Page 12 of Discovering Dahlia (The Blue Orchid Society #5)

Dahlia rested her elbow on the back of a sofa in the sunlit saloon and leaned her cheek against her hand, listening and occasionally laughing as Sophie reported on how Jonathan was feeling. The inspector was starting to improve, thank goodness. His recovery was a relief to everyone, most of all his wife, whose tolerance for being awoken multiple times during the night was very near its end.

Elizabeth and Hazel sat with them. The morning had been filled with tea and sunshine and comfortable conversation. It was exactly how Dahlia had hoped to spend her time on the cruise. Enjoying the company of her very dearest friends in a lovely atmosphere where none had any responsibilities or any reason to hurry off.

“And yesterday afternoon, Jonathan declared that he is done with ginger tea forever,” Sophie said, her dramatic tone eliciting chuckles from her friends.

“I am so relieved he is recovering,” Hazel said.

“The world comes to a stop when a man is ill,” Elizabeth said. “But for a woman, it is business as usual. We’ve no time to be pampered, nor the patience for it.” She flipped her hand in the air as if to swat the idea away.

“I imagine Charles would hover over you like a mother hen, should you fall ill,” Dahlia teased her friend.

Elizabeth’s cheeks colored.

“And surely you wouldn’t turn away his tender treatment,” Sophie added.

“Or his tender kisses,” Hazel said with an impish lift of her brow.

Elizabeth’s entire face had gone red, but her arguments didn’t continue. Instead, she smiled softly, glancing toward the other side of the saloon, where Charles, Jim, and Benedict were playing a game of cards with Lord Lockhart.

“He is much better,” Sophie said, sparing Elizabeth future embarrassment by returning the topic to the inspector’s health. “And I am very grateful to everyone for their care. Especially to the galley for sending the tea, even if Jonathan grew tired of it and complained constantly about the taste.” She raised her brows, looking exasperated by his fastidiousness. “He was resting soundly this morning, and I believe he may feel well enough to join us for luncheon today.”

“That is good news indeed,” Hazel said. “We have missed his company these past days. And yours as well, Dahlia. You’ve been so busy, I feel as though we’ve hardly seen you at all.”

Dahlia blew out a breath. “I apologize. With any luck, things will run more smoothly from here on, and I’ll be free to join you all more often. That was the whole intention behind this cruise, but things have gotten away from me.”

“No need to apologize,” Elizabeth said. “You have a massive responsibility with this ship, and endless details to supervise.”

“And so many little problems I hadn’t planned on,” Dahlia confessed.

“There have been some suspicious happenings, haven’t there?” Sophie asked, leaning in closer to the group.

“Unexpected,” Dahlia said. “But not suspicious.”

“The greased stair?” Elizabeth said, leaning in as well and lowering her voice. “You cannot claim that was simply happenstance.”

Dahlia had no answer, but she did not feel easy about it.

“And what of the lantern in the crypt?” Hazel said. She leaned in as well. “Jim thought it very strange that a lantern should just fall off a perfectly sturdy block of stone.”

“A block of crumbling stone in an excavation site,” Dahlia corrected. Just thinking of the crypt made her start to sweat. “I did not put the lantern down on a flat surface, and it fell off. Nothing nefarious about it at all.”

The other women looked between themselves, clearly not accepting her explanation.

“And what of the sugar and salt?” Sophie asked. “Between luncheon and dinner, someone switched them. They must have done it while we were all ashore. But who? And what was the motive?”

Dahlia closed her eyes. She knew her friends meant well, but they were finding menace where none existed. She shifted around to sit up straight, then leaned in with the others, so close that their heads almost touched. “If someone truly meant to cause harm, switching the salt and sugar is not the way to do it. It was an inconvenience, but nobody was hurt. And there was no danger in the crypt, other than losing my direction in the darkness.” She shivered as she said it. “The only circumstance that can actually be considered a threat is the greased stair. But precautions have since been taken to keep Benedict safe.”

“I still believe it is all a plot of some kind,” Sophie said. “There are too many strange happenings to be considered merely coincidental.”

Elizabeth squinted, looking skeptical.

Hazel drew her brows together, looking worried.

Dahlia did not want to discuss it. She glanced at the clock. “I must sign the papers for tomorrow’s port authority in Jersey,” she said. “But after luncheon, I fully intend to spend the entire afternoon with my friends. Vivian should be finished with her tour by then. Perhaps we could play deck games? Or cards? Or simply sit and watch the sea and enjoy the breeze and a glass of something delicious?”

“The day is too fine to stay inside,” Hazel said.

“Jonathan would be happy to join us on the deck,” Sophie said. “He hasn’t seen the sun in days.”

“Then, it is decided. I will have the boatswain prepare the quoits court for those who desire to play. And, for the rest of us, deck chairs and sparkling wine.”

Dahlia left her friends. She nodded as she passed the men playing cards and stopped to exchange greetings with Lady Chatsworth, Lady Mather, Mrs. Griffin, and the Duchess of Dorchester, who were all very intent on their game of whist.

Miss Albright sat near them, knitting.

Dahlia paused. “Miss Albright, what lovely yarn.”

The woman smiled shyly, thanking her.

Dahlia made her way to her office, and when she entered, Victor stood to greet her.

“The port documents.” He handed her a stack of papers. “And the contract for the play actors. Their manager, a Monsieur Badeau, will handle the payment.”

Victor had made a similar arrangement with the performers as he had with the opera singers. They would board the ship in the evening, perform after supper, and spend the night in the first-class cabins. He’d insisted that if they were treated well and paid generously, word would spread in the artistic community. Fine entertainers would seize the opportunity to perform for the Paragon Line, attracting even more prestige for the company.

Dahlia took the papers and sat at her desk. She glanced over them, hardly reading the words. Her thoughts were still back with Sophie and her theories.

“You seem worried,” Victor said when he returned to his seat.

“I am worried,” Dahlia confessed. She stretched her neck from side to side and leaned back in her chair. “I worry something terrible will happen tonight to ruin the performance this evening. Or the dinner. Or the afternoon’s activities.”

“Why would something terrible happen?” he asked.

“Sophie is convinced there is a scheme at play.” Dahlia rubbed her forehead.

“A scheme meant to . . . ?” Victor prodded.

“I don’t know. Meant to ruin the cruise, perhaps?”

“Why would she think that? Because of the salt and sugar confusion?” Victor looked completely bewildered.

“Now that you say it, it does sound foolish,” Dahlia said. “But you mustn’t forget the threat to Lord Benedict.”

“I did not forget,” Victor said. He drummed his fingers on the table. “I am afraid I just don’t see it. If someone did indeed intend to do harm to His Lordship, to the point that they understood his routine, followed him undetected, and set a sophisticated trap, then I do not see why this same villain would then perform a harmless prank with the dinner service.”

Dahlia considered what he said. The two incidents did not sound like the efforts of the same person at all. Not only were the methods different, but their intended outcomes were not even similar.

“It is human nature to search for patterns,” Victor continued. “But in this, I do not think the instances are at all connected. Though, I will admit, there is certainly something suspicious happening.”

“You’re right, of course,” Dahlia said. She smiled sheepishly and looked down at the papers in front of her. Everything was in order and awaited only her signature and the payment of the fees. She would retrieve the money from the safe once they were in port.

Tea was delivered, which Dahlia thought strange so close to the midday meal. But perhaps Victor had sent for it. She thanked the steward but did not pour a cup.

“Have you seen Mr. Yeates today?” she asked her assistant.

“I don’t believe so,” Victor said. He raised his brow at the tea tray.

“Neither have I.” Dahlia was surprised that the man had been so absent when the first day of the trip, it had seemed he was everywhere. He was an important member of the company, and she’d imagined he would be more involved, not only with the business aspects of the cruise but with the social as well. Perhaps his wife was demanding of his time.

“He and Mrs. Yeates must have taken breakfast in their cabin this morning,” Victor said. “He could be in his office now. Shall I check?”

“He has arranged to requisition a load of coal in Jersey, and he will be needing the payment when we arrive this afternoon,” Dahlia said. “I shall probably see him in the dining room, and we can discuss it then.”

Victor looked at his pocket watch and raised his brows. “I hadn’t realized it was time for the midday meal.” He rose and moved to the office door, holding it open. “Shall we?”

***

After luncheon was finished, Dahlia and her friends separated to change or rest, promising to meet on the deck in an hour. The quoits board was already put up, and as they ate, stewards were arranging chairs and awnings. It promised to be a lovely afternoon.

A steward caught up with her as she headed for the door. He handed her a shawl. “This was left at that table, Miss Lancaster.” He pointed to where Ruben and the Debs had sat for their meal, but Dahlia didn’t need to know which table. She recognized the shawl as belonging to Lorene.

Since she was headed down to the cabins, she offered to deliver it. She descended the stairs and started along the corridor toward the Emerald Suite, but the sounds of a dispute coming from inside made her pause. The door was open, and she could hear their voices clearly.

“It is just a friendly game,” Lorene was saying. “I can’t understand why you are taking it so seriously.”

“We didn’t just lose; we were trounced,” Ruben responded. “You weren’t even trying.”

“Then, you should find a partner who is less humiliating,” Lorene said, her voice softer but no less bitter. “I’m sure Dahlia knows how to toss a quoit.”

Hearing her name, Dahlia’s skin went hot.

“Why must you bring her into this?” Ruben said in a voice that sounded annoyed.

“Bring her in?” Lorene sounded shrill. “Dahlia Lancaster has been the third person in our marriage from the beginning. I am not blind, Ruben, nor am I naive. I know how you feel about her.”

“You don’t know anything.”

Dahlia looked around for somewhere to escape to. If she were to be found outside the open door during this argument... she didn’t even want to think about the ramifications. She glanced back toward her cabin, but fearing her footsteps would be heard before she made it all the way back, she rushed down the small passage that led to the staircase going to the lower decks.

She descended at nearly a run, stopping at the bottom to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding so forcefully that she could feel it in her ears and eyes. She had never once considered that she would be a source of argument in her former friends’ marriage. Poor Lorene. Dahlia’s stomach rolled. Being near Ruben and Lorene was difficult enough. The pair of them had humiliated her, been the cause of her ousting from high Society, the source of her estrangement from her former friends and former life. But this... it was so much worse. She thought she might be ill.

Whyever had Ruben insisted on an invitation for this cruise? The idea that he might still have feelings for her was so much worse than when she’d learned he was engaged to her best friend. The former was a betrayal of an expectation only. This... she put a hand over her mouth, the other pressed to the wall. Did Lorene believe Dahlia had done anything to encourage Ruben? She was breathing heavily now, and sweating.

She stayed that way for a long moment, trying to calm her pounding heart and fighting against a feeling of shame and the unfairness of it all. She had not invited them on this cruise, had not asked for any of this. So why should her stomach be roiling and her mouth sour?

Her heartbeat and breathing eventually returned to their regular pace, and her skin cooled, but the ill feeling wouldn’t abate. She glanced toward the galley, thinking perhaps a cup of tea or a piece of bread might ease her queasiness. She could not bring herself to return to the upper deck. Not when she might happen upon those two.

Nearing the galley, she heard voices. Francois and... Meredith? Confusion moved into place besides her myriad of other emotions. What could Meredith be doing in the galley?

Dahlia stepped inside, and seeing him, she gasped. Meredith was covered in black coal dust with lines trailing down the sides of his face, where he had apparently been sweating. He stood in the small space, holding a plate and eating a sandwich as he and the chef laughed together about something Dahlia had not heard.

When he saw her, he smiled and inclined his head, as was his usual greeting. “Good morning, Miss Lancaster.”

“Good afternoon,” she corrected. She crossed her arms, looking from the top of his dust-covered head down to the toes of his begrimed shoes. “You are filthy. What has happened to you? I thought you were on a tour with the captain. Did you fall into the coal bunker?”

Both Francois and Meredith chuckled, but she hadn’t intended it as a joke at all. The sight of Meredith in such a state was alarming. And it was even more vexing that he looked attractive . His neckcloth was gone and his collar unfastened. She looked away from the muscles on the side of his neck and the ridge of his collarbone, feeling a new flush starting.

“I spent a few hours shoveling with the lads,” Meredith said. “Good crew you have here.”

“Whyever would you do that?” Dahlia asked. She couldn’t stop staring at his dirty face and arms. “You’re meant to be enjoying yourself, not laboring in the boiler room.”

“I enjoyed myself immensely,” Meredith said. He looked a bit more serious now, but no less pleased.

“I... well, I’m glad,” she said, still confused. First Ruben and Lorene and now this. Nothing was happening as she’d planned. Nobody was acting how she’d assumed they would. And when had Lord Meredith become so handsome ? “Will you join us on the deck?” Dahlia said after too long a silence. “If you manage to clean yourself up.” She raised a brow, looking at the lines of black in his wrist creases. At least it appeared he’d washed his hands before picking up his food.

“I would be pleased to,” Meredith said. He put the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, then patted Francois on the shoulder. “Merci,” he said once he’d swallowed. “C’était délicieux.”

Francois beamed.

A galley worker took away Meredith’s plate.

Dahlia redirected her emotions back to being irritated. She thought of the gleaming deck of the corridor, the brand-new linens in the cabins, and frowned at the idea of coal smudges.

“Not to worry, Miss Lancaster. My valet, Peterman, has cleaned far worse. He will ensure not one blemish remains on either my clothing or the cabin.”

Dahlia blushed again, embarrassed that he’d so accurately perceived her thoughts. She schooled her expression into one of indifference and gave a nod.

He picked up his coat from where it lay over a stool and bid them farewell.

“Francois, have you seen Mr. Yeates?” Dahlia asked the chef in a businesslike tone, hoping nobody in the kitchen had noticed her reaction to Lord Meredith’s appearance.

He shook his head. “ Non. But Madame Yeates was here, making her tea... perhaps an hour ago?”

“He must be taking meals in his cabin,” she mused. She left the kitchen, unsure of whether to go in search of Mr. Yeates or to let him find her. She decided on the latter, and believing she had given Ruben and Lorene enough time to have left their suite, she climbed the stairs, leaving the scarf hanging on the doorknob to the Emerald Suite, and went to join her friends on the promenade deck.

A small part of her mind was still picturing Meredith’s open collar, only to be corrected by the part that reminded her of the very reason the two had been out of contact for over a year. Meredith was Ruben’s closest friend. And, for that, she could never fully trust him.