Chapter 18 #2
“Why, it’s nothing but a tramp steamer!” Arbuckle cried, as the Talavera abruptly reversed engines.
The crowd moved back to the rail. “Looks like a regular rust bucket,” said Riddman.
“Gee, those poor folks must be soaked to the skin,” Gloria commented.
“And freezing,” Daisy said with a shiver.
“I wonder whether anyone has thought to prepare hot drinks.” Miss Oliphant trotted off.
“Where’s the Garibaldi?” Brenda asked.
Alec pointed. Little more than superstructure, funnels, and masts was visible. The stricken vessel lay tilted, half of its upper deck under water, the rest awash. They regarded the sobering sight in silence for a moment.
Arbuckle shook his head sadly and said, “The Eyeties build those emigrant ships outa tinfoil. Fletcher, one of these days I wanna word with you about airplanes.”
“I merely flew them, sir.”
“So you can tell me about that side of things.”
“Look,” said Phillip, “there’s a couple of boats put off from the Mary Jane.”
The Talavera’s boats were swinging out and down.
Soon the sea between the two ships was crawling with small craft.
As the first boats from the freighter—one of her own and three of the Garibaldi’s—reached the side, Talavera crewmen saw their wretched cargo up the ladders.
At the top, stewards helped them over the rail and hurried them inside.
Then the pace of arrivals quickened. The stewards were busy settling people, and passengers started to lend a hand.
Alec and Arbuckle stationed themselves at the head of a rope-ladder. As each exhausted, shivering Italian reached them, they lifted them aboard. Every now and then a sailor swarmed up one-handed with a baby or small child under his arm.
Daisy’s knowledge of Italian was just enough to greet them, ask them to wait a minute, and then tell them to go
with her. As soon as a small group gathered, she would escort them to the Grand Salon. It was there that she first saw Gotobed. His guard must have answered the call for all hands.
He saw her and came over to her. “I thowt happen I’d be able to help,” he said.
“You speak Italian, don’t you? I’d forgotten. If they don’t need you here—”
“A couple of the stewards know enough to cope.”
“—then I’m sure you’d be useful on deck. These poor people arrive so confused and disorientated, just having someone speak their language would ease their minds.”
He went with her. Thereafter, she saw him everywhere, tirelessly translating, reuniting separated families, holding babies or crouching to blot the tears of little children. What a pity Wanda did not want children!
The thought made Daisy wonder where Miss Oliphant was. Probably dispensing tea somewhere, perhaps with one of her remedies added to the warming brew.
Daisy lost count of the number of groups she had led inside. They were still coming, an unending stream as the little boats plied back and forth. Several injured people were hoisted up in slings and carried below to the unoccupied cabins, where Dr. Amboyne could tend them.
Gotobed approached Daisy again. “I’m afraid Wanda will take on, but it’s time to give up our sitting room. It’s getting right crowded in the Grand Salon. Would you mind, lass, going and warning her I’ll be sending summun down?”
Daisy’s fingers and toes were growing numb, and the drizzle, though light, was beginning to soak through her coat. She was glad of a respite, an excuse to stay in the dry and warm for more than a couple of minutes at a time. After delivering her next group, she went on down to the Gotobeds’ suite.
Her knock went unanswered. After a moment, she opened
the door and went in. The door to the bedroom was ajar. From within came Wanda’s furious voice.
“I’ve wrecked two bloody nails trying to open the bloody porthole. I don’t give a damn what the bloody stewards are busy with, you get one in here right this minute.”
“But, madam,” Baines protested.
“Now, d’you hear me? And bring me some more seltzer water. Get a move on!”
Baines sped through into the sitting room. As she closed the door behind her, something crashed against it. Her lips tightened in her set face.
Seeing Daisy, she burst out, “I won’t put up with it!
She’s never been easy, but this is the last straw.
Soon as we get to New York, I’m leaving, and I’ll forfeit my wages ’stead of notice.
There’re plenty of American ladies on this very ship’ve asked me if I’d like to work for them.
And I’m sorry to let Mr. Gotobed down, who’s as nice a gentleman as can be, but I won’t put up with being thrown things at! ”
“I don’t blame you,” Daisy sympathized, wondering whether there was any point in continuing with her errand with Wanda already in a terrific bait. “Perhaps I can open the porthole for her, at least.”
“Shouldn’t think so, madam, it’s ever so difficult without the steward’s special key. She says she’s too hot and she’s been drinking water like a whale.”
“Oh dear, does she look feverish?”
“She’s red in the face, madam, but I put it down to temper.”
“I dare say you’re right. I’d better ask her if she’d like me to send the doctor along, though.”
“Upon your head be it, madam. I’ll go and fetch her seltzer, but she’ll have to come out here to get it. I’m not going back in there to be thrown things at.”
The maid left. Daisy went to the inner door, knocked, put
her head around the door, and said quickly, “Wanda, it’s Daisy. Would you like me to ask Dr. Amboyne …”
With a scream of rage, Wanda flung something at her. Daisy ducked and slammed the door shut. She heard whatever it was shatter against the wood.
Not a good moment to send down a distressed Italian family, and so she told Gotobed, not quite explaining that his wife was in the middle of a royal tantrum. Daisy was no keener than Baines on “being thrown things at,” but Gotobed had troubles enough without hearing about it.
Dusk was closing in, an hour or so later, when he again approached Daisy. This time he shepherded a wet and weary youngish couple with two handsome and still lively boys of about Belinda’s age and a younger girl.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ferelli and the children will sleep in my suite,” he said. “Will you be so kind as to show them the way, Mrs. Fletcher? Please tell Wanda I’ll be down shortly, and ask her to make them comfortable—if you feel there’s any chance she might,” he added wryly.
“I’ll take them down,” Daisy agreed. She did not promise to speak to Wanda, half intending to show them in and flee. But when they reached the suite, Baines was peacefully sewing in the sitting room, so Daisy went in.
“Madam’s asleep,” said the maid.
“Good! I’m sure it’ll do her good.” In a mixture of Italian and sign language, Daisy explained the situation to the Ferellis, warning them to keep quiet.
She asked Baines to fetch them towels and hot drinks and do anything else she could for them.
“Mr. Gotobed will be down very soon. The last two boatloads are on their way. Can you manage till he comes?”
“Certainly, madam.”
“I’ll just peek in and make sure Mrs. Gotobed is sleeping soundly.” Turning to the Ferellis, Daisy put her finger to her lips. She tiptoed to the bedroom door, inched it open, and
looked in. Wanda, sprawled untidily on the bed amid rumpled blankets, did not stir. Her tantrum must have worn her out.
Daisy was pretty worn out, too. Deciding she had done her bit, she went along to the cabin. A harassed-looking stewardess was just coming out.
“Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, madam, I’m that glad you’ve come. Maybe you can do something with her.” She hoicked a thumb over her shoulder. “Her name’s Loochiya Crochet, or something like. I’ve got her into dry clothes, but she won’t do anything but cry.”
Daisy suppressed a sigh. She had forgotten that she and Alec had volunteered to take someone in. Squaring her shoulders, she went in.
Lucia Croce was small, plump, and scarcely more than a child.
In donated tweeds too large for her and utterly inappropriate for her olive-skinned southern prettiness, she huddled on one of the fold-down seats, a steady stream of tears flowing down her cheeks.
As a first step, Daisy gave her a hankie.
Asking what was the matter stretched Daisy’s Italian. From the passionate flood of words which followed, she managed to extract two, frequently recurring, “mio marito.”
Obviously Lucia, who looked far too young to be married, was worried about her husband.
Daisy assumed they had been parted in the exodus from the Mary Jane.
Her heart sank at the prospect of trying to find one young man amongst the crowds.
But what if she had guessed wrong, if Mr. Croce awaited his bride in New York and she was only concerned for his feelings when he heard the Garibaldi had sunk?
Gotobed could find out. Telling Lucia to come with her, Daisy headed back to the Gotobeds’ suite.
Gotobed opened the door. Behind him was a lot of excited chatter, including the shrill voices of the boys. No sign of Wanda, though, Daisy was relieved to see. She explained her
problem and Gotobed asked Lucia a question. He listened intently to the ensuing flood. The Ferellis gathered around, making soothing noises.
“Her husband was hurt in the collision,” Gotobed explained to Daisy. “Since she has not been reunited with him, she’s afraid he is dead.”
“Oh, poor thing! He’ll be in one of the spare cabins, under Dr. Amboyne’s care.”
“I think I’d better take her along to find him. Mrs. Fletcher, I can’t wake Wanda and I’m a bit concerned. Would you take a look at her for me?”
“Of course, but I expect she’s just taken one of her powders. Perhaps she took what Miss Oliphant gave her, too, and they’ve reinforced each other. Thanks for dealing with Lucia.”
Wanda was still sprawled on the bed in much the same position. No doubt her husband had been too gentle with her, trying to wake her by talking to her. Daisy had no objection to giving her a good shaking, but she started by calling her name. No reaction, not so much as the flicker of an eyelid.
Daisy sat on the edge of the bed and took Wanda’s hand. It was hot and dry, as was her forehead. Her breathing seemed unnaturally rapid. Beginning to worry, Daisy felt for a pulse in her wrist. That too, when at last she found it, seemed too fast and weak.
On the bedside table stood an empty tumbler.
Beside it lay a ship’s stationery envelope and a torn paper, the kind used to hold medical powders, with a few white grains clinging to it.
Alarmed now, Daisy picked up the envelope.
Inside was greenish stuff which looked like chopped-up leaves, like one of Miss Oliphant’s remedies.
She sniffed and decided it smelt just like the lemon balm tea she had drunk a few days ago.
But she could not forget what Wanda had said about the witch being out to catch a husband.
“Baines, will you come and sit with Mrs. Gotobed? I’m
afraid she’s ill, and I don’t want to leave her alone while I go for the doctor.”
Daisy headed for the doctor’s office. If he was not there, as seemed likely, she ought to be able to find out where he was. On the way, she came across Alec and Miss Oliphant talking together in the corridor.
As soon as he saw her face, he asked, “What’s wrong, Daisy?”
“Darling, I’m so glad I found you. I may be making a mountain out of a molehill, but …”
“I’ll leave you,” said Miss Oliphant tactfully.
“Oh no, please stay. You may be able to help. Wanda seems to be in a sort of stupor—I can’t wake her. I’m pretty certain she’s taken at least one of her powders, and she may have taken lemon balm, too, if that’s what you gave her, Miss Oliphant.”
“I told her not to mix them!” exclaimed the witch. “Lemon balm on its own is entirely harmless, but one can never be sure of the effects of untested combinations of medications. Fetch Dr. Amboyne. I shall go to her at once.” She set off at a near trot.
“Is Wanda alone?” Alec asked.
“No, Baines is with her. I was just going for Dr. Amboyne.”
“Where’s Gotobed?”
Daisy explained about Lucia Croce. “So he’s probably with the doctor now. He’ll come straight back when he hears about Wanda. He was already concerned about her.”
“I’ve been wondering whether she takes something else, whether she’s addicted to hashish or cocaine. Have you noticed her dilated pupils?”
“I think that’s from the eye-drops she uses. Alec, you don’t suppose Miss Oliphant gave her the wrong stuff? By mistake, of course.”
“Of course. Go and get the doctor.” Alec strode swiftly after Miss Oliphant.