Page 1 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
Prologue
Lisbon
Early September, 1899
From the rail of the upper-deck, Lucrezia’s gaze swept the swell of people pressed along the dockside. Their cheers rose upward. Waving hands and handkerchiefs, they sent off those embarking for a new world and a new life.
But Lucrezia had no interest in those who would remain upon the shore.
Her eye lingered briefly on the ladies crossing the first-class gangway, their hats elegantly plumed, their sleeves full and their waists narrow, skirts sweeping behind.
Once, she would have feared appearing shabby beside them. No longer, of course. Though she’d lost almost everything in the fire that had consumed her home, Lord McCaulay had been generous in providing for her. As for the rest, she had done what was necessary to protect her interests.
The journey had passed pleasantly enough, through Roma, Toulouse and Madrid, all the way to the Iberian Peninsula. She’d been careful to mind her manners, to seem all that was necessary.
Fate had smiled the day the earl and his family had come to Scogliera. Not that Lucrezia truly believed in fate. Good fortune was most effective when crafted by one’s own hand.
Her attention settled upon the men heaving trunks and crates and bags of mail into the cargo hold, and the motley crowd surging to enter the deeper levels of the looming hull.
None she recognized.
Whatever premonition she’d had, it was idle fancy. The ghosts of the past were just that, and had no substance with which to haunt her.
She was safe.
Those who’d wished her ill were scorched to ash in the ruins of the castello. If they had souls, she trusted they now resided where flames perpetually blazed.
The screech of a gull, gliding and wheeling on the ocean breeze, brought her back to the moment.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Raising her cheek to the sun’s late afternoon warmth, Cecile gave a contented sigh. ‘Not just the ship, but everything: a whole country to discover—a whole continent, even. True adventure, Lucrezia! Just as we’ve yearned for.’
’Sì, cara.’ Lucrezia smiled indulgently before adopting a wistful expression.
Cecile gave her friend’s fingers a reassuring squeeze. ‘Forgive me. I see your thoughts are elsewhere, and it does you credit, to remember…’
Lucrezia lowered her eyes to the white-gloved hand. ‘You know me too well. I cannot hide my feelings from you, but my heart shall recover. All shadows are banished when you are beside me.’
The sudden boom of the ship’s horn drowned whatever reply Cecile might have been about to give.
On the bridge, the captain gave his command. The engines rumbled, sending their power to the great propellers beneath the waves. The water churned and, pulled oceanward by an array of tugboats, the ship moved off, gliding effortlessly, to the approving roar of the crowd.
* * *
Inside her mistress’s cabin, Claudette looked up from the dress she’d been shaking out. Through the porthole, the sun’s lowering rays glinted upon the sea and, for a moment, her heart lifted.
She’d learnt the value of discretion, and for this her recompense was adequate. Another year or two and she might have enough to choose a different path. Rio was not Paris, but that very fact would help her in securing a business. A modest atelier or salon de coiffure, or a small parfumerie—places not for the very rich but for women such as herself, with money to spend for their occasional pleasure.
Claudette placed the gown upon the bed. The countess would probably wish to wear it this evening, to make a certain impression on her first night aboard the ship. She usually chose the red velvet when they arrived somewhere new, paired with the rubies gifted by her husband.
Perhaps there would be a man for herself, one day. A man who would adore her as the Earl of Rancliffe did his wife.
Claudette glanced upward again, but the sun had already dipped behind a cloud.
* * *
Down, down we go, to the engine of the beast, and to those who feed its fire. The newcomer wiped sweat from his eyes. Smeared black with soot, his own mother wouldn’t have known him.
And just as well.
