The Moonlit Murders: A historical mystery page-turner (A Fen Churche Mystery Book 3) by Fliss Chester (best ereader for pc .txt) 📗

‘Well, if we ever come across a broad called Grand Central, we’ll think of you.’ Spencer gave Fen a gratuitous wink and she thought he looked like he enjoyed his own joke immensely. Still a tad star-struck, Fen laughed.

‘Oh, you’re a hoot, Spencer, sweetheart,’ Genie reached out and rubbed his arm. ‘Say, what do you think about that commotion with that dragon of a woman ordering everyone around down there? In the first-class boarding area, I mean. Do we know what it was that she had lost?’

Fen thought back to the scene on the quayside when she had seen the young woman she now had a name for, Eloise Miller-Wright, help her aunt among the suitcases. James had mentioned something about a red Cartier box and there was a touch of magpie about Fen that wanted to know more about what was in it. Luckily, James returned to the table at that very moment, a white-tie and white-jacketed waiter following on behind with a tray of drinks.

‘Thank you,’ Fen accepted the new schooner of sherry and lined it up next to the half-full first one. Genie and Spencer made appreciative noises too and, once the waiter had left them, Fen caught James up with their conversation and asked him if he knew any more about what had happened on the docks.

‘Well, it was quite the brouhaha,’ he said as he knocked back the rest of his first whisky and pushed the crystal tumbler away from him. He picked up the second drink and cradled it to his chest as he sat back. ‘If you heard it from where you were standing, think how ear-piercing it was for the rest of us. Not what you’d expect from two socialites.’

‘They both looked exquisitely dressed,’ Genie threw in. ‘Those hats of theirs…’

‘Quite stylish, yes,’ Fen added, not wanting to sound unsophisticated in front of these two glamorous people.

‘I think the old aunt had let a very precious case full of her jewels and whatnot out of her sight for two minutes—’ James started telling them.

‘The red Cartier one?’ Fen interrupted and James nodded. There was something about even saying the name of Paris’s famous jeweller that made Fen feel sophisticated.

‘And then, of course, she blamed everyone around her when she couldn’t find it,’ James carried on, then paused for another sip. ‘She did find it though. Turns out Eloise, her niece, had hidden it under some of the other cases, so it wasn’t so conspicuous.’

‘Wise of her,’ Fen mused. ‘I wonder why Mrs Archer – that’s her name, isn’t it? – I wonder why she was talking about being cursed though?’

‘Apparently the journey had been rather a long one,’ James filled her in. ‘With earrings lost at Rouen and a purse of francs vanished shortly before they reached the harbour.’

‘Oh poor things.’ Fen hated the thought of losing things, or worse, having them stolen – she’d had to share a room in Burgundy recently with a kleptomaniac and it hadn’t been a restful experience, to say the least.

‘As much as I wish we could travel in that sort of style,’ Genie squeezed Spencer’s knee, ‘I sure was glad that we had that fence between us and the old lady. I wouldn’t want to have been anywhere near!’ They all laughed, but Fen could see Spencer looking a little uneasy. Perhaps the late-afternoon whisky and cigars were getting to him, or maybe he didn’t like Genie’s candidness over his, or their, finances. Fen was looking at him, thinking these sorts of things as he shuffled forward on his chair and spoke.

‘Genie, sweetheart, whatever she has in that box of jewels—’

‘Oh, don’t you think it’s diamonds and pearls…’ Genie strung her hand along her boa as if it were an imaginary rope of pearls.

‘Whatever she has, I’ll buy you double in New York, sweetheart.’ Spencer stubbed out his cigar in a beautiful crystal glass ashtray. ‘We’ll get you better jewels, whatever it takes. Just you wait.’

9

Spencer, Genie, James and Fen had chatted some more and, once their drinks were finished, they’d parted company, all heading back to their cabins in order to change for dinner. Fen had felt dizzy as she’d stood up, though had done her best to hide it. She decided that although she could go from the saloon to her cabin without needing to head back out to the cold and damp deck, a brief blast of chill air might be what was required to sober herself up a bit.

As she walked along the promenade deck, she had to move aside more than once to allow groups of other passengers to pass. The ship was definitely filling up now and Fen noticed that it was mostly troops, still in their uniforms, who were milling around on the decks. She looked out over the docks as she waited for a group of young officers to walk past her. What was left of the buildings and fishermen’s houses were lit up, something they would never have dared to do during the air strikes that had devastated this port town.

She shivered, thinking of how many more lights there should be twinkling back at her, of how many warehouses, homes, offices, ticket booths and engine sheds had been destroyed. Then again, there was nothing she could do about it, and since the cold, drizzly weather had successfully helped clear her head, she pushed herself away from the edge of the deck and carried on towards the doors that would lead to the corridor where her cabin was. Rain was starting to drive in sideways under the cover of the promenade deck and Fen hastened her steps, careful not to slip on the wet decking.

‘Glad I’m only going as far as Southampton,’ she mentioned to a passing soldier, who reciprocated the sentiment by turning the collar of his greatcoat up around his neck, a cigarette jammed in his mouth, but a friendly