Midnight on the Ship of Dreams

Chapter Three

By dinner that night, the ship was abuzz with new gossip. Free of Cal's overwhelming grasp, Rose felt free to travel up to her old stateroom to pick up a few more clothing items and knick knacks, although there were already two ladies in steerage making her brand new dresses of humbler designs than what she currently owned. Jack of course, didn't volunteer or ask to tag along, he was right behind her, and she was glad for it. She felt safer with him, like no one could force her to stay above and like Lovejoy's spirit couldn't attack her just so long as he was at her side.

The door opened with a familiar heaviness, and she was quick to dart back to her things as Jack stood in the sitting area with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He rocked on his heels, watching her flash around hunting things down. She muttered about not being able to find some jewelry as she finished up and Jack chuckled. How kind of Cal, to give her cash and that goddamned necklace but to take back some of her more petty pieces of jewelry. He shook his head as she returned and offered her a smile. "Maybe they're just not where you remember?"

"No, that's not it, I always put them back in the box," She sighed. "I suppose I just didn't deserve them in the end." She bit the comment off sharply, but spat it without chewing a bit. She was getting rather snippy, and Jack wondered how much of that was his own fault.

Before they had the chance to leave, the master-at-arms walked into the doorway and looked around, immediately recognizing her when he saw her. "Miss Dewitt Bukater, I did not expect to see you here again." He walked a few more steps further, glancing around. "Shame, what happened. Were you particularly close to Mr. Lovejoy, Miss?"

"I'm afraid not," Rose frowned at Jack and he nodded his understanding, tucking an arm around her shoulders tightly, to hold her close before he moved to guide her out.

"I feel as though I should warn you, we don't have evidence to hold Mr. Hockley much longer. Afraid we have more that he did not kill Mr. Lovejoy." He watched as they froze just before the door.

"Um," Jack turned back. "I thought you caught him with the gun? And the body?"

"We did, young man," He looked Jack up and down, clearly marking him with disdain. "But when we took him into our custody he had no gunpowder on his hands. There's always gunpowder when you shoot a man." He walked to the window to look out at the water, which was peachy now that dusk had started to fall. "No, our suspicion now, mine and Mr. Lightfoot's, is that he knows who killed Spicer Lovejoy and he's protecting them."

Jack immediately raised his hands in defense. "Listen, he was a pain in the ass but I never wanted the guy dead…" Both Rose and the Master glared slightly at his use of the profanity, and Jack sighed. "Besides, I was in my room. All my roommates will tell you."

"And you, Miss Dewitt Bukater? You were not close to Mr. Lovejoy, but did you hold a grudge against him?"

"God, no! I was with Jack…I couldn't have killed him."

"I thought not, Miss. Just my duty to ask." He bowed slightly, as if to show defeat. "The very best to you, Miss. Please see to it that Mr. Dawson gets back where he belongs soon, or we'll be having complaints." He walked away and out the door and Rose glanced to Jack, then she made the quick trip down the little corridor that lead to Cal's room and, with a sigh of relief, found his door unlocked.

She regretted it soon after she opened that door, the carpet was stained with a great deal of blood. She supposed in a man of Lovejoy's size, that was to be expected. Covering her mouth with her hand, she choked back the urge to vomit, and turned to Jack. She didn't say anything, her eyes were full of tears, her face was pale, and he knew. Before he had a chance to gather her up, though, the bang of the door behind him made him jump.

"What are you two doing in here? This room was sealed to preserve evidence!" It was Lightfoot, and he was in quite a rage. Jack tried to think up his best excuse, but before he could work his magic on the angry detective, he was called to his lover, by her gripping his shirt. The noise the door made, on top of the smell and sight of dried blood had upset her so. She barely looked at him as she turned to face him and promptly vomited all over his front.

Freshly bathed and changed into a clean set of clothes that another passenger had loaned him while his were washed by a friend, Jack tossed his wet towel with an angry motion as he glared at Lightfoot, who was watching him with a slightly guilty expression as he exited the wash room. Taking a deep breath he considered what he wanted to say, but he realized he wasn't calm enough to try and talk to this insufferable man. He dug in his pockets for a cigarette that he had bummed and lit it with the matchbook that he had swiped from Rose's room, waving the match out before he took a long, deep drag.

He waited long enough to exhale that drag and take another before he tried to speak to Lightfoot. "She wanted to be there. I can't explain it but she had to see it."

Normally, the other man would have made a comment like 'Clearly', but it seemed so inappropriate. The young lady had been so embarrassed. He had half expected to find them out as murderers, but seeing her reaction to the scene of the crime had quickly changed his mind, about her. He studied Jack and stood up straight from his place against the wall. "The situation is very…difficult."

"Tell me about it," Jack immediately made to go back to his stateroom, where he had laid Rose down to rest and settle her stomach while he bathed. His concern wasn't for his image, but for her health. The investigator followed, and that was just as well. Jack knew he had no authority on the ship, the crew were just letting him play police officer. And as long as Rose was safe, he wasn't concerned. "I suppose you still have questions that need answers…"

"Mr. Dawson, one of the important parts of solving a crime is establishing motive…"

"Yes, I'd heard that somewhere before."

Lightfoot caught up to try and avoid the puffs of smoke that were flowing back behind Jack as he walked, feeling like the artist was blowing him off in more ways than one. "I'm having a difficult time understanding why Mr. Hockley would kill Lovejoy, or, why he would cover for someone else who did. Unless…"

"It all comes down to Rose," Jack knew she couldn't have, but the fact that Cal had given her money, that in and of itself was suspicious. He knew they couldn't find out about that. "Were you aware that Miss Dewitt Bukater's jewelry had been picked through, detective?"

Lightfoot wrinkled his nose at the disdain in the younger man's voice. "Call me Mr. Lightfoot," He corrected. "And do continue."

"She couldn't find some stuff when we were in her room. I suspect whoever took her necklace got the rest too and maybe they were involved. Maybe Lovejoy caught them and they killed him. Maybe Cal caught Lovejoy stealing Rose's sh-" He paused, glancing at the other man. "Er, things."

"That wouldn't explain where those things are now," Lightfoot muttered.

"Well, I'm not the detective, sir. It's your job to figure that out," Approaching his door at last, he turned to him. "You have yourself a nice evening, I'm going to go see if Rose is feeling any better."

Spicer Lovejoy had had enough of the cat and mouse game. He was exhausted, and, at present, felt that his salary did not reasonably fit his tasks. Sighing, he was more than prepared to sleep, but as he was going to pass Miss Rose's room, he saw the light on through the cracked door, and hoped beyond hope, that she had returned for the night. For good. At least long enough so he could sneak in and grab her and take her back to Cal, who had gone to bed only ten or fifteen minutes ago.

Pushing the door very slowly, he took a deep breath and looked around the door frame, but Rose was not in sight. He could hear someone ransacking her things, and his concern, suddenly, became Mr. Hockley's property. Clearly, a thief had somehow gotten into the room. Probably that slime from the third class that Miss Rose had taken with. Sneering, he drew his pistol and stepped slowly into the room and across the sitting area, creeping back toward her bedroom.

Sliding through that open door, he paused and lowered the hand holding the gun. Staring in shock, he shook his head before managing to speak up. "Wh-what are YOU doing in here?" The figure turned, and Spicer knew he had been right about their identity. "What the hell are you doing in here? What are you doing with those things?"

The shot sounded like thunder cracking through the calm of night, and Cal, having just retired to him room and seated himself for a brandy, immediately realized it had come from Rose's room. Panicked, sure she had returned and been killed by her gutter rat, he ran across the little hallway to her suite, and threw open the connecting door. When he saw Lovejoy laying on the floor, he nearly vomited. The man was still alive, trying to stutter past the blood in his mouth. Cal looked up at the figure standing nearby. "What have you done?"

He could hear people coming and had to decide quickly. He grabbed the gun and waved to the door behind him. "Go. Shut it behind, will you? I'll…I'll see what I can do…" It had been his intention to bend down and try to control the bleeding, but the idea of ruining his suit had paused him, and the door opened before he had the chance.

The knocking at the door was what woke her. Jack had left only moments ago to play cards and drink with his friends, she had insisted that she was all right. She just didn't feel up for drinking beer a few hours after having been sick. Some food might do her some good though, so she was hoping the person knocking had brought her something from the dining room. Helga often smuggled breads and things in napkins and she was such a sweet girl. Rose wasn't expecting what she found when she opened the door.

Ruth Dewitt Bukater managed something of a smile when she saw her daughter's round, perfect face. She remembered being seventeen, only too well. She had married Rose's father and been newly pregnant with her by her 18th birthday, and she had hoped the same would come to pass for her daughter. She had hoped to be saved from her life, which seemed to be sinking around her with only one lifeboat, Hockley. Rose didn't know how Ruth had found the nerve to climb down that low, but she knew it must be important if she had.

Ruth paused, glancing her daughter over. She was wearing a pale blue dress that she had insisted on buying from France, designed to be far simpler than the rest of her clothes. A little less restrictive than some of her pieces. "Darling," She said softly. "I…I don't know what to do with Truvy. She's just been so sick with grief for you and so I sent her to rest. I was hoping you would help me get ready for dinner." She smiled a little more at her only child, reaching to stroke her face. "And that you would join us, one last time before the ship docks Thursday?"

Rose didn't know why she said yes, but she did, and the elevator ride up the decks felt like riding an elevator in a shaft filled with water. Long, and deadly, terrifying. She helped Ruth dress for dinner and took the short walk to the staircase, to make the descent back down into the bowels of the ship. That's where Cal, newly cleaned up to enjoy his freedom met them. Ruth, who normally would slip her arm into his, walked right past and he offered Rose the crook of his limb instead.

"I never realized how lovely you were in blue," He commented, looking her up and down. "I'm glad you joined us. I need to speak with you. Alone."

Jack was a little bit drunk by the time he reached his cabin, and he had every intention of going back to get more hammered, but the plate of food in his hand wasn't going to go to waste in some other asshole's belly. He had tried to find things that Rose would like, although he didn't know a lot about what she did like at this point. Hell, everyone liked rolls and potatoes, right? They had to. He couldn't imagine life without either. Surely his beautiful lady would appreciate the lengths he went to to get the plate of food there in one piece!

Managing to open the door he turned the light on and strode up to the bed, where the covers were lumped together on his bunk. "Hey, if you sleep so much this early, you'll be up all night, silly! Wake up, I brought something to eat!" He laughed at the sound of his own voice and bent down to shake her. "Rose? C'mon…." When he touched the blankets, of course, they fell right to the mattress and he blinked in surprise. "Rose?"

He knew he shouldn't be there, but when the younger Miss Dewitt Bukater followed her mother down to dinner, he couldn't resist having a peak. JUST a look. The door had not closed all the way as they walked away and he had smiled politely, pausing behind them to catch it and slither in, since no one else was passing by to see them. He had to work quickly, God only knew how long they would be gone.

He skimmed through books and photos, looked at the empty ash trays in the room and the mostly empty liquor bottles. It was all very interesting. But not of any help. She didn't have any notes laying around so he wondered if she even had any friends that she communicated with. He strolled over to her wardrobe and popped it open, chuckling at the tiny little corsets inside. God, women were mad for willingly wearing the damn things!

Suddenly, he spotted a dress in the back that was half laying on the floor. He bent to lift it and pulled it out, it was pale green, and light. Probably something she only wore around the house, so to speak. He doubted, however, that she walked through large amounts of blood on a daily basis. The train of her gown would say otherwise and he ran his fingers over it. Crunchy, dry, but pretty fresh.

Lightfoot let out a deep sigh, glancing up thoughtfully. "She knows something. She was there."