Page 20 of Discovering Dahlia (The Blue Orchid Society #5)

Dahlia rubbed her forehead. The conference with Captain Carmichael and Mr. Yeates mostly devolved into arguments and finger pointing. None of the SS Aurora ’s pressing matters were being solved. She looked at Victor. Her assistant sat in his usual seat to the side of her desk and appeared every bit as frustrated as she was.

Victor glanced at his pocket watch, then turned its face toward Dahlia. Seeing that the hour had passed midnight, she sighed. At least the passengers were most likely in their cabins. An entire day on the seashore had been exhausting.

“This cruise was a mistake from the beginning,” Mr. Yeates said, renewing his argument. He stood behind, rather than sitting in, one of the chairs facing Dahlia’s desk. “The company may as well have dumped thousands of pounds straight into the Channel.”

“If you will remember,” Dahlia said, trying to keep her voice even—they’d had this same argument so many times, she practically knew the words by heart—“the cruise is a promotional investment that will pay for itself through publicity. Passengers will tell their friends, and through word of mouth, the reputation of the ship and the cruise line will grow.”

Mr. Yeates snorted. “A free cruise for wealthy people who could easily afford to pay for it.” He shook his head. “We should charge them more, not less.”

“This is all beside the point,” the captain said from his seat next to Mr. Yeates’s empty chair. “A crime has been committed, and the culprit is still at large on the ship.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if Miss Lancaster hadn’t distributed tickets, gratis, for the cruise.”

A knock on the door stopped the argument.

Dahlia sighed, glad for the reprieve, even if she knew it would be short-lived. She rubbed her forehead again, grateful when a steward entered with a tea tray. Tea was just what she needed.

“Thank you, Wilson,” she said. “And please thank Francois.”

The steward set down the tray on the desk and poured the tea. He held up a plate filled with pastries. “Bilberry tarts.” He used a fork to serve the pastries onto individual plates. “Cook says they’re your favorite.”

Dahlia smiled, nodding her acknowledgment of the gesture. She accepted a cup and saucer, setting them on her desk beside a small plate holding a tart.

“Have you need of anything else, Miss Lancaster?” Wilson asked.

“No, thank you. Is there any news from the main deck?” she asked. “How goes the search?”

“Ongoing, I’m afraid.” The steward set napkins and utensils in front of the four of them and then left.

“Every one of the cabins should be searched,” Captain Carmichael said, resuming the discussion. He took a sip of tea.

“I cannot and will not treat my guests in such a fashion.” Dahlia stirred sugar into her tea. “These are not the type of people who will forgive such an intrusion.”

Mr. Yeates snorted again, a task made the more difficult by the tart he’d stuffed into his mouth. He swallowed some tea. “Your guests should realize a free ticket does not include the right to privacy.”

“It absolutely does.” Instead of calming her, the tea—and most likely the sugar—fueled her anger. “These guests will be treated with the respect afforded to every other passenger on every other ship. And more.” She watched Mr. Yeates eat another tart, feeling her appetite for the pastry disappear as crumbs caught in his mustache. “They are, as you will remember, members of high Society, and we will afford them all the recognition and deference entitled by their positions.”

“They are not entitled to commit crimes and escape punishment,” Captain Carmichael said. “The crime was committed at sea, and the investigation must follow maritime laws.”

“We cannot punish everyone on board,” Dahlia replied. She glanced at the door, wondering where Meredith had gone and wishing he were there. Victor was on her side, but in spite of their rapport, her assistant was still an employee. As with the others, there was, of necessity, distance between them. At this moment, Dahlia wished more than anything for someone to share this burden with. She sipped the tea.

Did she hope for a partner? That was not quite what she had in mind. A partner would require her to give up control of the business. But she longed for the unwavering support of a companion—and she knew innately that was something Meredith would give.

“If searching the main areas doesn’t yield results, we must push on, and that means entering private cabins,” Captain Carmichael said in his patient voice.

Dahlia knew he was right; she just could not feel comfortable with it. She took another deep sip of tea.

“These passengers do not deserve special treatment,” Mr. Yeates said. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. In his anger, his face had become quite red. He grabbed tightly to the back of the chair, his words becoming slurred and garbled. “Just because they are... special does not mean they are... rich.” He looked at Dahlia but appeared unable to focus. He blinked, as if he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

“Mr. Yeates?”

He put a hand on his forehead, swaying. “Thirsty,” he whispered.

Victor was on his feet. He stepped around the captain’s chair, reaching Mr. Yeates just as the man fell.

Victor caught him and, with Captain Carmichael’s help, lowered him to the ground.

Dahlia ran to the door. She opened it, yelling into the corridor for assistance.

A steward was there immediately.

“Fetch Dr. Jackson,” Dahlia ordered.

“And Inspector Graham,” Victor added.

The steward rushed away.

Dahlia joined the others, kneeling at Mr. Yeates’s side. His skin was flushed, and he held his belly, moaning as if it pained him.

“His skin is burning with fever,” Captain Carmichael said.

Victor loosened Mr. Yeates’s necktie and unbuttoned his collar.

Jim burst into the room followed by Hazel, Vivian, Benedict, and Jonathan. Meredith came as well.

Seeing him filled Dahlia with relief.

A group of stewards gathered in the doorway, ready to assist as needed.

Jim knelt, feeling the neck of the patient. “What happened?”

“He grew red in the face and collapsed,” Dahlia said. In spite of their recent arguing, she felt sorry for Mr. Yeates. “He has been ill for days. It must have taken all of his energy to come to this meeting at all. And in the end, it was too much for him.”

Jim shook his head. “This is no typical fever.” He looked at Jonathan. “He’s been poisoned.”

Dahlia went cold.

Jonathan lifted the lid of the teapot, sniffing its contents. “Did anyone else drink the tea?”

“All of us,” Captain Carmichael said. He got to his feet as if to prove that he was not affected.

Victor paled. He grabbed on to the arm of Mr. Yeates’s chair, pulling himself up to sit in it.

Meredith helped Dahlia to her feet. She was shaking—whether from the poison or fear, she did not know.

Meredith put his coat around her.

“Sit down, dear,” Hazel said. She directed Meredith to help Dahlia to her chair, and once she was seated, Hazel laid a hand on her forehead. “No fever,” she said in a reassuring voice. She put a hand on Dahlia’s cheek. “Do not be afraid.”

Dahlia could not even find words. Her mind felt as if it had stopped. As if making thoughts was now too difficult. She held on to Meredith’s arm.

Jonathan picked up the plate with Dahlia’s tart. He sniffed it, poked his finger into the jellied fruit, and touched it to his tongue, then spit into a napkin. “Sour,” he said. “Nightshade is my guess.”

“The symptoms would agree with your assessment,” Jim said.

“Fever, rash, slurred speech, bellyache, slowed respiration,” Vivian clarified.

Mr. Yeates groaned. He brought his knees to his stomach, clutching his belly in pain.

“Who ate the tarts?” Jonathan asked, gathering the plates of pastry.

“Only Mr. Yeates,” Victor replied.

Captain Carmichael and Dahlia nodded their agreement to his answer.

A thought pushed through Dahlia’s sluggish mind. “The tart was poisoned?” she said. “Impossible. Francois would not allow—”

“Bring the cook right away,” Jonathan said to the stewards at the door.

One ran off to fulfill the order.

“We need to get him to the sick bay,” Jim said, standing. He motioned for two stewards to assist, and the three of them carried Mr. Yeates from the room.

“Can he save him?” Dahlia asked Hazel.

“I don’t know,” Hazel said. “There are many factors. How much he ingested, how ripe the nightshade berries were, that sort of thing. And I worry poor Mr. Yeates already has poison in his system from the tea.”

Dahlia could only stare at her friend.

Seeing the question in her gaze, Hazel grimaced. “We’ve learned the ginger tea was poisoned as well. Jim believes it is elderberry seeds added to the ginger root.”

“I knew it was making my symptoms worse,” Jonathan said as if vindicated. “And it appears it has been doing the same for Mr. Yeates. And now the three women in the Pearl Suite.”

“The three...” Dahlia gasped as she realized who Jonathan meant. Mimi, Mrs. Griffin, and Lady Chatsworth. “Are they... ?”

“I believe they will be all right,” Hazel said. “They have responded well to the calabar bean treatment. Sophronia and Charles are with them now, and Jim and I have been keeping a close watch.”

“Physostigmine.” Vivian nodded, looking pleased with the choice. “An effective medicine.”

Dahlia’s mind swam with questions. Was everyone on the ship in danger of poison? Who could possibly be behind such an evil scheme? Her shaking grew worse.

Meredith knelt beside her. He rubbed her arms. “Dahlia?”

“What is happening aboard this ship?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But do not fear. You are not in danger, and you do not need to manage this alone.”

She looked up at her gathered friends, feeling a wave of relief. Meredith was right. She was not alone. And if there was a poisoner on the ship, there was nobody she trusted more to apprehend the culprit than the people in this very room. The thought buoyed her, giving her a boost of courage. She did not have to manage this situation by herself.

Francois entered the room. When he saw the gathering, his expression turned nervous.

“Sit down, please,” Jonathan said. His tone was cold.

Francois sat in the seat next to Victor.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Jonathan said, “I would like you to answer some questions.”