by Lee Strauss
The businessmen stared at Ginger with derision. The shorter one spoke first. “Forgive me, madam, but who, might I ask, are you?”
“I’m Mrs. Reed.” She glanced over her shoulder in the direction that Basil had disappeared. “My husband is Chief Inspector Reed of Scotland Yard. He’s assisting in the investigation.”
The taller man replied. “I’m Mr. Claude Murray, and this is my business partner, Mr. Robert Whitley. Please forgive our agitation. It seems we’re destined to miss a rather important meeting.”
“There is nothing to apologise for,” Ginger said graciously. “We are all being inconvenienced, I should say.”
Ginger’s response cooled the tempers of the disgruntled passengers, at least for the time being. It explained how a lady might know things.
An attractive lady wearing a stunning black-and-white satin frock with a modern geometric pattern entered the corridor from her compartment at the back. She motioned with a black-satin-gloved hand for Ginger to approach. “Excuse me, Mrs. Reed is it? I couldn’t help but overhear.”
Ginger eased along the narrow passage. “Yes?”
“I’m Lady Pennington.”
Ginger recognised the lady, a well-known Scottish opera singer. She’d had the pleasure of seeing her perform once.
The singer lowered her voice. “I really do find this situation insufferable. Perhaps there is a way I could discreetly disembark?”
Ginger understood the thinking of Lady Pennington well and for a moment, a split second really, she missed her recently discarded title. It shamed Ginger to think that, like Lady Pennington, she had grown used to flaunting her title to get special treatment, and that it had, for the most part, worked. She didn’t blame Lady Pennington for expecting her to jump to attention and hurry to pull strings to see that her request was approved, but she couldn’t help but feel annoyed. Not only at Lady Pennington but at herself, because it was highly likely, had Ginger been in this situation as Lady Gold, that she would’ve attempted the same thing.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, Lady Pennington,” Ginger said politely, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait the same as the others. You see,” Ginger drew closer, giving the lady a teasing morsel of inside information, “there’s been a suspicious event.”
Before Lady Pennington could ask questions, Ginger moved quickly to her own compartment, passing Miss Dansby and Mr. Pierce who were holding hands and staring out of the window. An older lady wearing a simple, brown tunic frock was seated across from Irene Dansby. She had a wrinkly concave face with small features and wore a short-brimmed felt hat over a brown bob. None appeared to be enjoying their travels.
Ginger arrived at her compartment and Felicia, wrapped in a fur-trimmed stole, grabbed Ginger by the hand, nearly tugging her into her seat. “Where were you? You’ve been gone for ages? Why has the train stopped?”
“No need to break my arm,” Ginger replied.
Boss woke up and whimpered. He climbed onto Ginger’s lap, and she stroked his soft fur.
“I’m sorry,” Felicia said. “I’m just frustrated. First, with Irene acting so strangely, and now this?” Felicia stretched her neck to peer out of the window. “Are we being taken off the line? What on earth is happening?”
“You must calm yourself, Felicia. Perhaps I can get us some tea.”
“I have tea.”
“Oh, yes,” Ginger said, noting the small tea set on the mini sideboard. “Well, there’s been a death.”
“Oh dear,” Felicia said, suddenly calmer. “Who died?”
“The identity isn’t certain, but it appears to be Oscar Wright?”
“The textile millionaire?”
Ginger blinked hard at her sister-in-law. “You knew him?”
“Not personally. He’s been in all the rags. He made heaps providing uniforms in the war. Old as the hills and still swinging with the girls if you know what I mean. Or he was. He had a stroke or something recently, so sort of old news.”
Ginger focused her gaze on the empty seat in front of her. “Have you seen Mrs. Simms?”
Felicia pushed loose strands of her finger waves back in place. “She wasn’t here when I returned from the dining carriage.”
“That’s odd,” Ginger said. “I made a point of checking all the compartments and passengers. Everyone is accounted for except her.”
Felicia’s eyes widened and sparkled. “Perhaps Mrs. Simms was an apparition? One couldn’t clearly see her face. Perhaps because she didn’t have one.”
Ginger laughed. “Oh! I do love your fanciful imagination, Felicia.”
From Ginger’s position in the compartment—she’d taken Basil’s aisle seat, for the moment, so she could keep an eye on things—she saw that the door connecting first class to the dining car was open. One of Inspector Sullivan’s constables stepped through and was now making his way down the corridor. He stopped at each compartment to make an announcement.
When he reached Ginger and Felicia, he nodded in recognition at Ginger then said. “I’m PC Mulgrew.” On seeing Boss, his face softened. “Hello, puppy.”
“This is Boss,” Ginger said. Boss’ stubby tail started wagging as if Ginger had flipped a switch. “You can stroke him,” she said. “He’s very friendly.”
“Thank you, madam, but I’m on duty. I’m informing the passengers about the news you are already privy to.”
“I’m sure it’s quite a shocking tale,” Ginger said. “How are they taking it?”
“The first question is always ‘Who?’ which I can’t answer at this time, and the second question is ‘When can we get on with our journey?’ which I also can’t answer.”
“An unsatisfactory conversation for both parties,” Ginger said with a smile.
One side of the young constable’s mouth pulled up. “Indeed.”
“By the way, Constable Mulgrew, have you seen an elderly widow, dressed in black and a veiled hat, on board anywhere?”
The constable shook his head then adjusted the strap of his helmet. “I’ll keep an eye out for her, madam.”
“Do you want me to go and look for her?” Felicia asked.
Ginger noticed the book, The Man in the Brown Suit, resting open on Felicia’s lap and grinned. “Thank you for offering, but I’ll go. I want to see what Basil is up to anyway. You’ll keep an eye on Boss?”
“Of course.”
“Stay with Felicia, Boss,” Ginger instructed as she set him down on Mrs. Simms’ empty seat. “I shouldn’t be too long.”
Ginger nearly bumped into Basil in the corridor. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close.
“Basil!” Ginger felt herself blush. They were alone in the corridor, but Felicia could still see them through the glass. Thankfully, she’d been too engrossed in her novel to notice.
“I couldn’t resist,” Basil said drawing away. He tugged on the ends of his waistcoat. “I promise to keep my hands to myself until we get off this blasted train.”
“And when shall that be?”
“Well, it seems Sullivan’s chief constable has requested I continue to help with the investigation since I’m on board anyway.”
“I get the feeling Inspector Sullivan’s not the type of officer to be pleased with outside help.”
“You’re right on that count. His face was as red as a beetroot when he made the offer.”
“What did you say?”
He grinned. “I told him I had to ask my wife.”
Ginger patted his arm. “Oh, you did not.”
“No, I didn’t say that. But it is supposed to be our wedding journey, and it would mean our first night shall be spent in York.”
“I’m assuming that shall be the case, regardless.”
“So, I have your approval?” Basil asked.
“Of course. Though don’t expect me to be sitting on my hands whilst I’m waiting.”
Basil reached for her again, but she stepped back with a look of mischief. “You promised, Mr. Reed. Now, don’t you have a case
to solve?”
Chapter Six
Basil and Sullivan had cleared the dining car to conduct interviews. The fingerprinting had been done and the crime scene marked off and sealed. Each letter-sorting man was brought in alone and given a seat opposite the officers. Their names, addresses, work schedules, and job duties were recorded. Also noted was whether they’d done any business with Wright. To a man, the answer to that question was ‘no.’
The second to last of the group was Doring, the post office van manager.
“Mr. Doring,” Sullivan began. “Please state your full name and address.”
“Morris Doring. 321 Royal Way, East London.”
“Would you mind walking through your steps today,” Basil said.
“I left for work at eight o’clock and took the underground. Entered the post office van at nine fifteen. I’m the manager, so my main duty is to make sure systems run smoothly and that the men stay at pace. It’s my head if we miss a drop-off.”
Basil narrowed his eyes at the unfortunate pun. Doring didn’t seem to notice.
“Did you ever have the opportunity to meet Mr. Oscar Wright?”
“No, sir. Never had the pleasure.”
“When does your shift end?” Sullivan asked.
“Once we reach Edinburgh. Spend the night, then make the trip back.”
“You may go, Mr. Doring,” Basil said. “We’ll find you if we have any more questions.”
“He’s a bit of a weasel, isn’t he?” Sullivan said under his breath. “Something about him just doesn’t sit right.”
“How so?” Basil asked, feeling the same thing.
“I don’t know. Just a hunch.”
Their final interview was with Burgess, railway security. After the opening questions, Basil asked him to relay his footsteps for the day.
“Well, sir, they’re a lot of ’em. As security, I’m always on my feet, always moving about.”
“In general terms, then,” Basil prompted.
With a dramatic gesture, Burgess inhaled and scratched his pointy chin with a thin finger. “I left my flat at seven forty-five, checked in with my senior officer at the station, and began my rounds. I’m to help the passengers, but I also make myself of service to the railway police. I check doors and windows, make sure all the carriages and WCs are empty, look for unusual signs of tampering, that sort of thing. I chat with the porters and stewards, say hello to Mr. Tippet. Once the passengers board, I keep an eye out for trouble, any rabble-rousers or mischief-makers. It’s not my job, per se, but like I said, I figure another set of eyes working for the railway police ain’t gonna hurt.”
“When did you check on the post office van?”
“I usually do that sometime before York. Then there are fifteen minutes where I eat my packed lunch. Usually, the mail sorters are so busy—work like bees, they do—hands moving so quickly they blur, no one speaking. It’s kinda creepy if I do say so myself. They never pay me no mind, not a hello or a nod of the head.”
“Except for today,” Basil said.
“Today, they were frozen in horror—all gawking at the bag on the floor. I says, ‘Is there a problem, gentlemen?’ And Doring points at the bag before ducking his head into the rubbish bin and throwing up. I take a look and then run for Tippet.” His eyes remained on Basil. “He tells me to get you, Chief Inspector.”
“Mr. Burgess,” Basil said as he stood. “We count on you to assist the constables present to ensure no one steps out of or gets into any of these carriages.”
“Yes, sir.”
Basil excused himself and returned to the first-class carriage in search of Ginger. He and Sullivan would begin their enquiries there after the inspector had completed his “inspection of the loo.”
Ginger’s search gave her a reason to question her fellow passengers—the suspects—if one was to be so bold.
“I saw her walk by,” Mrs. Fisher said after Ginger had knocked and opened the glass door. “I supposed, at her age, she found it hard to sit for too long at one time. Poor thing, with that cane and in mourning to boot.” The crow’s feet around her eyes deepened and her eyes twinkled. “To think we’re all going to be like her one day.”
Ginger thought that was an odd thing to say in the company of her husband, even if the female sex did tend to outlive their male counterparts.
“Did you see where she went?”
The feather on Mrs. Fisher’s forest-green, narrow-brimmed hat quivered as she shook her head. “I returned to the book I’m reading.” She held up a copy of A Passage to India. “It’s rather good. I’ve never been anywhere else in the empire. India sounds so exotic.”
“Mr. Fisher?” Ginger prompted.
“I’m afraid I had my eyes closed. A short nap, you see,” he replied.
Down the line, Ginger continued her enquires. The two businessmen hadn’t seen Mrs. Simms, nor anyone else it seemed. By the time she reached Miss Dansby and Mr. Pierce’s compartment, Ginger felt quite perplexed.
“Mrs. Griffiths,” Irene Dansby said to the plain-looking lady beside her. “This is Mrs. Reed. She’s the companion of my friend, Miss Gold.”
Ginger extended a gloved hand. “Pleased to meet you. Are you also from York?”
The lady nodded, “I am.” Her eyes, small behind round spectacles, were nondescript yet somehow familiar. Some people just had a common look. In fact, her clothing and general presentation bespoke of someone not accustomed to travelling first class. Ginger wondered at the relationship between the three York residents.
“An elderly lady joined us in London,” Ginger started, “but she seems to have vanished into thin air. Her name is Mrs. Simms. She’s wearing all black with a black veil over her face, and has a black cane. Have you seen her?”
Three heads shook at once. “Can’t say I have,” Mrs. Griffiths said. “Sounds to me as if she’d be hard to miss.”
While some of the passengers had opened windows to combat stale air, others complained that the wind outside was too cold. Several decided to stretch their legs and stood in the corridor. Businessman Mr. Whitley was among them. He pointed a finger at Constable Mulgrew. “You can’t keep us locked in here forever. Whatever happened in the post office van had nothing to do with us!”
Mr. Murray joined in. “You’ll hear from my lawyer!”
Alarm flashed across Constable Mulgrew’s face, and he raised his hands. “Calm down, gentlemen. Like I already said, your questions shall be answered shortly.”
“Please explain your intended meaning,” Lady Pennington said curtly.
“Madam, it means you are required to be patient.”
Ginger hoped Basil would return before a riot broke out. First-class passengers weren’t accustomed to being inconvenienced.
Chapter Seven
Basil found Ginger engaged in conversation with PC Mulgrew. They stood by the door that separated the carriages. She smiled when he squeezed through the second door that connected the two carriages over the joined couplings. He loved how her green eyes sparkled like emeralds every time he walked into a room.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“Nothing earth-shattering. It appears that everyone was simply doing their jobs when the unfortunate event happened.” Basil reached over to open a window. It gave one the illusion that the narrow corridor and cramped carriage had expanded. “The killer’s motive must be to get the attention of someone in this carriage.”
“No one here even knows what happened,” Mulgrew stated.
“I want to tell them during the interviews. Reactions to news like that can be telling.”
Ginger nodded. “Perhaps you’d like me to join you.”
Knowing how captivating the smallest mystery was to his wife, Basil chuckled. She’d proven herself to be a tremendous benefit often during past cases. One tended to be less on one’s guard in the company of a lady. “Your presence would be most welcome.”
Mulgrew excused himself, proving himself to be intuitive enough to sense when
a married couple wanted to be alone.
Ginger stared up at Basil in concern. “Have you got a temperature?” Her eyes darted to the opened window, and she wrapped her arms about herself and shivered.
Basil quickly closed the window.
“I do apologise, love. Sometimes I grow irrationally uncomfortable in small spaces.”
“Like Haley,” Ginger said with a nod. “You suffer from claustrophobia. You poor lambs.”
Haley Higgins, a forensic doctor in training, was Ginger’s very good American friend who’d recently moved back to Boston after the alarming news of her brother’s death. Basil had grown fond of the sensible lady in the short time they had been acquainted.
Basil smelt a whiff of expensive French perfume before he caught sight of a beautifully made-up lady strolling along the aisle towards them. He sensed Ginger stiffen as they stepped apart. The lady ignored Ginger, keeping her sparkling blue-eyed gaze on Basil.
“You look to be someone of importance,” she said to him as she reached out a gloved hand. “I’m Lady Isabel Pennington. You might recognise me from the opera house.”
“Indeed. I’m Chief Inspector Reed. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Reed?” Lady Pennington’s gaze finally shifted to Ginger. “Are you related?”
“Married,” Ginger said brightly. She threaded her arm through Basil’s possessively, and Basil held in an amused smile. It wasn’t only the male persuasion who marked their territory.
The wind outside whistled, but the lowering temperature wasn’t solely responsible for the frosty atmosphere occurring now. He gave Ginger a reassuring look, and she released her hold.
“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked Lady Pennington.
“I understand there’s been a suspicious event, and that no one is permitted to disembark. Perhaps you could telegraph for a taxicab? Surely, there must be a way off this contraption, even here in the middle of, well, wherever we are.” Her eyes darted to Ginger reproachfully before smiling at Basil once again. She tilted her head and batted her eyes. “Chief Inspector?”
