Murder on the Cathedral Express (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 9) Page 4

  Marcia gave Peter a stern look. “Peter, just calm down and stop making remarks about Cynthia’s dress sense. It makes you sound and look like an old rue.”

  Peter stepped back and stuck his hands in his pockets.

  The crowd moved closer to their allotted carriages and whistles and blasts of steam punctuated the noises that emanated from the loudspeakers. As Ralph looked around he saw Allan Moss, his friend from the gym. Allan waved as he did his best to shepherd a group of people towards carriage ‘B’.

  “Over here, Ralph. Good to see you.” He waved as he acknowledge the uniformed railway guard who was dressed in a peaked cap and waistcoat just as he would have been in the 1940’s. The guard smiled as he helped the passengers board the train.

  The train had classic brown carriages with a gold stripe and lettering, and steps that the guard lowered to help the passengers aboard. Small curtains framed the windows and created that intimate atmosphere so redolent of bygone days. Delicate art deco lamps cast a warm glow over the crisp white linen covered tables set with silver cutlery and bone china. The wide high-backed red seats were plush and inviting. He fully expected to see Hercule Poirot step forward with his spats and silver tipped walking cane. Ralph was happy to be with Katie and his friends, and looked forward to a fun-filled day out together.

  “I love the smell of steam and oil,” Katie said, as she snapped a few shots of the train as it prepared to leave the station.

  “It’s a Canadian Pacific. Merchant Navy Class – 4-6-2,” Ralph shouted above the familiar shunting noise of the engine as it prepared for the long journey. He noticed that Katie rolled her eyes as he described the engine.

  “Come on, Ralph let’s get aboard and leave the train lecture to the anorak brigade.” Katie gestured to a group of train-spotters who were busily making notes about the engine. They happily scribbled away as they huddled together in the cold.

  Once inside, everything was calm and quiet. The rest of Allan’s party had settled into their seats and everyone acted as though this was their everyday commuter run. A steward, resplendent in his white coat and gloves relieved the passengers of their coats and hats and stowed them away. The guard checked that everyone was in the correct carriage and in the right seats before he sounded the ‘all aboard’.

  Allan had arranged for Ralph and Katie to share a table with Marcia and Peter. Cynthia and Lance had the two person table across the aisle, marked by a discreet reserved notice in their names.

  “Where’s the silly bugger,” said Peter as he reached up and opened the small sliding window and tried to lean out to look for Lance and Cynthia.

  “Oh do sit down, Peter,” said Marcia. “And shut that window. It’s freezing out there. They’ll be here.” For once, Peter complied with her request and shut the window.

  “Two of your party still missing?” Allan asked Ralph. “They probably got in the wrong carriage. I’ll just take a quick look.”

  The guard blew his whistle and the train slowly pulled away from the bumpers to the cheers of some of the passengers. Ralph gave an involuntary shudder. Much as he hated that sort of mass demonstration, he had to admit that he did feel a twinge of excitement as the engine gave a toot and the carriages clanked as the connectors took up the strain. They slowly passed the rows of little grey and brown houses, washing still hanging frozen on the lines in the minute back gardens. Like all big city stations, Victoria was in a crowded part of town. It would be at least another twenty minutes before they could admire the beauty of the English countryside in all her winter glory.

  “Here we are,” Allan said, as he ushered Cynthia and Lance to their seats. “Just sit back and relax. The stewards will shortly be around with the brunch menu.”

  “What happened to you two?” Peter asked. “We thought you’d missed the train.”

  “Stop fussing, Peter,” Cynthia said as she leant across and gave Marcia a kiss on the cheek and then reached over to Katie.

  “Don’t I get one? After all, it is Christmas,” said Peter. Cynthia and Marcia rolled their eyes simultaneously and ignored him.

  “How did you lot manage to find a parking place? We finally had to park over behind the station. £30 pounds for the day. Still, Cynthia hates the tube, and cheaper than getting a taxi both ways.”

  Ralph had visited Lance and Cynthia on their houseboat near Hampton Court. Unlike Surbiton, it was not a mainline station. Getting the early morning train to London from there could be a pain.

  “We got the train and tube,” said Ralph. “It’s an easy run from Surbiton. Anyhow, the important thing is that you’re here now. The Steward assured us that brunch is on its way.”

  As the train left the suburbs behind, everyone commented on how pretty the countryside looked. Snow covered fields, some small farm houses with smoke curling up into the crisp cold air, and sheep searching for that last bit of grass. As they clanked past the level crossings they saw lines of commuters in their cars, waiting for the train to pass. Engines idling with white smoke billowing from cold exhaust pipes, and no doubt cursing people like them with nothing better to do than swan around all day. The sun had come out and there was a bright blue sky overhead; a perfect background for a Turner or Constable painting, Ralph mused.

  As promised, the brunch menu was produced and everyone except Katie and Marcia ordered the ‘full English’: sausages, eggs, bacon, fried bread, black pudding, baked beans and mushrooms. Katie and Marcia opted for soft boiled eggs, toast and coffee. Just as promised, it was accompanied by a glass of rather exceptional champagne.

  The others sipped their coffees and teas while Peter scoured the last of the Oxford Thick Cut marmalade from his friends’ collection of pots. When Allan came around to check that everything was in order, Ralph introduced him to his University friends. He pointed out that Cynthia had been at Goldsmith’s for her Master in Curating and told the others that Allan had studied there himself after he had retired. Ralph knew, as he said it, that Allan was too much of a gentlemen to mention anything about the incident at Surbiton involving the death of the lecturer from Goldsmiths

  “Squeeze in here Allan,” said Katie. “There’s room. Ralph, slide in a bit.”

  “Just for a minute, thanks.”

  “So what do you do as tour guide, Allan?” Asked Ralph.

  “Surprisingly, almost everyone wants to hear about the pilgrims who made their way down from the Tabard Inn in Southwark or even those who walked all the way from Winchester and further afield. And of course everyone wants to know about Chaucer. I cut out the naughty bits unless someone asks a specific question. Allan suddenly broke into a piece which Ralph recognised from his school days as part of the Prologue from the Canterbury Tales.

  Bifel that in that season on a day

  In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay

  Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage

  To Canterbury with full devout courage.

  Even Ralph clapped when he finished the soliloquy.

  Allan smiled and continued.

  “And of course most people have heard about Thomas Becket, if not from school, then from the film Becket, with Richard Burton. Then there are the serious history buffs. But mostly they want to hear how he was killed and then martyred. You know that quote attributed to Henry II – ‘Who will rid me of this turbulent priest’ - was, so legend has it, misinterpreted by his knights who took him literally. The religious parties and the ones from church groups know all about it, of course. Oh, before I forget, let me give you the programmes for the Carol Service in the Cathedral. Then you’ll have a chance to get yourself in the mood for a good sing-along. Look I must go and see how the rest of my party are getting on.”

  “Thanks for giving us some food for thought,” Ralph said as the others nodded agreement.

  “My pleasure. See you in the Cathedral. If any of you want to join the tour of the relics, just let me know. Some people prefer to wander around the old town on their own. Then there are the usual tourist theme shows where people d
ress up to represent the various characters from Chaucer’s Tales, and there’s a museum, of course, as well as plenty of shops and restaurants. It’s quite a busy place at this time of year, especially with the open market stalls selling their Christmas wares. See you later.”

  “Nice bloke,” said Lance. ”Seems to know his subject. I always wondered about Chaucer. I could never make sense of it when I was a kid at school.”

  “You’re the early church music expert, Peter. No doubt you could play all of these pieces they’re doing at the carol service,” said Cynthia.

  “The organ’s been refurbished recently, but a few years back – well 30 to be exact, I did get a chance to play the one that survived the German bombing raids. Seems that the locals were so keen to save the town that night after night they went out with their buckets and sand bags putting out the fires that the incendiaries caused.”

  “I expect the people in Cologne, Dresden and other cities around Europe did the same to try to save their cities from the RAF and American bomber raids,” Ralph interjected.

  Katie knew that Ralph was obsessed with making certain that both sides of an argument got air space. Sometimes his sense of fair play got him into trouble. His view was that unless these things were aired and discussed, no lessons could be learned and history would repeat itself. She frequently pointed out that thus far it did not seem that many lessons had been learned.

  “Katie tells me that you’re trying to come up with a new angle for a book, Ralph,” said Cynthia. “She says your publishers want you to become the John Grisham of Gypsy Hill.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to come on this little excursion to Canterbury,” Ralph replied.

  He outlined his idea of linking the way Becket responded to the pressure from Henry II to give the clergy less freedom and how the conflict with the King eventually led to Becket’s being stabbed to death inside the Cathedral by four of the King’s supporters. Ralph explained that he planned to use the historical event as an analogy of how when someone challenges the powers that be in industry, the power group will eventually destroy them. He made the point that the motivation on both sides was often pride.

  “I could call it ‘Game Changers,” said Ralph.

  “That’s already been done,” Lance interjected. “Why not call it ‘Murder at the Cathedral?’

  “That’s been done as well,” said Peter. “Agatha Christie, I think.”

  “How about ‘Murder on the Cathedral Express’? Said Katie.

  “Do stop it. You lot are giving me the creeps what with all that talk about death and killing,” said Marcia. “I want a nice fun day out and a cosy old fashioned Carol Service. Choir boys and glad tidings.”

  “Quite right, my dear,” said Peter. “Come on, Ralph, the semester’s finished and we’re all on holiday until the second week in January.”

  “Hey, guys, guess who I just saw walk by? Roger Manders,” said Marcia. “He’s one of the top reporters for the Sunday Telegraph. They’ve been doing a series of articles on design in their art section.”

  “Why don’t you go and talk to him, Marcia,” said Katie. “He might put you in one of his articles. You know, famous model talks about how design is timeless. Well something like that. Why not? He can only say no.”

  Just then Allan came by.

  “Who’re in the next carriage, Allan?” Asked Katie. “Cynthia thought she saw Roger Manders from the Telegraph.”

  “It’s a party of reporters from various newspapers. There’s six of them. I overheard one of them say that they’d been sent complimentary tickets from Steam Dreams. I expect that the company wants them to do a good write up. It would give them a lot of free publicity.”

  “Marcia was thinking of going to speak to them,” said Katie.

  “You’ve left it a bit late,” Allan replied as he glanced at his watch. “We get into Canterbury in 10 minutes. Oh, and don’t forget, you need to be back on the platform by two sharp. I wouldn’t want anyone to get stuck in Dover for the holidays,” he laughed. “And don’t forget to ask the steward for your coats. It’s meant to snow heavily this afternoon.”

  It had started to snow. Thick flakes of the sort that stick immediately to the ground formed a white curtain all around the town. Canterbury looked like a picture from an old fashioned Christmas Card. The streets were decorated with coloured lights that had been turned on early as a challenge to the yellowing wintery sky. Crowds of people ignored the weather as they moved busily moving from stall to stall and looked for that last minute present.

  Ralph, Katie and their little entourage made a quick tour of the town and somehow eluded the gaily costumed actors who touted Chaucer’s Tales. Following the street signs, it was not long before they came to the Cathedral. It was warm and hushed inside as people found a seat and looked up at the same vaulted ceilings and magnificent stained glass windows that Becket must have seen as he was struck down by the King’s knights. They suppressed the usual spate of nervous coughing as the pastor read a brief Christmas message. Everyone stood as music from the organ filled the Cathedral and the choir boys from St Edmund’s School began to sing. Even a staunch atheist would have been hard pushed to deny the beauty of the sound and the atmosphere. Ralph glanced at Katie and wondered if it reminded her of her family back in Australia. Peter, no doubt wished he were playing rather than listening to the organ music. Marcia held Peter’s hand. Lance sang lustily, probably just as he did at an All-Blacks rugby match as Cynthia tried to keep up with him. For Ralph it was a chance to reflect on his boyhood and the Christmases he had attended Christmas service with his parents. No doubt everyone in the Church had their own special memories that day.

  Whoever had put the programme together had made sure that the favourites were interspersed among a few pieces for the church music professionals.

  Once in Royal David’s City was followed by In dulci jubilo by Pearsall. Then A Spotless Rose by Howells for the strong singers. A popular favourite – In the Bleak midwinter and a rousing finale with Ralph’s favourite, Twelve Days of Christmas, a carol that everyone could sing with only the occasional helping glance at the words printed in the programme.

  As they left the Cathedral the snow had stopped and the bells were ringing. The houses were covered in what looked like white icing sugar. The branches of the willow trees bowed down in temporary deference to the strength of Mother Nature.

  “Ten minutes to get to the station. Come on you lot, shake a leg or we’ll be looking for an Inn for the night,” shouted Peter.”

  “You corny old bugger” shouted Lance as he scooped a handful of snow and lobbed it at Peter.

  They heard the toot from the Cathedral Express as they ran through the snow. The train snorted out a burst of steam as it pulled out of Canterbury on its return journey to Dover and London.

  “Damn good show, Ralph,” said Peter as he brushed a few persistent flakes of snow from Marcia’s hair. What a way to start the hols. What’s the drill for food on the way back?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think they serve afternoon tea, then an early supper,” said Ralph.

  Twenty minutes later the steward brought tea and toasted tea-cakes with strawberry jam.

  “That was a different steward than we had coming down,” said Marcia. “The other chap had fair hair and nice blue eyes and was chatty. I thought this one seemed a bit surly.”

  “Probably knew you didn’t give his mate a tip,” Peter quipped. “The food’s just as good either way. As long as he doesn’t spill the tea in our laps, what do we care.”

  The combination of an early start, the cold and the lusty singing, not to mention the tea-cakes had made them a bit sleepy. As the train made its way through the dormant apple orchards of Kent, stopping briefly at Dover, they sat back and dozed. People walked by knocking against the seats as the train swayed, but Ralph and his friends were all in the twilight world of the Steam Dreams experience and did not even notice.

  Ralph awoke with a jolt. He leant
across a fast asleep Katie and could just make out the snow obscured station sign. Cre–something Junction. He carefully got up and walked through the next carriage, passing what he assumed were the journalists that Marcia had been keen to speak with. Most of them were fast asleep. One or two intrepid enthusiasts were out on the platform taking photos of the resting steam engine.

  “Taking on water; coal as well, I expect,” said Allan as he walked out from behind a stack of wooden planks. No doubt some workers had left them there while they waited for a break in the weather before they continued work on refurbishing the old station. Ralph thought his friend seemed a bit stressed, not his usual self.

  “What do you think? Are you and your friends enjoying it, Ralph?”

  “It’s been great. The others are dozing. I needed to get out and stretch the old legs.”

  “We only stop here for about 15 minutes or so, then next stop, London. They’ll serve dinner once we’re under way.”

  ”Will you be finished for the evening when we get back?”

  “What? Oh, the tour. Well, pretty well. Everyone seems to have enjoyed it, although some of the questions still surprise me. One old dear wanted to see the actual spot where Becket lay after he was murdered. She even asked if the stones were stained from his blood. More than 800 years ago and people are still fascinated with the details. For me, once someone dies, that’s it. It happens and in some cases it had to happen. You’ve studied history, Ralph. Sometimes it’s a sort of justice.”

  “I’m not sure if I’d agree with that sentiment, Allan. It all depends who decides what justice is and who hands out the retribution.”

  A blast of steam and a whistle from the guard interrupted any further discussion. As they clambered on board Ralph wondered if he really understood his friend. It was only when you started to argue or discuss fundamental issues that you really got to know someone, he mused. He squeezed past the steward and took his seat. Katie and the rest were awake and studying the menu.