The Custom of the Trade Page 6

  Richard delayed his own escape for a minute whilst he tried to see if the compartment was clear. Despite his best efforts, even with the faint glimmer of the flashlight, it was too dark to see anything but the hatch. He could only assume that everyone had made it out, and if they had not, then there was little he could do. He felt sadness at abandoning D2. She had been a good boat and, under Johnson’s excellent leadership, she had had a first class ship’s company. Richard just hoped that she could be salvaged.

  It was now his turn to escape, but he first appealed to the Almighty to guide him to the surface safely. He regretted that he had left his Bible forward. It had been given to him by his mother and the flyleaf included a personal inscription by Cardinal Bourne, but this was no time for regrets. He climbed through the hatch and was met by the bright beams of two underwater flashlights carried by divers. The nearest grabbed him and pointed at the knotted rope leading to the surface. The diver shouted something at him, but Richard could not distinguish the words. He just responded by giving a thumbs-up signal and, using the rope as his guide, started swimming for the surface using his legs only. Rising through the water, he remembered to breathe out and disciplined himself to slow his upward movement to the speed of the bubbles he was exhaling. It was such an unnatural thing to do, to continue to blow out as he floated upwards, and he wondered how long he could keep doing so before the overwhelming urge to breathe in again overtook him.

  After an eternity he broke through the surface. He merely had time to spot the domes of two other people in the sea before he found himself face down in the water. Try as he might, he could not right himself, either to float on his back or to tread water upright. The buoyancy of the dome had a will of its own. Knowing help was at hand, he gave in and resigned himself to the view of the nothingness below. Sure enough, within a few minutes, he felt rough, but nonetheless welcome, hands grabbing him and hauling him into a whaler. Somebody removed the dome from his head and pulled out the rubber mouthpiece to allow him his first taste of the cold, but sweet, early evening air. Richard tried to help, but his body would not respond. He was completely helpless, like a newborn baby. Suddenly, and in his eyes unaccountably, he started sobbing uncontrollably. He saw the seamen in the boat exchange significant looks, but he couldn’t control his emotions. What he did not realise then was that the men understood. They were no longer embarrassed by such a reaction. Of the nine men they and their colleagues had rescued alive, most had expressed a similar reaction.

  Gradually, Richard regained his composure, but he now faced another problem. The adrenalin in his body had started to subside and he felt a very urgent need to void his bowels.

  Chapter 6

  April 1912

  ‘Lizzy, that was Father on the telephone. He says he’s not coming up to Liverpool tonight, after all. Apparently he’s had a short notice invitation to go to Halifax, Nova Scotia.’

  ‘Why on earth would he go there, Charles?’ Elizabeth Miller enquired of her elder brother.

  ‘He was quite excited about it. He’s had a telegram from Admiral Kingsmill inviting him to address the midshipmen at their new naval college. Father is then to meet up with some of the new Canadian Navy officers and thinks it might lead to a few contracts for our yard.’

  ‘And isn’t the yard busy enough with the Admiralty contracts for the C-class cruisers?’

  ‘Possibly, but that won’t last for ever. I think Father has the right idea. We should spread our wings a little. After all, we did build the Melbourne for the Australians. If Father can make the right contacts early on, who knows where it might end, as far as the Dominions are concerned?’

  ‘I see. So when is he leaving?’

  ‘Thursday. From Southampton. Thomas Andrews was able to fix him a berth on the White Star’s new liner, the Titanic.’

  ‘That was fortunate. He and Andrews will no doubt have a most agreeable time. I just hope he has enough laundry and suits. It might be a long trip. And Andrews had better not give Father any wild ideas about converting the yard to build liners next. If there’s going to be a war with Germany, then we ought to stick with warships.’

  ‘You’re always going on about a coming war, Lizzy. You pay too much regard to Uncle William.’

  ‘You would do well to listen to him, too, dear brother. Having been our naval attaché in Berlin for many years, Uncle William should know more of Germany’s intentions than anyone. And I can tell you that his time at the Admiralty has done nothing to assuage his fears. You ask Dick. He’ll back me up.’

  Charles drew a watch from the pocket of his tweed waistcoat before stoking the fire of the drawing room. Although it was a fine spring day in April, the weather in Crosby, near Liverpool, was still cool. When he removed his round, thick-lensed spectacles, he was a handsome man, with an open and cheerful disposition. His fair hair and blue eyes were inherited from his late mother. His sister Elizabeth shared both his blue eyes and good looks, but she had long, auburn hair.

  ‘Talking of Dick, sis, he and Peter should be here anytime. Is he still using a stick?’

  ‘I believe so. He’s still suffering some paralysis down one side after his dreadful accident, but don’t mention it. He’s very sensitive about it.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be tactful. Who’s this girl he’s bringing?’

  ‘Charles, you never listen. I told you before. It is Peter that is bringing a guest. Her name is Alice Robson. She’s a school teacher on the Marton estate.’ Marton Hall was the Lancashire home of the Miller cousins.

  ‘So you did. Sorry, forgot. Hark, I think I hear them now.’ The sound of wheels crunching the gravel drive could be heard from without.

  A few minutes later the butler showed Elizabeth and Charles’s three guests for lunch into the drawing room. It was a comfortable room, but a little cluttered, with models of ships and a confusion of maritime prints and seascapes on the walls. Peter and Richard kissed and embraced their cousin Elizabeth before shaking hands with Charles. Peter introduced his companion.

  ‘Lizzy, Charles, may I introduce Miss Alice Robson?’

  Elizabeth was surprised by Alice’s height of five feet ten inches, but noted critically the slim build, short blonde hair and blue eyes. Alice’s unusual height seemed a little ungainly, but Elizabeth had to admit to herself that men would find her attractive.

  *

  After lunch Elizabeth and Alice drank coffee in the drawing room whilst the men took their port in the dining room. Over lunch Elizabeth had confessed to herself that she found Alice more interesting than she had expected. The large drawing room was furnished with three sofas and the two women sat together on one, but separated by a mahogany tea table.

  ‘You mentioned earlier that you speak German and have a taste for the literature, Alice. Did I hear correctly that you went to university?’

  ‘That’s right. I took a Classical Tripos at Girton College, Cambridge.’

  ‘I’m impressed. I have no doubt you graduated with honours. Do you speak any other languages?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose I speak French fairly well. Do you have a facility for languages, Elizabeth?’

  ‘No, not really, although my French is tolerable and I have a smattering of Persian.’

  ‘Persian? Now that is unusual. How so?’

  ‘My Grandmama is Persian. Grandpapa ran a shipping business in India and met her there. I only know enough to say a few polite phrases to Grandmama, but Peter speaks it well and I believe his younger brother, Paul, is progressing well with it, too, at Grandmama’s knee.’

  ‘So that explains it,’ Alice exclaimed. ‘Now I understand why Peter is to be sent to Tehran. He never mentioned his exotic heritage, other than that his mother is Swiss.’

  ‘My cousins can be a taciturn lot. They’re not so bad, I suppose, but I would have liked one female cousin. I wish I could have gone to university, too. I’m sure you enjoyed the experience?’

  ‘Very much so, but as a woman one had to learn to hide one’s intellect un
der a bushel. It wasn’t all plain sailing. What would you have studied, Elizabeth? Had you had the chance?’

  ‘Engineering, like a shot, but alas, it is considered a subject for which only men are deemed to have the mental capacity.’

  Alice raised both her hands with pleasure. ‘Elizabeth, you are a woman of my way of thinking. My God, you wouldn’t have believed the frustration we felt in listening to the platitudes and patronising of male lecturers who thought we should have remained at home to tend the hearth. But I suppose women must be patient and learn to accept their lot for now.’

  ‘Now there we must disagree, Alice. I do not see why we should. Have you not heard of the activities of the Women’s Social and Political Union? I am proud to be a member.’

  ‘Why, naturally! Indeed, I have attended their rallies and even met with Mrs Pankhurst and her daughter, Christabel.’

  ‘You have met Christabel?’

  ‘Indeed. It was one summer when I was down in London. I helped with some leafleting and was even offered a permanent role, but I had to return to my studies.’

  ‘And are you still in contact with Christabel or the WSPU?’ Elizabeth suddenly felt a pang of potential jealousy.

  ‘No. I read that Christabel has disappeared and her poor mother is back in prison. It makes me so angry. Oh, I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me.’ Alice began to mop up the coffee she had spilt on the table-cloth.

  ‘Don’t worry. The servants will fix it. I’m more interested in your leanings towards the WSPU. Have you not thought of becoming a member?’

  ‘I have. I did some more leafleting for them in Manchester last year and am tempted to start attending some meetings in Preston. But I have to be careful. I mustn’t lose my place at the school.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have to worry about that. But, of course, you probably do. How silly of me. I do so hate this oppression the men seem to relish in exerting. And, talking of the men, I fear they are about to rejoin us. Listen. I might have an idea for a way you could help our cause. Would it surprise you to know that I was with Christabel only a couple of weeks ago? May I call you to discuss it?’

  ‘Good Lord. You know where Christabel is hiding? I’m not sure how I could help, but I would be pleased to do what I can.’

  Charles and his two male cousins entered. Charles, it seemed to Elizabeth, had imbibed too much wine and port.

  ‘You two seem to be cosy,’ he remarked. ‘I hope, Lizzy, you’ve not been boring Miss Robson with your suffragette nonsense. I do apologise, Miss Robson. Our Lizzy’s a bit of a socialist.’

  ‘Charles, that is unfair and quite obtuse. Socialism and women’s suffrage are completely different issues. We only support the Labour candidates who speak out for votes for women. Now, come away from the fire. You’re hogging all the heat.’

  ‘I detect a sudden chill in the air, dear cousins.’ Charles turned to Peter and Richard. ‘That’s the trouble with the suffragettes. They want to boss their men-folk about in their own home. We need some more coal. Bend your elbow, Peter, and ring for a servant, old boy.’

  ‘Charles, come sit down. You know very well that there’s very little coal left. It’s over a month since the miners went on strike. There are plenty of logs.’ Elizabeth turned to Richard and smiled sweetly at him.

  ‘Dick, dear. Would you mind topping up the fire? Oh. Is that a carriage I hear?’

  The doorbell rang in the distance and a few minutes later the butler entered.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Charles. There are two inspectors in the hall from the Lancashire Constabulary and desiring to speak with Miss Elizabeth.’

  ‘Hawkins,’ Elizabeth cut in. ‘If the two policemen wish to speak to me, then kindly address me and not my brother. Show them in.’

  Hawkins coloured and bowed deferentially. ‘Very well, miss.’ After he retired from the room Peter spoke.

  ‘What on earth do the police want with you, Lizzy?’

  ‘Patience, Peter. Wait a couple of minutes and we will find out.’ Elizabeth fought hard to control her panic. It was a good question. What did they want?

  The butler returned with the two policemen. One wore a uniform, but the other was in plain clothes. The uniformed officer nodded to Charles.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Charles. Is your father in?’

  Lizzy cut off her brother. ‘I understood, Inspector, that it was with me that you wished to converse. To whom am I speaking?’

  ‘Right enough, miss, if you’re Miss Elizabeth Miller. I’m Inspector Rimmer and this ’ere is Inspector Mason.’ The plain-clothes officer nodded. ‘Is your father not in?’

  ‘He is in London. How may I assist you?’

  ‘Well, it’s a bit delicate, like.’ He looked at the other luncheon guests meaningfully. ‘We were wonderin’ if you might accompany us down the station. We’ve a carriage outside, miss.’

  ‘Certainly not, Inspector,’ Richard interrupted. ‘If you wish to speak with my cousin privately, then we can adjourn to the orangery. Come, Lizzy.’

  Elizabeth was taken aback at Richard’s masterful approach. Rimmer looked to Mason for affirmation before both officers stepped aside to allow Elizabeth and Richard to lead them to the orangery. Richard limped over to a rattan table and, after guiding his cousin to a cushioned bench, he pulled up two chairs for the policemen.

  ‘I presume you have no objection to me staying, Inspectors?’ The policemen shook their heads. ‘Very well. I shall stand over here and leave you to your discourse.’

  For the first time Mason spoke. Unlike his colleague, he did not have a local accent and appeared to hail from London. Elizabeth took an instant dislike to him and wondered why. Perhaps it was his dress, she thought. He looked rather ridiculous, more like a fairground showman than how she perceived a detective should look. He was only just taller than her, with a pot belly. He wore a brown hounds-tooth suit, yellow waistcoat and matching bow tie. Rimmer opened his notebook and readied his pen to take notes.

  ‘For the record, miss, you are Miss Elizabeth Frances Roxanna Miller? And your age, miss?’

  ‘Goodness, Inspector. You should know better than to ask that of a lady. You may say that I am over the age of twenty-one, but have not yet reached my majority.’

  ‘That’ll do,’ Mason growled. ‘And I understand you to be a member of the suffragist movement, the WSPU. Is that right?’

  ‘My word! How do you come to understand that?’

  ‘It’s our duty to keep an eye on certain political groups and we found your name on a subscription list in the offices in Clement’s Inn. I take it that you do not deny the fact, miss?’

  ‘I see. And do you make it your duty to break into the offices of the Reform Club to ascertain its membership, too?’

  ‘Steady, miss,’ Rimmer intervened. ‘We’re only doin’ our duty.’

  ‘Indeed, Inspector. In the same way that your Metropolitan Police see it as their duty to punch and kick defenceless women protesting about inequality in our political system.’ Elizabeth’s neck began to flush as her temper rose.

  ‘No. I will not deny being a member of the WSPU, but tell me, gentlemen, just when was the Act passed banning the WSPU and its members?’ Elizabeth glared at the two policemen and noted with satisfaction the evident embarrassment of Rimmer. His colleague, however, seemed unperturbed and continued his questioning calmly.

  ‘Tell me, Miss Miller, for the record, just where were you over the weekend of the second of March this year?’

  Elizabeth noted Richard’s interest quicken, but she concentrated on remaining calm and not betraying any reaction. She fought for time.

  ‘Oh, dear. Am I to find that I am suspected of being a master criminal and you are questioning my alibi? As far as I recall, I was not involved in some infamous jewel heist over that weekend. Nor do I remember assassinating any great statesman. But let me consult my diary.’

  She took her time in rummaging through her commodious handbag. I must remain calm. There is surely nothing to connect me wi
th the events of that weekend.

  ‘Ah, here it is,’ she announced triumphantly. ‘Now let me see.’ She made great play of skimming the pages of her diary. At the same time she thought frantically. How could she account for her movements? She had stayed with Uncle William and Aunt Johanna that night, but they clearly could not vouch for her movements that day.

  ‘Wait a minute, Lizzy,’ Richard interjected. ‘Do you not remember? We were sailing on the Solent that day. It was Horace Braithwaite’s birthday and we took him over to Cowes for lunch. We were a bit late in getting back and you nearly missed your train back to London. You stayed overnight with Mutti and Papa. You must remember.’

  Elizabeth listened with incredulity. Dick had just lied for her. Prim Dick, who thought it a mortal sin to tell even the tiniest of white lies. Fighting hard to control her relief, her mind raced to think of something to give effect to the lie.

  ‘Of course. Here it is. I was visiting my Aunt Kate at Hindhead and went on down to Portsmouth the following day. Horace was a little tight as I recall, but we had a fabulous day. There, Inspector. I am sorry to disappoint you, or was the great jewel heist on the south coast that weekend?’