Page 23 of Discovering Dahlia (The Blue Orchid Society #5)

Miles paced back and forth in his cabin. There was a villain on the ship, and as long as he or she remained at large, everyone aboard was in danger.

He looked at his pocket watch. The sun would rise within the hour. He was tired, but with the way his thoughts were spinning, sleep was out of the question. He changed into a fresh shirt and left his cabin, feeling like he needed to be doing something to actively help the investigation rather than sitting in his room while the danger was still present.

In the saloon, he found a group was assembled, sitting on the sofas and chairs, deep in discussion. He was unsurprised to see them. Present were Inspector Graham, Lady Sophronia, Benedict, Lady Covington, Chatsworth, Miss Miller, and Mr. Vandelay.

When Chatsworth saw Miles, he raised a hand. “Couldn’t sleep, either, eh?”

Miles shook his head, coming to join them.

Inspector Graham gave him an approving nod.

“We were discussing the aspects of the case,” Lady Sophronia told him. “While one mystery is solved, the original problem remains.”

“A dangerous person is still aboard the ship,” Chatsworth clarified, as if reading Miles’s thoughts. “We must find him before anyone else is harmed.”

“Or her,” Miss Miller said.

Miles nodded. “As I see it, the stolen necklace led us in the wrong direction.”

“A distraction,” Benedict said.

“We were all operating under the assumption that the thief and the poisoner were one and the same,” Lady Covington said.

“A careless mistake,” Inspector Graham said, frowning. “It cost the investigation valuable time.”

Lady Sophronia took her husband’s hand. “The likelihood of two criminal plots happening simultaneously is very small.”

The inspector’s frown didn’t abate, but he turned over his hand, holding his wife’s tighter.

“So, then, how do we continue?” Miss Miller said impatiently. “Between the passengers, crew, and staff, there can be no more than one hundred people aboard the ship.” She looked around at the others for verification of her count, and seeing confirming nods, she continued. “We should be able to identify the one with evil intent. Perhaps an interview of each person aboard. Discover whether they have been in the galley, have they any knowledge of poisons, can they account for their whereabouts after dinner last night?”

“We should be able to narrow down the pool of suspects,” Lady Sophronia said, “by understanding the motivation for their crime.”

Inspector Graham spoke next. “First of all, we need to identify the intended victim.”

“It could be Mr. Vandelay,” Chatsworth said. He gave the assistant an apologetic smile. “He was present at both attempts.”

“Do you have any enemies, Mr. Vandelay?” Lady Sophronia asked.

The assistant shivered, crossing his arms. “None that I can think of,” he said.

“No,” Miles said. “Mr. Vandelay wasn’t expected on the terrace deck the first morning, and the tarts were not sent just to him.”

“They were sent to Dahlia’s office,” Lady Covington said, a crease forming between her brows. “And the chef said bilberry tarts are her favorite. They were meant specifically for her.” She looked at the others in the group, her eyes widening. “Dahlia was known to walk the terrace deck early each morning. She is the common factor in each of the attempts.”

Miles felt a jolt of energy shoot through his chest, accompanied by a cold fear. He had suspected such but assumed his worries were colored by his affection. To hear someone else confirm his suspicion was both affirming and terrifying.

“But why would anyone want to hurt Dahlia?” Miss Miller said. “It makes no sense. Every person aboard this ship is either her friend—or at the very least a warm acquaintance—or owes their livelihood to her. She has no enemies here.”

“Aside from those young ladies who have already been apprehended,” Inspector Graham said.

“They are not murderers, Jonathan,” Lady Sophronia said. “This is something else. Something much more malevolent.”

The members of the group looked at one another. All were confused. All were concerned for their friend’s safety. And, in Miles’s case, he felt hopeless. How could he protect Dahlia when he had no idea whom he was protecting her from? “Who would benefit monetarily from Dahlia’s... from her being gone?” he asked Miss Miller, feeling that, as Dahlia’s cousin, she would have the best chance of knowing her personal finances.

“Does she have a will?” Inspector Graham asked Miss Miller as well.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose her father would be the beneficiary, but he is very ill.”

“Mr. Yeates,” Lady Sophronia said slowly. “Dahlia is one of the very first women to benefit from the new Women’s Property Act. If not for the new legislation, the law of primogeniture would apply, and—”

“And Mr. Yeates would inherit everything,” Miss Miller said. “So our principal suspect is the man lying near death in the sick bay.” She folded her arms. “This line of reasoning is getting us nowhere.”

Miles jolted. “Mr. Yeates was not the intended target of the poison,” he said, his mind racing. “He has been sick for most of the cruise; he would have been assumed too ill to eat a pastry.”

“But he must have been deliberately given the ginger tea,” Lady Sophronia said.

“To keep him in bed, ill.” Miles stood as realization crashed over him. “To keep him safely out of the way, prevent him from discovering what the poisoner was doing.” He pointed at Inspector Graham. “And the other person who might have discovered the plot was made ill as well. She did not want a police inspector becoming suspicious.”

“She?” Miss Miller asked.

“Of course!” Lady Covington snapped her fingers as understanding lit her face.

“Mrs. Yeates,” Lady Sophronia said.

“She has an understanding of plants,” Miles said. “A horticulturist, she called herself.”

“Her gloves,” Lady Sophronia said, looking animated. “She even wore them at mealtime. She may have rashes or even burns on her hands from handling the poisons.”

“She must have been furious when my uncle announced his intention to bequeath his property to Dahlia,” Miss Miller said. “The Yeateses would have been planning on the inheritance up until last year.”

“A blow indeed,” Chatsworth said.

“Oh no,” Mr. Vandelay muttered.

Inspector Graham lifted his chin and squinted. “If you’re right, my lord... Dahlia could be in danger this very moment.”

The members of the group jumped to their feet.

“Find Dahlia,” Inspector Graham said. “I will go after the suspect.”

“I’ll come with you,” Benedict said. Though he did not say the words aloud, they all knew if a situation turned violent, Benedict’s kung fu skills would be welcome.

“We’ll go to her cabin,” Lady Sophronia said, grabbing the hands of the other two women. They rushed off toward the stairs.

“I’ll go to her office,” Miles said. He met Chatsworth’s gaze, jerking his head to the side in an invitation for the man to follow. Mr. Vandelay went with them, and the three men rushed out of the saloon. Miles’s heart was pounding, and he wished they had not taken so long to solve the case. An instant could mean the difference between life and death.

Once they were on the main deck, he saw that the sky was lightening. Out of habit, he glanced up to the terrace deck. His gut froze. Instead of Dahlia enjoying the calm of the morning, he could make out two figures struggling. Even in the darkness he could tell that Dahlia was being pressed against the rail.

Chatsworth must have seen them, too, because he started toward the stairs on the starboard side of the deck.

That’ll take too long. Miles knew instinctively that he needed to reach her faster. He ran in the other direction, springing upward into the rigging and climbing with a speed that could only be attributed to panic. Once he was above the port side of the terrace deck, he dropped down, landing directly behind Mrs. Yeates. The woman was pressing Dahlia to the rail, trying to reach her face.

Dahlia struggled, twisting her face as far to the side as she was able.

Miles grabbed Mrs. Yeates’s arms, pulling her back and away.

The woman screamed, squirming, and then tried to touch his face. In her gloved fists, he could smell berries.

“Dahlia, did you swallow anything?” he called.

“No.” She was wiping her shawl over her cheeks. “She missed my mouth.”

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Chatsworth reached them, and the men wrestled off the poisoner’s gloves, taking care to avoid the crushed berries, but in the darkness, they were not entirely successful.

A few moments later, Inspector Graham, Benedict, and the ladies joined them, and once Miles relinquished his prisoner, he embraced Dahlia, pulling her into a very passionate and very public kiss. The relief combined with the energy that panic had pushed into his veins had caused his decorum to flee. All that mattered was Dahlia. She was safe, and he would not let anyone threaten her again.

All around came the sounds of cheers.

“Meredith!” Dahlia pulled away from the kiss, ducking her head. “What will people say?”

“If they had any decency, they would avert their eyes,” he said in a voice loud enough for the entire deck to hear.

Dahlia’s hesitancy melted away, and she giggled. “If they are scandalized, it is entirely their own fault.” She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him to her, and as far as Miles was concerned, the rest of the world ceased to exist.