Page 68 of The Vanished

“So, why was he unpleasant?” Honor asked.

Jesse had no choice but to answer the question. “He spent most evenings in the card room. He drank heavily, gambled recklessly, and became rather belligerent when he lost a great deal of money on the night he died. He was asked to leave.”

“Perhaps someone caught him cheating at cards, went to his cabin, and murdered him in his sleep,” Rose suggested. She leaned forward in her eagerness, and her eyes shone with malicious curiosity. “Was anything taken? What happened to his things?”

“I really don’t know, Rose, but I wouldn’t have thought he was murdered,” Jesse said.

“Why not?” Honor asked. “They said it was anaphylactic shock, but perhaps he was intentionally poisoned.”

“Why would you think that?” Jesse looked at Honor in surprise. “And how do you know it was anaphylactic shock?”

“The police said so. Rose brought a newspaper,” Honor said and instantly looked guilty since she realized that she had betrayed Rose to her mother, who was looking angrier by the moment. Her expression was pinched, and her nostrils flared with every intake of breath.

“I doubt the police would have allowed the rest of us to disembark if they thought Heller was murdered,” Jesse said. “I think, at the time, the ship’s doctor was probably more worried about possible contagion.”

“Really? Why?” Rose pressed as Sally silently served the consommé.

“Because of the influenza epidemic, silly,” Honor said. “If the deceased died of a contagious disease, they would have no choice but to quarantine the ship, like in the old days when they were afraid of the plague.”

Rose turned to Jesse. “Did he have pus-filled boils or an angry rash? How could they tell it was anaphylaxis?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jesse replied. “I never saw the body. It was left in his cabin until the rest of the passengers could disembark.”

Aunt Clarissa, who clearly had not wanted to censor Jesse for fear of causing offense, had finally had enough.

“Rose, be quiet this instant,” she barked, then turned to Jesse. She was breathing heavily, her bosom rising and falling with every labored breath. “Perhaps this is an appropriate topic of conversation where you come from, Mr. Bellamy, but here in England we have better manners.” She suddenly seemed to regret her outburst, probably because she recalled that Jesse would henceforth hold the purse strings, and smiled apologetically. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Yes, you did, Geneva wanted to say. You resent him with every fiber of your being and want to remind him that he’s beneath you. And he wasn’t the one to bring up the topic—Rose was.

“Perhaps you can introduce a more worthy topic,” Jesse said, and Geneva could see that, beneath the mask of politeness, he was incandescently angry.

“Well, speculating about a possible murder is a sight more interesting than talking about the London Season and what so-and-so wore to some boring ball,” Rose protested.

“Rose, I’m warning you,” Clarissa hissed. “Murders are not discussed in polite society.”

“On the contrary, Mother,” Rose said. “Everyone is talking about Dorothy L. Sayers’ book, Whose Body? It’s a cracking read. You should try it.”

She seemed to be goading her mother on purpose, but Clarissa wasn’t about to give in to another outburst. “There’s nothing wrong with discussing a work of fiction, but it’s quite vulgar to speculate about a real case, especially when the poor man died of natural causes and deserves your sympathy,” she retorted.

“Why? Cousin Jesse says he was a disagreeable man. Why should I feel any sympathy towards him?”

Clarissa looked like she would have liked to wring Rose’s neck, or at the very least gag her with her own napkin, but she was saved from resorting to an act of violence by the arrival of Sally, who cleared away the soup plates.

“Ah, sole Véronique,” Clarissa exclaimed when the next course was delivered to the table. “I simply adore sole. Are you partial to fish, Mr. Bellamy?”

“Not very, but I enjoy shellfish,” Jesse said.

“What sort of shellfish?”

“Oysters Rockefeller is a favorite,” Jesse said. “And I do love clam chowder.”

“Perhaps you can explain to Cook how to make these American delicacies so that we can sample them,” Clarissa said and smiled at Jesse in a manner Geneva found sickeningly ingratiating. She was clearly trying to make up for her bad behavior. “We would so love to learn more about your culture. Wouldn’t we, Rose?”

Rose nodded solemnly. “Have you ever been out West? Is it full of lawless gunslingers?”

“I don’t know, Rose,” Jesse replied with a chuckle.

“Didn’t you used to live in Montana?” Geneva asked, speaking up for the first time.