Page 41 of Murder on the Brighton Express
“The London Tattlerknew about Geraldine. Did it upset you to miss out on the scoop?” At the sound of Mr. Finlayson’s office door slamming shut again, I added, “Did it upset your editor?”
She gave a brittle laugh as she opened the door. “I’ll see you out.”
Harry waited for us to exit ahead of him, but Mrs. Scoop insisted he go first. I suspected that was so I could see the effect he had on the typists. Their heads turned to follow him as he passed their desks.
My assumption was proved correct when Mrs. Scoop caught my elbow. She bent to whisper in my ear. “Be careful, Miss Fox. Handsome men can ruin an intelligent girl’s life.”
I pulled free and hurried after Harry. Once in the reception area, I peered through the window behind the front desk, catching Mrs. Scoop watching us.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Harry as we exited onto Fleet Street.
“For what?”
“For teasing you about your looks.”
“I don’t mind it coming from you, because I know you value me for all my other attributes.”
My irritation with Mrs. Scoop suddenly vanished. Harry had a way of dragging me out of bad moods like no one else. “Allyour other attributes?”
“I could list them for you, but it would take too long, and you already know them anyway.”
I laughed. “Careful, Harry. Your arrogance might have me changing my mind.”
“Would you like me to balance it by listing all the wonderful things about you, too?”
My cheeks flamed. For the second time in as many hours, I quickened my pace to outstrip him. Once again, it was no use. His long strides easily kept up. A sideways glance proved he realized his compliment unsettled me, and he was enjoying himself.
Drat him.
The Mayfair’s old restaurant,now the ballroom, was off-limits to everyone, including me. Mr. Chapman had instructed a footman to stand guard and turn away curious guests and staff alike. The steward smirked at me after my attempt to peek inside failed. I wondered if he would also refuse my uncle entry or whether it was just me. I was probably the only family member banned from entering. Mr. Chapman didn’t like me much.
I took the stairs to the fourth floor, but didn’t enter my suite. I’d not spoken to my aunt for more than a few minutes since returning from Brighton. I couldn’t avoid her forever. Nor should I. She needed to know we all cared about her. If she was irritable, I wouldn’t take it to heart. Indeed, I’d see it as a good sign because it meant she hadn’t taken her tonic and the withdrawal was affecting her mood.
My uncle and aunt’s suite was larger than mine, with the best view over Green Park of all the hotel’s rooms. While my suite had been furnished in fine style, it had few personal touches aside from my photographs and books. Theirs housed paintings and decorations chosen by my aunt, as well as dozens of framed photographs on the occasional tables. There was even a photograph of my mother and father on their wedding day. Considering Aunt Lilian had been forbidden from attending her sister’s wedding by their parents, the photograph must have been sent directly to her by my mother. It was a testament to her love for my mother that she’d kept it, and most likely even hidden it from her parents while they were still alive.
Aunt Lilian reclined on the sofa in a loose-fitting gown that made her thin frame seem skeletal. A whirring electric fan ruffled her hair, which was hanging past her shoulders. The silvery-gray strands were a similar color to her skin. There were no books or magazines within reach, just a dry cloth and a basin of water.
She didn’t smile at me. She didn’t even attempt one. Nor did she greet me with her usual kindness. In the past, even when Aunt Lilian was at her worst, she always gave me a warm welcome. Now, she could no longer manage even that.
“What is it, Cleo?” she asked on a heavy sigh.
I didn’t want to tell her I was worried about her, or that I felt guilty for not seeing much of her these last few days. In her current mood, she’d accuse me of pitying her. Instead, I asked for help.
“You always know so much about members of society, Aunt. I hoped you could tell me about Lord and Lady Pridhurst of Wellingborough.”
She raised herself up from the cushions and swung her bare feet to the floor. Her lips pinched. I thought it was because the movement caused her pain, but it may have been because my question, or my presence, irritated her. “What do the Pridhursts have to do with anything, Cleopatra? Are you investigating again?”
“I… Uh…”
“Can you not leave good people alone? Everyone has secrets, but it doesn’t mean they should be exposed for all and sundry to gossip over. Why must you open old wounds?”
My last investigation had indeed opened old wounds for a family my aunt would consider ‘good people’ and this investigation threatened to expose fresh ones the Pridhursts were trying to hide. She’d only just met them in Brighton, but that encounter was enough for her to identify with their need for privacy.
“I’m sorry, Aunt.” I took the cloth and dipped it into the basin. The water was no longer cool, but a damp cloth should give her a little relief. “Place this on your forehead then I’ll leave you be.”
She pushed my hand away. “Fetch my tonic. It’s beside the bed.”
I chewed the inside of my lip.
