Free The Duke of Olympia Meets His Match by Juliana Gray Page A

that we proceed at once to the safe in question and examine these papers.”
    Mr. Morrison’s expression turned to shock. “Examine the papers?”
    â€œWhy, yes. Of course. That’s the object of our mission, isn’t it? To close the case, to bring the matter in hand. If these papers contain the information we suspect, why, we may sit back and enjoy the rest of the voyage in perfect ease.”
    The first officer drew up his nose. His shoulders followed proudly. “But that is impossible, Your Grace.”
    â€œImpossible?”
    â€œI’m afraid so. I stand ready to assist you by any means in my power, but the White Star Line does not violate the sacred trust of its passengers. I regret
deeply
to inform you that if Miss Morrison has placed her personal property inside the ship’s safe, why, it must remain there undisturbed until she chooses to remove it.”
    At that instant, a familiar straight-backed figure appeared at the doorway of the deckhouse, dressed in a plain coat of cream-colored wool and a small navy felt hat. She turned her head in his direction, widened her eyes in a flash of recognition, and stepped onto the deck, followed immediately by Miss Ruby Morrison.
    Olympia watched them stagger up the long reach of the deck, arm in arm, white skirts swaying against the wooden boards and catching the briny wind, and they made him think of sails.
    Sails, filling with air, leaning exuberantly into the clear blue future.
    The cigar had burned to a stub. He tossed it over the rail and tucked his scarf a little more closely about his neck. “I quite understand your predicament, Mr. Simmons. You may consider the White Star safe quite sacrosanct.”
    â€œAnd the papers, sir?” asked Mr. Simmons, quite pained.
    Olympia smiled and turned his attention once more to the two female figures, now disappearing around the front of the deckhouse. The freshening air tingled his lungs.
    â€œNever you fear, Mr. Simmons. I have the matter well in hand.”

Day Three
    SS
Majestic
    At sea
    When Penelope found her deck chair in the hour before breakfast, she discovered there was only one passenger aboard the
Majestic
foolish enough to brave the frigid air that morning: herself.
    The weather, which had begun to turn the previous afternoon, now blew in long diagonal gusts against the starboard side of the ship; the ocean had developed a restless swell. The steward, arranging the chair on the more sheltered port side, turned and faced her with an expression that might have been admiration (those pointed eyebrows!) or foreboding (that curled mouth!). She thanked him with a smile and a silver quarter, which he slipped into his pocket before hurrying back inside, leaving her in solitude.
    Blessed, immaculate solitude.
    She drew the thick plaid blanket up her lap, almost to her chest, and unfolded her book with mittened hands. Another gust of wind numbed her cheek, but by God it was worth it, just to be alone for an hour, without a single demand upon her atten—
    A deck chair clattered down beside her.
    â€œRight here, now, sonny,” said a deep voice, which ought to have been familiar, except that it arrived in brusque American accents.
    â€œCertainly, Mr. Penhallow,” said the steward, and the legs of the deck chair scraped against the wooden boards.
    â€œNow, you don’t mind, do you, Mrs. Schuyler? Misery loves company?” There was a hearty laugh, and Penelope looked up into a pair of dancing blue eyes, framed by a set of extravagant brown whiskers and a woolen cap set low on a weathered forehead. “And there’s no misery on earth to beat the howl of a good solid mid-Atlantic gale, I always say.”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Penelope. “I can think of a few.”
    The steward stood back. “Here you are, Mr. Penhallow. The coffee’s on its way.”
    â€œThank you, thank you.” The chair creaked under the weight of