Page 21 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
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Staring at the ceiling, Cecile pondered vaguely on the other passengers tucked in their beds.
Her thoughts took her fleetingly to the engine rooms, where the men would still be working—shovelling coal, fuelling the furnaces. What were their rows of bunks like, she wondered, for those taking respite. Did they lay shirtless, just as they laboured?
Her musings strayed to he who slumbered on the other side of the cabin wall.
Of course, her trouble sleeping wasn’t anything to do with Mr. Robinson. Whatever Lucrezia said—and she’d had quite a lot to say after their tour had concluded—Cecile had not engineered the swoon in order to end up in his arms. Though, admittedly, it had been convenient to be carried up those never-ending stairs rather than having to huff and puff her way up. Mr. Robinson had made it seem no effort at all to carry her, and only when he’d reached her door had he allowed her to stand.
It had been but a momentary lightheadedness at being on her feet again that had caused her knees to yield. She most assuredly had not asked for him to scoop her into his arms once more, striding through the sitting area, into the privacy of her bedroom. It had been most improper.
Since then, a markedly unsettled feeling had overtaken her. Perhaps, it had begun even before theLeviathanhad retracted its anchor, when she’d caught sight of that familiar, handsome face looking up as he’d crossed the gangway, entering the ship.
The pang of pleasure she’d first felt had turned to something else; anxiety, partly—a fear of sorts.
She’d made promises to herself, on leaving Scogliera, and promises to Lucrezia. A vow never again to place her happiness in the hands of a man. Whatever lay ahead, she was determined to steer her own path, as much as she was able.
Her brother was over-protective, of course, but that would surely abate as Cecile matured in years, and Henry would soon have much to distract him. As Lucrezia foresaw, they would likely be left much to their own devices in Rio.
Her reverie was broken by her book sliding across the side table, hitting the rim with a thud.
Mr. Lopez had warned them that the sea would become rougher and it seemed he was correct. She only hoped the weather didn’t deteriorate further, obliging her to make use of the basin sunk into the heavy box under the bed.
Sitting up, she turned on the lamp and brought the novella into her lap. Perhaps reading a few pages ofJekyll and Hydewould divert her mind.
It was one of those ‘shilling shockers’, filled with lurid sensation—another of Maud’s. She’d warned Cecile that she might find the savagery of the protagonist disturbing. That was true. Nevertheless, Cecile found herself fascinated by the tale of duality and repression.
She’d read no more than a paragraph, however, before there was an almighty wallop against the wall, immediately behind her head.
Muted cursing followed, then another great thump.
Goodness gracious!
What was Mr. Robinson doing? Had he fallen from bed?
The sea’s motion really wasn’t as bad as all that, but she supposed one might roll out if one were near the edge of the mattress.
The sound of glass breaking and a muffled cry alerted her that something was untoward.
Might Mr. Robinson be hurt? If so, she ought to lend assistance.
Without further hesitation, she threw back the covers, taking up her dressing gown and sliding on her slippers.
Spray met her face as soon as she opened her door and she fought the wind to close it again. Whatever moon there was, the drifting night mist choked its illumination. She could hardly see beyond her outstretched hands.
What made me come onto the outer deck? Ridiculous, impulsive girl!
With the sharp air whisking at her skirts, she berated herself. Fortunately, there were no more than a few yards to the next cabin.
She wondered if Mr. Robinson’s door would be unlocked, or if he’d answer her knock. She’d barely come alongside though, before the door yanked back and a dark shape filled her vision. Flung out of the way, she grasped at the door frame to keep her balance and was almost knocked down again as Mr. Robinson came running out.
He took only a few steps before coming to a halt, clearly realizing that the mist forbade pursuit.
‘Damnation!’
Turning, he caught sight of Cecile and she saw surprise turn to disbelief, then irritation.
‘What the Hell? You should be in bed.’ He stared in the direction in which his assailant had run, but it was impossible to discern any form.
