Rosalind Kerr

Rosalind Kerr is 27 and was, until recently, the most discreet typist in a London surgery. She was born in Brighton, the daughter of a widow who took in sewing, and learned to type at a night course paid for with two years of savings. She types fast, without mistakes, and has the habit of rereading everything under her breath before handing it over. The doctor's patients hardly noticed her, and that is precisely what kept her in the job.

Her mother, in Brighton, receives one postcard a month with carefully chosen news. For years, Rosalind lived in a small rented room with faded wallpaper, a narrow bed, a mirror cracked from corner to corner, a hat hanging on a hook and a suitcase with few things in it. She ate little, slept badly and heard every step on the stairs as if it were a question.

She has fair skin, a delicate face and big eyes that widen when anyone raises their voice. Her brown hair was cut short and badly trimmed, and the boy's brown suit, too large, is held at the waist with pins. She wears a bowler hat pulled down over her forehead and walks with her shoulders hunched. She speaks softly, corrects herself all the time and, when she forgets the part, backtracks quickly, with an apology she doesn't know whom to address.

She says she is a boy, Teddy Ellery, sixteen, and that his father is in Cabin 5. She says they waited for the ship in an Antwerp hotel for nearly ten days, that the father read the London papers all day and would not let her leave the room. About Mrs. Garside, she recalls only that she spoke loudly, sang all through the house and called everyone dear, except her. She spent a lot. Rosalind only saw her at the surgery, and never dared say more than good morning.

Rosalind knows that someone as frightened as she is, in the middle of a ship bound for Quebec, can only be hiding something or protecting someone. When the detective speaks of burying, she shrinks back, asks that no one shout and swears she doesn't know what it is about. It may be the fright of an ordinary girl thrown into a story far too big. It may be someone who memorized what to say and fears forgetting it. The detective will have to decide which.