Voiture-Salon
A dozen or so pairs of eyes snapped in their direction the moment Machel stood before them in the aisle. The change in the atmosphere that had descended on the passengers and crew was almost palpable; whereas minutes ago they were all cordial and smiling, they were now sitting tense in their seats, their smiles replaced by heavy frowns.
The Wagon Lit conductor, to his credit, tried to put on a brave front as he loudly cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I humbly request all of you to remain calm.”
“What now?” someone—who turned out to be a plump, middle-aged lady with the most unpleasant scowl on her wrinkled face—demanded. “My dinner has been ruined, and I’m being held captive in this hot, overcrowded carriage. Is this how the Orient Express treats its customers?”
Seemingly dumbfounded by her sudden confrontation, Machel fumbled over his next words. “A-allow me to…it looks like, well, we have an unfortunate situation at hand, which, um…”
Rasputina was about to step in to help the poor Conductor when Anastasia stopped her with a ‘let me do it’ gleam in her bright eyes. Huh, she really is oddly enthusiastic about this stuff…
“A person has died in the first-class carriages,” she announced.
Everybody gawked at Anastasia in what could be best described as disbelief. For a moment, even the rude lady was silent.
“Your Highness, um…” This time, a young lady in a black concert dress spoke. “I don’t mean to come across as rude by questioning you, but…who exactly is dead?”
“That’s right,” her friend chimed in. “As far as I can tell, every passenger on the Orient Express except your—Your Highness’ companions are gathered in this very carriage.”
Anastasia focused her eyes on the two ladies. Then, she turned her head as if she was slowly scanning the faces of the other passengers. “I suppose nobody in this room knows the identity of the deceased?”
Eyes dropped and murmurs ensued. It seemed like the dead woman wasn’t acquainted with most of the passengers or the staff at all. And those that did exchange words with her only knew her by the name ‘Florence Nightingale’, or just ‘Nightingale’. They were the waiter who had stopped Anastasia in the vestibule in the morning, as well as a young girl from the second-class wagon-lit.
“For now,” Anastasia said, cutting everyone off. “The Orient Express will not stop at Dover and Calais. This is to ensure that no one can leave this train while we conduct an investigation. I must also request that all of you present your identity documents and unlock your compartments. Any attempt to hinder the investigation will only make you more suspicious, so I sincerely seek your cooperation, ladies and gentlemen.”
Shock and surprise flitted across the faces of the passengers. Perhaps only now did they realise the severity of their circumstances.
“This is preposterous, Your Highness!” the middle-aged lady yelled, shooting up from her seat. Her maidservant tried to stop her—but she was totally brushed aside by the furious woman. “I vehemently refuse to stay on this accursed train any longer! Someone was rummaging around my room last night, and not a single person would listen to me. Now you’re telling me that a person has been killed in my wagon-lit? H-How dare you force me to spend another night here—Conductor! I insist that you stop this train at Dover—”
“You assume the deceased was killed?” Rasputina asked coolly.
Her nostrils flared at the abrupt interruption. “Your Grace, this…” Her voice trailed off when she noticed that everyone else was staring at her. She seemingly realised what Rasputina’s accusation meant, and her face instantly paled. “N-no, not at all, I just meant that for a perfectly healthy individual to suddenly die, more often than not, it would be by unnatural means, no?”
“Indeed,” Anastasia said in a solemn voice. “This passenger, who had stolen Florence Nightingale’s identity, was murdered. By a knife stabbed into the throat.”
“Good Lord,” another lady gasped, putting her arm around her male companion for support. “A murder, on this train?”
A gentleman stood up in haste. “Monsieur Cath, are you going to catch the murderer?”
“Monsieur Cath?” Rasputina turned to look at Theo, who had been watching them from the back. “You know this gentleman?”
“Monsieur Alphand.” He nodded his head. “He shares the same compartment as me.”
“Alphand…strange, where did I hear that name before?”
Alphand, meanwhile, had approached them with a grim look on his face. “Monsieur Cath, you must trust me that I will never murder anyone. Please, tell Her Highness and Grace that I didn’t do it.”
“As it stands, the murderer has not escaped the train,” Theo replied with an apologetic smile. “Everyone here is now a suspect. But don’t worry, your reputation precedes you, Monsieur Alphand. I can definitely vouch for your trustworthiness.”
“I understand, that’s very kind of you,” he said, then lowered his voice. “Could this murder be somehow related to the sabotage earlier?”
Rasputina started. “What sabotage?”
“Oh, yes, I didn’t have the chance to tell you,” Theo said. “The signal box at Canterbury was sabotaged sometime last night. That’s why the Orient Express was delayed this morning.”
“I see…” She furrowed her brows in concentration. An impromptu delay caused by a signalling fault, followed by the murder of someone who had approached her and Anastasia because of said delay? And that certain someone just so happens to be a stowaway who is presumably a separatist assassin?
No, if she wanted to kill Anastasia, she could have done so without going through the trouble of introducing herself to them. By revealing herself, she risked having her fake identity as Florence Nightingale exposed. Why would an assassin do that?
“Is something wrong, Your Grace?” Alphand asked, looking at her with concern.
“No, it’s nothing…” A thought flashed into Rasputina’s mind. Hang on, what did the fake Florence Nightingale say to them on the train?
I know this town well, and I’m willing to volunteer as their personal guide.
I happened to overhear your conversation just now, and would like to be of assistance to Your Highness and Grace.
Lancashire? Ah, yes, we’ve met before. I should apologise for my sudden departure then.
Lancashire…
A sudden recollection flashed upon her.
If so, you may find Her Highness outside the station refreshment room, Your Grace. I descried her while following the porter with my luggage.
That’s right, how could she forget? She had come across Nightingale at Lancashire station!
But now there is a problem—was that lady the fake or real Nightingale? The fake Nightingale was seemingly confused at first when she mentioned Lancashire; whereas the real Nightingale claimed that she had never met her or Anastasia until tonight.
Then again, the fake one did apologise for her ‘sudden departure’, so she must have known about the encounter at least…
Rasputina clicked her tongue in frustration. “Monsieur Alphand is right. There may be a connection between these two incidents.”
He widened his eyes. “Did you think of something?”
“Perhaps,” she quietly said. “Did Nightingale tell you where she boarded the Orient Express?”
“No, I don’t think so. But since she’s here on the request of the Sultana to find you, I suppose she should have boarded the train at Cetheri station with us…”
“Does she usually wear a white hat?” She moved her hands apart in front of her head. “About this length and size.”
“Yes, I suppose…” Theo raised an eyebrow. “How do you know about her hat? You didn’t see her wearing it, did you?”
She avoided the question. “Is there something special about her hat?”
He hesitated, averting his eyes to the side for a moment before shaking his head. “Not now, bratukha.”
Rasputina carefully studied his face for a moment. Whatever Theo knew, it must be a secret that he couldn’t share freely. Leaning in, she whispered into his ear, “I have something to tell you in private too.”
“Hmm? What are you three discussing about?” Anastasia curiously asked, walking over to join them. “I gave everyone instructions to return to their compartments and lock the doors for their safety. In the meantime, we can start with interrogating the Conductor, since he has the most information about this train.”
“You work surprisingly well as a detective,” Rasputina remarked.
“Of course!” A grin spread across her face as she proudly said, “I grew up watching Detective Conan and reading a ton of mystery novels, you know. Remember, Rasputina, only one truth prevails!”
“Bratukha, are you sure you should be letting her be in charge?” Theo whispered. “What if the King and Queen hear about this?”
“I…I don’t want to think about it.” She sighed and cleared her throat. “Anastasia, you and I shall do the interview here in the lounge car. Mister Cath, go to Nightingale and Parthenope and investigate what they have found out.”
“I’ll help with the investigation too, Your Grace,” Alphand said resolutely.
“You…” Rasputina exchanged a glance with Theo and nodded her head. “Go with him if you wish, Monsieur Alphand. Alright—let’s get to work now, shall we?”
