All Bedlam Courses Past (part two hundred seven)

All Bedlam Courses Past

Chapter Eight

Things Relative

(part two hundred seven)

Other photos were of the body laid out, on an infirmary bed, one curtain drawn. These were shocking, yes. Regina was decent, both covered and clean; she had not been disfigured or mauled by her accident.

But she had no teeth. She had no hair. She looked so very old…frail, pitiful. And poor, coming down to it. Those without money could not alter such things about themselves, that Regina with hers had disguised. Élucide had not even known how sparse the hair was, under the wigs.

“But do you see that it took some time…that none of the crew, knowing by sight Mrs. Demrose, was able to put a name to her?”

At such morning hours as one, then two, then three, a parade of passengers ushered through the infirmary could not have been organized. Most, grumbling when awakened by a knock, made aware of a missing person, testy (at best) in stating: “Godsakes, yes! We’re all here!”, had returned to a sleep sound enough.

The response to this knock, of the Demrose party, of Myra and Manfred, ought to have been key.

But Myra had a story to tell.

When had she last seen her mother? (Alive not a word needing spoken, the ship’s doctor having judged her not required to view the body, if the maid could do it.)

I would guess… Oh, three, possibly? The sun was still ghastly. We didn’t like to eat late. We weren’t in the habit of it.

But you’d had a general sense of the time? You tell me you had gone down to the dining room with Mr. Demrose, at five…?

Nearer six. Mother was in her cabin, she was with Arnulfa. The door was cracked, and I could hear them. Bickering, I almost want to say. And I suppose…well, I’ll say this. Make of it what you like, Mr. Shute. No, I didn’t go in to speak with her, or check on her. Truly, not at all after lunch. Lunch was her meal, it was brought and laid out by the waiters, and so we would all sit together.

You, Mr. Demrose, Mrs. Demrose. Miss Zucker?

Miss Zucker was at the beck and call, in her little cubby. I apologize.

Not at all, a touch of humor quite all right with Mr. Shute. He did find the question raised, though. Did she dislike her mother’s maid?

Oh, she was a bit of a pest. That is, since you must wonder, I couldn’t get to my mother, except through Arnulfa. I couldn’t peep into her room, sit on her bed for a chat. Arnulfa would make a fluster.

It seems Mrs. Demrose had quite a few things wanted, to have her up on her pillows and…

Mr. Shute decided on the expression: “Dressed to receive.”

219

Bedlam

All Bedlam Courses Past (part two hundred eight)

(2025, Stephanie Foster)