Page 2 of Murder on the Brighton Express
Odette batted her lashes at Mr. Holland while her mother stared out to sea, her gaze distant. She gave no sign she’d been listening to the exchange.
I watched the woman who was observing us through her opera glasses. She’d watched Lord Pridhurst as he walked to the shop, before focusing her glasses on us once more.
An awkward silence threatened to descend. Flossy seemed unsure what to say or do, so I suggested we return to our hotel to pack.
“Are you leaving tomorrow, too?” Odette asked. “We’re catching the ten-thirty express to London, where Papa will leave us. Mama and I will continue home to Wellingborough.”
“We’re taking the ten-thirty as well,” Flossy said. “Perhaps we’ll see you checking out in the morning.”
Lady Pridhurst and Odette asked us to give Aunt Lilian their regards, then we went on our way, while they waited for Lord Pridhurst to return with Odette’s ice cream.
We passed the woman with the opera glasses. She looked out to sea, or pretended to, the opera glasses clasped tightly in her gloved hand. Like Mr. Holland, she seemed out of place in a seaside town with her dark clothing and a narrow-brimmed hat that didn’t keep the sun off her face. She was no older than me, with light brown hair arranged in a simple style at the nape of her neck. Her dress was plain, her shoes sensible, and she wore no jewelry. A pair of spectacles on her freckled nose made her seem bookish, and the brown leather satchel at her feet added to the cliché. A brass name plaque was attached to the satchel’s smooth leather, just below the clasp. I couldn’t read the inscription.
She did a terrible job of feigning interest in the sea. Her gaze flicked to us as we passed, only to return to the water after it connected with mine.
When Flossy and I reached the kiosks at either side of the pier’s entrance, I looked behind me, but the woman was no longer there.
The beach was busy. Holidaymakers sat on the chairs provided or on the sand, while children made castles and dug holes. Several of the bathing machines were already in the water, their female occupants hidden from view for the sake of their modesty. The male bathers required no machines, but were relegated to a spot further along the beach away from the public.
“Are you sure you don’t want to have a dip?” I teased Flossy. “It’ll be our last opportunity.” It was a conversation we’d had almost every day since our arrival. I’d enjoyed getting in the water numerous times from the safety of one of the horse-drawn bathing machines, but she’d refused without giving it even a moment’s consideration. No amount of pleading had encouraged her to join me, so I’d ended up going alone.
She didn’t even bother to refuse this time. She lowered her parasol with a snap and strode off. I caught up to her and we entered the hotel together.
The Grand Brighton Hotel lived up to its name in both size and opulence. The entrance foyer oozed elegance from every marble column and gold-leaf ceiling rose glinting in the light cast by the crystal chandeliers. Like the Mayfair, the building was powered by electricity and had a comfortable lift, coincidentally also operated by a man named John. The manager and assistant manager both greeted us and inquired about Lady Bainbridge’s health. Their attention to detail and friendly service reminded me of the Mayfair’s extremely capable Mr. Hobart and Peter, and Harry before him.
When I pointed out the similarities to Flossy, she merely sniffed and said the Mayfair had a more welcoming, homely feel. I did not remind her that itwasher home. I suspected she was missing it and her life in London, and at that moment, even a royal palace would fall short of her expectations.
As Flossy inserted the key to the room we shared, I caught her elbow. “Let’s collect our costumes and head back to the beach. You don’t want to go this entire holiday without going for a swim, do you? It would be a shame for the costume you bought to go unused.”
“I think I should sit with Mother for a while. You go.”
Instead of entering our suite, she headed to the next room where Aunt Lilian would be resting alone. Uncle Ronald had stayed in Brighton for only a week before returning to London. He’d claimed something at the Mayfair needed his attention, but I suspected that was a ruse. For one thing, he wouldn’t tell us what it was, and Mr. Hobart was very capable of handling any issues. Secondly, Uncle Ronald had been restless the entire week. Like Aunt Lilian, he found fault with the Grand Brighton Hotel at every turn. Nothing was good enough. Buthisrestlessness seemed to stem from the fact he was bored. He grumbled every time we suggested going for a walk or picnic. He behaved like a child when we sat on the beach, asking every five minutes if we were ready to leave. The only time he seemed to enjoy himself was when we met other guests in the foyer or at dances or the theater. He took those opportunities to make new friends and suggest they stay at the Mayfair Hotel next time they were in London.
Flossy said her father had always been like that on holidays. The Mayfair Hotel was his life and he was incapable of relaxing when not there. Neither Flossy nor I minded when he decided to leave. We breathed a sigh of relief when we waved him goodbye.
My other cousin, Floyd, had elected to remain in London. Since he was planning the Hessing-Liddicoat wedding reception, his presence at the hotel was necessary. Although Harmony would do most of the work, Floyd needed to be visible. The bride-to-be’s mother expected a Bainbridge to be at her beck and call, and she was too important to disappoint.
Harmony would have come to Brighton as maid to Flossy and me, but her temporary promotion to Floyd’s assistant meant she had to miss out. Her replacement, a maid named Jane, was in our suite, arranging clothes on the bed to pack. She bobbed a curtsy when I greeted her and offered to order me tea from the kitchen through the speaking tube.
“I think I’ll take a dip,” I told her. “The packing can wait.”
She curtsied again. “I’ll gather your costume and towel, Miss Fox.”
“Will you enter the water with me? It’s our last day here, and it really is quite invigorating. You can borrow Miss Bainbridge’s costume if you don’t have one.”
“No, thank you.”
I’d asked Jane every time I went into the water, and she’d declined every time. She accompanied me to help me change into and out of my bathing costume, but she always refused to get in. She was afraid of being washed out to sea or eaten by a shark. Both reasons were illogical, given the shallow depth, and I’d told her as much on our first day, but she still refused. Perhaps a similar fear stopped Flossy, too.
Although I’d never learnedto swim, I managed to move through the water by kicking my legs and making circular motions with my arms, although my heavy wet costume didn’t make it easy. I spent some time in the water while Jane watched on from the safety of the bathing machine. Or so I thought. When I paddled back to her, her attention was focused on the hut next to us, and she failed to notice me until I cleared my throat.
She jumped up and helped me up the steps. “Sorry, Miss Fox! I’ll get your towel.” She threw it around me and rubbed my arms to warm them. “Come inside and dry off quickly. The clouds have come over and it’s a little cool now. You don’t want to catch your death, all wet as you are.”
“I don’t think a little cool weather will harm me, but thank you.”
She closed the hut’s door for privacy, but not before she glanced again at the bathing machine alongside ours. A woman’s giggle drifted on the breeze, followed by a gentleman’s deeper voice. I couldn’t make out his words, but merely hearing it piqued my interest as much as it had Jane’s. The bathing machines were supposed to be for women only.
Jane pulled the cord to raise the flag on the hut’s roof, signaling to the operator on the beach that we were finished, then she joined me inside. By the time she’d helped me out of my wet flannel costume and into my dry clothes, the horse had brought us back to the shore. We alighted from the hut onto the sand and headed up the beach to the promenade. Once on higher ground, Jane and I both had the same idea, and turned to face the water. The bathing machine that had been beside ours was still out. Someone appeared to be swimming away from it.
