The Fossil Murder

by Evelyn James

  “I would be your assistant then?” Tommy’s eyes sparkled even as he pronounced the phrase with a hint of distaste.

  “I wouldn’t call you that as such,” Clara frowned. “More like the deputy to the sheriff. Still very important.”

  “You’ve been reading my American crime books again,” Tommy smirked.

  “It’s just… you already help me out from time to time,” Clara was trying to explain herself without making things worse. “So, I thought you might as well be paid to do it. And I really am up to my eyes with work.”

  Tommy started to chuckle.

  “All right, I’ll let you off the hook. I am looking to do more than mope about the house and if you think I can be useful to you, I don’t mind helping out, but,” Tommy held up a finger, “with the understanding that if I prove myself you will consider making me a partner in your detective agency.”

  Clara thought about the suggestion for just a moment and then nodded.

  “Deal.”

  “And now you are both going to Mrs Wilton’s for tea,” Annie threw up her hands in the air and stalked out of the room. “Her scones will be no match for mine! Don’t come home with indigestion!”

  Tommy smirked.

  “She’ll get over it.”

  They set off just after three, as they would have to catch a bus to reach Mrs Wilton’s villa on the other side of town. They were early for tea but were welcomed in with gusto. Mrs Wilton was wearing a flowing, tea dress in a very modern style for a self-professed Victorian woman. It was decorated with an elaborate pattern of Chinese dragons and waterlilies. Mrs Wilton rather looked like a wall painting as she swooshed into her front parlour with Clara and Tommy just behind her.

  “My son is out, which is just as well because he hates me going on about Miss Holbein,” Mrs Wilton declared, plumping herself down on a sofa and motioning for Clara and Tommy to do the same.

  Clara recalled the last time she had visited the Wilton’s villa. Back then the place had an aura of ruination about it; Mrs Wilton had lost her husband in the war and it seemed he had left her no money, certainly there was no will. She had also thought her son lost and with no income and no means of supporting herself, Mrs Wilton had been slowly selling her possessions just to try to survive. She was reduced to an impoverished existence by the time she first spoke to Clara.

  Everything changed when Clara found Mrs Wilton’s son. He had a better idea of where his father might hide his assets and had been able to restore the family’s fortunes. He now worked in a bank in London, commuting back and forth to Brighton five days a week, and working a half day on Saturday at home, catching up on paperwork. Mrs Wilton had been able to refurbish the house, repair the furniture and invest in new paintings and ornaments to replace those she had had to sell.

  “I am so glad you came,” Mrs Wilton flared out the skirt of her dress to prevent it getting creased. “I am very concerned about Miss Holbein. I came home this afternoon and saw that her young man was here again. They were going out for a picnic. I don’t trust him, he looks shifty.”

  “Do you know his name?” Clara asked.

  “Naturally!” Mrs Wilton looked appalled that anyone might think she had failed to gain this singularly vital piece of information. “He is Victor Darling. If that is his real name, of course. These men go by aliases.”

  “These men?” Clara asked.

  “Crooks. Con artists. They have a woman in every town,” Mrs Wilton tutted to herself. “I shudder to think about it. He could be a murderer, you know. I read in a magazine how a man in France married and murdered five women for their fortune before he was caught by the police in the process of marrying a sixth.”

  “And what does Victor Darling do?” Clara avoided getting into a debate about serial wife murderers. “Is he local to Brighton.”

  “Miss Holbein has been cagey about him,” Mrs Wilton sighed. “I guess she senses my apprehension. I did try to ask about him, but she changed the subject. Her mother would be so upset.”

  Mrs Wilton became solemn.

  “My dear friend, Adelaide Holbein, was something of a local celebrity in her day,” she said softly, her mind slipping away to another time, another world. “She had a beautiful singing voice, it was truly remarked upon. She wanted to sing opera, but her parents were hesitant as they were not sure it was an appropriate thing for a girl of her station to do. Adelaide managed to persuade them otherwise. She secured a spot with a company in London, and sang for a whole season. Then she met her husband, Gustav Holbein, a Dutch businessman who ran a textiles company in the city. He was handsome and wealthy. Adelaide never looked back.”

  Mrs Wilton sighed.

  “Tragically, he was killed in an accident. Run down by a coach while hurrying to an important meeting. They had only been married five years and Adelaide had just given birth to their daughter Nellie. She was named after the famous opera singer, Nellie Melba,” Mrs Wilton paused for a brief moment, contemplating it all. “Adelaide moved back to Brighton to be near her parents and she certainly had the money to live well. Nellie was brought up cossetted and well-loved, the apple of her mother’s eye. She had a fine education, always the best clothes and dresses, perhaps you might say she was a little spoiled, but it never truly showed.”

  “When did Adelaide pass away?” Clara asked.

  “The summer of 1919. She had been ill sometime, the same complaint her mother had endured all her life. The doctors muttered various technical terms for it, but it made no difference to the outcome. She was in a lot of pain during her last days,” a tear trickled from Mrs Wilton’s eye. “It was a release in the end. She was suffering so much.”

  “And then Nellie inherited all her parents fortune?”

  “Yes,” Mrs Wilton nodded. “Nellie had just turned eighteen. She decided the house she had lived in with her mother was far too big to suit her. She moved to a smaller villa just down the road. It is a modern build, very stylish though a little sterile for my liking. No flourishes or decorative touches to make a place homely.”

  Mrs Wilton cast a loving gaze over her own home, with its highly elaborate wallpaper and statuettes and vases in every corner. She almost seemed to sigh with satisfaction as she admired her own space.

  “When did Victor Darling come on the scene?” Clara brought her back to the matter in hand.

  “About three months ago,” Mrs Wilton dragged her eyes away from admiring her own taste in decoration. “Unfortunately, since the passing of her mother, Nellie has been the target of a number of disreputable suitors. Young men looking for an easy fortune. Nellie is not equipped with the wisdom or maturity to see them for what they are. She is also beyond the age when a guardian can have any marked influence over her. She is a young woman with a lot of money and not a lot of common sense, who is actively seeking a husband.”

  Mrs Wilton gave Clara a defeated look.

  “I despair…” she paused as her maid appeared with the afternoon tea.

  Among the traditional cucumber sandwiches and scones, there was also a chocolate tiffin cake and some homemade fudge. Mrs Wilton dismissed her maid and poured the tea herself.

  “Has Nellie received any marriage proposals already?” Tommy asked, until that point, he had been quiet, listening attentively to what was going on.

  “A couple that I am aware of. The first was the most serious and we barely were able to persuade her to turn down the gentleman in question.”

  “We?” Clara picked up on the term.

  “Myself and Nellie’s maternal aunt. The poor woman is beside herself too. She lives in the North and has her own young family to take care of. She can’t be down here keeping an eye on Nellie as well.”

  “She has had two proposals and both were unsuitable?” Clara queried.

  “The first was from a young man she had only known for six weeks. He gave me the shivers. Very charming, but in that calculating way some men have. Like a wolf grinning at you,” Mrs Wilton demonstrated her dislike by shuddering. �
��He claimed to be the son of a brewery owner, in fact his father ran a pub, didn’t even own it either. Just leased it from the brewery. That was just one of the lies the young man spewed. It took some doing, but we convinced Nellie he was unreliable and after her money.

  “The second man was equally unsuitable. He was an Irish musician who had heard of Nellie’s mother. Adelaide had been pretty famous during the brief time she was performing. I think he liked the idea of the accolade he could gain for his own career by being married to the daughter of a famous opera singer. Nellie went off him pretty quickly, luckily.”

  “And now there is this latest threat,” Mrs Wilton shook her head forlornly. “I honestly don’t know how Nellie seems so drawn to these disreputable characters. It is not as though she could not go to some really nice parties where there would be decent young men she could set her sights on. Instead she finds these… ruffians, who only look at her money and her vulnerability. I am very worried for her future.”

  “But you don’t know much at all about Victor Darling?” Clara pointed out.

  “Only that he has squirmed his way out of the woodwork all of a sudden,” Mrs Wilton sniffed haughtily. “I know most of the eligible young gentlemen in the town who would be a suitable match for Nellie, but this fellow eludes me. I don’t know who his parents are, or where he comes from. And Nellie won’t tell me.”

  Clara thought that Nellie was probably sick of having her personal life interfered with by other people. She didn’t doubt Mrs Wilton had the best of intentions for the girl, and she probably had saved her from making a disastrous match with the two other suitors, but Nellie would not see it that way. She would feel that her every move was being monitored and that her judgement was being questioned. Everyone reached an age in their life when they tried to stake their independence. And that had to be respected, even if it looked likely that Nellie was going to make some serious mistakes along the way.

  “You will look into this for me, won’t you Clara?” Mrs Wilton leaned forward in her seat, her face anxious.

  “Of course,” Clara reassured her. “But I am not personally in a position to change Nellie’s mind about this man, nor will I take responsibility for such an action. I’ll find out everything I can about Victor Darling and then you can pass that information along to Nellie.”

  “That is perfectly agreeable,” Mrs Wilton was visibly relieved. “Yes, any information would be good. Currently I can offer no protest other than I do not like the man much. I need more.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but if he does turn out to be everything he says he is, then we can do nothing about that,” Clara reminded Mrs Wilton gently. “I think, at some point, you are going to have to allow Nellie to make her own mistakes.”

  “A bad marriage is a very big mistake to make,” Mrs Wilton cringed at the mere thought.

  “That may be what it takes, though,” Clara explained. “Nellie has lived a closeted life, she has not experienced the dark side of humanity. Every time you tell her a man is unsuitable it must hurt her pride and her intelligence, for she has already picked him. There will only be so many times she will listen. Inevitably, she is going to fall so in love with one of these fellows that anything you say will be ignored and she will do as she pleases. Maybe she will pick wisely, or maybe she won’t. The most important thing is that she knows she has a friend she can rely on if things turn out for the worst.”

  Mrs Wilton looked morose at this prediction, but Clara suspected it had already crossed her mind. After all, Nellie was already refusing to talk to her about Victor Darling.

  “I do understand that Clara,” Mrs Wilton said at last. “I just wish we could find someone more appropriate for Nellie. Why is it all these rogues are so charming?”

  “It is the only asset they have,” Tommy opined. “Every man has to play to his strengths when it comes to finding a girl.”

  “I hate it, I really do,” Mrs Wilton frowned. “They ought to go out and make their own money. Why can’t they go find their own fortune?”

  “I think,” Clara said drily, “that is exactly what they are doing.”

  Chapter Three

  Monday came around very swiftly and Clara was eager to get to the exhibition and view the mysterious fossil that was causing such a fuss among those who cared about such things. The Brighton Gazette had published a special edition on Saturday evening, covering the exhibition in-depth and also going through the controversy the Archaeopteryx fossil was stirring up, not just locally, but globally.

  The discovery of the first Archaeopteryx had occurred in Germany. The fossil had been unearthed in a quarry, where a number of other fossilised animals had been found in the past, though none as unique as this one. The original Archaeopteryx had at first been thought to be a pterosaur until it was carefully exposed from the stone it was encased in. The realisation that the stone also bore impressions of feathers was the starting point of a long, drawn-out battle between those who believed this was solid evidence that birds evolved from dinosaurs, and those who refused to believe that such a thing could happen and claimed it was just a feathered lizard, which probably could not even fly.

  Darwin’s Theory of Evolution had only just been published and had upset those who took the Bible as gospel and could not fathom that creatures existed on the planet long before the current catalogue of species developed. Evolution defied the reasoning that God had personally created every living being. God had placed each animal, each bird, even each lizard on this earth as he intended them to be – there was no room for evolution in that understanding. Evolution implied that God’s first creations were imperfect and needed to change themselves to improve, that in turn implied God was imperfect.

  Others denied evolution because they believed that every creature that had ever existed had been around since the dawn of time. Therefore, at the time of the dinosaurs there were also house sparrows, cats, wolves and kangaroos. The fossil evidence for these animals had yet to be discovered, that was all. Some of these creatures had ultimately died out, leaving those that remained in the modern age. This theory excluded evolution, as there was no need for it – every plant, animal and bird already existed as it was and as it always would be at the start of time.

  On the opposite side were those who were fully convinced of Darwin’s theory and saw the Archaeopteryx as indisputable proof. Here was a dinosaur that was transforming into a bird. Some of the features of the fossil were clear proof of a lizard heritage, while others, not just the feathers, were equally clearly bird-like. In the decades between the discovery of the Archaeopteryx and 1922, more fossils had been found and further study had given weight to the argument that at least some of the smaller dinosaurs ultimately transformed into birds. Yet, controversy still raged and could fill a whole edition of a newspaper, as Clara discovered when she read Saturday’s copy.

  She found it all very fascinating, but deep down she found she was siding with the evolutionists. Their arguments seemed soundly based on science, while some of the conflicting arguments were rather more hazy and emotional. She was looking forward to seeing the centrepiece of this debate for herself.

  Clara and Tommy met Captain O’Harris at the town hall. He was looking very dapper in a brown suit and bow tie. He grinned at Clara.

  “I’m like a boy again,” he said. “I haven’t felt this excited since I first climbed into a plane, but back then I was sick with nerves as well. This time I’m just excited.”

  He offered his arm to Clara and she accepted. They stepped through the door and Clara handed their tickets to a man in the foyer. He was blocking a door into the main room of the hall. Having taken a good look at their ticket, he allowed Clara’s party through.

  There were already a number of people in the town hall, though the exhibition had opened just minutes earlier. Glass cases lined the walls and formed a central aisle down the middle of the room and in each was a large selection of fossils, everything from ammonites with their beautifully curled shells, to sma
ll dinosaur skulls. But there was no denying that these exhibits, though important to the understanding of the creatures of prehistory, were utterly overshadowed by the fossil in the special end case.

  The Archaeopteryx did not have to share a case with any other fossil. It was perched upright on a specially-made stand, so that it was easy to see every facet of its detail. The case was at the top of the room and a curator sat on a chair beside it. He was there, according to the guidebook Clara had purchased as she entered the room, to answer any questions concerning the skeleton, but Clara suspected he was also there to make sure no one either attempted to steal the fossil or damage it. There was no doubting there were some people who would go to great lengths to destroy an item they felt called into question their entire belief system.

  A crowd had already formed about the case and Clara, O’Harris and Tommy had to wait patiently behind those ahead, glancing at the cases of other fossils, before they could step forward and admire the Archaeopteryx for themselves. The dinosaur-bird’s body was lying on its back (though some contended it was really laying on its front) and had its wings splayed out, displaying those controversial feathers for the world to see. The legs were twisted over to one side, while the long, feathered tail flicked up in a curve over the back. The fossil’s head was facing the opposite direction to the feet and the tiny jaw was slightly open, revealing the tiny, sharp teeth that marked this out as no bird.

  According to the guidebook, it was supposed the dinosaur-bird had died and fallen into a river, where it was quickly swallowed up by mud, thus preserving it from scavengers who would have pulled apart the skeleton in the process of consuming it. Over the centuries the river dried up and the mud hardened and was pressed by incredible forces to form sheets of soft limestone. When these were quarried, millenniums later, they revealed their hidden treasure. The Archaeopteryx had lived and died in a world it was hard to imagine, and it had never once thought about itself as the missing link, nor could it have known the controversy it would cause when it fell from the sky into a river one day.