A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [221]
Micky’s voice, muffled, came from inside the trunk. “Augusta! What’s happening?”
She made no reply.
He began to shout for help. She covered the trunk with blankets from the bed to deaden the sound.
After a while he stopped.
Thoughtfully, Augusta removed the luggage labels bearing her name from the trunk.
She heard cabin doors slam: passengers were heading for the dining room. The ship began to pitch slightly in the swell as it steamed out into the English Channel.
The evening passed quickly for Augusta as she sat on the bed brooding.
Passengers trickled back in twos and threes between midnight and two o’clock. After that the band stopped playing and the ship became quiet but for the sounds of the engines and the sea.
Augusta stared obsessively at the trunk in which she had locked Micky. It had been carried up here on the back of a muscular porter. Augusta could not lift it, but she thought she could drag it. It had brass handles on the sides and leather straps top and bottom. She took hold of the leather strap on its top and pulled, tilting the trunk sideways. It tipped over and fell on its face. It made a loud bang. Micky began to shout again, and she covered the trunk with blankets once more. She waited to see if anyone would come to investigate the bang, but no one did. Micky stopped yelling.
She seized the strap again and pulled. It was very heavy, but she was able to move it a few inches at a time. After each tug she rested.
It took her ten minutes to drag the trunk to the cabin door. Then she put on her stockings, boots and fur coat, and opened the door.
There was no one around. The passengers were asleep, and if a crew member patrolled the decks she did not see him. The ship was lit by dim electric bulbs, and there were no stars.
She dragged the trunk through the cabin door and rested again.
After that it was a little easier, for the deck was slippery with snow. Ten minutes later she had the trunk up against the rail.
The next part was more difficult. Taking hold of the strap, she lifted one end of the trunk and tried to bring it upright. On her first try she dropped it. The sound it made when it hit the deck seemed very loud, but once again no one came to investigate: there were intermittent noises all the time on the ship, as its funnels belched smoke and its hull cleaved the waves.
The second time she made a more determined effort. She got down on one knee, seized the strap with both hands, and slowly heaved up. When she had the trunk tilted at a forty-five-degree angle Micky moved inside, his weight shifting to the bottom end, and suddenly it became easy to push the whole thing upright.
She tilted it again so that it was leaning on the rail.
The last part was the hardest of all. She bent down and took hold of the lower strap. She took a deep breath and lifted.
She was not taking the whole weight of the trunk, for the other end was resting on the rail; but still it took all her strength to lift the thing an inch off the deck, and then her cold fingers slipped and she let it fall back.
She was not going to be able to manage it.
She rested, feeling drained and numb. But she could not give up. She had struggled so hard to bring the trunk this far. She had to try again.
She bent down and seized the strap again.
Micky spoke again. “Augusta, what are you doing?”
She answered in a low, clear voice. “Remember how Peter Middleton died,” she said.
She paused. There was no sound from inside the trunk.
“You’re going to die the same way,” she said.
“No, please, Augusta, my love,” he said.
“The water will be colder, and it will taste salty as it fills your lungs; but you’ll know the terror