The Moonlit Murders: A historical mystery page-turner (A Fen Churche Mystery Book 3) by Fliss Chester (best ereader for pc .txt) 📗

that a run-through of a few show tunes in Genie and Spencer’s cabin would round the evening off a treat. James, Spencer and Frank would take their cigars and brandies to the bar, giving the young women the cabin to themselves. Mrs Archer merely raised her eyebrows at the suggestion that she join the younger women too, and instead asked Bisset to accompany her back to her cabin before he returned to the bridge for his shift.

‘You can’t be too careful,’ she reminded them all as they left the table. ‘This boat could be full of thieves for all we know.’

‘I’m sure you’re safe with the first officer, Aunt M.’ Eloise pecked her on the cheek. ‘He doesn’t look the sort to fancy himself in a tiara.’

‘Cheek of it,’ Mrs Archer softened and then said, ‘Don’t stay up too late. I’m not at all happy with you spending your time with that… that showgirl.’

‘We won’t, Aunt, promise. Fen will keep me on the straight and narrow, won’t you, Fen?’

Fen smiled at her and nodded, then Eloise waved her aunt off before turning to wink at Fen and Genie.

When her aunt was out of earshot, Eloise asked, ‘Now who’s up for some fun?’

19

Fen stood on deck and watched as the waves crashed against the great hulk of the ship below her. It was their first full day at sea and land was long out of sight, and Fen knew that it would be days before they had a glimpse of it again. And when they did, it would be America. Her mind wandered to her old friend Edith, who had lodged with Mrs B, too, while they both worked the farm as land girls in West Sussex.

Edith had made this crossing, or rather a similar one, from Southampton to Montreal, shortly after the war had ended. She’d had ‘relations’ with a Canadian soldier and was heavy with child, but with Duke never to return from France, she’d headed off to find his family and hope they’d help raise their grandchild. Mrs B hadn’t heard from her since she’d sailed and Fen made a mental note to try and get in touch once she’d arrived in New York. There would be no time for her to head north to Canada, but a telephone call might cost less if she was on the same continent.

Fen turned away from the grey seas and looked down the deck. Some of the troops, still in uniform for lack of anything else to wear, were playing shuffleboard, pushing their discs along the glistening wet wood of the recreation area. She could hear their voices, loud and full of good humour, despite the sleet-like rain that was slicing across the deck. On any normal voyage, passengers would have avoided the open air in weather like this, in favour of staying in their cabins or seeking out the auditorium to watch a film reel, or they’d pass the day in one of the comfortable saloon bars, but these chaps clearly relished being out in the open. Perhaps it gave them a sense of freedom like the one Eloise had felt a couple of nights ago? This boat did, after all, symbolise what all soldiers, and girls stuck with their matronly aunts, dream of – going home.

The familiar sound of a wolf whistle cut through the gusts of wind and it heralded the arrival of Genie on deck. Fen waved to her and then noticed that she wasn’t walking alone. The man beside her, however, wasn’t Spencer McNeal but Dr Bartlett, whom they’d met at dinner two nights ago when they’d dined at Captain Lagrande’s table.

He was a handsome man. Though older than Genie by twenty years or so, he wore his age well, with grey flecks punctuating his auburn hair, and he walked with a firm stride and straight back, his hands clasped behind his back. Genie seemed to be in deep conversation with him, and he was intently listening and replying to her. Fen had observed her taking an interest in him the other night too, and she wondered if perhaps at times Genie didn’t prefer his company to the somewhat bad-tempered and attention-loving Spencer.

Fen turned away from them, it wasn’t fair of her to scrutinise and she really shouldn’t second-guess people like that. Genie hadn’t mentioned anything about Dr Bartlett last night when Fen and Eloise had gone back to her cabin. They’d initially thought they’d have a few drinks and call it a night after that, but in actual fact they’d had a blast trying on some of Genie’s costumes – boas and wigs and ballerina-style tutus, plus her stage make-up and costume jewellery.

Eloise had looked the part of a showgirl all right, and they’d screeched with laughter as she’d done impression after impression of her draconian aunt. Fen had had to scrub quite hard with her flannel to get the oily stage paint off her face and heaven knows Eloise must have had to do the same. It had been fun though, and worth the sore head she’d woken with this morning.

Fen was relieved that she appeared to be a natural sailor and hadn’t succumbed to any sort of sickness, despite the sea being grey and exceedingly choppy. In fact, she found the rolling of the ship, especially at night, quite comforting. A sudden squall dashed sleet in her face, though, and as stoic as she was about ocean travel, that was perhaps a little too much to bear. Fen retreated to the sheltered promenade deck, where some steamer chairs were lined up in a row. Finding one she liked the look of, and not too far from her own cabin’s porthole, she sat herself down.

‘He’s a nice man.’ Genie surprised her by plonking herself down on the chair next to her.

‘Dr Bartlett?’ It didn’t take a genius to work out who she was talking about. ‘He seemed very amiable when we met him. From the same neck of the woods as me, actually.’

‘Oh really?’