The Haunting of the Oceania, Page 2

  Reese almost felt like he should apologize for his valet’s actions, but instead left the bridge with the mere assurance he would take care of any necessary business. Packing up Markham’s things was not a job Reese would have picked, but he decided it was better to have done with it rather than wait. Finding his way to the second class cabins wasn’t difficult, though once he was there, he realized he hadn’t known how the smell of fried potatoes and sausages wafting from steerage permeated every part of the lower decks.

  Reese explained the situation to the steward in second class and asked him to unlock the door. The man, slight and balding in a spotless uniform, was happy to give Reese his opinion of the valet as he searched for the proper key. “If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, Mr. Markham smelled powerful of spirits at times.”

  The steward opened the door and then stepped back, watching as Reese went in, but remaining in the hallway himself. Reese went into the fusty room. Markham’s meager possessions consisted of a grubby pack of cards amongst a few clothes thrown over a chair. A half-empty bottle of bourbon stood on the bedside table. There was a carpet bag under the bed and Reese filled it with the items. “I can leave this with you, I assume,” Reese said to the steward. “I’ll collect it when we dock.” He felt cramped enough in his own cabin without adding one more item to it.

  The man didn’t answer, distracted by something down the hallway. A loud thump came from the cabin next door, causing the steward to jump back. He let out a shout, quickly cut off. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, backing a little further into the hall. “I shouldn’t be shrieking like a little child.”

  There was silence from the other side of the wall. “Sounds like a restless sleeper to me,” Reese said, “kicking the wall.”

  “No, that cabin is empty, sir.”

  “Why? I thought the ship was booked. They told me when I booked passage there were no second class cabins left, until they found this at the last moment.”

  “It needed some repairs,” the man said, but he wouldn’t meet Reese’s eyes.

  “It sounds like someone is in there now. Don’t you think you should check? Perhaps you have a stowaway.”

  “No.” The man took another step backward. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  Reese wasn’t going to press him. Something had probably just fallen over with the motion of the ship. As Reese was leaving, he noticed a small bit of white just showing from under the edge of the rug. He bent down and picked it up, realizing it was another one of the bone objects. He slipped it in his pocket before the steward could see it, not wanting this steward to take the item away from him as the last one had.

  Back in his own cabin, he examined the item. It was identical to the one the monkey had given him, though Reese couldn’t fathom why anyone would go to the trouble to clean bones and then tie them together in an elaborate knot. Not knowing what to do with it, he put it in the drawer of the nightstand.

  Later in the day, after a strained memorial service for Markham, Reese went out to sit on deck, hoping the air would clear his mind. He couldn’t wait for the voyage to end and to get back to his own work. It was a relief to know that in a few days they would be in sight of shore and close to docking.

  Aunt Tat joined him, letting a steward settle a deck robe on her lap. She let out a discreet yawn, and then apologized. “I was up too late last evening. The Duchess and I attempted to contact my dear Anton last night, but there were too many spirits in the way. She said she will keep trying, but it often takes weeks.”

  Weeks in which the Duchess would undoubtedly need to sponge off his aunt, Reese thought. When they arrived in England, he’d find a way to separate the woman from Tatiana.

  “I would so like an assurance that Anton is happy on the other side,” Tatiana said. “I’m sure he will appear eventually.”

  Reese suspected if Great-Uncle Anton was on the other side and still his same hedonistic self as he had been when among the living, he was too occupied enjoying himself to make the effort to appear at a séance.

  Tat chattered on and Reese tried to keep his attention on what she was saying, but when the girl in black came on deck, he stopped listening. She sat down by herself, at a spot where there were empty deck chairs on either side of her. Opening the sketch pad she had with her, she began drawing rapidly. It took him a moment to realize the girl was either drawing Aunt Tat or him. She alternated between glancing at them and at her sketch paper. Uncomfortable with her scrutiny, he began to feel as if he were pinned under a magnifier. She examined him with the same deliberate attention his Grandfather had given to his prized beetle collection.

  She didn’t even heed his examination of her, continuing her work as if she were drawing a statue. He wished he could shut out the world as easily as she did. The constant chattering and the enforced friendships on ship bored and annoyed him. He was tired of the endless whist games and the choking atmosphere of the dark smoking room.

  For some reason the girl made him think of summer nights, and warm silky air. Her dark hair would gleam in the moonlight and she would smile then, away from this cold place. He could imagine her in the summerhouse, the scent of lilies around her. He could imagine pulling her down beside him and unpinning her hair, running his hands through it.

  “More bouillon, sir?” Reese was startled out of his concentration by the deck steward.

  “No,” he snapped. “All this bouillon makes me feel like an invalid.” The steward drew back quickly. Reese glanced back toward the girl and felt an unusual jolt of regret when he realized she was gone. He had to remind himself it was just as well she was in her own world. He didn’t know where his next mission would take him, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted by a woman, nor take the chance that someone close to him would guess his mapping expeditions were a cover for his post at the British Foreign Office.

  An overpowering scent of roses surrounded him right before a strangely accented voice said, “There you are, my dear Tatiana! I was hoping I’d find you.”

  The Duchess, wearing a large magenta hat and a fur coat, stood in front of them, the monkey on her shoulder. Everything about the woman was just too much: too much scent, too many pieces of jewelry, and too much jet-black hair for all of it to be real. He actually found himself feeling sorry for the monkey. The little creature sat quietly on her shoulder, clinging to the fox trim on her collar as if trying to draw a little warmth from it.

  “You’ve met my great-nephew, haven’t you, Duchess?” Tatiana said. “Mr. Reese Tretheway.”

  Reese stood up. “Yes, we met the first day. Would you like to sit down?”

  The woman clutched her hands together. “Oh, Mr. Tretheway, oh no!”

  “Are you ill, Duchess?” he asked, at a loss to know why she had refused him so strongly.

  “You are in terrible danger, Mr. Tretheway!”

  He glanced around, wondering what on earth the woman was jabbering about. “The only possible danger I see at the moment is if the steward spills hot bouillon on me,” he replied.

  “Don’t jest about it, please! You must take precautions.”

  “If you expect me to worry about my safety, you should at least explain why I am in danger.” The woman acted as if she was very upset, but Reese had a feeling it was all a pretense. He just didn’t know why.

  “It’s your aura! It is danger red all around you when it should be blue, or for a man like you, perhaps green. Tatiana, you can see the red too, can’t you? I know you have the sensitivity to the supernatural.”

  Aunt Tat looked him up and down and frowned, “I’m not sure I see anything,” she said hesitantly.

  Reese was glad he hadn’t developed a glow in any color.

  “You are just too close to him,” the Duchess said. “Sometimes people who care for others can’t see the signs. Your feelings have muted your sensitivities. It would be safer for you to stay in your cabin the rest of the trip.”

  Now Reese understood. The woman wanted him away from Aunt Tat so she c
ould continue to weasel her way into his aunt’s good graces. “Thank you for your concern, Duchess. I promise to be careful. Aunt Tat, you are looking chilled. Should we go in?”

  “Yes, it is rather chilly. Duchess, do you think you could try to contact the soul of poor Mr. Markham tonight? I feel sure he would want to tell someone why he did such a thing?”

  The Duchess shot a look at Reese before she answered. “You are so considerate, Tatiana, showing concern for a servant. I don’t know if we could reach him though. Sometimes the newly departed aren’t ready to speak. I think we should stay on our course of trying to contact your dear Anton.”

  Meaning she was probably planning on doing something to convince Aunt Tat they could actually contact Anton, Reese thought. He’d heard of how the fraudulent mediums rigged tables and provided eerie sound effects pretending they were from the dead. After a few more polite sentences with the woman, Reese managed to convince Tatiana to order tea sent to her room, hoping the Duchess wouldn’t be forward enough to knock on the door and invite herself in.

  Back in his own room, he found the first class cabin steward just finishing making the bed. “I’m sorry, sir,” the man said. “I’m running a bit behind today. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry about Mr. Markham. If you need anything done, just let me know. Poor fellow.” The man shuddered. “No one can figure out why he’d do such a thing.” The steward said it like he was making a casual comment, but Reese could hear the question in the man’s voice.

  “I don’t know either,” Reese said. He opened the drawer of the nightstand and took out the bones. “Do you know what this is? I found it in Markham’s room.”

  The steward sucked in his breath. “Oh my, we thought we threw them all overboard, but they just keep turning up. Best you throw that one overboard too.” Reese noticed the man didn’t offer to do it himself.

  “But what are they?”

  “It’s a long story and we are under orders not to talk about it,” the steward said, leaning down and fluffing the pillow. The man didn’t say anything else, but seemed in no hurry to leave the room.

  Reese suspected the steward really did want to talk about it, so Reese said, “The Captain asked for my help in learning why Markham took such a drastic step. Perhaps if I knew what this was, it might help.”

  That was all the man needed to let the words spill out. “It was a terrible tragedy, sir, three voyages back. The family was from New Orleans, and both the wife and the daughter were beautiful ladies, exotic-like if you know what I mean, shiny dark hair and beautiful eyes. Right in the middle of the crossing the wife had a fit and died, just like that. The family couldn’t seem to believe it, and the husband near went crazy.” He shook his head as if remembering the sight. “She was laid out in an empty cabin for the night until she could be buried at sea the next day. The husband went to the cook all agitated and asked for chicken bones, of all things. The cook, being a kind-hearted man, gave them to him hoping to calm him down. We think he made all the charms we found around the body the next day. One of the sailors said they were something to do with the unholy practice of voodoo and they are made to keep away evil.”

  “Couldn’t you just ask the husband?”

  The man’s face took on a troubled expression. “They found him dead that next morning, at the door to the cabin, and I heard he had a look on his face as if he’d seen the devil himself. After we buried the two of them at sea, the daughter wandered the ship like a lost soul, night and day, and then…then she threw herself overboard. The charms have been turning up ever since, and strange lights have been moving around where they shouldn’t be. No one can explain it.”

  No wonder the captain had talked about superstitious sailors, Reese thought. It was amazing they had a crew at all.

  “And the worst of it is this new passenger, the girl in mourning,” the steward continued. “She’s the spitting image of the other one. One of the other stewards overheard that Duchess tell her maid that she can see the spirits of the dead all around that girl, and it’s making everyone uneasy. Not me, of course. I’m a God-fearing man and don’t believe such nonsense, but it makes for an unsettled voyage, if you know what I mean. These charms popping up don’t help.”

  “Surely the cook can just keep better track of his chicken bones.” Reese turned the charm over in his hand. He noticed this one didn’t seem as light as the other. “Someone is clearly taking them and making these, though I can’t begin to understand why.”

  “The cook has been throwing the bones overboard after every meal, and we don’t know where these new bones are coming from.” The man gave a shake, as if trying to rid himself the thought of mystery bones. “Is there anything else you need, sir? I’ve been nattering away too long and should get on with the other cabins.”

  “Go ahead,” Reese said, trying to figure out why the bone charm had turned up in Markham’s cabin. He wished he knew more about the man, but the valet hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with any details of his life, and he kept any hints of personality flattened into a servant’s demeanor.

  At dinner that night, Reese found himself waiting for the girl to come into the room. He made polite noises to the conversation going on around him at the captain’s table, and found he had finished his soup without even knowing what he was eating. When the girl finally entered, a steward hurried over to her and her companion, directing them away from one of the long tables where they normally sat to a small table to one side, set for two people. He noticed the level of conversation dropped and far too many people were staring at her. The Duchess, at a nearby table, nodded in the direction of the girl and then leaned in to speak to her companions, holding all of them rapt with whatever nonsense she was spouting. Reese wanted to go over and tell the woman to stop talking, to forget about the poor girl and let her mourn in peace.

  Later in the meal he caught the Duchess staring at him, and he knew she was pretending to see his imaginary red aura. After dinner, as they were leaving the dining room, she came up to him. “May I speak to you for a moment, Mr. Tretheway?”

  He couldn’t be rude, so he motioned them to spot out of the way and waited for her to begin.

  “I know what you think of me,” she said, “but please, now I am speaking the truth. I do have some powers of perception and I can tell you are in grave danger.”

  To get rid of her, he decided it would be better to humor her. “Thank you for your concern. I assure you I will take great care.”

  The Duchess seemed surprised, as if she had expected him to argue with her. “I’m so glad,” she said finally. “Your aunt cares about you a great deal and she would be devastated if anything happened to you.”

  “In fact, I think I will go straight to my cabin and miss the evening’s entertainment.” It gave him a good excuse to miss the promised poetry readings by passengers who had felt the writerly muse on the voyage. “Good night.”

  It was well into the night when the moaning woke him. The noise seemed to be coming from right outside his door, but he knew that was impossible. Lighting the lamp on the table, he pulled on his clothes and his boots. If he could find the source where the wind was getting trapped, he could block it up or move whatever was causing it, and then get a good night’s sleep.

  He opened the door to the darkened passageway. The sound seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere, faint now. Halfway down the hall he spotted a light, a golden light flickering just like a candle hovering in midair. Reese ran toward it, but it disappeared, reappearing another ten feet away. It headed to the stairs marked “Crew Only” and went down, Reese followed it, alternating between bemusement that he was after a mystery light, and curiosity to see where it would lead him.

  After two flights down, he knew he was at the same deck level as the steerage passengers. It was very dark now, only a faint glow coming from one gas jet. From the other side of the thin wall came the sound of snores and a woman crying softly.

  A low rumble came from beneath him, the throb of the sh
ip’s engines. Something small darted almost under his foot and he took a step back up the stairs. When his eyes adjusted, he could see other shadows scurrying around. They were rats. As the light continued to move, the rats parted for it, disappearing into the shadows. The light went down one more flight of stairs and Reese followed, the rumbling growing louder and the heat increased. The smell of engine oil and burning coal filled the air.

  A figure came out of the dark and went around him. It was a wiry man covered in coal dust, pushing a wheelbarrow. The man paid no attention to him, as if it were common to see passengers in the middle of the night down in the bowels of the ship. From the exhaustion on the man’s face, Reese suspected he was just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Reese followed him into the boiler compartment where the man emptied the load of coal on a pile and then turned around, pushing the wheelbarrow back out for the next load.

  A crewman was frantically shoveling coal into the firebox, and the fire inside it was roaring. As Reese’s eyes adjusted to the light, he recognized the man. It was the one who had run up on deck to get the captain’s attention. The man was still shirtless, as before, but now Reese saw he wore a bone charm around his neck. It swung with every moment. Mumbling to himself, the sailor didn’t even seem to realize the fire was so large, it threatened to spill out of the bin. The boiler room was so hot Reese could hardly draw a breath.

  A very young man in a junior officer’s uniform came sliding down a ladder from the engine compartment above. “Sailor!” he shouted, not even noticing Reese. “What are you doing? I checked the gauges up above and you’ve got the boiler too hot! The safety valve is open, but it can’t relieve all the pressure. You’re going to blow an engine!”

  “We’re getting close!” the coal shoveler said, his pace increasing. “We have to go faster! When we pass where we buried them at sea, they are going to rise up! We have to go faster!”

  “Stop!” the officer ordered. “This has gone too far! You are relieved of duty.”