To Davy Jones Below Read online

  “Mrs. Fletcher,” he said in his most formal English, “I was going to ask you to pay no heed to what I said in the heat of the moment. I had no business burdening a young lady with such a dreadful shock.”

  “But?”

  “But I have just been to the Captain to report what I saw, and he instructed me to inform Mr. Fletcher, who is, he gave me to understand, a police detective.”

  “Mr. Arbuckle didn’t tell you?” Daisy asked. “He spilled the beans to Captain Dane when Denton fell overboard and Lady Brenda claimed he’d been pushed.”

  “I feel a great deal more sympathy now with that young lady. Captain Dane actually told me to take my ‘imaginings’ to Fletcher.”

  “I suspect he’d have brushed you off altogether if you’d been a third-class passenger.”

  “Ee, lass, happen he would,” Gotobed sighed.

  Daisy seized her chance, not sorry to be distracted from the new disaster. “Mr. Gotobed, do you mind if I ask you a question that has been preying on my mind? Sometimes you speak perfect King’s English and sometimes broad Yorkshire. I think I’ve worked out at least partly what brings on the change, but I’ve been wondering whether it’s deliberate or just happens.”

  “Sometimes one, sometimes t‘ither,” Gotobed said with a smile. “When I made up my mind I was going to get on in t’world, I reckoned t’first thing to do was learn proper English. I were right chuffed to find I’ve a gift for it. I also found a great many gentlemen underestimated me when I spoke Yorkshire, so I’d use it in business negotiations, but not in situations where I wanted to be accepted as a gentleman.”

  “But then in situations where you feel at home, at ease with friends, you relapse.”

  “Ay, that I do, think on! Any road, t’next step were when I started looking into export markets for special steels. French and German come almost as easy to me as good English, and I have some Italian. It’s no bad thing to be able to speak to customers in their own lingo.”

  A halloo from the mast top made them both look up. The look-out was signalling again to the invisible life-boats, pointing over to starboard.

  “Surely that must mean he’s seen the man,” said Daisy hopefully.

  “Likely just the life-belt.” Gotobed had lost his cheerfulness. “I hope you can advise me, Mrs. Fletcher. As I said, Captain Dane wants me to report to your husband, but on my way to the bridge I saw you go to him and it seemed to me he’s—not well. In fact, I went round by the port side so as not to embarrass him.”

  “He’s feeling rotten, poor darling. As a matter of fact,” Daisy went on, no doubt with what Alec called her deceptively guileless look, “I’ve been involved with him in several of his cases. Why don’t you tell me what happened, and I’ll report to him?”

  Gotobed hesitated. “It’s not pretty.”

  “I’m no shrinking violet.”

  He gave her a hard look. “You didn’t get hysterics when the poor beggar fell,” he admitted. “In fact, you kept your head better than I did, off to the bridge right away for help. I ought to’ve caught him before he went over, but I were that flabbergasted.”

  “It’s a pity,” Daisy agreed, “but you’d just been rocked by that cross-wave, too, which was utterly disorienting. Anyway, it’s no good crying over spilt milk. What happened that made you think he’d been shot?”

  “You saw him come up to me? He asked for a light for his cigarette, which was right daft considering t’rain and wind. I were feeling in my pocket for matches, but, when yon big wave hit t’ship and rocked the both on us, I took my eyes off him for a moment, a split second, just. When I looked back, there was a gurt red patch on his shoulder and he was reeling round as if from a blow. I heard no shot, but if ’twere not a bullet as hit him, what it was I cannot guess.”

  Forcing herself not to dwell on the impact of a bullet on flesh, Daisy tried to conjure up alternative possibilities. “He couldn’t have brushed against wet paint? Or rust? And perhaps knocked his head against a davit, knocked himself silly?”

  “I’d not dare suggest rust to yon Captain,” Gotobed said dryly. “Nor was the colour rusty. Red paint—I don’t recall seeing any.”

  “A wet paint sign could easily have blown away.”

  “Aye, very true. And he might have knocked his head, though I’d have said he stepped away from the nearest davit towards me.”

  “I’d better go and look for rust and red paint anyway. Alec’s bound to ask about it when I report to him.”

  “I’ll come wi’ thee, lass.”

  Daisy went up the companion-way hand over hand on the railing. She noticed that Gotobed climbed with the vigour of a much younger man. In the transition from farm labourer to millionaire man of business, he had not let himself run to seed, and he retained the countryman’s sturdy indifference to the weather.

  The weather had changed abruptly, Daisy realized. It had stopped raining, and the wind had veered to the north, a steady blast with icy fingers that scrabbled through the interstices in her green tweed coat and pinched at her ears and nose. She shivered.

  At the top, they stopped to look back. The wake was still a long curve.

  “We’re steaming in a circle,” said Daisy. “It will play havoc with the mileage pools.” She turned to look towards what she guessed was the centre of the circle. As the Talavera crested a wave, she caught a glimpse of one of the life-boats. “Maybe they’ll find him. But if you’re right and he was shot, I shouldn’t think the blood would come through his coat so quickly unless an artery was hit.”

  “Aye, lass,” Gotobed said heavily. “I fear he’ll have bled to death long since if he didn’t drown first. I know what I saw.”

  “We’ll check for wet paint anyway.”

  The davits by which Gotobed and the victim had been standing were plain white, like all the rest, but for the bottom foot or so, which was green. Not a speck of rust was visible, not even around the bolt-heads. Daisy looked for blood on the deck, but either the man’s mac had absorbed it all, or any splashes had been washed away by the rain.

  She sighed. “I’d better go down and force Alec to take an interest,” she said. “If he wants to speak to you, I’ll send a steward.”

  “I’ll be up here, at least until the boats come back.”

  Down she went once more. Every cloud, even the cloud of murder, had a silver lining: At this rate, with the amount of exercise she was getting, she’d be able to eat anything put before her without gaining an ounce.

  Alec was curled up on his berth again. “What now?” he groaned.

  “Darling, it does look as if the man was shot.” Daisy recounted Gotobed’s description of what he had seen. “No red paint around, let alone wet red paint. I can’t see what other explanation there could be, can you?”

  “There’s a medical condition,” Alec said, frowning, “some sort of bubble in the wall of a blood vessel, which may burst at any time.”

  The concept did not seem to disturb his stomach any further, though it made Daisy feel slightly sick. “I suppose the shock of feeling it happen might have made him spin around,” she said doubtfully. “It’s an awful coincidence, though, two men falling overboard in such a short time span.”

  “It would be even more of a coincidence having two murderers aboard.”

  “Maybe there’s only one. Not that I can imagine what connection there could be between a Suffolk farmer and a stage-door Johnnie.”

  “A what? You know who the second victim is?”

  “No, not exactly,” Daisy said reluctantly. “Only, when he was walking towards us, I thought I recognized him as a man I’d seen talking to Wanda. She told me he was one of her admirers when she was on the stage. I promised not to tell anyone, in case Gotobed was upset by the reminder of her antecedents. I’m not sure it was him though. I couldn’t see much of his face between his hat and his scarf.”

  “A highly speculative identification,” Alec grunted. “But supposing it was him, you don’t know the fellow’s name, do you?
”

  “Haven’t the foggiest. Wanda didn’t go so far as to introduce him. In fact, he rather sloped off when he saw I’d noticed him with her. It seems to me, darling, that we can’t do much until we know who’s missing.”

  “We!”

  “Oh, spiffing, you’re going to get up and take over.”

  “I’m not stirring until the d … blasted ship stops shimmying. It’s up to Dane to find out who fell off his blasted ship this time, and you can tell him so from me.”

  “Right-oh,” said Daisy, with trepidation. “I’d better get it over with at once.”

  “Not in those words!” Alec called after her.

  11

  Captain Dane was already swollen with indignation because a second idiot had had the temerity to fall off his ship. “I should have banned passengers from the open decks and steered straight through the storm we avoided. And again we have these hysterical rumours of foul play,” he bellowed, glaring at Daisy as if she had either started the rumours or pushed the men overboard herself. “Where’s Fletcher? I was just about to send for him.”

  “I’m afraid he’s rather unwell.” Daisy was sure she was going to be blamed for Alec’s dereliction of duty, as well as the rest.

  But the Captain’s thin lips actually quirked. “Sea-sick, eh?” he said quite mildly, “and sent you, ma‘am, to make his excuses.”

  “Exactly.” Honesty was definitely not the best policy. The question was, would Dane prefer to deal with a put-upon little woman or a reasonably competent person, regardless of her sex? “I’ve told him what Mr. Gotobed saw …”

  “Claims to have seen,” roared Captain Dane. “Claims to have seen.”

  “I don’t think Mr. Gotobed is over-imaginative,” Daisy protested, dropping any pretense of meekness, “and he has no conceivable reason to make it up. I myself checked that there was no wet paint the victim might have brushed against.”

  “Victim? Victim of his own stupidity!”

  “Perhaps. Do you want this second incident investigated or not?”

  “Two of the blighters,” groaned the Captain. “On my ship!”

  “Off your ship.” Immediately recognizing such levity as unsuitable, if not downright hazardous, she hurried on, “I don’t think Alec has an absolute duty to investigate a possible crime just because he’s on the spot, but in the absence of any other officer of the law, he may have.”

  “On the Talavera, I am the law!” Captain Dane considered his bellicose statement in a moment of gloomy silence and unwillingly amended it. “I am the chief officer of the law. There’re company regulations and there’s maritime law … both English and American, if this wretched fellow turns out to be an American citizen.” He groaned again.

  “It sounds most frightfully complicated,” Daisy sympathized. “It seems to me the first thing is to find out who he is.”

  “Which will be easier if we fish him out, dead or alive, so may I suggest, ma’am, that you leave me in peace to direct the search.”

  Thus dismissed, Daisy decided she was free to go and enjoy the concert in the Grand Salon with a good conscience.

  Leaving the bridge, she saw that the group watching the rescue attempt had moved up to the boat-deck for a better view—though nothing was presently visible—and had grown to a small crowd. As Daisy crossed to the forward companionway, the Petries detached themselves from the others and hailed her.

  “I say, old bean, is it true another chappie’s been chucked overboard?”

  “Why ask me, Phil?”

  “Because if it’s true, Fletcher will be sleuthing it; and if I know you, which I have since you were bawling in your cradle, you’re in the thick of it.”

  “Alec’s flat on his back—well, curled up on his berth—and not sleuthing anything.”

  “So’s Poppa,” said Gloria sympathetically. “I guess we’re just plain lucky.”

  “But I can tell you this: The man who went overboard wasn’t pushed. I was there and I couldn’t have helped but see. So if that’s what people are saying, I hope you’ll tell them it’s absolute tommy-rot.”

  “Sure, won’t we, honey? Things could get real nasty if everyone thinks there’s a mad killer on board.”

  A mad killer on board? Daisy shuddered at the thought as she continued down to the Grand Salon. Yet Alec was right, two unconnected murders on the same voyage would be the wildest of coincidences. A mad killer, or a connection between Denton and the latest victim …

  There was no sense trying to pursue the latter possibility before they found out who the second man was. Captain Dane obviously wasn’t going to do anything about that question until the life-boats returned, with or without a body.

  Daisy turned into the Grand Salon, prepared to give her mind over to Schubert and Dvorak for the next couple of hours.

  The audience was decidedly sparse, but Miss Oliphant was just taking a seat in the third row. Daisy went to join her.

  She looked round with a smile. “Ah, Mrs. Fletcher, another lover of good music. We are a minority, I fear.”

  “Alec would be here if he wasn’t ill.”

  “The mint tea did not help? I’m sorry.”

  “It did seem to help, but only until a cross-wave spoilt the pattern of motion.”

  “I shall give you some ginger after the concert.” Miss Oliphant glanced back at the doors. “I thought I had persuaded Mr. Gotobed to come, but it seems he has run shy. He is not familiar with the works of the masters.”

  “I’m sure he would have kept his word if it wasn’t for the … the accident.”

  “He is hurt?” asked the witch in alarm, half starting up.

  “No, no, sorry, I shouldn’t have put it like that. You haven’t heard that another man fell overboard? He was speaking to Mr. Gotobed a moment before, so naturally Mr. Gotobed is watching anxiously to see if the life-boats have rescued him.”

  “Another! Oh dear, how very shocking.” Miss Oliphant turned with relief to the small stage. “Ah, here are our musicians.”

  Daisy was by no means a knowledgeable judge of musical performance. Her own musical training had progressed little beyond singing hymns in church and a few painful piano lessons, at the last of which her teacher had suggested she might like to try a different instrument.

  It was Michael who had introduced her to classical music. That never-to-be-forgotten summer, she had cycled into Worcester to meet him whenever her hospital job allowed, telling her mother she was going to work. The Three Choirs Festival was in abeyance for the War, but there were concerts both in Worcester and in Malvern. They had attended as many as could be crammed into their brief time together.

  She had discovered that Alec was a music-lover when she was given tickets to a concert and had boldly invited him to go with her. That murder in the Royal Albert Hall had ensued was not her fault, whatever he had insinuated at the time.

  Now she wished he was beside her as the Schubert E flat piano trio, poignant in its apparent simplicity, brought tears to her eyes. He was not only missing the music, he was wasting time they could have spent together, likely to be rare enough in his line of work. After the concert, she would go and pour ginger tea down his throat, by force if she had to.

  In the interval, she was reminded of the other reason she wanted Alec on his feet and thinking clearly, when Gotobed came in and sat down beside Miss Oliphant.

  “My dear sir,” Miss Oliphant said, “have you news of the unfortunate person sought by the life-boats?”

  He shook his head gravely. “They found the life-belt I threw out, but no sign of the young man. I understand they have given him up for lost.”

  The ship’s engines had resumed their steady throb, Daisy noted.

  It dawned on her that Gotobed was one person who might know who the missing man was. After all, they had spoken together, though briefly. How remiss of her not to have asked and of Alec not to have suggested it.

  Fortunately, the omission was easily remedied. “Mr. Gotobed, do you know who he wa
s?”

  “Nay, lass, he didn’t introduce himself, just asked for a light.” Gotobed frowned. “I think I’ve seen him about once or twice wi’ yon American, Lady Brenda’s young man.”

  His words jogged Daisy’s memory. That time when she saw Wanda’s two admirers, she had recognized one as one of Chester Riddman’s companions. Not a “highly speculative identification,” then—she could tell Alec that the second man overboard was almost certainly a stage-door Johnnie. What connection could he possibly have with Denton?

  “I took him for a card-sharp,” Gotobed interrupted her train of thought, “but I dare say I was mistaken.”

  “De mortuis nil nisi bonum,” said Miss Oliphant in a slightly reproving tone. “One ought not to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Madam, that is the only reason I suggested I might have been mistaken,” Gotobed said, with a rather sharkish grin, which made him look suddenly like a captain of industry instead of a kindly old gentleman.

  “Lady Brenda has confided in me that the young man has fallen into bad company,” Miss Oliphant admitted sadly. “Ah, here come our trio back again. I do hope you will stay to hear them play, Mr. Gotobed.”

  He stayed, and Daisy observed him beating time on his knee during the lively final movement. At the end, he applauded vigorously, then turned a beaming face to Miss Oliphant. “Ee, lass,” he began, then blushed and corrected himself. “I beg your pardon, Miss Oliphant. I was just going to say, it was grand. I’m right glad you talked me into coming.”

  Rather pink herself, Miss Oliphant murmured, “I am very glad you enjoyed it.”

  “I’m sorry Wanda missed it. Mrs. Fletcher, Baines tells me you were kind enough to visit my poor lass. I’ve been wanting to ask how you found her.”

  “I’d say she’s about the same as Alec, uncomfortable and unhappy but not desperately ill. She said Baines was doing all for her that could be done. But she wouldn’t take any mint tea, which did seem to do Alec some good.”

  “That’s a pity, but one can’t force it down her throat. Any road, I take it kindly of you, Miss Oliphant, to have offered your remedy.”