Murder in the Air

“Is it dangerous?”

Robert Jeffreys took his time to answer, choosing instead to finish writing an address on a pristine white envelope. He had a large belly and tousled grey hair. His fat red cheeks wobbled when he talked, as did the rolls of flesh beneath his chin.

“Is what dangerous?” he responded as he placed his pen in its stand.

“The airship.” Arthur Thompson marvelled at the sight of them whenever the light aircraft flew over London; enormous, tubular balloons gliding effortlessly in the air. However, the high whirr of their engines sounded too feeble to keep the ships up in the sky. He liked to watch but had never desired to travel in one.

“Airships? Dangerous?” A bellow of laughter erupted from his employer. “Do you think I’d be investing in them if they were dangerous?” He picked up a delicate cup from his desk and drained it of coffee before plonking it back down onto its saucer. “Have all the biscuits gone?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Airships dangerous!” Robert shook his head slowly in amusement. “I don’t want to hear any of that kind of talk within earshot of my guests on Friday.”

“It’s just that I remember there was a crash—”

“Motor cars crash every day, Thompson! Does that mean we should refuse to travel in them? Of course not! What sort of fool do you think I’d be to invite a group of people to travel in something unsafe?” He laughed again. “The trouble with you, Thompson, is that you’re a coward.”

The insult felt like a punch to the young man’s ribs. He balled his fists beneath Robert’s enormous mahogany desk and took a deep breath. “Forgive me, sir, but I don’t consider myself to be a coward. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all. I’ve never travelled by airship before.”

“Few people have! But that’s all about to change. Indeed, that’s the very purpose of our flight on Friday, is it not?”

Arthur nodded.

“I hope you’re not about to go all timid on me, Thompson. I don’t want my guests taking one look at your pasty face and deciding they’re scared of airships, too. Can I rely on you to make them feel happy and reassured on the day?” 

“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”

Coward. Arthur had hoped he wouldn’t still be hearing that insult at the age of twenty-five, but it was a word that seemed to follow him around. It reminded him of his father.

Robert began to write the address on another envelope. When it came to personal letters, he liked to write everything himself. 

Arthur glanced around the room and reminded himself of his exclusive surroundings. His feet were resting on a thick, expensive rug, and the furniture was large and well-polished. Red-and-gold wallpaper matched the heavy brocade curtains hanging from shiny brass poles ten feet above the floor. The tall windows looked out over Whitehall and its government buildings. 

If Arthur were to lean out of the window, a turn to his right would have afforded him a view of Trafalgar Square, while a turn to the left would have revealed the Houses of Parliament. He had done well for a boy from Watford with a run-of-the-mill education. Sometimes he felt the need to pinch himself as a reminder that he worked for someone so important and well-connected as Mr Jeffreys. For the first time in his life, Arthur’s father was proud of him.

But then Arthur thought about the airship again and felt sick. He had heard stories of them falling out of the sky during the war. Apparently, they could break up and burst into flames for seemingly no reason at all. 

He caught his breath and wiped the sweat from his palms. There was no getting out of it; he was Mr Jeffreys’s assistant. His employer had been interested in commercial airship travel for some time, so Arthur knew it was inevitable that he would have to travel in one before long.

I have to stop being a coward.

Arthur regarded his employer; so large, so wealthy and so fearless. Mr Jeffreys didn’t have to worry about travelling in airships. In fact, he didn’t seem to worry about anything at all. Sometimes his words stung. If only he could be a little kinder, Arthur mused, wondering what he could do to make his boss treat him a little better.

“There.” Robert pushed the pile of envelopes across the desk to him. “Make sure these go in the next post.”

“Yes, sir.”

Robert paused from his work to fight off a coughing fit; something that had been happening so regularly of late.

“Would you like some water, sir?”

His employer dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand. He eventually recovered, though it left his face even redder than before. He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. “Eleven-fifteen is our departure time from Liverpool Street on Thursday, is it not?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“We’ll be heading to some backwater in the middle of Norfolk. What’s it called again?”

“Diss.”

“That’s the one. I recalled that it had a strange-sounding, rustic name. Now, get those letters posted, Thompson, and then I’ll need you to make some coffee for my next meeting. Mr Ketteridge is visiting. He tells me he’s found an anomaly in the accounts.”

“What sort of anomaly?” Arthur’s mouth felt dry.

“I don’t know yet. He’s probably making more of it than is strictly necessary, but that’s accountants for you. It’s rather odd all the same. Why are you gawping at me like that?”

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t realise I was.” Arthur grabbed the letters and rose to his feet.

“Are you alright, Thompson?”

“I’m fine, sir. There’s just rather a lot to do. I’d better get on.”

“Still worried about the airship, eh?” Robert laughed again. “It’ll make a man of you yet. Mark my words, once you’ve seen the earth from several thousand feet up in the sky, you won’t ever look at anything the same way again.”

“No, I don’t suppose I shall.”

Arthur walked over to the door, his legs feeling unusually weak. He attempted to move as nonchalantly as possible but felt there was a strong possibility he wasn’t fooling Mr Jeffreys one bit.