The Transatlantic Conspiracy

  “Rosalind,” she said, her face twisted in concern, “I did not wake you, did I?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Rosalind took Alix by the hand and led her into the room. She smiled as best she could manage. “You look . . . tidy.”

  “Well, we must put on our brave faces, yes?” Alix said.

  “My face doesn’t feel very brave today.”

  “Nor mine,” Alix agreed. “But we must try. It will not do for us to be seen so upset when we are out in public. People would talk, more than they already will. And we cannot have gossiping about . . . about Cecily.”

  Rosalind nodded.

  “I suppose,” she said. “Though truly, I think I would prefer to stay here the entire trip.”

  “I would as well,” Alix said, her voice tinged with the same emotion that Rosalind felt. “But we cannot. It is not what Cecily would want. Now then,” she said, “why don’t you wash and dress, and I will get us some food.”

  “I’m not all that hungry . . .” Rosalind began.

  “Nor I,” Alix said. “But still, we must eat. Neither of us has had anything since last night. And that is not at all good for us. Starving will not bring Cecily back, nor will it find her killer.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Rosalind agreed.

  Before she could say anything more, there was another knock at the door, this time a loud pounding, far less subtle than Alix’s.

  “What now?” Rosalind wondered aloud, though she could guess. As suspected, she opened the door on Inspector Bauer. He stood in the corridor, hands behind his back, his face as dour as it had been the night before.

  “Good morning, Miss Wallace.” His tone was gruff.

  “Good morning, Inspector,” Rosalind replied. Though her words were cordial, she could not conceal the tone of What do you want? in her voice.

  “May I enter?” Bauer asked, motioning to the cabin.

  Rosalind frowned. “It would be highly irregular for me to allow strange men into my private rooms,” she said.

  Bauer smiled and said, “You needn’t worry. I am with the police.”

  “So I recall.”

  “The police your father invited aboard,” he clarified.

  After a moment’s thought, Rosalind stepped aside. The sooner he concluded his business, the sooner he would leave her alone.

  Bauer entered and closed the door behind him, but he remained just inside the threshold, keeping his distance. At least he had that much decency. “I have news regarding your poor departed friend,” he said.

  “You do?” Alix cried.

  “We have the murderer in custody,” Bauer said grimly.

  Rosalind shook her head a few times, wondering if she had heard correctly. “You . . . what?” she asked.

  “We have the man,” Bauer said, meeting her stare.

  “So quickly? How?” Rosalind wanted to feel relieved at the knowledge, but the swiftness of Bauer’s victory made her uneasy. It was too simple a thing. One night, and he had solved this terrible crime? Rosalind couldn’t accept that . . . until she reminded herself where they were. They were trapped under the sea; they were sealed off from the world. There were only a hundred passengers, and an equal number of crew members—and that meant there were only some two hundred possible suspects, most of whom could be dismissed immediately. No wonder he’d been so rude in his interrogation last night.

  “You speak as if you doubt the capabilities of the Hamburg Police,” Bauer said, not masking his offense. “We are very capable investigators, Miss Wallace. And it was not a difficult case.”

  “Who was responsible?” Alix asked hesitantly.

  Bauer reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a photograph. It was still damp, clearly developed within the past hour. He held it out to Rosalind for inspection. Though the image was a bit blurry, Rosalind spotted the mustache immediately.

  “Do you recognize this man?” Bauer asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Rosalind said. “He’s the man from yesterday.”

  “The one who was watching us,” Alix added.

  Bauer nodded. “As I thought. Rest assured he’s in safe custody. Once we arrive in America, he will be dealt with.”

  “What makes you so sure it was him?” Rosalind asked as Bauer turned to leave, tucking the photo back into his coat pocket.

  He scowled over his shoulder. “I deliver you the man, and now you question his guilt?” he asked. “Did you not tell me yourself that he stalked you and your friend yesterday?”

  “I apologize,” Rosalind said, keeping her voice steady. “And I am certainly pleased that he is under arrest, but that still doesn’t mean he committed the murder. I don’t want the guilty person going free just because this man is more convenient.”

  Bauer snorted. “I understand your thinking,” he said. “Why would someone murder an innocent young aristocrat? But have no doubt, Miss Wallace: we have the right man. It was robbery. He broke into your friend’s room, killed her, and stole her jewels. He’s a butcher from Bremen traveling on a Second Class ticket. He attempted to sneak into First Class yesterday. We reprimanded him and sent a cable back to the authorities to investigate, but learned too late that he is a thief who wishes to advantage himself at the expense of his betters. He will be punished for it. Do not fear.”

  Rosalind glanced at Alix, who’d collapsed on Rosalind’s bed. Alix’s head was in her hands. She was shaking with silent sobs. The story was becoming more far-fetched by the minute. But there was no point in arguing. Bauer wanted her to accept what he was saying. Why, she could not fathom, but everything told her that she was expected to agree with him and then leave well enough alone.

  She nodded slowly. “Of course, Inspector. As I think about it, it all makes a great deal of sense. Please do forgive me for being skeptical. I’m not really myself at the moment. You understand.”

  This seemed to placate him. Bauer smiled at her like a strict headmaster indulging an apologetic child. “I think under the circumstances you may be forgiven for such a lapse in judgment. You are grieving. Possibly hysterical.”

  “Utterly hysterical,” Rosalind replied flatly. “Thank you for informing me of these developments, Inspector. I am . . .” She glanced at Alix. “We are most grateful to you for having caught that horrible man before he hurt anyone else. Now if you wouldn’t mind . . .” She nodded toward the door.

  “Of course,” Bauer said. “And I need not tell you that it would be best not to speak of this to anyone on the train. Anyone. Gossip can be very dangerous. We do not want anyone to panic unnecessarily, thinking that they may be in danger. You understand, of course. And so you know, we have placed both bodies on ice. When we reach New York City, arrangements will be made to have them returned to England.”

  A lump lodged itself in Rosalind’s throat, making it very difficult for her to speak. He spoke of Cecily and Doris as if they’d been fish caught to bring to market. “Very sensible,” she managed, but her voice was strained. “Again, our thanks. But now I fear that I must ask you to leave.”

  Bauer nodded. He reached for the door handle.

  “Your friend had a brother, I believe,” he said, pausing.

  Rosalind felt her heartbeat quicken at the mention of Charles. How did Bauer know that? And why was he interested?

  “Yes, she did,” she replied, keeping her voice calm. “Why?”

  “Curiosity,” Bauer said. “And I believe I read that he was to join you on the journey.”

  “Yes, the papers did say that,” Rosalind answered. Hadn’t they?

  “And did he? Is he with you on the train?”

  What an absurd question, Rosalind thought. Aloud, she replied, “No, he certainly did not. And I’ve been dreading to think how he will take this news. No doubt he will blame himself for not coming with us.”

  Bauer grunted. “Well, then. Th
ank you for your time and for your discretion. I am sorry for your loss. Good day, Fräulein Wallace.”

  “Good day, Inspector,” Rosalind replied.

  Only after the door had closed behind him and the faint sound of his footsteps had faded did Rosalind shriek with frustration. She clenched her hands into fists. Until now, she had been overwhelmed with sorrow. Now that sorrow had been replaced with rage. She paced the room furiously.

  “What is it, Rosalind?” Alix asked from the bed, a little hesitantly.

  “Alix, may I be candid with you?” Rosalind asked.

  “Of course,” Alix said. “Cecily was my dear friend, as she was yours. I would like to believe that you can speak to me as you would to her . . .” Alix looked up at Rosalind and suddenly she seemed so very lost and forlorn, afraid and alone. Rosalind knew exactly how she felt. They were both outsiders now. Cecily had been the strongest source of companionship for both of them, and now she was gone.

  Without thinking, Rosalind rushed to the bed and hugged Alix tightly. Alix clung to her, sobbing softly into her shoulder. After a few moments, Rosalind withdrew.

  “I am . . . I am sorry,” Alix said, wiping her eyes with her fingertips. She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her face in an effort to undo the damage. “I thought I was more composed than this.”

  Rosalind placed her hands on Alix’s shoulders and tried her best to smile reassuringly. “Don’t apologize,” she said. “You are upset. I am upset. And we have a right to be.”

  Alix nodded a little. “So, what do you wish to be candid about?” she said hoarsely.

  “About Cecily’s death,” Rosalind said. “Alix, I am quite certain that the police have the wrong man.”

  “What?” Alix gasped.

  “Or even if he is the right one, they have no idea of his actual motive.”

  “You don’t believe it was robbery?” Alix asked.

  Rosalind shook her head. “No,” she said, “it wasn’t robbery. Cecily’s jewels were still all there on the table. I remember seeing them. Not much of a robbery if nothing’s stolen, is it?”

  “I suppose not,” Alix said softly. “Perhaps he was too afraid to take anything?”

  “Too afraid to steal but courageous enough to kill?” Rosalind countered. “Perhaps, but I don’t think so. Why didn’t he just flee the moment he realized there were people in the room? Lord knows, he’d probably have gotten away unidentified.”

  “But . . . a thief . . . a criminal . . . Would such a man be thinking clearly?” Alix stammered.

  “I don’t think such a man would have broken into the room at all,” Rosalind replied. “A butcher trying to sneak into First Class? And then robbing the rich to feed his criminal inclinations? I think Inspector Bauer has a rather dim view of the lower classes, Alix.”

  Rosalind stood again and resumed pacing back and forth. She often did this when agitated; it was yet another one of those dreadful habits Mother always reminded her about when company came to visit. But if Alix were irritated or took offense, she gave no indication. Instead she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap, attentive.

  “The man did not seem like he had good intentions when we first encountered him,” Alix pointed out. “You yourself were frightened.”

  “I agree; he seemed dreadful. But he also seemed like an abject coward. Unnerved when confronted by the three girls he was following? Erich and Jacob’s arrival may have confirmed it, but he was ready to run before that. I think that hatpin was what did the trick.”

  Alix managed a sad smile. “It’s a good hatpin,” she said.

  “Right, but I can’t imagine he would break into someone’s compartment and then kill two people upon discovery,” Rosalind said. “So either it wasn’t him, or else he had quite a different purpose than theft.”

  “And also, I suppose now would be a foolish time to stage a robbery,” Alix noted.

  Rosalind paused and stood still. “How do you mean?”

  “Well . . . the second day of the journey?” Alix shook her head. “If the man were a thief, if he had more courage and cleverness than we are giving him credit for, then he would also have better sense. He’d wait until the last day. Wait until we are pulling into the station. The police might never catch him then. But if he committed a crime last night? The entire train would be in an uproar over the theft. Baggage searched, rooms examined.”

  Rosalind nodded slowly. Alix was absolutely right about that. “He would have no place to run to,” she said. “A whole week left before landfall. He’d be discovered for sure. What could he have been thinking? That he would escape in a submarine? It’s ridiculous.”

  Alix looked down at her hands, her lips twisting into a narrow frown. After a while, she looked up at Rosalind. “So you think Cecily was killed . . . for another reason?”

  Rosalind nodded. She disliked the very notion, but there it was. “As unthinkable as it is, it’s far more plausible than the idea that someone would kill her simply for the sake of robbing her when they had no hope of escape for five days.”

  “Who would want to do such a thing?” Alix asked. “And why? Cecily was the kindest, gentlest person in the world.”

  “I know,” Rosalind said. “Mistaken identity, perhaps? Someone else was the intended victim, but the killer got the wrong room?”

  “But as with robbery, why not wait until the end of the journey?” Alix asked.

  “I . . . I don’t know.” Rosalind sighed and pressed her palms against her temples. This was going to get them nowhere, and in the meantime she would drive herself mad with questions and uncertainty. “There must be a reason.”

  Alix stood and quickly took Rosalind’s hands in hers. “We will find the answer. Please don’t do yourself harm trying to unravel it all.”

  Rosalind took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Of course.”

  “Now, I am going to reserve a table for some late breakfast,” Alix said. “I think it is very important that you and I try to act as normal as possible while we are trapped down here, yes?”

  “Yes, you are right, Alix,” Rosalind agreed, taking another deep breath. “Normalcy. We should set a routine and follow it. Though I don’t know how much I can bear being around people.”

  “We will try a little bit at a time, ja?” Alix said. “I do hope that I am not included in ‘people.’ ” She looked away, the cloud of sorrow again haunting her face. “I don’t think I want to be alone right now.”

  Rosalind reached out to give Alix’s hand a firm squeeze. “You’re certainly not ‘people,’ Alix,” she said. “You’re a friend. And while I don’t think I can bear a crowd for very long, I don’t want to be alone, either.”

  Chapter Twelve

  While Rosalind was relieved to spend the day entirely in Alix’s company, she couldn’t help but dwell on dark thoughts, regrets, and guilt. She found herself reliving the events of the previous night, questioning whether Cecily’s murder had been avoidable. If it was somehow her fault. If she had only gone to check on her friend . . . If she had only stopped by on her way to the ball . . . If she had only . . .

  After eating, they ensconced themselves in a corner of the Red Parlor. As they settled into the plush armchairs, the speakers in the room crackled to life with a loud whistle. Rosalind immediately tensed. She exchanged a nervous look with Alix. Was the captain going to mention what had happened? Surely, no . . . A double murder would be cause to panic.

  As always, the captain’s tinny announcement came first in German and then in English. “Good day, ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain speaking. We hope that you are enjoying your journey after last night’s festivities. Today we are entirely at sea and tomorrow we will stop for the evening at the Neptune Station, in the middle of the Atlantic.”

  Rosalind sighed. “Just when I thought that a walk might do me some good,” she joked gr
imly.

  “You sound like Cecily,” Alix said. She chuckled softly, but then the two of them looked away and fell silent. The captain was babbling in German again. Suddenly Alix started glaring at the nearest speaker. “Of all the . . .” she muttered.

  “What is it?” Rosalind asked.

  Alix held up a hand for silence. But Rosalind did not have to wait long for her answer, for the captain began repeating the latest portion of his message in English:

  “Now, you may have heard some rumors regarding an unfortunate incident that took place onboard the train last night. I shall not go into details. Rest assured that everything is under control and there is no cause for concern. Please disregard any gossip you may hear regarding the matter. I would caution you all against idle speculation. Do not disturb your neighbors with unfounded rumors. Thank you, that is all.”

  Rosalind felt her cheeks burning with anger. So that was his strategy for quelling panic. She couldn’t believe it. Idle speculation? Rumors? Gossip? He’d just engaged in all three. Worse, he was treating Cecily’s death like it hadn’t even happened.

  “They don’t want anyone finding out,” Alix said.

  “Of course they don’t,” Rosalind hissed. “More to the point, they don’t want all the passengers demanding that they reverse course, return to Hamburg, and give them their money back.”

  “I suppose they would.” Alix nodded with understanding.

  “I certainly would,” Rosalind said.

  “Shouldn’t we tell someone?” Alix asked. “People deserve to know.”

  Rosalind nodded, looking off across the room. Her eyes came to rest on a man reading a newspaper at one of the nearby tables. He glanced in her direction, but when he realized that he had been seen, he quickly buried his nose back in his paper. But Rosalind recognized him. He had been with Bauer the night before. And he had been in the library car that first evening, pretending to be the librarian. Only he wasn’t a librarian. He was one of Bauer’s henchmen.