The Titanic Murders - By Max Allan Collins Page 0,62
grooming of a shipwreck victim crawled to shore, but W. T. Stead was a famous fellow, one of the best-known journalists on either side of the pond, and sitting at one of his séances would make an irresistible anecdote for the likes of Astor, Guggenheim, Straus and Maggie Brown, all of whom said yes more or less instantly. So did Ismay, who did not begin to suspect the real purpose of the evening.
The trickiest invitation was Alice Cleaver.
Futrelle had determined not to inform the nanny’s employers of her criminal background—not just yet, anyway. He had observed her with the Allison children and she had been a good and gentle nurse; there was no reason to suspect that she might snap and turn violent on the tykes, no call to think she might—like Jekyll into Hyde—again become the woman who had fallen to pieces when her common-law husband deserted her and her child.
The problem was—how to invite the servant of a First-Class passenger to a party? A party her employers would not be invited to themselves?
Mid-afternoon, Futrelle found Hudson and Bess Allison strolling on the A-deck enclosed promenade, with no sign of their nanny or children.
“Another beautiful afternoon,” Futrelle commented casually as they paused at the rail by the window onto the gray-blue expanse broken by tiny whitecaps.
“Oh yes,” Hudson said, adjusting his glasses, “but too chilly for the boat deck, don’t you think?”
Even within the relative warmth of the promenade, pretty Bess was holding on to her husband’s arm tight.
“Much too chilly,” Futrelle agreed. “And where are your lovely children?”
“Lorraine and Trevor are with Alice,” Bess said, “in the starboard Verandah Café.”
“The kids seem to have taken over that little palm court,” Futrelle said with a grin. “I hope you won’t consider this forward, but I have an unusual request.”
“Certainly, Jack,” Hudson said, as if they were old friends; that was the way it was on a crossing.
“You’re familiar with W. T. Stead, of course.”
“Of course,” Hudson said, and some small talk followed about what an interesting character the old boy was.
“Well, he’s having one of his famous séances this evening,” Futrelle said.
Hudson’s youthful face lighted up, and Bess was smiling too. They exchanged glances and Hudson said, “Oh, wouldn’t that be a riot to attend! You’re not asking us to be part of it, are you? I think we’d say yes in a flash.”
“That’s not precisely it… You see, Stead, as you say, well… he’s a character all right—and he has eccentric criteria in selecting his participants.”
Hudson’s smile had frozen. “Do tell.”
“As a medium, he studies faces, and senses spiritual auras, listens to vibrations we earthbound mortals don’t feel or hear.” Then, with a laugh, Futrelle added, “Or at least he thinks he does.”
The Allisons, quite confused, laughed along, albeit a little stiffly.
“Anyway,” Futrelle continued, “Stead asked me to ask you, on his behalf… he apparently noticed that we’d formed a friendship…”
The Allisons both nodded, though Futrelle was overstating wildly.
“… so he’s asked me to ask if you would allow him to invite your nanny, Alice, to attend the séance.”
A moment of stunned silence followed; the couple had suddenly turned into a wax-museum exhibit.
Finally, Hudson managed, “Alice?”
“Our Alice?” Bess echoed. “Why ever for? She’s the quietest girl you could imagine.”
Futrelle shrugged, laughed softly. “Well, apparently still waters run deep—or at least, psychic waters do… If you need a baby-sitter for Lorraine and Trevor, I can provide one. Either my wife May, or Mrs. Henry Harris—you’ve met her… René?”
Hudson was trying to process this bewildering request. “Uh, well… dear, what do you think?”
Bess seemed on the verge of turning cross. “I’m disappointed that we weren’t asked, frankly. Can’t we even watch?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Mr. Stead is rather stubborn on that point: participants only, no spectators.” Futrelle hung his head, shaking it. “I do apologize for being party to this rudeness…”
“No!” Hudson blurted. “Not at all. I suppose it’s rather an honor to have our… nanny asked to attend such a special affair.”
Bess asked, “When is this séance?”
“Nine P.M.”
“Well, then,” she said, accepting her lot in life as coming in second place to her own servant, “the children will be in bed asleep by then. Our maid can look after them, easily enough. Let’s go give Alice the good news, shall we?”
Alice didn’t consider it good news.
“A séance?” she said. Trevor was on a blanket at her feet, pawing at a rattle with which golden-haired Lorraine was gently teasing the toddler. “Y’mean, one of them spook things?”
“Yes, dear,” Bess said