Decline in Prophets (5 page)

“What, in God’s name, would you be having on your forehead, son?”

“My principles,” Milton replied coldly.

“Oh God,” Clyde groaned audibly.

Hanrahan inhaled. He reddened. “Mannix warned me I’d be finding your kind in the colony!” he said, none too quietly. “Captain, it seems it is not sufficient that you
allow black heathens aboard, but now you’ll be seating men of the true Church with Lenin’s godless spawn and a Jezebel…”

The Hickman girls twittered at the last.

“Now, Your Grace…,” began Madding.

“I will not be breaking bread in such company!” The bishop stood, sending his chair clattering behind him. He glared at Milton, who winked in return.

“You, sir,” Hanrahan’s finger shook with rage as he pointed at the long-haired poet, “are an abomination, an affront!”

He stalked out of the dining room. Father Murphy got up reluctantly, muttered a hasty apology, and followed. They all looked expectantly at Father Bryan. He glanced at Edna, and continued to eat
his soup.

“Well, that went well,” Rowland said as he too returned to his meal. Captain Madding grunted. It took several minutes for the muted shock in the dining room to dissipate.

They dealt with the remaining awkwardness by ignoring it. Indeed the first course was not yet finished before Milton was thrilling the Hickman girls with tales of the savage Australian outback.
He paraphrased shamelessly from the work of Paterson, passing off verse as his personal experience. Of course, the Hickmans were American and oblivious to the Australian balladeer. To them, Milton
Isaacs cut a rugged, romantic figure.

Clyde snorted occasionally, but otherwise did nothing to shatter the illusion. Edna was busy bewitching Father Bryan. Rowland found himself talking with Captain Madding. Initially, neither
mentioned Orville Urquhart, though at times it almost seemed he was sitting between them.

Unexpectedly, considering the circumstances, both found the other good company. Rowland suspected that Godfrey Madding was interrogating him, but he did not particularly object. He had nothing
to hide, and he was curious as to how his walking stick finished up in Urquhart’s neck.

“So, you are not a Theosophist?” Madding asked.

“No.”

“But you don’t object to them?”

“We Protestants don’t get quite so worked up as the good bishop.”

Madding stroked his short naval beard. “Yes, His Grace is rather direct.”

“Eloquent, though,” Rowland said on reflection.

“You knew Urquhart?” Madding asked, lowering his voice.

“Not well. He had been pursuing Miss Higgins since we came on board.”

“And did that offend you?”

Rowland glanced up at Edna who was laughing—an unrestrained bubbling giggle, completely inelegant, entirely uninhibited. “Not at all,” he said. “You’d have to be
dead not to pursue Miss Higgins.” He stopped, realising what he’d just said. He smiled ruefully. “That was probably unfortunately put.”

Madding nodded. “Quite.”

“What I meant to say,” Rowland explained, “is that Miss Higgins has many admirers. My issue with Mr. Urquhart is that he chose to press his admiration without consent. If she
welcomed his attentions, he and I would have had no quarrel.”

“You broke his nose, Mr. Sinclair.”

“And settled the matter.”

Madding sighed. “I am inclined to take you at your word, sir, but no other candidate presents and this is my ship.”

Rowland nodded. He could see Madding’s dilemma. “I shall speak to Mrs. Besant, if you like,” he offered. “She may know more of Urquhart’s
background…”

“I would rather you didn’t tell her that Urquhart was murdered,” Madding said, frowning. “The last thing we need is for the passengers to panic.”

Rowland smiled. “Mrs. Besant is clairvoyant,” he said. “Urquhart’s probably having dinner with her now.”

“You believe that infernal nonsense?”

“I believe Mrs. Besant is rather astute and extremely perceptive. I doubt, very much, that she’ll believe Urquhart slipped and hit his head.”

Madding thought for a moment. “Very well,” he said finally. “It may help to know more about Urquhart. I’ve radioed New York and London—there are all manner of
jurisdictional problems on top of everything else.”

“Do you know where he went after he left the infirmary?” Rowland asked.

The captain shook his head. “According to Yates, he was feeling rather sorry for himself.”

“I’ve been thinking about my stick—where I left it,” Rowland said thoughtfully. “I had it as I went out onto the promenade… Clyde—Mr. Watson
Jones— mentioned it at one point. I’d say that may have been where I left it.”

“I know,” replied Madding.

Rowland was surprised.

“My staff captain remembers that you didn’t have it when you left the promenade. He recalls you using the wall to steady yourself.”

“Oh.” Rowland hadn’t realised he had done so. “So I’m no longer a suspect?”

Madding leaned back. “Well, you may have returned to find your stick, but it does indicate that other men also had the opportunity to get hold of it.” Stern grey eyes met dark blue.
“As I said, I’m inclined to believe you had nothing to do with it, but, you understand, I have to be cautious. Either way, there is a murderer somewhere on board the
Aquitania
.”

Hubert Van Hook appeared at the table as the final course was concluded. He spoke to Milton and Clyde of the American jazz band that would be entertaining in the ballroom that night and
suggested that Prudence and Felicity Hickman join them all after dinner.

“Rowly,” he added, in his loud Chicago accent, “Annie wonders whether you’d care to have coffee with her.”

“I’d be delighted,” Rowland replied as he stood. He was not, in any case, going dancing. He glanced towards Edna who was still talking with the clergyman and wondered
fleetingly if Father Bryan was allowed to dance.

Taking his leave of Captain Madding, Rowland wished the others goodnight.

Annie Besant waited for him at her table. She watched him approach.

“Why, Rowland dear,” she said, standing. “You’ve given up your stick… are you sure it’s not too early?”

“Probably overdue,” Rowland replied leaning on the back of a dining chair. “I’m afraid I’m getting a bit soft.”

“If you don’t mind, I thought we might take coffee in my suite.” She smiled wickedly. “I must warn you, we’ll be unchaperoned.”

Rowland laughed. “Well, if you’re willing to jeopardise your reputation Annie, I’m sure I can risk mine.” He offered her his arm.

“I’m afraid I walk rather slowly—it’s unbecoming for a woman my age to trot.” She linked one arm in his and took her own walking stick in the other. They strolled
up to the first class deck and to Annie Besant’s suite. Coffee arrived shortly afterwards on trays delivered from the dining room. Rowland noticed the crewman posted outside the door. Captain
Madding remained cautious.

Rowland sat thankfully while Annie poured coffee.

“Well, young man,” she said sternly, as she handed him a steaming china cup. “Suppose you tell me exactly what you got up to last night.”

For a moment Rowland felt like a child caught out. “Has someone been telling tales, Annie?”

Annie Besant’s face clouded. “Actually Orville came to see me,” she said gravely.

“When?”

“After he left Dr. Yates.”

“Oh.”

“I must say, I wouldn’t have believed you capable of such brutality, Rowland.”

“Afraid I am. What did he tell you, Annie?”

“That you attacked him in a jealous rage. Is that true, Rowland?”

“It wasn’t quite a jealous rage,” he said quietly.

She looked intently at him, assessing him. “This was to do with Miss Higgins?”

“Yes. I found Mr. Urquhart’s manners wanting.”

Annie Besant sighed. “I see. I was afraid that might have been the case.”

Rowland’s interest was piqued. “Why?”

“Orville’s always been spoiled, even as a child. He was a particular favourite of Charles’, and I am afraid he was indulged somewhat.”

“Charles?”

“Charles Leadbeater. He leads the Australian chapter of the movement… you may have come across him.”

Rowland hadn’t, but he had heard of Leadbeater. Rather a bizarre figure by all accounts.

Annie Besant shook her head sadly. “Charles will be heartbroken.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Annie,” Rowland hoped that he didn’t sound insincere. He had after all, broken the man’s nose.

“Poor Orville.” She looked sharply at Rowland. “Am I correct in assuming someone killed him?”

“Yes,” Rowland replied.

She gasped. “I was afraid of this… if only…”

“You knew he was in danger?” Rowland pressed.

“I knew there was danger… I felt the presence of some kind of malice… sensed something… I just didn’t know who…”

“What do you know about Urquhart, Annie? Who would do this?”

“I’ve known Orville on and off since he was a small boy. His parents were great friends of Theosophy and he grew up in the movement. Essentially, he was a nice young man.” She
finished hesitantly.

“But…,” Rowland prompted, sensing a qualification.

“But,” said Annie Besant carefully, “he was not always a gentleman. He had got himself into trouble before.” Rowland noticed her fist clench. “I had hoped
he’d learned his lesson, but the moment he came to me complaining of you, I suspected…”

“Who?”

She wiped away a stray tear. Her distress was genuine. “There were a few girls over the years—it upset Jiddu immensely. I sometimes wonder if that helped him decide to leave
us.”

“And no one did anything?” Rowland scowled. This was monstrous.

“Nothing so direct as you,” Annie replied, patting him on the knee. “There were complaints; we all spoke to Orville… each time he was contrite, but…,” she
shook her head. “We should have done more.” She looked up at him. “You tell Miss Higgins how sorry I am.”

“Is there anyone on board who has reason to wish Urquhart ill?”

“Oh Rowland, we were all frustrated with Orville. If nothing else he was damaging the movement with his behaviour, but Theosophy is about brotherhood and love…”

“Well, what happened to him wasn’t terribly loving…,” Rowland murmured.

He put down his cup and saucer. “I should say goodnight,” he said as he moved to stand.

Annie Besant grasped his hand tightly. “You be careful in the hallway,” she warned.

“Did you have a premonition?” he asked, curiously. “Was the spirit of Urquhart walking the hallways of the
Aquitania
?”

Her face was solemn. “The light near the stairs isn’t working.”

“Oh.”

4

R
owland Sinclair spent the remainder of the evening with the literature that Annie Besant had pressed upon him, including a book that she herself
had penned. He fell asleep in his armchair, immersed in brotherhood and mysticism. It was in this state that his friends found him on their return to the Reynolds Suite.

Edna shook him awake gently. “Rowly darling, wake up.”

He opened his eyes groggily. “What time is it?”

“Late,” replied Clyde, taking off his jacket. “Or early. What are you reading?”

Edna picked up the book. “
Isis Unveiled
.”

“Sounds risqué.” Milton fell into the couch. “You’re a bit of a dark horse, Rowly…”

Rowland laughed. “I wish. No, it’s a sort of Theosophy bible, I think.”

Clyde looked alarmed. He regarded the book as if it might suddenly burst into flame. Shaking his head, he crossed himself.

Edna giggled. “Clyde’s worried you’ll go to Hell.” She whispered the last word theatrically.

Rowland rubbed his hand through his hair as he grinned at Clyde. “Between Lenin’s godless spawn and Jezebel here—we’re all going to Hell, mate.”

Clyde smiled. “Sorry, old habits.”

“Did you enjoy the jazz band?” Rowland asked, stretching

“A fine time was had by all,” Milton replied breezily. “Prudence Hickman even persuaded Clyde to dance. It seems American girls are quite happy to endanger their
toes.”

Clyde sat down without bothering to defend himself. His dancing was that bad… there was little point in denying it.

“So did Annie summon Urquhart for you?” Milton asked, undoing his tie.

“Afraid not… but she did tell me a bit about him.” Rowland related what he had learned about Orville Urquhart’s less than impeccable character.

Edna perched on the arm of Rowland’s chair and grabbed his hand fondly. “I’m glad you arrived when you did, Rowly. Still, it was horrible what happened to Orville. Jiddu must
be so distraught.”

Milton snorted. “Jiddu Krishnamurti and Father Bryan—you’re flitting between theological extremes here, Ed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Milt—Jiddu is a holy man!”

“And Father Bryan?”

“Matthew is a deacon,” Edna said beaming. “He hasn’t actually taken orders yet.”