Page 28 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
How deeply she must have been asleep, not to hear anything. Even Lance had woken, fetching the doctor.
He was on the other side of the wall, she assumed, returned to his own bed. She listened for some confirmation that he was there, but all was quiet.
As for Maud, she prayed she’d be alright—and the child, if it was God’s will.
Women lost babies—after they were born as well as before—but how did one endure such a thing? Lucrezia was surely mistaken as to Maud’s feelings. She and her sister-in-law were not as close as they’d once been, but Cecile was determined that would change.
* * *
Henry had permitted Maud, at last, to rise from bed, carrying her to the chaise and placing a rug about her legs. She’d had plenty of time to rest, and to think.
Thank goodness, the bleeding had stopped. Dr. Machado had assured her that the baby was safe, though she’d need to take care for the remainder of the crossing.
She’d bruises all over, and her ankle was painfully sore, but there were no broken bones.
She’d been lucky.
Henry had barely left her side all day, fending off even his sister’s desire to visit—but Maud had insisted she was ready, now, to receive visitors. She sent Henry off to play billiards. There were too many shadows under his eyes, but it was distraction he needed, as much as sleep.
The night before, it had taken several hours for her to regain her senses, and the memory of how she’d come to fall still eluded her.
At first, she’d assumed she’d slipped. One heard of pregnancy making women somewhat lightheaded.
But, it was so unlike her.
She’d never worn her corsets overly tight, and her condition had given her further excuse not to bother.
Had a fellow passenger been there with her, at the top of the stairs? She had a vague sense there had been someone—but she couldn’t recall them speaking, nor picture their face.
Had they been drunk and stumbled against her? Men were inclined to over indulge, and there was little else to occupy them in the evenings on board.
It was inconceivable that someone would intentionally cause her to fall. And yet, she couldn’t altogether put the thought from her mind.
So many strange things had been happening—although there could hardly be a connection. Whoever had attempted to rob Mr. Robinson would have nothing to gain from sending her down a flight of stairs. And neither event seemed connected with the death of poor Senhora Fonseca.
It would be alarmist to surmise otherwise.
Maud had simply told Henry that she’d misjudged the edge while leaning over to sight him. To say anything else would be to stir endless trouble, and unnecessary anxiety.
A gentle knock alerted her that Cecile had arrived. She hovered by the door, looking uncertain, before being encouraged to come and kiss cheeks.
‘Do sit down; just put those books on the floor, if you don't mind.’ Maud gestured to the armchair, upon which several of her entomological volumes were stacked.
‘As you can see, I’ve ordered tea. It’s the answer to everything, they say—although I’m trying not to drink too much, since it’s rather tricky to get up for the pot.’ She succeeded in making Cecile smile.
’Please say if you need help—getting to the bathroom, I mean.’ Cecile coloured a little.
‘I’m not such an invalid as all that. Henry found this cane, so I can hobble quite nicely, but thank you.’ She indicated a polished, wooden stick resting nearby. ‘The greatest help you can be is to eat some of those custard tarts, or I’ll outgrow my dresses before we reach port.’
Shyly, Cecile took one, and poured them both some Earl Grey.
Taking the cup, Maud winced.
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ Cecile leaned forward, her expression full of concern. ‘I can alert the doctor.’
‘Heavens, no!’ Maud rolled her eyes. ‘He’s seen quite enough of me already. It’s only my ribs, reminding me that they’ve taken a battering.’
Cecile was looking rather drawn—though Maud couldn’t imagine why. Perhaps she was more like Henry than Maud realized: much prone to worrying.
