Page 52 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
Just an hour. That was all she needed to arrange her thoughts.
She might stay here, crouched in the stairwell, but she thought of the warmth on the other side of the door. There, her clothes would dry out quickly.
And the men who worked were mostly on the floor beneath where she stood, where the fuel and the furnaces were located.
Gently, she turned the handle, opening the door just enough to view the long passageway. The welcome heat rushed to meet her, and the noise from below. If Mr. Lopez appeared, to check his dials and switches, what would she say?
It didn’t matter. She’d think of something.
* * *
Pouring himself a shot of whisky, Lance paced the floor for the hundredth time.
He’d been all for chasing Cecile down there and then. Hell only knew what she must be thinking. Considering what she’d walked in on, it wasn’t hard to guess.
That vixen, Miss di Cavour, had persuaded him otherwise.
Lucrezia!
As devious as her Borgia namesake!
Women were the same as men, she’d assured him: sometimes, they needed time to lick their wounds. When Cecile returned, Lucrezia promised she’d make her friend see that Lance hadn’t instigated what Cecile had witnessed.
Not that he was blameless—but Miss di Cavour had taken him by surprise. Only when his hand was upon her breast did he realize how deeply he was in trouble, and the events that followed had happened so quickly.
She’d been several steps ahead the whole time, and he’d been a horse’s ass!
Contrite, she’d vowed that she’d only meant to test him. And he’d demonstrated his steadfastness.
Accordingly, she promised she would put things right with Cecile, and she hoped he would find it in his heart to forgive her.
As to that, he wasn’t altogether sure he would—but he’d do whatever was necessary to placate Cecile.
All afternoon, he’d been waiting for a knock on the door and Cecile on the other side. Whatever she wanted to throw at him, he’d take it, as long as he got a chance to tell her what he’d been meaning to.
When the rap came, he was across the room in three strides.
Yanking it open, he was less than pleased to see Miss di Cavour standing on the threshold. Heedless of his icy countenance, she slipped in without being asked, closing the door behind her.
He saw immediately that something wrong. Miss di Cavour usually appeared supremely in command of herself. Instead, full of nervous energy, she wasted no time in getting to the point. ‘Cecile has not yet returned.’
‘Not back? But it’s been—’ he glanced at his pocket watch. ‘Six hours?’
‘Far too long.’ Miss di Cavour wrung her hands. ‘I went to sleep, believing she would be back. Then, I woke and she was not. I check already. She is not with Lord or Lady McCaulay, nor in the library, the salon or other such places.’
Miss di Cavour pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes. ‘If something bad has happened, it is my fault. I cause upset and she runs away.’ Looking up, her expression was pleading. ‘Find her, I beg you.’
She didn’t need to say what they both were thinking: there was a murderer on board the ship.
A jolt of fear ripped through his innards. ‘Go back to the cabin and lock the door. Meanwhile, I’ll search.’
‘Grazie.’ Falteringly, Miss di Cavour made the sign of the cross upon her chest. ‘I pray that the angels watch her.’
‘Better to pray that I find her quickly.’ Lance pulled on his overcoat.
If anything happened to Cecile, it wouldn’t just be Lucrezia’s fault; it would be his.
* * *
