I was a little late for my appointment, and Mrs Carver was waiting at a table by the window, watching people stroll past along the Promenade. Another lurch of the heart as I noted her profile. Crossing the room I reminded myself that people do have doubles: this lady was a stranger, not Dorothea. She could not be expected to understand the emotions she aroused in me.
‘Mrs Carver,’ I greeted her with a warm smile. ‘How are you? It’s kind of you to see me – sorry I was delayed.’
‘How is Mrs Burgoyne?’ Betraying her anxiety, they were almost her first words.
‘A little better, I understand. Still resting, but the Doctor assures me she’s much recovered from last night.’ Disconcerted by the openness of her gaze, afraid she might see too much, I looked away, signalled to a steward. ‘Will you have coffee?’ She nodded, I ordered, and then, bringing my mind back to the séance, I said, ‘Tell me, how did Mrs Burgoyne come to be with you last night?’
‘Why, she’s acquainted with the Enderby sisters, Marianne and Eloise. But I don’t think she was at the funeral.’
‘No, she joined in Cherbourg.’ I thought for a moment. ‘She didn’t mention her sister by any chance? No? I just wondered. But the séance, you said, was your idea… How was that? What made you approach Mr Stead?’ As she hesitated, I apologized for being so direct. ‘It’s only that I’m trying to understand how it came about.’
Mrs Carver looked down, studying her hands. Against the rich blue material of her skirt, her fingers were long and slender, the nails oval; she wore a ring set with pearls and rubies above her wedding band.
‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘it was simply that I thought a séance – something like that – might help. It was talked of, you see, when I was in London. My cousin – Emily – had read some of Mr Stead’s Borderland journals. She thought I might be interested. We were going to attend the Bureau…’
‘The bureau?’
‘Julia’s Bureau – it’s a meeting place for people interested in spiritualism. Mr Stead gives lectures there. I wasn’t in London long enough for that, but as chance would have it he attended a soiree given by a friend of my aunt’s. We were introduced.’
Intrigued, I asked her opinion of the man. The question surprised her. ‘Well, I must say Mr Stead has a powerful presence. People are drawn to him.’ She hesitated, gave a rueful smile. ‘To be honest, he makes me feel a little uncomfortable.’
At that, I chanced a bold question. ‘As though he knows what you are thinking?’
As our eyes met, she nodded. I agreed it was a disconcerting trait. ‘But – forgive me – I’m still curious. You said something about the ladies, and trying to help?
Our coffee arrived. She poured, asked if I would have milk. I noticed she was trembling slightly as she handed me the cup. She was clearly anxious about something. Was it the séance, or was it me? I’d almost forgotten my question when she began to explain.
‘Yes, Captain, as I said last night, they were upset. Their sister had passed away, and the funeral was held over until they could get to London. It probably sounds silly, but… they said strange things were happening at the house. The dead sister’s house, I mean, where they were staying.
‘The telephone kept ringing – but no one was there. Marianne said she woke to see a figure at the end of her bed – and then Eloise heard the piano playing in an empty room. There were other things, I forget now. But they’ve been so distressed by having to return home with this mystery hanging over them, it’s almost all they’ve talked about. Well,’ she smiled a little at my expression, ‘it may sound unlikely, but they’ve been so kind to me, I simply wanted to help. So,’ she added with a gesture of appeal, ‘when I saw Mr Stead was aboard, I offered to speak to him.’
‘I imagine he was eager to oblige?’
‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘He was reluctant at first. But I’m afraid the ladies and I were rather persuasive.’ After a moment, with a quick glance, she asked, ‘Do you dislike him?’
‘I think he’s…’ I stopped to amend my words. ‘What he does, I think, is dangerous.’
Her cheeks suffused with colour. ‘Again, sir, I can only apologize.’
‘Mrs Carver,’ I said gently, leaning towards her, ‘I attach no blame to you. The matter’s been dealt with now, so it’s unlikely to raise its head again. I ask only that you do not discuss it with other passengers.’
‘Of course. I understand.’
I sipped my coffee. She sipped hers. I could see she felt rebuked. In an attempt to bring the conversation round to less distressing subjects, I said, ‘You were just visiting London?’
She relaxed visibly, her mouth curving into a smile. ‘Yes, I have family there. But I married an American – and now I’m going home to New Haven and my little girl.’
‘You must miss her,’ I said with sympathy. ‘Have you been away long?’
‘Just a month – but it feels like forever. I can’t wait to see her.’ She looked down, half-shy, half-amused. ‘She’s only two. I hope she hasn’t forgotten me.’
I smiled and shook my head. ‘I doubt it. I have a daughter – ever since she was born I’ve been away for weeks at a time. She never forgot me, not even when she was very small.’
We talked about our daughters, her little Daisy, and my Mel. The conversation moved on to New England. She’d been living in Connecticut for four years, and I had come to know something of the area in my time, so it was pleasing to discover we liked the same places for similar reasons. But then, in telling me how she’d met her husband, a lawyer, she mentioned her family in London.
When she said they were bankers, the Langs sprang to mind. Aware that time was pressing and there might not be another opportunity to ask, I was more direct than polite. ‘Forgive me, Mrs Carver,’ I began, ‘if I seem to stare – but you remind me of someone I used to know…’
‘Really?’ In her flush of pleasure I saw the resemblance afresh.
‘The surname was Lang.’
She exclaimed with surprise. ‘No! But that’s my family name too!’
The moment seemed to stretch itself. As I struggled for words, she looked up. I turned my head and there was Bruce Ismay, one eyebrow cocked quizzically, bowing to Mrs Carver and begging to be introduced.
I found my professional self from somewhere. Civilities over, I checked my watch and said I must go to the bridge – the ritual of the noon sight. She must have sensed something, because Mrs Carver excused herself too, saying she’d arranged to meet her friends for lunch. I bowed as she left us, too stunned to think straight.