Page 78 of Murder on the Brighton Express
“Why not give it to the police?”
“Because I think you want the accolades. Why let an idiot of a detective get all the glory when you did the work?” She shook the paper. “Take it. And take the glory that comes your way when the world finds out you solved Ruth’s murder.”
“If you’re implying that theBulletinwill print my name in an article about the case, please ensure that doesn’t happen. My family are aware of my investigations, but they would prefer I kept that part of my life private.”
“Very well, if that’s what you want.” She must have realized I didn’t quite trust her, because she tried to reassure me. “I give you my word, Miss Fox. That ought to be enough when you consider that I never told the police about you.”
“Pardon?”
“Your name was on Ruth’s list of people associated with this hotel who could potentially be swayed to talk about the wedding.”
“Ruth was wrong. I wouldn’t have talked.”
“Didn’t you say she also blackmailed you in Brighton, or was about to? Some would call that motive.” She glanced at the lift again as the door opened, but lost interest when a couple of guests emerged, not Miss Hessing. “There will be an article about Ruth’s murder in tonight’s paper. Finlayson insists on it, now that there has been a development. I’ll make sure your name is not mentioned.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. You may print the name of Armitage and Associates instead. Harry Armitage worked with me every step of the way.”
The columnist shook her head in disappointment. “You’ll never get ahead if you give others credit. Particularly a man. Unless you own your investigations, you will never make a name for yourself, never attract clients or make any money. Take some advice from someone who had to fight in a man’s world and won—take credit for your accomplishments, Miss Fox. Don’t let your family’s wish for a polite, discreet niece smother your dream. I didn’t let my husband’s wishes smother mine. Now I have my name on my own office door.”
I’d once wanted my name alongside Harry’s on his office door. I’d also wanted to have my own agency. I still did. But I didn’t want to distance myself from my family in the process. Mrs. Blaine’s relationship with her husband was probably in dire straits before she became Mrs. Scoop, but I didn’t want to model my life on hers. Not a single part of it.
I read the address on the piece of paper. “I’ll telephone Scotland Yard immediately.”
She didn’t leave, however. Her continuous glances at the lift told me why. I had an idea, but first, there was one more item of business to attend to.
“I noticed you haven’t printed the story about Lord Pridhurst yet,” I said.
“Finlayson won’t allow it to run without further proof. I’d planned to get that proof from Ruth’s journal, but it has disappeared.”
I didn’t tell her the police had it. She would find that out eventually, but not from me. “I have a proposal for you.” I opened my bag and showed her the money Lady Pridhurst had slipped to me at afternoon tea. “I was tasked with giving you this in exchange for your paper dropping the story.”
Mrs. Scoop hesitated. Then she reached for the money.
I drew the bag away and closed the clasp. “Instead, I have another idea. I’ll allow you exclusive access to the wedding reception. You may observe discreetly. You may not speak to any guests.”
Her breath hitched in excitement. “No other journalist will be allowed in?”
“Only you. Beginning from the moment Miss Hessing walks out of that lift.”
Her sharp gaze shifted to the lift. “You have the authority to make this promise?”
“I do. However, there are some conditions, but I don’t think you’ll disagree to them. Firstly, you can only write favorable things.”
She stiffened. “I write what I observe, Miss Fox. I won’t be compromised.”
I looked to Harmony and Mr. Hobart, just finishing tense discussions with suppliers. Harmony tucked her clipboard against her chest, a look of sheer determination on her face. Mr. Chapman hurried past on his way to the ballroom, his tie impeccably straight, a fresh rosebud pinned to his lapel, his hair perfect. He was the personification of a dapper gentleman with better taste than most women. Together with Mrs. Poole’s cooking and management of the kitchen, I knew this team would ensure the wedding reception was a spectacular success.
“All right. You can write what you like, but I insist you mention every single supplier by name, from the designer of Miss Hessing’s dress to the florist and other decorations. I will provide you with a list before the end of the evening. And theentirecolumn must be dedicated to the wedding. Those are the final conditions.”
Mrs. Scoop thrust out her hand. I shook it.
She settled into one of the armchairs where she could see the lift door, and I approached Mr. Hobart and Harmony.
“Is that the gossip columnist, Mrs. Scoop?” Harmony asked, peering past me. “She shouldn’t be here.”
“I’ve allowed her exclusive access in exchange for a glowing report on the event in which she will mention every supplier.”
Mr. Hobart pumped his fist in triumph. “Well done, Miss Fox. Mrs. Hessing will be glad to hear it. She has wanted to control what was written about the wedding all along, but knows how cruel the British press can be. You can reassure her now. Meanwhile, I’ll inform Frank to be very careful about not letting in any more journalists. If Mrs. Scoop wants an exclusive, she’ll get it.”
