The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(34)

She was just in the mood for it.

As she passed the bathroom, the door opened and Dorothy Leigh emerged. She looked, even to Jasmine’s unsympathetic eye, a little pale and tremulous. It must be horrible feeling sick all the time, she acknowledged vaguely. It was one of the many reasons why she herself had always refused to have children.

Hearing the two women exchange greetings, David opened the door to his bedroom, spotted his wife, and stepped out.

‘What you need is a nice cup of tea, darling,’ he said soothingly. ‘Let’s find Francis and get you one.’

Somewhat reluctantly, Jasmine thought, Dorothy allowed herself to be led back downstairs.

Poor Dotty, she thought, with a savage twist of her lips. No doubt if she started to feel sick again she’d have to make a dive for one of the side decks. Really, men could be such inconsiderate pigs at times. Why couldn’t her husband have just let her go back to their room and lie down, as she so obviously wanted to do?

Even as her husband led her away, Dorothy cast a forlorn and longing look over her shoulder at the door to their bedroom.

But Jasmine had no sympathy for women who couldn’t stick up for themselves. And with a shrug, she followed them down the stairs.

*

Jenny sluiced some cold water over her face and let her wrists run under the cold tap. It was hellishly hot in her cramped little galley. She glanced at her watch. It was now nearly 4:15. Time for a breath of air in her favourite spot.

To her surprise, the main salon was empty when she walked through it. In fact the whole boat, she noticed for the first time, seemed to have an almost deserted air.

It felt like being aboard the Mary Celeste.

But as she stepped out onto the starboard deck with a sigh of pleasure, she realized just how misleading this feeling was, and she stopped, just a little miffed to find that her ‘territory’ had been invaded.

David Leigh turned warily as he sensed another presence, but visibly relaxed on seeing who it was. Beside him, sitting in the cook’s favourite deckchair, Dorothy watched the passing scenery with apathetic eyes. She looked rather pale, Jenny thought, and guessed instantly that the curse of the dreaded morning sickness had hit. ‘I think some dry toast and tea might be in order, don’t you?’ she murmured.

Her husband looked at her gratefully. ‘Just what I thought, but I couldn’t find Francis to ask him.’

Jenny shrugged, retreated back to her galley, and emerged five minutes later with the unappetizing but tummy-settling food.

She nodded in satisfaction as Dorothy took a sip of weak, milky tea. She looked really washed out, poor thing, the cook noted with some concern; her hair seemed to have lost some of its lustre, and her cheeks were sallow and her neck was drooping. Even her pretty powder-blue dress looked less like a meadow blue butterfly in colour and more like a limp delphinium. She really shouldn’t wear that dress in a shady place, Jenny thought inconsequentially — it obviously needed the sun to bring out its best. Then Jenny glanced at Dorothy’s miserable face, and realized that being in the sunshine was probably the last thing on her mind.

Far better to leave her out here, where it was at least cool and a bit of breeze was to be had.

‘Well, I’d best get on.’ Jenny backed away, thinking somewhat glumly that it would have to be the port deck or rear deck after all.

The games room, too, was oddly deserted when she passed through it.

Out on the port deck, only Lucas Finch stood at the railings, watching the passing riverbanks with a glum air. He looked odd, almost undressed, Jenny thought, and then suddenly understood why. He was without his ubiquitous bird. The perfidious parrot had momentarily deserted him for the lure of raisins.

Jenny walked slowly away from him, not wishing to interrupt his solitude, but noticing as she did so that the planking, just a few yards from his left foot, was wet.

Very wet indeed.

She felt a surge of alarm, and hoped that they weren’t sinking!

Then common sense quickly took over from a landlubber’s (and non-swimmer’s) natural momentary panic. Of course they weren’t sinking! The boat was as steady as a rock.

But something had made that big pool of water on the port deck. Perhaps the engineer had had to bring on some water for something or other. Her ignorance of the workings of the boat’s steam mechanism wasn’t something that concerned her.

She shrugged the thought aside and revelled in the cool river breeze as she took a slow turn on the rear deck. There she watched Brian O’Keefe stow away a rather vicious-looking axe, and then pondered the great paddles as they slowly and hypnotically turned, churning the clear water up into a wide white frothy path in the Swan’s wake.

Where was everybody?

Then she remembered her kidneys, which were soaking in red wine. Not her own kidneys, of course — Jenny seldom drank to excess — but the kidneys that were going to go into the little individual steak and kidney puddings which were due to be served as a starter. She rapidly headed back to her galley.

Too much red wine was bad for kidneys.

The parrot saw her enter and quickly scoffed the last of the raisins, just in case she felt inclined to pinch one or two for herself. The parrot obviously understood Jenny Starling far better than any of her fellow humans, and proceeded to whistle a fairly passable rendition of the ‘Colonel Bogey March’ as he watched her work.

She chopped some chives, checked the single cream was still fresh and usable, and then jumped a little as she felt a slight scratch on her shoulder.