Chapter 4

M onty’s voice crackled down the line. “The missing woman is an assistant to a journalist.”

“Does the journalist work for The Evening Bulletin ?” I asked.

“How do you know?”

Aware that our conversation could be overheard by a telephone operator, I gave him the barest details. “She mentioned that newspaper when I met her in Brighton.” It explained why she’d mentioned only that newspaper in her threatening message to me. “Monty, she wanted me to help her with something, and she planned to speak to me about it once we were back in London.”

“I’ll pass that on to the detective. Hopefully he’ll want to question you.” From his tone, he didn’t sound convinced.

I hung up, then asked Peter if he had a few moments to join me in the staff parlor. I signaled for Goliath to come, too. He fetched Frank then went to the kitchen to see if Victor was free.

Harry watched us from behind his newspaper. As I drew closer, he arched his brows in question. He wanted to know what was going on.

I smiled and wiggled my fingers in a cheery wave identical to the one he’d given me earlier.

A few minutes later, the four men sat in the staff parlor, cups of tea in hand, and listened as I explained the case of the missing Ruth Price, and my connection to her. I finished by telling them Scotland Yard were not yet treating her disappearance as suspicious.

“The lead detective thinks she ran off with a man,” I said. “Mind you, he has no evidence to support his theory. Monty isn’t impressed and wants me to look into it.”

“Monty, eh?” Goliath snickered. “You and him courting, Miss Fox?”

“No.”

“You soon will be, I reckon.” He winked.

Frank made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “That doesn’t mean anything, idiot. She calls us by our first names, too.”

“That’s not the same thing. We’re staff. He’s her equal. When folk who are social equals start calling each other by their first name, it means something.”

Frank looked aghast at him. “Her equal? You really are an idiot. She’s a Bainbridge. That fellow is just a local plod.”

“I’m a Fox, not a Bainbridge,” I cut in before the conversation got heated.

“And that fellow is a detective sergeant,” Peter said with a glower for Frank. “He deserves some respect.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “Being a sergeant or detective doesn’t mean he should be respected. It’s character that matters.”

Before he worked for the hotel, the baby-faced cook had led a colorful life conning wealthy people out of their money. While he’d reformed his ways before the law caught up to him, he was not inclined to think favorably of policemen. He’d seen too many bad ones to blindly respect them all.

Frank and Peter looked like they’d disagree with Victor, so I quickly moved the conversation on before I lost control completely. If Harmony were here, she wouldn’t have let them stray off course as quickly as they had. Victor, for one, would listen to her.

“I need your ideas,” I told the men. “There may be something I’ve missed, something obvious. Ruth Price got on the train ahead of me. I passed her in her compartment before taking my seat. She was alone. To reach the next carriage, she would have had to pass our compartment, but I didn’t see her.”

“Your door had a window?” Frank asked.

“Yes. We could see anyone who passed.”

“You didn’t close your eyes?” Goliath asked.

“No. I was reading, but I would have seen someone pass.”

“Doesn’t the express make some stops before it reaches Victoria Station?” Peter asked.

“There are two. I wanted some air, so I opened the window and looked out while we stopped. No one got on or off our carriage. The conductor confirmed that, when I asked him once we reached our final destination and I realized she was missing. I asked Flossy if anyone passed our compartment on their way to the next carriage while I had my head out of the window, but she saw no one. So, what do you all think?”

“Perhaps she fell out of her compartment window,” Goliath said.

“She would have screamed. She didn’t, so that also rules out the possibility that she was pushed out while conscious.”

Peter had a theory that could explain that. “What if she did scream, but the train whistle masked it?”

Frank scoffed. “It would be impossible to get the timing right not knowing when the whistle was going to blow.”

“Improbable, not impossible.”

Victor got up and set his teacup on the table. “I need paper, a pencil and a map of the area between Brighton and London with the train line marked.”

Peter went to fetch the items.

“You think she was murdered first, don’t you, Miss Fox?” Goliath asked. “Someone stabbed her and pushed her dead body out of the window. That’s why she didn’t scream.”

“I’m afraid so. I can’t think of another explanation. There was nowhere to hide in that compartment, and she didn’t leave the car at any point en route.”

“Was there blood in her compartment?” Victor asked.

“I didn’t check, but I assume not, or the police would have been notified.” That ruled out his stabbing theory.

“You said she had a bag with her. You didn’t see it when you passed the empty compartment at Victoria Station?”

“I’m quite sure it wasn’t there.”

Peter returned with the items and laid the map out on one of the tables. He traced his finger over the black railway line between Brighton and London. It branched off at one point only to rejoin it again, to allow for the faster express train to overtake the train that stops all stations.

Goliath, standing behind us since he was taller, raised a good question. “Is there a slow section? Somewhere she could jump out without getting too hurt?”

Frank scoffed. “A woman jump out of a moving train?”

“Don’t you call me an idiot again.”

“Then don’t say idiotic things. Women don’t jump out of trains.”

I leaned closer to the map to study it. “While I generally agree with your sentiment that women tend not to do stupid things, Frank, I can think of one reason why she might jump out of a slow-moving train—she was trying to escape. However, the express doesn’t slow down except when it pulls into a station.” I pointed to the two stations on the line before Victoria, both in built-up areas. “They’re too public and it was broad daylight. We would have heard about witnesses seeing a woman jump from her compartment window by now. It had to have happened in the countryside, where no one was about. The train sped along without slowing, so I doubt anyone would survive the landing.”

Victor pointed to the Ouse Valley Viaduct. “My guess is here. There are a few scattered farmhouses, but none close to the viaduct.”

Peter offered the paper and pencil to Victor. “Did you want these to make a copy of the map?”

Victor took them, then passed them along to me. “Draw the layout of the carriage, taking note of who was in each compartment and where the exits are.”

I sat down and the men crowded around as I sketched the first-class carriage’s layout. “At the front end is the door that exits onto the platform. It’s the only direct access for passengers getting on or off. The compartments are on the left side of the narrow corridor. In the first compartment, starting at that end, was Ruth Price. She was alone. In the second compartment was the lady with the large hat who bumped into me on the platform in Brighton before I got on. I didn’t notice until we got off that there was another woman in there with her. She also wore a large hat. In compartment number three was Clement Beecroft.”

“The actor?” Goliath asked.

“Actor and impresario. There was a second man in his compartment. He was…odd.”

“In what way?” Peter asked.

“He looked like a laborer. Or a pugilist. His nose was somewhat squashed in.”

“In a first-class carriage?” Frank tutted. “What’s the world coming to?”

“Maybe he killed her,” Goliath agreed.

“I don’t think we should jump to conclusions based on a man’s clothes or nose,” I said wryly. “But I admit that he seemed out of place. In compartment number four were Lord and Lady Pridhurst and their grown daughter, Odette. I met them in Brighton. They stayed at the same hotel as us. Then it was we three, in the final compartment. No one passed our door to reach Ruth’s, so we can discount passengers from other carriages. Nor did Ruth go in the opposite direction to the next carriage. If she was murdered then bundled out of her window, the murderer must be someone occupying the compartments between hers and ours.” I counted up the dots I’d placed in each square that signified compartments. “Seven suspects. But something has just occurred to me.”

The men looked at me, but it was Victor whose mind worked most like mine. “You never saw their faces?” he asked.

“I did not.”

“Whose faces?” Peter asked.

I pointed to the second compartment, the one next to Ruth’s. “There were two women in here wearing large hats that obscured their faces. The one with the wine-red flowers on the brim had bumped into me just before I saw Ruth get on the train, but I didn’t see the other woman get on. I only saw her when I got off. What if she was Ruth? She may have carried the hat and clothes in her bag and changed into them before changing compartments at some point during the journey.”

“Why would she do that?” Goliath asked.

“To escape someone,” Frank told him.

I rather liked my theory, mostly because it meant Ruth was still alive. Even so, it would be unwise to dismiss the awful notion that she’d met her end on the express train from Brighton and her body had been discarded out of the window like a piece of rubbish.

The viaduct seemed the most likely place to find her, given its isolation, but tunnels were also a possibility. Somehow that method of disposal seemed more gruesome.

I folded up the map and handed it back to Peter. “I’ll catch the train to Balcombe tomorrow and search the area near the viaduct.” I’d probably be gone all day, so I needed to think of an innocent excuse to satisfy my family. I doubted my aunt and uncle would accept me going off in search of a dead body. It wasn’t the genteel sort of investigation they preferred me to conduct.

“I can come with you,” Victor said. “I have the day off tomorrow.”

We arranged to meet at Balcombe station so as not to raise suspicions if anyone saw us together. Victor said he’d inform Harmony when his shift ended that evening, and I set about laying the foundations of my excuse. In the end, the only thing I could think of that would deter Flossy from asking to join me on my day out was to tell her I was visiting the museum.

As expected, she wrinkled her nose and declared she had more interesting plans.

Victor and I traveled together in an omnibus out of the village of Balcombe. It was rare for us to spend time together without the presence of either Harmony or Harry, and the journey began awkwardly. I attempted to strike up a conversation by asking him about his work as a cook in the hotel kitchen, but his brief answers cut that short. The reason for his disinterest soon became clear. His mind was elsewhere.

“Miss Fox, may I ask you a question about Harmony?”

“You may, although I may not answer it, depending on its nature.”

“Fair enough.” He removed his cap and stroked the brim between his finger and thumb. He was uncertain, a trait that Victor rarely displayed. Now I was even more intrigued. “Do you think I have a future with her?”

“Aren’t you two already together?”

“Aye, but beyond now.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t be with you if she didn’t see a future with you. Victor, has something been said?”

“I haven’t asked her to marry me, but I wanted to gauge her interest, so I mentioned moving out of the residence hall one day. She said she’s happy as things are and doesn’t want to think too far ahead. Why would she say that if she’s sure about me?”

“Perhaps because you didn’t ask her to marry you. Sometimes you have to ask a clear question to get a clear answer.”

“Do you think I should ask her?”

While I wanted to encourage him, I would feel awful if the result was heartbreak. The truth was, I didn’t know Harmony’s wishes for the future any more than Victor did. “Harmony’s career is going swimmingly at the moment,” I told him. “Although her appointment as assistant to my cousin is temporary, it could lead to other promotions later. Marriage could put an end to that chance.”

“I wouldn’t stop her working if she didn’t want to.”

I smiled, but did not nod in agreement. Some men might say that, and mean it, but when they realized how much work went into keeping house and raising children, they changed their minds. Indeed, some married women gave up work they enjoyed out of sheer exhaustion. Juggling several demanding roles was difficult without the help of servants.

Harmony knew how the world worked. She also knew more opportunities would come her way if the wedding reception was a success. I wasn’t sure what she would choose to do if she had a choice or was forced to make one. Even if I had an inkling, it wasn’t my place to tell Victor.

“You have to have a proper conversation with her,” I urged him.

“And if I do and she rejects me, it will all come to an end.” He slapped his cap back on his head. “I don’t want that. Not yet.” Decision made, he turned to look out of the window at the verdant pastures until we reached our destination.

We alighted from the omnibus when the viaduct came into view. It was an impressive structure with multiple arches spanning the wide valley carved out by the River Ouse. If Harry were here, he’d tell me about the design and construction. Victor and I merely sighed as we realized how large our task was.

We began our grim search at the northern end, on the western side of the viaduct since that was the Brighton to London side. Although it cut through paddocks, the immediate vicinity was rather bushy. There’d not been much rain of late, but even so, I was glad I’d worn sturdy boots that I didn’t mind getting muddy.

A train sped along the line some hundred feet above, but once it disappeared into the distance, the only sounds came from birds. We took our time, checking near the base of the hollowed-out brick supports as well as further afield, until we reached the river itself. It was smaller than I expected. It would be almost impossible to time it so that an object dropped from the fast-moving train landed in the river. It was also highly doubtful anyone would survive such a big fall.

“Miss Fox! Over here.” Victor held up a tortoiseshell hair comb.

We exchanged glances before continuing the search. It wasn’t long before we found the brown leather bag belonging to Ruth. It had burst open, and its contents were scattered about. A chemise and a pair of bloomers were stuck to bushes and glass bottles with jewel-colored enamel lids had smashed on impact. They would have been a lovely travel set used at her toilette. Her opera glasses had suffered a similar fate.

I looked around for documents or a journal, but found none. There wasn’t even a book or newspaper that she could read on the journey. I did find two pencils, however.

“Don’t come any closer.” Victor accompanied his warning with a hand extended to ward me away. “I’ve found her.”

All I could see were a pair of lace-up boots attached to a woman’s legs. One of the ankles was twisted at an unnatural angle. The rest of the body was hidden by the bushes.

I heeded Victor’s warning at first, but after some thought, I decided I had to see the body. There might be clues on it and two sets of eyes were better than one.

Although I’d solved a few murders, I’d rarely seen a dead body. Falling from a great height would cause considerable injury. Despite steeling myself, I wasn’t prepared for the sight of poor Ruth Price. She was bloodied and broken, her skin discolored with bruising, her limbs askew.

I turned away and drew in a few deep breaths before looking again. This time, I was more clinical, taking in as many details as I thought might be necessary.

“There’s a lot of blood,” I said. “That indicates that the impact with the ground killed her. No one heard her scream, so we can rule out an accidental fall from her compartment window. That leaves suicide or she was pushed out by someone. I don’t believe she planned to kill herself and if she didn’t scream, she must have been rendered unconscious in her compartment first.”

Victor crouched near her head. “It’s impossible to tell if she was struck first. I doubt even an autopsy could determine that. But I do agree with you. Given all the blood, she must have died here. Are you sure suicide can be ruled out?”

“I suppose not entirely without speaking to someone who knew her state of mind, but she made plans to meet me upon our return to London. People who are about to kill themselves don’t make arrangements for rendezvous.”

I asked Victor to look away while I lifted her skirts. Her petticoat and bloomers were still in place and showed no rips, so I was reasonably sure she hadn’t been sexually forced. I lowered her skirts then checked her pockets. Empty.

I was about to stand when I noticed something. “Does that mark on her neck look out of place to you? I don’t think a fall would have caused such a straight injury.” It looked to me like she’d been strangled. If her airway had been cut off by strangulation, that would render her unconscious.

Victor looked closer. “It is very straight but there’s so much bruising, I’m not sure. A medical professional should know.”

We walked back to Balcombe, where we alerted the local sergeant to the body. I advised him to contact Scotland Yard and ask for Detective Sergeant Forrester. Even though it wasn’t Monty’s case, I hoped requesting him would change that.

It did not. The team that arrived at the site where we waited was led by Detective Sergeant Fanning. I’d met him when investigating the murder of a polo player in June. While not outwardly hostile toward me during that case, he’d been disinclined to listen to me. He was also rather incompetent. He agreed with the Balcombe police who’d already forbidden me from getting close to Ruth Price’s body, even though I explained that I’d already seen it. Apparently my ‘delicate female sensibilities’ would find it too overwhelming and they didn’t want a fainting woman on their hands in addition to a dead one.

“Very well, I won’t come any closer, but may I draw your attention to the straight mark on her neck. It seems out of place compared to the rest of her injuries.”

While most of the men dealt with the body, I searched the area again with Victor and some of the constables. By the time Ruth’s body was ready for transportation, we’d found her purse with coins strewn about, several hairpins, and a second tortoiseshell comb. There were no letters, books or papers.

I traveled back to Balcombe with D.S. Fanning and two of his men, while Victor preferred to ride separately with the Balcombe police. I took the opportunity to tell Fanning I’d caught the same train as Ruth Price and been the one to alert D.S. Forrester when I didn’t see her get off at Victoria Station.

“Forrester says you were alarmed,” he said. “Based on what evidence?”

“She didn’t leave the carriage at either of the other stops and she didn’t get off before me at Victoria Station. Her compartment was empty.”

D.S. Fanning reached into his jacket pocket and removed a pencil and small notebook. He flipped to a blank page and wrote my name followed by my statement. “Did you hear a scream?”

“No.”

He lowered the pencil. “How well did you know her?”

“I met her in Brighton. She asked me to help her with something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. She said she’d tell me when we returned to London.”

“Why you?”

“I don’t know.”

“She must have needed a lady detective.”

“There’s no need to add the word lady before detective.”

He looked confused. “But you are a lady, Miss Fox.”

I sighed, then told him everything I thought he ought to know, from the moment I first noticed her on West Pier watching the Pridhursts, to not seeing her when I passed her compartment as the train rolled into Victoria Station.

He wrote down some of it, but not all. “Are you sure you didn’t hear a scream coming from her compartment during the journey?”

“As I already told you, no, I didn’t.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” He put away his pencil and notebook. “Shame. I saw the photograph the brother left with us yesterday and she was pretty.”

“I fail to see what that has to do with anything,” I said hotly.

“Now don’t get upset, Miss Fox, it was just an observation that it’s a shame a pretty young thing would end her own life.”

I bit my tongue, but it was no good. On rare occasions, my anger took on a life of its own and would not be contained. This was one of those times. “Is it not a shame when anyone takes their own life, Detective, pretty and young or otherwise?”

“I was just?—”

“And what makes you so sure she killed herself?”

His nostrils flared. “I don’t have to justify my professional opinion to you.”

“Is it because she didn’t scream? That’s your only reason? As I just told you, she made plans to meet me in London. A woman wanting to kill herself on the way doesn’t make plans for the near future. You need to wait for the results of an autopsy to determine the cause of death, and you should speak to someone close to her to know more about her state of mind before accepting or rejecting any theory. The brother who reported her missing would be a good place to start.”

D.S. Fanning stiffened. “It was evident that she died from the fall.”

“I didn’t say she was killed in her compartment, just that she may have been rendered unconscious first then bundled out of the window by her assailant. The mark on her neck requires closer inspection by a medical professional. Hopefully an autopsy?—”

“I’m not going to bother the coroner with this one, Miss Fox. The Balcombe police say the viaduct is a common place for suicides.”

“And Scotland Yard is a common place to find intelligent people, but idiots do happen to work there, too.” Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. I instantly regretted it and was about to apologize when D.S. Fanning said something that changed my mind.

“This is what happens when women are exposed to sights like the one you saw back there. You are overwrought, Miss Fox. I advise rest and a cup of tea.”

It was so ridiculous that I could only laugh. It held no humor, but it did have the effect of confusing Fanning. He watched me warily the rest of the way back to Balcombe, as if he expected me to turn into a wild creature and attack.

He didn’t offer to drive us back to London. I wouldn’t have accepted anyway. As I stepped out of the carriage at the railway station, I held the door open and leaned back in. I may not like him, and I may think him incompetent, but he was a necessary evil at this point. “Please, Detective, ask the coroner to perform an autopsy, and suggest he pay particular attention to the mark on Ruth’s neck.”

D.S. Fanning grabbed the door and wrenched it out of my grip then slammed it closed.

Victor and I caught the train back to London. We didn’t sit together, which was just as well. I wasn’t good company. My blood was still boiling after my discussion with Fanning.

I telephoned Monty when I returned to the hotel, but he said he didn’t have the authority to force Fanning to keep an open mind. He also pointed out the case might be a joint operation between the Sussex police and Scotland Yard, since Ruth Price’s body was found in West Sussex, yet she lived in London.

“I’m afraid Fanning is somewhat lazy,” he went on. “If he can find a reasonable explanation for her death without too much effort on his part, he’ll take it. There’s a chance the Sussex division will keep him on his toes, so all is not lost.” He did not sound hopeful, however.

In light of that, I asked him to give me the address for Ruth’s brother. If Fanning was going to rule her death suicide, I was going to see if her family agreed. If the brother claimed she was melancholy, I’d let Fanning have his way. But if he didn’t think his sister was likely to take her own life, then I’d go with my instinct and treat her death as murder.