The Moonlit Murders: A historical mystery page-turner (A Fen Churche Mystery Book 3) by Fliss Chester (web based ebook reader TXT) 📕

are connected,’ First Officer Bisset was trying his best to placate her, while also trying not to back into the open gaping hole of one of the deck funnels. ‘But perhaps such a precious item as your tiara, it would have been, how you say, prudent to have put it in the captain’s safety deposit box?’ He reached behind himself to grab the outer rim of the massive funnel opening, using it to steady himself as Mrs Archer bore down on him. ‘I assure you we will do all we can to help you find them.’

‘Help me? It’s you who will be finding them! You expect me to search every trench rat on board? How dare you!’

Fen felt a presence at her side and turned to see James standing next to her.

‘What’s going on here?’ he asked, and then stifled a yawn.

Fen turned to look at him. He was dressed well and freshly shaved but looked haggard around the eyes. ‘Late night?’

‘You first.’ James nodded towards Mrs Archer and the still-being-berated first officer.

Fen followed his gaze and told him what she knew, which, annoyingly for her, wasn’t much.

‘Seems like the priceless tiara – which is no longer priceless, as poor old Bisset has been told several times that it’s worth as much as most London houses, at least the equivalent of three rather smart motorcars and could buy passage on this boat for everyone on board until kingdom come – has gone missing. Along with the rest of her jewel case.’

‘So that’s the diamond earrings, the bracelets…’

‘The opal beads as big as the end of Eloise’s finger… exactly. Quite a haul. And, as far as I can hear from this haranguing, gone without trace. And, what’s more, he’s just mentioned that there might be a thief on board.’

‘Crumbs. Better look after those pearls of yours then. Should we go and see if we can help?’ James shifted his weight around and Fen wondered if he was ready for a new problem to crack so soon after the crimes they’d solved in Burgundy and Paris.

‘Bisset or Mrs Archer? I’m not sure which one I feel the most sorry for at the moment.’

They both stood there a moment longer.

‘I’ve got it!’ Fen clicked her fingers with satisfaction.

‘The tiara?’ James looked at her in shock.

‘No, the answer to my crossword clue.’ Fen saw that James was noticeably less excited by this prospect but asked her to illuminate him nonetheless. ‘Sapphires… that was the answer, South Africa did make up the SA, then a PP for very quietly and a synonym for rents is hires. So sapphires is the answer to the simple clue at the end, gems.’

‘Very apt for the situation,’ James said and then let out another yawn.

‘Come on, James, why are you so tired?’ Fen asked, knowing that he wasn’t as invested in her crossword-solving as she was.

‘It’s all this sea air, I reckon.’ He winked at her, and Fen raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Fine, no flies on you. I stayed up drinking with McNeal and Johnstone.’

‘Genie said Spencer was a bit worse for wear. How long were you up for?’ Fen thought back to how exhausted she’d been after the gala dinner and dressing-up fun in Genie’s cabin. James was right about one thing: heavy drinking aside, the bracing gusts of wind one experienced every time one ventured on deck did tend to make you rather tired.

‘Late. Johnstone was the worst of us, drink after drink. He got so carried away, I had to carry him back to his cabin. I never remembered him to be like that, you know, out of control. You couldn’t be, in the jobs we did.’ He shrugged. ‘Stayed with him for a while in case he was, how can I put this delicately… unwell in the night. And once I was sure he wasn’t in any danger, I finally got back to my cabin. It’s very disorientating that there’s no dawn chorus here – well, except for our resident gulls who seem to have hitched a ride.’

‘James, did you really not get to bed until dawn? No wonder you’re exhausted.’ Fen rested a hand on his arm and felt it flex under her touch. ‘Well done though for looking after Johnstone. Tell me more about him, how did you meet again?’

‘Francis “Frank” Johnstone was the US Military envoy to the British Intelligence Services before the war. Worked his way up the ranks from humble enough beginnings, I seem to remember, though that’s always the good thing about Americans, rarely a chip on their shoulder about that sort of thing. A real meritocracy.’

‘Unless you ask Mrs Archer,’ Fen said, as she watched the older woman start to whack Bisset around the knees with her umbrella. ‘Anyway, sorry. Carry on about the lieutenant.’

‘Well, we met at Lucerne and then again in London in thirty-eight. He said he spent the war doing much the same as me, helping the Free French in the south keep Vichy as Nazi-free as possible.’

Fen nodded as James talked about his war work. He was a captain, but it was more of an honorary rank bestowed on the brave men – and women – who fought behind the lines and under the radar for the Special Operations Executive. James’s background had been in the diplomatic services and it was from there he had been recruited by Churchill, no doubt thanks to his fluent French and nose for an adventure, for his special guerrilla force. ‘I suppose he wanted to let off some steam, now he’s homeward-bound.’

‘Yes, yes. Quite,’ James answered, but he didn’t seem to be concentrating on their conversation any more. Then he stepped forward. ‘Look, I think I’d better go and see if Mrs A needs our help. Or Bisset, for that matter.’

‘I’ll come too.’ Fen wrapped her trench coat around her as they left the shelter of the promenade and braved the gusts of wind as they crossed the deck, where the troops had since given up on their game of shuffleboard