‘Edmund, what on earth’s the matter?’ she asked, growing angry. This was ridiculous. She had never seen anyone react like this before to an intimate moment. What on earth was wrong with him? Was he religious or something? ‘For heaven’s sake, we were only kissing,’ she said.
‘Yes, but I shouldn’t be kissing you,’ he insisted. ‘I’m not . . . you’re not my type,’ he said.
‘It didn’t seem like that to me. It felt like you were enjoying it.’
‘I was. I mean I wasn’t. I couldn’t. I’m—’ He stared around in bewilderment before stepping over her and striding off as he tried to get as far away from her as possible. ‘I’m sorry, Victoria,’ he said. ‘I have to go.’
‘But you can’t,’ she cried, growing angry at his foolishness. ‘We’ve only just begun. There’s no one around, no one can see us. I could make you very happy, Edmund,’ she purred, ‘if you’d just let me.’
‘I have to,’ he insisted. ‘I’m sorry.’ He turned so that she could not see his face and almost tripped over a coil of rope as he ran along the deck, his boots banging down sharply on the wood as he went.
Keeping almost perfect time with his footsteps, however, was Tom DuMarqué, who had heard and seen all that had happened and had been ready to leap over the lifeboat and beat Edmund to a pulp when he had broken free of Victoria and run for it. They’d left her behind now, however, and he wasn’t going to let him get away with it. As Edmund turned left in order to make for the central deck which led to the steps to the cabins, Tom intercepted him and jumped in his way.
Edmund stopped running in surprise when he saw him there, realized who it was and was about to run on; but the younger boy was too quick for him and grasped him by the throat, pushing him back along the deck until he had him pinned against the side of the wooden superstructure surrounding the first-class cabins.
‘Tom,’ Edmund squeaked, his words impeded by the boy’s hands cutting off his supply of air. ‘What are you—?’
‘You can’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Tom hissed. ‘I told you to keep your hands off her.’
‘I didn’t—’ he began, struggling to get the words out but failing to get any further.
Tom loosened his grip on Edmund’s throat but the presence of his body kept Edmund standing there, facing him.
‘Did you think I was joking when I gave you that warning? Did you?’ he asked, pulling his knife out of his pocket and opening it, waving the blade in the air in front of Edmund’s terrified face. ‘Well, now I’m going to teach you a lesson,’ he said. His right hand reached out between Edmund’s legs; his intention was to grip him by the testicles and hold him against the wall while he sliced open the small piece of skin at the base of the nose connecting the nostrils, a trick he had learned from an early reading of Tom Sawyer. Reaching out, however, his hands clutched at the space between the legs and, finding no purchase there, he searched further before realizing there was nothing to grab. Surprised, wondering what was wrong, he looked up into Edmund’s face, his eyes opening wider as his mouth fell open and his hand loosened on the knife for a moment, long enough for it to be ripped out of his hand and thrown across the deck.
Within a second, before he could realize what was happening, he was being dragged across the deck of the Montrose towards the railing. His feet scrabbled on the wooden deck beneath him, trying to find enough grip to stand up straight, but it was impossible and, before he knew it, his entire body was being forced backwards. He turned his head in terror to see the water rushing along below them, and he quickly turned away to stare imploringly into the face of Mr John Robinson, who had found an unexpected strength as he held the boy close to his death.
‘Please,’ Tom cried, almost unable to utter the words, so afraid was he that he was going to be thrown into the sea. ‘Please. I’m sorry . . .’
‘Sorry?’ Mr Robinson shouted, turning around to look at Edmund, who was sitting down now and nursing his throat, while coughing loudly. ‘I’ll show you how sorry you’ll be. You won’t do that again, I assure you.’
He reached down to grasp the seat of the boy’s pants, ready to lift him up and hoist him over the side, but now he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his rage and pulling him back towards sanity.
‘Let him go, Mr Robinson, please,’ Matthieu Zéla said anxiously. ‘Let him go. Let me deal with him.’
Spinning around, he saw Martha standing near by, a look of horror on her face, and he relented, turning back to Tom and pushing him across the deck instead towards his relative. ‘He was going to kill him,’ Mr Robinson said, looking at the boy’s uncle. ‘He held a knife to Edmund’s throat.’
Tom was shivering on the deck, bewildered by what had happened and newly terrified of the water again. ‘I’ll sort him out, don’t worry,’ Matthieu said, staring at his nephew with contempt. ‘He won’t bother either of you again.’
‘He’s not natural,’ Tom said, pointing at Edmund, who was trying to fight back the tears. ‘There’s something—’
‘Be quiet, boy,’ Matthieu said. ‘I’m sorry, Edmund,’ he added, looking across at him. ‘Let me apologize for him.’
‘It’s fine. I just want to go to my cabin,’ he whispered, his throat still sore from the boy’s hands. He ran down the steps with Martha following, leaving only Mr Robinson, Mr Zéla and Tom DuMarqué behind.
‘If you touch him again,’ Mr Robinson said, ‘I’ll cut both your hands off. And don’t think I won’t. Do you understand me?’ His voice was so clear and so intense that Tom had no option but to nod quickly. Matthieu’s eyes narrowed in surprise at the man’s strength. ‘Just as long as we understand each other,’ he added, before himself turning and walking away slowly.
‘You idiot,’ Matthieu muttered, lifting his nephew up off the deck. ‘You’re as bad as your father. What did you think you were doing?’
‘There’s something . . . that Edmund . . . he didn’t have any . . .’ He couldn’t seem to finish his sentences, his thoughts were so confused.
Matthieu took him by the elbow and led him back to the Presidential Suite in disgust.
And, just as Victoria had been watching Edmund, and Tom had been watching Victoria, from his perch in the wheelhouse Captain Kendall had watched and heard all of them, never intervening once, and he had been most pleased by the discovery that Tom DuMarqué had made, a discovery which only confirmed what he already knew to be true. Not long now, he thought to himself, smiling as he turned away.
Edmund ran into his cabin, ignoring the presence of Martha Hayes, who was following a few feet behind, and locked the door. He collapsed on the bed and buried his face in his hands, his head swimming from the alcohol. He kicked off his shoes like a child having a tantrum and ripped the wig from his head, throwing it across the room before shaking his natural hair out.
‘Edmund,’ Martha Hayes cried, knocking on the door, ‘please let me in.’
‘I just want to be left alone for a while,’ he cried.
‘Are you all right though? You’re not injured? He didn’t hurt you?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure? I can find a doctor for you if he did. You looked in great pain on deck.’
‘I’m fine. I’ll be fine,’ he said, correcting himself. ‘Please, just . . . just let me be for now.’
There was silence outside for a moment as Martha considered this. ‘Well, you know where I am if you need me,’ she said. ‘I want you to call me if you do.’ She felt sympathy towards him; it must have been humiliating for him to have been so overpowered by a fourteen-year-old boy, and it surprised her too. For although Edmund was small and slim, she had suspected that he had a wiry strength which would come to the fore in such a situation. Apparently not.
Alone now, Ethel burst into tears and felt as if they would never stop. The night had gone by so quickly and so eventfully that she could hardly bear to think about it. The fight with Tom was one thing, but the kissing with Victoria was another entirely. She wa
sn’t sure whether the girl had deliberately got her drunk or not, but, even if she had, Ethel had still kissed her. And enjoyed it. It was shocking. She couldn’t imagine how she would be able to look Victoria in the eyes the next time she saw her. She could imagine the supercilious smile she would be wearing, delighted that she had finally got her way with Edmund. Ethel wouldn’t tell Hawley, that was for sure. And then there had been that final moment when Tom’s suspicions about Edmund’s true gender had been raised. What would come of that? Would he say anything? Would he even be believed?
A key turned in the lock and Hawley opened the door a little, sidling into the room through a crack in case anyone outside should see Ethel in her true state. She looked up in fright for a moment, as if suspecting that this might be Tom DuMarqué coming back to finish the job, but was relieved to see that it was not.
‘Are you all right?’ Hawley asked anxiously, sitting down beside her on the bed and placing an arm around her shoulders. ‘What happened out there?’
‘I’m fine,’ Ethel replied, pulling herself together now and resisting the urge to collapse completely and break down in unending tears. ‘I was just a little shocked, that’s all.’
‘But what happened? Why did he attack you like that?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, lying. ‘I was sitting, talking to Victoria—’
‘Ah,’ he said angrily. ‘I might have known that little minx would be involved in this business somehow.’
‘It’s not her,’ Ethel said, defending her. ‘We were just talking. It was nice. And in the end I said I was coming back to my cabin. I was nearly here, too. That’s when he jumped on me.’
‘That awful boy,’ Hawley hissed. ‘I should have pushed him over the side.’
‘You couldn’t.’
‘I could have. I would have liked to see him drown for what he did to you.’
Ethel shook her head. ‘You could never kill anyone, no matter how angry you were,’ she said. ‘I know you, Hawley, and your nature would never stand for it. Remember, you’re a doctor. You’re in the business of saving lives, not taking them.’
He frowned and said nothing.
‘My throat hurts,’ Ethel said after a moment.
‘Let me see,’ he replied, examining her neck under the light. ‘It’s just a little bruising,’ he said. ‘You’ll be fine.’ He sniffed the air, surprised by the smell. ‘Have you been drinking?’ he asked.
‘Just a little champagne.’
‘A little? It smells like a lot to me.’
‘It wasn’t. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Something far more important has happened,’ she replied. ‘I think he knows.’
‘Who knows what?’
‘Tom. He knows that I’m not a boy at all. He knows I’m a girl.’
Hawley’s mouth dropped open in surprise. ‘He knows?’ he said. ‘You told him? Why?’
‘No, of course I didn’t tell him,’ she hissed. ‘But he held me against the wall and I don’t know what he was intending, but he reached between my legs and he was only there a moment before you pulled him off me, but nevertheless I could see it in his eyes.’
‘Surely not.’
‘Hawley, I’m telling you, he could tell.’
He stood up and paced the room, considering this new complication. ‘This is terrible,’ he said. ‘What if he tells his uncle?’
‘He might do. But I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘Tom DuMarqué’s whole trouble is that he is obsessed with Victoria Drake, who seems to be unable to keep her claws off me. That’s why he hates me so much. No, if he tells anyone, I believe it will be Victoria.’
‘Who will tell her mother.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Who will tell the whole ship.’
‘Indeed.’
‘But this is too bad. He has to be stopped.’
Ethel shrugged. ‘I don’t know how,’ she said. ‘He seems like an unstoppable force to me. I think he wants to get me, one way or the other. Especially now. Especially after tonight. He’ll be out for my blood.’
Hawley thought about it. ‘Maybe I should speak to Mr Zéla,’ he said. ‘Tell him there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.’
‘Do you think he’ll believe you?’
‘I don’t know. Would you?’
She considered it. ‘I think I’d take some convincing,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t think Mr Zéla has any motivation for hurting us. He doesn’t seem the sort. He acts like a gentleman and is very much a live-and-let-live sort. Not the type to pry into other people’s business. But even if he does, we have no one to blame but ourselves. This whole thing was wrong from the start. It was pointless, my dressing up like this.’ She grew more and more frustrated as she thought about it. ‘I mean, why couldn’t we have just travelled as husband and wife? Changed our names by all means, but this deception . . .’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later.’
‘I told you,’ said Hawley. ‘There are social mores to be considered. An unmarried man and woman would never be allowed to share a cabin as we have. We would have been shunned for the entire voyage. And as it is, we’ve had a rather pleasant trip, haven’t we?’
‘What, with the exception of my having to constantly fend off a man-eating girl and stop myself getting murdered by a teenage thug? Well yes, other than that it’s been a dream holiday.’
‘We couldn’t have avoided it. Think of the conventions.’
‘Oh, those stupid conventions,’ Ethel said angrily. ‘They’re infuriating.’
‘Nevertheless they are as they are. I’ve told you before, once we get to Canada we can return to our proper identities and all will be well. No one will care whether we are husband and wife or not there.’
Ethel sighed. ‘That’s all I want,’ she said quietly. ‘I just want us to be happy. Together.’
‘And we will be,’ he replied, sitting down beside her on the bed. ‘I promise you.’ They kissed and Hawley held her in his arms for a long time, comforting her, encouraging her, promising her that their new life would bring an end to the misery of recent times. Ethel wasn’t so sure. Canada was getting closer, but there were still a few days to go.
Some twenty feet away, in the Presidential Suite, Matthieu Zéla was having something of a set-to with his nephew Tom.
‘You stupid boy,’ he shouted. ‘You do realize that if I hadn’t been there, he would almost certainly have pushed you over the side?’
‘No, he wouldn’t,’ Tom said, feeling humiliated at having been overpowered. ‘I can look after myself.’
‘Not at the bottom of the ocean you can’t.’
‘I could have taken him.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Another moment, and he would have had you over. If I hadn’t come along, that would have been the end of you. Another pointless death in your family. You haven’t done anything recently that you shouldn’t, have you?’
Tom raised an eyebrow. ‘Such as?’
‘Are there any girls back in Antwerp that you’ve got a little too close to?’
He looked surprised, unsure why his uncle was asking him this. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand. What are you talking about?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Matthieu said gruffly, shaking his head. ‘It’s just that when I agreed to take care of you I assumed that you might have some measure of civility within you, that’s all. And what do I find? A roughneck child who gets so angry when he can’t have the girl he wants that he tries to slit the throat of someone who can.’
‘Listen to me, Uncle Matthieu,’ the boy said. ‘There’s something you should know.’
‘I know everything I need to know, believe me,’ he shouted. ‘And I promise you, Tom, that if this kind of behaviour continues in Canada, I will cut you off immediately. I have my own life to lead and I will not be dragged down by any of you DuMarqués, do you hear me? I’m too old to put up with dramas like this.’
/> ‘Yes, I hear you,’ he said calmly. ‘But will you please just listen to me for a moment? There’s something else I have to tell you.’
‘What? What else could there be?’
Tom thought for a moment and licked his lips, wondering how to phrase it so that it didn’t make him sound insane. ‘That Edmund,’ he said. ‘There’s something odd about him.’
‘Something odd? How do you mean?’
‘He’s . . . I can’t explain it. He doesn’t seem to have what everyone else has.’
Matthieu stared at him, wondering whether his nephew had discovered what he himself had observed days earlier; he was surprised if he had. ‘Meaning?’ he asked.
‘He doesn’t have any balls!’ Tom cried, standing up. ‘I swear it. I know it sounds weird, but there’s nothing between his legs at all!’
‘Listen to me, Tom,’ Matthieu said, laying a hand tightly on his shoulder. ‘People who go around poking their noses between other people’s legs uninvited often find nasty shocks awaiting them. Which is why it is impolite to do so.’
‘This isn’t a joke, Uncle Matthieu.’
‘I know that. But you can’t be certain.’
‘I am.’
Matthieu considered it. ‘Well, as it happens, so am I,’ he said finally in a quiet voice. ‘I worked that out days ago.’
‘You?’
‘Yes. I just didn’t feel the urge to say anything.’
‘Well, what happened to him? Did he have them chopped off?’
Matthieu laughed. ‘No, you foolish boy,’ he said. ‘He didn’t have them chopped off. He never had them in the first place.’
Tom frowned. He didn’t understand. ‘How could he not have—?’
‘He’s not a “he,” ’ said Matthieu. ‘He’s a “she.” Edmund Robinson is not a boy at all. Your competition for the hand of Victoria Drake comes from another girl.’
Tom’s eyes opened wider and his mouth fell open. He was surprised at feeling himself becoming aroused; the memory of the kiss between Victoria and Edmund earlier in the night came back to him.