And One Fine Morning - A Murder Mystery

Chapter 1: 11:35 to Guildford Station

'Sir,' said the platform attendant in a tone of voice which suggested that while his patience had been steeled and strengthened by thousands of passengers like Ernest, he wouldn't underestimate the odds of this being the fine but fatal fissure that might just crack the steel in the near future, such as a few moments from now. 'I'm afraid if you don't decide which wagon you wish to travel in during the next two minutes, all the wagons will travel on but you won't be in any of them.'

'I don't even know if that would suit me or not, to be fully honest,' replied Ernest, pushing his hat around on his stubborn hair while thinking hard. He had too much hair for hats. Hats were a nuisance dictated by fashion, not reason.

The uniformed man transformed a weary sigh into a professional cough and pointedly picked up Ernest's suitcase, which he'd put back down what seemed to him like much too long ago when Sir had made no move to fulfil his passenger duty of climbing onto the train. And the carriage door had ended up right in front of them too when the 11:35 had pulled into the station! The platform was already emptying, most travellers scrambling into the wagons without making any more fuss than what was expected and proper; shouting at friends and relatives who stayed behind to send letters, and not forget to water the flowers, and be good. A newspaper boy was trying his hardest to drown out all the chatter. Clouds of milk-coloured steam and microscopic particles of coal were drifting over dozens of heads and being frayed at the edges by a breeze that tasted of oil and shoe cream. The big station clock gleamed in the June sunshine.

Ernest shook his head. 'I'm sorry, I'm awful at making decisions,' he said with a grin wavering between abashed and annoyed. 'It's just that – you know, this journey might not be the best idea, maybe I actually ought –'

A whistle like a blade to the auditory passage cut him off. The platform attendant raised his eyebrows and thrust the suitcase at Ernest. 'I can recommend this wagon. It's exceedingly comfortable.'

'Oh? You've travelled in this exact wagon before?'

'No, but I know for a fact they're all the same. Have a safe journey, Sir.'

A series of clangs echoed along the metal body of the train as the first doors were shut.

'Right,' said Ernest, not unfriendly. He grabbed his suitcase, nearly lost his hat and made a daring leap on the top step of the wagon that was allegedly very comfortable but also identical to all the others just as the locomotive clunked into life. Balancing his suitcase in one hand, Ernest grabbed the door handle and pushed it shut before the platform attendant could do his job. For a moment he looked at the door. Then he shrugged, turned away and barked at an adventurous boy to stand back, for God's sake, if he didn't fancy becoming a note in the evening paper under the section 'Evidence of the Link Between Southwestern Railway Accidents and Idiocy'. It decidedly wasn't his day – neither for the startled boy who jumped back, tripped and scraped his knee, nor the tired uniformed man whose watch mercilessly showed that his shift wouldn't end before another seven hours.

***

The 11:35, now the 11:37 to be precise, was pulling out of Waterloo station in a billow of feathery steam. You could see scraps of it being pulled past the windows, inside where the screech of metal wheels on metal rails and the groaning of cogs and bolts was muffled. Ernest dragged his suitcase past a compartment where four small girls were evidently busy driving their mother up the wall, past another one from which issued the unmistakable sounds of a lovers' tiff taking an unpleasant turn, and accepting that he wasn't likely to find some company consisting of men in their twenties, finally entered the last compartment of the wagon. 'Good day to you, Sir, mind if I join you?'

The good man was asleep. Ernest considered his options for a moment, but remembered that he was about to get as much and probably more company than he could wish for, and wrestled his suitcase into the luggage rack.