Louise's Crossing Read online

  The burial service was short; we were at war, after all. ‘Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our sister departed, Grace Bell, and we commit her body to the deep; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the sea shall give up her dead; and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed and made unto like his glorious body; according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all things unto himself.’

  The master raised his hand, and the bugler began to play ‘Taps’. The pallbearers lifted the head of the wooden plank so Grace’s shrouded corpse could slide gently over the rail. The chief steward gripped the flag that draped the body as it dropped into the ocean. He and Nigel folded it and handed it to the master, who would send it to Grace’s family. The last notes of ‘Taps’ faded away.

  The brief funeral service that the master had read was from the Episcopal Prayer Book. I was sure that if Grace’s send-off had been in her own family’s Baptist church, it would have been longer and louder. The hymns alone would have lifted off the church’s roof. But I was pleased at how respectfully her service had been conducted. The crew was genuinely sorrowful; I saw plenty of sad faces in the crowd as it dispersed.

  I found Nigel at the rail, staring out into the ocean. He was dry-eyed, but his face was still drawn with grief. I touched his shoulder to get his attention and he turned to me.

  ‘The service was lovely, don’t you think?’ he asked. ‘Very comforting.’

  ‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘it was very nice.’ I would have felt comforted myself if I hadn’t been so unsure of whether Grace’s death was accidental. I’d need to make a decision soon about approaching the master. There’s was no way I could allow Grace’s murder – if it was murder – to pass without justice being done.

  ‘The chief steward told me that you and Miss Olive … well, took care of Grace,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ I pulled the photograph I’d found in one of Grace’s books out of my pocket. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘I found this in Grace’s things.’

  Nigel smiled when he took it from me. ‘We took this in a photo booth at the National Zoo. We had so much fun that day.’ He slipped the photo into his shirt pocket.

  ‘What will you do now?’ I asked.

  ‘I have no idea. I’d planned my future around Grace. It would have been hard for us, even living in London, but we would have made it. Honestly, if the master threw me in the brig and left me there, I wouldn’t care.’

  Olive and I caught the master outside his cabin door just as he went off watch. Olive went with me reluctantly, but I needed her to testify to the condition of Grace’s body.

  ‘What now?’ the master asked when he saw us waiting for him.

  ‘We need to talk to you.’

  He rolled his eyes, but he opened his cabin door and ushered us inside. We sat on the edge of his bunk while he took the desk chair.

  ‘Out with it,’ he said. ‘I need to get some sleep.’

  He did look tired. He was an old man doing a young man’s job. And I was going to make it harder.

  ‘I believe there’s a good reason to think Grace’s death wasn’t an accident,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ the master said. ‘You’re civilians. Women! What do you know?’

  That got Olive’s dander up. ‘Master, that girl’s body had not a mark on it. If she’d fallen down those stairs, she’d have been covered with bruises. I’m a nurse. I know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I apologize for being rude. Maybe the girl didn’t fall down the stairs. Maybe she slipped and cracked her head on something. Like a riser, or the finial on the banister.’

  ‘Or someone hit her, hard, from behind,’ I said.

  The master struggled to control his temper. After a minute he spoke quietly. ‘I don’t know exactly what happened to Grace. There were no witnesses. But I know she wasn’t murdered. She was just a colored girl, a room stewardess. Why would anyone want to kill her? When I file my report with the Maritime Commission, I’ll take note of your observations. That’s all I can do.’

  ‘Master—’ I began again.

  ‘We are coming upon the most dangerous part of our voyage,’ he interrupted. ‘The nearer we get to England, the more German submarines and planes are waiting to attack us. I don’t have time for this. Go back to your quarters and play bridge or something. Leave the running of the ship to me and my officers.’

  We’d been dismissed.

  Why would anyone kill Grace? I had no idea. So I had no motive. What about opportunity? Grace died when the usual routines of the ship were disrupted by the iceberg sighting. At the time it seemed that everyone who wasn’t a crew member on watch was outside, ogling the ice mountain. Grace was on watch, preparing the tray of coffee and cookies for our hall, then carrying it downstairs, then falling and dying. Or being murdered? Who was missing from the deck or from work? I didn’t see how I could figure that out. The iceberg created too much confusion on deck. If I could even locate a few people of the hundred or so on the ship who didn’t have an alibi for the time of Grace’s death, all they needed to say was that they were behind a piece of cargo somewhere smoking a cigarette. I was beginning to see the master’s point. There was no way to prove that Grace hadn’t simply fallen to her death.

  Except for her unmarked body. And the scattering of her tray’s contents in an unlikely place. I couldn’t forget either circumstance.

  Olive, Gil, Ronan and I agreed to gather for cocktails before dinner. Way before dinner. We needed a drink – or two. I insisted on inviting Blanche to join us, if only because it was the polite thing to do. I had my bottle of gin in my hand when I knocked on her door.

  Blanche opened it. We both stared at each other in surprise. I was surprised to find her actually in her berth. She was surprised that someone had bothered to drop by.

  ‘Louise,’ she said, ‘hello.’ My gin bottle caught her eye.

  ‘Some of us are meeting in Ronan’s room to have a couple of drinks before dinner. Can you join us?’ I lifted the bottle up. ‘Do you like gin? If not, Gil has bourbon.’

  ‘I can drink gin,’ she said. ‘Come on inside.’

  Blanche’s berth was no different from mine, a single bunk squeezed into a tiny space. She’d stretched a cord between the bulwarks. A slip, two pairs of panties and a pair of stockings hung drying from it. She ducked under it and beckoned to me. ‘I know the bed’s not tidy, but there’s room for both of us,’ she said. We sat cross-legged on the bunk among blankets, her coat, purse and an open book. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter rested on the pages.

  ‘It’s good of you to ask me to join you,’ Blanche said. ‘I know you’re trying to be nice. But I don’t want to be anywhere near Gil. I’ – and here she paused, her lips tightening and anger flaring in her eyes – ‘I can’t stand the man. He’s the one who spreads all the gossip about me. I want to be left alone until we get to England. I only want to go home and live with my family again. I married Eddie because he was a rich American and I’ve paid enough for that mistake.’

  So Blanche didn’t love her husband even before he was injured. That was a strike against her, but was it a motive for murder? If she’d come upon him alone at the ship’s rail, all she had to do was open the gate and push him through it.

  ‘Look,’ she said, picking up a framed photograph from the bedside shelf and handing it to me.

  I knew the photo was pre-war, because none of the men in it were wearing uniforms and Blanche, the youngest of the group, was a teenager. ‘My father and mother,’ Blanche said, pointing the figures in the photo out to me, ‘my sister, brother and me. My brother and sister have since married and I have two nieces. None of them believe I killed my husband.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said. I didn’t like Gil much myself. I moved to get off her bunk, but she put a hand on my arm to restrain me.
/>   ‘Do you think …’ she said, hesitating.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That I could have some of your gin even if I don’t go to the party? I could use a drink myself.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ve got nothing to add to it, though – not even an ice cube.’

  ‘I’ve saved an orange; I’ll add a slice to it.’

  I poured her a double into her tooth glass. She opened the little drawer under the shelf next to the bunk and pulled out an orange. I noticed several napkin-wrapped bundles inside, evidence that Blanche was still taking leftover food from the mess. So odd. But then she was an unusual woman. Most people, no matter how unhappy they were, didn’t rebuff every single offer of companionship or vanish for hours at a time, even during a gale.

  I’d forgotten to bring some of Dellaphine’s pralines to take to the party, so I stepped back into my cabin. From where I stood, I saw Blanche leave her berth, but she didn’t spot me. She was wearing her coat and hat, carrying her glass of gin, and had a napkin-wrapped bundle under her arm. She hurried to the staircase, clearly not wanting to be seen. Where on earth was the woman going? She acted as if she was planning to meet someone – hence the gin. Had to be Tom, despite the rules against fraternizing with passengers. He wasn’t on watch, so he was probably waiting for her in one of the vehicles strapped to the deck of the ship.

  I almost didn’t care anymore; I was tired and confused by my suspicions about Grace’s death. I had no facts at all to go on, other than that her corpse didn’t look as if she had fallen, and that wasn’t enough.

  I rapped on Ronan’s door and Gil opened it. ‘Come on in,’ Ronan said. I stepped in and crawled on to Ronan’s berth with Olive.

  ‘Did you get any rest?’ Olive asked.

  ‘Some,’ I said.

  ‘A drink or two will cure what ails you,’ Gil said, handing me a glass he’d filched from the cafeteria. I uncorked my bottle and poured an inch into my glass, while Gil served Olive and Ronan from his freshly opened bottle of bourbon. I sipped my gin and gratefully felt it wash through my body and numb my brain.

  ‘Poor Grace,’ Olive said.

  ‘She’s beyond pain now,’ Ronan said. ‘And life is full of suffering.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ I said. ‘Life can be very painful indeed. I want to think Grace is at peace.’

  ‘Do you doubt it?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know. I hope you’re right.’

  Ronan raised his glass. ‘May the Lord take a liking to you, Grace Bell,’ he said.

  Gil broke the somber silence that followed. ‘I take it Blanche isn’t joining us,’ he said.

  ‘Nope. She’s got other plans,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I poured her a drink in her berth,’ I said. ‘But then I saw her head up the stairs wrapped up in her coat and scarf with the drink in her hand.’

  ‘Think she’s meeting someone?’ Olive asked.

  ‘I have no idea,’ I said, ‘but she moved like she had a plan.’

  ‘She is an attractive woman,’ Ronan said, ‘and had an unhappy marriage. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she was interested in a new man.’

  ‘She’s been seen with Tom Bates, the Navy ensign,’ Gil said, ‘and they were friends on the voyage over.’

  Olive and I didn’t say we’d seen them together. Gil would be sure to tell the entire ship if he knew.

  ‘Let’s not gossip about Blanche,’ I said.

  ‘Agreed,’ Olive added. ‘That’s why she doesn’t mix with us. She knows we’re all talking about her behind her back.’

  ‘There’s not a lot else to talk about,’ Gil said. ‘Being on this ship is like living in a cave in Nepal. No newspapers, no radio, no movies, nothing. And with Grace gone, we’ll get a lot less ship gossip.’

  Grace did like to talk. It was from her that I first heard about Blanche’s husband’s death and the speculation that she’d murdered him.

  The proverbial lightbulb lit up my brain. Who else did Grace gossip about? Did she talk as freely with the other passengers as she did with me?

  ‘Servants will talk,’ Gil said, as if he could read my thoughts.

  ‘She wasn’t a servant,’ Olive said. ‘She was a stewardess in the merchant marine.’

  Gil shrugged. ‘Small difference,’ he said. ‘She cleaned our rooms, made our beds and brought us coffee.’

  ‘My niece worked in a stately home before the war,’ Ronan said. ‘Owned by one of our British overlords. She was the upstairs maid. You wouldn’t believe what she knew about her employers. To them she was just a piece of furniture.’

  I poured myself another drink. ‘Most of us didn’t think of Grace that way,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe not. But she still saw everything that went on,’ Ronan said, ‘and I mean everything.’

  The lightbulb in my brain was still burning bright. Was it possible that Grace was murdered because of something she’d seen and gossiped about? Something she didn’t realize was dangerous? I filed the thought away to examine when I hadn’t been drinking.

  Blanche and Tom came into the dining room together. But when they carried their trays into the wardroom, they sat at separate tables – Tom with the master and the rest of his officers, and, to my surprise, Blanche with Olive and me.

  ‘Don’t say it,’ Blanche said. ‘I ran into Tom in the passageway.’

  ‘We weren’t going to say anything,’ Olive answered.

  The chief cook must have wanted to cheer up the crew after Grace’s funeral. We had steak for dinner. A real one, not molded from hamburger. Mine was pink, just as I liked it. And a baked potato, peas, fresh yeast rolls and butter. Dessert was chocolate cake. It was delicious. I could hear the conversational hum grow louder, even some laughter from the seamen’s mess next door. Olive didn’t eat her baked potato, and I swear I saw Blanche staring at it. Surely she wasn’t going to take a cold potato to her room!

  While we were drinking our after-dinner coffee, the chief steward came over and asked us to join him at the Smits’ table. We did so, taking our coffee with us. ‘The thing is,’ he said to us once we were seated, ‘with Grace’s death, well, we don’t have a room stewardess for the women passengers. I’m not sure what to do – it’s against regulations for a male steward to serve women.’

  ‘In’s hemelsnaam,’ Mrs Smit said. ‘We can take care of ourselves, can’t we, girls?’ she said to her daughters.

  ‘Sure,’ Alida said. ‘I can draw my own bath.’

  ‘Of course,’ Blanche said, ‘we can do everything ourselves. It’s just tidying up and changing sheets and towels. Don’t worry about us.’

  Olive and I concurred. I could tell the chief was relieved, poor man. ‘I can give one of you the key to the steward’s closet,’ he said. We agreed that Mrs Smit should keep the key with her and we would ask her for it when we needed it.

  I stopped by our uncleared table to pick up my purse before leaving the wardroom, and I’ll be darned if Olive’s leftover baked potato wasn’t missing from her plate. Blanche must have filched it when we moved to the Smits’ table. What a strange woman.

  I lingered on the deck alone after dinner. I needed to clear my head. I was out of practice drinking gin. The night was clear for once, though freezing cold, of course. I rewrapped my scarf to cover most of my face to keep my nose from going numb. Countless stars wheeled overhead. They weren’t very different from the ones I grew up with on the Carolina coast. I recognized Perseus and Ursa Major and Minor.

  I was still feeling a bit tipsy when I went inside the superstructure. It was too cold to stay outside for long. Alone in the passageway, I passed the doorway to the utility room where Blanche supposedly rode out the gale, and where we joked that she spent the time she wasn’t around.

  On an impulse I reached out to open the door to the closet. It was locked. I stood there thunderstruck, with my hand still on the lever. I tried to open it again: still locked. A colored messman came by and spoke to me. ‘Ma’am, that door
is always locked. Do you need something? It’s just got mops and such inside. I’m not on watch or I could have opened it for you.’

  I dropped my hand. ‘No, thanks, I was exploring a little bit. You know, now that Grace is gone, we’ll be taking care of ourselves downstairs.’

  ‘I think you’ll find the steward’s closet on your passageway will have everything you need,’ he said. ‘If not, just ask one of us.’

  I thanked him and went on my way, rather robotically, toward the stairs, my brain absorbing this new information. Blanche had not ridden through the terrifying gale in that utility closet. Where was she and why did she lie about it?

  I couldn’t sleep that night, despite the gin and a big dinner. What I’d learned during my years at OSS kept me from accepting the master’s decision not to order a formal investigation of Grace’s death. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand why he made it: he had crushing responsibilities, commanding a cargo ship loaded with ammunition across the Atlantic Ocean in the dead of winter. A ship in constant danger from German submarines and airplanes. I could even understand how he could insist that Grace’s death was an accident, even though we couldn’t quite understand how it happened. And why would anyone have wanted her dead? About all I could come up with was her reputation as a gossiper, that perhaps she heard or saw something that someone was afraid she would talk about. But I had no evidence of that. And how on earth could we place anyone at the scene, when the ship’s crew and passengers were on deck gaping at an iceberg? It would be impossible to establish alibis for everyone.

  But I’d been taught to solve problems, not ignore them because they were difficult. I turned on my bedside lamp and rummaged in my purse for the stick drawing I’d made of the scene of Grace’s fall. I just didn’t see how she could fall down the stairs but with her tray and its contents landing in the passageway. Gravity and the stair rail made that impossible. And if she’d fallen all the way down the stairs, why were there no bruises on her body? Her only injury was the awful head wound that killed her. The scenario that fit the scene – which I could visualize – would be if she had been in the passageway, and someone had crept up behind her and hit her hard enough to kill her. Her tray would fall to the passageway floor. Then her killer would arrange her body to look as if she’d fallen down the stairs. All while most of the ship’s crew and passengers were on deck.