Page 21 of Discovering Dahlia (The Blue Orchid Society #5)

Dahlia’s shaking stopped, and her gaze sharpened. That was good. Miles had worried she was near to having an attack of nerves. She leaned forward in her chair, resting her hands on the desk. The gesture was a simple one, but it made the fact clear that Dahlia was in charge once again.

Meredith stood on one side of her, and Miss Thornton was on the other. The young nurse watched Dahlia carefully, clearly still worried about her emotional state. But Meredith could sense that Dahlia was in control of herself. The momentary fit of nerves had passed.

Inspector Graham leaned back on the front of Dahlia’s desk, his gaze boring into Francois. “Who sent the tea and tarts up to Miss Lancaster’s office?”

“I did,” Francois said. “Bilberry tarts, zey are Miss Lancaster’s favorite. Under ze circumstances”—he rolled his hand—“I thought she might wish for a bit of refreshment.”

Behind him, Miss Thornton and Lady Covington watched the chef closely. The inspector wrote something in a notebook.

“And you made the tarts yourself?” the inspector asked.

“Oui, of course.”

Captain Carmichael shifted, folding his arms. His typically cheerful demeanor was gone, and Miles could see him as a formidable leader used to discipline on his ship.

“Then, you are responsible for the addition of nightshade berries,” Jonathan said. “Did you poison the canister of ginger tea as well, or did one of your galley assistants do that for you?”

“Nightshade?” Francois asked. He looked completely confused. “What is zis?”

“Atropa belladonna,” Lady Covington clarified.

“Non, it is not good,” Francois said, glancing back at Lady Covington. He looked less confused and more worried now. “ Belladone , she is not for eating.” He waved his hands in front of him, palms out, as if he meant to stop anyone from trying. “ Très mauvais. Very bad.”

“Francois,” Dahlia said. “There were belladonna berries in the tarts. Mr. Yeates is very sick from eating them.”

The chef’s eyes widened. He looked from the detective to Dahlia to the captain. “Non, non. It is impossible.” His hands waved again, this time more forcefully. “Francois does not put this evil thing in his delicious tarts.”

“Then, who did?” Inspector Graham asked.

The chef’s brow furrowed, and he looked to the side, thinking. “There is only myself and ze assistants,” he said.

“A steward delivered a tray to the office,” Captain Carmichael said. “Did you give the tray to the man directly?”

“I only bake ze tarts,” Francois said. “Ze assistants, zey arrange ze tray, brew ze tea...”

“Might the tarts have been left alone in the galley?” Miss Thornton asked. “Perhaps sitting on the table unattended while the stewards searched the dining room and the galley assistants went about their work?”

Fran c ois looked uncertain. “Oui, it is possible. Everyone in ze galley, we are all busy preparing for tomorrow’s breakfast.”

“Did anyone else come into the galley while the tray was being prepared?” Meredith asked. “Anyone who is not typically part of the breakfast preparations?”

“I don’t know,” Fran c ois admitted. “Ze galley is very busy, and I am not always watching ze comings and goings.”

Inspector Graham nodded, running his pocket watch fob through his fingers. He appeared to be considering the chef’s answers. “Are there more bilberry tarts?” he asked. “In the galley?”

“Oui.”

“I shall want to check them. If none are tainted, we shall know the poison was meant for this office alone.”

Dahlia went still at his words. “Meant for this office?” she asked. Her voice had a small squeak to it. If the others weren’t in the room, Meredith would have put his arms around her.

She looked at Victor and Captain Carmichael.

The two of them looked back at her wordlessly.

Meredith imagined they were all thinking the same thing. If the poison was meant for this office, which of them was the intended victim? And just how close had they come to eating the tarts? It was luck alone that only one of them had been poisoned.

“Je suis désolé, mademoiselle,” Fran c ois said to Dahlia. “My heart, she aches at ze very idea of my beautiful pastries being used in zis vile manner. But I did not do zis thing. And I do not believe any of ze galley assistants capable of such atrocity. I know each of them. I have worked with them for years, and never...” He shook his head, words failing him.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Miss Thornton said, “I am going to check on the patients.”

“Yes, thank you. And send a report on their status when you can,” Dahlia said.

“Of course.” She squeezed Dahlia’s hand. “I am very glad you are all right.” She crossed the room, opening the door.

“Hazel,” Dahlia called after her. “Will you please make sure Mrs. Yeates is aware of her husband’s condition? She will want to be with him if she isn’t already.”

As the nurse nodded and left the room, Lady Sophronia entered, coming to stand beside her husband.

“Inspector Graham, if you have no more questions for Francois,” Dahlia said, “he has work to do tonight, and you know where to find him if you need him.” Her voice sounded steadier.

Inspector Graham thanked the chef for his assistance, and the Frenchman departed.

Lady Sophronia took his vacated seat, and Lady Covington sat in the one beside her. Benedict stood by his wife’s chair.

“What is the status of the search?” Dahlia asked.

In the confusion, Miles had nearly forgotten about the diamonds altogether.

“Most of the passengers have retired for the night,” Inspector Graham said. “So searching the cabins can wait until morning. I hoped we might make a search of the lower decks, particularly the galley and the scullery. Anywhere dishes may have been taken and brought from.”

She nodded.

“And what would you have us do?” Lady Covington asked. She might have been directing her question to Dahlia or Inspector Graham, but he was the first to answer.

“I don’t know if there is more that can be done tonight,” he said.

“We couldn’t possibly sleep,” Lady Sophronia responded. “Not with all of the excitement.”

“The staff will need their rest,” Dahlia said. “They begin their duties early. As does the captain.” She looked at Captain Carmichael as she spoke.

He nodded his agreement.

Inspector Graham nodded as well. He looked at Miles. “If Your Lordship is inclined, I am willing to search for another hour.”

“Very well,” Miles said. He turned to Dahlia, seeing the exhaustion in her eyes. “This night has been very trying for you, Miss Lancaster. If you will accept a suggestion, I think you would benefit from sleep.”

Dahlia gave a tired smile. “You are right, of course.”

Miles and Inspector Graham took their leave and departed, walking down the dark corridor to the door that led to the terrace deck. They stepped outside. A cool breeze blew, but the night was pleasant. Aside from a few running lights, the ship was completely dark.

“What do you think?” the inspector asked.

“About Francois? He doesn’t seem the murderous type,” Miles said.

“He does not,” Inspector Graham said. “Nor does he seem foolish enough to commit a crime that could so easily be traced back to him.” They crossed to the stairs that led down to the main deck.

“Then, who?” Miles asked. The mystery was frustrating. There was such a small number of passengers on the ship. Discovering the culprit should be easy.

“That is the question,” the inspector said.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and started toward the saloon doors, but something caught Miles’s attention. He saw movement in the dining room window. He put out his hand, stopping the inspector, and pointed.

The dining room was lit by only a few dim gas lamps, but as they watched, it was clear someone moved among them.

Wordlessly, the men hurried through the saloon. Inspector Graham opened the dining room doors just a crack, and they slipped inside as quietly as possible.

Miles’s heart was pounding. Were they even now standing in the darkness with a person who had attempted murder?

Across the room came the sound of a scrape and a grunt as someone apparently bumped into a chair.

Miles could just make out his companion. Inspector Graham moved slowly toward the sound, and Miles did the same, feeling his way and moving silently.

Their quarry moved past another light, and Miles thought they wore a cloak. He was unable to make out a face, nor could he distinguish features such as height or build.

Inspector Graham broke off, changing his course to intercept the cloaked figure.

The person had halted in the far corner of the room and appeared to crouch down. There was a rustling sound, and a moment later, they stood.

At that moment, Inspector Graham pounced, taking hold of the figure and drawing them to the wall.

Miles was right behind him.

“Check for weapons,” the inspector said, pressing the figure’s arms to the side.

“Unhand me at once!”

The men both paused at the sound of a woman’s voice, one Miles recognized.

“Lady Ruben?” he asked.

“Take your hands off me, or I shall report you.” She spoke in an imperious tone, but the inspector did not release her.

“I apologize, my lady,” Inspector Graham said. “I cannot do that until I am certain you do not pose a threat to myself or any of the other passengers.”

“Of course I do not pose a threat. Do you consider me to be a common criminal? Meredith, tell him who I am.”

Miles did not answer. His eyes had adjusted slightly more in the darkness, and he made his way to where Lorene had crouched down a moment before. He did the same, finding a potted fern. He put his hands in among the foliage, and his fingers brushed something made of cloth. He lifted it out. It felt like a dining napkin wrapped tightly around something heavy. Even without opening it, he knew he held the Duchess of Dorchester’s diamond necklace. Lorene’s attempt to hide it had failed.

His heart felt heavy as he brought the parcel to the detective. “Lorene, what have you done?”

She did not answer, turning her face away.

Inspector Graham held on to one of her arms. He gave a tug. “Come along. We’ll find somewhere with light, and I believe there is a holding cell or a brig of some sort in the lower decks.”

Hearing this, Lorene tried to pull away, but the inspector’s grip was sure.

Miles did not know what to do. Part of him wanted to take her away and insist that she could not have done it. But he had held the evidence in his hand. “Shall I go find Ruben?” he asked her in a gentle voice.

“No,” she said.

“My lady, you have put yourself in a significant amount of trouble,” the inspector said. “I recommend sending for your husband.”

“No,” she said, the haughtiness gone from her voice. “He will not concern himself with me. He will want to distance himself, to protect his reputation.”

Miles wanted to argue that of course that was not true. But he would not lie to the woman. He’d heard Ruben’s disparaging remarks to her with his own ears. And he knew how strongly Ruben and his father valued the Molyneaux family’s honor.

“Come along, then.” He offered his arm. At the very least, he would give the woman the respect she deserved. “Inspector, you lead the way.”