9
But the revelations were not over yet. Another attendant came into the dining car, clutching something in his hand.
‘What is this?’ cried Dr Sandwich, struggling to regain control of the situation.
‘Pardon me, Dr Sandwich,’ said the attendant. ‘We have discovered something in Mr Strange’s compartment.’
He held out his hand. From it dangled something that had once been white, but was now smeared with thick, rusty brown stains. It looked like a large handkerchief.
Mr Strange froze.
‘Is that blood?’ asked Mrs Vitellius faintly.
‘That isn’t mine,’ said Mr Strange, getting up in a hurry. ‘I’ve never seen it before. I don’t know what . . . In my room, you say?’
‘In his suitcase, Dr Sandwich,’ said the attendant apologetically. ‘We have also discovered some, er, bits of paper covered in writing. These notes – they all concern the stabbing of a young woman. Mr Buri, Dr Sandwich, we felt sure that they were relevant to the case.’
‘I am a crime writer!’ said Mr Strange. ‘Those are plans for my next novel – it is to feature a murder on a train. They’re not real.’ It was the worst answer he could have given.
‘Arrest him!’ cried Mr Daunt, swinging his heavy hand at Mr Strange.
I saw Dr Sandwich’s face contorting – it was almost funny, watching his certainty flaking away like nibbled pastry. I could tell that Daisy was enjoying it most awfully as well, although of course her face gave nothing away apart from appropriate horror.
Mr Strange was trembling. ‘Don’t you dare!’ he gulped. ‘I’ll . . . You shan’t be able to hold me. You’ll see – when the police arrive they’ll let me go!’
‘Take him to the guards’ van!’ said Dr Sandwich. ‘Away from the body, mind. And I want his room searched again! We will get to the bottom of this.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ said Jocelyn as Mr Strange was led away, and two attendants rushed to fetch bolt cutters to free Il Mysterioso. ‘Please! Sit down, please – finish your meal . . .’
There was a general outcry. Madame Melinda began to shout about Georgiana and the séance, and Jocelyn, looking absolutely exhausted, began to direct and organize, listening to Madame Melinda as Mr Strange was led away, a Wagon Lit attendant on each side of him. Alexander looked as though he wanted to come and speak to us, but my father was hovering protectively and he could not get close.
‘Mr Daunt, Mr Daunt,’ said Sarah, getting up and hurrying over to Mr Daunt’s table. ‘Are you quite all right?’
‘Do go away, Sarah. Can’t you be quiet?’ he snapped at her.
Sarah stepped back, a shocked look on her face, and then turned and stormed out of the dining car.
‘Servants can be so difficult,’ said the Countess. ‘Alexander, I feel faint. I need you to help me back to my room. My cane will not suffice.’
As Alexander walked past our table, I glanced up at him and he gave me a little smile. I smiled back – but I was wondering again about the Countess. How frail was she, really? Her weakness seemed to come and go to order.
My father leaned over to me and Daisy. He looked very stern, and I wobbled a bit – I knew he was not cross with us, but all the same I felt his anger against my chest, like a battering ram. ‘From now on I want you to stay with a grown-up at all times,’ he said. ‘This whole thing is being managed dreadfully – how are we to be sure that the murderer has been apprehended? Shocking, putting a man like that in charge!’ He glowered at Dr Sandwich.
‘Can we go and sit in Hetty’s compartment?’ asked Daisy brightly. ‘I’d feel safer there, away from all this.’
I guessed what she was doing. She wasn’t worried about our safety. She was making sure we were as close as possible to the one suspect we had still not investigated properly: Sarah.
‘Very well,’ said my father. ‘You may go to Hetty’s compartment. I will speak to her now, and tell her to watch over you. I must say, Miss Wells, that this is a very sensible suggestion. I’m pleased. Perhaps my daughter has been making an impression on you after all . . .’
‘Hazel’s caution is rubbing off on me,’ agreed Daisy. ‘That must be it.’
I narrowed my eyes at her. Really, she was laying it on frightfully thick. But my father was too distracted to see it.
‘Come on, Hazel,’ she went on, winking at me quite outrageously. ‘Let’s go and be safe.’
10
When we reached Hetty and Sarah’s compartment, it was empty. Hetty, of course, was still in the restaurant car speaking to my father, but where was Sarah? The window was shut, and the room was dark and close. I wriggled uncomfortably. ‘Daisy,’ I said, ‘what are we doing?’
‘The same as always,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘Investigating, of course. Anyway, it’s not as if we’re not supposed to be here. Hetty’s our maid, after all. Now, quick – before anyone comes in, let’s start looking—’
But we had no time to look for anything. With a thump, the door burst open. ‘Sarah,’ boomed Mr Daunt, ‘follow me – I need to speak to you . . .’
And through the door they both came. But as soon as they were inside Sarah’s arms went around his neck, and he bent his face to hers, his nasty moustache rubbing against her mouth.
They were kissing.
We stood there, frozen in amazement. Then Mr Daunt saw us and jumped away from Sarah with a yell. Sarah screamed.
‘What are you DOING in here?’ Mr Daunt bellowed at us.
‘We were waiting for Hetty!’ gasped Daisy, all shocked innocence. You would think she had never seen anything scandalous before in her life. ‘What were you— Oh!’
‘I was giving Sarah her orders,’ growled Mr Daunt. ‘Whatever you thought you saw – you saw nothing, d’you hear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ I whispered. At that moment I was quite simply afraid. Mr Daunt was so fierce! And was this the motive we had been looking for, for Sarah? It had not made sense for her to have murdered Mrs Daunt merely because she hated her – but if she was in love with Mr Daunt, everything was suddenly quite understandable. I was only shocked at Mr Daunt: he had loved his wife, and here he was, less than a day after she had been murdered, kissing someone else. I suppose grief makes people do odd things.
‘You! Fix this!’ Mr Daunt snapped at Sarah, then stormed out without another word.
‘Nosy children!’ snapped Sarah. ‘If you say anything, I shall—’
But we never heard what she would do, because at that moment Hetty came in, gasping and saying, ‘Oh, isn’t this dreadful?’
For a moment I thought she meant Sarah and Mr Daunt – but of course she only meant Mr Strange’s arrest.
Sarah snapped her mouth shut, sat down and pulled out some mending – one of Mr Daunt’s jackets. She began to sew a button back on it, her fingers jerking the needle through viciously, like someone tightening a noose, and then biting off the thread with her teeth, lip curled and angry. I could see that she wanted to do the same to us. I wondered again why Dr Sandwich had not thought to question Sarah and Hetty. Of course, in crime novels the servants are not proper characters, but in real life they are. They fall in love, and hate people, just like anyone else. Sarah could just as easily be the murderer as the Countess or Mr Strange.
‘Girls, perhaps this is not the best place for you,’ said Hetty to us, looking at Sarah. ‘Shall we go out for a . . . a walk?’
I nodded frantically. I felt a grateful swell in my heart towards Hetty. I loved the red frizz of her hair and the thin bones of her wrists, and I could have hugged her then and there, if that had been the proper English thing to do.
Down the corridor we walked, and I ought to have felt relieved to be out of that compartment, but instead it was as if the train itself were closing in on me. There was danger all around – and until the murder was solved we could not be safe. ‘I want to go outside properly,’ I said suddenly.
‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’ asked Hetty. ‘Not that I wouldn??
?t like to, but your father . . . the bomb, Miss Hazel.’
‘Oh no, let’s!’ said Daisy. ‘It’ll make such a lovely change!’
Suddenly Alexander emerged from the Countess’s compartment. He looked nervous – I could see that something had upset him.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘If you’re going outside, may I come with you?’
Daisy frowned. ‘I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘After all, you are a strange man, and we oughtn’t to go walking with strange men.’
‘I’m not a strange man!’ said Alexander. ‘I’m me! Please say yes.’ I could see that this really mattered to him – although I could not understand why.
‘Really, Daisy!’ said Hetty. ‘Manners! If Miss Hazel’s father agrees, Master Arcady, of course you may come.’
She turned away, and quick as a flash Alexander leaned over to us. ‘You’ve got to help me!’ he whispered. ‘Something’s happened!’
1
‘Mr Wong!’ called Hetty.
My father popped his head out into the corridor, glasses tilting down his nose. ‘What’s all this?’ he asked. ‘Hazel, why are you back so soon?’
‘The girls and Master Arcady would like to go for a walk outside, sir,’ said Hetty, ‘But . . . well . . .’
My father was staring down at me as though he could burrow straight inside my head and see every bad thought there. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked at last.
‘Yes please,’ I said, although I was not sure any more. ‘We’ll be safe. We’ll stay close to the train.’
‘Well . . . I suppose I can watch you out of the window . . .’
‘Oh, would you?’ asked Daisy – laying it on rather thick, I thought. But my father smiled. It’s frightening how good Daisy is at reading people.
Back we went to put on our sunhats and outside shoes, and then we were ready for our expedition. Of course, heads came popping out of compartments all along the corridor to see what was going on.
‘Outside!’ said Madame Melinda. ‘Surely not! It sounds most dangerous. There are dark energies all around us – I can feel them! Better to stay inside, surely.’ She wrung her plump little hands. I thought how hot she must be in her black dress – but perhaps mediums were above all that.
‘The English and their fresh air!’ exclaimed the Countess. ‘And you are going, Alexander?’
‘Yes, Grandmother,’ he replied nervously.
‘Will you be chaperoning?’ asked the Countess, turning to Hetty.
‘Yes, my lady,’ said Hetty, bobbing a curtsey.
‘Well, then – keep a sharp eye on them, that’s all I can say,’ said the Countess in a very carrying voice. ‘You know what young people are like!’
Alexander and I went crimson. I thought I should die of shame. Why must grown-ups always say these things? Daisy inspected a spot of dust on her collar, and did not react.
‘Yes, my lady,’ said Hetty again. ‘I shan’t let them out of my sight, my lady.’
So out we trooped, into the light summer air. The sun felt very surprising against my skin. I turned my head as we walked past Mr Daunt’s compartment and saw him glowering out at us. He must still be cross about what we had seen. Mr Daunt, I thought, really was a very unpleasant man.
2
‘What is it?’ I whispered to Alexander, as soon as we were out of the train. It had stopped in a flat grassy clearing in the middle of the woods – though the trees were lurking only twenty paces away on all sides. We were in a tunnel of brightness, but it would not take long to step out of the light and be swallowed up by the forest.
‘I told you, something’s happened,’ said Alexander. ‘Listen. I was in Grandmother’s compartment just now, helping her to find some things, and I looked in a drawer I shouldn’t have. Grandmother yelled at me, and I closed it – but before I did, I saw what was in there. It was the necklace!’
‘The necklace?’ said Daisy sharply.
‘You know – Mrs Daunt’s. The one that Grandmother thinks is ours. And now I don’t know what to do. Grandmother can’t be the murderer – she says awful things sometimes, but that’s just the way she is, she doesn’t mean it. All the same, if she’s managed to get it, she’s obviously done something stupid, and I don’t know how to help her. I’ve taken it out of her room – it’s safe in my pocket – but I don’t know what to do now. She’s family, see – I can’t just turn her in!’
Daisy froze, and so did I. For all that we were out in the warm European sun, I felt suddenly dragged back to Fallingford in the rain, and all the dreadful things that had happened there.
‘See, Grandmother sometimes doesn’t behave the way normal people do. I think she actually did whip people in Russia, and I know she really was royal.’
‘So?’ said Daisy, still frozen.
‘So she might not understand that she shouldn’t have stolen the necklace. But I’m afraid that if I give it to Dr Sandwich, he won’t see that this has nothing to do with the murder.’
‘Are you sure it doesn’t?’ Daisy’s chin was up and her eyes were flashing. ‘Just because someone’s in your family – well, all criminals are part of someone’s family, aren’t they?’
Something jumped inside me. ‘What do you want us to do?’ I asked.
‘Help me prove she didn’t do it,’ said Alexander. ‘Please. I’m consulting you as fellow detectives.’
I looked at Daisy. Would she help? Or was it too much like remembering the past? There was a pause, and then:
‘You must understand one thing. We don’t help. You help us. And there is a pledge that we need you to make before we go any further. This is very important. Do you swear not to tell anyone about what we do? If you don’t, we will hunt you down and inflict dreadful medieval tortures on you.’
As a version of the official Detective Society pledge, it was chopped down and rather cruel. Daisy had clearly not quite forgiven Alexander for being a rival detective, as well as a boy.
‘Um . . .’ he said. ‘OK.’ Then he broke into a nervous grin.
‘Excellent,’ said Daisy. ‘Now, tell us: did you find anything else in her room – any bloodstained clothes, for example?’
‘No! No way! Look, she couldn’t have done the murder.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Daisy. ‘What is she like without her cane? Can she move about without it?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Alexander. ‘Although she always tries to hide it, she’s terribly spry. She can almost out-walk me. But that doesn’t mean she did it! She doesn’t know any magic tricks – she couldn’t have managed to lock that door.’
He sounded so certain, but I could not help frowning. It was all very well to tell Alexander that we would help him – but what he said didn’t really rule out his grandmother at all. On the contrary, he was making her seem even more suspicious. If the Countess could move quickly when she wanted to, she might have had time to kill Mrs Daunt and escape – and we now knew that she had the necklace hidden in her room. And that made the case even odder. We had a bloody piece of fabric and incriminating documents from Mr Strange’s room, but now the necklace had been found in the Countess’s. All three were good clues, but spread out like that, what did they mean? The evidence seemed to point to two people at once – and now that we had discovered a motive for Sarah, it seemed that any of our remaining suspects might have committed the crime.
3
Daisy led us towards the back of the train, along the line of compartments.
I wondered why she had chosen that route – and then, of course, I realized. She was on the track of possible clues – and by walking past the compartments, she would find anything that might have been dropped there. It was a long shot – surely the murderer would have thrown whatever it was out of the window moments after Mrs Daunt screamed, which meant that it would be miles back down the track, and quite lost – but it was better than no chance at all.
I tipped my head back and felt the warm of the day. I did like being in the sun, and I did like
knowing that the murderer was safely in the Orient Express behind us. But then I stumbled on the rough stones, and although I had wanted to be free of the train, I suddenly felt exposed, like a snail peeled out of its shell. I thought of the bomb that had exploded on the line ahead of us, and shivered. Nowhere in the world was really safe, was it? There were always things lurking, ready to throw your life off balance.
While we walked Alexander made polite, cheerful conversation about the scenery, and the weather, and Daisy’s pretty hat – no truly English boy would have done it, but I was glad he was filling up the air: no one who heard us from the train would suspect that we were detecting. There were no awkward pauses and silences, and no shy moments. I even found myself replying, although I did not need to. Alexander was all right, whatever Daisy thought.
On we went, almost as far as the dining car – and there, trapped in the coupling between the carriages, fluttering in the breeze, was a splash of dark red.
For a moment I thought it was a bloodstain, and my fingers went cold – but of course it was not.
‘Oh dear,’ said Daisy. ‘Someone’s dropped their scarf out of the window.’ She reached gracefully across and unhooked it, dangling it from her fingertips. It ripped a little, then fanned out through her fingers – it was fine, silky material: a lady’s scarf. ‘Does anyone recognize it?’
My heart was pounding. This was the clue we had been looking for – it must be! It was a plain dark red, but I could see that there were darker dashes and marks speckled across it. Was that blood?
Hetty had her worried face on again. I could tell that she knew the scarf was important, but could not decide whether to be responsible and tell someone – or curious.
Alexander looked worried too. ‘I don’t know . . . I don’t think I’ve seen it on Grandmother.’