All at Sea

  Chapter 1

  Maisie Frobisher to Lady Frobisher, 25th September 1893

  Dear Mama,

  Here I am on board the good ship SS Britannia, and I shall tell you now that there was absolutely no reason for you to worry and fuss as much as you did. As it turns out I am an exceptionally good traveller, and the sea is smooth as a looking-glass. We have been at sea for two days, and everyone seems delightful. I have not made any particular friends yet, but I am sure that as the voyage progresses we shall become inseparable.

  I have heard of one celebrity on board — Miss Jeroboam the lady explorer, who apparently is on a mission for the Royal Geographical Society to collect flora and fauna. I shall look forward to speaking with her when we have time between all the ship’s entertainments and promenading on the deck.

  My trunk is safely stowed in the hold, and Ruth is able to access it at least twice a day to procure my necessities. I am very well looked after, even with only one maid. The food is excellent as the ship has refrigerated storage. We have fresh eggs and butter and meat, with none of the disagreeable necessity of having chickens and cows on board, as you feared. I think travelling has advanced somewhat since you were last on board a ship!

  I shall close as it is almost time to dress for dinner, and one must be punctual.

  With much love,

  Maisie

  Maisie Frobisher’s journal, just past the Bay of Biscay, 25th September 1893

  What possessed me to think going travelling was a good idea? I have never felt so ill in my entire life. Ever since we raised anchor (or whatever you are supposed to say) and sailed away from London I have alternated between lying flat on my bed and having my head in a basin. I have barely ventured out of my cabin, and Ruth has been no better. On one occasion I did make it as far as the promenade deck, but when I caught a glimpse of the roiling sea from the veranda I decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and fled.

  I hope I’m not tempting fate by saying that today seems to be better. The sea is much calmer, and I no longer have that disagreeable sensation of my stomach being on an entirely different voyage from the rest of my body. Therefore I shall attempt to dress for dinner.

  I am not sure if Ruth will be available to assist me in this endeavour, since from what she has said steerage is far less comfortable than first class, and she has been forced to room with all sorts of people. They eat sitting on benches at long tables, as if they are in some kind of prison. She did however manage to secure my yellow silk, which is the best dress I have brought with me, due to Mother’s fears that my clothes would be spoilt by seawater or eaten by rats, or possibly given to pirates to safeguard my virtue. Although I’m not sure how having no clothes would achieve that. I shall do my best with the meagre resources that I have.

  Oh, to have my own wardrobe at my disposal, and be able to send Ruth to Harrods to get what I need! At least I managed to slip a few pairs of silk stockings in when Mother wasn’t looking, and two pairs of dress pumps. But if the sea does decide to play pitch and toss with me when I am making my way to the dining room, who knows what state I shall be in when I enter. I hear five bells which I now know means half past six, so I shall close. Wish me luck for my shipboard debut!

  ***

  Maisie Frobisher‘s nose wrinkled as she surveyed herself in the looking glass bolted to the wall. Perhaps the yellow silk had not been such a good idea. She was still pale from her bout of seasickness, and the yellow dress lent her complexion a peculiarly greenish note. Perhaps I should have worn the blue, she muttered. But it was too late now. Her trunk was locked in the luggage room, and it was time to go down to dinner. She sighed, said, ‘It’ll have to do,’ and picked up her gloves.

  Maisie took her time making her way from her cabin to the dining room on the deck below. While the ship was not pitching in the nauseating way it had done all the way across the Bay of Biscay, it still had a slight roll which made caution advisable. By the time she reached the dining room, it was almost full.

  There was no seating plan. Maisie scanned the vast, ornate room looking for something familiar, something which would tell her where she should be. Her brown eyes gleamed in a rather birdlike way as her gaze settled on two shiny objects near the head of the room: the captain’s epaulettes. Maisie gathered herself and advanced at a steady tack until she was standing before him.

  ‘Captain Carstairs!’ She offered her hand. ‘How delightful to see you again.’

  The captain, an angular sandy-haired man, looked discomfited. ‘Oh yes of course, Miss, ah, Miss —’

  ‘Frobisher. Miss Maisie Frobisher.’ Maisie surveyed the round table. If the lady sitting next to the captain would move along a little…

  ‘Oh of course, Miss Frobisher!’ Relief washed over the captain’s face. ‘Now if I may, there is a good place to be had between the Colonel and Mr Randall. Gentlemen, if you would?’ His gaze was directed to the bottom of the table. Maisie tried not to look ruffled as she stalked to her place. A steward scurried up with a chair and waited patiently as Maisie settled herself.

  ‘Now, I don’t believe you will know everybody,’ said Captain Carstairs. ‘So, going round the table we have Mrs Smythe and Mr Smythe. Mr Smythe is taking up a role with the Governor of Bombay, having served as an ambassador in Paris. Then we have Mrs and Colonel Fortescue, and yourself obviously you know, haha. On your other side is Mr Randall, followed by Miss Jennings, Mr Merritt, and Mrs Jennings. Miss Jeroboam I am sure needs no introduction, and finally, Mr Hamilton.’

  Maisie took in the table as the first course, a pea soup, was put before her. Miss Jeroboam was tall, fair, and slender, and dressed in a simple but extremely flattering royal-blue dress. Maisie decided that she disliked her intensely. Miss Jeroboam was conversing with Mr Hamilton, whose well-cut dinner suit was perhaps the most striking thing about him. That and the contrast between his pale face and his black hair. Good features, but there is no colour to him at all, she thought. Colonel Fortescue she dismissed as a hunting, shooting, and fishing type, who would almost certainly mention shooting a tiger before the end of dinner. His wife was also lean and brown, but fussily dressed.

  The ambassador, Mr Smythe, was younger than she would have expected an ambassador to be. He was idly stirring at his soup rather than eating it. His wife, meanwhile, kept up lively chatter with the captain, the colonel, and her husband while somehow also managing her soup. Mrs Jennings was talking over Mr Merritt and her daughter to Mr Randall, and Miss Jennings, whose neckline seemed a little too low for her peace of mind, looked inclined to slide beneath the table as a means of escape.

  What a place to find oneself, thought Maisie, and applied herself to her soup, which, while good, was a little spicier than she was used to.

  She glanced up and caught the captain’s eye. ‘Is it a little hot for your taste?’ He smiled sympathetically. ‘As we are on the way to India, we have several Indian treats on the menu. However, there is usually a good old English option alongside them.’

  ‘Oh no, it is very nice,’ said Maisie, putting her spoon down. ‘I’m sure I shall soon get used to it.’

  ‘I shall certainly be eating my fill,’ laughed Miss Jeroboam. ‘After all, when I disembark I don’t know what I shall get to eat.’

  ‘Where are you off to this time?’ asked Mrs Fortescue.

  ‘Oh, here and there,’ said Miss Jeroboam. ‘I shan’t have access to gourmet food like this. One night in a hotel when we arrive, and then I shall leave the city behind, and make for the swamp forests. I am on a plant-collecting mission for Kew Gardens, you see. It would not be much of an expedition if they were easy to find, would it?’ Her laugh was musical, and Maisie wondered why on earth someone so attractive should busy herself spoiling her complexion and grubbing in th
e dirt for plants, when one could send one’s maid to the florist.

  She tuned into what the colonel was saying on the opposite side of the table. ‘He looked at me directly, so he did. “I’m not having that sort of behaviour,” I thought to myself, and I shot him. Right between the eyes. He is in front of the fireplace at home now — well, his skin is — and every time I look at him I think, “That’ll teach you to be rude!”’

  ‘Excellent sport, I’m sure,’ said Mr Randall. ‘However, aboard ship we should probably try to organise entertainments which don’t involve tigers and shotguns. What do you say, Merritt?’

  Mr Merritt, who had been gazing into the distance, came to on hearing his name. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘For heaven's sake, man,’ said Mr Randall. ‘Stop going to sleep at the table!’ But the remark was made with an easy smile and what appeared to be genuine friendliness. ‘I was talking about organising a sporting competition on the upper deck. Skittles perhaps, or deck quoits.’

  ‘You know my feelings regarding organised sports,’ said Mr Merritt. ‘I dislike them almost as much as blood sports.’ His lip curled a little as his eyes flicked towards the colonel.

  ‘I remember how you used to try and get out of rugby at Eton,’ said Mr Randall. ‘Apart from fives, I don’t think I ever saw you willingly put on sporting gear.’

  ‘Whereas the name of Jasper Randall is painted in gold on many sporting honours boards.’ Mr Merritt smiled, but unlike his friend’s, the smile was not genuine. And his suit appeared to be ready-made. It certainly didn’t fit well, being rather too short in the arm.

  ‘Oh you flatter me,’ said Jasper Randall. ‘In any case, that is where my honours ended; at school. At least now I can be the idle good-for-nothing I always aspired to be, without getting caned for it.’ He smiled again, an honest, mirthful smile, and his eyes twinkled.

  ‘What is your reason for travelling, Miss Frobisher?’ asked Mrs Jennings, using her spoon to emphasise her question in a mildly alarming way.

  ‘To see the world,’ Maisie replied. ‘That is the beginning and end of it.’

  ‘But do you not have a travelling companion?’ Mrs Jennings persisted. ‘Perhaps you will meet family or friends in Bombay?’

  ‘I have no plans whatsoever,’ said Maisie. ‘I took it into my head to travel and booked the next passage out from London. Beyond wanting to see the Pyramids, I have no aspirations at all. I have not committed to collect plants, or beetles, or butterflies, or anything.’

  Mrs Jennings regarded her with an odd expression which Maisie couldn’t interpret. ‘Dear me,’ she said, as the soup was removed.

  ‘And what is your plan on arriving in India, Mrs Jennings?’ asked Maisie, feeling that it was her turn to ask questions.

  ‘Sophia and I shall be taking a house in Bombay. A dear friend of mine has moved out there with her husband, and she has undertaken to introduce us into society.’ A plate of something orange with rice was set before Mrs Jennings and she attacked it with relish. Her black silk dress showed patches of wear. Presumably one may live in Bombay much more cheaply than England, thought Maisie. From the meaningful looks that Mrs Jennings was directing at her daughter, and her nods towards Mr Jasper Randall, Maisie suspected that the object of the trip was not entirely to be reunited with Mrs Jennings's dearest friend in Bombay.

  ‘And why are you going to India, Mr Hamilton?’ Maisie asked. ‘Are you travelling for pleasure, or on business?’

  ‘On business,’ he replied, with a polite smile, and taking up his fork, began his meal.

  How rude, thought Maisie. How ill-bred. His tailoring was definitely the best thing about him. Frankly, of all the people she had met so far Jasper Randall seemed much the most pleasant and interesting. She allowed herself to admire his clean-cut profile and neat brown moustache. Unfortunately, though, given the accepted segregation of gentlemen in the smoking room and ladies in the saloon, she would be unlikely to enjoy his company except at dinner and on occasions of entertainment. He looked as if he would be a good dancer, though. So long as I don’t have to participate in deck sports, she thought, all should be well.

  A plate of the same orange substance was placed before Maisie. She picked up her fork and investigated it. ‘Could you tell me what this is, please?’ she asked the steward.

  ‘Bangda uddamethi,’ he replied. ‘Fish curry, ma’am,’ he added, seeing Maisie’s puzzled look.

  ‘Oh,’ said Maisie.

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ said Captain Carstairs. ‘Our refrigeration system means the fish is as fresh as if it had been caught this morning.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Maisie, continuing to poke. She essayed a mouthful of the curry. It was strongly flavoured, but quite palatable. ‘It’s actually rather nice,’ she said, smiling benignly on the captain.

  ‘There, you see,’ said Captain Carstairs. ‘If I say so myself, the food on board ship is of excellent quality. That is why Miss Jeroboam always travels with us, so that she can rush off to collect her butterflies and beetles on a full stomach.’

  ‘Whereas when I land,’ said Miss Jeroboam, ‘I shall probably be eating them.’

  Maisie made an inarticulate noise, seized her napkin, and disgorged her mouthful of fish. ‘Please excuse me,’ she gasped, and rushed from the room.

  The last thing she heard was an exclamation of ‘Oh dear!’, and Miss Jeroboam’s tinkling laugh.

  Chapter 2

  Maisie Frobisher to Constance Lamont, 26th September 1893

  Oh Connie,

  Going travelling might be the worst mistake of my life! I was prostrated with seasickness almost from the minute we left the English Channel, and the people! I came down to dinner last night for the first time since the voyage began, and the captain’s table is full of tiger-shooting colonels and frightening lady explorers and marriage-minded mothers! And if you can believe it, I was placed at the BOTTOM of the table. To be fair it was a round table, but I was the furthest from the captain, and that is what counts.

  If I had not booked all the way to Bombay I would seriously consider disembarking and coming home; but I must remain on board till Marseilles. Hopefully things will have improved by then — though I doubt it. At least I shall be off this ship in less than three weeks, and after that I need never see any of my dinner companions again.

  I do hope that Albert and Bee are well, and that any mysteries you may be embroiled in are progressing well. Do you remember the balls we attended, courtesy of the Masquerade Mob? So far I have not had even a sniff of a dance. I almost long to whirl around the floor with that cad Archie Bellairs.

  I shall close now to catch the Gibraltar mail. Do write, and I hope your letter finds me more cheerful in spirits than I am today.

  Yours, with much love,

  Maisie

  ***

  ‘There, Miss Maisie,’ said Ruth, adjusting the bodice of Maisie’s day dress. ‘You look much better this morning.’

  ‘Thank you, Ruth,’ Maisie replied. ‘I think that yellow dress was a mistake. I might leave it in the trunk until I am sure I shall not be sick again.’

  A bell sounded. ‘You’d better hurry,’ said Ruth. ‘Breakfast time.’

  Unencumbered by dress pumps, Maisie found the journey to the dining room much easier than she had the previous evening, and the room itself was less intimidating in the bright morning light. It was bustling with people; but she noted with pleasure the vacant space on the captain’s table between Jasper Randall and the colonel, and she took her seat with a calm ‘Good morning.’

  Miss Jeroboam rose and bore down on her. ‘Miss Frobisher,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘I am so sorry for my foolish remark yesterday evening. If I had thought it would affect you so, I would never have said it.’

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ said Maisie, accepting the outstretched hand. ‘Perhaps I should have waited till I was sure of my health before appearing at the dinner table.’

  ‘Well, I shall be more carefu
l in future.’ With a friendly smile, Miss Jeroboam resumed her place.

  ‘Terrible thing, seasickness,’ said the colonel, between mouthfuls of kedgeree. Maisie tried not to shudder and turned slightly so that the fishy smell was obscured. That also meant turning towards Jasper Randall, which, in her view, was a far better outcome.

  ‘So are you on the mend, Miss Frobisher?’ he enquired.

  ‘Oh, I think so,’ Maisie replied. ‘Until I came on board ship, I thought I had an iron constitution.’

  ‘Absolutely no shame in it, no shame in it at all,’ said the colonel, nudging her. ‘I don’t mind telling you that there were several empty chairs at the table for the first day or two. Sometimes it was just me and the captain, and even he was off his food.’

  The steward bustled up to take her order. ‘Some dry toast, please, and weak tea with lemon.’

  ‘Very wise,’ remarked the colonel.

  Feeling rather less embarrassed, Maisie beamed around the table. ‘What are everybody’s plans today? I believe we are pausing at Gibraltar.’

  ‘Not landing,’ warned the captain. ‘We shall stay for as long as it takes to deliver Her Majesty’s mail, and not a moment longer. However, there are fine views to be had from the promenade deck if you care to look out. The Straits of Gibraltar are quite a sight.’

  ‘Then I shall make sure to be in a good spot for viewing,’ replied Maisie. ‘Have you no plans for an Olympic competition this morning, Mr Randall?’

  Jasper Randall smiled. ‘I fear I do not have the organisational skills to get something up at such short notice. Are you keen on deck sports, Miss Frobisher?’

  ‘Oh, um, I thought of watching,’ stammered Maisie.

  The toast arrived and Maisie nibbled a corner. No ill-effects were apparent, so she took a slightly larger bite, and another, till the triangle had disappeared.

  ‘That’s the spirit, young lady,’ the colonel approved. He held his empty plate in the air and waved it. ‘Another plate of kedgeree please!’