Chapter One
November, 1931
The hand caressed the small bottle like a cherished friend. It had been a while since its last appearance in a little play staged in the cause of fairness. Now, the arsenic would be a welcome travel companion. There were too many rats lurking around wherever one looked. No matter how many legs they had.
The ship horn’s blast pierced the early morning silence of Port Adelaide. Frances Palmer’s hand slipped into Uncle Sal’s as they turned a corner and caught their first sight of the SS Empress of the Sea.
The gleaming white ship dwarfed the tugboats on the next pier. Tiny figures swarmed over the deck. The gangway was lowered, ready for the first passengers to come aboard. Frances wondered how many people would travel with them. The ocean liner appeared big enough to house a small town.
Her head whirred as they moved closer. It seemed incredible that for the next six weeks or so this would be their home, and twenty-three-year old Frances Palmer, who’d never been further than Melbourne, would travel half-way around the world to London.
Uncle Sal, who in his glory days as Vaudeville artist Salvatore the Magnificent had played the stages in a dozen countries, eyed the ship with admiration. ‘That’s a sweet berth we’re sailing on,’ he said. ‘See the elegant lines, with the sheer curve of the hull and that rounded stern? And did you notice how the funnel is placed directly between the two masts?’
‘She is a beaut,’ Frances agreed, despite her lack of nautical knowledge.
‘She’s fast, too,’ a low voice behind her said.
‘Jack.’ Frances spun around to find herself enveloped in the arms of Jack Sullivan, owner of the Top Note, Adelaide’s finest night club. And, although she had to pinch herself to believe it, he was her fiancé and the reason they were here. Jack’s mother in England had begged him to come to her aid for some unspecified reason, and he’d invited Frances and Uncle Sal to come along. They’d work off their passage as Salvatore the Magnificent and his plucky assistant, Signorina Francesca, although Frances had her suspicions that being part of the ship’s entertainment would not cover all their expenses.
It would be churlish to probe. This was Uncle Sal’s and her dream, to perform together. Uncle Sal’s proper career had ended with a car accident that left him with a gammy ankle, and Frances worked as a telephone exchange operator to support herself, her mother, and Uncle Sal. He was her godfather, not her real uncle, and apart from Jack the most sophisticated and lovable man she’d ever met.
He never complained about the change in his circumstances, or the hardship the Great Depression meant for everyone. For now, though, the lack of money in people’s pockets allowed Frances to leave her employment for six months. When they returned to Adelaide, her boss had promised she could come back to her switchboard. In her absence, instead of employing a new girl, the other operators would divide up her hours between them.
Jack pushed a lock out of Frances’s eyes. ‘Ready?’ His gaze flickered to her trunk. It was half-empty, despite holding all her presentable clothes. With only a few days’ notice, there had been no time to go shopping.
If Frances was honest, she also didn’t want to spend any of her hard-earned shillings on clothes that might seem fashionable in South Australia but be considered dowdy in London.
England! Her heart drummed against her ribs. She’d be in London for a winter Christmas and all the magic that entailed.
She wished her mother were here, to see Frances step onto the gleaming gangway with its handrails shining so white they reflected the summer sun. But then Frances would have felt obliged to stay home whereas now, she was free of any obligation. Her mother was happy up in Queensland, helping her son and daughter-in-law preparing for the birth of their second child.
An elegant young couple stepped out of one of the buildings where passengers could wait. The woman had a fur stole around her shoulders, despite the day already heating up. Her hair shone black like a magpie’s wing and her dress could have come straight out of a fashion magazine. Her dapper companion was dressed all in white. He took her arm as she stalked away on her high heels. Behind them followed an older woman with a fur coat slung around her shoulders. Her dark hair showed no traces of silver. Frances suspected an expensive hairdresser deserved the credit for that,
Three porters struggled in their wake, lugging trunks and carpet bags.
Frances glanced at her own outfit of green skirt and yellow jumper. Maybe she should have dressed up, too. Uncle Sal’s suit had shiny patches, but his posture would always be dignified. As for Jack, he looked perfectly at ease in his flannels, shirt and lightweight blazer.
‘Is it going to be all elegant folks?’ she asked.
‘Not likely,’ Jack said. ‘You meet all kinds of people on these voyages. And don’t forget, being rich doesn’t make them any better than anyone else, only less likely to worry about their bills.’
He signalled a couple of porters to pick up their luggage. ‘Shall we?’
Frances slipped her arm through Jack and Uncle Sal’s. ‘I’m ready for anything.’
They strolled up the gangway at an easy pace. Frances would have loved to race aboard, but it would have been embarrassing to behave childishly in public view, and she didn’t want Uncle Sal to make a wrong step.
She broke into a huge smile she couldn’t stop. Neither did she want to. What did it matter if other people realised that she wasn’t used to adventures like this? Jack’s Top Note was a classy joint, but the Empress of the Sea oozed money and an old-world elegance, born of centuries of knowing the Empire’s place in the world. Australia couldn’t compete with that.
Clacking high heels and giggles behind them announced more arrivals. ‘Excuse me,’ a high-pitched soprano said behind Frances. She obliged and let go of Jack’s arm as she stepped as close to the handrail as possible.
Three young women in fashionable dresses rushed past, leaving behind a trail of too sweet perfume.
‘They must be part of the crew,’ Uncle Sal said knowingly as he cast an expert eye over the trio who now rushed past a man in uniform.
‘They are very smart.’ Frances suppressed a little sigh.
‘Not as smart as you,’ Jack said. ‘They probably meant to impress the few locals out and about at this hour.’
He grinned at Frances as he fished a thick envelope with their tickets out of his pocket.
‘Good morning, sir.’ The uniformed man clicked his heels together and took the papers. ‘Mr Sullivan, Miss Palmer, Mr Bernardo. If you’d follow the stewards to your cabins?’
‘Thanks,’ Jack said, but the man already switched his attention to the next passenger, a dowager-like lady with a nervous corgi in her arms and a mild-mannered young man at her heels.
Inside, the ship was at least as impressive as from the outside. Thick, blue carpet muffled their steps, and the wood gleamed in the light from the glass-domed wall lamps. The porters led them down a flight of stairs that forked off into two directions. They took the left passage, which was flanked by cabin doors. The first steward, carrying Frances’ trunk, stopped outside cabin number 107. He unlocked it and stepped aside to allow Frances to enter.
‘We’ll see you in ten minutes on the promenade deck,’ Jack said, as he and Uncle Sal were led further down the passage.
A huge weight dropped off Frances’s shoulders as she saw how neat, yet small her cabin was. It consisted of a bed with a trundle bed underneath, a small table, two chairs, a dresser with mirror and a small, inbuilt wardrobe. A door led to a snug bathroom she had to share with the cabin next door.
‘Everything alright, Miss?’ the steward asked as he showed her around. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and he could be no more then seventeen or eighteen, she estimated.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘If you could tell me how to find the promenade deck, I’ll leave you to your job.’
He opened the dresser drawer and handed he a stiff, gilt-edged brochure. ‘Here’s a map of the Empress, Miss. For the promenade deck you just follow the passage to the staircase on the starboard side.’
Frances gave him a blank stare.
‘That’s the left side,’ he said. ‘Then you go up three flights, and you can’t miss it.’ He saluted and left her.
She would unpack later, she decided. For now, a quick brush would have to do if she wanted to be punctual.
As she made her way to the promenade deck, brisk stewards and stewardesses hurried past. Low voices behind the cabin doors reminded her of the fact that she’d spent the voyage in the company of hundreds of travellers. People, who might see Frances Palmer during the day without having any inkling that the ravishing, blonde-wigged Signorina Francesca, who’d perform her act as Salvatore the Magnificent’s assistant two nights a week, was the same person.
She chuckled. This was heaven.
Chapter Three
Frances’s heart pounded as she clung to the railing. Luckily, Jack and Uncle Sal shielded her from the throng that pushed ever closer, to wave their hats to the people on shore. The horn blared again, and at a distance, another ship answered in a joyous toot. Smoke puffed up from the funnels as the Empress juddered to life. They were officially at sea.
The ship left its berth at a crawl, until it was clear of Adelaide’s port, before it picked up speed. The sudden change surprised Frances. She planted her feet wide to stay balanced, as Uncle Sal had taught her.
Next to her, a young blonde in a sleeveless gown was less fortunate. She fell back, only to be caught by a young swell.
‘Well played by that little sheila,’ Uncle Sal whispered to Frances. Indeed, the blonde simpered and thanked her hero so profusely he offered to buy her tea or something stronger, to steady her nerves.
All around the, the crowd thinned. ‘Ready for lunch?’ Jack asked as a steward beckoned them.
‘I’m not that hungry. Do you think I could get a sandwich instead?’ Frances hated to tear herself away from the view. She wouldn’t see Adelaide again for six months and wanted to memorise every inch of it.
‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’ Jack joined the steward, who busily checked off names on an endless seeming list.
‘Jack Sullivan, party of three,’ he said.
‘That’s with Mr Sal Bernardo and Miss Frances Palmer?’ The steward checked again. ‘We have you down for the second setting at lunch and dinner at eight.’
‘Good-oh. But is there anywhere we can have a snack instead of a full lunch?’
The steward glanced up. A faint scar on the clean-shaven chin marred his regular features, but like most of the crew, he might have been chosen for his looks as well as his professional skills, with his glossy straw-coloured hair and broad shoulders. ‘Why, it’s Captain Jack Sullivan!’ He clapped Jack on the shoulder, before he caught himself. ‘Sorry, sir.’
Jack grinned. ‘Nice to see you too, Sergeant Merriweather.’
‘Bluey not with you?’
‘He and his missus are keeping the business ticking over while I’m gone.’
‘Get a bustle on, mate,’ someone behind them said.
The steward sprang to attention. ‘If you’d like to go the piano bar, you’ll find everything you need.’
‘Is there any place where you don’t run into old acquaintances?’ Frances asked as they left the observation deck.
‘It’s always good to have someone on the inside.’ Jack chuckled. ‘Good old Merry.’
‘One of your men?’ Uncle Sal led them unerringly to the piano bar. Frances suspected he’d studied the plan of the Empress of the Sea well enough to find his way around blindfolded. Including the way to the lifeboats. Although this was Frances’s first proper trip, he’d drilled it into her years ago to make sure she acquainted herself first thing with fire escapes and emergency exits in any place she went.
Soft music tinkled in the piano bar. A small man with melancholy eyes played for the dozen people who’d also shunned the dining room and opted for lighter refreshment instead.
Frances was surprised by the number of empty glasses on the tables. ‘That’s a lot of daytime drinking,’ she said.
‘Some people like to make up for the limitations they face on land,’ Jack said. ‘But the crew will make sure folks don’t go blotto. They’re good at that.’
‘As good as you?’ Regulars at the Top Note were well aware that although champagne and liquor flowed freely, drunken shenanigans were not tolerated. Grogged-up customers would be sent home with a cabbie. Here, the crew would probably bundle them into their cabins.
‘I’d guess so. But whatever happens, it’s not my business. For once, I’ll enjoy myself with you two and not care about anything else.’
Uncle Sal ordered tea and sandwiches for three. ‘Hear, hear,’ he said. ‘Here’s to fun times ahead and a quiet and peaceful life.’
Jack changed into evening dress and mused about the day. Fancy running into old Merry. He’d have to tell him to keep it quiet that Jack ran a nightclub. Otherwise people would either snub him and his companions, or cozy up to him in the hope he’d bring some excitement into their dull existence.
He intended to do nothing of that sort. Instead, he’d watch Uncle Sal and Frances perform, dance with his darling girl, and when she and Uncle Sal were rehearsing or otherwise occupied, he’d take out his sketch books.
He didn’t keep many secrets, but one was the desire to paint again. First the war and then the responsibilities he shouldered had put paid to his dreams of studying to become a painter. It was all well and dandy to be a hungry artist on his own. When you had a sister and mother and his old soldiers to support though, things no longer worked like that. He’d never turn his back on them, but a long sea voyage to sketch and paint was perfect for him. Until they docked in London, he’d only be Jack Sullivan, man of leisure.
Frances twisted her torso to close the small buttons on the side of her dress. It was made of cotton, not silk, but it fit like a glove, and the soft blue matched her eyes. White gloves and a small evening clutch she’d purchased in a used clothes shop completed her finery. She powdered her nose and swiped on a layer of dark pink lipstick.
Fancy that only a week ago, she’d sat on her chair at the telephone exchange and afterwards come home to tackle the cooking and cleaning with Uncle Sal’s help. That seemed a lifetime away for the new Frances Palmer, lady of leisure. It wouldn’t last, but while it did, she’d make the most of it. No problems to solve, or tasks to perform other than standing on stage with Uncle Sal.
She sashayed out of her cabin and nearly tripped over Tinkerbell’s leash. The dog sat down and scratched his neck where a fly tickled him.
‘I say, are you okay?’ Tommy peered at her in obvious concern. ‘I’m frightfully sorry, but Tink has a mind of his own.’
‘No harm done,’ she said. ‘Where’s your aunt?’
‘Getting ready for dinner.’ He pulled a face. ‘We’re actually along the next passage, but Tink likes this way. He has a few favourite spots here, like the one behind the stairway.’
Tommy swooped up the dog as he fell into step with her. ‘Better make sure this little rascal doesn’t trip up more people.’
Tink’s ears twitched, and Frances could have sworn the little dog grinned at her. ‘You’re his dog-sitter? That can’t be too much fun.’
‘I don’t mind. Sometimes Auntie hands Tink over to a steward he’s taken a shine on, and after dinner he stays in his basket in her cabin. He’s a cute little guy, actually.’ He ruffled Tink’s head. ‘So’s Aunt Mildred. Although she’s not a guy, but a gal, and a pretty sporting one.’
Frances thought back at the patronising behaviour the sporting gal had shown towards her nephew. Well, each to their own.
He grinned. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but she’s only trying to protect me. Not that any gold-digger would be interested in my empty pockets. Still, she means well, and there have been a few incidents happening to friends of mine with a certain type of gal.’
He stopped himself. ‘I shouldn’t have said that, should I? I’m making an ass of myself, again.’
Frances laughed. ‘Not at all.’
Tink wriggled out of Tommy’s arms and hid under the stairway where he ran in tiny circles until he was dizzy.
Frances crouched to watch the happy little dog. ‘Does he do that every time?’
‘Without fail. He also loves running off with the discs for shuffleboard, and his favourite hiding spot is in the laundry basket in my room.’
Tink picked himself up again and started another round of running.
‘He’ll go on for a bit. Don’t wait on our account,’ Tommy said. ‘Toodle-ooh.’
Frances chuckled to herself. Tommy and his aunt sounded exactly like they did in the novels by P.G. Wodehouse she’d taken out from the public library in preparation for her trip. Her best friend Pauline had recommended them, to prepare Frances for London society. Until today, she’d never thought people really talked like that.
She swept off to meet Jack and Uncle Sal, ready for her great adventure.
Fleet-footed waiters weaved their way through the dining-room, trays held at eye-level. Frances marvelled at their agility. Acres of white tablecloth shimmered in the light of chandeliers and crystal glasses clinked.
A waiter showed them to their table, close to the dance floor and the stage where a string-quartet played a fox-trot. Frances glanced around under her eyelashes. First and second-class passengers seemed to be mixed, judging by their appearance. Some of the women wore what would amount to a king’s ransom around their necks and wrists. Among them were the two fur-clad ladies that had boarded with them. They could have walked straight out of a fashion magazine with their silk frocks, diamond earrings and bracelets sparkling on black opera gloves.
Did they wear them while eating? P.G. Wodehouse had delivered no clues to that part of upper crust etiquette. What marred their elegance though was the light contempt as the women regarded their neighbours. Their male companion did not sneer, but his gaze wandered around restlessly until it lit upon a slender young redhead. The girl joined a table where the blonde, who’d stumbled so artistically earlier, and a brunette were half through their meal.
The older woman produced a folded silk fan of the kind the China Store sold and rapped the man lightly over his knuckles. ‘Please do pay attention to your fiancée, Lawrence. Dear Rosalie asked you to signal the waiter for our champagne.’
That knuckle-rap could have come straight out of a novel, Frances thought.
‘Anything amusing?’ Jack asked. ‘You’re miles away.’
‘People gazing,’ she admitted. ‘I feel a bit like an intruder.’
‘Nonsense, my darling.’ Uncle Sal beckoned the waiter. ‘I’ll have the soup, roast chicken, and apple pie for dessert.’
‘The same for me,’ said Frances. Jack ordered salad and steak and the apple pie as well.
The food was done to perfection, with the chicken skin crisp and the white flesh so tender it fell off the bone.
Frances forced herself to slow down and savour every bite. The last thing she wanted was to appear greedy, or ill-mannered.
‘We’ll sit here, thank you very much.’ Aunt Mildred, resplendent in a fur-trimmed evening gown and with diamond clips holding up her silver curls, put her evening clutch on Frances’s table. She waved the steward away who attempted to steer her towards a bigger, better placed table. The poor man had no choice but to give in and pull out chairs at Frances’s table for the newcomers. The last chair was for Tink whose tongue lolled out as he sniffed the chicken.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Tommy asked Jack who gave him a reaffirming shrug.
‘Why should they?’ Aunt Mildred snapped her fingers at the steward. ‘Kindly make sure your colleague will take Tinkerbell for a stroll after he’s eaten.’
Jack petted Tink. ‘I’d offer you a bite, mate, but I’m not sure what you have for your dinner.’
‘A morsel of that chicken will do nicely. If one of you would be so kind?’
Frances cut off a piece and put it on a plate the steward placed on the chair with Tink. The little dog groaned with delight as he devoured it.
His doting mistress beamed at Frances. ‘Isn’t he darling?’
She turned to Uncle Sal. ‘We haven’t been properly introduced yet. I’m Mrs Walter Clifton, the Right Honourable Walter Clifton, but please call me Mildred. You’ve met my nephew Tommy.’
Uncle Sal bowed over her hand. ‘Delighted. I’m Salvatore –‘
‘Bernardo, the Magnificent.’ It must have been a trick of the light that made her face appear flushed for an instant.
Up close, Frances estimated her to be younger than she originally thought. She couldn’t be much older than Uncle Sal.
‘I recognised you straight away, from your days at the Alhambra in London. You haven’t changed at all.’
Uncle Sal inclined his head. ‘You flatter me.’
‘When I was young it was my dream to tread the boards myself. Impossible for a young lady of my class, of course, but at least I could sneak into the music halls and theatres.’ Her eyes took on a dreamy expression.
Uncle Sal smoothed his pencil-thin moustache. ‘Halcyon days, my dear lady. That smell of grease-paint, the cheers from the audience.’ He sighed. ‘Vaudeville had its day, and so did I.’
The steward brought two silver-domed trays with salad and more chicken for Aunt Mildred and Tommy.
They’d barely started when Merry, the steward, arrived to take charge of Tink.
The little dog greeted him with a happy wag of its stubby tail. ‘Off you go with our friend, Tinkerbell.’ Aunt Mildred pressed a kiss on the silky head. ‘You won’t forget to bring him to my cabin, won’t you, Merriweather?’
‘Indeed not, Mrs Clifton. Come along, Tink.’
‘They’re such good friends,’ Aunt Mildred said as she blew her dog a last kiss. ‘So important to have people you can rely on. Tommy does his best, but the dear boy does deserve a bit of freedom.’
She fell silent as she enjoyed her meal. Only after coffee had been served did she say, ‘Why don’t you young people enjoy yourselves while Mr Bernardo and I chat.’
‘Sal, for you.’ Was he flirting a little?
Frances had no time to pay more attention to Uncle Sal and his admirer, because Jack led her to the dance floor. For a few blissful moments she lost herself in the sounds of “Dream A Little Dream of Me” and the warmth of Jack’s arms.
An elbow brought her out of her reverie.
Lawrence, with Rosalie as his partner, had done a misstep and bumped into Frances.
His fiancée glared at him before plastering on a sweet smile.
The red-haired girl he’d watched earlier, glided past in the arms of a rotund gentleman old enough to be her father. Her dress was fashionable and would have fooled anyone who wasn’t used to cheap materials herself, like Frances.
Her blonde friend was draped around the swell she’d flirted with earlier.
The brunette danced close-by, with another man rich in money and years.
Frances admired the ease with which they made graceless men appear graceful. Her own dancing skills were no match. Neither were Tommy’s, who swung helplessly in the arms of a muscular matron.
‘They’re professional dancers.’ Jack twirled Frances out of Lawrence’s way. ‘A few of the men are staff members as well. Can you spot them?’
By now the dance floor heaved with couples and Frances felt the heat. She wished the ceiling fans would be switched on. ‘Do you mind if we take a break? I could do with some fresh air.’
They slipped away, past the red-head who watched Lawrence’s retreating back with a sad expression, while her partner trod on her feet. A pang of pity hit Frances. She knew only too well how easy it was to fall in love with a man much wealthier and sophisticated than oneself.
Jack let Uncle Sal know where to find them. Frances fanned herself. As an already too familiar voice behind her told Rosalie to have Lawrence show her the stars, she stepped in the opposite direction. On her first night on the ocean, she wanted nothing to diminish her and Jack’s happiness, and company would definitely spoil that. Especially the wrong one.
A tipsy man swayed across the deck, singing to himself. ‘Ladidah.’
He collided with Jack who steadied him.
‘Sorry, mate,’ the man mumbled.
Jack still held him by the arms. ‘That’s alright,’ he said in an amused tone that made the hairs on Frances’s arms stand up.
‘Steward?’
Merriweather came into view.
‘Can you help this gentleman to his cabin? And make sure he’s well looked after?’ Jack handed the man over and grimaced. ‘Silly me. I forgot to mention I do want my wallet back first.’
He slipped his hand into the man’s jacket and pulled out three wallets. ‘Maybe you should have a chat with your security officer, steward. And do a proper search.’
He took Frances’s arm and strolled away, leaving Merriweather to deal with the squirming pickpocket who’d dropped all pretence of being drunk.
Chapter Four
The waves lapped against the ships hull, no more than a mere whisper on the observation desk. The stars glittered in the night sky and sparked tiny flashes on the water. Jack draped his jacket over Frances’s shoulders. Dotted all over the space, couples strolled around in the dim light from the lamps. A few deckchairs were taken despite the late hour as people drank in the romance of the night.
Back home, at this hour the Top Note would be humming, with people waiting for Dolores Barden to sing. Or for Jack to have a chat. Only they wouldn’t be able to find him.
Frances wondered if Bluey and his wife Marie really could take care of everything the way Jack did. As wonderful as it was to be here, and travelling, with Jack at her side, it didn’t bear thinking about any problems at the club. It meant too much to Jack, and to all her friends.
‘What’s going to happen now?’ she asked, thinking back to the pickpocket.
‘Now we enjoy the stars and our freedom, and then we’ll dance again until you’re tired.’ Jack’s teeth flashed white in the twilight.
‘With that man you handed over to Merry. Aren’t we a long way from our next port?’
‘They’ll probably stow him away safely until they can let the police have him. Thefts are taken seriously on ships. If passengers don’t believe in their safety, it’s bad for business.’
‘But how can you steal with nobody noticing?’
Jack shrugged. ‘We had one clever joker at the Top Note who’d return the wallet with a few quid less. Hard to keep track of your expenses when you’re getting sozzled. Or you drop it somewhere for a steward to find.’
‘Would Bluey have spotted a pickpocket?’
He cupped her chin. ‘You worry too much. Bluey has enough troops to soldier on, and you’ve seen his wife in action. Don’t forget there’s Dolores’s boyfriend too. You’d have to be stupid to pull a fast one in a place where police are regulars.’
Frances had to admit that was true. Because the only law the Top Note broke was the six pm alcohol ban, the club proved popular with high-ranking police officers, councillors and other influential people. On top of that, Dolores’s beau was a police detective, who could be counted on to come to their rescue. He also was the Palmer’s lodger. Without his rent, and the additional income from another lodger Jack had sent them, she wouldn’t have been able to afford this voyage and pay the mortgage in her family home.
Jack said, ‘If there is anything Bluey needs help with, they’ll send me a telegram. I told you, it’s all under control.’
She snuggled against him. He was right, all was well with her world.
The red-head and her brunette friend came through the doors and stopped three yards from Jack and Frances. Their former dance partners hung back and lit foul-smelling cigars.
‘You play your cards right and you’ll be in clover,’ the brunette said. She spun around and waved at the men. ‘Your sugar daddy has the hots for you.’
‘I’m not interested. I do my job, that’s all.’
‘Evie, please don’t tell me it’s still about that Lawrence Vaughan.’
The red-head took out a silver cigarette case she must have kept hidden in her clothes. She struck a match and lit a gasper.
‘Butt me?’ The brunette helped herself to a cigarette. She narrowed her eyes to keep the smoke out of it as she blew rings.
‘For your information, Mr Vaughan means nothing to me. He’s just another passenger,’ Evie said.
‘That’s good, because he’ll soon be manacled for good to that Rosalie broad. Her mama will see to that.’ The girl took the cigarette case and ran her finger over the engraved swirls. A red gem decorated the clasp. ‘At least he gave you a nice present.’
‘I told you it was nothing.’ Evie walked over to a table with an ashtray and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Come on, Nancy. Break’s over.’
As soon as Evie and Nancy were gone with their dance partners, a trio of men Frances took to be merchants or successful farmers, took their place. Their tweed suits had that rough quality that set working men’s clothes apart from the hunting attire of the upper classes.
Frances giggled. Mr Wodehouse’s novels really were an education in themself. She’d never made this kind of observation before. One of the best things about Australia, in her opinion the best place in the world, was its lack of a class system. An immigrant like Uncle Sal or Jack was as good as a descendent of the first fleet, and a telephone exchange operator like Frances held the same place as the wife of a governor.
Jack always was quick to point out that this classlessness only encompassed white people, even if their forebears were convicts, but he admitted it was better than most systems.
England on the other hand was enthralled with lords and ladies and people who called each other “old prune” and were raised by an army of nannies and valets. A girl like Evie, who worked for a living, was as good as anyone in Australia. In England, she’d be a nobody.
‘Another dance?’
Frances expected they’d return to the dining room, but instead Jack led her to a ball room with stained-glass ceilings, gold-trimmed lamps and two bars with tables on opposite sides of the dance floor.
A band with a proper conductor played the latest hits. Frances’s mouth went dry when she realised this was the same stage, she and Uncle Sal would perform on.
Jack swept her into a waltz that seemed over in a heartbeat. The drummer played a drum roll as a spotlight fell on a slender figure, dressed in white satin and with her red hair gleaming.
‘Evie?’ Frances wasn’t even aware she’d said the name out loud when an angry hiss next to her showed not everyone admired the girl.
Frances couldn’t see who’d hissed, but whatever annoyed that person, Evie’s voice could not be the reason. That, although no match to the star of the Top Note, had just the right amount of innocence and freshness to make listening and dancing to it an equal pleasure.
A few minutes before midnight, Frances’s head throbbed from the music, the chatter and the heat of the crowd. With a long sea voyage ahead, she had ample opportunity to have fun in the ball room. Tomorrow, she and Uncle Sal had their first rehearsal on stage. He’d already retired, in preparation for an early morning.
His new-found friend, Aunt Mildred, seemed as bright-eyed as ever as she held Tommy in an iron grip on the dance floor. Tommy rolled his eyes in mock despair at Frances, as she and Jack walked past on their way to their cabins, but he seemed to be cheerful enough.
Frances rubbed her aching feet as she sank into her bunk. She hoped they would have recovered in the morning, because her act demanded of her to be nimble. Afterwards, she intended to explore the Empress from stem to stern. She drifted off with a happy expression on her face.
Breakfast turned out to be an important event. Frances had risen early, and she’d expected the breakfast room to be deserted. Instead, the stewards rushed around to refill the carts with toast, porridge, eggs, bacon, kidneys, kippers and kedgeree. She stuck to toast and scrambled eggs, same as Uncle Sal. He’d taught her not to overeat before a rehearsal or a performance.
‘Tea or coffee?’ Merry asked. She detected a twinkle in his eyes, although his manner was correct to a fault.
‘Tea, please.’
‘Indian or China? We’ve got Assam, Darjeeling, Ceylon and Lapsang Souchong.’
Frances nibbled her lip. She could either select the poshest-sounding tea and pretend to be a society lady, or expose herself as what she was, an ordinary girl who wasn’t quite a staff member, but also anything but a well-to-do passenger.
She noticed Uncle Sal’s amused glance on her. He’d probably encountered this decision on more occasions than he could remember.
Merry opened the tea caddy, ready for her choice.
She made a snap decision. ‘You don’t happen to have Billy Tea?’ she asked. Billy Tea wasn’t posh or famous, but it was as honestly Australian as Frances. She had a box in her luggage, wrapped as a present for Jack’s mother. She’d hesitated before buying it, but the packaging was so pretty with its picture of a swagman brewing his tea that she couldn’t resist.
The twinkle in Merry’s eyes intensified. ‘I’ll see what I can do for you, Miss Palmer.’
‘Take a tea-bag out of my box.’ Evie gracefully took a seat at the table next to Frances and Uncle Sal, together with her girlfriends. Her fair skin shone as if lit from within, and her face was bare of make-up, in stark contrast to her friends.
‘Thank you,’ Frances said and introduced herself and Uncle Sal. ‘I loved your songs last night.’
‘That’s swell to hear. I only do a few sets, to give our real singers a break, but it’s fun.’
‘You’re as good as them any day,’ Nancy said. ‘Isn’t that right, Ada?’
The blonde signalled Merry to heap her plate full of egg and bacon. For someone as slender, she had an enormous appetite. ‘The bees’ knees,’ she agreed. ‘It’s a shame you never got further than the front row of the chorus.’
‘The chorus?’ Uncle Sal treated the girls to his most charming smile. ‘I knew as soon as I clapped eyes on you ladies that you belonged on the boards.’
‘Two seasons in the London Pavilion,’ Evie said. ‘Have you heard of it?’
‘One of London’s finest musical theatres. I was there in 1921, when Clifton Webb starred in “Fun of the Fayre”. I had a small engagement at the Vaudeville Theatre myself.’
‘You’re that Sal?’ Evie nudged Ada, who was too busy tucking into her breakfast to pay any attention. ‘Ada, these are the two entertainers that are joining us for this trip.’
Heat rose in Frances’s cheeks. ‘Uncle Sal is the real deal, but I’m not really an entertainer.’
Uncle Sal wagged a finger at her. ‘Oh, yes, you are. Simply because we only do a few shows, doesn’t diminish what you do.’
‘Yes, sirree,’ Nancy said. ‘What do you say, girls, shall we make sure Fran here doesn’t miss out on any fun?’
‘She didn’t do too badly last night.’ Ada put her fork aside and chortled. ‘Nice looking toff you landed.’
‘You mean Jack? He’s my –’
‘Fiancé.’ Jack gave the girls a nod as he sat down. ‘Sorry I’m running late.’
Ada cast an experienced eye over Jack.
Nancy elbowed her. ‘Stop it, or people will think you’ve got no manners.’
Ada pouted, until she broke out in laughter. ‘Don’t worry, Fran, he’s safe from us. Good to know you’re out of the competition.’
She waved to another steward, for more tea and toast. Her friends stuck to toast and eggs, like Frances.
Ten minutes later, Frances folded her napkin and put it on her empty plate. She could get used to this, she thought. Good food, her favourite company in the world, and no dishes to clean afterwards.
‘Good morning.’ Tommy and Aunt Mildred made their way towards them. Tink gave a small welcoming yap from the safety of Aunt Mildred’s arms.
‘It’s unhygienic to allow animals in the dining area. Or the lower classes.’ From across the room, Rosalie’s mother’s voice rose in a stage whisper. Aunt Mildred glowered at her, only to encounter a stare hostile enough to floor a lesser woman.
Evie and Nancy both changed colour. Ada’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Mean old trout.’
‘Shh.’ Evie touched Ada’s arm.
Aunt Mildred swept over to a table already set with a dog bowl under one chair. ‘Tommy, dear, please check with the purser on their methods of pest control. We don’t want Tinkerbell to catch anything.’ Her glance flitted over her opponent.
Tommy’s lips twitched. ‘Yes, Auntie.’
Merry put two full plates down for them. Obviously, he knew their routine by heart, Frances thought. But then most people were creatures of habit, and a good steward remembered these things.
Aunt Mildred let her pooch out of her arms. He licked her hand. She made little kissing noises until she froze. ‘Tommy.’
‘Yes?’ Tommy stopped his coffee cup halfway to his lips.
Aunt Mildred lifted up Tink and dangled him in the air. ‘Look at his collar. He’s lost a ruby.’
Coffee sloshed over the side of Tommy’s cup. His mouth fell open.
‘A missing jewel!’ A burly man of military appearance with bushy eyebrows stood up and pointed a finger at Merry. ‘Isn’t this fellow always running around with your little dog? Those gems must be worth quite a lot for a man in his position.’
Jack stood up, too. ‘Are you making any accusations, sir?’
‘I’m only saying what’s obvious. You’re one of those commies that think Jack’s as good as his master?’
‘Stop it.’ Aunt Mildred pressed a hand against her temple. ‘You’re making a fuss over nothing.’
‘More fool you,’ the burly man growled. ‘Mark my words, your steward has stolen that ruby, and who knows what else he’s made off with.’ He whistled for another steward. ‘Go and tell you captain we’ve caught a criminal and demand his arrest.’