The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(28)

With Gabriel Olney at the wheel.

It was a thought that left a gaping hole in his soul. He couldn’t bring himself to look across at the gloating ex-soldier. If he did . . . His hands curled so hard around the knife he was using that his fingers ached.

*

Jenny, knowing that everyone was at breakfast, had taken the opportunity to use the bathroom. She had luxuriated in a ten-minute soak in the tub, and now, powdered and glowing a healthy pink, she opened the door, wearing a fresh summer dress of pansy purple.

As she shut the door behind her, she heard a second, echoing click, and stared at the door handle blankly for a moment. Then she quickly turned around and saw David Leigh coming through the open door opposite. She made a rapid show of rooting about in her toiletries bag, checking that her soap and flannel were present, and not even glancing up as David Leigh passed her.

If she had done so, she might have noticed the rather pensive glance he gave her. Only when she heard his light steps going quickly down the stairs did she close the bath bag and look up thoughtfully.

The bathroom was on the port side of the boat, at the rear. That meant that the bedroom opposite her, the bedroom that David Leigh had just exited, was on the rear side of the starboard deck. But yesterday she’d clearly seen Dorothy Leigh lean on the balcony of the bedroom nearest the prow — the front end of the boat. Or the pointed end, as her father had been wont to call it. So either Dorothy had been in Gabriel Olney’s bedroom yesterday — a patently absurd thought — or David Leigh had emerged from the Olneys’ room just now.

Now what, Jenny thought grimly, had he been up to in there? She frowned, then sighed, and went slowly down the stairs.

Just a few more hours, she thought encouragingly. A few more hours and she’d be free and clear. There was no need to be so pessimistic. After all, what could happen in just a few hours? Unfortunately, as Jenny knew only too well from past and bitter experience, an awful lot could happen. But surely that wasn’t going to happen here? No. She gave a mental head shake and told herself not to worry.

She was beginning to let this paranoia where murder was concerned get the better of her, she thought grimly.

She made her way towards the galley via the starboard deck with determined optimism, and glanced in the window to the dining room as she did so.

David Leigh had reappeared, and was tucking into his sausages with every appearance of appetite. Opposite him, Gabriel Olney reached for some more toast.

Well, at least it appeared that this meal was going to be consumed, she noted with a satisfied nod. In a much better frame of mind now, the uneasy cook stepped into her domain, and awaited the arrival of the dirty dishes.

*

Using the block and tackle, Brian O’Keefe hauled the heavier logs he’d chopped up on the riverbank earlier that morning and winched them on board, placing them onto a trolley. It was an old porter’s trolley, exactly like the kind they used in railway stations, with long upward handles and four tiny wheels attached to a low wooden base. He pushed the trolley towards the storeroom, and upended the wood onto the floor. He’d chop them into more manageable logs later. Lucas liked to raise steam the old-fashioned way. The sun was rising higher in the sky, and they’d be setting off soon. He’d have to start hauling in some more coal soon. Then he’d need to wash up, because bloody coal dust got everywhere.

He moved down the small corridor to the starboard deck, and once there, turned towards the rear. He walked to the very end and lifted the lid off a wooden box, where the non-essential equipment was habitually stored. He had, at that point, no idea that he had an audience.

He dropped in the block and tackle and let the lid drop with a small thud. His shirt was already beginning to stick to his back, so he pulled it off, turning to the freshwater butt stored at a right angle to the trunk. It was about four feet high, a foot or so wide, and was full of blessedly cool water. It was used as a backup, in case the boat ran out of water for domestic use.

Brian scooped a large amount in his cupped hands and sluiced it over his face, shivering happily as he did so. He felt it run over his chest and down his nape, and sighed loudly. He put the lid back on, mindful of how easy it was for water to evaporate in this heat, and turned.

Then stopped dead in his tracks.

The large and oddly attractive cook and the pretty blonde woman were sitting on chairs at the other end of the deck, openly watching him. He smiled at them, gave a slight nod, and with a rather wry twist of his lips, headed back down the corridor towards his engine room.

He hoped they’d enjoyed the show. Now it was time to work up some steam.

Jenny, who had indeed thoroughly enjoyed the show, turned back to her contemplation of the river whilst also reviewing the tempting display of rippling, masculine muscle she’d just seen.

She’d been a little surprised to be joined by Dorothy Leigh just ten minutes earlier, but she could quite understand why. With her husband off on a lone walk, she hadn’t felt like joining the others on the port deck. With the mouse away, the cat in Gabriel would have been apt to play.

A few minutes later the engines began to throb, so presumably David had returned from his walk. That he seemed to be in no hurry to seek out his wife, however, was soon obvious, for as the Swan began to move out into mid-stream they remained alone on the deck.

‘Really, I do wish Lucas hadn’t invited Mr Olney along on this trip,’ Dorothy said suddenly, as if she’d uncannily read the cook’s thoughts. ‘He can be so . . . well . . .’ She fumbled in vain for the right words. ‘I don’t think he realizes how people can misinterpret his teasing.’ She had eventually settled for something of an understatement, and glanced at her companion awkwardly.