Page 33 of Murder on the Brighton Express
I’d not snuck into either room on the hotel’s ground floor for months. I’d had no reason to do so. Uncle Ronald wouldn’t be pleased, particularly if the two guests enjoying cigars and whiskey complained. Hopefully they didn’t know I was the niece of the owner and wouldn’t take their complaints to him.
“Don’t mind me,” I said. “I’m looking for the latest edition ofThe Evening Bulletin. I’ll be but a moment.”
One of the gentlemen picked up the newspaper from the table beside him and handed it to me.
I turned the pages, skimming each article. Once again, there was no mention of Ruth Price’s murder. Mrs. Scoop’s column was about the secret guest list for an upcoming royal event that she’d managed to see. I wondered if Ruth had been the one to ferret out that information before her death.
I handed the newspaper back. “Enjoy your cigars, gentlemen.”
I lingered in the foyer for a while, chatting to Miss Hessing. Or, rather, she did all the chatting while I listened. Her enthusiasm for the wedding spilled out of her. It was infectious, and I encouraged her with smiles and nods until it was time to change for dinner.
In my suite, Jane had been replaced by Harmony. “I sent her to Miss Bainbridge’s,” she said as she laid out a sage green and silver dress on the bed.
“Why?”
“I expected you’d want to tell me about your progress on the investigation.”
I sat at the dressing table and removed the pins from my hair. “We could talk over breakfast tomorrow. You don’t need to assist me in the evenings while you’re working with Floyd, you know that.”
She helped me with the pins. “I don’t mind.”
I turned my attention back to the mirror’s reflection. Behind Harmony, the beads on the dress shimmered in the light. “I thought I was wearing the blue gown tonight.”
“You wore the blue last time you had dinner with your family in the hotel restaurant.”
“Did I?” I frowned, thinking back.
“Be still so I can do your hair. It’s a mess.”
“It’s not that bad.”
To prove her point, Harmony ran the brush firmly through it. When I protested, she simply shrugged. “It’s knotty.”
“If it is, it’s not Jane’s fault. It’s because I’ve been outside most of the day and wind attacked it.”
When she didn’t answer, I laid a hand on her arm. “Harmony, what’s wrong?”
She lowered the brush to the dressing table. “All right, I admit it. I miss your company. Mr. Bainbridge is testing my nerves. He’s kind and not too demanding, but he’s not my friend. Not like you. When we have spare time, he doesn’t want to talk about interesting things like books or mysteries. He talks about cricket or automobiles.”
I pressed my lips together to stop myself laughing. “I miss you too, Harmony. But you don’t have to pretend to want to help me get ready in order to talk to me.”
“All right.” She sat on the bed. “Tell me how your investigation progresses.”
“Well, now you have to help me get ready for dinner, since you got rid of Jane.” I turned to face the mirror. “Although I think I can manage my own hair tonight. You’ll just have to help me with the buttons on my dress.”
She picked up the brush again. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re dreadful at doing your own hair.” She passed the brush through my hair with gentler strokes. “What did Ruth Price’s brother say about the police verdict?”
I told her that Enoch Price didn’t think his sister would take her own life, and how speaking to him led me to call at the office ofThe Evening Bulletinon Fleet Street. “According to Mrs. Scoop, Ruth went to Brighton to find out more about Lord Pridhurst. Apparently, he’s about to lose his share of a shipping company, which will cause Mr. Holland to lose interest in Odette. Isn’t that dreadful? Imagine never knowing if a man was interested in you for yourself or for your money and connections.”
Flossy faced the same problem. It was a good thing I’d vowed not to marry. I wasn’t a wealthy heiress, but not many people knew that, and with my close connection to the Bainbridges, most assumed I was worth a fortune, too.
Harmony wasn’t listening, however. “Mrs. Scoop, the gossip columnist?” She dug a pin a little too firmly into my hair, scraping my scalp. “I’ve had it up to my neck with the gutter press. Victor told me about a fellow Mrs. Poole threw out of the kitchen this morning. Apparently, he was trying to find out what would be served at the wedding reception.” She slid another pin into the arrangement, this time gentler. “You should inform Harry. He’s looking for a gossip columnist who wants to check in and spy on us.”
“I did. It’s her, Mrs. Scoop.”
Harmony’s jaw dropped. She stared at me in the mirror’s reflection for a moment before pressing her lips together and once again poking my scalp with a pin. “I have a mind to march into her office and demand she stop. Not that it will do any good, but it will make me feel better.”
“She told me she’s not that interested, after all.”
