Page 37 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
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Cecile retreated to the sitting room while Lucrezia went to fetch Henry.
She sat for a moment before rising again, checking the door onto the deck was locked, then moving to the window.
The Misses Arbuthnot were walking arm in arm, and the ambassador and his wife were also taking the air. As they sailed south, the calmer waters and warmer temperatures had drawn out more passengers.
It was said that those of a certain criminal mind took pleasure from observing the aftermath of their evil actions but, scanning the faces of those promenading, none seemed to bear guilt.
Nevertheless, a multitude of thoughts assailed her.
This was Lucrezia’s room.
Had she been the intended victim—or had the murderer seen Claudette enter and chosen her purposefully? The killer seemed to have a preference for dark-haired women. In all other respects, there was nothing to relate Senhora Fonseca with Claudette—nor with Lucrezia.
Whoever this madman was, had he entered Lance’s room by accident, thinking a woman was there?
The night before, had the murderer been waiting, hidden by the drifting mist? Had he observed Cecile descend the stairs to the lower deck?
Lance had been watching; he would have seen someone, surely? Unless the murderer had approached only after she’d gone to Lance; only after she’d taken his attention from the duty he’d assigned himself.
The memory rushed to claim her.
Nothing else had existed; only being held and kissed.
Had it been the same for Lance? Had he been as absorbed by her as she’d been with him?
A rap came upon the door and Cecile hurried to open it.
Dr. Machado stepped in, his expression ominously dark, with Henry close on his heels, followed by Lance. Both he and her brother looked exhausted, but the haunted look in Lance’s eyes spoke of more than tiredness.
Clutching his bag, the doctor spoke sharply. ‘You touched nothing I hope.’
Cecile shrank under his disapproving glare. ‘We didn’t know—not at first.’ She looked beseechingly at Henry. ‘I thought she might still be…’
A dreadful lump came to Cecile’s throat.
She noticed, then, that the men were alone.
‘Lucrezia? Where is she?’
Henry came to stand closer. ‘Miss di Cavour appeared faint. I’ve sent her to rest and instructed her to stay in your cabin. The captain will want to talk to her.’
Dr. Machado gave an impatient huff. ‘I shall have questions also—but not until I have inspected the body. I do this alone. You may leave if you wish, but go where it is easy for me to find you. Captain Rocha is on his way.’ He took his leave, moving through to the bedroom.
‘Henry, I…’ A sob took hold of Cecile before she could find the right words.
‘Hold it together, sweet.’ Henry rubbed her shoulder. ‘You’ve had a shock.’
He looked at Lance. ‘Go with Mr. Robinson. I don’t want you out of our sight, unless you’re locked in.’
Cecile nodded. In light of what had happened, she could hardly object to Henry’s caution.
Lance cast a quick glance towards Cecile, and she saw compassion there. ‘We’ll wait in my room.’ Opening the door onto the inner passageway, he ushered her through.
Cecile hesitated as they passed her door. ‘I should check on Lucrezia.’
‘Later.’ Lance placed a guiding hand on her back. ‘The doctor’s given her something to make her sleep.’
