‘Perhaps not. But sixteen hundred murders . . . ?’
‘I must protest, Captain Taylor. And I’d like it entered in the ship’s log.’
The fellow had been reading too many gothic novels, Taylor could tell. Nevertheless, he agreed to do as he was asked, and the man went away, still unhappy but appeased for the moment. Despite the varying degrees of excitement and horror at what lay ahead, no one would be able to prevent the Laurentic from pursuing her current course, and on the afternoon of the twenty-seventh, hundreds of passengers gathered on the deck of the ship, lining the railings for their first sight of the Montrose, filled with a mixture of fear and excitement.
‘Do you think this is wise?’ Captain Taylor asked the inspector as they stood in the wheelhouse, taking turns to look through a set of binoculars at the sea ahead. ‘I could always confine the passengers to their cabins if you preferred.’
‘That would look worse,’ Dew said. ‘We would then seem like a ghost ship to anyone looking across at us. No, as it is they will simply think our passengers are waving to them. It’s not as if anyone on the Montrose will be able to hear anything across the waves.’
‘No,’ said the captain, ‘that’s true. And you’re absolutely sure you don’t want us to lower a boat for you to go across to them?’
‘Absolutely sure. I’ll wait until they’re just short of land,’ he said. ‘The less intrusion on the Montrose for the moment, the better. I don’t trust this fellow Crippen. He’s capable of anything. There might be panic on board if they knew who he was.’
A seaman approached the captain with a pile of papers. ‘Captain,’ he said, holding them aloft. ‘Through on the Marconi over the last hour. Seems like every newspaper in the world wants to know what’s going on. And they all want to speak with you, Inspector.’
Dew smiled, enjoying the sensation of celebrity. ‘I’ll wait until we’ve passed them by,’ he said. ‘Then, Captain, perhaps you would assign a wireless operator to me and I could relay some messages back to the newspapers. And to the Yard, of course.’
‘Certainly, certainly,’ he said gruffly, before tapping the inspector’s shoulder and pointing into the distance. ‘Look,’ he said quietly, a sense of dread and horror unexpectedly filling him now. ‘There she is. The SS Montrose.’
A cheer, interspersed with some hysterical screams, was heard from the deck of the Laurentic as more and more passengers began to spot the other ship. Captain Taylor intended bringing his ship a little closer before passing the other by, and he gave instructions to his helmsman as to the course to take.
‘Well, Inspector,’ he said, passing the binoculars across to him. ‘You still think he’s on board?’
‘He’d better be,’ said Dew, ‘or I might as well throw myself in the ocean right now, rather than return to London. I’d be a laughing stock the world over.’
The passengers enjoying the morning sunshine on the deck of the Montrose were surprised to see the other ship on the horizon. ‘Look, Mr Robinson,’ Martha Hayes said, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand as the Laurentic began to come closer. ‘It’s another ship. What a surprise.’
‘Another ship?’ he asked, waking from his doze and looking out to sea. ‘Impossible.’
‘It is. Take a look.’
He squinted in the sunlight and realized she was right. ‘Heavens,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised it’s travelling so near to our path. You wouldn’t expect to see another boat out here in the middle of the ocean. Still, I suppose these transatlantic crossings are becoming more and more numerous these days.’
‘Indeed,’ she said. Quite a few of their fellow-passengers began to gather along the railings as news of the Laurentic began to spread, and soon the deck was a mirror image of that on board the other ship. After more than a week at sea, it was a diversion for the passengers to see other signs of life, and they waved their handkerchiefs in the air and shouted greetings, although not a word they said could possibly be heard across the rush of the waves and the noise of the engines.
‘It must be a faster ship than ours,’ said Mr Robinson, considering it. ‘After all, it’s been behind us all this way and looks as if it’s about to pass us by now. It will probably make Canada a day or two before us.’
‘Lucky them,’ she said, considering it. ‘I can’t wait to set foot on land again, Mr Robinson. Can you?’
He said he agreed with her, but secretly he had begun to enjoy life on board the Montrose. There was a simple schedule to his days here and no question of trouble. He and Edmund had managed to spend many happy moments together and, despite the events of the previous evening when he had nearly tossed Tom DuMarqué overboard, all in all it had been quite a pleasant voyage. He didn’t know what future Canada held for him. With two wives behind him, he had begun to question whether he was even the marrying sort after all, although (unlike either Charlotte or Cora) he believed that Ethel was in love with him.
‘Look at all the people on deck,’ Martha Hayes said, surprised to see the hundreds of people gathered at the railings, waving to them. ‘Don’t they have enough cabin space?’
Mr Robinson narrowed his eyes and thought about this. ‘They must be even more bored than the people here are,’ he said. ‘Any sign of new life has brought them all out. I don’t like being watched like this. It makes me feel as if I’m on a stage.’
‘They seem very excited, don’t they?’ she asked.
‘Can you see him?’ asked Captain Taylor. ‘Can you make him out on deck?’
‘No,’ said Inspector Dew, staring through the binoculars and shaking his head. ‘No, I can’t, but I didn’t expect to, really. It would be hoping for too much. There are too many people on board.’
‘That’s close enough, helmsman,’ Taylor shouted. ‘Keep her steady and straight ahead.’
‘I’ll wait for my moment,’ Dew said, nodding. ‘He’s on there somewhere. I can sense it. He won’t escape me. I’ll catch him yet.’
* * *
‘I’ve never seen such excitement,’ said Martha Hayes, marvelling at the bodies jumping up and down and behaving as though they had never ever seen anyone else before. She noticed that quite a few of them appeared to be making hanging motions with their hands, stretching their necks and lolling their tongues out of their mouths as if suspended at the end of a noose. ‘The oddest thing,’ she said. ‘They look like a ship full of lunatics, if you ask me. Have you seen this?’
‘The sea has made them all mad,’ said Mr Robinson, settling back in his deckchair and closing his eyes to return to his doze. ‘The best thing to do is to ignore them. They’re like animals in a zoo. The more attention you pay them, the more outrageous their behaviour will become.’
‘Hmm,’ Martha Hayes said, unconvinced. ‘It’s most peculiar, though. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about them, my dear,’ he replied. ‘They’ll pass us by and that’ll be the last we’ll see of them. Now, do you suppose one of the cabin crew could bring us some drinks?’
Captain Henry Kendall watched the passing of the Laurentic from the wheel-house with First Officer Billy Carter by his side. Steering the Montrose was Crewman Mark Dawson, who had been a regular sailor for fifteen years with the Canadian Pacific fleet and had applied for promotion on eight occasions, each time having been rejected. This had made him somewhat bitter towards authority, and he resented Carter particularly for taking over the ill Mr Sorenson’s position which, he believed, should rightfully have been his. Most days of their voyage he had maintained a sullen silence in the navigation room, refusing to speak to his immediate superior in any other than a series of grunts. Today, however, was a different matter, for he was more than aware that it was peculiar for two ships to pass so close to each other during a transatlantic crossing unless there was a very particular reason for it. The sea was a wide and empty space, and each vessel was given specific routes to follow in order to avoid collisions. Both the Montrose and the Laurentic had veere
d off their natural course and he wanted to know the reason why.
‘Can’t be right, sir, can it?’ he asked, turning around to face Captain Kendall, rather than the first officer. ‘Why do you suppose she’s steering so close to us?’
‘I have no idea, Dawson,’ Kendall said, disdaining to confide in him. ‘But I shouldn’t worry about it; they’re maintaining their distance. It’s not as if we were going to collide. Just keep her steady, and things will be fine.’
‘But maybe they’re trying to get a message to us,’ Dawson objected, fishing for information. ‘Do you think we should check the Marconi?’
‘Just steer the ship, crewman,’ Billy Carter said irritably. ‘And less of your questions.’
Dawson gave him a killer look that suggested he would like to string the younger man up, but he pressed his lips together and turned away from them both instead. After a suitable pause, the captain touched Carter’s arm and indicated that he should follow him back to the wireless room.
Locking the door behind them as they entered, Kendall looked at the machine hopefully, but there was still no message from the hospital about the condition of Mr Sorenson. The captain had had a dream the night before that his former first officer had died, alone, in his bed and that he was being buried without a single friend to attend the funeral. He’d woken up shortly before six o’clock that morning, tears streaming down his face, his sheets damp with perspiration, his mouth dry and head aching. Why don’t they send a message? he asked himself. He himself had sent seven.
‘Inspector Dew contacted me earlier on the telegraph,’ he said, sitting down and indicating that Carter should do the same. ‘He’s going straight on to Quebec, so the Laurentic can dock there and disembark her passengers.’
‘Right,’ said Carter. ‘And he’s going to be waiting for us when we arrive?’
‘I think so,’ the other said. ‘Although he seems a little concerned about the crowds.’
Carter raised an eyebrow. ‘Crowds?’ he asked. ‘What crowds?’
‘Apparently we’re front-page news all over the world.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘Well, this Crippen story was already big news when we set sail from Antwerp. The manhunt was getting larger. Once the inspector boarded the Laurentic, it seems that every newspaper in the world has been following us. You must have noticed the crowds on deck as they passed us by?’
‘I did, as it happens,’ Carter admitted. ‘But I thought they were just excited to see another ship. Like our passengers were. Some people find the sea quite isolating.’
‘I suspect it was more than that. We’ve done a pretty good job of keeping this information to ourselves, but that will have to change soon. I think we’ll need to tell the other officers before we dock in Canada.’
‘Right.’
‘Just so they can be prepared for the reception committee.’
‘Of course. Do you want me to take care of that?’
‘If you would.’
Silence reigned between them for a few moments. In recent days their relationship had improved somewhat. The older man had grown resigned to the loss of Mr Sorenson and the prospect of Mr Carter being more or less a permanent fixture on board the Montrose for some years to come. Although this was not an idea that pleased him particularly, he had little choice but to make the best of the situation. His had always been a happy ship and that must not change. Also, he had entrusted Carter with his beliefs about Mr John Robinson and his supposed son, and he had not been mocked for them. On the contrary, Carter seemed to have gained some respect for him. The first officer had also proved that he could be trusted, as so far there had been no leaks to either the crew or the passengers. But did he play chess? This was the important factor. Would he be prepared to stay up late at night with him? Could they ever have as intimate a friendship as the one he had enjoyed with Mr Sorenson?
‘I want you to know, Mr Carter,’ Kendall said, finally finding his voice but unable to look the younger man in the eye, ‘that I think you’ve done a fine job on this voyage. Under somewhat difficult circumstances.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, surprised.
‘I’m aware that we didn’t get off to the best start, but your work has impressed me since then. And I’m not a man who lets these things pass by unacknowledged.’
‘Kind of you to say so, sir, but really there’s no need. I know it can be difficult having a trusted colleague replaced by a newcomer.’
‘Yes,’ the captain muttered, wanting to point out that he hadn’t replaced him as such, he had merely filled in during an illness.
‘Any word on Mr Sorenson yet, sir?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘However, you will doubtless be looking forward to returning to your wife,’ he added, feeling that a friendly comment was required in return.
Carter’s face burst into a wide smile at the mention of her. ‘Yes, I was hoping to catch the third of August ship back to Europe, sir, if that’s convenient. Now that we’re definitely going to be there on time, I mean.’
‘That’s fine, yes.’
‘I should be back a month or so before the kid arrives, but it’s best to be on the safe side.’
Kendall stood up, unwilling to pursue this topic any longer; family life interested him no more than it did Inspector Dew. They were both men whose careers were the only thing of importance to them. ‘Don’t tell the crew till tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘That should give them enough time to get used to the idea before we reach Canada. And make sure they know that they mustn’t tell any of the passengers or there’ll be pandemonium. If this gets out, I’ll track down whoever it was, and they’ll never sail with the Canadian Pacific fleet again.’
‘Understood, sir,’ said Carter, standing up and making for the door. He was pleased that the captain had finally offered him some sort of olive branch, for he had made every effort to live up to the man’s exacting standards ever since he had come on board. It was hardly his fault that Mr Sorenson’s appendix had exploded. ‘You never can tell, sir, can you?’ he said, turning around to look at him before he left.
‘What’s that?’
‘I said, you never can tell. About people. The types they are. I mean, that Mr Robinson, well, he looks as if he wouldn’t say boo to a goose. And as for Edmund . . . I mean, in the right light she really does look like a boy. Put a man’s coat and hat on her and you’d be completely convinced she was a man. Do you suppose she knows what he did?’
Kendall shrugged. ‘Hard to tell,’ he said. ‘If she does, she’s a worse fool for staying with him. What kind of woman would want to stay with someone who chopped his last wife up? She’d be afraid to look at him in the wrong way in case he got the knives out. And if she doesn’t know, then she could be in danger too. You’re still keeping a close eye on them both, I hope.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Well, only a couple of days to go. Then we’ll know the truth for sure.’
He turned away from the first officer, who took this as his cue to leave. Alone in the room, Kendall stared at the Marconi machine and willed it into life. Send a message, he thought. Anything at all. Just send a message.
Having sat in his deckchair all that morning, Mr Robinson returned to his cabin to wash before lunch, feeling a little sick inside. The skin on his face felt rough and dry because he had sat in the sun for too long that day, and he resolved to stay indoors for the rest of the afternoon. He had a brief wash and changed his shirt, and he was about to leave the cabin to meet Edmund in the dining hall when a sharp knock on the door distracted him. He stared at it in surprise. This was not the deferential tap of a member of the crew or a steward, passing on a note from Edmund or a piece of information about the passage. Nor was it the urgent rap of the steerage children who regularly played tricks on the first-class passengers by knocking on their doors and then running away, screaming with delight. This was something more serious. This was a policeman’s knock, the sound of someone who wil
l ram the door down if it is not opened immediately. Hoping for the best, he opened it nervously and was surprised to see Mrs Antoinette Drake standing in front of him, her hand raised to knock again, her knuckles white as she clenched her fist, her cheeks startlingly red.
‘Mrs Drake,’ he said. ‘What can I—?’
‘Mr Robinson,’ she announced, pushing past him and entering the cabin. ‘I need to speak to you immediately. Please shut the door.’
He stared at her in surprise. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said.
‘Mr Robinson, I think you should shut the door or you will allow every passenger on this boat to hear what I have to say. And let me assure you that you do not want that to happen.’
Intimidated by her abrupt rudeness, he closed the door and remained standing by it. ‘Would you like to sit down?’ he asked.
‘I’d rather stand.’
She didn’t seem to be in any hurry to tell him what was on her mind, and they stood there for the best part of a minute, sizing one another up, each waiting for the other to speak.
‘Mr Robinson,’ she said finally, her voice betraying only slight nervousness. ‘I realize that I am a woman travelling alone without her husband, but let me assure you that this does not make me a target for insults and abuse.’
‘Of course not,’ he said, still no wiser as to what she was referring to.
‘And let me further assure you that, if Mr Drake was here, it would be he who was standing before you now, and not I. And the question of violence might even be raised. Mr Drake was a junior boxing champion when he was a younger man, you know. And he’s still handy with his dukes,’ she added, leaning forward, her eyes popping, her vocabulary betraying the fact that she had been brought up in the East End of London before marriage forced her to fictionalize her past.
‘Mrs Drake, I’m not sure what has happened, but—’
‘Have the decency to allow me to finish, sir,’ she said, raising one palm in the air to silence him. ‘I will have my say, and then you may offer whatever apology you like, but I warn you, the matter may yet be referred to the captain.’