Murder Most Posh: A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery (10 page)

   Once the drawers proved empty, I opened the two suitcases in the corner of the cabin. There were several dark-colored outfits, bland and sure to blend with any crowd. These very tightly packed items were not what I was searching for.

  I held my hands to my chest and inhaled deeply. My eyes fell on the neatly made bed, and I felt a little tingle of hope. Lifting the mattress, I found no stash of jewelry, but the other two items I wished to locate were there.

  Hurriedly, I rushed out of the room. Once sure the passageway was empty, I jammed the key into the lock, and only as I turned it did I realize that I was holding my breath.

  Just a moment after, I returned to our suite, and so did Lucy. Her red cheeks concerned me.

   “Were you seen?” I asked.  

  “No!” she replied, shaking her head.

   “Well?” I retorted.

   “I caught up with her and followed her; she did just what you said and went to the purser’s office. Through the windows, I watched her write a short note and give it to one of the stewards. She looked very disturbed.”

  “What did she look like?” I asked.

   Lucy, seeming disappointed, replied, “She isn’t a twin at all to the countess. Her hair is a drab brown, not an ounce of makeup, and she was dressed in a plain grey wool suit.”

   “And Bob is your uncle,”
I said under my breath.

   As various suspicions danced in my head to an ill-timed jig, Lucy asked, “Now what do we do?”

   “First, Yara must make a request to speak to the captain, and then we wait,” I said as I nodded my chin.

Chapter Nine

From the windows of the reading room, Yara, Lucy, and I watched as the grey sky ahead grew darker. Nervously, I picked at the lovely tray of cucumber sandwiches.

   Maxie Beaumont sat with her husband at a nearby table, attempting to look natural. Of course, the whole time, her beady eyes glanced from me to the door as if a tennis ball were being volleyed back and forth.

   Like a good little parakeet, she had uttered the words over the telephone to the occupant of Cabin B-23, and now she waited to see just what the message had meant.

   I looked at the clock on the wall, which was due to strike four fifteen. I anticipated that the ship’s master would be punctual. We had asked him on behalf of Yara for a friendly meeting with the Emerson brothers, to discuss Rory’s fate. My faith was rewarded. The ship’s master strode in from the interior passageway at the first chime.

    Maxie’s message, which I’m sure had been delivered by the brunette that Lucy had spied upon, requested the presence of two others at precisely twenty minutes after four. I did so hope they would be as punctual as the captain.

   Behind the ship’s captain, both with their heads hung, were the Emerson brothers. (Do I even need bother mention all of us were wearing the least revealing footwear that we possessed? I think the intelligence of the reader would be insulted if I did.)

   Yara stood from the little seat beside me as the captain took her hand. He did not treat her as a stowaway, but as a valued traveler, as well he should. 

   “Ms. Yara, as you’ve requested, Mr. Rory and Mr. Michael Emerson.” The captain gestured toward the men. “I understand that Mr. Michael has asked you to forgo any legal involvement. I leave the decision to you.”

   Yara studied the young man with a curious expression.

   Rory clutched his crumpled hat in his hands and barely glanced at us. “I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean any harm.”

   I felt a dreadful pang of sympathy for the poor fellow. Obviously, Michael had drilled him at these simple words. I don’t believe that Rory understood what he was sorry for, except that he was in trouble.

   It was Michael who gazed into Yara’s eyes with true concern that she might end Rory’s chance at a better life. Despite the coolness in the air, sweat beaded above his brow as he bit his lower lip.

   Yara’s cheerful voice rang out, “Oh, I know you are sorry. You’ll be good now, won’t you?”

   Rory had not been coached for a response to this. He smiled, still keeping his head down, and nodded vigorously.

   I believe that Michael might have grown an inch taller as the weight of his worry was lifted from his spirits. He reached out a hand to shake Yara’s. “Thank you, ma’am; thank you so much.”

   Mrs. Beaumont raised her voice from the neighboring table and asked, “But how do we know they had nothing to do with the countess’s death?”

   I understood Maxie’s prejudices, but I didn’t agree with them. “For one, when the steam trunk was opened and I caught a glimpse of the countess, she was still in her evening attire, including her shoes. Had she been ravaged by Rory, I doubt her footwear would have been worn.”

   Maxie rolled her eyes and pointed at Michael. “I suspect that he would have put them back on.”

   I shook my head. “No, he would have tossed the body off the ship. That’s been the key to the whole puzzle. Anyone who committed a crime of passion, without premeditation, would have disposed of the body. Only someone wishing to incriminate Mr. Farquhar would have hidden the body in the cabin.”

   The ship’s captain gave me an appraising glance as all others looked to the windows behind me. A second later, I heard the exterior door begin to open.

   I spun around to see Gerald Hurst, accompanied by a brunette; the two were just about to join us, as Maxie Beaumont had requested when she placed the call to Cabin B-23 at my direction. Gerald looked past me to the captain. He started to step back, but Mr. Pace appeared on the promenade and ushered the two inside the lounge.

   The captain frowned and immediately cast his gaze upon me as he spoke to the ship’s purser. “What is a second-class passenger doing in the first-class reading room, Mr. Pace?”

   Poor Mr. Pace was rubbish at lying. “I don’t know, sir. I just caught sight of him and came over.”

   I could see by the set of his jaw that the captain believed this as much as he believed the moon to be made of cheese. “Mr. Hurst, what brings you to this part of the ship?”

   Gerald spread his hands, palms open, and said, “I seem to have gotten lost…”

   Maxie stood up quickly and carried her bulk closer. Once beside Mr. Hurst, she said, “He is here because I placed a call to the occupant of Cabin B-23.”

   All eyes fell on the drab woman beside Gerald. She squirmed as her arms crossed over her chest.

   “And what was your message, Mrs. Beaumont?” asked the captain, barely able to hide his contempt for the situation. However, he was forced to; Maxie Beaumont and her husband had survived the sinking of the
Tatiana
, and now, it was the job of every member of the Red Star Line’s staff to survive her.

   Pointing at the frightened woman, Maxie said, “I told her I had something that Mr. Hurst desired and that the two of them would need to meet me at twenty past four, here in this room.”

  The captain’s frown grew even more severe. “And what is it you have, Mrs. Beaumont?”

   Maxie pointed a chubby gloved finger toward me. “Well, I have nothing that Mr. Hurst would be after! Mrs. Stayton asked me to send the cockamamie message.”

   The ship’s master turned back to me, and before he could ask, I pulled from my purse the two passports I had found in Cabin B-23. Just as I handed them to him, Mathew Farquhar entered the reading room from the door leading to the promenade.

    The dark-haired woman turned ashen as she covered her mouth and gave a concerned little gasp.

   I watched Mathew; even he was temporarily fooled by the dreary clothing and dark hair that was cut into a tight bob. An instant passed, and he exclaimed, “Simone!”

   Lucy gestured toward the woman and said, “She was the blonde, dressed like a showgirl!”

    Although his words were addressed to Mathew, the captain’s anger was aimed at me as he asked, “Mr. Farquhar, you are under confinement. How did you manage your way here?”

   Still very much astonished by his lover’s transformation, Mathew handed the captain the master passkey I had returned to him and mumbled, “I found this on the dressing table, the night my wife was killed.”

   The captain inspected the key and then slid it into his pocket. He then did his best to take an even tone as he said to me, “I take it that you’ve tried to recreate one of those scenes from your detective fictions, gathering the suspects and all; well, Mrs. Stayton, get on with this farce of yours.”

   Duly intimidated, I cleared my voice and said, “Well, now, yes, where to begin?” I looked to Simone and opened one of the passports in my hand. “Ms. Wainwright, I see by your passport that you’ve made several trips, secretly, to the same destinations as Mr. Farquhar and his wife. I gather several clandestine arrangements were made so that you and he could see each other while the countess was disposed.”

   She wouldn’t look into my eyes, but all the same, I asked, “After a few trips, when your married lover could not elude his wife, you noticed another traveler who was alone as well. How many times were you both in the same solitary hotel restaurant before you recognized each other?”

   “Come to your point, Mrs. Stayton,” warned the captain.

   “Gerald Hurst has openly admitted to his affair with the countess. He and Simone were always in the shadows, watching their lovers from afar. Once their paths crossed and they realized they shared the same predicament, how long before commiserating turned into something more?”

   Gerald gave an ugly grunt of a laugh. “What of it? So we came to know each other. It means nothing.”

   “When you recognized me at the hotel, you were already planning on killing the countess. That’s why you asked me about the clues that helped me solve the murder of Phyllis Masterson. You thought about it and came up with a new clue. You had Ms. Simone empty her steam trunk, and you placed Mr. Farquhar’s calling card inside; then, you managed to have it sent to our cabin. Your goal was to intrigue me, and Mr. Hurst, you did,” I admitted.

   “Prove it,” he quipped, arrogantly.

   “I shall.” Turning to Ms. Wainwright and opening the second passport, I asked, “How did you come into the possession of Alisa Sidorvo’s passport?”

   Gerald answered for her, “Looks like you are the one in possession of that.”

   The captain took the passports and inspected them. “Simone Wainwright, Alisa Sidorvo, how did you obtain these?”

   “With the master key that Mr. Farquhar found.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the sheers and hair dye. “Along with these, used to aid Ms. Wainwright in changing her appearance.”

   “Prove it,” said Gerald, once more.

  “Mrs. Beaumont, would you repeat the message you passed on to Ms. Wainwright?” I asked.

   Quite on the spot, Maxie stuttered for a moment, and then said in a monotone voice, “I told her I had something that Mr. Hurst desired and that the two of them would need to meet me at twenty past four, here in this room.”

   I explained, “Ms. Wainwright left her cabin and relayed this message to Mr. Hurst, giving me the opportunity to obtain the two items in question. Upon discovering that the passports were gone, they had no choice but to follow Mrs. Beaumont’s direction.”

   “Who is Alisa Sidorvo?” asked the ship’s master. 

   Mathew replied, “Dominika’s sister.”

   At the same time, Maxie said, “The countess’s twin sister.”

   The captain shook his head. “If she is aboard this ship, where is she?”

   I had wondered the morbid question for several days. “I can answer your query, sir; she is wherever you have placed the body of Mr. Farquhar’s wife.”

   “What?” exclaimed several voices.

  I looked to Mathew. “Had your wife ever mentioned a twin sister before she received this recent letter stating she was in New York?”  

   Stunned, he shook his head, “No, she hadn’t.”

   I slowly gazed about those in the room, and they all waited with bated breath for my explanation. “Countess Dominika Orlov was an invention, created by Alisa Sidorvo.” I waited for the collective mumble to conclude and went on, “She played the part well, broken English, haughty, and hot-tempered. She set her sights on a wealthy husband, and Mr. Farquhar was perfect for her. He’d never traveled in wealthy circles, so he had no well-placed friends who might find her out.”

   I saw through the window the same dark grey clouds on the horizon that the captain was staring at when he demanded, “Mrs. Stayton, come to your point.”

   I tried my best to summarize. “The countess, as we knew her, devised an idea to gain a fortune and rid herself of her husband. She sought out a lover who resembled Mathew. I imagine that, in her company, Mr. Hurst made a few trips to the bank and transferred Mathew’s money into her accounts—”

   “Mrs. Stayton,” the captain cut in with an edge to his voice.

   “A will on behalf of the countess was written that made Alisa the heir, and then it was time for the countess to die. In an attempt to send the only other obstacle to the gallows, she and her lover set about incriminating Mr. Farquhar, which was the reason for the obviously fake suicide note.

   “What Alisa didn’t know was that Mr. Hurst had figured her out, that she was just using him. He and Ms. Wainwright had also fallen in love.”

   Mathew started for Gerald. “You bastard—”

   “Mathew!” cried Simone.

   At once, a heavy downpour struck the windows, and we were all momentarily distracted. 

   Gerald shoved Mathew away and spun around.

   Maxie, standing very close to Gerald, shouted, “Stop him!” And then she herself followed as he ran out onto the open deck.

   The sound of the rain was deafening, and I couldn’t make out what the captain was shouting.

   Lucy and I both scrambled out into the rain and watched as Mrs. Beaumont’s ample body nearly kept pace with Gerald as he ran to the end of the first-class promenade.

   Aghast, I watched the man climb over the railing that looked down on the second-class open deck. His hand fumbled for a hold of the wet railing, and in the next instant he was obscured from my sight by the figure of Maxie as she grabbed for him.

   The forceful lady cried out, “Help me! He’s going to fall.”

   With all her might, she began to hoist him upward, and he was swinging his legs up, giving in to his capture. Then, the unthinkable happened. His hands slipped from Maxie’s just as he was about to catch his ankles over the railing.