Death On The Snowdrop Line

Fred never did things by halves and his upcoming birthday party was certainly no exception...

- Teresa Ashby

Our carriage awaits,’ Fred Vincent announced as if he really was the Victorian gentleman he was dressed up to be. ‘Let us board the Primrose carriage so the celebrations can begin.’

‘Really,’ Letitia, the latest of his three wives, huffed as she gathered up the ridiculous long skirts he’d insisted she wear. There was a bite in the air and a fine flurry of snow, but none of it matched the ice in Letitia’s eyes. ‘All this fuss. No one else is dressed up.’

She was right. The other passengers boarding the steam train were all in normal clothes.

‘It’s all part of the fun, my sweet,’ Fred said as she boarded the train, earning himself a dirty look from Letitia and a groan from his son, Raymond.

Fred’s first wife, Marilyn, mother of his two children, was there to see her grandchildren dressed up in their Victorian finery. She stayed in the background, not wishing to upstage Letitia, who seemed in a worse mood than usual.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Raymond muttered.

‘Oh, stop complaining,’ his sister Alexandra said. ‘It’s his birthday. Dad’s done plenty for you over the years. You can’t begrudge him a special celebration.’

‘Now this is the business,’ Fred said as he stepped into the carriage. Each car was fitted out differently and this one overflowed with yellow flowers.

The polished tables were set with gleaming cutlery and pristine white napkins and each had an ornate candelabra. Letitia pinched one of the fake flames.

‘Oh, very authentic,’ she sneered as she looked round. ‘I’m sure the Victorians rode in carriages like this.’

‘Perhaps they did,’ Raymond said. ‘How would you know?’