The stewards served out the next course: blinis with sour cream and fresh Malossol caviar. The blinis were supposed to be served with Polish vodka, in diminutive Wielkopolski glasses, but the steward who was bringing all the glasses into the dining lounge on a large kidney-shaped tray was fatally deceived by the Arcadia's hesitation on the peak of each roll, and attempted to cross an open stretch of floor just as the ship began to roll back again. A hundred glasses smashed, to the delighted and slightly hysterical applause of the cabin-class diners.
It was just as the essence of black mushrooms au Chablis was being served that the first of the crises occurred. The Fifth Officer, Derek Holdsworth, balanced his way into the first-class dining lounge with his white cap wedged under his arm, and whispered with obvious urgently into Dick Charles' ear. Dick Charles whispered back at him, and then abruptly sprang to his feet. A more experienced officer, of course, would have smoothly excused himself and left without causing a commotion. But Dick Charles was both inexperienced and overexcited, especially after this morning's games of Corkies with Lady Diana FitzPerry. He flapped his hands for silence, and then he announced, "My lords, ladies, and gentlemen. An emer—an emergency has arisen. It apuh—it apuh—it appears that a young g-girl has become trapped in the rigging. She may be in d-danger of duh—she may be in danger of duh—she may be in danger of drowning. So I must leave you at once, and d-do what I can to rescue her."
Crumpling up his napkin and throwing it on to the table, Dick Charles followed Derek Holdsworth to the staircase.
It took a few seconds for Dick Charles' announcement to register in the further comers of the dining lounge. But then, with one noisy accord, as if they had just received the news of the declaration of another war, or the sudden death of Mae Murray, the first-class company rose from their seats, and followed him up the staircase to the boat-deck.
"What on earth's up?" demanded Edgar.
Mark Beeney, coming across and taking Catriona's arm, said quietly, "It sounds like you've got trouble."
For a moment, Catriona was jostled away from Mark by excited passengers; all pearls and fringes and beaded headbands; but then suddenly Philip Carter-Helm appeared, and politely but very firmly held back two overexcited French ladies so that Catriona could make her way through.
"Thank you," she said.
Philip smiled that disturbing smile of his. He was handsome, all right, but for some reason she couldn't find him attractive. Perhaps it was because he seemed to be so smug. He always gave her the impression that he knew something which she didn't.
"I wouldn't go up on deck, if I were you," said Philip. "It's jolly wild out there."
Mark came up behind Catnona and took her arm again. "Philip," he acknowledged him.
"I was advising Miss Keys not go up on deck," said Philip.
Mark grinned. "I think you'll find that Miss Keys has a mind of her own. She's not always right; but she's always determined."
Catriona said, quite kindly, "I do think that I can look after myself, thank you, Mr Carter-Helm."
Charles Schwab, the American steel billionaire, stood aside to let Catriona pass him on the sloping stairs. "I have to tell you, Miss Keys, this is just about the most exciting maiden voyage I was ever on. Just marvellous. Is this a stunt, too, this drowning child? You really know how to keep your passengers entertained."
Although the first-class passengers were now crowding the grand staircase, and chattering in anticipation, the dining-room stewards politely but adamantly refused to permit them out on deck. It was too wild out there, and the last thing Sir Peregrine wanted was to lose some expensive socialite over the side. White Star officials still shuddered when they thought of Colonel Astor and Mr. Benjamin Guggenheim going down in the Titanic, and that had been more than twelve years ago now. Collectively, the passengers on board the Arcadia were worth more than 450 million dollars, and Keys were very anxious to keep them all on board.
Catriona found Edgar by the double doors that led out on to the boat deck. He was struggling into a yellow oilskin, and black galoshes. "What's going on out there?" she demanded, over the hubbub of excited passengers.
"A little girl went out to see the storm," Edgar shouted back. "Derek Holdsworth says she was almost swept overboard, but she got herself caught up in one of the electric cranes. That's all I know. Apparently they can't reach her."
"I'm coming out too," Catriona insisted.
"You can't! The sea's running all over the decks!"
"I am coming!" Catriona shouted. "It's my ship and I'm coming!"
Mark Beeney put his arm around Catriona and said to Edgar, "It's okay. I'll come out too and take care of her."
Edgar snapped up the buttons of his oilskin, his face bland and unexpressive. Then he said, "All right. Steward, help them into their waterproofs, will you?" With that, he nodded to Derek Holdsworth to open the door for him, and the stepped out with his head bent into the howling wind.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please!" called out Percy Fearson, from the side of the foyer. "The weather's too rough for any of you to go out on deck! Please carry on with your luncheon! There isn't anything you can do, except finish your meal! We'll keep you informed of everything that happens!"
Douglas Fairbanks elbowed his way forward. "Miss Keys," he said. "I understand that a young girl is caught up in the rigging somehow. Well, I insist that I come out to help. Swinging around in the rigging is my forte, after all."
Catriona didn't really look her best at that moment. The steward had given her an ankle-length yellow oilskin with sleeves that reached her knees, and a pair of rubber galoshes that were so huge she could a take a step in them. Mark, with a large yellow sou'wester pulled over his eyes, looked as if he were posing for an advertisement for Compass brand sardines.
Catriona looked towards Percy Fearson and said, "Do you think it's all right if Mr. Fairbanks comes?"
"I should reckon it's all right," said Percy Fearson. "Seeing as how he clambered
around in The Thief of Baghdad."
"You saw that picture?" asked Douglas Fairbanks with a flashing grin. "Did you like it?"
Marcia had now realised that Mark was going out on deck with Catriona. She tried to stagger towards them through the crowded foyer, but George Welterman held her arm. "You heard what they said," he told her. "We should just go back and finish our luncheon."
"But Mark's going outside."
"He's an experienced sailor. Me won't get into any trouble."
"Not with the sea, maybe."
"You mean you're concerned about Mark and that Keys girl?" asked George. "Well, perhaps you have cause to be. But it's her ship he wants, not her affections."
Marcia gave him a quick, uncomprehending glance. "Her ship?" she asked. Then she turned away and began to clamber back down the staircase, gripping the handrail to help her balance. Most of the rest of the passengers began to follow her and resume their meal.
Derek Holdsworth opened the doors for Mark and Catriona, and helped them out on to the boat deck. The wind and the spray hit Catriona in the face like a bucketful of crushed ice. She staggered and slipped, and Mark had to catch her arm and guide her across to the handrail.
"Can you manage?" yelled Derek Holdsworth. "I'll be along in a minute with Mr. Fairbanks. The girl's on the starboard crane on the promenade deck.
"All right," Mark shouted back.