The sun had set, but not far enough below the horizon to bring darkness, and the evening colours of mauve and purple lingered and intensified. By the time Lillemor got back to the cabin, Mathilde had rolled herself into bed and was facing the wall.
She got into her own bunk and switched off the light, but sleep didn’t come easily. That moment when Ingrid’s head cracked on the floor kept returning. It was just a foolish spat, a child’s tantrum, a few hits thrown. If Lillemor had managed to pin down both Mathilde’s arms, it would have been just that, and they’d have never mentioned it again. But Ingrid had an egg on her skull and a black eye that would take some explaining, and somehow the whole sorry incident had tipped into something much more serious.
Damn Hjalmar! How hard would it have been for him to slip into the cabin when he had the chance? A bit of happiness that would have meant much to Mathilde.
In truth, the punch was meant for her, Lillemor knew. Ingrid had been fairly kind to Mathilde, all things considered. But Lillemor had used her mercilessly, had toyed with her feelings, and then taunted her about them. No wonder the woman had reached breaking point.
She squirmed uncomfortably in her bunk and hit the pillow a few times to get it into shape. She didn’t like feeling guilt. But there was no avoiding what had happened and her own part in it. Lillemor didn’t fall into a fitful sleep until after light started to filter through the curtains.
It felt like just a few hours later that a heavy knock on the door woke her. It was the sort of knock a person would expect after the night they’d had, a knock loud with accusation. She looked over at Mathilde, who hadn’t stirred. The woman would have a monumental hangover. The knock came again, demanding. Lillemor scrambled out of bed and into her dressing gown then opened the door a slit.
Lars pushed in and past her without a word and by the time Lillemor had gathered her wits he’d already reached Mathilde’s bedside. He was carrying a mug of something steaming.
‘Mrs Wegger.’ His voice was low and frightening. Lillemor shivered.
Mathilde’s eyes opened. She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
‘I understand there was an unfortunate incident last night,’ Lars said.
Mathilde sat up and looked around, confused. ‘What?’
‘My wife has a black eye and a lump on her head this morning.’
Lillemor could almost see Mathilde sorting through the confused memories until an expression of dread spread across her face. ‘Oh God.’
‘Indeed.’
Mathilde pushed back her hair and Lillemor felt sorry for her. Lars wasn’t a big man but his air of authority was absolute. Lillemor was glad it wasn’t her under his heavy stare.
‘Things got out of hand … an accident … I’m so terribly sorry,’ Mathilde stammered. She tried to pull herself together. ‘Please let me come and apologise to Ingrid in person.’
Lars shook his head. ‘She doesn’t want to see you. I have a duty to make sure you’re not distressed, Mathilde. It would be best if you stayed here in your cabin for a day or two until your mental state improves. Ingrid says you find the factory ships disturbing, so best you don’t look at them.’
‘As you say,’ Mathilde stammered.
He offered her the cup and she took it. Lillemor could see her hands shaking.
‘The steward will bring your meals, and the doctor will look in to see if there’s anything you require.’
Mathilde was staring at the coffee. Lars waited and the silence was unbearably tense.
‘When you’ve finished, I’ll take your cup back,’ Lars said.
Mathilde gulped down the drink and handed him the empty cup. He strode back to the door, gesturing for Lillemor to follow. He stepped outside the cabin and she followed him.
‘This is most regrettable,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’d prefer word of it didn’t get around the ship. Mrs Wegger is resting for a day or two, that’s all.’
Lillemor marvelled that the day before she’d felt they were of one mind. His eyes were now icy cold. She hadn’t seen him angry before. Ingrid had more to deal with than Lillemor had realised.
‘I want you to lock the cabin once she’s asleep,’ he said. ‘It won’t hurt Mathilde to think she’s in serious trouble.’
‘Asleep?’
‘There’s enough sedative in that coffee to knock out a horse.’
Lillemor stared at him in shock. ‘What?’
‘You might not have known but Mathilde is unstable,’ Lars said. ‘Her family thought this trip might help, but it seems it’s too much for her. Stevensson agreed a sedative was for the best. He’ll be along shortly to check on her. I’d be obliged if you’d wait for him.’
Lillemor felt her gut tighten. ‘Very well.’
Lars looked out at the factory ship. ‘We’re about to cast off from Thorshammer. I think we’ll find land today or tomorrow.’
‘Wonderful,’ Lillemor said.
Lars turned back to her. ‘My wife will be the first woman to see Antarctica. No matter who is on the bridge. I hope that’s clear?’
‘Quite.’ Lillemor turned from him. ‘If you don’t mind, I need to get dressed.’
She went back into the cabin and shut the door hard behind her. Whatever he’d sedated Mathilde with was already taking effect. She was lying back on her pillow, her eyes closed, breathing deeply. Her face was stripped of colour, and curiously vulnerable.
Lillemor found herself shivering.