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“What am I missing?” I asked aloud. “What connects you all? What story do these cards tell with their meanings?”
I thought of Dr. Arden’s odd behavior, of how he’d kept us from speaking with Chief Magistrate Prescott, how he openly lied to us. What might he be hiding both the Prescotts and himself from? And after his daughter’s murder, why was he still unwilling to talk with us?
A chief magistrate and a physician. A noblewoman with a guilty conscience. Two possible witnesses. Two different styles of cards, both holding secret meanings to be deciphered. I nibbled on my lower lip, concentrating hard as an idea slowly niggled around the edges of my brain. If Thomas was correct, then Lady Crenshaw had likely encountered a girl who sold something worthy of the Lady Crenshaw’s attention. Ribbons didn’t quite seem to have boasting factor over tea, though. Were I hosting a lavish party, or one that I’d like to seem as such, I’d purchase as many flowers as I could afford. That would make quite a statement of wealth, especially if the flowers were from a hothouse. My pulse picked up. It was the most plausible scenario.
The Crenshaws and the Prescotts each received free passage on the Etruria and knew each other before setting sail. If Lady Crenshaw upset her husband enough, it might stand to reason that he’d gone to his friend, the chief magistrate, and filed a complaint against the flower girl. Did they not offer her a fair trial, instead sending her off to the workhouse, whose conditions were likely more deplorable than the streets she fought to survive on?
But how did Dr. Arden fit into this theory? I pulled a tarot deck out that Mephistopheles had given me, tracing the filigree edges of the Death card, thoughts churning. A man of medicine would be tasked with seeing patients, even those who’d committed crimes. Perhaps he’d been the prison physician and had administered a tonic that killed instead of saved. Maybe it was no accident. Maybe one of his powerful and rich friends asked him for this favor and he obliged. Might each of them be involved in some larger plot to cover their own crimes? It would explain why Dr. Arden wished to keep everyone from talking. The less they said, the less they could implicate themselves in a murder of their own doing.
I glanced around the cabin. It was starting to get late enough that Liza ought to return soon, and the last thing she needed was to be surrounded by more trauma. I straightened the mess of evidence I’d collected and swept it into the nightstand, saving my tarot deck for last. My cousin had been through quite enough and—as I went to close the drawer, a small box with a ribbon closure caught my eye.
My blood felt as if it cooled several degrees when I noticed the Eight of Swords tarot card that sat tucked beneath it. My initial reaction was to pick the box up and toss it across the room, screaming until someone was alerted. But my logical and curious self couldn’t bear the thought of destroying any clues. Someone had purposely left this inside my nightstand and I didn’t believe it was out of kindness.
Pulse speeding, I reached over and tentatively pulled the box onto my lap. It wasn’t very large, though I still hesitated to open it. A dark, wretched feeling settled around me. Whatever this box contained, it was not going to be pleasant. I stared at the tarot card, allowing a moment to pass to steal myself against this new task. A blindfolded woman stood prisoner in a cage of swords. Her entire body had been tied with silks, indicating there was no escape. Seemed like a good metaphor for this ship.
I jerked my attention back to the box, breathing harder. I ought to run to Uncle’s cabin and open it there, but it was late and what could he do other than offer moral assistance? Surely, if he or Thomas received the box, they’d not wait to tear into it. Still, I gave myself another moment to focus on breathing steadily, and slowly, carefully, pulled the ribbon apart. Before I lost my nerve, I removed the lid.
Inside, on a bed of crushed velvet, lay a finger.
I blinked as the sounds in the room amplified. Suddenly I could hear every last tick of the clock. Each ocean wave that quietly lapped against the hull of the ship. I even heard creaks coming from next door where Mrs. Harvey seemed to have awoken. All of it was too loud. I focused on inhaling and exhaling. I wanted to throw the box out of my room, but it would be both careless and extreme. A severed finger couldn’t hurt me.
A folded scrap of paper was wedged beneath the finger, a bit of blood splattered across the creamy card stock. If I’d been disturbed by the finger, a whole new wave of trepidation crashed through me. A note from a killer was never a jolly good time.
My own hands shook as I plucked it from the box, careful to avoid touching the new bit of evidence. I unfolded the note and was thankful I’d already been seated. Had I been standing, I was certain I’d have collapsed on the spot.
I reread the threat, heart pounding faster than my thoughts.
Liza.
Liza was in danger.
The murderer had her and I knew with every last fiber of my being that he meant every word. He’d already mutilated her poor, innocent hand. He would kill her and turn her body into another spectacle. And it was all my fault. I pressed my hands against my eyes until all I saw were white flashes behind my closed lids. I could not simply sit and wait for Liza to be returned, unharmed. It went against everything I held dear. But I also could not make it obvious that I was searching for her.
I stood, pacing around the small cabin, never feeling more as if I had been a bird trapped in a metal cage. How a ship could contain so many nooks and crannies and darkened places to commit nefarious deeds was beyond comprehension. I rushed over to the service wall and rang for an attendant. I needed to send for the one person who could help in this situation.
I scribbled a note with instructions on where to meet and had already donned my overcoat and pulled on thick gloves by the time the maid arrived.
“Take this straightaway. Please let him know it’s urgent.”
She nodded and left as swiftly as she’d arrived. Unable to wait any longer, I slipped into the night and ran toward the only place left where I felt
free from the metal walls closing in.
THIRTY-SIX
MIDNIGHT RENDEZVOUS
FIRST-CLASS PROMENADE
RMS ETRURIA
8 JANUARY 1889
I examined the vast expanse of ocean, watching as its nothingness grew into a monster so large I had no hope of ever evading it. My heart rate jumped into a full-on trot. It was hard to fathom that I’d thought this voyage would be fit for daydreams at the start of the week.
Now Liza was taken, her finger sitting in a velvet box, and there was an entire ship full of mysterious people who each possessed opportunity and motive. Surely the answer had to be there, glinting like a shard of broken glass reflecting moonlight, waiting to be discovered. If only I could grasp it before something unthinkable happened to my cousin.
I felt his presence before he spoke, and faced him. In the dark he was nothing more than a silhouette before he stepped closer. “H-have you found anything out?” I stammered.
