The Golden Cage Page 10

  chapter Six

  Sitting in her cabin waiting, Crisa felt that every minute was an hour, every hour a century.

  She was frantic to know what was happening. At the same time she did not dare disobey Mr. Thorpe and leave her cabin.

  She had visions of his being arrested for murder and the Captain putting him in irons or whatever happened on board ship.

  Then suddenly, striking almost like a bombshell, she realised that if there was gossip and publicity, inevitably there would be journalists.

  She had an idea of how sensational the French newspapers would be if they learnt about it and she was sure that it would be impossible to avoid one of the passengers, if not dozens of them, relating with relish to the French press as soon as they docked at Le Havre, what had occurred.

  If there was a charge, it might be impossible for Mr. Thorpe, however much he tried, to prevent her name from appearing in the newspapers.

  Granted, it would be as ‘Miss Christina Wayne’, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that, if the Vanderhaults read about it, they might want to get in touch with her to ask if she knew the whereabouts of her friend.

  Everything was going round and round in her head until she felt that she must run to the suite and see what had happened to Mr. Thorpe.

  The idea of his being cross-examined and, as she assumed he intended, admitting that it was he who had shot the Russian was intolerable, not only because she knew it would humiliate and upset him but also because, if he was charged with murder, she would have to confess the truth.

  It was then that even more frightening prospects opened up before her.

  How could she possibly explain why she had concealed her identity using her supposed friend’s name or why she should wish to earn money by becoming a secretary to a stranger on board?

  That in itself would seem very peculiar when she was so enormously rich and she could see no way out of her dilemma unless Mr. Thorpe in some magical way of his own could keep the whole incident hushed up.

  ‘But how could he?’ Crisa asked herself. ‘How could he hide a dead body?’

  The minutes ticked by and, although she waited and waited, no one came near her.

  Finally, when it was nearly eight o’clock and she wondered if she would have to go hungry or disobey Mr. Thorpe by leaving her cabin, there came a knock on the door.

  Half-an-hour earlier, because she had nothing else to do, she had changed into one of the two evening gowns she had bought at Macy’s. They were very pretty, though quite simple in style compared to the elaborate, highly decorated creations that were the fashion.

  Because she was thinking of what Christina Wayne, had she really existed, would wear, she had chosen gowns in the soft pastel shades that became her and insisted on some of the frills and flowers being removed from the bodices and skirts.

  Now, wearing a gown of very pale green, the colour of the leaves in spring, she looked, although she did not realise it, like a nymph who had come up from the waves of the sea.

  She hardly bothered to look in the mirror, deep in her anxiety about Mr. Thorpe.

  ‘Supposing they have already taken him away and locked him up?’ she tortured herself. ‘Then I will not know where he is and I might sit here waiting until midnight!’

  She was sure, however, when she thought about it that Jenkins would not forget her and, when at the knock she rushed to open the door, she saw him outside.

  “The Master’s waitin’ to see you, miss,” he said.

  He spoke rapidly and without waiting, as he usually did, to escort her to the door of the suite, he walked away down the corridor and she stared after him in surprise.

  Because Jenkins was behaving in so unusual a manner, it made her even more apprehensive than she was already.

  Catching up the chiffon scarf that matched her gown, she hurried towards Mr. Thorpe’s suite and found unexpectedly that the door was open.

  She walked into the cabin and saw that, although it was not yet dark outside, the curtains were closed over the portholes and there was one electric light, which was the only illumination in the room.

  As she entered, Mr. Thorpe rose from his usual chair and she closed the door and walked towards him.

  Then, as her eyes went to his face, she stopped still and stared.

  He was not wearing his dark glasses and, as she looked at him in bewilderment, she realised that he was more handsome than she had thought he would be.

  His eyes were dark under heavily marked eyebrows and he was looking at her in a penetrating manner that made her feel shy.

  But as if nothing mattered except that she should know the truth, she ran the few steps towards him, saying as she reached him,

  “What has – happened? Are you – all right? I have been – terrified as to what – might have – happened to you.”

  The words seemed to spill out of her mouth incoherently and Mr. Thorpe took her hand in his and said quietly,

  “I have so much to tell you, Crisa, but may I say first that you are even lovelier than I thought you would be and I am very very grateful to you because I am alive.”

  “But – you can – s-see!” Crisa stammered.

  “I can see because I could no longer go on without seeing you,” he answered. “So I have taken off my glasses for this evening, although I am afraid that I may have to wear them for a little longer in the daytime.”

  “And – you are – all right?”

  “I am all right.”

  The way he spoke, so quietly and confidently, made her aware that he was holding one of her hands in his and that her other hand was resting involuntarily on the lapel of his evening coat.

  Blushing a little because it seemed overfamiliar, she moved a step away from him and clasping her hands together said,

  “Please – tell me what – h-happened.”

  “That is what I intend to do,” Mr. Thorpe said, “but I feel we have much to celebrate, Crisa, you and I, so I have sent Jenkins for some champagne so that we can.”

  “Celebrate?”

  It seemed such a strange word for him to use and she could only stare at him.

  Then, as if she knew that it was what he expected, she sat down in a chair that stood beside the one he always used.

  He too sat down before he said,

  “I am sorry that I could not tell you sooner what has happened and save you from worrying – ”

  “Of course I have been – worrying,” Crisa interrupted. “I-I thought perhaps you had been – arrested!”

  It was difficult to say the words and the tremor in her voice told him how frightened she had been.

  It was then that the door opened and Jenkins came in carrying a bottle of champagne.

  He put it down on a side table and opening it filled two glasses.

  Crisa was silent until he had handed her one on a salver. Then she managed to thank him, even though, because everything that had happened was so strange and unexpected, she found it difficult to speak.

  As Mr. Thorpe took a glass, he said,

  “We shall be going down to the Dining Saloon quite soon, Jenkins, so finish up what is left of the champagne. No one deserves it more than you, but it may be politic to share it with one or two of the Stewards.”

  “I’ve already thought of that, sir,” Jenkins replied, “and I’m certain they’ll not say ‘no’.”

  He walked towards the door and as he reached it he said,

  “I hopes you enjoys your dinner, sir. I’m told the Chief Steward has notified the chef how fastidious you are.”

  Jenkins left the State room and Crisa stared at Mr. Thorpe in sheer astonishment.

  “You are – going down to dinner?” she asked. “Why?”

  He smiled at her and she thought, although she had already found his mouth exceedingly attractive, that when his eyes were twinkling too, he had the most arresting face of any man she could imagine.

  “Because I want you to enjoy your dinner,” he said, “I am going to tell
you quickly what has happened, so that you will no longer go on worrying.”

  Crisa drew in her breath and her fingers tightened on her glass of champagne, but she did not speak as Mr. Thorpe began,

  “Before you so bravely saved my life, I thought I had no chance of survival. I was in the power of a man who was wanted for murder and a dozen other crimes, both in France and America.”

  “But why should he – want to – kill you?” Crisa asked.

  “That is a question I cannot answer fully,” Mr. Thorpe replied, “but I was sent to America to find him and when I did he managed to escape at the last moment, but not before, as you have already seen, wounding me in the arm and on my forehead.”

  “And – now that he is – dead,” Crisa asked, “will there not be a – great deal of fuss? And if you say you killed him – there may be – a trial.”

  She shivered as she spoke, thinking how much the idea had frightened her in the long hours she had waited to hear from Mr Thorpe.

  He took a sip of the champagne before he replied,

  “There will be no trial!”

  “N-no trial?” Crisa repeated. “But – surely – ?”

  “Not so far as I am concerned, at any rate.”

  “I-I don’t – understand!”

  “It may seem rather puzzling,” he said, “and, although it is against my principles to talk about what has happened, I think, because you were instrumental in exterminating a rat, which Ivan Kermynski was, you are entitled to know what has happened to what is left of him.”

  “I – must know!” Crisa exclaimed. “You could not be so – cruel as to leave me in – ignorance and very very – curious?”

  “And also very frightened,” Mr. Thorpe finished, “which is something that I must definitely put an end to.”

  “How could I – help being afraid,” Crisa asked, “when I thought you might – face the – threat of being hanged?”

  “Would that upset you?”

  There was a caressing note in his voice that made her look quickly away from him, feeling that what she had said had been too revealing.

  “Of course I should – have been – upset,” she replied, “and I – should have had to – come forward and tell them it was I who – fired at him.”

  “Would you really have done that?”

  “Of course – I would! You don’t think I would allow an – innocent man to be – convicted – of murder, especially – ”

  She stopped suddenly and Mr. Thorpe said gently,

  “ – especially if it was me!”

  Again Crisa blushed and then he said in a different tone of voice,

  “I must not tease you – I will tell you what happened. When I sent you to your cabin, I rang for a Steward and when he came to the door I opened it just a crack and said,

  “‘Will you find my manservant, Jenkins, as quickly as you can? I am not feeling well.’

  “The Steward hurried away and I locked the door until about ten minutes later, when Jenkins arrived.”

  Mr. Thorpe paused and smiled before he said,

  “As you can imagine, Jenkins has had a great deal to say about what happened and I could not prevent him from guessing that it was you who shot Kermynski when he threatened me and thereby saved me from dying.”

  As he spoke, Crisa gave a little cry.

  “I have just – thought of something – awful!”

  “What is it?” Mr. Thorpe asked.

  “It was my – fault that he came into your State room as he did. I have only just – realised it! I heard him say it was the first time he had found you alone – and that was because he – must have seen – me running down the passage – to the writing room.”

  She thought Mr. Thorpe looked at her in surprise and she explained,

  “I could not find the penknife that you told me was in a drawer, although I found your revolver. Then I remembered that there are always fresh pencils in the writing room and it took me only – two minutes to find one. But, as the Russian must have been watching your State room, it gave him a chance to get – at you knowing that you were – alone.”

  She drew in her breath before she said,

  “I-I am sorry – desperately sorry – it was – all my fault.”

  Without thinking, she held out her hand almost as if she was pleading for Mr. Thorpe’s forgiveness.

  He took it in his, saying,

  “You are not to blame yourself. It would have happened sooner or later and how can I do anything but congratulate you on being so quick-witted and so brave as to save me?”

  His fingers were strong, firm and comforting as they held hers and, although she was trembling with the shock of suddenly realising that it was her fault that he had been exposed to danger, she managed to say,

  “P-please – go on.”

  “Jenkins and I,” Mr. Thorpe continued without releasing her hand, “have been in some tight spots in the past and Jenkins knew that the one thing we did not want was to be found with the dead body of Ivan Kermynski in the cabin and to have to explain why it was in my State room.”

  “B-but – surely it was something you – had to do?”

  “It was Jenkins who found the key of his cabin in his pocket. This was very important since we had no idea under what name he was travelling, only knowing that it would not be his own. We then rolled him up in one of the rugs.”

  “In one of the rugs!” Crisa exclaimed. “Why did you do that?”

  “It was the way Cleopatra travelled, if you remember, when she first confronted Julius Caesar and I daresay a number of other people have emulated her since.”

  There was a hint of amusement in Mr. Thorpe’s voice, but Crisa could only stare at him wide eyed.

  It flashed through her mind that having taken him away rolled in the rug, Jenkins would have thrown his body into the sea.

  Then she knew that it would be impossible to do that in broad daylight with sailors on duty and so many people moving about the decks.

  As if he knew that was what she was thinking, Mr. Thorpe said,

  “No, in that way we should certainly have become implicated. Jenkins waited until he thought that the corridor would be clear and then, carrying Kermynski over his shoulder completely concealed in the rug, he took him down to the lower deck.”

  “Surely the man was very heavy?”

  “I am sure he was,” Mr. Thorpe agreed, “but Jenkins was, at one time when he was in the Army, a well-known lightweight boxer, and although he does not look it, he is in his own words, ‘as strong as an ox!’”

  “He must be to carry a man on his shoulder!” Crisa exclaimed.

  “Jenkins took the body down to Kermynski’s own cabin and laid him on the floor with his knife in his hand, as if he had been fighting to defend himself against an assailant. Then, with what I think was exceptional cleverness, he found amongst his belongings several French and American newspapers that described some of his more recent crimes and there were reports that so far the Police of both countries had failed to capture him.”

  “You mean,” Crisa said, “that, when he is found, the authorities on board this ship will immediately know who he really is.”

  “Exactly,” Mr. Thorpe affirmed, “and I cannot help thinking it extremely likely that Kermynski’s body will disappear during the night and he will never be heard of again.”

  Crisa stared at him in astonishment.

  “Why should you think that will happen?”

  “The answer to that is,” Mr. Thorpe explained, “that owing to the intense competition among the Atlantic Liners of all three countries, France, England and America, any scandal or anything that might lose them the confidence and the goodwill of intending passengers must take priority over everything else.”

  “I think I understand,” Crisa said. “You mean the passengers here on La Touraine would be very shocked to learn that – there had been a murder aboard.”

  He smiled and went on rather sarcastically,

  “If
Kermynski’s death was publicised, it might put off any prospective passengers from booking a passage on a French Line, thinking that they would be safer on a British Liner.”

  “Then you – really think,” Crisa said, “that we shall not – hear any more about this – wretched man?”

  “I would be prepared to bet on it,” Mr. Thorpe replied. “But also you and I are dining together tonight, which will give the assembled company something new to talk about.”

  “We are – really dining in the – Saloon?”

  “I shall be very disappointed if you refuse to be my guest.”

  “I-I never thought – I never imagined that I should be able to – dine with you.”

  “You may find it a very dull experience,” Mr. Thorpe remarked. “At the same time let me say that I shall be very honoured and proud to be with the most beautiful young woman on the Liner.”

  “You can hardly say that,” Crisa exclaimed, “when you have not seen anybody else!”

  “Jenkins tells me that you have absolutely no rivals,” Mr. Thorpe said, “and, of course, I am always prepared to believe Jenkins!”

  Crisa laughed because she could not help it and then said,

  “I-I cannot believe – all this has happened – it is like something out of a book – and even then one would – think it was exaggerated.”

  “Now it is all over,” Mr. Thorpe said, “and, as I don’t want you to think about it again, it would be best if we did not discuss it, especially on board. As far as we are concerned, nothing untoward has occurred today, except that I have not started the first chapter of my book as I should have done and it will be something I shall do tomorrow.”

  Although he spoke lightly, Crisa was certain that what he said was an order and she dared not disobey him.

  Mr. Thorpe lifted his glass of champagne.

  “To a Greek Goddess,” he toasted, “who has stepped down from Olympus to honour me with her presence.”

  Crisa felt shy at the way he spoke.

  But she also managed to give a little laugh.

  “How can I answer a toast like that,” she asked, “except to say, ‘here’s to your book and may it be a huge success!”

  “I think that depends on you,” Mr. Thorpe said.

  He rose to his feet and she realised that, although he still had his arm in a sling, beneath it he wore his evening clothes.