Page 32 of Murder on the Brighton Express
Cora, who at nineteen was the elder of the sisters, leaned forward conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she whispered. “Earlier this week, I read that the actress in his next play was in Brighton, too. Coincidence?” She picked up her teacup and arched her eyebrows. “I think not.”
“Where did you read that?” I asked.
“EitherThe Evening BulletinorThe London Tattler. They have the best scoops.”
Mary scolded her sister. “You’re wicked to spread such rumors, Cora. Mr. Beecroft is far too gentlemanly to do what you’re suggesting.”
“How do you know he’s gentlemanly?” Cora asked.
“I can tell by looking at him. He has such a nice smile on his posters.”
Cora rolled her eyes.
I excused myself from the sitting room as soon as I’d finished my tea. Instead of heading upstairs to my suite, I made my way to the staff parlor. Goliath was chatting to one of the footmen over cups of tea and cake. Neither was surprised to see me there, but the footman greeted me with more formality and awkwardness than Goliath.
I reached for the stack of newspapers on the table in the corner. “Don’t mind me.”
I sorted through the stack, separating the newspapers according to the paper’s title then sub-sorted them by date. There were several papers represented in the pile, includingThe Evening BulletinandThe London Tattler. Some of the editions dated to a week prior, but most had been printed in the last four days, although none in the past twenty-four hours
I began with the editions ofThe Evening Bulletin, even though I doubted I’d find what I was looking for. As suspected, there was no mention of Geraldine Lacroix in Mrs. Scoop’s column.
The footman left and Goliath joined me, cup of tea cradled in the palm of his big hand. “What are you looking for, Miss Fox?”
“An article about Geraldine Lacroix in Brighton. Have you read it?”
“Can’t say I have, but I don’t read the gossips much.” He sat and picked up a copy ofThe London Tattler. “If it appeared in today’s edition, it won’t be here. The maids rescue the papers the guests throw out, but no one throws them out on the day they come.”
“It was printed earlier this week, so it might not be in any of these. It’s certainly not inThe Evening Bulletin.”
“Did you expect it to be?”
“No, but I wanted to rule it out.” So far, there was still nothing connecting Beecroft to Ruth Price. I continued to search with Goliath’s help.
He found the article about Geraldine Lacroix inThe London Tattler. The anonymous reporter claimed she’d been seen in Brighton enjoying the ‘numerous entertainments on offer.’ It didn’t mention sea bathing, or who she was with, nor was there any mention of Clement Beecroft.
“Not very scandalous,” Goliath said, folding the newspaper. An article on the back page about cheating rumors at an automobile event caught his attention and he stretched out his long legs as he read it.
The door opened and Peter popped his head inside. “Goliath! There you are! I’ve been looking for you.”
Goliath continued to read without looking up. “It’s not Miss Fox’s fault.”
“I didn’t say it was.” Peter strode in and snatched the newspaper out of the porter’s hands. “You’re needed.”
Goliath hauled himself to his feet. “This place would fall apart without me.”
Peter clapped him on the back. “It’s true. You’re indispensable. No one moves luggage like you.”
Goliath rounded on him. “I was being sarcastic.”
Peter pushed him toward the exit. “I don’t have time for your sarcasm, but I can assure you, you are a valuable member of the front-of-house team. Nobody carries heavy luggage with as much ease as you do.”
Goliath scrubbed a big paw across his jaw. “Thanks, Peter. Don’t mind me. I’ve been spending too much time with Frank lately. His sullenness is contagious.”
I followed the two men out of the parlor. “Peter, have the hotel’s copies of the evening newspapers arrived yet?”
“Some. They’re in the smoking room.”
I crossed the foyer, keeping my eyes peeled for my uncle. He didn’t like me entering the domain of the male guests. The billiard and smoking rooms were spaces for the gentlemen to be themselves, so he’d told me. If ladies insisted on joining them, where could men go to discuss topics unsuitable for female ears? He hadn’t liked it when I listed a number of other places, from gentlemen’s clubs to parliament.
