Chapter 13

A fter making arrangements with Harry to meet the following morning, I returned to the Mayfair Hotel in time to change for afternoon tea. I arrived early and sat at one of the tables at the far side, neither near the door nor the windows. I was somewhat obscured by a potted palm.

Mr. Chapman didn’t like my choice of tables. He left his position at the reservations desk and charged toward me with his nose in the air like a bloodhound catching the scent of its prey on the wind. “You must sit at the Bainbridge table, Miss Fox. It’s reserved for the family’s exclusive use, and neither Lady Bainbridge nor Miss Bainbridge are in attendance today.”

“I’d like to sit here, this once.” I waited, but he didn’t leave, so I looked past him toward the door. “Guests are starting to arrive.”

He spun around. “There’s no one there.”

“They walked out again, when they saw the desk unattended.”

He hurried away, his steps even quicker than before.

Mr. Chapman wasn’t the only one upset by my choice of a different table. The waiters got confused. Richard, the head waiter, always served the family, but I was seated in Gregory’s area. After whispering to one another and shooting odd looks at me, I called them both over.

“Don’t worry, Richard. Gregory may serve me today.”

“But it’s highly irregular, Miss Fox,” the head waiter said.

“I don’t mind. Truly.”

Richard glanced at Mr. Chapman, standing in the entrance greeting the first guests. “But if Sir Ronald finds out…”

“He won’t.”

Lady Pridhurst and Odette arrived, putting an end to the conversation. I greeted them with smiles.

They greeted me with scowls. In Odette’s case, it was accompanied by watery eyes and a handkerchief to her nose. When she lowered her hand, I could see that her nose was red and swollen from crying.

It wasn’t polite to point it out, so I did what all well brought up ladies do in such situations. I lied. “What a pleasant surprise it was to receive your invitation. You both look well.”

“Thank you, Miss Fox.” Lady Pridhurst glanced pointedly at her daughter when she didn’t respond.

“Thank you,” Odette repeated, her voice so soft I barely heard it.

Lady Pridhurst made a great show of admiring the sitting room with its crisp white tablecloths, shiny silverware, and dozens of potted palm trees. “This is a lovely room. The Coburg Hotel doesn’t have a sitting room quite as elegant as this one, or as large. Oh look, Odette, there’s a reading room and library tucked into the corner over there. Odette enjoys reading,” she told me. “Do you like to read, Miss Fox?”

We chatted like familiar acquaintances meeting again after happy times, but Odette’s miserable silence blanketed the first half hour with a sense of foreboding. It was a relief when Lady Pridhurst finally steered the conversation to the reason for their visit.

“My husband saw you in Hyde Park recently, Miss Fox. He thinks you overheard an interesting conversation he had with your friend about the journey home from Brighton.”

It would seem Lord Pridhurst had put two and two together and realized I’d been with Harry at Hyde Park. Whether he also realized I was a private detective remained to be seen.

“I was on the same train as you,” I said. “A young lady died on the journey, and Mr. Armitage and I are trying to get to the bottom of the mystery of how she died.”

Odette emitted a small sob into her handkerchief.

Her mother picked up her teacup. “What a terrible tragedy. To end one’s life like that… Most unfortunate.”

She sipped her tea before replacing the cup in the saucer. Watching her, it was as though nothing were amiss in her life. Yet her daughter was upset, her husband on the verge of losing his fortune and reputation, and she must know they were suspects in Ruth’s murder. I wondered if she was truly unaffected, or if it was merely a facade for the sake of appearances.

I was tired of politeness and circling the truth, so I got to the point. “Several people, including myself, don’t believe it was suicide. I’m sure Lord Pridhurst mentioned that to you, too.”

Her lips pinched into a grimace. “He seems to have misunderstood, Miss Fox. He thinks you blame Odette for pushing that girl out of the carriage.”

Odette’s attempt at smothering her sob failed. Several ladies at neighboring tables glanced at us. Lady Pridhurst hissed at her daughter, ordering her to be quiet.

“If that’s what he told you, then he has indeed misunderstood,” I said. “My friend was merely trying to discover everyone’s movements. You were in the fourth compartment, next to ours. A witness saw Odette sneak past the other compartments and enter the victim’s.”

Lady Pridhurst’s nostrils flared. “A lady doesn’t sneak , Miss Fox. It’s true that Odette went to that woman’s compartment, but it was done openly and without guile. If anyone says otherwise, they’re lying. Please pass that on to your investigator friend.”

I’d expected a flat denial. Her admission that Odette had indeed gone to Ruth’s compartment made my task a lot easier. I would let her win the argument over the way Odette had moved about the carriage. There were more important truths to be uncovered.

But they were Odette’s truths, not her mother’s. I wanted to hear what she had to say. Considering she’d come along, it would seem she intended to speak for herself. That was a point in the girl’s favor.

I gave her a sympathetic smile. “This has been a most trying situation for you, hasn’t it?”

Odette lowered the handkerchief to her lap and nodded.

“The woman who fell from the train was named Ruth Price. I believe she didn’t jump or fall by accident. I believe she was rendered unconscious in her compartment then bundled out through the window.” I paused to let her take that in. “It’s very important you tell me the truth, Odette. I know this is difficult for you, and you’re worried about Mr. Holland discovering your father’s…difficulties, but I won’t be the one to tell him.”

Odette finally lifted her gaze to mine. “Thank you, Miss Fox. It has been my greatest fear that he won’t propose. I very much want to marry him.” She glanced at her mother who encouraged her with a nod. “What do you want to know?”

“Was Ruth alive when you went into her compartment?”

“Yes. She was alive when I left, too.”

“Why did you go?”

“My father noticed her following us late on the last day of our holiday. Father confronted her and she admitted she worked for a gossip columnist who goes by the name Mrs. Scoop.”

“She just admitted it?” I asked.

“My husband can be persuasive,” Lady Pridhurst said. We locked gazes for a long moment before she looked away.

“He followed her to the hotel where she was staying,” Odette added.

No wonder Ruth had given up enough information to satisfy Lord Pridhurst. She must have been concerned that he knew where to find her. She may not have felt safe anymore.

Neither Odette nor Lady Pridhurst seemed to realize they’d just given Lord Pridhurst a strong motive for murdering Ruth.

“My father told us on the journey back to London that his misfortune was about to be splashed over the gossip pages of The Evening Bulletin thanks to Miss Price. He told me that Mr. Holland would feel deceived when he read about it. I was very upset. I blamed him, but he told me to direct blame to the person responsible for our imminent downfall.”

“That woman,” Lady Pridhurst bit off.

Odette pressed her lips together and lowered her head.

I bit my tongue. Pointing out that the family’s downfall was solely the fault of Lord Pridhurst wouldn’t keep Odette talking.

“I went to her compartment,” Odette went on. “I didn’t want anyone to see me and wonder why I was speaking to a stranger, so I was careful not to be seen.” She glanced at her mother, but Lady Pridhurst sat quite still. She looked like a classical marble statue, all pale and elegant and cold.

“And you confronted Ruth Price,” I prompted.

Odette nodded. “She told me she couldn’t stop the newspaper printing salacious details. She was merely the assistant to Mrs. Scoop, and it was up to her as to whether she wrote the article or not. Then I left and returned to my compartment.”

Lady Pridhurst patted her daughter’s hand in the first sign of affection since their arrival. “That woman was alive when Odette left her. She didn’t harm her.”

“Does the name Alastair McAllister mean anything to you?” I asked.

Both ladies shook their heads. Lord Pridhust must have met the driver alone when his wife and daughter were otherwise occupied. It was quite possible he noticed Ruth following him to that meeting and warned McAllister. Perhaps McAllister had panicked and decided to confront Ruth. He’d somehow found out when she was leaving Brighton and dressed in a disguise to follow her unobtrusively. Then he’d slipped into her compartment, according to the conductor, although Geraldine Lacroix hadn’t seen him leave the compartment they shared. Someone was lying to me.

“Thank you for coming here and talking to me,” I said. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

“This has been most upsetting for Odette. For me, too.”

I waited for them to rise and leave, but both remained seated.

“We have a proposition for you, Miss Fox,” Lady Pridhurst went on. “Could you ask your investigator friend to act as a go-between for us?” Lady Pridhurst opened her reticule and removed a banknote. She palmed it and, like Harry paying a bribe to the hotel porter, slipped it across the table to me. “Have him give this to Mrs. Scoop. Tell her it’s for her continued silence.”

I stared at her gloved hand and blew out a breath. “I doubt she would accept it. I’m not sure why she hasn’t printed the story yet, but it will appear soon, I’m sure.”

“When my husband confronted her, she told him she was verifying some details. No doubt The Evening Bulletin doesn’t want to be sued.” She tapped her finger on the tablecloth. “Take it, Miss Fox.”

I did. “I’ll use this to tempt her to forget the story, and return it if I can’t. I mean, I’ll ask Mr. Armitage to do it.”

That seemed to satisfy her. She rose. “Come along, Odette.”

Odette and I both stood. We bobbed small curtsies in farewell. But I couldn’t let them walk away without offering the poor girl some advice. Advice that her parents ought to give her, but I wasn’t sure they would. Denial seemed to be their response to a crisis. “You should tell Mr. Holland your situation as soon as possible. Marriages should be based on honesty. Beginning your marriage with a lie that is exposed later will destroy any chance of happiness.”

“And if he ends our courtship?” Odette asked in a trembling voice.

“Then you will know that he never loved you. He only wanted to marry you for what your father’s business could offer.”

Odette’s eyes filled with tears again. She bit her lower lip as it began to quiver.

Lady Pridhurst took her daughter’s arm. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Fox, but my husband and I can manage the situation with Mr. Holland, if you and your friend manage Mrs. Scoop.”

As they walked away, Lady Pridhurst bent her head to her daughter’s. I could just make out her quietly telling Odette that marriages for people like them were undertaken for different reasons than for ordinary people, and the sooner she understood that the more content she’d be.

With a sigh, I followed some distance behind. Odette’s shoulders slumped as they passed a smiling Mr. Chapman. I believed her when she claimed she left Ruth alive in her compartment. For one thing, Odette didn’t look strong enough to bundle anyone out of a window.

I tucked the banknote up my sleeve. I doubted Mrs. Scoop would drop the story about Lord Pridhurst, no matter how much anyone offered her, or pleaded for mercy. She’d shown no sorrow over the death of her assistant, so it was unlikely she’d have any sympathy for a stranger.

It was difficult to keep secrets in the hotel, so it wasn’t surprising when Flossy asked me why I’d had afternoon tea with Lady Pridhurst and Odette without her. She was rather put out not to be invited. I assumed Mr. Chapman tattled.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to completely lie to her. “They discovered I’m a private detective and hired me to run an errand for them. I’m afraid I can’t divulge its nature to you, Flossy. I must maintain discretion.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

“No.”

She sank into the corner of the sofa with a pout. “Let’s talk about our outfits for the wedding.”

We sat in her suite, waiting for the meals we’d ordered to be sent up from the kitchen. With no social engagements scheduled, we were able to enjoy a peaceful night at home. I was relieved, but Flossy seemed bored.

“We’ve already told each other what we’re wearing,” I said. “And we’ve discussed hairstyles and jewelry.”

She plucked at the piping on the sofa cushion. “Then we’ll talk about gentlemen. That blond guest with the gold-topped walking stick checked out yesterday and didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Had you been introduced?”

“No, but according to the fortune-telling machine at the Palace Pier’s arcade, he could be my husband one day.”

“Perhaps the machine was wrong.”

“Then my future husband could be anyone! How will I identify the man I’m supposed to marry if I don’t know what he looks like?”

She sank even further into the sofa. She didn’t rise to answer the knock on the door, so I got up, preparing to let in the waiter with our meals.

Instead, Floyd greeted me. “I’ve been looking for you, Cleo.”

I stepped aside to let him in, but he remained in the corridor. “Why have you been looking for me?”

“I’m about to go out and expect to be home very late.” He wore evening wear of a tailcoat with silk lapels and a top hat, but the black tie and waistcoat, instead of white, meant he wasn’t going somewhere too formal. Most likely he was meeting his chums at a party or club, rather than attending a ball or dinner.

“Is that wise, this close to the wedding? It’s only two days away.”

“That’s why I’m looking for you. When Harmony joins you for breakfast tomorrow morning, can you tell her not to wake me until midday. I’ll need my beauty sleep.”

Flossy proved she could hear us from the sitting room. “You need more than sleep, Brother!”

“I wouldn’t throw stones if I were you, Sister!”

I grabbed Floyd by the jacket lapel and dragged him inside. “Pipe down, both of you. The other guests will hear.”

Flossy appeared, arms crossed beneath her bosom. “What does that mean?” she asked Floyd.

He ignored her. “So will you tell Harmony for me, Cleo?”

“I won’t see her in the morning. I sent her a message to say I’m having an early breakfast and will be leaving the hotel before she starts work.”

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business.” I smoothed the wrinkle I’d left in his lapel when I’d grabbed it. “I don’t think you should have a late night. Tomorrow is the last chance to perfect all the last-minute details for the wedding. You’ll need to be alert and prepared, particularly with Mrs. Hessing still refusing to agree to the suppliers’ prices. What if they decide not to fulfill the orders until someone pays? Your father won’t be impressed if he’s left to pick up the bill.”

“Harmony will take care of it. That’s why I hired her.”

“It’s not her job to force Mrs. Hessing to pay. It’s yours. You are the liaison between the hotel and the client.”

“Stop worrying, Cleo. Everything will come together on the day.” He removed his watch by its chain from his waistcoat pocket. “I have to go.”

“Can I come?” Flossy asked.

“No. It’s not a place for young ladies.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“None of your business.” He seemed pleased to be able to throw my response back at me. He tempered it by chucking me under the chin. “Enjoy your outing tomorrow, Cousin. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“You too, Floyd,” I said with a resigned sigh.

Harry and I changed trains in Brighton and caught the service to Portslade on the western edge of Hove. The journey gave Harry plenty of time to tell me everything he knew about the Thousand Mile Trial, the event in which Alistair McAllister reportedly cheated. The Automobile Club of Great Britain & Ireland had organized the endurance trial to showcase the prowess of automobiles over a long distance. It wasn’t a race, but was designed to put to bed the notion that horseless carriages—as some still called motorized vehicles—were unreliable.

Held in April and May, the event had been a resounding success for the companies who’d managed to design and manufacture a vehicle that finished. Out of the sixty-five who took part, only thirty-five completed the course. The Brighton-Hove Automobile Company had been one of them. Interest in the company boomed. They couldn’t keep up with orders for new vehicles. Investors saw the potential and laid down large sums to encourage the company to expand.

The vehicle they’d entered had been driven by one of their founders and the head engineer, Alistair McAllister. According to the article written by Thomas Salter, a farmhand had claimed McAllister swapped his vehicle with another along the route. He’d hidden a spare vehicle in a barn on a farm outside Edinburgh. It looked identical to the one in which he’d started the Trial days earlier in London. By swapping the vehicle with older parts worn by constant driving on rough roads with the fresher one, he’d returned to London triumphant. McAllister was lauded as a hero of British auto manufacturing.

But his success was apparently based on a lie, and that lie had come unstuck when the farmhand told his story to Thomas Salter. Mr. Salter traveled to Brighton to speak to an employee at the Brighton-Hove Automobile Company. That fellow must have confirmed the story, because Mr. Salter’s article appeared in The London Tattler .

Everything Harry told me gave McAllister a motive for killing Thomas Salter, not Ruth. Yet, if we were correct, he’d dressed in a disguise and entered her compartment on the express to London. Even if he didn’t murder her, I wanted to know why he was interested in her.

We found the factory in Portslade easily enough. Everyone we asked for directions knew of it. The single building with all six of its chimneys spewing smoke was smaller than I expected, which explained why the Brighton-Hove Automobile Company had plans to move to a larger site, according to Harry. Those plans might be on hold now, if investors pulled out due to the cheating scandal.

We asked to speak to Alistair McAllister, but were directed to a stiff-lipped man in an office whose upper lip became even stiffer when we repeated our request to speak to McAllister.

“Your kind are not welcome here!” he bellowed.

“Our kind?” Harry echoed.

“Gutter press.”

“We’re private detectives from London.”

His demeanor instantly changed. He tugged his shirt collar away from his neck and cleared his throat. “Please inform your client that the Brighton-Hove Automobile Company did not cheat in the Thousand Mile Trial.” He stood and rounded the desk, approaching us cautiously, as if worried he’d frighten us away and therefore the client he imagined we represented. “He’s welcome to speak to us in person at any time. Please, let us have a chance to allay his fears before he makes any rash decisions.”

“You misunderstand,” Harry said. “We have no interest in the Trial and our client isn’t one of your investors. We want to speak to McAllister in relation to the death of Ruth Price.” He kept his voice even, but I detected a little tightness in the consonants. If the man didn’t give up the whereabouts to McAllister soon, Harry might lose his temper. It happened so rarely that I sometimes forgot it even existed.

I had little interest in seeing it again. It would probably have the opposite effect anyway and get us thrown out of the office. “What my colleague should have said is, we wish to speak to McAllister about the murder of a gossip columnist’s assistant on the express train from Brighton to London. If he doesn’t want to speak to us, then I’m afraid it will look very bad for him. Scotland Yard won’t like it.”

The man’s gaze shifted to peer past me. It was the only warning, but it didn’t come early enough.

“Turn around with your hands in the air,” came the growl from behind us. “Don’t do anything foolish or I will shoot.”