by Lee Strauss
“You’re sure you had the real ones all along?” Ginger asked. “Well-made pastes can appear very convincing.”
Lady Pennington shot Ginger a look of distaste. “I can spot fakes a mile away. I noticed these, didn’t I?”
Ginger kept her chin up and held the lady’s stare. “Yes, which leads me to wonder how you figured that out so quickly?”
“The real ones have a unique flaw in the large stone. If you don’t know it’s there, you don’t notice it. Unless that is, you’re a proper jeweller. But once you see it, you can’t stop seeing it. You know how that is. These are not the same jewels I left my hotel room with this morning, I can assure you.”
“Well, if the real jewels came on board, then they must still be on board,” Basil said. He opened the door and spoke loudly. “Constable Mulgrew, search this carriage. I’m sure Mr. Carney shall be more than pleased to assist.”
Mr. Carney nodded his head. “Anything, sirs, anything.”
Another officer interrupted with a knock. “Excuse me, Chief Inspector. Inspector Sullivan is back and would like a word.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ginger and Basil sat with Sullivan in the dining car and filled the York inspector in on what they’d gleaned from the interviews along with this last crime.
“Crikey!” Inspector Sullivan said with a whistle. “When it rains it pours, don’t it? Two major, seemingly unrelated crimes on one route. What are the odds of that?”
“Not high,” Basil admitted.
“Do you think the theft was committed by a member of first class?” Ginger asked.
“It’s possible,” Basil offered.
“Could it be a misunderstanding?” Inspector Sullivan asked. “The fairer sex is known to be rather absent-minded.” Then, as if feeling the heat of Ginger’s glare, he added, “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Lady Pennington’s recounting of her day and her knowledge of diamond quality is very convincing,” Ginger said.
“I have to agree with Mrs. Reed, Inspector,” Basil said. “I’ve learned to read people over the years, and I don’t think she’s lying. At least not about the diamonds.”
“On my end, a Mr. Agar was conked on the head at the exchange apparatus in Doncaster. Not dead, thank goodness, but has sprouted a mighty turnip and I’m sure a bloody headache to go with it. It was his job to hang the mail bags on the apparatus and collect the drop off.”
“Are you saying someone knocked him out and then replaced the mailbag with the head?” Basil asked.
“Appears so. Letters fluttering like loose chickens up and down the line. Unfortunately, Agar didn’t see the scoundrel coming. He’s in hospital now. Perhaps his memory shall fill in over time.”
“What about poor Mr. Wright?” Ginger asked. “Were you able to locate the remains?”
Inspector Sullivan pinched his lips together and shook his head. “We spoke to the nursing home where he lived—apparently his son ousted him out of his own home when he started having problems with, well, incontinence. They say Mr. Wright must’ve wandered off sometime after supper, though they didn’t notice he wasn’t at the home until it was time to put the patients to bed. They searched for him until two in the morning when they finally reported him missing to the police. Foot officers were out all night after that. This morning they are doing the rounds, asking neighbours and everyone else in the area if anyone saw him after eight p.m. last night, but there’s nothing so far.”
“And nothing that could be the murder weapon?” Ginger said. “Any idea what Mr. Agar was struck with?”
“My men have scoured the tracks going in both directions and so far, they’ve found nothing.”
“What about his son, Ronald?” Basil asked.
“Funny thing, that. According to his secretary, Ronald Wright was at the opera in London last night.”
“That’s the event where Lady Pennington performed. Felicia’s friends attended as well,” Ginger said. “How coincidental.”
Basil snorted. “I don’t believe in coincidences. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the murder and the robbery were connected after all.” He referred to his notes. “Mr. Pierce, Miss Dansby, and Mrs. Griffiths live in York, and Mr. Whitley admitted to doing business there. Now, we find the victim’s son was at the same social event as three other suspects.”
“It’s not unusual for passengers travelling on the Flying Scotsman from London to be from York,” Inspector Sullivan said. “It’s the only stop on the route.”
“True,” Ginger said. “But they happened to be on this particular route when these crimes took place.”
“Quite right,” Sullivan said. “Look here, would the two of you consider getting off in York tonight as well? Perhaps you’d like to take a look around.”
Ginger stared longingly at Basil. The first night of their honeymoon was to be spent in Edinburgh at the Caledonian.
“It’s up to you, love,” Basil said.
As much as she wanted to head to the hotel, she couldn’t see how either she or Basil would be able to relax with this mystery unsolved. Besides, any train they might yet catch would be a late one and the thought of travelling on into the night wasn’t very appealing. “One night would be all right.”
“First, we have to finish what we’ve started here,” Basil said. “I’m going to see what Mulgrew has discovered. Ginger love, would you mind asking a few questions of our friends in first class? Perhaps Miss Dansby would confide in you about her time at the opera.”
“Certainly,” Ginger said. “I want to see how Felicia is holding up. Young people are quite shy of patience, I find.” And of course, there was Boss. She was eager to ensure that he and the porter had returned, but she didn’t speak that concern aloud.
“Ginger! Finally,” Felicia said. “I was beginning to think you’d run off on your honeymoon somehow after all.”
“Hello, Bossy!” Ginger scooped up her pet. “Are you being a good boy?”
Boss licked her chin, his little tail wagging happily at their reunion. Ginger removed a small jar of cooked steak cut into bite-sized pieces from her handbag and opened it to let him eat.
“There you are, old boy.”
Ginger glanced up at Felicia who stared back with annoyance.
“Is something wrong?”
“I’d like to know what’s going on. I feel completely abandoned!”
“I’m sorry, Felicia. We’ve run into another snag.”
“Not another head!”
“No, a robbery. Lady Pennington’s jewels, ones she apparently wore during her performance last night, are missing.”
Felicia sighed. “I’m going to take my last breath on this train! I’ll be old and grey with hair so long it shall be creeping out of the window.”
Ginger laughed. “Oh, Felicia! I do love your imagination.”
“It’s a lot more interesting than what’s going on in this compartment. Please tell me we’re to get off soon.”
“We are. We’ll be spending the night in York,” Ginger said.
Felicia murmured, “Thank God for small mercies.”
“Still no word on Mrs. Simms?” Ginger said, returning her attention to Felicia. “I’m quite alarmed by her continued absence.” Whatever had happened to the elderly lady was most certainly not good. It wasn’t like there was a place to get lost on four stranded carriages, even if one’s mind had gone and one wandered off. The police officers stationed about would surely have seen her if she had indeed managed to get outside. And the weather was dreadful. A lady of that age and frailty wasn’t likely to thrive out there.
Unless of course, Mrs. Simms wasn’t a frail old lady. The black veil made it difficult to see her face. Her soft girth could be stuffing, her low voice could be a male falsetto. Ginger could think of two women and two men who could fit the bill according to their height: Mrs. Fisher, Mrs. Griffiths, Mr. Fisher, and the shorter businessman Mr. Whitley.
“I’ve checked for her everywhere like you asked,
” Felicia said. “It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air. Perhaps she was an apparition?” Felicia’s voice was tinged with excitement. “I bet that’s it. It would explain her fascination with death and funerals!”
Ginger smiled at Felicia’s fancies. “I’m going to assume she was a flesh-and-blood person with a reasonable explanation for her disappearance.”
“What’s going on with everyone else?” Felicia asked. “Is Chief Inspector Hubby about to make an arrest?”
“Sadly, no.”
Ginger had glanced in on all the compartments on the way to her own. Lady Pennington nursed another sherry as she sat straight as a pole and stared ahead at seemingly nothing. Ginger wondered if the opera singer’s concern for her reputation was merited. She wouldn’t be surprised if news of the theft would, in fact, be a boon for her career. If Lady Pennington was aware of that, it could be considered motive. Perhaps the lady was a better actor than Ginger had given her credit for.
It seemed Mr. Fisher had given in to providence with head back and eyes closed. His mouth gaped open and when a snore was emitted, Ginger caught Mrs. Fisher giving him a sharp poke in the ribs with her elbow. He sorted himself out whilst she returned to her book.
Mr. Whitley and Mr. Murray gripped newspapers with tense, white-knuckled fists.
Mrs. Griffiths shared the compartment with Mr. Pierce and Miss Dansby. No one was speaking, but the expressions on the young couple’s faces were tense and anxious. Mrs. Griffiths, on the other hand, seemed to be in happy spirits. Sitting in a seat next to the aisle gave her opportunity to catch the comings and goings of the others. A people watcher, Ginger thought, the kind who took in details.
“Have you had a chance to chat with Miss Dansby?” Ginger asked Felicia. “What does she have to say?”
“She’s rather put out to be held up like this, but I should say, we all are. Our plans have been completely—”
“Derailed?”
“Very funny.”
Ginger laughed. “My apologies, I couldn’t resist.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ginger moved Boss to the empty seat. “Please do excuse me, Felicia.”
Felicia stared up with a stunned look on her face. “You’re leaving me alone again?”
“You’re not alone. Boss is with you.”
“Very funny.”
“I promise I shan’t be long. I just want to check up on a couple of the passengers.”
Felicia harrumphed, put Boss on her lap, and turned away from Ginger.
Ginger did feel bad for her sister-in-law and for her little dog. This day wasn’t going well for anyone. She sighed as she stepped back into the corridor, then
knocked on the glass of the compartment occupied by Miss Dansby, Mr. Pierce, and Mrs. Griffiths.
Mrs. Griffiths nodded an invitation and Ginger squeezed by to claim the seat opposite Irene Dansby. Felicia’s friend was quick to bring up her grievances. “Please, Mrs. Reed, what is going on? Surely, as the chief inspector’s wife, you must know something? It’s outrageous how we’ve been kept here as if we were common criminals! Ask your husband to do something!”
“Miss Dansby,” Ginger started gently, “I share in your frustration, as I, like you, am also kept here and cannot leave until permission is granted. The best we can do is surrender to the situation. I’m afraid things are out of my hands as they are out of yours.”
“She’s right, darling,” George Pierce said. “We must stay calm.”
Miss Dansby glared at her fiancé but didn’t respond.
“Perhaps some conversation would help to pass the time,” Ginger said. “I simply adore London, don’t you? Tell me all about the opera last night.”
“It was lovely,” Miss Dansby said. “I know I should’ve rung Felicia, but I was with George. We’re so recently engaged, I couldn’t bear to share him. Oh, it was all very proper,” she added quickly. “We each had our own room at the hotel.”
Somehow Ginger doubted that but nodded as if she believed every word Felicia’s friend was saying. “Did you have a chance to meet the stars of the performance?” Ginger asked. “Sometimes they invite people backstage.”
“Not us,” Mr. Pierce said. “Not this time.”
“Not even to speak to Lady Pennington?”
Irene frowned and the beauty spot at the corner of her mouth seemed to grow larger. “Why would we? It’s not like we know her. It’s only providence that we’re on the same train.” She lowered her voice. “She’s not as young as I thought, but then again, the stage is some distance away from the boxes, and they do wear a frightful amount of makeup.”
“Do you visit London often?” Ginger asked. “I imagine you must like to come to the city to shop.”
“They have shops in York, Mrs. Reed,” George said stiffly.
“Felicia says you’re on your honeymoon,” Irene said, deflecting the subject from herself. “How sad to find yourself in this situation. Though Edinburgh is the last place I’d want to go after we’re married. We’re going to the south of France!”
George smiled, and his gaze lovingly washed over Irene. “I intend to give you whatever you want, my dear.”
Ginger let out a soft sigh, frustrated that this conversation was getting her nowhere—not that she knew exactly what she’d hoped to find out. A quick glance about, and she caught the eye of Mrs. Griffiths. Ginger got to her feet.
“I’m sure we’re soon to be released. Sit tight, Miss Dansby. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She spoke to Mrs. Griffiths who had held her tongue this whole time. “Would you care to join me for a bit of air?”
Mrs. Griffiths responded to the invitation with enthusiasm. “You seem like a lady who notices things,” Ginger said once they were in the corridor alone. “What are you noticing now?”
The older lady worked dry, wrinkled lips. “The group here is restless and resentful. None is a murderer, yet here they all are, held in a type of jail cell, under suspicion. The police are busy, not in here, clearly, but outside.” She stared out of the window that had become fogged up and reached over to wipe it off. Indeed several officers were lumbering about.
“They’re looking for something, or someone,” she continued. “I suspect there is more going on than we’ve been told. You, for instance, have been on your feet more than most and visiting other carriages, whilst your friend, I believe I overheard someone mention she was your sister-in-law—”
“Miss Gold?”
“Yes, Miss Gold. Doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. The middle-aged couple—I believe their name is Fisher—have been married for some time, and not happily I might add, though they’re too set in the ways of the other to make any changes.” She glanced over her shoulder and added, “Those businessmen are likely to kill someone if not set loose.”
They had a clear view of Mr. Murray and Mr. Whitley’s compartment from where they stood, and Ginger felt a growing sense of alarm. They were seated with arms crossed, lips tight, and necks bulging with blue veins.
“Oh dear, I see what you mean.”
“Where’s that drinks trolley?” Mrs. Griffiths said. “Someone should give them a stiff drink.”
“Have you seen Mrs. Simms?” Ginger asked.
“Who?”
“An elderly lady dressed in black, veil and all, as if in mourning. I’m worried about her well-being.”
“No. I haven’t seen anyone who fits that description.”
“Are you certain?” Ginger wondered if Felicia was on to something with her apparition theory.
Mrs. Griffiths shook her head. “Very.”
Chapter Fifteen
“As a passenger, I’ve got luggage in the luggage van,” Basil said, having return to the luggage van with Mr. Carney. “The procedure for my wife and me was simple—we dropped off our suitcases before walking down the platform to the first-class carriage.” He had a single, if large suitcase, whereas Ginger had a stack of cases and hatboxes rolled to the luggage van by a porter.
; By the number of items in the luggage van, Basil assumed several passengers had come with more bags than they could carry themselves. Ginger had also planned to bring her young maid, Lizzie, to help with whatever it was that ladies needed help with. Basil’s father had a valet, but Basil couldn’t see the point of having another man dress him. He was quite capable of dressing himself. Basil had convinced Ginger to leave her maid at home—he wanted to be alone with his new wife—and promised to arrange for help from the hotel.
Things didn’t always turn out the way one planned.
“Mr. Carney,” Basil continued, “walk us through your role as the attendant.”
“Well, when a passenger arrives, I make a note of their name and their number of bags. I confirm that each bag is tagged properly and place it in one of the compartments, which are numbered so they’re easy to find if necessary. I write the compartment number down and the passenger leaves.”
Basil knew this from his own experience. “And with property of some value?”
“We’ve got two safes here, in the front of the carriage.”
Again, Basil knew this to be true because Ginger had a small jewellery box deposited there.
“Who has the combination to the safes?” Sullivan asked.
“Just me,” Carney said.
“Would you please open the safes, Mr. Carney,” Basil said with authority, “and check with your register, that all the pieces are accounted for.”
Basil, along with Sullivan and Burgess, watched Carney carefully. “They’re all here,” Carney said, but this is rather interesting.”
“What’s that?” Sullivan said.
“This box in safe two is identical to the one belonging to Lady Pennington in safe one.”
Basil took a closer look. Each was a steel box about a foot square and painted an unusual shade of green. Like sea foam.
“To whom does it belong?”
“Uh, a Miss Dansby, sir.”
Basil raised a brow. “Are you certain?”
Carney showed Basil the register. Miss Dansby was listed as the owner of the piece described carefully on the page.
