Chapter Nineteen

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Previously in Murder on the Aerial Express:

Isabelle visits Mrs. Darling in the brig and informs her of Paul Notti’s death. Mrs. Darling is heartbroken and worries that the authorities will assume she and Paul killed Beechcraft together. 

At breakfast, Isabelle takes Reimund into her confidence, and the two head toward Mrs. Hampton’s (previously Mrs. Jones’s) cabin to get some answers. Along the way, they pass Julia and Doctor Chakraborty in deep conversation.

Mrs. Hampton smiled at Isabelle and Reimund, treating them like a young couple paying a social call. “Please come in.” She stepped back.

Reimund struggled to reconcile this stylish woman with the exuberant widow. Mrs. Hampton had thrown off Mrs. Jones’s wardrobe with the rest of her disguise. Many ladies would lust after the actress’s brick-red silk dress.

She jabbed an elbow into Reimund’s side to move him out of her way and entered. The chamber benefitted from its position at one end of the first-class compartments. Isabelle’s suite was as luxurious but without the far wall’s view. The cabin’s half-oval shape also demanded a different layout. The designer placed the bed near the entrance — at the broadest point of the room — and the arrangement underscored the intimacy of the sleeping quarters. Feeling like an intruder, she maneuvered around the bedding’s flounces to the small table and chairs.

Mrs. Hampton gestured to a tray of tea and toast. “Shall I ring for more cups, or would you prefer some other refreshment?” 

“That won’t be necessary.” Isabelle sat and cast an exasperated look at Reimund still standing in the doorway. She waved at the seat next to her.

The imperious gesture yanked him from his stupor. “Your wish is my command.” 

Mrs. Hampton dipped into the chair by the desk. The graceful sweep arranged her gown to the side of her legs. “I hoped you would seek me out, Isabelle, and allow me to apologize. No one ever intended to…well…many recent events were unexpected.” To Reimund, she said, “I assume Isabelle told you of my deception.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. “Not that I understand.”

Isabelle crossed her arms. “Indeed. Why are you here? Any of you? You and Julia Beechcraft and…whoever else. Two people have died.” To her horror, this last came out as a whimper, not an accusation.

Mrs. Hampton stared past them at the menacing sky. “We never dreamed it would turn out this way.”

“You can’t claim to mourn Beechcraft.”

“Maybe not, my lady, but I regret any collateral damage. And I’m furious that Paul took his life. He left behind too many questions, including why he killed the man.” She shrugged. “Assuming he did.”

“If not murder, what did you plan?”

“To defang Beechcraft.” 

Isabelle rolled her eyes at the dramatic delivery. “Start at the beginning.”

“Please,” Reimund added with a wry glance.

Mrs. Hampton repressed a laugh. “At this point, I suppose you might as well hear the rest.” Her expression sobered. “I told you I approached Hugo and Marie Black after the death of my daughter. They had no love for their former patron and put me in contact with Julia. She saw an opportunity in current public sentiment, particularly now that the government has taken measures.”

“Last night, you claimed fines wouldn’t have contented you.”

“Of course not. Mere judicial pick-pocketing, nothing more.”

“Then what —”

“Let her tell it,” Reimund murmured.

Isabelle settled deeper into her chair. She emitted a grudging, vowel-less noise and flapped a hand toward Mrs. Hampton. 

“My dears, there was never supposed to be a murder, only a heist.” She paused for reactions, but the journey had saturated her audience’s capacity for incredulity. Why not add a heist to the bizarre tale?

“Few people realize that Marie Black was a safecracker in a former life. Julia wished her to break into Beechcraft’s personal safe. She wanted to find evidence of malfeasance that could be presented — anonymously — to the Court of Business Affairs.”

Reimund tensed before forcing himself to relax, steepling his fingers. “How bloodless.” 

“Yes. The others improved on the plan. Julia brought in Beechcraft’s secretary, Paul, who knew the true secret of his extraordinary success. The man was a spider, spinning webs to bring the world under his control. And he targeted powerful men, men treated with more care than mere factory employees.” This last phrase curdled on her tongue.

“Blackmail,” Reimund said.

“Ah, I thought the baron might be a victim. Their arrangement seemed…off.”

He returned a blank smile, neither confirming nor denying.

“Julia didn’t want to believe Paul, but he gave her details that explained peculiarities she’d observed personally. That’s when she reached out to Alastair — Alastair Dunlap, the engineer fired after Rosefield.”

Isabelle wondered how Mrs. Hampton felt about working with one man responsible for her daughter’s death.

“I wasn’t privy to their conversation, but then Alastair took employment on the Aerial Express and joined our conferences when he could.” She cleared her throat and gestured to the tray beside Reimund. “Might I trouble you to top me off?”

He accepted her cup and added a splash fresh from the pot. The comforting scent of Assam perfumed the air, and Mrs. Hampton brought the tea to her nose, inhaling the malty aroma.

“A plan took shape. It would be easier to strike during a journey. For one thing, Beechcraft insisted Paul perform the offices of both secretary and valet when traveling, despite the man’s complete inability to identify colors. Alastair would also be on hand.”

“What about Dr. Chakraborty and Captain Miro?”

“I only met the doctor by chance, bumping into him when he brought Julia food. She’d appealed for his help to conceal her presence, but she told him only that she wanted to avoid an awkward reunion with her father.”

“And the captain?”

“Not involved. Julia asked him to give Alastair a job without informing Beechcraft, but that’s as far as it went.”

One of the knots in Isabelle’s shoulders released. 

“We intended to steal Beechcraft’s documents on the second evening of the trip. Paul would add a sleeping draught to his employer’s nightcap and admit the Blacks to the room. Marie would handle the lock, and Hugo would administer ether to prevent him from stirring.” She grimaced at Isabelle, who answered with a glare.

“And your role?”

“I insisted on being present for the confrontation. I wanted to see his expression when his daughter took everything away.”

“What did you intend to do with the papers?” Reimund asked. His tone was conversational, but Isabelle remembered the hungry stare he’d cast at Beechcraft’s safe.

“The next day, Julia would confront her father and persuade him to step down from the helm of the business.”

“What if he refused?”

“She’d threaten to expose her father and publish some documents. That’s why she arranged for Ulysses Aitkin to be on board, to give the threat teeth.” Mrs. Hampton sighed. “The plan was good. I never said as much, but I thought Beechcraft would be lucky to last the year. Blackmail inspires fear and anger. If secrets started leaking, well, his victims would want to quiet him by whatever means necessary.”

“So you expected him to die.” 

“I considered it a distinct possibility, but my hands would have been…perhaps, not clean but smudged rather than soaked.”

“But someone — probably Paul — killed him on the first night, before you could put your plan into effect.”

She nodded. “And he didn’t have Marie’s way with locks. It appears he tortured Beechcraft for the combination.” 

“Where are the papers now?”

“I don’t know.”

Reimund inched forward in his seat. “They’re missing?” 

“Yes. The others checked the safe the following night. Searched the rest of the suite, too.”

“Do you mean to say that all those secrets are just…floating around somewhere?” He looked ill, and Isabelle’s stomach twisted in sympathy.

“What about my chaperone? Where did Mrs. Darling come into it all?”

“She didn’t. I had no idea she even knew Paul.” Mrs. Hampton set down her cup to rub at her temples. “That’s the whole of the plan, but we never executed it. When it comes to the actual events of the voyage, I’m as confused as anyone else.”

They left Mrs. Hampton soon after. 

Isabelle was used to fending for herself, so it irritated her that Reimund’s presence had become a source of comfort. Any hint of neediness crawled across her skin like bugs on naked flesh. 

They wandered the corridors without conscious direction, repeating Mrs. Hampton’s story to one another. “I feel as though I’ve strayed into a game, but half the participants are playing chess while the others play with poison darts.”

Reimund’s laugh lacked its usual musicality. “We should talk to your friend, the captain, and tell him what you’ve learned. Let him handle the matter.” 

She tapped her lips. “Not yet.” 

“Isabelle, I respect your abilities, but we’re talking about murder.”

“I’ll speak to Miro, but I want to have a conversation with Julia Beechcraft first.”

He didn’t like the idea but said, “All right.”

She smiled warmly at his support, catching him off guard. He lost a step, and when she paused to keep pace, his gaze lingered on her mouth. She bit her lip. 

This was ridiculous. There was nothing sensual about the situation. They were walking in a public space discussing conspiracies, blackmail, and murder…

…and now that she considered the matter, that might be ill-advised. She faced forward and strode on.

That’s it for this chapter! See you next week.

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