Page 10 of Discovering Dahlia (The Blue Orchid Society #5)

Dahlia gasped as Meredith took a hit to the head and toppled off the spar.

Beside her, Victor sucked in a breath through his teeth. Perhaps he was remembering his own crash onto the deck just this morning.

She was immediately relieved when Meredith rose, waving to the crowd and grinning sheepishly.

“He’ll be feeling that later,” Victor muttered.

The crew and other spectators cheered loudly, some thumping him on the back, and Mr. Barrow shook his hand.

Benedict was nearby, applauding and standing with Chatsworth and Ruben. Seeing that Benedict was safe and within sight of Meredith, Dahlia continued with Victor on toward the gangway. The performers from Paris would be here any minute.

“If you would prefer,” Victor said, “I will visit the galley while you welcome the musicians.”

Dahlia started to shake her head but found the motion too painful. “You arranged for the musicians, so you should meet them.” She did not tell him that her mind was still groggy from being awoken twenty minutes earlier and finding it difficult to rally herself into the mode of hostess. The fear she’d felt in the basilica’s crypt had entirely exhausted her to the point that the moment she’d arrived back at the ship, she’d kicked off her shoes, climbed out of her gown, and in spite of her intention to just rest her eyes, fallen immediately into a deep sleep. Too deep, she feared, based on her sluggish thoughts and aching head. Her feeling so exhausted while it was still only the first full day did not bode well for the rest of the trip.

“Once they are safely aboard, I will visit the galley while you see to their accommodations. You are much better with that sort of thing. And besides, your French is superior to mine.” Her assistant had been so excited about booking the opera performers that Dahlia wished for him to have the honor of receiving them.

Victor nodded, his eyes sparkling in spite of his attempt to school his expression. “And naturally, they will sit at the Captain’s Table for dinner?”

“Yes.”

When Dahlia and Victor reached the bow of the ship, a small party was just crossing the gangway bridge toward the deck. They moved slowly, giving her time to study them. Even though she had never met either of them before, Dahlia knew the two singers right away. They were plump, with lavish clothing that must have been very uncomfortable in the heat. The man had an enormous waxed mustache and the woman an ornate hairstyle that looked suspiciously like a wig. The others, a young man and woman carrying bags and suitcases, must be their servants.

Victor stepped forward. “Madame Théo, Monsieur Bonnet, welcome. We are so delighted to have you.” He spoke in flawless French.

Both singers regarded him with imperious stares.

“I am Mister Vandelay,” Victor continued on. “It was I who made the arrangements with the Théatre de la Renaissance.” With no flicker of acknowledgment from them, he turned, motioning to Dahlia. “And, please, may I introduce Miss Lancaster, the owner of the Paragon Line?”

At this, both pairs of eyes turned to Dahlia. M. Bonnet sniffed, and Mme Théo gave a slight nod.

The man who had accompanied them set down the baggage he carried. “If you please, mademoiselle, monsieur, my master does not speak before a performance. He must save his voice for ze music.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Dahlia gave her warmest greeting. “Delighted to have you aboard.”

Mme Théo leaned forward, kissing the air near both of Dahlia’s cheeks. She was apparently saving her voice as well.

M. Bonnet nodded and motioned with a roll of his wrist to the man who accompanied him.

Dahlia and Victor glanced at one another, confused by the motion.

“If you please, my master must rest,” the servant said.

“Oui, et mademoiselle aussi,” the female servant said.

“Yes, of course,” Victor continued in French. “We have lovely cabins where you can rest and make use of the facilities before your performance. If you and your servants would please follow me.”

He motioned toward the doors leading into the saloon and led the group along the deck. “Supper will be served soon, and if there is anything at all you need before or after, I would be more than happy...” His voice trailed off as they reached the doors and entered.

Dahlia was tempted to return to see whether Meredith was still involved with the deck games. The memory of his bared forearms and broad shoulders beneath his waistcoat made the temperature rise in her face, so she turned in the opposite direction. There was the meal to oversee.

Once inside, she made her way down the stairs toward the galley and walked along the narrow corridor when she nearly bumped into Mrs. Yeates, who was carrying a tea tray.

Dahlia stepped to the side, giving the woman room to move past her. “How did you enjoy the tour this afternoon?” she asked. “The gardens were simply lovely, weren’t they?”

“Yes. Lovely,” Mrs. Yeates answered. She turned to the side as she passed, and then she carried on without saying anything more.

Dahlia blew out a breath. Keeping every person happy all the time was the duty of the ship’s hostess, but it could be exhausting. Especially when some people refused to be pleased. She rubbed her forehead, still feeling out of sorts. Putting on a smile, she stepped inside the kitchen, inhaling the delicious aromas.

Galley workers were chopping vegetables, and Francois, the head chef, was stirring a gravy. He turned when Dahlia entered and motioned her over. “Zis velouté...” He wafted the smell toward his nose with fluttering fingers, closing his eyes as if in rapture.

“It smells delicious.” Dahlia smiled at the performance. Her chef was prone to dramatics.

Francois dipped a spoon in the sauce and offered it to her.

Dahlia blew on it and tasted the sample. “Mmm... oh my, Francois! This is the best velouté I’ve ever tasted.”

“Ouí.” The chef gave a nod of agreement. “ Les chanteurs d’opéra , zey will be pleased.”

“They will believe they are in a fine Parisian restaurant,” Dahlia said.

Victor came into the galley. “The performers have a few requests,” he said, looking harried. “Madame requests lavender tea with honey directly before and after her performance, and Monsieur would like lemon water, not too hot, nor too cold.

Francois snapped his fingers and pointed toward the larder.

A galley worker set down her knife and went inside, returning with a small basket holding the requested ingredients.

Victor thanked her, taking the basket. “I will deliver these to the dining room bar right away.”

“I’ll see you there in a few moments,” Dahlia said.

She talked to Francois for awhile longer. While she trusted his ability to make a menu without consulting her, she’d found the chef required a certain amount of praise to keep him contented. But she was happy to give it. He was doing an exceptional job in the limited confines of a ship’s galley, which she knew he would. She truly appreciated it.

The cruise was a practice for the cooks as well. With the ship operating at less than one tenth its passenger capacity, it was a gentle way to ease the stewards and staff in to the rigors of their duties. Soon enough, the line would begin regular voyages, with complete passenger lists and sea journeys that lasted weeks at a time.

Dahlia went back up the stairs to the dining room, finding Victor was already there arranging chairs near the stage. The raised platform at the far end of the dining room was ready, prepared with a simple and tasteful backdrop—no doubt of Victor’s creation. Sheer white curtains hung against the wall at the rear of the stage with a single garland of greenery and fresh flowers draping across the top. While it was beautiful, it would not detract from the performers.

She cast an approving eye over the table settings. A few of the stewards were finishing up the final touches, setting out butter plates, sugar bowls, saltcellars, and pepper mills. The others moved to the bar to make drinks or lined the walls, preparing to assist the diners and serve the meal.

Passengers would begin to arrive at any moment.

Dahlia took her place beside the door with Captain Carmichael and exchanged pleasantries with him, ready to greet their guests. She kept her smile in place, but her head still ached.

Madame Théo and Monsieur Bonnet were among the very last to arrive. The performers came into the dining room in full costume and makeup, which seen up close, was rather startling.

Dahlia introduced them to the captain.

“A pleasure to have you aboard.” Captain Carmichael gave an elaborate continental bow, which based on the two opera singers’ lifted chins and pleasant nods, appeared to be well received. He accepted Mme Théo’s outstretched hand and kissed it.

Before taking her place, Dahlia glanced around, ensuring that all the guests had been seated to their satisfaction. By this point in the cruise, the passengers had established tables, sitting where they had the night before. She saw that the other members of the Blue Orchid Society and their partners had brought an extra chair to their table, sitting close to accommodate all seven of them—Jonathan must still be feeling ill—and wished her responsibilities as hostess permitted her to join them. Perhaps tomorrow night she would dine with her friends.

Meredith, as usual, sat with Ruben, Lorene, and the other three Darling Debs.

Victor was with Mrs. Griffin, Lady Chatsworth, and Lady Mather. Though Dahlia could not hear their conversation, she imagined Mrs. Griffin recounting the tale of the pitch darkness and unexplained sounds of the crypt and enjoying the jealousy from her friends at her adventure. Mr. and Mrs. Yeates sat with them.

At the Captain’s Table, Captain Carmichael sat beside the Duchess of Dorchester, with Mme Théo on his other side. M. Bonnet was between his colleague and Dahlia, and Miss Albright rounded out the table.

The dinner service started, and within a few moments, both the captain and Dahlia had given up on speaking with their musical neighbors, who were still resting their voices, and turned to the duchess and her companion.

“That is a lovely gown, Miss Albright,” Dahlia said to the woman next to her.

“Thank you,” Miss Albright responded quietly, looking down at her plate.

Dahlia had never known the woman to speak very much. She was the spinster daughter of the duchess’s sister-in-law, and known to be shy, a softly spoken woman who wore her hair in a simple fashion and typically preferred unadorned clothing. Tonight, however, her gown, though plain in comparison to the other guests’ clothing, was made of a soft-blue satin with two lines of pearl buttons descending the bodice.

“How do you find your accommodations?” Dahlia asked.

“Very well. Thank you.”

Dahlia picked up her soup spoon. It appeared there would be no conversation after all.

The captain sprinkled some salt onto his soup and offered the saltcellar to Mme Théo.

“I enjoyed the visit to Boulogne-sur-Mer,” Miss Albright said softly.

Dahlia was surprised that the woman had spoken but pleased that it may not be a silent meal after all. “I’m so glad. Weren’t the chateau gardens splendid?”

“Yes, very. And the basilica was magnificent.” She took a spoonful of soup and glanced at Dahlia while she sipped. “I am so sorry you were lost down in the crypt. It must have been dreadful.”

Dahlia disciplined her expression into an easy smile. “Wasn’t that a silly accident?”

Miss Albright took another spoonful of soup. “You are brave, Miss Lancaster. I would have been very frightened.” She accepted the saltcellar from Mme Th éo and sprinkled a portion over her soup.

Dahlia considered whether to admit the truth about how she’d felt in the darkness of the crypt. Just the memory of it sent a shot of panic through her. It would be a relief to confide in another person, but she decided against it. “I would not say brave,” she said. “But, luckily, the incident lasted for only a few min—” Her voice cut off.

Miss Albright had taken a sip of the soup and her nose wrinkled.

“Is everything all right?” Dahlia asked.

“Yes.” She smiled. “Perfectly so.” But instead of continuing to eat, she set down her soup spoon.

Dahlia noticed some of the others at the table had done the same. Perhaps they had oversalted the soup. She thought it was flavored enough and enjoyed it as it was.

The main course was served. Dahlia made a note to compliment Francois on the chicken. It was simply delicious. And seeing the other diners’ responses reaffirmed that she truly had employed a magnificent chef.

The saltcellar remained where it was, in front of Miss Albright. And since none of the other diners asked for it, Dahlia guessed that the chicken was perfectly seasoned.

Once the meal was finished, dessert and tea were served. Dahlia made certain the musicians were given exactly the warm drinks they had requested. She stirred her own tea, adding sugar, and while it cooled, she took a bite of merengue.

The conversation around her was softer now that the passengers had full bellies. A feeling of contentment and anticipation permeated the room, and she noticed glances toward the opera singers as the two sipped their honeyed drinks in preparation to go on stage.

Behind Dahlia, a teacup clattered onto its saucer, startling her. And from the other side of the room someone gasped. Voices grew louder, and though she couldn’t hear what they said, she knew something was wrong. She looked around the room, seeing unhappy expressions and hearing cries of confusion. The Duchess of Dorchester pressed her fingers to her mouth.

“Your Grace?” Dahlia asked. She stood. “What is wrong?”

“The tea,” Miss Albright said.

“The tea?” Dahlia asked. She took a small sip from her own teacup and couldn’t stop the grimace that pulled at her face and puckered her mouth. “Salt.” She picked up the sugar bowl and looked inside. It appeared to be in order, but when she tasted the supposed sugar, her deduction was confirmed.

Looking around at the other tables, she saw that the other diners were coming to the same conclusion.

The stewards moved into action, removing the tea and the sugar bowls.

Dahlia left the table and came to where they were gathering. “What has happened?” she asked one of the stewards, trying not to sound angry.

“It appears the salt and sugar have been switched, miss.”

“You mean the containers were filled improperly,” she corrected.

“With respect, miss,” the steward said, setting the offending tableware in a cupboard, “they must have been switched. We used these same sugar bowls and saltcellars earlier today for breakfast and luncheon.”

“And they weren’t refilled since?”

“No, miss.”

By this time, Sophie had joined her and must have heard the last of the exchange. “Surely nobody exchanged them on purpose,” she said, picking up one of the sugar bowls. The word Sugar was painted clearly on one side, and on the other, the crest of the SS Aurora . Sophie examined a saltcellar.

“I can’t imagine how. Or why,” Dahlia said. As a journalist, Sophie was always looking for a story, but there was no story here. “It’s just a mistake.”

Someone had already brought fresh tea and sugar from the kitchen, and the stewards were moving quickly to replace the salty tea. Luckily there were so few passengers that the process didn’t take long.

“Where are the sugar and salt kept?” Sophie asked the steward.

He motioned for her to come around and opened a cupboard beneath the bar. “In here, on these shelves.”

“Quite a lot has been spilled,” she said, touching her finger to her tongue and then doing it again. “Of both sugar and salt.”

Dahlia did not remain to listen to her friend’s deductions on what was clearly a mishap, one easily made, with salt and sugar looking so similar. She felt the heat of a blush on her neck as she passed the other diners and returned to her table. She reminded herself that such things happen, even when one meticulously plans out every detail. Victor caught her eye. He shook his head slightly, brows drawn, indicating that he was as confused as she was. But Dahlia knew he would look into the matter, and he would ensure it did not happen again. He glanced at the performers and then back at Dahlia.

She nodded and he rose and made his way to the front of the dining room. He stepped onto the stage, clapping to get the diners’ attention. “This evening, rather than separating for after-dinner drinks, you are invited to remain in your seats for the entertainment.” He waited for seats to be turned around and for the passengers to settle. “Tonight we are extremely fortunate to have with us two of the most talented and well-known performers in the world. They have come directly from the Théatre de la Renaissance for our entertainment, and we could not be more delighted.” He clasped his hands together, then lifted one, palm up, toward the Captain’s Table. “Performing selections from Jacques Offenbach’s La Jolie Parfumeuse , the SS Aurora presents Madame Théo and Monsieur Bonnet.”

Luckily the opera singers hadn’t used sugar to sweeten their drinks. That was one catastrophe dodged. The pair stood, making their way to the stage at the end of the dining room, he walking with a swagger and she a flounce. Applause sounded.

Mme Théo and M. Bonnet took their places on the stage, and the first strains of music came from a small orchestra. With a gusto that made Dahlia jump, the soprano let out the first note. Her voice rose through the dining room. In a moment, her partner joined in.

The songs were beautiful and, in the small space, very loud. Perhaps next time Dahlia would schedule the operatic performance on the deck.

Once she was certain that it was indeed sugar in her teacup, she took a sip. She was glad the singing was loud enough that she didn’t have to apologize to her tablemates for the salt and sugar mix-up. The debacle had not done her aching head any favors.

Just as the soprano’s aria began, Meredith sat in the empty chair beside her. He leaned close to speak into her ear over the noise of the music. “What is your verdict?”

Dahlia shivered as his breath tickled her ear. “Verdict?” she whispered back. “About the salt and sugar?” Was he determined to investigate along with Sophie? She shook her head. “It was just a mistake.”

“About the cruise,” he corrected. “Do you wish to cut it short?”

Dahlia looked to where Benedict sat beside his wife. His face was peaceful as he watched the singers. Dahlia scanned the room, seeing the faces of her friends. All of the passengers appeared to be enjoying themselves. Even the Darling Debs, who usually seemed dissatisfied with everything, seemed particularly pleased. She leaned back to speak into Meredith’s ear. “I don’t wish to. But is it reckless to continue? What do you think?”

“I think such a decision should only be made by the owner of the Paragon Line. Whatever choice you make will be the right one.”

Dahlia took another sip of tea, considering as she watched the stage. Aside from a few incidents this afternoon, the cruise was proceeding smoothly. Benedict appeared to be safe, as did the other passengers. And sitting here beside Meredith, she felt entirely content. Safe, as she always did when he was near. Perhaps the worst was behind them. She leaned over. “I think we should carry on.”

He nodded.

“But cautiously. We must continue to watch Benedict.”

He nodded again.

Dahlia sat back, reveling in the beautiful music and avoiding glances toward the table where she knew Sophie was still trying to work out a motive behind the salt and sugar mix-up. Her friend would want to investigate, she knew, but there was nothing more to discover. Such things were bound to happen. Nothing nefarious had taken place. It was just a mishap.