To Davy Jones Below Read online

  “I suppose so,” Wanda said grudgingly. “Nothing she does makes me feel any better.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be much one can do.”

  “It’s helped you coming and talking to me though. It’s ever so kind of you, reelly. Gives a girl something else to think about than her insides. That reminds me, Dickie said you saw that man falling overboard last night. Tell me about it, do.”

  Daisy disliked the avid curiosity in her voice, but she had to find something to talk about until Baines returned, so she described what she had seen.

  “I didn’t stay to watch them pull him out. I was coping with the hysterical girl, remember.” She did not report the hysterical girl’s story. “Alec said they lowered the life-boat pretty smartly and pulled the chap in easily enough.”

  “Did he say how he came to fall?”

  “No; he was half drowned and he’s still too ill to talk. He must have had a dizzy spell, I suppose.”

  “I bet that’s it.” Wanda sounded relieved, as if she had imagined there might be a madman on the loose, chucking people overboard right, left, and centre—or starboard, port, and amidships. “Poor bloke. Is he going to be all right?”

  “It’s still touch and go, I gather.” Daisy was glad to hear the latch of the outer door click. “Well, I’d better be on my way. Alec has succumbed, too. I must go and soothe his fevered brow, or at least attempt to pour some mint tea into him. Cheerio, Wanda. I hope you feel better soon.”

  And that was a fib, she reflected. The longer Wanda was incapacitated, the happier everyone else was, except, presumably, her adoring husband.

  Wanda’s only response was a groan.

  Alec greeted Daisy with a groan. Having taken the precaution of stopping at their steward’s pantry for hot water and Marie biscuits, she presented him with a fait accompli.

  “I’ve brought you mint tea. It smells delicious.” She set the tray on the little fold-down table between the berths, pleased with herself for carrying it safely.

  “No thanks.”

  “Darling, you simply can’t go on lying here feeling sorry for yourself when there may be a murderer aboard. Sit up.”

  “Bully.” But he sat up, though he stayed hunched over, hugging his knees to his chest.

  Daisy poured half a mugful, the most that was safe with the ship behaving like a rocking horse in two directions. “Here, eat a biscuit while the tea cools a bit.”

  “Ugh!”

  “Right-oh, tea first, then biscuit, then the fresh air treatment. Alec, Denton was wearing an overcoat and hat, so it was impossible to tell whether he was in evening dress, but all the same, no one could possibly have mistaken him for Riddman. One’s tall and thin and smokes cigars, and the other’s shortish and sturdy and smokes a pipe.”

  “Not Harvey then, thank heaven. I hate to think what Captain Dane would have said if I’d told him to clap his second officer in irons. But if Denton’s short, it makes it all the less likely that he should fall over the rail without assistance.”

  Pondering, he relaxed his death grip on his knees. Daisy put the cup into his hand and he sipped automatically. Since the taste did not cause him to fling mug and contents across the cabin with a cry of disgust, Daisy ventured to pour some tea into the second mug she had brought. After all, Miss Oliphant had said it was better for warding off sickness than curing it. One might as well make sure.

  “It is delicious,” she said in surprise.

  “Huh? Oh, not bad. Daisy, the whole thing seems inexplicable, but it strikes me that as Denton holds the only key, he may be in danger.” He nibbled the biscuit she put into his free hand.

  “The nurse said she’s never away from him for more than a couple of minutes.”

  “That’s all well and good while he’s so ill. But when he starts to recover, as we must hope he will if we’re ever to get to the bottom of this …”

  “Not to mention for his wife’s sake, and his family’s, and his own!”

  Alec smiled at her, holding out his empty mug. “That goes without saying. I want you to arrange for a trustworthy member of the crew to be with him at all times.”

  “Darling, they’ll never do it on my say-so, not in a million years!” She watched him thirstily drink another half cup of tea and crunch a second biscuit. “You’ll just have to come up and give the order yourself.”

  “I’ll write a note to Harvey.” He set the cup on the tray and swung his feet to the floor.

  “No, you jolly well won’t. Here, put your jacket on while I get our coats. We’re going out.”

  “Daisy, I …”

  “For the honour of New Scotland Yard!”

  “There’s a ringing slogan.” He gave her a crooked grin, stood up, and staggered. “I’m going to have to keep moving or I shall disgrace the Yard, myself, and you. Come along.”

  He shrugged into his jacket as he strode along the corridor, weaving in response to the ship’s sway. Trying not to giggle at his gait, Daisy trotted after, burdened with their winter coats. At the companion-way he ran upwards, his hand on the rail, and Daisy freed one hand from the coats to hang on.

  She was glad she had. Halfway up, the rhythm of the pitch and roll was interrupted by a sudden plunge in an entirely new direction. Dropping the coats, Daisy grabbed the rail with her other hand and hung on with both.

  “Alec, wait!”

  He turned back. “Sorry, love. Come to grief?”

  “The ship did a peculiar wiggle, sort of like doing the tango. I can only cope with a waltz.”

  “It’s been wiggling peculiarly for quite some time. Don’t remind me.” He started to stoop to pick up the coats, but straightened abruptly, sweat on his pale forehead. “I don’t think I’d better bend down, and I really must keep moving.”

  “It’s all right, I can manage. Just slow down a bit, darling.”

  “I’m trying to leave my stomach behind. I’ll take my coat; yours too if you like.”

  Daisy gave him his but kept her own over her arm as they started upwards again. “Where are we going?”

  “The bridge. There’s no need for you to come though.”

  “I’d quite like some fresh air, if it’s not pouring. I left my hat below.”

  Reaching the promenade deck, Daisy was relieved to find that the Talavera had settled back into her steady waltz. The windows were streaming with water, whether spray or rain she couldn’t tell. Practically all of the deck-chairs had been folded, stacked, and roped to iron rings on the bulkhead, though a few hardy passengers still sat out in the draughty promenade, wrapped in rugs.

  Daisy and Alec put on their coats and ventured out into a damp, blustery, grey world. Air and water were inextricably mixed, the horizon invisible in an all-encompassing blur of leaden clouds and leaden waves. Not a soul was out on the open forward deck.

  Alec took Daisy’s arm, both steadying himself and bracing her as they battled the buffeting wind to the central companion-way. The climb up the steep steps was a matter of hauling oneself up with both hands.

  Up on the boat-deck, the south-west wind gusted more fiercely. Sheet metal boomed and the wire guys on the masts twanged. The Talavera was no longer merely a tilting floor but a live creature, meeting the challenge of the ocean with a steady purposefulness.

  “If I’d worn a hat, I’d have lost it in no time,” Daisy bawled, exhilarated.

  “It’s drier up here,” Alec bawled back. “Not much spray comes so high.”

  “I think it’s raining a bit. Mizzling.” She stuck out her tongue. Her lips were salty but the drops touching her tongue were not. “I must look like a drowned rat!”

  He grinned. “Not yet. Let’s see if Captain Dane will allow you onto his sacrosanct bridge.”

  Several determined exercisers were marching around the deck, some in full suits of oilskins, some in Burberries, macs, or overcoats, and tweed caps which only a miracle could possibly keep on their heads. As Alec and Daisy crossed to the bridge, the miracle blinked and a cap went cartwhee
ling between two life-boats and over the side. Its owner rushed to peer after it, as if he hoped there was some chance of retrieving it.

  Alec banged on the bridge door, and they were both invited in. Captain Dane was taking a watch below, leaving the first officer in charge. He agreed to station a man to sit with Denton.

  “But I hope it doesn’t mean you now think it was attempted murder, sir,” he said. “If so, the Captain won’t be happy, I can tell you.”

  “No, I still doubt it, but it’s an elementary precaution I ought to have seen to sooner. I suppose I ought to report my findings so far to Captain Dane when he’s next available.”

  “I’d wait till he sends for you, if I were you. He doesn’t really want to hear anymore about it unless he’s forced to.” He glanced at Daisy’s damp hair. “Let me lend you a couple of sou’westers before you step outside again.”

  Settling the yellow oilskin hat on her head as the door closed behind them, Daisy exclaimed indignantly, “Your findings!”

  “For the honour of Scotland Yard. If I end up having to write a report on this business for the Super, I’ll give you full credit.”

  “Better not. The A.C. might burst a blood vessel.”

  With the sou’wester folded back so that she could see out, the strap tightened under her chin, Daisy felt quite waterproof and ready to accompany Alec for a turn about the deck.

  “I do feel better in the fresh air,” he admitted. “The trouble is, now I dread going below.”

  “We’ll keep walking till you get your sea-legs,” Daisy said optimistically.

  They strolled aft along the port side, crossed to starboard, and started back. Here the superstructure protected them from some of the wind. Two or three people stood leaning against the railing. Daisy recognized the nearest, a familiar figure in his caped overcoat and fore-and-aft cap, with the ear-flaps down now. His back to them, Gotobed appeared to be sheltering his pipe in cupped hands.

  As they approached, he turned, saw them, and waved. Daisy veered towards him, but Alec held her back.

  “Just wave,” he said into her ear. “I don’t think I can cope with pipe smoke.”

  “Stay to windward, darling. Or do I mean leeward? I want to tell him about my visit to Wanda.”

  In the brief delay, a tall man who had been walking towards them went up to Gotobed, cigarette in hand, and said something. He was pretty well bundled up in a beige raincoat, blue muffler, and soft hat jammed down onto his head, but Daisy thought he looked like one of Wanda’s admirers. Both men turned towards the rail, backs to the wind, Gotobed reaching into his coat pocket.

  As he withdrew his hand, a cross-wave hit the Talavera. She plunged skittishly: “Tango-ing again,” squeaked Daisy as she lost her balance and scampered involuntarily forward, putting out both hands to catch the rail. Concentrating on not crashing into it, she caught a glimpse of Alec lurching past her, hand to mouth, while Gotobed and the other man did a sort of dance step around each other.

  And then the stage-door Johnnie spun round, slumped doubled up over the rail, and toppled over.

  10

  Appalled, Daisy saw the man plummet down the ship’s side and plunge head first into the turbulent water. A moment later, a life-belt landed beside him.

  “Man overboard!” Daisy shouted, but even if her voice had overcome the wind’s reverberation, no sailors were in sight.

  Alec was fully occupied in leaning over the rail, his shoulders heaving, so Gotobed must have thrown the belt. His broad face a mask of horrified shock, he watched it recede as the Talavera steamed on.

  “Have you seen him surface?” Daisy asked hurriedly.

  “Not yet. He were shot!”

  Daisy looked around. No man with a gun, but the two men who had been standing at the rail nearer the bows were running towards them. As far as she could see, no one was heading for the bridge.

  “I’ll stop the ship.” She pelted forward, burst into the tranquil bridge without knocking, and panted out, “Man overboard!”

  From the first mate down, everyone gaped at her. Even the man at the wheel turned his head and gasped, “Strewth, not another ’un!”

  The first mate quickly recovered his mental equilibrium. “Does he have a life-belt?” he snapped.

  “One was thrown, but he hadn’t come up when I left.” How long? she thought desperately. It had seemed like forever, but … “A minute, not more than two.”

  “Where did he fall?”

  “Left rear. I mean, port aft.”

  He flashed her a smile as he barked out orders which sent men running. Scanning the ocean, he reached for a speaking tube, but he addressed the helmsman. “Can you hold her if we lose all way?”

  “Not agin one o’ they cross-seas, sir.”

  “He’ll be beyond the screws’ turbulence by now.” More orders flew.

  Daisy felt the engines slow beneath her feet until their vibration was barely perceptible. Having set the rescue attempt in motion, she was superfluous. One of the orders she had understood was to wake the Captain, and she decided she’d rather be gone when he arrived. She slipped out. Aft, toiling sailors under the third mate’s command were already swinging a life-boat over the ship’s side.

  Alec still leant against the rail, hanging on to it in a white-knuckled grip. He was in need of distraction. What better to distract him than Gotobed’s extraordinary report that the man overboard had been shot?

  Gotobed and the other men had all left. Through blowing spume, Daisy saw a group which was probably them down on the promenade deck at the stern-rail. She thought she saw Gotobed’s distinctive hat among them, and she hoped he had got over the shock enough not to be blurting out his story to all and sundry, à la Brenda.

  Joining Alec, she said, “Darling, I have something to tell you. Let’s walk.”

  He turned his head, his eyes the same dull, leaden grey as sea and sky, focussed inward. “I daren’t leave the side.”

  “You feel better walking; you said so yourself. We shan’t be far from the side, and we’ll stay to leeward.” She had sorted out leeward and windward in her mind since last using the term. “This is important. Come along.”

  “What is it now?” he grunted irritably, yielding to her tug on his arm.

  She gave him a critical look. “I take it you saw the man fall overboard?”

  “I’m not blind.”

  “No, but your attention was definitely elsewhere. The thing is, Gotobed said he was shot.”

  “Shot! Great Scott, what next? I’m no more deaf than I’m blind, and I heard no shot. Did you?”

  “No, but it’s frightfully noisy out here.”

  “And I dare say the marksman could have used a silencer. But if the shot was inaudible, Gotobed couldn’t hear it either. And speaking of marksmen, how the deuce could anyone shoot straight on this corkscrewing deck? Another case of hysteria!”

  “No, but, darling, can you imagine anyone less hysterical than Gotobed? Though admittedly he was in a state of shock. So was I.”

  “There’s your answer then. Between shock and the din, you misheard him.”

  “I suppose I might have. Could he have said the chap was dotty? Maybe he threw himself over in a fit of madness?”

  “I don’t know, and frankly, just now I can’t bring myself to care. I’m going to lie down.”

  Disconsolate, Daisy watched Alec hurry down the forward companion-way and disappear. She turned back, heading for the group of men at the stern. Alec might not care at present, but someone ought to find out what Gotobed had really said, and why.

  A second life-boat was being lowered. On her way aft, Daisy stopped to see the first boat splash down. A ship’s boy was shouting something at its crew through a megaphone. The sailors below cast off the chains and started heaving on the oars. Daisy presumed the boy had given the third officer instructions as to which way to steer, but they must be pretty near guesswork. The chances of finding the missing man seemed minimal, even if he had surfaced and caught th
e belt.

  Contemplating the frail cockleshell as it crawled up the side of a wave, bobbing on the choppy water, Daisy only hoped she would never have to trust her life to one.

  She stopped again at the top of the aft companion-way. From there, a stretch of the ship’s wide, white wake was visible through the murk. An arc. The Talavera was turning. Daisy scanned the trough between the great rollers, but she could not pick out the life-belt.

  It was surely several waves back by now, but she leant forward a little, hanging on to the rail, as if the extra six inches might enable her to see more clearly.

  From the corner of her eye, she was suddenly aware of a swell approaching from quite the wrong direction. Before she could react, it hit. The Talavera lurched. If Daisy had not already been holding on tight, she would have pitched down the ladder-like steps head first.

  Breathing rather fast, her heart thumping, she picked her way carefully down.

  Gotobed was no longer with the dozen or so men at the rail. When she reached them, she noticed Chester Riddman. He had on a narrow-cut overcoat in blue, the latest in London fashions for men, and for once he was without his truculent, disgruntled air. In fact, he looked quite as “het up”—in the American idiom—as he had accused Brenda of being.

  The whole group had crossed to starboard to watch the first life-boat. Moving in the opposite direction from the Talavera , it was already some distance away. As the ship’s stern slid down into the trough, the boat disappeared over the crest of the next wave; but before it vanished Daisy saw that the third mate was standing up at the tiller, gazing back.

  She and several others looked to see what he was staring at so intently. A sailor had climbed high on the nearest mast and was making hand signals. Perhaps from his vantage point he could see the life-belt.

  “Perhaps they’ll find him after all,” someone said.

  Lowering her gaze, Daisy saw Gotobed coming down the companion-way. She went to meet him. He looked shaken still and uncharacteristically undecided.