Detective Boone & Dot on the train

Dot has settled into the compartment well ahead of schedule; she was so afraid of missing her departure or somehow getting on the wrong platform she gave herself a large buffer. She's been waiting patiently while the rest of the train fills, holding her clutch tightly on her lap. Her trunk is still at her feet because she couldn't quite lift it, and the porter didn't seem to notice her.

She peers briefly out the window at the dark moors, then shivers, thankful to be in the warm, well-lit compartment. She tries to tug down the curtain but it seems stuck, so she has to settle for curling back into her seat and pulling a library copy of Miss Oliver's latest whodunnit, cozying up to the mystery. She jumps a little when a door slams further down the car as more folk board.

The door to the compartment is opened carefully by an almost painfully average man wearing a grin too big for his face.

"Hullo! How are you? I'm Detective Boone but you can call me Jimmy if you want, most people do." He lifts his luggage up with only a little bit of difficulty but not so much that he stops talking. When he stretches up the top of the latest book by Robert Baden-Powell is visible. "I was worried for a bit I was going to miss the train, but I'm glad I made it in time. I'm terribly excited for my holiday, would you like help with your trunk? What's your name?"

He takes a breath as soon as he finishes talking, and looks at his compartment companion, his face open and bright.

Dot looks up, her expression warming at the man who enters. Normally she would be a bit reserved, but he seems quite nice, and it's nice to see a friendly face after the wind's started howling at the train windows.

"Oh, thank you, that would be wonderful." She picks her trunk up again, tugging it towards him a bit shyly, then remembers to offer her hand first. "I'm Dorothy Williams--everyone calls me Dot. I don't suppose you're holidaying at Vertex Lodge, Detective Boone?" There's little else to holiday at along the line from his station onwards, out it seems polite to ask.

"I'm one of the maids there; I just got back from my own holiday. Are you a detective with Scotland Yard, sir?" She fingers the spine of the Ariadne Oliver novel, thrilling a little at the prospect. "Miss Forrest--our events coordinator--was hoping to organize a sort of murder mystery party at the lodge. Wherever you're staying, you really should come for the party--it would be wonderful to have a real detective there. If--if you have time that is, of course," she adds quickly.

He shakes her hand solidly but without any of the overly strong squeezing power play that some men do. His palm is warm and dry, like summer grass. "It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Dot."

He turns his attention to her trunk, lifting it into the rack above before answering her questions.

"Yes I am with Scotland Yard, freshly promoted to detective. I'm taking a trip to the Vertex Lodge as a sort of celebration for my new job."

He leans back into his seat and smiles. "A murder mystery game? Sounds thrilling to be honest. I know some of the men back at Scotland Yard would turn their nose up at having leisure time be too much like our jobs, but sometimes it's nice to do some sleuthing and know there's a tidy contained answer at the end. To know that all of the pieces are there to get the right person without any doubt."

Dot settles back into her seat, adjusting her skirt so it falls even more modestly at the calf than it did before.

"Oh, congratulations, sir! I'm so glad you like the idea; you can help the rest of us solve Cora's mystery--I like mystery novels, but I'm not very good with the sleuthing," she confesses. She holds up the Ariadne Oliver book a bit sheepishly, then adds, hushing her voice instinctively, "Actually, it's very exciting for the party... Miss Oliver herself is on our guest list for the beginning of the season, and Mr. Poirot's friend too, who writes down all his cases. The other maid, Sarah, told me she thought Eustace Seyfried, the famous radio actor, will be there--I don't know if that's true, Sarah sometimes gets fancies into her head, but I'm really hoping Miss Oliver will sign one of my books for me."

She glows with the thought of this for a moment--her own little brush with fame--then reddens, remembering herself.

"But, ah... You didn't hear it from me--I promised Mr. Caruthers I wouldn't bother any of our guests." She shifts her tone to something of polite interest.

"What attracted you to Vertex Lodge, inspector?"

"Mr. Poirot's friend..." His eyes squint as he tries to remember the name. "Aha! Captain Hastings! I've never met either of them, but Chief Inspector Japp growls about the trouble that seems to follow those two. But honestly, Japp is like an old bulldog, he may grumble but would be the first to defend them to the end of the line."

"As for why I want to stay at the Vertex Lodge, I love visiting all the old buildings I can. I go to a different one every chance I get. I love hearing the stories whispers about the old houses all over Britain." His eyes are brighter and more intense while talking about the his interest in old buildings. "You know, you'll probably be able to help me. As a maid you've probably heard all sorts of stories about the history of the house. Do you know any that are particularly...unusual?"

"Strange stories..." Dot hums thoughtfully, tapping the heel of her shoe against the back of the chair. "Well, I was only hired when Mr. Carver, the developer, bought the old manor house for a resort, so I don't know quite as much about the history as some of the older staff. You should definitely ask Sarah--she was parlormaid back when it was still the manor house, and she's full of stories, though Cook tells me she's a bit full tall tales too." She chuckles ruefully, confessing her gullibility.

"Deering Vale's got a very country feel to it; many of the residents are quite superstitious. I think some of the elderly townsfolk still believe in fairies--er, the "little people", they always say. I've heard some very frightening stories about people getting hexed and stolen off to fairyland. You might ask Mr. Beaver at the pub as well--he knows all sorts of local history, and he's a bit superstitious himself."

She adjusts her collar, subconsciously running her fingers across the crucifix on her neck as she shivers, remembering some of Sarah's spookier yarns.

"Truth be told, sir... The manor house is absolutely lovely, but Gladys and I--that's the other maid--have been looking forward to more guests come the holiday season. It gets a bit... eerie when it's empty, it's such a big building."

He chuckles slightly. "Though by the end of the holiday season, you may find yourself wishing for the peace of the slow months. Your job must be significantly harder when the manor is busy."

He pulls a small notebook out of his pocket and jots down the names she told him. "Nothing wrong with tall tales as long as they entertain right? That's why people tell stories in the first place after all."

Time moves on, and the train moves along the line. After a couple of hours, the conductor pops his head into your compartment and announces that the dining car is closing. About an hour after that, the train steward comes into your car and hands you both blankets and pillows, and offers to make makeshift beds for you on each compartment bench. You settle into the beds, and drift off to sleep, since you won't be at Deering Vale till morning.

You awake to a compartment filled with gas, and your compartment ransacked, with all of your luggage open on the floor. You start to cough on the gas, but hear voices down the train.

Dot wakes coughing and groggy and half stumbles, half falls off her bench, tangled in her blanket. When she hits the floor the sight that meets her eyes makes her freeze in fright for a moment. Some vague recollection of one of the nuns at Redeemer Catholic Orphanage telling her and the other girls to "scream for help in some kind of trouble" sets her shrieking as she tries to furiously wipe something from her eyes. She staggers back against the bench, half aware that she's fumbling for her handbag--where is it?

Jimmy coughs and sputters as he wakes up and his mind barely registers the state of the compartment before he yells, "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?"

He rushes to the compartment door tripping over the luggage as he goes. His brow is furrowed partly to squint through the gas and partially in the hazy drive to find whoever did this and...and do something. His thoughts aren't organized enough to really know the particulars of what should happen. But years of training has him reaching for his badge, and the nearest weapon, which happens to be the book in his pocket.

Which is how Jimmy Boone, Scotland Yard detective, ended up bursting out of a train compartment, yelling like a madman, and wielding a book about youth scouting like a weapon.

((Edited because Charlotte misunderstood wooziness levels.))


There it is again--the lightheadedness. Dot starts to wobble as she grasps her purse, and realizes, with a sinking feeling, it's almost certainly been rifled through. She's sinking too, back into a temptation to sleep again. She desperately pulls herself up and tugs herself along the railings and benches to the door, which Det. Boone has conveniently flung open, thankfully breathing in the cleaner air.

((@Cayden, that response though. XDDD))

Bounding into the hallway continues here.