The Seine Murder in Paris

Chapter One

The Paris Express thundered through the level crossing, its whistle startling the crows feasting in the stubbled wheat fields. They wheeled overhead, their caws lost beneath the clatter of metal striking metal as they darted for safety in the old oak trees lining the track.

Elizabeth settled deeper into the bottle-green moquette, her gaze settling on the empty seat opposite. Clemmi’s invitation had included them both, but an unexpected telephone call a couple of days ago from Oxford University about a position had put paid to her cousin’s travel plans.

The position, according to the young woman on the telephone, was temporary, assisting Professor Nicolaides with cataloguing the artefacts from his recent archaeological dig at Knossos.

“It must be fate.” Meli had declared, dancing around the sitting room with Winston in her arms. Elizabeth, however, suspected her Uncle Theo’s hand in light of his recent trip to Crete.

Aunt Beatrice had been quite vocal in her objections when she discovered Elizabeth’s plans to travel to Paris unaccompanied, citing the impropriety of a single woman travelling alone, particularly to a foreign country.

“Catching a murderer is one thing, Elizabeth.” Aunt Beatrice’s words rang in her ears as she recalled her aunt’s pinched expression, the lines around her eyes perhaps a little deeper of late.

“But gallivanting about the Continent unaccompanied is quite another matter entirely.”

Beyond the glass, red-roofed farmhouses and golden hay bales slowly gave way to a more industrial landscape as they approached the city outskirts.

Elizabeth’s hand gripped the leather armrest, steadying herself as the train swayed left, the iron horse hugging the curve as it ascended the gentle incline before pressing south towards Paris.

“Paris is hardly Surrey, you know.” Aunt Beatrice had pressed. “Filled with … foreigners and all sorts.”

The irony of her aunt’s words hadn’t been lost on Elizabeth, considering the events that had taken place just a couple of weeks earlier.

But perhaps her aunt’s objection had been more about self-preservation than any real concern she had about Parisians and the so-called all sorts.

Gerald Redmayne’s betrayal had cut far deeper than her aunt would admit. He may well have been on his way to the police station to confess when fate had cruelly intervened, but nothing could erase the wickedness of his deeds.

He’d been her aunt’s most trusted advisor for almost four decades, the man who’d sworn an oath to take care of his best friend’s wife should anything happen to him. And yet, when the time had come, he’d abandoned her, leaving her to face the hangman’s noose.

But worse than that, he’d made her aunt doubt everything she thought she knew about her beloved Arthur and the brief time they’d shared.

Gerald Redmayne had stood by while Arthur’s reputation and character had been called into question, all the while knowing the claim threatening the Hawthorne family was of his own making.

And this, for her aunt, was the deepest cut of all.

“Pardon, mademoiselle.” The compartment door rattled open just as the train lurched across a junction, throwing the conductor sideways against the walnut door frame. He steadied himself with a gloved hand before inclining his head apologetically. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“It’s quite all right.” Elizabeth glanced back towards the window where the last stretches of countryside were steadily surrendering to rows of narrow brick houses and soot-streaked chimney stacks. “Remarkable, isn’t it, how quickly the landscape changes once you near the city?”

“Every year, we lose a little more of the countryside in the name of progress.” He gave a shrug. “But what can we do?”

“Indeed.” Elizabeth nodded her agreement. “And it doesn’t do to dwell on the past, does it?”

“Non, mademoiselle, it does not. If France spends all her time living in the past, after everything that has happened … how would she ever go on?” He steadied himself against the door frame, the lines around his eyes deepening.

“We arrive at Gare du Nord in ten minutes. Shall I send a porter for your luggage?”

“Thank you, that would be most helpful.” Elizabeth reached for her calfskin handbag and retrieved her luggage receipt before handing it to the conductor. “My trunks were checked through from Calais.”

“Merci, mademoiselle.” The conductor examined the receipt before tucking it into his breast pocket. “I will see to everything. Your luggage will be waiting on the platform.” He paused, glancing toward the window as the train continued to slow. “You will be wanting a taxi, mademoiselle?”

“Thank you, no. Someone is meeting me.” She reached into her purse before pressing a coin into his palm.

“Merci, mademoiselle.” He touched a hand to his cap, the corners of his mouth twitching beneath his moustache. “Bon séjour.”

“Merci.”

The conductor stepped back into the corridor, sliding the compartment door closed behind him. Elizabeth tucked her purse back into her handbag, her fingers brushing against the familiar cream envelope nestled inside. She drew out Clemmi’s letter and began reading.

My dearest Elizabeth,

Mamma has told me absolutely everything about the dreadful business at Hawthorne Hall, and I simply cannot believe anyone would think Aunt Beatrice capable of murder!

Let alone have the audacity to arrest her.

I expect she had some choice words for Inspector Sparrow after her release – and serves him right, too.

Of course, I’d understand completely if you feel you should be with your family just now, but the thing is, I’ve got myself in rather a pickle and need to beg a favour.

You see Mamma has been threatening to visit to make sure I’m following Dr Vernet’s orders since Oliver’s so busy with work and unable to keep a proper eye on me.

He’s become the most insufferable nursemaid of late, and if he had his way, I’d never leave the apartment.

All I did was suggest a stroll along the Seine one evening, but the way he reacted, anyone would think I’d proposed scaling the Eiffel Tower!

Honestly, his fussing is quite bad enough without Mamma watching my every move – which leads me to the favour.

Now, please don’t be angry, but in a bid to deter Mamma and Arabella, I may have mentioned we’d already made plans for you to visit.

You know how she dotes on you and believes you to be a sobering influence on me.

I’m quite convinced if I’d mentioned anyone other than you, she’d have been on the next train to Paris.

I know it’s awfully short notice and a terrible imposition, but please say you’ll come.

I fear if I don’t have a conversation about something other than beef tea and cod liver oil soon, I shall resort to talking to the houseplants, and I’m not sure their English is quite up to par.

All my love and desperate hope,

Clemmi

Elizabeth re-read the words again.

On the surface, it was pure Clemmi – warm, effervescent, a little theatrical. But they’d been friends long enough for Elizabeth to recognise when something was off with her friend.

The devastating secret that had almost destroyed her wedding, Countess Magdalena von Habsfeld’s murder, the move to Paris – it had been one upheaval after another for Clemmi.

Yet, she’d risen above it all, thriving in her new role as wife and expectant mother.

Elizabeth felt the rhythm beneath her shift, the steady clatter giving way to the sharp squeal of brakes. Steam billowed past her window in white bursts as she folded the letter along its creases, sliding it back into the envelope before tucking it into her calfskin bag.

Which could only mean one thing.

Whatever was troubling her friend was something new.

The question was, what?