, Welford, and Wanda?
But that would not explain Denton's dive. Suddenly, Alec was very keen to interview the Suffolk farmer. He ought to speak to the steward again, too, to see if more thorough questioning
brought to light any evidence that Gotobed had gone into the bedroom first. After all, Wanda might have been driven to suicide by the deaths of her husband and brother.
But if not Gotobed, who had killed those two?
“Not married!” Gotobed said in a tone of wonder. To Alec's relief, the Yorkshireman was reviving. He sat up straighter and there was a trace of his usual vigour in his voice when he went on, “She deceived me, but happen I've been deceiving meself, too. Wishful thinking is a grand persuader. I thowt I knew her through and through. She had her little faults, to be sure, but which of us doesn't?”
“All too true, sir. I'll have more questions for you later, but I think you should have a bit of a rest now. Are you sure you wouldn't like me to send Dr. Amboyne to see you?”
“No, no. But I believe I should like to consult Miss Oliphant, if she will be so kind. I suspect I may need one of her magic potions to help me sleep tonight.”
“I'll ask her,” Alec promised, and headed back to the sick-bay.
Daisy was still in the waiting-room, sitting with the nurse, Miss Oliphant, and Mrs. Denton around the desk, drinking soup from mugs and eating sandwiches.
“Darling, have you eaten?” she cried, as Alec trudged in. “You must be starving! Come and join us. There's plenty of sandwiches and half a jug of soup. You'll have to share my mug.”
Between bites and sups, Alec passed on Gotobed's message to Miss Oliphant. Uncharacteristically flustered, she went at once, taking with her some herbs from her medicine chest and a packet of sandwiches quickly wrapped by the nurse for Gotobed.
BOOK: To Davy Jones Below
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