Page 42 of Murder on the Brighton Express

“Cleopatra! I asked you to fetch my tonic.”

“I don’t think you should have any more. It’s not good for you.”

She clicked her tongue in irritation and pushed herself to her feet. “You’re not a doctor,” she snapped as she carefully made her way to the adjoining bedroom.

I slipped out of her suite and almost bumped into Uncle Ronald about to enter. He must have realized from the look on my face that I’d had an uncomfortable encounter with Aunt Lilian.

He reached past me and closed the door. “Perhaps I’ll come back later.”

He went to walk off, but I stopped him. “She’s still taking the tonic.”

“We have a dinner party to attend tonight. She needs to get through it in lively spirits.”

“Sheneedsto stop taking the tonic altogether. It’s doing more harm than good.”

He patted my shoulder. “It’s kind of you to worry, but her doctor has prescribed it. He knows what he’s doing, Cleopatra. He has a great deal of experience with treating female melancholia.”

I watched him walk to his office, wondering if I should continue to press my point.

Floyd didn’t give me a chance to make a decision. He raced out of the stairwell, glanced at the lift door beside it, and grabbed my arm. “Your rooms, Cleo. Now.”

He ushered me inside before closing the door behind us. He leaned back against it, his breathing coming in ragged bursts.

“Did you run up the stairs?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Who are you avoiding?”

“The Hessing witch.”

“That’s not nice, Floyd.”

“Trust me when I say it’s the nicest word I can think of. I was waiting for the lift in the foyer when she saw me. She called out to me, so I pretended not to hear and took the stairs instead. I’d wager good money she caught the lift and followed me up here.”

“She may not be following you. Her room is on this floor.”

He pressed his ear to the door, listening. “I should’ve taken the service stairs down to the kitchen instead of coming upstairs. She wouldn’t chase me there. She abhors seeing how hard the staff work almost as much as she abhors subtlety.”

I was about to tell Floyd that she may have merely wanted to say hello, when a sharp rap on my door startled him. It sounded like it was made with the end of a walking stick.

Floyd jumped. “Get rid of her, Cleo.” He hurried away down the short corridor to my sitting room.

“Floyd,” I hissed.

“I know you’re in there, Miss Fox,” came the brusque American voice of one of our most important guests.

I wasn’t sure how Mrs. Hessing knew I was in my suite. She could have been guessing, but I opened the door anyway. I smiled. “Mrs. Hessing, what a lovely?—”

“Is he in here?” She tried to peer past me, but I stood my ground. She couldn’t enter unless I got out of the way.

“Who?”

“Don’t act the fool. Your cousin, Mr. Bainbridge. I saw him run up the stairs.”

“He’s probably in his own suite.”

“I doubt that. If he’s avoiding me, he’d come here. He knows you’d protect him.”