Page 8 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
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‘I’m happy you’re now well enough to enjoy this,cara.’ With so much surrounding chatter, and the string quartet's vivacious rendering of Vivaldi'sFour Seasons, Lucrezia leaned close to make herself heard.
Though the dining room’s chandeliers swung gently, Cecile was thankful that the motion of the ship no longer made her stomach turn over. Having eaten only lightly since their arrival on board, she was eager to sample the menu.
As they crossed to their table at the very heart of theLeviathan’s central atrium, heads turned. Cecile was long-used to such an effect from accompanying Maud, but several of the glances lingered also upon Lucrezia, whose dark beauty—while lacking the singularity of Maud’s titian hair and pale skin—was undeniably striking.
Cecile tended to feel rather gauche in comparison, but her dress for this evening was flattering: dove grey chiffon, with an over-layer of shimmering silver-threaded gauze and diaphanous swags covering her shoulders and the upper portion of her arms. As for other adornments, Henry frowned upon the wearing of feathers. She and Maud wore silk flowers in their hair: a white lily for herself and an arrangement of scarlet roses for her sister-in-law—to match the rubies of which she was so fond.
Lucrezia had spent an inordinate amount of time on her appearance and was carrying herself with her customary, imperious air. Though her dress was quite plain, in pale green silk, trimmed through the bodice with matching guipure lace, one’s eye was drawn to the wide choker of diamonds about her throat and the matching band circling her hair, which she’d pinned high in elaborate curls, with Claudette’s assistance, to impressive effect.
These were the best of her jewels. Not those she’d pushed into her pockets on the night they’d fled the burning castello, but the di Cavour diamonds, which she’d recovered from the conte’s safe while the ruins yet smoked. How fortunate it had been that Lucrezia had known the combination of her brother’s safe, and more fortunate still that a note had been recovered alongside, pledging that the jewels were to go to Lucrezia in the event of the conte’s death, rather than being entailed to the distant cousin inheriting the rest of the di Cavour assets.
Only the most cynical would speculate that the handwriting lacked the conte’s usual flair. The paper and the seal were unmistakably his, and it was inconceivable that the letter was questionable in any way.
At least, so the local magistrate proclaimed.
Lucrezia had paid several visits to him in the weeks following the tragedy, to ensure he gained full appreciation of her desire to see her brother’s last wishes fulfilled.
As they joined the most honoured table, Cecile did her best to take note of the captain’s introductions—a distinguished Portuguese gentleman travelling to take up his position as ambassador to Brazil, and his wife, the ship’s doctor, two elderly ladies, and the attractive young woman she and Lucrezia had seen the day before.
The task was impossible, however; for, seated directly opposite was Mr. Robinson, looking ridiculously suave in evening dress and bestowing on her a wide grin.
Shyly, Cecile gave a returning half-smile, before making herself turn her attention to the ladies between whom she’d been seated. It would hardly do for Henry, or anyone else, to observe her gazing adoringly into the eyes of a ’stranger’.
Mr. Robinson was unquestionably charming, and gallant, but he was a man of the world. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that his attentions to her were an indication of anything serious. Her childish notions of gentlemen falling desperately in love at first sight had long since been dispelled.
A platter arrived, of salmon mousseline, lobster and crab, garnished with ribbons of cucumber, and she applied herself to consuming them as delicately as possible. Meanwhile, Misses Eliza and Letitia Arbuthnot—spinster sisters—regaled her with details of their journey, which had begun from their home in Tunbridge Wells and was to end when they joined their brother, the British Honorary Consul to São Paulo.
Cecile did her utmost to respond with appropriate interest.
Around them, conversation ebbed and flowed to the accompaniment of silverware upon finest china and appreciative murmurs from the diners. Privilege and wealth were a happy combination, and no expense had been spared on the wines and delicacies being served.
Mr. Robinson appeared very much at ease between his own companions: Lucrezia upon his left and the striking young woman on his other side, tonight exchanging her dark green wool for taffeta in a similar hue. As Mr. Robinson dipped his head to hear whatever the senhora was saying, Cecile couldn’t help but wonder as to their topic.
His low chuckle carried across the table.
Surveying the oysters placed before her, Cecile found that she’d rather lost her appetite.
The Misses Arbuthnot were discussing the merits of poached halibut over sole. With a sigh, Cecile glanced at Lucrezia, who immediately caught her eye; she lifted an oyster to her lips and, having swallowed, sent her a wink.
Cecile choked back her laughter and, to avoid further peril, cast her attention to the great glass dome arcing above them.
The grand salon was certainly worthy of the name. At least a hundred feet long, its walls were painted gold, bearing delicate oriental motifs. Cranes and geese, heron and tufted ducks, soared gracefully above the diners, beaks straining heavenward. Meanwhile, no expense had been spared on the lavish furnishings, from the solid mahogany booths lining the outer perimeter to the sumptuous rugs underfoot and the rich swathes of ochre damask curtaining the windows.
Almost more dazzling than the decor were the occupants of the room. In contrast to the gentlemen’s sombre evening attire, their female companions were outfitted in an array of the latest fashions, their plumage as boldly attention seeking as that of any bird depicted upon the panelled walls.
Luxurious silks vied with deeply coloured velvets, while every neck and ear and wrist glittered with jewels, the facets caught not only by candlelight, but by that of electric bulbs softly glowing.
Her attention was pulled back by Henry’s voice, rising enthusiastically above the rest.
‘The artist has done a commendable job—’
From the direction of her brother’s gaze, she could tell he’d also been admiring the painted birds.
‘—although I think they’ve confused their hooded crane with the Siberian and the red-crowned.’ He peered upwards. ‘The crimson markings are altogether in the wrong place for any of the species with which I’m familiar.’
‘Now, darling, no one but you would notice such a thing,’ Maud chided gently. ‘To the rest of us, it’s simply enchanting.’
