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Chapter Five
The Fortitude – Top Passenger Deck
August 22, 1889
7:20 PM
The steamer ship was stunningly loud in comparison to the sounds produced by a clipper
– that gentle billow of the sails, the steady splash of water against the hull, the cries of the gulls as
they circled above. Leaning against the railing, Geraldine risked a deep breath and was rewarded not
with a bracing gulp of sea air, but instead with a lungful of smoke and ash. She coughed and spat, but
the burning taste in her mouth lingered.
Would she have fallen in love with Anthony if they had met aboard such a machine as
this? If their first words had been shouted above the roar of the engines rather than whispered to the
accompaniment of birdcalls? The Weeping Susan had been all fluttering and flapping, a vulnerable
vessel at the mercy of the elements, and thus much like the woman she carried. But now, thirty years
later, The Fortitude roared its way unapologetically toward India. The directness of the approach,
the solidity of the ironsides, the steady drone of the engines… the ship was the very personification of
British supremacy, of a nation which – much like Geraldine Bainbridge herself – had grown into a
position of such power and self-assurance that seemingly nothing could stop its progress.
Another whistle shrieked and the iron railing trembled beneath Geraldine’s palms. She
smiled, a smile with irony, and ambivalence, and perhaps a touch of sadness. The Fortitude was so
loud that this time there was no chance she would hear Bombay before she saw it. This time the
ringing of the bells would not catch her unawares.
***
The Fortitude – The Card Room
7:20 PM
“We’ve gone over it all a thousand times,” Emma protested, her eyes darting around the
table at the four men. “We simply must face the fact that, at least compared to our trips to France and
Russia, intelligence on this case is very limited. All this speculation is only prejudicing our minds.”
“Emma is right, as always,” Tom said, with a lazy wink in her direction. “I can
practically recite that Seal fellow’s telegram by heart. Any collected evidence is bound to be
compromised, but it’s pointless to make predictions until we have it in hand.”
“Compromised?” Davy said with a frown.
“I’m not suggesting either of the Indian investigations was corrupt,” Tom said, drawing
in on a cigar he’d obtained for a remarkably good price in the shops of Suez. “But I think there’s a
strong possibility they were inept. And when I ponder the condition the bodies will be in after lying
two weeks in India. India in August, for God’s sake…”
“They iced them,” Trevor reminded him.
“They always ice them,” Tom said. “Trouble is, freezing alters tissue nearly as much as
decomposition.”
Rayley pulled on his own cigar, which was of a different brand and leaf but purchased at
the same agreeable price. “While Miss Bainbridge is off taking her stroll on deck,” he said, “there is
something else we need to discuss. What if the evidence doesn’t exonerate Weaver? No matter what