The Fossil Murder Read online

  “The impressions of the feathers are remarkably preserved,” O’Harris leaned so close to the glass his nose nearly touched it. “I’ve seen drawings, but it is much more impressive in the flesh, so to speak.”

  “Without the feathers, the body is remarkably similar to other small dinosaurs of the period,” Tommy quoted from the guidebook. “That’s why they are so sure this fellow is a dinosaur trying to become a bird.”

  “Not trying, he succeeded,” the curator sitting in his chair had been listening to their conversation with a twinkle in his eye. Now he spoke to them. “This fellow flew. The latest studies are revealing that these are flight feathers. He probably didn’t have the grace of modern birds, he perhaps was more of a glider. But make no mistake, this chap was airborne.”

  “Do you go with this exhibition across the country?” Clara asked the man.

  “I do,” the curator smiled. “Dr Archibald Browning, at your service. Or rather, at the service of the Archaeopteryx here. I have spent a lifetime studying this creature and learning everything I can about him.”

  Dr Browning held out his hand to shake, even to Clara, which put him up a notch in her estimation.

  “You must have some interesting discussions about this fossil,” Tommy said with a wry grin.

  Dr Browning understood his implication.

  “There are those who are very narrow-minded and cannot see beyond the tip of their own nose. Sadly, I believe there will always be folk like them. They fail to appreciate that the Archaeopteryx does not deny God, rather it proves he is even more spectacular than we can comprehend. God designed an animal that under the right circumstances could change its very nature. Think about it, this was a land-based animal that learned to fly under its own power! How much more remarkable can a thing get? It’s like man suddenly developing gills and learning to live under water, this dinosaur managed a complete change in its behaviour and even its place in the world,” Dr Browning’s eyes shone with his clear wonder for it all. “To me, this is proof positive of God’s greatness. I can’t fathom why others don’t see it the same.”

  Behind Clara people were pressing forward to see the Archaeopteryx and there were mutters that her party were hogging the display. Reluctantly Clara, O’Harris and Tommy thanked Dr Browning and moved on. They paid half-hearted attention to the other fossils on show, but they all had their minds on the star attraction behind them.

  “I’d like to get another look at it,” O’Harris said, glancing about the room which was rapidly filling with people. “My word, they sold a lot of tickets!”

  “It will be even worse on the public day,” Tommy said. “I hope they have some brandy on standby, I can see people fainting if the place gets overcrowded.”

  Clara was already starting to feel uncomfortably confined by the people pressing around her. Everyone was trying to head to the top of the room to see the Archaeopteryx, which meant Clara, O’Harris and Tommy were fighting their way against the flow of people.

  “You have to feel sorry for the other exhibits. No one is looking at them,” Tommy muttered as they managed to ease out of the press and into a corner of the room. They were stood by a case of ammonite fossils. Ammonites were one of the most common finds in the quarries where the Archaeopteryx was discovered, and no one paid them much heed. You could find polished ammonite fossils in antiques shops. Familiarity had bred contempt.

  “Our tickets are valid until five o’clock this evening,” Clara observed. “I suggest we come back a little later when this throng has died down. Everyone is curious right now and has come early.”

  “Fair point,” Tommy said. “Hopefully later we can have a proper look at that fossil.”

  He had turned his head up to the far end of the room where it was now impossible to see the Archaeopteryx case over the heads of the people gathered around it. They slipped out the front door and Clara was more than relieved to be away from the crowd.

  “What shall we do now?” O’Harris asked. “We’ve got to waste time somehow.”

  “Fancy a walk along the beach? You never know, we might unearth our own fossils in the cliff soil,” Tommy suggested.

  They all agreed, it was a nice day and a walk along the beach would be pleasant. Tommy led the way and they were soon strolling on the soft sand. It was the tail-end of the holiday season and there were still plenty of people taking the waters. Brighton’s sea water was supposed to be very healthful, and people bathed in it, drank it and even had themselves purged with it. Having grown up by the sea, and having swam in it regularly as a child, Clara was not entirely convinced by the claims, but as it kept the tourism industry alive, she was not going to complain. Brighton relied heavily on its summer visitors to sustain its economy. They had truly built the town on its water.

  “Look up there Clara,” Tommy motioned ahead of them. “I do say that is Miss Holbein.”

  Mrs Wilton had shown them a photograph of Nellie Holbein while they were having afternoon tea. Clara had expected her to be a beautiful and rather poised young lady, considering what she had just heard about her parents. The photograph revealed that she was actually quite plain; she had thick black eyebrows that were masculine in nature and almost met in the middle of her forehead. Her jaw was square and though the picture was supposedly taken on a happy occasion – Nellie’s birthday – she was scowling at the photographer rather than smiling. She was acutely thin, in the way some girls naturally are, which made her appear altogether boyish. That made her rather fashionable, according to the women’s magazines being printed, and especially suited to the straight-waisted dresses which were rapidly growing in popularity. Those same dresses were anathema to Clara, and she had felt a slight pang of envy for Nellie’s fashionable figure.

  Though, as Tommy had stated after they left Mrs Wilton’s, what the fashion magazines say is beautiful and what men actually find attractive in a woman are usually poles apart.

  With her flat-chest, bobbed hair and mannish face, Miss Holbein could easily have passed for a boy. Not a handsome boy, for sure, but you could easily be forgiven for thinking she was a young man in a dress. And never a more crueller slight could be levelled at a woman than to say when she was dressed at her finest, that she looked more like a boy than a girl.

  “I suppose that young fellow with her is Victor Darling,” Clara almost raised a hand to point, then remembered herself.

  Victor Darling was dressed in a checked suit that was decidedly brash and reminded Clara of the suits the bookies wore when the races were in town. He offset the checks with a red bowtie, which was not helping the ensemble at all. However, he was very handsome in a slightly oily way. He looked over-done, like someone had taken him and polished him up before sending him off to meet Miss Holbein. His hair glistened with oil and his face had the appearance of having been scrubbed to within an inch of its life. Clara also noted that his teeth were remarkably, and possibly unnaturally, white.

  “Who are these people?” Captain O’Harris asked, eyeing up the young couple who were sitting on a blanket on the sand watching the swimmers in the sea.

  “People we have to spy on,” Tommy said with a joking wink.

  “A crude way of putting things, but not entirely inappropriate,” Clara countered. “Mrs Wilton is concerned that Victor Darling is a fortune hunter after Miss Holbein’s extensive inheritance. She wants us to investigate who he is.”

  “He looks like a horse dealer I once knew, same sort of suit,” O’Harris mused. “I didn’t trust him at all.”

  “Well, we have some time to spare, shall we waste it ‘spying’ on the unlucky couple?” Clara suggested.

  Tommy grinned.

  “No protest from me,” O’Harris chuckled. “I’m always delighted to be involved in a case. They tend to be interesting in unexpected ways.”

  “Let’s hope that is not the case with this one,” Clara rolled her eyes, then she led the way towards the unfortunate pair of lovers who were about to have their day interfered with.

/>   Chapter Four

  Victor Darling was a man trying rather too hard. Clara noted that at once. When Clara and her companions came to sit near the couple, and made polite greetings to acknowledge that on the crowded beach they had been forced to perch themselves near perfect strangers, Victor looked relieved to have someone else to talk to. Before long he was embroiled in a lengthy discussion with Tommy and O’Harris on car engines and had completely forgotten about Nellie.

  Clara was not entirely surprised. Nellie’s surly appearance on her photograph was not unusual, it was her normal manner. She seemed perpetually annoyed at life, and Clara didn’t think that was just because her beau had abandoned her to speak to Tommy and O’Harris. There was something in Nellie’s nature that told Clara she was a person sullen by design, who didn’t see the joy in anything, and was largely disappointed with the world around her. Despite all that, and the fact that Clara swiftly took a dislike to her, she remembered her task and endeavoured to engage Nellie in conversation.

  “Boys and cars,” Clara chuckled. “They can talk about them for hours.”

  “Hmm,” Nellie grunted without offering anything to further the conversation.

  “Still, it’s all very useful if you happen to break down in one. They usually know how to go about fixing the problem,” Clara said, trying to draw something out of Nellie. “Not that I own a car. Does your young man drive?”

  “No,” Nellie answered with the minimum of effort.

  “He seems to know a lot about cars,” Clara prodded her, feeling the answer was inaccurate. Victor Darling was holding his own in a complicated discussion about piston engines and the best way to keep them working on top form. Tommy appeared somewhat left behind by the conversation, though was listening keenly as O’Harris and Victor talked.

  Nellie gave no indication she had heard what Clara said. She was staring out at the water.

  “Do you swim?” Clara asked, hoping for something, anything.

  “No.” Nellie answered in the monotone fashion she seemed to have perfected.

  “I used to swim a lot, it’s supposed to be very good exercise for you,” Clara remarked. “And, of course, the waters around Brighton are supposed to be very invigorating. Not that I intend to try drinking them. Are you local?”

  “Yes,” Nellie replied.

  Clara wondered why she was bothering.

  “I find, when you are local, you don’t take the time to appreciate the beach as much as you should, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “So, you come to the beach often?”

  “No.”

  Clara felt like giving up, she glanced over in the direction of the others. There was no help from them, they had moved on to gear boxes and Tommy had discovered his lengthy perusal of car magazines had supplied him with a surprising amount of knowledge on the subject.

  “Do you care for ice cream? Maybe we should get some?” Clara suggested to Nellie.

  Nellie just shrugged.

  “Do you care for anything?” Clara asked her in mild frustration.

  Nellie turned her gaze on Clara for the first time. Her eyes were dark and intense, and she glared as if daring Clara to say that again. Then she turned her attention back to the ocean.

  Clara was beginning to feel that if Victor Darling was prepared to live with such an unpleasant companion for the sake of her money, good luck to him. She would be surprised if Nellie could find a husband on the merits of her personality alone. Clara’s attention wandered to a pair of old ladies who had taken off their stockings, hitched up their long Edwardian skirts and were bravely paddling in the waves. The old girls were holding hands and laughing as the cold water washed over their bare feet. Clara smiled at the sight, they were enjoying a simple moment of time together in a way that she felt Nellie had never experienced. To be able to take joy in such humble things was the means to having a happy and contented life, Clara believed. In contrast, Nellie seemed to find fault in everything around her and to glare at the world with disapproval. She would always be dissatisfied with her lot. Clara was in half-a-mind to join the old ladies. Instead, she pulled out of her handbag the guidebook from the fossil exhibition and started to read it again.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Clara noticed that Nellie was watching her. She opted to ignore her. Two could play at that game.

  Victor finally appeared to remember why he was at the beach and returned to Nellie’s side, though he did not look entirely delighted with the prospect. He had been animated and enthusiastic when talking to Tommy and O’Harris. When he walked back to Nellie, his demeanour became quieter. His smile vanished.

  “I would like an ice cream,” Nellie told him, the words coming out rather like an accusation.

  Victor looked pained, the statement so aggressively stated that it made it obvious his disappearance had earned Nellie’s disapproval.

  “There’s a stand up on the promenade,” Victor said, holding out his hand to help Nellie to her feet.

  “Buy me one,” Nellie demanded of him, before stalking off towards the beach steps.

  Victor gave an apologetic smile to Clara as he departed hastily, briefly tipping his hat to O’Harris and Tommy as he went past.

  “Good luck to him,” Clara said as soon as the couple were far enough away.

  Tommy and O’Harris glanced in her direction.

  “She is completely obnoxious. A spoiled brat with no ability to take pleasure in the world around her,” Clara explained.

  “You didn’t like her then?” Tommy asked sarcastically.

  “She offered me no more than monosyllabic answers, or at times a shrug, throughout our conversation. Perhaps she was just very annoyed we had interrupted her day, but, as I recall, it was Victor who spoke to us first after we had smiled and said hello.”

  “Victor seemed desperate for the distraction we offered,” Tommy agreed. “If he is a fortune hunter, he is going to have to work for his money.”

  “Did you learn much about him?” Clara asked.

  “He didn’t say so specifically, but his knowledge of cars suggests he is extremely familiar with them,” O’Harris said. “My hunch would be a mechanic or possibly a car dealer. He certainly had working knowledge, could be he has worked as a chauffeur or a driver in the war. Definitely he is someone who has spent a lot of time around cars.”

  “I noticed his hands were rough, like someone who got them dirty a lot,” Tommy added. “I don’t think he is a gentleman. He has worked for a living in manual labour.”

  “Anything else?” Clara asked, feeling they still knew very little about Victor Darling.

  “His accent hinted at a Northerner, but it was quite soft. I would say he has lived in a few different places over his lifetime,” O’Harris added. “He didn’t mention where he lives now, he was rather cagey about any personal details. I might get more out of him when he comes over to see the cars.”

  “He is coming to see your car collection?” Clara said in surprise.

  “Technically, it was my uncle’s collection, but yes, I have invited him to pop over and take a look. He seemed quite keen. I’ll be able to pump him for details,” O’Harris looked very pleased with himself.

  “And I think he will appreciate the break from Miss Holbein,” Tommy said with a smirk.

  “He didn’t strike you as being genuinely enamoured with her?” Clara asked.

  “Not really, what about you?” Tommy replied.

  “He looked like he was enduring her presence rather than enjoying it,” Clara nodded. “Which suggests he is in it for the money. Oh well, Miss Holbein’s demeanour does not make her easy to like, there has to be some advantage to spending time in her company.”

  “Harsh, Clara!” O’Harris chuckled.

  “You didn’t just spend half-an-hour trying to talk to her,” Clara rolled her eyes.

  They went for a walk along the beach after that and finished back at a stand on the promenade that sold hot tea and meat pies. The tea was strong, the
pies just about edible and they spent some time debating what exact type of meat might have been in them. The standard candidates seemed unlikely from the taste. Then they headed back to the town hall to try to get another look at the Archaeopteryx.

  “Uh oh, what’s this?” Tommy muttered as they approached and saw a crowd outside the hall.

  Some of the people in the throng were carrying hand-painted signs that said things like – God Not Darwin! Evolution is a Lie! Find God Not Fossils!

  “Oh dear,” Clara said as they paused on the side of the street opposite the town hall. “Protestors.”

  The crowd numbered about twenty and was a mix of men and women. They were trying to prevent people getting to the doors of the town hall and entering the exhibition. They were also handing out leaflets and shaking collection boxes at people, though what precisely they were collecting for was unclear.

  Clara approached the crowd and was quickly accosted by a woman in a black hat.

  “God not Darwin!” The woman almost shouted at her and pressed a leaflet into her hand.

  Clara glanced at the folded piece of paper, which appeared to be someone’s attempt to defy the idea of evolution. The front sheet repeated the woman’s slogan and then quoted various Bible passages, though Clara was not entirely clear on the relevance of the ones they had chosen. They seemed slightly random, though probably there was a logic behind them. Inside the leaflet was a detailed ramble about God having made the earth and the timeline offered by the Bible, which contradicted the evidence for evolution. The argument was long and laboured, and suggested someone with a very limited understanding of science. Several of the arguments were contradictory. Intertwined with the writer’s over-blown points against evolution were more passages from the Bible.

  Clara guessed that some people, who were already religiously inclined, might find the leaflet convincing. But anyone else would find it an absurd waste of paper. Clara popped the paper in her handbag, nonetheless.