Murder Most Posh: A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery by Robert Colton Page B
Authors: Robert Colton
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“Brazilian Marble.”
Maxie Beaumont’s head popped up from a fold of chins, and her eyes grew wide. “Marble, you say?” she began, but her attention was caught by the approach of Mathew Farquhar and his wife.
To both my surprise and discomfort, the couple sat at our table. Each of them spoke quick words of greetings, and I introduced them to Yara. (Should I mention that I had to give Lucy a little kick under the table because she was staring strangely at Mathew and his wife?)
Our meal was excellent, although the conversation was almost painful. Maxie overcame her coldness toward Yara and proceeded to tell the story of the Tatiana’s sinking.
This caused our new friend undue distress that seemed to please Mrs. Beaumont.
The countess made nervous eye contact with me several times. Her expression seemed a plea for me not to mention seeing her earlier in the day. Or perhaps that was just what I made of the pained looked.
Mathew, who had no idea what Lucy and I were aware of regarding him, made several attempts to keep a steady flow of conversation. It wasn’t until the mention of the Emerson brothers that he succeeded.
“I met one of the chaps on our little privileged hall; Michael Emerson. Nice enough fellow, a sort of nervous disposition.”
Maxie retorted, “I gather there is something wrong with that brother of his; keeps him locked up in that room.”
“Taking him to a farm. Sounds a little odd to me. I rather have the notion that his brother was in the looney bin,” said Mathew.
“What is looney bin ?” asked the countess.
We all looked to each other, and Lucy, who seemed to know the definition of every expression, answered, “An asylum.”
The countess pouted and replied, “How awful for him.”
“Michael said life on the farm will be good for him; they have horses…”
Speaking in a mixture of French and English, Mr. Beaumont made some sort of boisterous remark that annoyed his wife.
“I don’t love horses! People say they are majestic; well, I don’t see it,” snapped Maxie.
Her husband sputtered out another sentence that I couldn’t understand, yet everyone else at the table chuckled.
“Only when they win!” exclaimed Maxie.
Those around me laughed once more, perplexed, and I nodded my chin and smiled.
“My little pug boy on the tracks; he loved his horses,” Maxie said as she gazed at her husband rather affectionately.
I thought this to be strange term of endearment, and the expression on my face must have been telling. Lucy leaned toward me and whispered, “A pug boy is what they call jockeys while they are in training.”
I felt my mouth gape a bit. Of course, Jerome Beaumont had been a jockey. I could imagine him in the colorful outfits they wear, with a whip in one hand and goggles in the other.
Jovially, Mr. Beaumont replied to his wife’s comment. Again, I understood nothing the man said.
As the rest of the table made polite chuckles, Mrs. Beaumont replied with great mirth, “Oh, no, I lost more money than I won when I placed bets on you.”
Chapter Five
It was now our fourth day at sea, and we were past the halfway point. Yara slept in, and Lucy and I took a quick breakfast at the little morning café.
Afterward, we found a quiet spot in a sumptuously decorated reading room. With notebooks in hand, we began whispering to each other.
“We have an unfaithful husband of newly inherited wealth married to a penniless countess,” I said as I read through my notes.
Lucy looked over hers and added, “With a sister in America.”
“Yes. Then we have Mr. Hurst in second class; how does he know the countess?” I asked rhetorically.
“We also have the Beaumonts,” Lucy replied.
“And Mrs. Beaumont’s jewelry. We just need a cat burglar.”
“One of the Emerson
Maxie Beaumont’s head popped up from a fold of chins, and her eyes grew wide. “Marble, you say?” she began, but her attention was caught by the approach of Mathew Farquhar and his wife.
To both my surprise and discomfort, the couple sat at our table. Each of them spoke quick words of greetings, and I introduced them to Yara. (Should I mention that I had to give Lucy a little kick under the table because she was staring strangely at Mathew and his wife?)
Our meal was excellent, although the conversation was almost painful. Maxie overcame her coldness toward Yara and proceeded to tell the story of the Tatiana’s sinking.
This caused our new friend undue distress that seemed to please Mrs. Beaumont.
The countess made nervous eye contact with me several times. Her expression seemed a plea for me not to mention seeing her earlier in the day. Or perhaps that was just what I made of the pained looked.
Mathew, who had no idea what Lucy and I were aware of regarding him, made several attempts to keep a steady flow of conversation. It wasn’t until the mention of the Emerson brothers that he succeeded.
“I met one of the chaps on our little privileged hall; Michael Emerson. Nice enough fellow, a sort of nervous disposition.”
Maxie retorted, “I gather there is something wrong with that brother of his; keeps him locked up in that room.”
“Taking him to a farm. Sounds a little odd to me. I rather have the notion that his brother was in the looney bin,” said Mathew.
“What is looney bin ?” asked the countess.
We all looked to each other, and Lucy, who seemed to know the definition of every expression, answered, “An asylum.”
The countess pouted and replied, “How awful for him.”
“Michael said life on the farm will be good for him; they have horses…”
Speaking in a mixture of French and English, Mr. Beaumont made some sort of boisterous remark that annoyed his wife.
“I don’t love horses! People say they are majestic; well, I don’t see it,” snapped Maxie.
Her husband sputtered out another sentence that I couldn’t understand, yet everyone else at the table chuckled.
“Only when they win!” exclaimed Maxie.
Those around me laughed once more, perplexed, and I nodded my chin and smiled.
“My little pug boy on the tracks; he loved his horses,” Maxie said as she gazed at her husband rather affectionately.
I thought this to be strange term of endearment, and the expression on my face must have been telling. Lucy leaned toward me and whispered, “A pug boy is what they call jockeys while they are in training.”
I felt my mouth gape a bit. Of course, Jerome Beaumont had been a jockey. I could imagine him in the colorful outfits they wear, with a whip in one hand and goggles in the other.
Jovially, Mr. Beaumont replied to his wife’s comment. Again, I understood nothing the man said.
As the rest of the table made polite chuckles, Mrs. Beaumont replied with great mirth, “Oh, no, I lost more money than I won when I placed bets on you.”
Chapter Five
It was now our fourth day at sea, and we were past the halfway point. Yara slept in, and Lucy and I took a quick breakfast at the little morning café.
Afterward, we found a quiet spot in a sumptuously decorated reading room. With notebooks in hand, we began whispering to each other.
“We have an unfaithful husband of newly inherited wealth married to a penniless countess,” I said as I read through my notes.
Lucy looked over hers and added, “With a sister in America.”
“Yes. Then we have Mr. Hurst in second class; how does he know the countess?” I asked rhetorically.
“We also have the Beaumonts,” Lucy replied.
“And Mrs. Beaumont’s jewelry. We just need a cat burglar.”
“One of the Emerson
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