Page 43 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
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Henry clasped Lance’s hand in greeting and settled his back against the upper deck rail, just a few feet from the cabin where his wife lay sleeping. ‘You have it with you?’
Lance lifted his jacket to reveal the curving handle with its wooden grips. ‘Colt New Service; it’ll do the job.’
Lord McCaulay took out his own gun—a Webley service revolver—checking the barrel. ‘He won’t get past us. With any luck, we’ll finish this tonight.’
‘If the villain shows his face.’ For the first time in a week there was a clear view across the decks. ‘Without the mist to conceal his movements, he’ll probably be lying low.’ It pained him to admit it, but Lance doubted their vigilance would result in the murderer’s capture. He’d promised himself that he’d shoot to maim rather than kill; after what he’d done, the devil deserved to stand trial.
‘How’s Lady McCaulay doing?’ It had been preying on Lance’s mind. There seemed little doubt that the earl’s suspicions must be correct. Whoever was behind these attacks had likely pushed her.
‘Much better.’ The earl replied with his usual formality. ‘Or, she will be, very soon.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Turning about, Lance scanned the lower deck before turning his gaze out to sea. They might be spared the mist, and the sea had been pretty calm these past few days, but you didn’t need to be a sailor to see there was less hospitable weather coming in.
The moon lit the waves frothing close to the ship, casting a silver path across the water. On the horizon, the sky was starless—a smudge of soft violet overlaid in grey, the underside of the clouds lit in sudden flashes. A low rumble followed each flicker.
‘I do keep thinking about it,’ Lord McCaulay said at last. ‘Of what might have happened; that I might have lost her.’
Lance could tell the earl wanted to say more, but wasn’t accustomed to speaking his feelings. Not that Lance was much better himself. It made things a whole lot easier to deal with if you ignored whatever horsefly was trying to bite your ass.
‘She has a guardian angel.’ Lance had never been one for smoking, but he kept hard butterscotch in his pocket. Laying hands on it, he offered the bag.
The earl looked surprised but took one nonetheless.
From further along, in the dining salon, came the strains of some classical piece. Mozart, Lance guessed. He was no expert, but his mother had kept a fine collection of gramophone records. She’d loved the operas best. His father had been remiss in many things, but he’d never forgotten a birthday, always ordering a stack of the latest releases from New York.
Like the earl and all his party, he’d taken a light supper in his room, the sooner to take up his position out here, but Lance could imagine the conversation dominating the dining hall. The ship was abuzz with speculation on the second death, alongside complaints regarding the ten o’clock curfew. He couldn’t stomach listening to that sort of talk—as if the murders were an inconvenience rather than a tragedy.
The outer doors opened and a couple emerged onto the deck, pausing briefly at the rail before continuing to their cabin, the gentleman wishing them a good evening as they passed.
The man’s wife glanced at them fleetingly but was too well-bred to stare. Had they been wearing white tie, it would have seemed less curious, he supposed— but they were both dressed for the night air, and neither held a cigar.
Wrapped in his own thoughts, Lord McCaulay hadn’t seemed to notice. Rather, his mind appeared to be on darker paths. ‘It’s ghoulish to speak of—forgive me—but, I’ve been wondering why this madman didn’t simply tip these poor women into the sea. There would be a chance, then, to believe they’d gone overboard rather than being murdered. Leaving them to be found was always going to attract attention.’
Lance couldn’t help but shudder. There was no getting away from the fact that the details were lurid, but he’d been wondering the same himself. There were plenty of hungry mouths in the sea. Within a few days, there would be nothing to identify either the victim or killer—on the chance that some other vessel came across the body.
‘He has a cruel streak.’ Lance swallowed down the acid taste that had risen to his mouth. ‘He wants the bodies found. Beyond that, I’ve given up trying to make sense of all this. Killing women is about as low as a man can stoop. When it comes down to it, some are just mean bastards.’
Lord McCaulay nodded. ‘Sad to say, I know the type. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been reluctant to push my sister towards marriage. Whoever she ends up with, I have to believe he’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.’ He looked pointedly at Lance. ‘More than that, I want to see her with someone who’ll treasure her.’
It was straight talking, sure enough. Lance reckoned it was time for him to do some of his own. ‘I won’t deny I’ve been afraid—of not being able to provide the sort of stable family life a woman ought to expect, but I don’t want to risk walking off this ship and never seeing your sister again. Once we dock at Rio, I’ll have only three days before I leave for Argentina.’ Lance rubbed at the evening shadow on his jaw. ‘I reckon what I’m saying is that I’d like your permission to court her.’
‘And you’ve not taken any steps down that path already?’ Lord McCaulay gave a wry half-smile. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to call you out for exchanging a few elicit kisses. It’s probably just what Cecile needs to help make up her mind.’
‘We’ve gotten to know one another better in the last day or so.’
The earl held up his hand. ‘I’m not blind, whatever Cecile may think, and I’ve seen how she looks at you. As far as I’m concerned, you have my blessing, but the choice is Cecile’s. If you want her to head to Argentina with you, it’s my sister you’ll have to convince.’
An unfamiliar warmth bloomed in Lance’s chest. He had the earl’s approval, and couldn't help being mightily pleased. For all Cecile’s independent ways, she loved her brother; without his sanction, she’d have been unhappy about it, and no mistake.
‘Of course, if she decides she’ll have me, and wants to bring along her companion, Miss di Cavour, I’ve no objection,’ Lance added.
‘She’ll appreciate that.’ Lord McCaulay paused. ‘However, it may not be the best idea. Our Italian guest is charming, but I doubt she’ll be content to play second fiddle. Better to pay her off—discreetly of course. It will make things easier all round.’
The idea didn’t sit well with Lance. If he was going to do this, to make Cecile his wife, the last thing he wanted was to begin by deceiving her. To hold back secrets, or tell only half-truths, was no foundation on which to build a future. He'd rather speak openly; to make the decisions together that would affect their happiness.
He and Miss di Cavour would have to talk, that was for sure. He'd take some time to think about how to handle the situation. Meanwhile, it would be a long night, standing guard outside the cabins of the women they loved.
He needed to keep his mind sharp.
There was a killer to catch.
