England. I've no further use for you.'
Every word was like a blow and she backed away from him, holding her hands up in front of her as if to ward off his curses. She bumped against the cabin door. Desperate to get away from him, she opened it and backed out.
The freezing night air cleared her head suddenly. She was behaving like a helpless girl, not a mature, capable woman. She had lost control of her life briefly, and it was time to seize it back again.
A man in evening dress walked past her, smoking a cigar. He stared at her nightclothes in astonishment but did not speak to her.
That gave her an idea.
She stepped back into the cabin and closed the door. Micky was straightening his tie in the mirror. 'There's someone coming,' she said urgently. 'A policeman!'
Micky's demeanor changed in a flash. The sneer was wiped off his face and replaced by a look of panic. 'Oh, my God,' he said.
Augusta was thinking quickly. 'We're still within British waters,' she said. 'You can be arrested and sent back on a coast guard cutter.' She had no idea whether this was true.
'I'll have to hide.' He climbed into the trunk. 'Close the front, quickly,' he said.
She shut him in the trunk.
Then she flipped the latch to lock it.
'That's better,' she said.
She sat on the bed, staring at the trunk. In her mind she went over and over their conversation. She had made herself vulnerable and he had wounded her. She thought of how he had caressed her. Only two other men had touched her breasts: Strang and Joseph. She thought of how he had twisted her nipple then spurned her with obscene words. As the minutes went by her rage cooled and became a dark, vicious yearning for revenge.
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 he knew as death closes its fist over your heart.'
He began to shout. 'Help! Help! Someone, save me!'
Augusta grabbed the strap and lifted with all her strength. The bottom of the trunk came up off the deck. As Micky realized what was happening his muffled shouts became louder and more terrified, sounding above the engines and the sea. Soon someone would come. Augusta gave another heave. She lifted the foot of the trunk to chest level and stopped, exhausted, feeling she could do no more. Frantic scrabbling sounds came from inside as Micky tried hopelessly to get out. She closed her eyes, clenched her jaw, and pushed. As she strained with all her might, she felt something give way in her back, and she cried out with pain, but she kept lifting. The bottom of the trunk was now higher than the top, and it slid forward on the rail several inches; but it stopped. Augusta's back was in agony. Any moment now a passenger would be roused from a half-drunk sleep by Micky's cries. She knew she could only lift one more time. This had to be final. She gathered her strength, closed her eyes, gritted her teeth against the pain in her back, and heaved.
The trunk slid slowly forward on the rail, then fell into space.
Micky screamed a long scream that died into the wind.
