Murder on the Flying Scotsman

by Carola Dunn

  ‘I shouldn’t really be in first class,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, never mind. The ticket inspector won’t come again till after York Do come and sit down. Are you going to Edinburgh?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I have friends there, and since I must go as far as York, I might as well go on to see them. Mr. McGowan told me to catch this train. I’ve been on duty since he learnt of his brother’s illness, and he wanted to speak to me.’

  ‘A dictatorial gentleman!’

  Jagai smiled. ‘Undeniably, but who am I to complain after all his kindness and generosity? Especially in this instance.’ His solemn face lit up and he leaned forward in his enthusiasm. ‘Mr. McGowan summoned me to tell me he’s going to rewrite his will to leave his brother’s wealth to found a medical clinic in India!’

  ‘Not to you?’

  ‘I shall be named as director of the charitable trust, and of the clinic. It’s my dearest dream, but I thought I should have to work and save for years before I could afford it. He’ll set it up that way, rather than as a personal bequest, to make it more difficult for his family to contest the will.’

  ‘Clever!’ Daisy applauded. ‘It must be much harder to find grounds to object to a charity inheriting than a non-relative.’

  ‘So he hopes. He’s going to consult brother Alistair’s solicitor this afternoon about the best way to do it. I gather Mr. Braeburn is on his way to Dunston Castle with the rest.’

  ‘So I’ve heard. You have considered, haven’t you, that Alistair McGowan may change his will first?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jagai’s face lost its brightness and settled back into lines of tiredness. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘If so, if old Alistair disinherits his brother, I shan’t be any worse off than I was before.’

  ‘I hope you get it all,’ said Belinda, who had been listening in silence.

  ‘So do I,’ said Chandra Jagai, giving her a weary smile, ‘but after all, Alistair has as much right as Albert to do what he wants with what’s his.’

  CHAPTER 5

  ‘Bel!’ Kitty appeared in the doorway. ‘It’s nearly . . . Oh, hallo. Who are you? Never say you’re the infamous Chandra Jagai?’

  ‘Kitty, really!’ Daisy exclaimed.

  ‘Oops, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.’ She studied the Indian with interest. ‘But are you?’

  Jagai laughed. ‘I am. You are a McGowan descendant, I take it.’

  ‘Yes, I’m a Gillespie. Kitty Gillespie. How do you do?’ She shook hands. ‘You aren’t a bit like I expected.’

  ‘He’s a doctor, Kitty,’ Belinda informed her.

  ‘Golly, really? And everyone’s been saying . . .’ She caught Daisy’s admonitory eye and cut herself short. ‘Yes, well, I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Dr. Jagai.’ Her momentary grand manner evaporated. ‘But it’s time for lunch and I came to see if Bel may sit with me. Please, Miss Dalrymple?’

  The steward’s voice sounded in the corridor. ‘Lunch is now being served. Lunch now being served!’

  ‘Have you asked your mother, Kitty?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘At first she said no, but then Raymond told her you’re an Honourable so she changed her mind,’ Kitty said with her usual devastating frankness.

  ‘Oh dear!’ Daisy had never understood why her courtesy title should be regarded as a guarantee of respectability. It was no more reasonable than Mrs. Fletcher’s antipathy.

  ‘Now she’s just glad I’ve found a friend to keep me from pestering her,’ said Kitty.

  Daisy laughed. ‘Right-oh, run along, Belinda. I’ll come in a minute.’

  ‘I shan’t eat much,’ Belinda said anxiously. ‘I know it’s awfully expensive eating on a train.’

  ‘You eat as much as you want, darling. We can’t have your grandmother accusing me of starving you. Just don’t order the smoked salmon!’

  The girls said good-bye to the doctor and went off.

  ‘If you are short of funds, Miss Dalrymple,’ the young Indian said hesitantly, ‘I should be happy to lend you . . .’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Dr. Jagai, but I can manage a few shillings for lunch. I wasn’t expecting Belinda to travel with me, you see, or I should have gone third class and brought sandwiches.’

  ‘As I have.’ He grinned, his teeth gleaming in his dark face. ‘And more than ready for them I am.’

  ‘Good-bye, then. Perhaps we shall see you again later.’

  Daisy powdered her nose and regretfully put on her hat. The restaurant car was altogether too public to be seen without one. She made her way thither.

  Belinda, solemnly studying the menu, sat with Kitty at a table set with white napery, silver cutlery, sparkling glasses, and a small vase of spring flowers. Peter and Jeremy Gillespie, at the next pair of tables, introduced their respective wives to Daisy. She felt sorry for Matilda, who was very pregnant and whose blotched face and red eyes suggested recent tears. Beyond them were Anne and Harold Bretton, without Tabitha and the baby.

  Anne waved to Daisy, pointing to the table across the aisle from them, but Daisy shook her head and mouthed a polite refusal. She took a seat directly opposite Belinda, so that she could help in case of difficulties. Belinda gave her a relieved smile.

  A steward in railway uniform and bow tie brought Daisy a menu. As she looked it over, the other tables gradually filled. The Smythe-Pikes sat across from the Brettons.

  ‘Blasted lawyer says we’ll come a cropper,’ boomed Desmond Smythe-Pike, ‘haven’t a leg to stand on. Sneaky sort of fella, wouldn’t look a man straight in the eye.’

  The thin, bald man just coming along the aisle turned to glare at him. Braeburn, the solicitor, Daisy thought. She had seen him in the compartment next to hers when she was hunting for Belinda. Stalking stiffly like an offended heron, he continued to the only remaining empty table.

  Smythe-Pike lowered his voice minimally. ‘I’ll have to set my own chap on the scent when we get back to town.’

  ‘It may be unnecessary, sir,’ Harold pointed out. ‘Alistair McGowan may have already decided to change his will in our favour.’

  Peter Gillespie, at the next table, turned and said coldly, ‘Or ours. I am, after all, already his heir after Uncle Albert.’

  ‘Bah!’ snorted Smythe-Pike.

  ‘Hush, Desmond,’ Mrs. Smythe-Pike said soothingly, ‘We shall all have our chance to persuade Father.’

  ‘And Uncle Albert,’ Anne put in.

  ‘A bit off, don’t you think,’ Jeremy said, quite loud enough to be heard at the next table, ‘pestering Uncle Albert about Uncle Alistair’s money with Uncle Alistair dying upstairs.’

  Daisy missed the next bit of the squabble. A frightfully smart woman in a black costume, with a simply heavenly little black hat which Daisy’s fashionable friend Lucy would have killed for, stopped beside her table. ‘Pardonnez-moi, madame,’ she said, ‘is this seat taken? May I join you?’

  ‘No, please do. I mean,’ Daisy corrected herself in careful French, ‘ce n’est pas occupé Asseyez-vous madame, je vous prie.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The woman smiled as she sat down. She was expertly made up, her dark hair slashed with silver set in soft, Marcel waves only just too perfect to be natural. ‘It’s all right, English is my native tongue, though I’ve lived so long in France that French tends to slip out first.’

  ‘If you are used to French food, I hope you will find English railway food edible!’

  ‘I rarely eat a large luncheon. Do you think an omelette would be safe?’

  ‘I couldn’t guarantee it, but I shall have the same so we can both complain if it’s too dreadful.’

  The steward came to take their order, and Daisy told him to add Belinda’s bill to her own. Over lunch, she and the woman from France chatted about Paris. She caught odd bits and pieces of the argument raging further along the aisle but she had heard most of it before and took little notice.

  The last thing she heard, as she paid her bill, collected Belinda, and started back to the compartment, was Harold Bret
ton announcing, ‘Well, I’m not afraid to tackle old Albert. I shall go straight after lunch.’

  Immediately a dispute broke out over who had the right to see Uncle Albert first. Daisy shook her head in amused disgust. Never in her life had she met such a quarrelsome family!

  Just before the train stopped at York, the friendly ticket-inspector popped his head into the compartment.

  ‘Never fear, miss, I haven’t forgotten your wire,’ he told Daisy, patting his breast-pocket. ‘It’ll be on its way soon as I’ve turned in me numbers and signed off.’

  Daisy thanked him. The train rumbled into the station with a squeal of brakes and the hiss of let-off steam. Opening doors thudded against the carriage sides, porters shouted, barrowboys cried their newspapers and magazines for sale, as the ticket-man saluted and trotted off. At once Daisy began to wonder if the telegram message was sufficient to reassure Mrs. Fletcher.

  ‘Belinda safe with me will telephone from Edinburgh.’ She hadn’t used the full allowance of twelve words for a shilling, but what else could she have said?

  Ought she to get off and take Belinda straight home? Surely Alec wouldn’t expect her to let his daughter’s naughtiness disrupt her work. His mother might, though – probably would, in fact. Mrs. Fletcher disapproved of her employment almost as strongly as of her aristocratic background, and she did want to get on Mrs. Fletcher’s right side.

  Too late. Daisy sat back with a sigh as whistles and slamming doors announced that the Flying Scotsman was once more on its way.

  Through the window, Daisy pointed out to Belinda the towers of York Minster. Then they settled down to look at borrowed books and magazines. Though she owed her reading matter to the McGowan family, Daisy was thoroughly fed up with their fusses. She avoided raising her eyes from the pages of Punch as feet tramped back and forth in the corridor.

  She didn’t care who saw Albert McGowan first, second or last; she was only sorry the poor old man was being disturbed. He hadn’t come to lunch in the dining car. She hoped it was because he was rich enough to pay to have his meal brought to him, not because Belinda had exhausted him.

  Belinda grew bored with Kitty’s School Friend magazine and she’d already finished Beano and Dandy. ‘May I go and see Kitty?’ she asked. ‘And Tabitha, if she’s with her mummy?’

  ‘Yes, go ahead. Just don’t go anywhere else without telling me.’

  Daisy was left in peace for some time. She read Punch, occasionally glancing out at the green, rolling countryside, patched with buttercup yellow meadows. The sun still shone, but it no longer hit the window, and the air coming in was still cool here in the North, however warm it was by now in London. Though the heating was still on at full blast, Daisy was quite comfortable in her short-sleeved frock.

  The atmosphere in Mr. McGowan’s compartment must be unbearable by now, she thought as more footsteps went by. The angry men succeeding each other in the airless space must exude heat. Perhaps he’d invite his unwanted visitors to take off their jackets as he had Dr. Jagai.

  ‘They’re all in such a stew.’ Belinda had returned to echo Daisy’s thoughts. ‘Please, Miss Dalrymple, may I go along to third class and see if I can find Dr. Jagai?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea.’

  ‘Pleeease! I expect he’s bored, too. I’ll take my draught board and see if he wants to play.’

  ‘Oh, all right. But don’t wake him if he’s dozing, don’t pester him, and not more than one game, then you come straight back here.’

  Belinda hurried off before Miss Dalrymple could change her mind. Gran would never have let her go, but then, Gran would not have let her talk to an Indian man at all, and anyway they would have been in third class in the first place.

  From Mr. McGowan’s compartment came an irritable roar which could only be Mr. Smythe-Pike. ‘. . . No loyalty to the family . . .’ Belinda heard as she scurried past. She hated all the loud, angry voices and red, scowling faces. Daddy never shouted however cross he got. He got quieter instead, and his eyes looked as if they would go right through you like a spear, and then you knew he really meant it, but it wasn’t frightening.

  She found Dr. Jagai. Luckily his compartment wasn’t full. He was glad to see her and let her win at draughts, which was jolly decent of him even though Daddy always said she’d never learn to play better if she didn’t really have to try.

  While they played, Belinda told the doctor about stowing away on the Flying Scotsman because she wasn’t allowed to meet Deva during the hols.

  ‘I’m afraid your grandmother would not like your talking to me,’ he said, looking sad.

  ‘She might, ’cause you’re a doctor, after all. Anyway, Miss Dalrymple said I could, and Daddy would’ve let me. Daddy’s a detective at Scotland Yard and he says everyone’s the same before the law, Chinamen and Hindus and Africans and Red Indians and everyone. So you see!’

  Dr. Jagai smiled. ‘I see.’

  Belinda smiled back. Moving a counter, she glanced out of the window while he took his turn. ‘Oh, look!’ she cried. ‘A castle.’

  Perched atop a steep hill, castle ramparts towered over the roofs of a town. ‘Durham,’ said the doctor. ‘The tallest towers are not part of the castle, they’re the cathedral, one of the oldest in Britain.’

  ‘Golly, it’s simply enormous. D-u-r-h-a-m,’ she read out as the train sped through a station without stopping. ‘But you said Durrem. It’s spelt funny.’

  ‘You never can tell with English.’

  They finished the game. ‘I’ve got to go now,’ Belinda said regretfully. ‘Miss Dalrymple said only one game. Thank you very much for playing with me.’

  ‘Thank you, Belinda. I hope you won’t get into too much trouble for running away, and I hope you will never do such a thing again, or you might really find yourself in the soup.’

  ‘I won’t. It was scary till I found Miss Dalrymple.’

  She made her way back to the first-class carriage. It was fun – and a little bit scary – crossing between carriages on her own. The floor shuddered and shifted under her feet and the noise of the wheels was so loud she could hardly hear herself think. One of the doors was extra stiff. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to open it, but the ticket man came along just then and did it for her.

  It was a different man, fat, red-faced, and cheerful. ‘Hallo, young miss, you must be our stowaway,’ he said, winking at her. ‘Your friend showed me your ticket.’

  ‘Does it say stowaway on it?’

  ‘No, but it shows it was issued on the train, and the King’s Cross inspector told me about you at York. You mind you behave yourself now, miss.’

  ‘I will. Thank you for opening the door.’

  Belinda went on. Outside Mr. McGowan’s compartment she heard a raised voice again, and she was shocked to realize it was her kind goblin friend himself who was shouting now. Miss Dalrymple had said he might be ogreish to people he didn’t like, she remembered. She didn’t understand what he was saying, but he sounded absolutely livid.

  The door started to open. Head down, Belinda sped onwards. Past one more door, and then, thank goodness, there was Miss Dalrymple, unruffled, pretty as ever, and smiling at her.

  ‘How is Dr. Jagai?’

  ‘He let me win. He’s ever so nice. But I heard Mr. McGowan screeching at someone. I don’t want to go to tea with him after all.’

  ‘Poor Mr. McGowan has had a lot to bear this afternoon. It would be a wonder if he hadn’t reached screeching point. You must go, darling; you accepted his invitation, but you need not stay long.’

  Belinda heaved a sigh. ‘All right, but I wish he’d invited you, too. Miss Dalrymple, what does “norbit” mean?’

  ‘“Norbit”?’

  ‘Yes, a “norbit.”’

  ‘An orbit, I suppose.’

  ‘I think I’ve heard of that. What is it?’

  ‘It’s something to do with the earth going round the sun. I’m not sure exactly what; we didn’t do much science at
school. Why?’

  ‘That’s what Mr. McGowan shouted out.’

  ‘How peculiar!’

  ‘And about someone called Miss . . . Miss Probation. Do you know who she is?’

  ‘Another relative, one we haven’t met, perhaps,’ said Miss Dalrymple, laughing, ‘but I suspect you heard wrong. “Approbation” means approval. “Disapprobation” means disapproval.’

  ‘He certainly sounded jolly disapproving!’ Belinda admitted.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. He has no reason to disapprove of you, darling.’

  Belinda hoped not.

  She didn’t want Miss Dalrymple to disapprove of her, either, so she’d better stop pestering her. Outside the window, she saw, was now a grimy, smoky city, ugly but quite interesting. The train rumbled through a station with a sign saying Gateshead, then across a bridge, high over a river. Next came another station, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, then more dingy city, on and on. Belinda picked up the book Kitty had lent her, which was stories about horses. The trouble was, she had read Black Beauty not long ago and it made her so sad that now she felt sad whenever she read about horses.

  Finishing a story, she returned to the view outside the window. The sun had gone in. There were hardly any houses now, just an occasional isolated farm-house and sometimes, right beside the track, a level-crossing keeper’s cottage. Now and then, in the distance, Belinda glimpsed a dark grey line she guessed must be the sea. The fields and trees were still quite wintry this far north. She was an awfully long way from home.

  She shivered.

  ‘Are you getting chilly, Belinda? Close the window a bit, or put on your coat. We may yet be glad of the heating.’

  Belinda struggled with the window. As Miss Dalrymple stood up to help her, Mrs. Bretton came in, with Tabitha and the baby.

  ‘It is cooling down a bit at last, isn’t it?’ Mrs. Bretton said, sitting down. ‘Thank heaven. Baby is so fretful when he’s too hot, I’ve had to leave him with Nanny almost all the way.’

  Baby Alistair whimpered.